#someone must have a whole tumblr dedicated to it by now

[godsandcrows]

Travis' obsession with werewolves overrules all and I am HERE FOR IT

"Would I happen to know where we're at in the moon cycle?"

#undeadwood #critical role #travis willingham #travis' obsession with werewolves #i can't be the first person to use that tag #someone must have a whole tumblr dedicated to it by now #brian w foster #marisha ray #critical role gifs

[communistkenobi]

I’ve been thinking a lot about fandom recently, both as someone who has engaged with it regularly for over a decade on various platforms and also as someone who has increasingly become disenchanted with those spaces. Not only because of pervasive issues of (especially anti-Black) racism, misogyny, transphobia/homophobia, and the like, but the particular way those things take shape within fandom.

At the most basic level I think fandom has a fundamental methodological problem with the way it approaches texts, be they shows, books, movies, etc. What I mean is that people almost invariably approach fandom at the level of character, often at the level of ship - your primary way of viewing a text is filtered through favourite characters and favourite relationships, as opposed to, say, favourite scenes, favourite themes, favourite conflicts.

This is reinforced through the architecture of dominant platforms that host fan content, particularly AO3 - there are separate categories for fandom, character and ship, and everything else is lumped together in “Additional Tags.” You cannot, for example, filter for fics on AO3 by the category of “critical perspective” or “thematic exploration”. There is no dedicated space for fan authors to declare their analytical perspective on the text they are writing about. If an author declares these things, they do so individually, they must go out of their way to do so, because there are no dedicated or universally agreed-upon tags to indicate those things, and if your fanfiction has a lot of tags, that announcement of criticality gets mushed together in a sea of other tags, sharing the same space with tags like “fluff and angst” or “porn without plot.” Perhaps one of the few tags closest to approaching this is the tag “Dead Dove: Do Not Eat,” which doesn’t indicate perspective or theme but rather that there is, broadly, some kind of “problematic content” contained therein - often of a sexual nature, frequently as a warning about “bad” ships.

Now this is not an inherent problem, as in, it is not inherently incorrect to approach a text and primarily derive pleasure from it by focusing on a given character or relationship. And I think a lot of mainstream media encourages (even requires) audiences to engage with their stories at these character- and ship-levels. The political economy of the production of art (one which is capitalistic, one that seeks to generate comfort, titillation, controversy, nostalgia, or shock for the purposes of drawing in viewership, one that increasingly pursues social media metrics of “engagement” and “impressions”, one that allows for the Netflix model of making two-season shows before cancelling them, as well as a whole host of other things) enforces a particular narrative orthodoxy, one that heavily focuses on the individual interiority of specific characters, one that is deeply concerned with the maintenance of white bourgeois middle class values of property ownership, the nuclear family, normative heterosexual sexuality and gender, settler-colonial ideas about community and environment, etc. If you do not care about the familial drama surrounding Shauna cheating on her husband in Yellowjackets, for example, because you think the institution of monogamous marriage and the nuclear family is stupid and violent and heternormative, then you will have a difficult time engaging with the show in general. We exist within a deeply normative (and frequently reactionary) media environment that encourages us to approach art in a particular way, one that privileges the individual over other narrative components (settings, themes, conflicts, ideas, political and moral perspectives, structure, tone, etc).

All of which culminates in priming fans to engage with art at these levels and these levels alone, even when that scope is deeply inappropriate. A standout example I recently encountered was browsing the fandom tags on tumblr for the movie Prey - a movie that recontextualises the original Predator film by setting it in colonial America to make the argument that the horrific violence of white colonists and imperial soldiers is identical to the violence we see the Predator do to human beings. It is a movie that makes the argument that, despite this alien monster running around killing people, the villains of the franchise are these occupying soldiers and settlers, an alien force who themselves have just as little regard for (indigenous) human life.

And when browsing the tags on tumblr, what I found was dozens upon dozens of horny posts about how hot the predator monster was. Certainly there were discussion of the film’s narrative, and these posts got a good amount of notes, but the tags were heavily dominated with a focus on the Predator itself. People were engaging with this film not as a solid action movie with interesting and compelling anti-colonial themes, but as a way to be horny about a creature that is, ironically, a stand-in for white settler indifference to (and perpetuation of) indigenous suffering. And if this is your takeaway from an extremely straightforward film with a very clear message, this is not merely a failure to comprehend the content of a text, this is something beyond it - a problem that I think is due in part to the methodological problem of approaching all texts as vessels for bourgeois interiority, individual but ultimately interchangeable expressions of sexuality, perhaps best-expressed by the term “roving slash fandom,” a phenomenon wherein fans will move from one fandom to the next in search of two (usually white, usually skinny) guys to draw and write porn of, uncaring of any of the surrounding context of the stories they are embedded in, and consequently dominating a large sector of fandom discussion.

This even gets expressed in the primary ideological battleground of fandom itself, the ridiculous partitioning of all fan conflict into “pro-“ and “anti-“ shipping compartments. Your stance on engagement with fandom itself historically was (and still is) always first filtered through one of these two labels, describing your fundamental perspective on all texts you engage with. And both of these two labels are only concerned with shipping, as if all disagreements about art can only be interpreted through the lens of what characters you think are acceptable to draw or write having sex. Nowhere in this binary is space to describe any other perspective you might take, what approaches you think are valuable when interacting with art, what themes or stories you think are worth exploring. It’s not just that the pro/anti divide is juvenile and overly-simplistic, it is a declaration that all fan conflict must be read through the lens of shipping and shipping only - the implication being that any objections raised, and criticisms offered, is ultimately just bitching about ships you don’t like.

Which, again, I think is a fundamental error of methodology. It leaves no space for people to discuss the political and moral content of a work, the themes of a piece of art, the thorny issues of representation not just as expressed through individual characters but entire worlds, narratives, settings, and themes. You are always hopelessly stuck in the quagmire of “shipping discourse,” and even rejecting that framework will inevitably get you labelled as either pro- or anti-ship anyway - and you will almost invariably be labelled an “anti” if you express any kind of distaste for the bigoted behaviour of fans or the content of the text itself, again reinforcing the idea that this is all just pointless whining online about icky ships you personally hate.

And this issue is best perhaps epitomised by reader insert fanfiction, circumventing any need for you to project onto a character by literally inserting yourself into fiction, primarily in order to write/read about a character you want to fuck. This then intersects in particularly disgusting ways with real world politics, such as reader insert fics about Pedro Pascal going with you to BLM protests. Even if this is (incredibly over-generously) interpreted as a very poor attempt at being “progressive,” it still demonstrates that many (white) fans are often incapable of thinking about anything outside of a character-centric perspective, quite literally centring themselves in the process, and consequently they think it’s totally appropriate to do things like that. The fact that this is also frequently a racist lens is not coincidental, because again, a chronic focus on (fictional) individuality prohibits any structural perspective from entering the discussion, which necessarily excludes a coherent or useful perspective on systemic issues, where people come to the conclusion that the topic of police brutality is little more than a fun stage to enact whatever romantic shenanigans you want to get up to with a hot guy.

I will stress, again, that it is not a moral sin to have a favourite character, nor is it bad to enjoy reading about two guys having sex in fanfiction. I enjoy and do those things, I engage with fandom often through a character-centric lens (see my url) - because it’s fun! But I think that this being the dominant mode of engagement inherently excludes and marginalises all other approaches, and creates a fandom space where the most valuable way to talk about media is to discuss which two characters you most enjoy imagining fucking each other

#media #effortpost #fandom discussion

[daisys-reality]

𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐘 𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐅𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆

What kind of person is your DR significant other?

General disclaimer: super long reading ahead. This pac reading is meant for my reality shifters who have a special someone in their desired reality. This reading is timeless in a way but you can adjust it as you see fit. I hope you guys enjoy this. <3 All of them were cuties, you guys have good taste. 💫

If you like to read more pac readings from me, feel free to check out my masterlist ! If you want to share your experiences and/or give me feedback and/or share pac ideas, I would be very happy if you send me an ask over tumblr !!! (Also, fyi I don't own any of these beautiful pics, I just edited them!)

pile one

Hello pile one! Your s/o is definitely a strong person - not necessarily physically (could be) but I’m feeling more so that they have a strong core - mental and emotional strength. Self-confident and proud of their abilities and even physical shape, ready to perform feats any time. With their unwavering focus they have their eyes on their goal, to be on top. They can be very patient if they want to be but they must win by all means, they hate losing. Their energy is regal, they naturally demand respect. Their strife and energy is inspiring for some, for others it’s a bit intimidating. They can be quite calculating and like to think things through, but sometimes their impulses win them over. They surely don’t like dancing to someone else's tune, it’s just not for them lol. Even though they have great leadership qualities, they are more on the introverted spectrum - but definitely by no means shy. They don’t have a lot of close/intimate connection, not many know their inner core. Though they always strive to become better in every sense, personal (and I would even say spiritual) growth is important for them, they even dedicate their whole life to that because they want to ‘master’ themself. Some might mistake them as hard to access or aloof but those with a keener eye know better. They are very observant, stealth and precise in their words and actions. They just do not like wasting energy or resources. Their presence is strong but peacefully calm (if not provoked lol). Reliable and grounded. They might at times tend to get too serious or withdraw too much (for example in stressful times). 

They are not the type to do anything merely for the sake of a whim or pleasure; they live to "satisfy their hunger," without hurting anyone for the sake of ordinary self-satisfaction. I feel like there is a great need to be surrounded by luxury and wealth - even better if they have lots of power. Ok this could seem greedy to some but they are also perfectly capable of enjoying the here and now and all the things that surround them while simultaneously striving for an even better future. Could be that where they are now is very different to where their life started. They are the type that is always solving some problems because they can identify them maybe more quickly than others. Justice and fairness are also values they live by, they actually have nice intentions and want everyone to get along … omg i think they were actually a softie as a kid but life teached them the hard way :(  . They truly just desire stability and balance, and they will fight as long as they can make these desires come true. They have high (and precious) ideals but sadly in the real world ideals rarely exist in pristine form and justice is elusive - forcing them (and everyone else) to have to make some decisions and to adjust once ideals and values. They have learned their lessons the hard way - or will their whole life. Hardworking, and also very prideful.  I think they do care quite a bit about traditions and their reputation. I also feel like they can be pretty straightforward, blunt even. They mean what they say and say what they mean. They prioritize truth above all. They are usually active and assertive. No nonsense person - even when it comes to appearance. They prefer practicality and are more so unpretentious in their style. I think they love being physically active in all kinds of ways (iykwim lmao) - depending on what world their living in - I can also see them even enjoying fighting or battling other people (until all their energy is burn off/until their reach their limit and then training more and more). 

Even emotionally they are honest. They have integrity and they don’t play mind games and are unafraid to admit that they’re wrong. Mature but not afraid to express themselves. Love matters and such are usually not on the front of their mind. Their surroundings might be quite demanding (many responsibilities, people who rely on them etc). If you are in a  connection/relationship/friendship with them, they would always let you know where you stand with them/ where you’re heading with them. The type of person who will be clear about what they are looking for. With this person, it’s suggested that you take everything they say at face value. The truth may sometimes hurt, but at least they are telling the truth. *

Physically, they mastered the art of looking effortless. Funnily enough they could have the certain “je ne sais quoi” vibe about them that many envy. Something that would normally look disheveled on another person looks sexy on them - that kinda thing. They don’t follow trends. They are very laid back and chill, with a slight youthful energy. They also give me the vibe of ‘They eat what they want when they want it, and they work out when they feel like it.’ I guess it has to do with their belief that life is short to base it around what others think is right and what not etc.

They are the type of person that is kinda apathetic about their general surroundings. Mhm maybe it’s just the fact that they are struggling with their own life and are too distracted by their own issues to worry about others.  Emotionally they could also be a bit careless. They can come off as ungrateful and lacking in self-awareness. This person regardless of your DR setting I think is not as much concerned with larger social justice issues. This person may be very short-sighted in that sense. They refuse to get involved with situations unless they can directly benefit from it. If it doesn’t affect them, it is not of their concern lmao. Ok, this seems a bit harsh but I feel like this kind of selfish attitude is working like a shell for them. I said before that they maybe were very ‘soft and pure’ as a child and it could be that they were also quite sensitive, okay? And you know I suppose that life treated them too harshly which in turn made them cold and even apathetic. You know those villains in  movies that were actually very kind as a child but abuse and what not made them get astray from their path. I’m not saying that your s/o is a villain or villainous but they just learned that caring too much about others or being too naive is not worth it in the end and will only hurt you. And I feel like they sometimes present themselves colder and harsher than they actually are to protect themselves. To be honest, I usually analyze the things I pick up and filter them accordingly but the first messages I be getting from them are all like ‘I’m indifferent. I don’t care about other people, I’m very cold towards others. I’m arrogant yada yada…’ which kinda seems like a self mantra or like affirmation you tell yourself where I am like why tf you being like this ?? lmao…So, yeah…again, it takes some time and lot’s of patience to feel comfortable enough to share parts of themselves. It could be that at some point in their life they hated themselves for their softer side. They wanted to become stronger and colder. They hated being on the receiving end of this harsh reality, they wanted to be on top, maybe they also wanted revenge of some sort. I think they kinda like showing their rough edges or intimidating others. Because you know, if people are intimidated by you they usually do not dare to disrespect you, right? It could also have to do with their pride and with them hating revealing any weakness of theirs.

Also, whatever they are working on in their life, their work life makes up a large portion of their identity. They take a lot of pride in the amount of work they put into their achievements. This might also not be very apparent to others but I feel like they often reach their limit, working for too long, too hard and just ending up really tired and burned out. I feel like they rarely engage in anything self-care related. However, I see that if there is something important to them, then they are 100% willing to put in the work. Not only are they hard-working in a professional sense, they’re willing to work on their relationships, spirituality, and self-improvement. They make an effort with their looks, and they work out. Their workaholism may negatively impact their health. And their ‘career’ ambitions usually motivate them to always appear presentable — just in case they run into anybody important. They could also be meticulous with their diet and health routines. 

Emotionally, they work on their emotions and thoughts systematically. This person may enjoy journaling or chronicling their experiences. At some point in their life they will learn how to process their feelings in a constructive way. They generally understand that anything worthwhile takes work and time to build up, whether it’s a relationship or a business. If you’re romantically involved with this person, they could be the type who would be willing to go to couples therapy to work on your relationship issues. It does seem like they believe in fixing what they already have rather than giving up.  They are the type to make you feel like you’re with somebody who makes an effort. Whether you’re linked to this person romantically, platonically, or professionally, there’s a sense that they give as much into the relationship as you do. They don’t make you do all the work. This person is also persistent in everything they do. Always working on their self-improvement, they also have the humility to learn something new at every stage of life. To be honest, if you take the time to get to know them, you will see that they’re truly a sincere and earnest person.

(*Actually, I had finished this reading at this point already and started doing the other two piles but they turned longer than pile one and I felt the need to continue this pile at another time. I don’t know if this information is useful for you. But I feel your s/o just really takes a lot of time to open up, they have a lot of different layers to them and a hard shell. Their true inner self is a lot more different than how they seem to be outwardly. Just so you know, with this person you really gotta be patient if you want to build something whether it’s true friendship or a romantic relationship.)

(** I also wanted to let you know that I mentioned your s/o  a little bit in pile two, I will just copy-paste here, so that you don’t have to read the whole 2nd pile:  “Like pile one they can be very very patient! At first I got the feeling that the energy of pile two seems a little similar to pile one (only slightly) but while pile one seems more like the male lead of some isekai manhwa (like the typically black haired red eyes archduke lmao) that other people label as the villain - logical, unpredictable (kinda wild), powerful, intimidating and confident but a little withdrawn; pile two seems more like the second male lead - appearing smart and polite with a charming personality but then you find out they are actually controlling the whole empire behind the scenes and know everything that is going on lmao (obviously this comparison with ‘male leads’ has nothing to do with their gender - I just read too many isekai manhwas).) 

(*** Also, I don’t why but the whole time during the reading I thought about Madara Uchiha from Naruto [I am a naruto stan btw so no shame✋] Even though he was one of the main villains, he was a softie as a child. He lived in cruel (war) times, lost all his family members (esp. his precious little brother at the end) and the ‘betrayal’ of his clan and the mistreatment from his one and only friend and true love just made him lose his mind… :( Anyways, I can understand if you shift for him sfjdk)

-> Possible energies in their chart : They definitely have strong air energy in some form in their chart mixed with a little earth and fire. Specifically, they could have/be one of the following signs: Libra, Capricorn, Virgo, Leo, Sagittarius (maybe even Scorpio/Cancer).

-> Timeless messages for you from them :

I hope the future will bring us together.

They took their time with this one lmao - I thought I wouldn’t get a message from them at first because they were hesitating to share something - but after this reading we all know they truly mean it from the bottom of their heart hehe

Once I continued this reading I tried to get a few more messages for you:

I don’t know what you see in me…

You shouldn’t wait for me. Prioritize your happiness.

It could lead to problems...

Other things/people were interfering and trying to control me and this connection.

I’m working on myself…I want a fresh start.

Not seeing you is hurting me so much…

The last message dayumm… Another advice I got from you which I think is more so regarding your shifting journey is that you’re asked to be patient because the passing of time will naturally solve your problems. In some situations only endurance helps. In the meantime, try to relax and focus on your happiness. Do something kind for yourself that warms your heart and treasure those seconds when you feel your heart beating. Also don’t reveal or show your personal treasures and things that are important to you to just anyone - not everyone is capable of understanding its preciousness. Just know and rest assured that everything will solve itself with time.

Thank you for reading, I would be very happy for some feedback. <3 Wishing you good luck on your journey, pile one!!

pile two

Hello pile two! Your s/o has a very calm energy. You might lose your sense of time while looking into their eyes lol. Something about their eyes or their gaze is special, mesmerizing even. They are very good at observing and analyzing; paying attention to details. There might be a tendency to overthink or over-analyze or just to take it to extremes at times - falling into traps of pettiness or obsession or being overly critical. This obviously not always the case but there MIGHT be a tendency. But all this observing is not for nothing, I see that they are very skilled and talented in what they do. The type to learn from other people’s mistakes while observing and acting behind the scenes. Like pile one they can be very very patient! Like pile one they can be very very patient! At first I got the feeling that the energy of pile two seems a little similar to pile one (only slightly) but while pile one seems more like the male lead of some isekai manhwa (like the typically black haired red eyes archduke lmao) that other people label as the villain - logical, unpredictable (kinda wild), powerful, intimidating and confident but a little withdrawn; pile two seems more like the second male lead - appearing smart and polite with a charming personality but then you find out they are actually controlling the whole empire behind the scenes and know everything that is going on lmao (obviously this comparison with ‘male leads’ has nothing to do with their gender - I just read too many isekai manhwas).

They’re someone that people might underestimate at first or think that they are harmless - maybe that’s exactly how they want to appear mhm… I do get the feeling that they are very good at seducing and charming people into doing what they want (they probably seduce you with their eyes and a little smile sdkslja). I just heard ‘they eye of the storm’, boii ok they can be really really calm even when everything around them is in chaos (- maybe that’s their doing?? lmao), they can shut out any distraction in order to analyze what is truly going on. And they can be very tenacious and persistent while actualizing their plans. I already mentioned that they are very skilled in some way but they also have an artistic side to them. I am not sure what exactly it is - it might be different for each of your s/o’s - some might be creative with fashion, self expression, acting, with music or instruments or other creative tools while for example planning how to reach their goals. Or maybe even with plants and nature if we look at this pile’s picture! Either way, they have an eye for aesthetics as well. 

There is definitely something working behind the scenes, in hiding, under different names or with wearing masks (literally or metaphorical) - I think they learned in life that doing so usually works in their favor but it also at times limits their creativity and I feel like it created some (still unresolved) issues regarding self image and success. Maybe they’re suffering from imposter syndrome; always questioning who they really are ‘Am I who my audience thinks I am? What if I want to grow into something more/different?’ - is this creative ego fear? idk but in this aspect they seem like a ‘suffering artist’ - i think this shows itself more strongly in stressful times; then, they might also become more competitive. Not only are they good at creating new things and actualizing them, it also helps them to balance and calm themselves down in those times.

Their energy is very focused and sovereign. They also have natural leadership qualities but it manifests differently than in pile one’s s/o; it is more indirect and less straightforward and less pushy because pile two understands other people and their feelings and motivation better and they can use this to lead the people in the direction they want. I think they have always easily drawn other people’s attention but they might have been more shy in their childhood and only learned over time to just accept the spotlight - and to use it efficiently. As a child they might have been the type to ‘let life happen to them’, living their life very passively - maybe they had people around them that were very dominant/authoritative/manipulative/moody and your s/o just learned to observe and analyze, to adjust themselves and to be obedient. Maybe they weren’t even interested in taking on responsibilities or even to take control of their own life - I have a feeling that they were pushed into a position early on in their life that they really didn’t like. Only over time they gathered their courage, gained their confidence and took on their rightful place. On a side note, their older self might have a tendency to become slightly arrogant - they should avoid this.

They are an investor type of person, patient, methodical and systematic, not afraid to move slowly. They understand the importance of nurturing and cultivating the people and things they care about. A balance between masculine and feminine, active and passive, assertive and receptive. Taking their time when it comes to their body, health and their physical appearance. For them it’s a good investment to treat their physical body well. Persistent and disciplined, but also patient with themselves. They would never push themselves too hard at training or dieting or whatever. They prefer wearing clothes of high quality (talking about good investments again lol) rather than following some fashion trends. Not only are they good at patiently saving up for quality items they also tend to keep their investment pieces for a very long time. Timeless and practical in style.

Even emotionally they are patient and persistent. Not the type to rush anything. Keen observer who likes gathering information before making decisions. As a friend they are very generous and selfless - maybe even the type of person who likes to provide and help all of their friends (they don’t expect really anything in return but pls show at least your appreciation - they will maybe turn a blind eye to it a few times but if the disrespect keeps on repeating itself (you exploiting them and being rude) I can assure you it won’t end well for you lmao - don’t force them to be mean to you!). In romantic involvements with this person, don’t expect this person to commit quickly - even with people and relationships they take their time to analyze, observe and nurture. Slow burn. They are actually quite good at nurturing others (like they are good at self care) and they can be very passionate. Always thinking long term. A visionary at times. They are the type of person who makes you feel like it’s ok to slow down  and take your time. They are not quitters but they know how to rest and when to let go of what they can’t control. 

I think the picture really fits them well (regardless of gender); them in a white simple but pretty dress tending towards their plants with care while standing in this calm and pretty environment which they alone created - like in a safe peaceful bubble. A creator and nurturer. 

-> Possible energies in their chart : They definitely have strong earth energy in some form in their chart mixed with a little fire and water. Specifically, they could have in their chart: Virgo, Taurus, Leo, strong Saturn and Mercury energy, strong Pluto/8th house, 

-> Timeless messages for you from them :

We are healing and learning with all of this.

I am jealous just imagining you being with someone else.

I have always loved you… I’m sorry for realizing it so late.

This is too much for me right now…

I am not ready (yet).

You’re the best thing that ever happened to me.

You, my dear pile two, have or will definitely have something romantically going on there hehe… The order of these messages seem a little messed up but that’s how I received them. I felt ‘yearning energy’ from them but it felt a little hesitant and a bit uncontrolled - like they feel a lot for you but also want to take this slow and not rush this because they respect you and value you really a lot!

Thank you for reading, I would be very happy for some feedback. <3 Wishing you good luck on your journey, pile two!!

pile three

Hello! Dear pile three, your s/o surely is a person with a unique personality or they are quite unique or special to you/in your perception. One of the first things that I got about them is that they are a systems thinker, always figuring out how to get everything working together effectively. I can tell that they love well-built structures and nothing makes them happier than when everything is running smoothly and everyone is doing their part. By contrast, nothing annoys them more than when systems are poorly designed or built. You know they are the type of person that thinks that one never changes things by fighting the existing reality; to change something, you have to build a new model that makes the existing one obsolete. Once they  understand the impact of a given action, they will never be able to ignore that problem until they have done their part to fix it. 

They just excel at figuring things out and optimizing them. In fact, they have literally no tolerance in efficient things lmao. To be honest, it feels like it takes a bit of work to get them to work together. I think they have a slow internal processor (also very micro focused) - does that make sense? - either way that doesn't mean they’re stupid - in fact they are quite intelligent and have a sharp mind! Also, their sense of responsibility is quite strong. They’re always doing something and are quite stubborn/rigid in their ways - not very flexible. They are list makers and are all about the process. When things do not go as planned they can be very moody. In fact, the slightest interruption to a plan is enough to ruin their entire day (lmao I feel this). They are very detail oriented, for them specifics equal sincerity. They just have extremely high standards (often perfection) especially for themselves but also for other people). Even though they just want to improve the things around them, it might often seem to others that they are just overly critical - like nothing is good enough for them. I honestly feel like they do not get along well with others easily. They surely are incredibly loyal and also self denying. If you’re someone important to them they would do anything for you and I can assure it will be done well! While it often doesn’t seem that way from an outsider perspective, they do tend to put everyone else's needs ahead of their own and if they're not careful they will become resentful of this because they feel the burden to do it. At times this is a very justified feeling, at others it is a self-inflicted choice to take on the tasks. They are very practical and logical. Their thought process is analytical and systematic. This means that they have a specific way in which they feel things should be done. If it does not go as planned or if it does not go in this way, they feel it is "wrong" and this irritates them which in my opinion is comprehensible if you understand how their mind works. Flexibility is not in the inherent skill set for them. If they find a method, they stick to it. 

It is important to notice that their intention is truly to help other people; however, more often than not, it feels like criticism to those people but this is just because it is hard for others to understand your s/o. I truly think they are not good at expressing themselves. They might have suffered from this - like being misunderstood, people finding their presence ‘annoying’ - too strong, too negative - and therefore they might have always been excluded or rejected by their peer groups. Of course this might have played out differently for each of your s/o’s my pile three people. When people suffer from such intense need for perfection, they usually have grown up in an environment where their parental figures (or just the people around them) made them feel like ‘this level of perfection’ is the norm - and if they don’t reach this level they are ‘complete failures or just useless’. They might have been emotionally pressured from early on, probably not having experienced much ‘healthy’ love - I say this because if they have done well, they might have received some kind of superficial/fake ‘love’ but only for those moments until they would have ‘failed the expectations’ again. This screams toxic emotionally/mentally unstable or distant parents. I don’t want to go any deeper into their childhood, right? But there is a reason why people are the way they are. Your person probably has never been ‘seen’ the way they truly are, never been understood - they just lived for someone else, constantly working hard, bearing the pressure, just to help someone else, to reach those imposed expectations, just to receive love and maybe even an approval for their existence. They always feel so much weight on their shoulders. So, to give you some tips, try not to take offense when they are serious and hyper focused. And, know that it is important to them that you appreciate their contributions. They value logic and need everything to make sense, so be sure you explain your point thoroughly. And finally, if you seem unstructured, or “willy nilly” to them this will create anxiety and possibly even a lack of trust! So, be careful with this. Show them respect by respecting their need for quality, logic, and structure. This person is probably wise beyond their years. This might surprise you at first. Behind their normal facade, they may have a lot of wisdom to share.

For physical characteristics, your s/o probably doesn’t put too much weight on fashion or anything they wear. They may have a very wise worldview on fashion and style. For example, they may choose what to wear in an almost philosophical way, but at the same time, they don’t take fashion too seriously lol. They might be the type to care about how the garments they wear were sourced or produced. They are someone who is practical in the way they dress, prioritizing ease of movement. They may enjoy wearing athleisure, light fabrics. I feel like their preferred look might be very active and athletic. They might enjoy spending time outdoors and/or hiking. Overall, they give me the vibes that they are very at peace with their physical appearance and that they’re very self-accepting and easygoing. If they do not appear that way at the time you get to know them, then it might have to do with their past/childhood which I assume was not really the best - so to say ‘unresolved childhood issues/trauma’. Even though they might have had some self harm inflicting habits or tendencies in their childhood, I feel like with age they learned the importance of a healthy body (but it feels like it’s more so because of efficiency than self love/self worth but oh well), so they learned how to treat their body better - this might even have turned to some health-obsession where they’re like super strict with their daily schedule, their diet etc. It truly depends on where on the journey your s/o is. (I still do think that they have some not healthy habits - I would even go as far and say coping mechanisms where they might punish themselves in some form when they feel like a ‘failure’ - which they obviously aren’t but they just have a rather questionable perception of themselves at times.)

Emotionally, they might be someone who carries their life lessons with them wherever they go. Even when young, this person might carry life lessons from previous past lives with them (if you believe in this). Even though their past might seem a little extreme, I don’t think they are living in the past or are stuck in the past - the past experiences don’t embitter this person (I don’t think that they blame anyone from their past - they rather would blame themselves), their experiences just make them more cautious and intentional. At some point in their life, they could have some spiritual awakening in some form. Your s/o’s raison d’être (other than improving things around them) may also be to seek out truths. They either hold a large amount of responsibility in their life or their job/profession, or they just take it very seriously. Honestly, your s/o’s presence might often not be very pleasant to other people but in my opinion with the wisdom your s/o’s shares and the way they life their life it forces people to see the uncomfortable truth and to learn, to move on and to grow  - and we all know this is most often not a nice experience which might trigger consciously or unconsciously those people hence their negative attitude/reaction towards your s/o. If you ever struggle with something, I can tell you that your s/o can probably give the best advice, helping you change your perspective - it might be some hurtful truth but it is meant well on their end.

As I said before, they usually have good intentions and they have a selfless side to them. They are very generous - to themselves and others (but because of their past experience it might have been very hard to be generous to themselves for a longer period of time).  Even if they are not wealthy, this person may be generous with their time and energy. They could be a good listener or a good friend to you. They might have a more passive, receptive energy. (We all have a little bit of both energies expressed in a balanced way, regardless of which gender we identify as.) They might be the type to share their food, to donate their clothes, and they’re really never secretive with advice. I think they are also very socially aware. They are very generally ‘open’ with others; they might not appear like an open book but if you ask them something they would always answer honestly, but they also know when they should not overstep. They’re the type that enjoys the finer things in life, but they would never flaunt what they have. In this aspect, they are all about balance and surely value quality over quantity. 

They seem quite emotionally sensitive (in terms of sensing subtle things like other people’s intentions/moods) but also intimate, and laidback. They enjoy making the people that are important to them feel comfortable and at home. Again, they are generous with their money as well as their time. Whenever they can give to others, they probably will, and if not, they probably have a good reason for that. They always want to fulfill their end of the bargain. This is a friend that you surely want to keep around. Honestly, if you get to know them more, you would feel inspired by their generosity. They give from the kindness of their heart, not because they ask for anything in return. They are sincere. All they want is for you to pay it forward. If this doesn’t sound like your person at all, it could be because your person enjoys performing their acts of kindness in secret. They’re not doing it for show. They are the type of person who gives anonymously. 

Another thing is that they might enjoy traveling (more so slowly and consciously - they are rarely in a hurry). Traveling for this person is a healing experience. They focus on the journey rather than the destination. They are someone who is in the process of healing - like their whole life seems like a healing journey (from the childhood they experienced). I don’t think they are the type to dwell in the suffering tho. This person is all about moving on, healing, and entering calmer waters. This is a future-oriented person. Although they’ve gone through their fair share of challenges, they still choose to remain optimistic about what is yet to come.  They might also prefer to keep a smaller circle of trusted friends and family members (it is partly also because of the reasons we mentioned above - the struggle with being understood etc.) But they are very reliable, and you can also count on them to get whatever job done. This person is also very private, even when for example their job requires them to be in the public eye.

They are the type to make you feel just as calm and mellow as they are. If you’re romantically involved with this person, even though I mention quite a bit of their flaws and struggles, this person will move on from their past and heal, they are perfectly capable of healing - and I would even go so far and say they are destined to heal in this life they’re living. So, you don’t need to worry so much. They would not let a relationship with a person they care about become toxic or harmful. They learned that much and they would never wish this upon another person - especially upon the person they love, okay? I just felt like I had to make this clear. But going back to the ‘traveling’ part; they may even live in a different city/country from you. I don’t know what you scripted but I feel like you might communicate with each other at first from a distance (if your DR is in a modern setting, it might be over phones; if it’s in a traditional/fantasy setting, it might be through letters - I even had the imagery of small note sent by some bird idk a falcon or sth). They will be pretty easy to get along with in a long distance relationship because they enjoy having some time and space for themselves and they also truly commit when they decide on it. They have a calming and healing presence about them; but I feel like it shows more when they are with people they're close with and where they can feel at ease.

You remember how I said in the beginning that your s/o is someone unique, they truly are. Most people might not see how special and I would even say how precious they are. They might have started their life as a rough diamond not knowing their own worth but the more they live the more their worth comes to surface and the people that treated them bad in the past will come to regret their actions and behavior at some point. I feel like you will see their worth and their preciousness, you acknowledge their uniqueness and I think this beautiful (let me cry in a corner for a moment.) 

-> Possible energies in their chart : They definitely have strong air energy in some form in their chart mixed with a little earth and water. Specifically, they could have in their chart: Aquarius, Taurus/Libra, Pisces, Capricorn, Virgo,  strong Venus, Moon, Mercury and/or Saturn energy.

-> Timeless messages for you from them :

Don’t wait for me. I want you to be happy. And I don’t know how long it will take for me to be ready.

It just scares me to feel so much…

I’m feeling the consequences of my actions.

I’m sure I’m dreaming about you but I can’t seem to remember.

Things moved too fast and I didn’t know how to trust my feelings for you.

Please forgive me, I messed up.

I’m taking this seriously.

The order of these messages seem a little messed up but that’s how I received them. Based on their energy it seemed like they’re feeling apologetic towards you and are being quite hard on themselves because of what happened/will happen. Regarding the first message, they don’t want you to actively wait because it also puts pressure on them as well. They want you to make yourself happy NOW - even if it is just about putting on your favorite music and freely dancing to it. Being in that energy will help you find the right answer. Because they also want you to find out what you truly want without any pressure. They want to help you be your authentic self. The advice that I got was: Don’t wait for it, start now and make yourself happy. Miracles happen and sometimes life takes unexpected and wonderful turns. Be open and curious about what life has in store for you but do not actively wait for it to happen. I hope this advice makes sense and helps you somehow.

Thank you for letting me read your dr s/o’s energy. I only wish you both truly the best!  If you could spare some time and give a me little feedback, I would be very grateful. <3

#pac #pac reading #shifting #shiftblr #shifting realities #my tarot readings #f/o imagines #love reading #tarot reading #pick a picture #reality shifting

[shakingparadigm]

What if Luka expects Hyuna to come like she did in his round with Mizi and he is plotting something.He has the trust of aliens,the love of the public and no one would suspect him to do something outside the box,far from the image he created of himself.Hyuna made her appearence in round 5 when we didn't expected it. If the round isn't entirely dedicated to Ivan and Till,this may be an option.He may confront Mizi and Hyuna,they may not be able to rescue Ivan and Till and not make it in time. Luka may not appear at all.

(Me overthinking things: OMG Akugetsu will cover Hyuna's song this must mean something | The other me: OMG I can't wait,this song literally suits him!)

(I like the style of your drawings,the way you use colors and the way you phrase things! When something about ALNST comes out I just wait for your updates! I can't imagine what will happen on tumblr when round 6 is out. And then all of us will wait for the next one over again XD)

Till the end.

TILL... the end...

Ok this is the worst joke I could ever make.

Oohh. Luka appearing in ROUND 6 would honestly be insane. I thought about him making an appearance in the short teaser scene before credits, but if he actually confronted anyone himself that would be so interesting. Imagine all 6 of them in the same episode... the same room... no way... the Alien Stage would be real...

Luka attempting to sabotage Mizi and Hyuna is such an intriguing concept. I do think he's figured out that Hyuna will be returning, he grew up with her, after all. He's most likely aware of her penchant for protecting people. He probably expects Mizi to come back for the only friends she has left, too. He couldn't do anything the first time he saw Hyuna after ROUND 5, but he might be more eager to get his hands on her now. If we get our first adult Hyuna and Luka interaction during ROUND 6 I'd actually go insane. as much as I hope for it though, I'm not sure whether or not it will actually happen. ROUND 6 already has a lot going for it. A final confession of love already makes for a heavy episode, but with Till's newly revealed backstory added to the mix? Mizi and Hyuna's attempt at a jailbreak? The whole video would probably need an entire week to be processed and even comprehended, especially if they want to go into extensive detail on each aspect. Still, though, if Luka interfered... if Mizi and Hyuna were unable to save anyone and had to defeatedly return to the rebellion base carrying the weight of their failure, well, I DON'T THINK I'D BE REACHABLE FOR AT LEAST 10 BUSINESS DAYS I'd have to go into hiding in order to cope with that. But who knows! The fun part about VIVINOS videos is that they're always gonna leave you fucked up in one way or another!

AKUGETSU COVERING ALL-IN. TILL COVERING HYUNA'S SONG. I've posted so many times about this day holy shit its finally real. It really does suit him! Do you think AKUGETSU is

1) hinting that Till is joining the rebellion

or

2) giving us the All-In cover as compensation for whatever bad thing is going to happen to Till

(or a secret third thing: he literally just did it for fun and we've just gone insane.)

Ahh thank you so much for enjoying my stuff! I'm so happy, everyone's been really nice to me as of late and I don't know what to doooo hahaha I'm just really glad to share everyone's excitement for ALIEN STAGE :)

You wait for my updates??!! oh no I'm so sorry 😭 I'm quite late at times because I've had some stuff going on (I've barely said anything about the April Fools actor au 😭) but hopefully I'll be free to go absolutely nuts after the release of ROUND 6 tomorrow!! If you're ever in need of someone to scream about ROUND 6 with my inbox is always open!! Thank you for your kind words!!

Can't wait till I get to hear from you again! :)

#alnst #alien stage #alien stage round 6 #asks

[doumadono]

TUMBLR SHADOWBAN

So, on the 30th of September, Tumblr hit me with the infamous shadowban out of the blue. They took a whopping 10 days to even respond to my initial email notifying them of the issue.

Their response was a real head-scratcher. Apparently, my account and one of my works had been reported multiple times in a ridiculously short span. As a result, they slapped my account with the ban and threw it into the "check and investigation for potential malicious activity" pit. My account got tagged as a potential harassment, hate speech source, and even suspected terrorism (seriously, what the heck?) Who knew I could be so potentially malicious, right? 😅

But here's the kicker – the most surprising twist in this tale came in the form of an e-mail I received yesterday, after the ban had been lifted. Tumblr had provided me with the identity of the individual responsible for this reporting spree. Drumroll, please... It was someone I was super close to, like 2 years ago. Well, I'm shocked but not surprised as I parted my ways with them in rather negative atmosphere. But man, seriously? Then, Tumblr did their Sherlock Holmes act, sifted through my account, and concluded that everything reported was a big ol' nothing-burger.

Now, here I am, still with a weird taste in my mouth over the whole ordeal. It's the first time something like this happened to me, and I've been around since 2016. So, a dear friend suggested I should have a backup account, and where else to start but the good ol' @thepaperpanda, where my writing journey first began. If you'd like to stay in touch or just show some love, consider giving that blog a follow - in case the shadowban monster rears its ugly head again, we'll find a way to stay connected.

And hey, this is the perfect moment to give a shoutout to those who've been my rock during this dark time. @crystalwolfblog - in my hour of need, she was the lucky first to field my frantic call regarding my account's unfortunate banishment. With unflinching dedication, she clung to the phone for hours on end, soothing my agitated nerves and embarking on a valiant quest to rescue my beleaguered digital presence ♥ @mrskokushibo - the second pillar of strength in my life, always ready to provide unwavering support and clever solutions to any problem. Her guidance proved invaluable, and I'm deeply appreciative of her enduring patience during those challenging days! ♥ @sanriokamabodo - her generous support and heartfelt words were like a soothing balm for my soul in the midst of this challenging period, and I can't help but feel privileged to have her as my friend ♥ @greenwitchsalem - oh boy, what can I say? His words have a way of working their magic on me, like a soothing balm to my soul. I find myself inexpressibly grateful for his presence during this challenging period, as well as for the abundant warmth, encouragement, and unwavering support he offers ♥ @serenesaku & @muzansfangs - I must say, your overwhelming support and warm welcome upon my return after the shadowban are truly appreciated! ♥ I'd like to extend a shout-out to all the incredible folks who reached out to me, even if you didn't make it into the list above. Just so you know, each and every one of you holds a cherished spot in my heart. The overwhelming wave of support I received, even during my temporary absence from this site, left me utterly speechless. I mean, we're talking a whopping 14+ messages in the DMs just yesterday! You all are simply amazing.

#tumblr shadowban #what happened to me #might delete later

[angiecatz]

Ja, Christmas Spirit Part: 1

König x F!Reader

A/N: Christmas came early, I know I said Dec.1st But I just couldn't resist!

Summary: “You, A young author, were gifted an enchanted pen that allowed you to unknowingly bring characters into your world. And you just so happened to be writing fanfiction with that pen. So, you are thrown into a cliche Hallmark movie timeline with your biggest fictional crush, König and the only way to send him home is to find your “Christmas spirit.” But can you bear to see him go?”

WC: 5.8k

The cold was the perfect time to write. You could be bundled up, have tea, AND be productive? What was not to love! No one could nag in your ear about going outside and getting sunlight. There wasn't much sunlight to get.

It was a big upgrade from the heat of summer that made you feel sweaty and tired. Those were the times when no writing got done. You mostly just slept through all of Summer.

For those reasons, you loved winter. Along with the fact that Starbucks was selling peppermint mocha again. To hell with everyone who said it tasted like toothpaste.

Maybe part of you felt sad that you were sitting alone in your room three days from Christmas. The only thing to look forward to is also the thing you dread. Writer's block had hit like a bitch this fall.

Now, you finally had some inspiration. You didn't even have to set your phone on mute nobody ever called anyway. You just turned on your favorite playlist and sat down at your desk.

The plan was to spend the evening writing about your fictional little worlds and AU’s.

You had everything set up, your papers, laptop, and tea. You already had a loose idea of what you would be writing. You had scrolled through Pinterest, and even made a board or two for the aesthetic.

First, you would start with the planning phase of writing in your trusty journal.

You opened your desk drawer and pulled out a small decorative box. Inside, laid on a golden silk plush pillow was the fanciest pen you had ever seen in your life. Even though it's already at the very least your fourth time seeing it, it still blew your mind.

With white and gold, it looked like something Marie Antoinette would have LOVED if she had been around for it. Straight out of Versaille. It must have cost a fortune, your best friend had bought it for you as an early Christmas present.

You hadn't used it when you got it. You wanted to wait for the perfect moment and this was it. You carefully closed the box and placed it to the side. Next, you placed the tip of the pen on the paper.

The ink flowed onto the paper like a gentle stream, letter by swoopy letter you wrote out the name König.

Yes, the perfect moment for the perfect pen was a fanfiction moment. You had to keep your dedicated readers fed after all. An x-reader of course. The little people scurrying around on Tumblr and Ao3 loved x-readers. They especially loved the tall man who wore a shirt as a mask and went around shooting and breaking backs.

You’d be lying if you didn't feel like barking every time you saw him. But that was your little secret, one only the anonymous people of the internet were allowed to know.

The writing came easy, and for once you didn't want to pull your hair out. ‘It’s all in the pen,’ you thought. It must be. This was too easy. The pen glided across the paper like a knife on warm butter.

You lost track of time and quickly filled out three whole pages of ideas. When you looked up, the sun had gone down and you could see the street lights on through your bedroom window.

How time flies when you're having fun. It took a great effort on your part to place the pen back into its box and close the notebook.

Even as you crawled into the warmth of your bed and closed your eyes all you could think about was a certain 6 '10 monster of a man.

You woke up uneasy. A deep gut feeling that you got even before you opened your eyes. A prey-like feeling, It felt like someone was watching you.

You knew you should open your eyes, but it was just so much easier to keep them closed. You even reached out to pull your blanket closer to your body. Maybe if you ignored it, it would go away. Yeah, that was a wonderful idea, You fought the urge to just pull the blanket over your head and hide. It was probably nothing. You would have heard if someone broke in anyway.

But no matter how long you waited, whatever ‘it’ was didn't seem intent on leaving. You waited in vain for a few more seconds.

Then you got the most wonderful thought, ‘Hey! I am a grown-ass woman. I ain't scared of no ghosts!’ So you snapped your eyes open fully expecting to see nothing but your room.

Instead, your eyes met the weird tactical pants of someone who is very much not see-through. Your eyes climbed the form in horror.

Up, up, up, and even more up, up, up, Until you reach the cold blue eyes, the only thing you could really make out against the dark backdrop of your room.

That is very much not a ghost. In your ‘I'm a grown woman’ thought you failed to realize that grown women have grown problems. And sometimes those problems are intruders here to rob and kill you… Or worse.

You would have loved to say you let out a good blood-curdling scream, but what came out of your mouth was more akin to the high-pitched squeak of a startled rabbit.

You scrambled out of bed as fast as you could, which proved to be not very fast according to the giant weighted blanket you insisted on sleeping with.

It ended up being you having to roll out of bed and then rolling too far onto the floor with a blanket tangled up in your legs.

The man just gave an amused high-pitched chuckle. Great now not only is he going to murder YOU, but he's also going to laugh and make you feel embarrassed while doing it.

He kneeled onto your bed to peer over the other edge to look at you, who was currently stuck in something that looked vaguely like the family guy death pose.

“Are you alright?” He asked in an accented voice.

Aw, how sweet, the burglar cares if you're alright! Perhaps if this was one of your stories you would think that gesture is sweet and kind of hot, but this is real life. And that question rang disturbingly.

After a few seconds, you had finally gotten yourself together and were able to stand up. Although maybe you shouldn't have, because the quickness of your movements sent a bunch of blood from your brain to your feet and caused you to stumble a bit and feel lightheaded.

Great. You are one hundred percent ready to fight off the strange man. Top physical and mental fitness! No chance you would lose! The man before you came into view as your eyes finally focused and blinked away the sleep.

Your first thought was ‘GODDAMN!’ His stature and build were very impressive and horrifying. Your second thought was, ‘What a strange mask’. Black with eye holes cut out and bleached tear streaks. It looked vaguely familiar. Scratch that it looked really familiar.

The man tilted his head to the side like a curious puppy, “Did you hit your head?”

You thought you must have, long before you woke up this morning. Might have even been when you were a baby and the hallucinations were just setting in today. There was no way in hell this mountain of a man before you was the König.

The one from a video game. He wasn't even a main character. You are not a woman of science but you are one hundred percent sure video game characters do not randomly come to life. There's no possible explanation in the entirety of the universe that would make this make sense.

But even the accent was to a tea, and you were pretty sure sniper hoods were not a common choice for burglars.

Unless this was some weird stalker that knew of your ‘obsession’. Again, flattering in fanfiction but terrifying in real life.

“What?” You managed to stutter the words out somehow.

“Maybe you really did.”

You felt the need to defend yourself, “I did not!”

“How the hell are you? How did you get into my house?!” You quickly added on. This was strange, your eyes darted around in hopes of finding something to defend yourself with. Water bottle, walmart heater, pillows. Yup, you were thoroughly unprepared to defend yourself.

“You already know who I am.” He slowly climbed back off of your mattress and returned to his full stature.

“No.”

There was that stupid fucking head tilt again, “No?”

“You’re just some crazy dude! I'm calling the cops!” As soon as the words left your mouth you realized that maybe angering him was not the best idea. He was back on the bed in a flash, his large arm stretched and his hands grabbed hold of your outstretched arm.

“What the fu-”

It only took him one hand to yank you onto the bed and soon you were on your back with him on top of you, using his body weight and hands to keep you pinned to your own mattress.

“Do not play dumb with me little lamn, now send me back,” His voice dipped dangerously low as he hissed the words out.

You struggled against his hold. You tried to rip your hands away, and buck your hips up in hopes of throwing him off, but none of it worked. It just made him press your wrists further into the mattress.

“What the hell do you mean send you back?! I don't even know who you are!” You bit back.

“Liar! I have seen your journals, I have seen that cursed pen!”

His hold wasn't letting up. This man was truly crazy with his nonsensical accusations.

“I really don't know! Let me go!”

He actually listened to you and let one of your arms go. You thought he had maybe come to his senses and was going to let you go. But no, he reached into his own pocket and pulled out a grumbled paper. His other hand stayed firmly over your wrist.

He managed to unscramble it himself and shove it in your face. Your eyes had to adjust a moment to make sense of it.

“A writer’s heart, pure and kind, Is the secret to unlocking the mind, For 'tis true what the tales say: That the path to our worlds lies this way.

Only once we find our inner hope, And unlock the secrets of the world at our scope, Shall the world be a brighter sight, For the spirit of love and joy must ignite!

Seek within, find your true self, And unlock the spirit upon your shelf, Then him, your spirit can save,”

It was in your handwriting, with the delicate nature of the pen. This was yours. Torn from a page of your own journal. The thing was though, you had no memory of ever writing such an absurd poem. You don't write poems. They were the one thing that ruined your high school English grade.

And you certainly wouldn't write such a pretentious one that sounded like it came from a Hallmark movie. You happened to have a strong dislike of the channel.

“What the actual fuck is going on?!” You demanded, and you snatched the paper from him with your free hand. You had long since given up trying to get out from under him.

“That is what I would like to know. One moment I was on the field and next I was in a white room and now here.”

“Then go back to the field I don't care! Just get out!”

“I CAN’T!” He yelled back. He was off you like a shot, you stayed frozen on your bed as he thundered over to your bedroom door. He was finally leaving, you thought. He yanked your door open so hard he almost ripped it completely off its hinges.

The noise of it slamming into the wall made you flinch. You sat up in your bed and watched him, too scared to try and escape.

His hand reached out, albeit a little shaky and unstable. His fingers had just barely grazed the threshold before he had yanked them back and a loud ZAP rang out through the room. It sounded like he had just run straight into a human-sized bug zapper.

“I can’t leave. I've tried everything.” He muttered as he clutched his hand.

Now that he mentioned it your room was in disarray. Your window was propped open and multiple books were scattered across the floor.

Things had just gone from murderer-level scary to supernatural-level scary. A category that was very very hard to wrap your head around.

A strange man, who just so happened to be a dead ringer for your favorite video game character, a strange letter, and now an unleaveable room?

You had to see this for yourself. You got yourself up and neared your door. You kept extra care to stay as far away from ‘König’(you might as well accept it by now). You didn't want to get zapped. That shit looked like it hurt.

But if you got zapped then maybe you weren't having some weird mental breakdown and König wasn't just some dude and the actual König.

Like ripping a bandaid off.

You braced yourself and you pushed your fingers through the threshold of the door, squeezed your eyes shut, and…..

… …. …..

Nothing. No zap. No excruciating pain. Nothing. Zip. Nada.

You were perfectly fine. You even waved your hand around a bit. König bristled up at this and stuck his own hand in the door beside yours. No zap. He too also waved his hand around a bit.

Wonderful. He had tricked you. He wasn't König and that stupid poem must have just been something you wrote after a really long night. This dude was an excellent actor. Could it be this is some crazy culty acting school assignment? You really need to stop coming up with such outlandish theories.

You pulled back your hand and jumped back in case he tried to grab you again.

As soon as your hand was back in the room there was a zap and König yelled out in pain. He jumped back like a hissing cat.

“What is this?!” He demanded.

“How the hell should I know?!” You responded.

In the distance, bells rang. With a soft jingle jingle that came through the open window. You looked back at König, and behind him, you could see tiny little snowflakes starting to fall.

That was strange. You rarely ever get snow. Not once in your life had you ever gotten a white Christmas. Must be global warming…

Enough of these games you thought, “Get out of my house.”

“Did you not just see? Don't you think I've tried?!” He gestured widely to your bedroom door.

“I walked out the door just fine!” To prove your point you backstepped till you were past the threshold of your room and in your hallway.

There was no zapping, not that you expected it this time. You were perfectly fine. You walked out the door just fine. So maybe trying to negotiate with some intruder you should make a run for it. So that's just what you do.

If he isn't faking the zaps then he can't run after you, and if he is? Well, you just hope your sudden sprint caught him by surprise and gave you enough time to reach your front door.

You had neighbors, nosey ones at that. If you ran out all crazy they would surely call the cops. Wouldn't be the first time they called the cops on you, this time it would be for a good reason.

You got all the way past the bathroom when you heard thundering footsteps behind you.

Shit.Shit.Shit!

Hearing someone much bigger than yourself run after you is another type of fear. You could hear him getting closer and closer with each step. He was much quicker than you, that much was obvious.

You had just barely graced the edge of the hallway when a strong, large, pair of arms wrapped around your midsection.

You shrieked as anyone would, You tried to thrash around in his arms but the tight hold he had on you only allowed you to wiggle a bit without feeling like a too-tightly gripped stress ball. If he used even a miniscule amount more of his strength you were sure you'd pop.

Your lack of ability to struggle allowed him to maneuver you like a rag doll. He flipped you around so his hands held you firmly right below the armpits. Your legs dangle uselessly.

He was shaking, and so were you. You were worried he’d start shaking you and demanding answers you don't even know the question to. That couldn't be good for your brain.

“How and why am I here?” König yelled the question he had already asked multiple times.

“Why would I know?! I just woke up to you standing over me!”

“What was that room then? And the letter?!” The angrier he got the more jumbled his pronunciation got, and his accent was slowly becoming more and more noticeable.

“I DON'T KNOW!” Your voice cracked and your tears threatened to spill.

König finally seemed to take your answer seriously, “You really don't know?”

“I’m just as confused as you are.”Now please put me down you thought.

He understood your silent plea and placed you back on your feet. He nodded and turned his head to the kitchen you both were just mere inches from. Here, he had a direct line to the back patio door.

He stepped into the kitchen with no problem. With a sense of confidence, he quickly stepped to the door, he had finally found an exit. He had gotten past your bedroom, only a few steps more and he’d be free.

As soon as his fist closed on the doorknob, an electrical current was burned through him, from the very tips of his fingers to the ends of his hair. His mouth just dropped open in a completely silent scream.

When he finally was able to pull his hand away from the old-fashioned door knob, he stumbled right onto the floor, twitching and convulsing.

You gasped and ran to his side. He might be some weird Call of Duty-dressed burglar but he was still a person. And if he died in your house aren’t you legally responsible?

Your mind ran through your limited knowledge of first aid. Why couldn't you have taken some classes sooner? Your research for fanfic wasn't nearly enough.

You placed your hands lightly on his back as he shook. You had to do something. You had to figure something out. You were running out of time. He would die. He would die right here on your kitchen floor and the police would come take you away.

Breaking Bad

YES! Yes yes yes that's right! You could remember it so clearly. One of the characters started convulsing so they turned them on their side. That's got to be right. T.V. occasionally gets medical advice right.

Isn't that only so they don't choke on their vomit? This dude doesn't look like he's about to throw up… Still, it's the best idea you've got.

So that's what you do. Inspired by Breaking Bad, you rolled the mammoth of a man onto his side. It took some effort, he’s completely dead weight and you haven't hit the gym in a while.

Eventually, you got it right. You have him propped up with some throw pillows from your couch in what you thought was the proper position.

Next, He needed help. Real help, not help from some random twenty-something woman who writes fanfiction in her free time. Help from a professional.

He balanced and did not immediately plop over when you took your hands off of him, That must be a good sign, right?

Nonetheless, it allowed you to race back to your room, grab your phone, and race back in record time. You kneeled down next to König again and typed in shaky numbers. You missed typing a couple of times and had to restart. Three numbers should be this hard, get it together!

9 1 1

The phone rang and rang. It rang for too long. Aren’t 911 operators supposed to pick up immediately? That's their whole point is it not? To answer in emergencies? He could die at any moment and nobody could be bothered to pick up the phone.

You must just be tripping yourself out, you reasoned. You're too freaked out and so the seconds feel much longer than they actually are. That has to be the reason.

You focused on Königs breathing instead of the ringing in your ear.

The line goes down with a long beep. No answer.

Shit.

So much for emergency services.

Well, that's just great. Now he's really going to die. You must be going crazy at this point. You look at your kitchen window from your spot on the floor. You could see it, the snow piled upon the window sill. Perfect and untouched. Such a strange thing. It had only just started snowing a moment ago.

Slowly bell chimes started to ring outside your house. It sounded like there were Christmas Carolers right outside the door. Maybe they could help?

You felt dizzy. Way too dizzy to be normal. Your phone slipped from your hand and onto your wood flooring. The edge of your vision went blurry.

When you woke again it was to the smell of cinnamon and gingerbread. You hadn't made gingerbread in a long long time.

You were warm and pleasant. Wrapped up in a knit blanket near a fire in your fireplace and some roasted chestnuts.

Strange. You could have sworn you had passed out on the kitchen floor with some dude.

Oh well, that problem could wait for tomorrow. You were way too warm and comfy to even think about getting up. There was some moving next to you, and the couch dipped and creaked.

That made you open your eyes. Right next to you, passed out on your couch is König(you couldn't think of anything else to call him), a blanket wrapped around him.

“What the Fuck….” You whispered.

You could hear Christmas music playing in the background, from your T.V. You don't listen to Christmas music. With much wiggling, you were able to free yourself from the confines of the blanket.

König managed to sleep through it. You were on your feet, thankfully in the same clothes you remember being in. The real problem started when you looked down at your coffee table. There was a platter of Gingerbread on a festive platter right in the middle of it.

You don't own festive decor or gingerbread. Did König do this? How could he have done this when just moments ago he was having a seizure on the ground?

Your question was answered by a blinding white light like a nuclear bomb had just gone off in the middle of your living room.

You shielded your eyes with the crook of your arm. A feminine disembodied voice spoke, “A writer’s heart, pure and kind, Is the secret to unlocking the mind, For 'tis true what the tales say: That the path to our worlds lies this way.

Only once we find our inner hope, And unlock the secrets of the world at our scope, Shall the world be a brighter sight, For the spirit of love and joy must ignite!

Seek within, find your true self, And unlock the spirit upon your shelf, Then him, your spirit can save”

The poem from earlier. The voice was not one you remembered so you asked, “God?” You weren't really expecting an answer but she did.

“No. I am the Christmas spirit.”

No Christmas spirit.The Christmas spirit. You almost laughed. You would have thought it was just some weird prank. But the blinding light was too true.

“You have things to do,” The Christmas spirit said.

“Things?” You asked.

“König must go home, he's not from here,” The spirit continued.

“You can't possibly mean….” You trailed off. There was no possible way König was the König from the video game. You had already gone over this. But a lot of things have started to seem possible lately.

“Only you can send him home, just follow my poem.”

How perfectly vague. Wonderful answer that wasn't even an answer.

“Oh wow, I'm the chosen one and the only one who can save him how original.” You said sarcastically.

“Only you can send him home, just follow my poem.” The voice repeated.

The light filtered out and the dimly light yellow lighting of your living room trickled in in its place. The voice and godly light were gone.

“I wasn't lying,” A male voice said behind you.

You looked over your shoulder. König was awake. Sat on your couch leaned over with his elbows balanced on his knees. He looked up at you with haunted blue eyes. That whole experience proved the limited story he had provided you with.

“The Christmas spirit,” you said.

“Ja, The Christmas spirit,” He agreed.

How absurd. People love to say things like “This only ever happens in movies” but this kind of shit really ONLY happens in movies.

“I would like to go home.”

“I would like you to go home.”

Wonderful then, You were both on the same page. You repeated the poem in your head. You ran over it till you found the first line that could be a clue.

“Only once we find our inner hope, And unlock the secrets of the world at our scope,” You mumbled.

“Hope?” König asked, “Hope for what.”

“Maybe we need to find our Christmas spirit? That's always what the characters in the movies have to do.” You looked around your living room, it wasn't decorated for the holidays at all. You never hosted so there really wasn't a point. The strange cookies and Christmas music was the only thing festive and they were not even yours.

So was that it? You just needed to decorate your house for Christmas? That was going to prove difficult by the fact that the back patio door was a death trap. You had an inkling feeling that the front door would be the same.

“I don't celebrate Christmas….”

“Neither do I,” You responded.

König shifted uncomfortably. Emphasis on uncomfortably, König was very very uncomfortable right now. Turns out it is kind of awkward to be sitting on the couch of some girl he had almost killed a few moments ago.

There was no way out either. Oh, what König would have given to be able to just run out and straight back onto the battlefield.

You, on the other hand, were not that uncomfortable. Just mildly annoyed and amazed that a real-life video game character that you had just been writing fanfiction about last night was sitting on your couch.

“Oh!” You said.

König jostled just slightly at your sudden exclamation.

“We can just look it up!” You don't know why you hadn't thought about it earlier. You had a perfectly working phone. If you ignored the 911 incident.

The results came up in seconds. You clicked on the first link.

How to find your Christmas spirit: 1. Focus on the present: Try not to get caught up in the past or worry about the future. Instead, focus on the present moment and find joy in the simple things around you. 2. Practice appreciation: Find things to be grateful for each day, whether it's a favorite meal, a beautiful sunset, or the time you have with loved ones. Gratitude can help shift your focus away from negative thoughts and feelings. 3. Spread kindness: Do something nice for someone else, whether it's baking some cookies, volunteering at a local charity, or simply offering a kind word. Helping others can bring a sense of joy and fulfillment. 4, Nurture your spiritual side: If you have a spiritual practice, consider incorporating it into your holiday festivities. This can help you find a deeper sense of connection and meaning during the season. 5, Take a break from the hustle and bustle: Sometimes, the busiest and most hectic times around the holiday season can make it hard to find your Christmas spirit. 6. Try to take some time for yourself, whether it's a quiet walk in nature or a hot bath, to reconnect with yourself and your inner peace. 7. Remember that finding your Christmas spirit is a process, and it might take some experimentation and trial and error to find what works best for you. The important thing is to be intentional about your efforts and to allow yourself to enjoy the holidays, even in the midst of their challenges.

Blah. Blah. Blah. A lot of worthless advice. You were honestly expecting to get something like “Bake cookies” and “Decorate your house.” Not a whole bunch of hypothetical feelings and emotions.

“Ok. So we're in the present.”

König nodded. You continued, “We need to not focus on the past then.”

You sat down on your couch, right next to König. You missed how he stiffened up and straightened his back. You gave him your name. Step one is taken.

“....König,” He responded.

“You're in the military, no?” You knew the answer. You had spent a lot of time writing fanfiction about him.

“Mercenary.” Yeah, one-word answers. He didn't seem to be all that interested in talking to you.

“We have to talk if we’re gonna find out Christmas Spirit or Whatever.”

“I still think we should just decorate.” He looked around your living room for areas to start with.

“Well I don't have any decorations, and I can't exactly go outside.” You huffed as you flopped back against the backing of the couch.

At your words, Koning jumped up onto his feet with an idea, “What if you can?”

“What? Yeah no I don't feel like getting shocked.”

“I couldn't leave the bedroom until after you did. Maybe it will be the same.”

Maybe it would. But that was a gamble. Either you can walk through the front door or you die of some strange electrical Christmas shock. But the thing is you don't gamble. You're pretty sure you can find your “Christmas spirit” inside your own house and stay very much alive.

“We don't know if it will be the same,” You sighed.

“We have to try!”

Wow. He seemed to really want out of this house. You frowned when he said ‘we’ he wasn't the one having to walk through an electrical field just to see the sun.

When you didn't respond König continued, “You have to have hope.”

His words were erratic as he made his way to your front door. You watched him but didn't bother getting up to follow him. You watched his wide shoulders hunch as he leaned down to look through your peephole.

“I can see your driveway that is good, Ja?”

“What else would you see?”

He ignored you. He stepped away from the door and stood there. Maybe he was counting the grain of wood, you thought. He stared for a long second. And then another. And another. König finally turned back to you with a confused dear, like he actually expected you to open it.

“I’m not touching that thing.”

König closed his eyes for a good, long moment, “You are right. I can't expect you to put yourself in danger. I should be the one doing the protecting.”

He turned back around and raised his hand for the doorknob. You shot up from your spot on the couch and shouted, “STOP!”

He froze and looked over his shoulder back at you, sniper mask wrinkling in weird places and catching to the shape of his nose.

“Don't do that. We know what happens.” You weren't about to have him convulsing on your floor again. That would be such a hassle, no other reason.

“You're probably right. I'll open it.” You said as you attempted to make your way to the door. You were stopped by Königs arm that flew out to act as a barrier between you and the door.

“I can not allow you to do that. You could get hurt.”

“What the hell?! A moment ago you were basically begging me to do it.”

“I’ve changed my mind.” He lowered his arm, only to place his hand on your shoulder and push you back.

OH hell no! Now you have to do it. For nothing more than spite. Spite was a great motivator. You ducked under his arm and made a reach for the door knob. König was a trained killer. He had the agility and the strength to catch you before your hand even got close to the doorknob. He swapped you up into his arms and held you tightly against his chest.

Like this you could feel his heartbeat against his chest, you could feel every muscle in his contract and twitch as you squirmed in his hold.

“We will find another way. You will not put yourself in danger.”

You stopped squirming in his grasp. You knew you couldn't get out of the grip he had made that glaringly obvious this morning. You could admit defeat.

König placed you back on the ground, and you stared at your shoes all sad and mopey-like.

“Do not be sad. Girls like you shouldn't ever be sad. We will find another way.”

You nodded and pointedly ignored the ‘girls like you part.’ He seemed to take your response as the truth and your agreement and moved away from the door. That's when you made your second dive and succeeded.

“Scheiße!”

Your finger wrapped around the door knob and your eyes squeezed shut as you thrust your body against it. It flew open with your weight and sent you flying right into the snow. It was all silent as the snow started to work its way through your pajamas.

The snow crunched behind you as König stepped out of the house.

“That was very stupid.” He kneeled down next to you.

You gave him a half-hearted thumbs up, “It worked though.”

“That it did.”

You could hear the birds and some cars as they zipped by. It seemed the rest of the world was normal and you were the only one who had a video game character randomly show up in their bedroom. Lucky you.

Taglist: @bubbleseven @homicidalsquirrels

#konig x reader #cod x reader #cod x y/n #cod x you #konig x you #konig x y/n #konig mw2 #könig x reader #könig x you

[youngsuitedboi]

Schoolboy´s big day - Part 2

It was time to go back home. Boy changed back into his long black trousers, put his jacket on and decided against taking a bus home. No, this cheeky little boy secretly must have enjoyed this as he decided to walk home. It took about 20 minutes and boy passed so many people on the pavements, so many cars and busses full of people passed him. Cars were giving boy way on the crossings so people definitely noticed him. Boy lives in a country where there have never been school uniforms so people might not connect two and two together, but seeing someone boy´s age (boy is 25 but can look like 16 on a good day) in a matching blazer and tie-they must have been asking some questions. Boy saw their looks, but he stopped caring. It is true, we are often just scared of something we never tied before and once we give it a try, it is not that bad. Would boy wear his shorts and knee-high socks on the streets? Probably not, he is not there yet. But maybe in a different city or country? 

Bboy arrived home. More tasks were awaiting him. Firstly, boy was to listen to Master´s files for 30 minutes. Those were hypno files and boy completely does off. Boy does not know what they were about but supposedly, that is good with hypno? Boy does not know, he is new to it. 

Another task, this time boy was to strip naked. So he did. He neatly folded his uniform and put it on his wooden chair. Boy owns a proper comfy chair, yes, but when boy is in his uniform, he cannot use it. He is only allowed to use a wooden chair while maintaining proper posture and his feet are at a 90-degree angle. This is a real fantasy come true. What would boy say 5 years ago when he was reading Tumblr stories about this (especially one called “Life with Sir” by traditionaltutor) Now, boy is living this. 

Boy then put his chain collar with a large padlock on and had to spank himself 10 times with his paddle. Boy knows his Sir enjoys it when boy paddles himself properly and harshly so boy was really using force today. This was the heavies spanking boy gave himself to the date. But boy felt satisfied, he knew Sir would enjoy the footage from the camera He installed in the boy´s room. After the spanking, boy had to listen to 3 chastity files his Sir recorded. Every file had to be played twice. In total, boy spent approximately 30 minutes standing, facing his wardrobe, naked only wearing his hood which had him blindfolded. 

Anal training was another task. Boy only started to stretch about 2 weeks ago but can now proudly easily take an average-sized dildo. Good progress. It was needed as then this boy was instructed to put his vibrating Hush plug up his ass. While still naked and hooded, he was now forbidden to use any furniture for an hour. The but plug was turned on for an hour of random vibrations and boy spent an hour, listening to Sir´s files while on the floor, not being able to do anything else as he could not see anything. 

It felt strange. Boy was not doing anything for an hour but it felt like boy was busy. Boy was serving, fulfilling a task from a Superior man and so for this boy, he felt he had a purpose. Funny how not being used, and not being able to do anything can be so hot. 

That hour passed very quickly actually. Time flies when you are having fun. When the task was finished, boy removed the plus and got dressed in his uniform again. Finally. Boy hates every moment when he cannot wear it. Boy feels sad when home alone and not wearing his uniform. But now he was back in it and boy felt safe, boy felt free. Funny, as he was very owned and so far, he spent the whole day fulfilling tasks that someone else gave him. Boy´s free time was dedicated to service and pleasure of someone else. 

But it was time for boy to get his reward, too! It is important to keep this boy horny so the last task of the day was to edge. Boy had no permission to unlock. All he could do was to use the vibrating wand on his cage. While being hooded and still in his uniform, listening to Sir´s voice once again. Boy is not allowed to edge, stroke or cum if not wearing his uniform or a suit. Doing such activity in casual clothing or naked is forbidden. It is not a strict rule but boy knows it feels 100 times better to edge, stroke and cum properly dressed so why would he try something else? 

Boy edged for 30 minutes and he managed to get himself to the edge 26 times. Boy is now so horny. This is day 13 since the last time boy came and edging did not help. 

Boy is so happy, satisfied and eager to please even more! He wants more days like this. He cannot wait to live on his own, to buy a single bed appropriate for boys like this one. This day will be memorable! This is the life this boy wants to live! Serving others!  

#master #slave #controlled #schoolboy #adult schoolboy

[celemee]

Fandom: Baldur's Gate 3 Pairing: Male Dark Urge x Enver Gortash Rating: Mature Tags: Pre-canon, pre-relationship, seduction, unresolved sexual tension, intimate touching Warnings: Graphic violence, minor character death, normalised murder, blood, spoilers for The Dark Urge [previous part (tumblr) (ao3)] [read on ao3 instead?]

Day 2: "Don't worry, I got you."

Ravendras likes it best when they fight back.

There's a flash in the dark — a knife, maybe a dagger — and he jumps out of the way with a breathy laugh. 

The man is outmatched, out of luck, having challenged the Murder Incarnate himself, but there's nothing wrong with having a bit of fun at work — and tonight Ravendras wants some fun. 

And so, Ravendras taunts the man, skipping out of the way as the blade swooshes in the air. To add injury to insult, he abandons his own daggers onto the ground. Levelling the playing field. 

"Come on," he laughs as another slash narrowly misses him. "You can do better! I believe in you!" 

The guy lunges at him blindly in the dark backstreet, far too noisy for Ravendras's taste. He should finish this soon, before the Flaming Fists show up, but blood pumps hot inside of him and he feels quicker than lightning. 

Invincible, almost. 

Just then, the man lands a lucky slash on his thigh, exposing a stripe of his skin to the cool air. 

Right, that's enough play. 

Ravendras kicks at the man's head. He falls with a thud, Ravendras quickly following in pursuit and landing on top of his stomach. Hands wrap around the man's throat, squeezing with practiced ease. 

The horror and desperation in their eyes dimming into dull nothingness never gets old. The man trashes, kicks, claws at his arms and sides, but nothing stops the inevitable. 

Ravendras's grimace of joyous rage softens into a smile as the fight runs out of his victim. It's so… intimate, almost. To think his smile is the last thing this man sees. 

"Are you hurt?" 

Ravendras blinks, turning to the source of the voice. 

Enver Gortash. He should have guessed. 

They've worked together a while now, but the man seeks him out more than what's strictly required — they've even gone to the theatre together. As if they're… friends. And what's worse, Ravendras doesn't mind. 

He shakes his head, rising from his now lifeless victim. Wincing as the unmistakable sound of tearing fabric cuts through the night. The world spins a little as the rush of the fight leaves him, and he must have stumbled a little, because Enver hurries to his side to steady him. 

"Don't worry, I got you," Enver says, his arm steady around Ravendras's shoulders.

Ravendras chuckles, tensing slightly under the touch, "I'm fine.”

“I saw you get hit,” Enver counters, his hand giving Ravendras’s shoulder a little squeeze.

So, he must’ve seen the whole job. Ravendras chews on the inside of his cheek; “It's just a scratch."

Enver stares at him, the strangest expression on his face. Bites his lip and tilts his head a bit, as if in a wordless question. 

How the fuck is Ravendras supposed to read all of this? He leads a cult, dedicates his entire life to the service of his Father. If there's strife, it's settled with knives. If there are questions, he consults his Father. If there are… involvements between cultists, it's never involved him. 

What he knows is how flesh is cleaved from bone. Where to hit to crush a windpipe, how to make someone disappear. 

While Ravendras muses in silence, Enver lets him go and slides to his knees. Pausing where the tear exposes Ravendras's thigh. 

They stare at each other, perfectly still until the tip of Enver's finger traces the scratch. The man's eyes are dark like charcoal — impossibly inviting. 

"Ravendras," Enver whispers, making him swallow. 

He's given Enver an in, and lost sight of his own out. 

"...Enver."

"Do you know what it feels like to watch you do what you do?" 

Sickening. It's supposed to look sickening, and yet the admiration in Enver's voice couldn’t be more obvious. 

The Chosen of Tyranny kneels by him, but it's no accident. It's a trick. Some sort of trap — a power play to bring Ravendras to his knees and cede his power away. Sadly for him, Ravendras is no idiot—

Something soft and warm presses against his skin, right on top of the languidly bleeding wound. 

Ravendras's eyes fly open. 

Enver's hand holds the inside of his thigh, as gently as his lips kiss. 

Had he no need for the man, Ravendras could strike now. Smash his head into the cobblestones and bash it repeatedly until its shape was unrecognisable and every stone was painted with gore. 

Instead, breath catches in his chest, his eyes close and, most crucially, he can’t bring himself to move away. 

"It's intoxicating," Enver murmurs into his skin. "It makes me wonder."

Ravendras doesn't ask — doesn't trust himself to speak. Enver's lips are stained coppery red, and when he licks them and sighs at the taste, Ravendras's mouth opens at its own accord. 

He wonders, too. Of so many things. Of the night at the theatre, of the cloak left in his care that still smells of Enver. Of hands on his body. Nobody's touched him this way, and no matter how many times he tries to think things through, he always seems to find himself here. 

Frozen under Enver's touch. Shivering like a weakling. 

Craving. 

"Don't you want to find out?" Enver says softly, his hand sliding upwards, dangerously close to Ravendras's heated crotch. 

It's only when a finger brushes at his balls over the fabric that he moves. A quick strafe to the side, breath hard and fast, and a dagger pointed at Enver's throat. 

He draws it back as fast as it came out, closing his eyes and shaking his head. 

"Well, can't fault a man for trying," Enver says, rising to his feet. Voice jovial, but there's more in those eyes. Ravendras would give anything to master these silent tells, but alas. The man isn't easy to read. 

"What do you want?" he asks, resorting to his words. 

"Isn't it obvious?" Enver sighs. "I want you. I want to see what we could be."

Ravendras chews on the inside of his cheeks. "Bhaal would kill me."

"I can protect you."

It must be a trap. It must be! 

Ravendras stares at Enver, trying to discern signs of insincerity, but finds none. What he does find, however… 

Too much to decipher. 

"I need to get back to work," Ravendras tilts his head towards the corpse, eyes still glued to Enver's. "I… need to think."

Enver nods, taking a couple of steps back before turning to leave. "You know where to find me."

Ravendras nods, and finally returns to the corpse to drag it out of sight. The first body of the night, but certainly not the last; he always does his best thinking while he's working. 

#baldur's gate 3 #fictober23 #durgetash #the dark urge #enver gortash #the dark urge x enver gortash #oc: ravendras #yeah oops this links to yesterday's story #i promise they'll sh*g eventually

[taylorhawkins]

I haven't been active on anything lately so I don't know, what kind of hate are the foos getting? also just why? how can anyone give them hate after what they're going through

Hi love ❤️ Ugh, so I haven’t seen it on tumblr, mainly just Instagram & Facebook & YouTube, but there’s been a lot of hate comments towards Josh, and to the band for continuing on without Taylor, calling them greedy and money hungry and saying they don’t care about him. Like??? It’s fucking ridiculous. I did think some of the new music is a little forced sounding - not that they’re trying to rush it or anything but just that they’re struggling to continue without him, which I think is a natural part of the healing process and I’ve seen it in other bands I love that lost a member. It’s not like they just went oh here’s the new guy we’re resuming as normal, they’re honoring him at every show and they made a record dedicated to him, I haven’t seen Dave get through one FF performance without tears since then, and Josh is an amazing guy AND he has the hawk logo all over his drums. And he was friends with Taylor. 🙄

It kinda reminds me of how many people just brushed over the rest of the band when Taylor died and singled out Dave as the only one that could be grieving. Like yes, maybe he took it the hardest since they were the closest, but I seldom heard how Pat must feel despite the fact that he’s lost 3 bandmates now, or how Nate must feel despite the fact that he knew Taylor and loved Taylor for 25 years too, or how Chris and Rami felt despite the fact they were best friends with Taylor too and were just as impacted by him. Like they are very open about how they’re all best friends, and the fact that Josh has stepped in to act as the glue to prevent them from drifting apart and to stick together during such a painful time makes me incredibly happy… I have no idea why other people see it as a bad thing. And the whole “greed” thing is probably coming from Karens who can’t wrap their head around the fact that most musicians make music because they love it, not because of the money, and that’s why they’re containing on as a band lmfao

I hate to give it attention but it was a lot of comments and it honestly shocked me, I was thinking the same thing. How can anybody be that fucking cruel and senseless after all they’ve been through is beyond me. I guess maybe it’s coming from a perspective of not wanting the band to be different or to see someone else behind the kit, but they have to move on and heal, and it’s selfish for people to not want them to do that. But then again there’s a lot of loonies out there that believe in wild conspiracies or that Dave worked him to death or forced him to do things against his will so who fucking knows 🤦🏻‍♀️

Thank you for the ask 💓💓 sorry I ranted a little there LOL

#I was gonna make a post about it but this is probably enough 🤣 #also seeing you in my ask box made me happy today even though this topic is heavy and sad #my sweet mutual #foo fighters #taylor hawkins #dave grohl #nate mendel #chris shiflett #pat smear #rami jaffee #asks

[evvlevie]

why can't shifting be harder? How I finally related to my fantasy-books. 

I KNOW I KNOW! "Why isn't shifting harder? Is this bitch for real? I have been trying to shift for ages and this Evie-chick needs it to be even harder? Can I punch her?", is what might be going through your head right now. And before you manifest for all of my teeth to fall out, and Steve to die in season 5 just to spite me, let me explain!

So, as I have mentioned before on my beautiful little blog: I work in a supermarket as a cashier. Right now it's August and in Germany (specifically Bavaria) it's summer break right now. Many families are on vacation and so it happens that the store is quite empty on a random August-Thursday. As a cashier that means you are sitting around staring holes into the air a lot while daydreaming about random stuff. Today I was staring at the automatic doors thinking about that one scene in stranger things 1 where El smashes the doors together with her telekinetic powers and all of that glass shatters. That thought, reminded me of a book I read once (Obsidian), where the MC was starting to become aware of her telekinetic powers and how they had almost an entire book (Onyx) dedicated to the MC training those powers, and learning to control them.

Remembering all those scenes where Kat had to practice her powers, because otherwise she didn't know how to use them, made me remember how confused I was about the fact that she had to practice it. How they would make her move things, or catch things, lift stuff and light shit on fire so she would learn to use the power inside of her.

"You literally know you have telekinetic powers, JUST USE THEM!".

That has always been my thought, every time I re-read that book, because it's one of my absolute favorite ones. I always catch myself thinking that if Kat was me, I would immediately know what to do, and that it's ridiculous that she has those powers and doesn't naturally feel how to do it. It was always so obvious to me, how to feel the power literally coursing through you and how to release it to manipulate stuff telekinetically. What an idiot Kat must be, because she had to practice and revise this feeling.

I was staring at those doors, realizing that I can actually transfer this thought onto myself. All of these Tumblr-posts where bloggers tell you that you have the power flowing through your veins, that you are the god of your universe and that the 3D is your play-dough to knead, all of them have been so right and I have just been so stupid not to understand. I believed them. I knew they were right, but I never absorbed that quite as much as I should have. I know I am the goddess of my reality. That I make the decisions, that I see what I want to see and that there is nothing that compares to my power. I know that. WHY DON'T I JUST USE THAT??? That realization made me feel just like Kat. I have the power to shift. It is mine. My super-power, my specialty, my trick. Why don't I just do it? Why don't I just decide to do it? You know you can shift. Why aren't you shifting?

Only now I can see how blinded I was by overcomplicating shifting for myself. You are a natural. A born-with-this-gift-chosen-one. A goddamn God/Goddess. It's as organic, as real, as human, as Devine and as designed for you as it could be. You were created with this talent my dear reader! If you feel like the main character of a fantasy novel about supernatural beings with superpowers and shit, YOU FUCKING SHOULD BECAUSE THATS WHO YOU ARE. I fucking swear to you there is a reality in which people are watching shows or reading novels about shifters and them figuring out their powers, and there is a whole lot of drama and shit, and we are sitting here, literally experiencing it and acting all stupid and stuff because we can't figure out how to do what we were destined, designed and determined to do. There probably is someone who is watching us struggle and thinks to themselves: "You have the powers right at your hands just use them", how stupid of me to read it so many times, over and over and not take it as literal as it is.

As always I hope I was able to provide you with the help that you are looking for, and if never be too shy to ask me anything ❣️

and remember: You literally know you have shifting powers, JUST USE THEM!!!!

a lot of love and a big, big sorry to Katy Swartz

Evie <3

#shifting methods #law of assumption #law of attraction #shifting #shifting community #current reality #manifestation #shifting realities #reality shifting #loa #law of manifestation #reality shift #shiftblr #desired reality #shifting motivation #shifting shenanigans #shifting tips #shifting script #shifters #shifttok #succeed

[thetempleofthemasaigoddess]

Armenelos Motel

Elendil x reader. Modern AU!

This fic is dedicated to the Amazing @montyc, one of the best people on Tumblr!

*****

You have arranged to meet at your usual spot, with the motel (the Armenelos, whose owner is an acquaintance of yours and who for a small extra fee has promised to keep his mouth shut about the secret rendez-vous taking place behind the closed doors of his rooms)'s business card slipping silent and unseen from your hand to his, with the time written on the back. You always find some of the nondescript, rectangular cards in the rooms or on the counter you stop at to pay before leaving, and by now it is a consolidated habit, a little game between the two of you, to take and use them to schedule your next date.

When you happen to meet at work, in the corridors of the building or in the company's cafeteria, you always keep your distance, maintaining the façade of the courteous but aloof relationship people expect from two colleagues who have worked together just once (but that was enough; oh, it really was!) and as far as it is known, have nothing else in common.

"Good morning, mr. Andúnië. How are you?"

"Good morning to you, miss (last name). I am well, thank you. Yourself?"

Formal. Impersonal. Distant. You need to and must be, in your situation: the unwritten, but rigidly enforced, rules of the company forbid relationships between colleagues, and should the much more intimate bond that has blossomed between you and Elendil eight months ago be exposed... well, the consequences would be dire, and would probably result in one of you being transferred.

And this you are determined to avoid. You like your job, you like the team you are part of, and you like doing it in the company's headquarters, which is obviously the most prestigious of its offices. And, most of all, you like ending your day with the best sex of your life, in the arms of your handsome lover... even though you can rarely fall asleep next to him as you wish.

You reach the motel before Elendil, which is what happens most of the time; you close the door behind you, take off your jacket and shoes, and sit cross-legged on the bed with your tablet, killing time as you wait for your lover. The signs of the presence of other guests reach you through the thin walls of the room: the off-key singing of someone who has clearly drunk more than he should have, a couple fighting, a dog howling. You sigh, wishing you could have chosen a more intimate place for your dates: the Armenelos, a small, obscure establishment located across the city from your office, is probably the safest place to meet at, and in you heart you know the spot doesn't really matter and there is nowhere you wouldn't go to be with Elendil, but the dirty carpet and the old, shabby furniture (and what is it that crack on the wall? Did someone punch it?!) is not exactly what you would choose for a romantic rendez-vous.

When you proposed the place to him, Elendil at first refused - and not for himself. This is no place for a woman; not for you, at least he decisively said as he looked at the dimly lit lobby, the dirty floors, and the smell of smoke permeating the whole building, it is squalid, (name), and I... I want this to be nice for you. I want to take you to a nice hotel, where we can take a bath together, order room service...

He was not the first partner who treated you well, far from it, nor the first who tried to make your dates special, but you probably, innocently, started to fall for him in that moment, when you saw a shame he had no reason to feel on his face, because, you would soon learn, Elendil is the kind of man who would give the people he loves the world if he could, and he felt embarrassed the tryst he had proposed could only take place in such a squalid place.

He was being sincere, candid in his words even though that was the first intimate meeting between two people who until then had worked together and nothing more, not knowing that night would turn out to be the first of many; that alone, to share his feelings with someone he still knew so little, required courage, no matter how much he wanted you and how enthusiastically you had accepted his proposal, and looking at him, at the tall and handsome man whose blue eyes and musical voice had seduced you without him even trying, you decided you would be brave as well. I do not care about the place; and I don't need to be pampered with luxuries, even though that would be nice, you admitted taking his hand; I just want to be with you. Please, let's go in; I don't care if the room is dirty, I... I only need you.

And you did. And you still do, no less and actually much more than then, and that knowledge scares you more than you could admit.

You had arrived first, but Elendil is not far behind, since you have barely the time for a couple of go games on your tablet before he arrives; evidently there was no important issue that needed his attention or last-minute meeting he needed to take part in at work, or maybe, you flatter yourself in thinking, he was so eager to see you he simply left, without concern for any duty he will have to take care of tomorrow morning. He closes the door behind him, and he is already smiling as you stand to meet him in the middle of the tiny, sparsely furnished room. "Hello, darling." he murmurs, and you simply smile as you help him taking off his jacket; he is more handsome than ever, the blue shirt bringing out the colour of his eyes, the happy, reverent way he has to look at you, as if he had waited all day to be with you. He rests his hands on your hips, and you offer him your mouth to kiss, which he eagerly does. His name escapes your lips in a moan of pleasure as you part them to deepen the kiss, raising a hand to his dark hair; a minute later, Elendil's arm has circled your waist so that your body is pressed against him, his free hand caressing your back. When you finally part, your lover's forehead rests against yours; you share a smile, both happy and breathless.

"I have missed you." you confess; only four days have passed since your latest date and actually you saw each other this morning in the office's cafeteria (where you studiously ignored each other as you drank your coffee, lest a nod or a smile betray you have been in a passionate relationship for eight months; it is probably an excess of caution, since as far as you know none of your colleagues can read minds, but you never know) but that does not make your words less true, and Elendil must believe you, because he smiles, and confesses he did think about seeing you since he got at work today, and left as soon as he could even though it meant leaving a huge amount of paperwork on his desk for tomorrow.

"I will have to make sure your sacrifice is worth it then..." you murmur, and take his hand to guide him towards the bed. Sometimes you like taking your time, savouring each moment, each kiss and caress as the treasure they are, and let Elendil's heartbeat lull you as he holds you in his arms and you rest your cheek on his chest, but not today; you want him, and you cannot wait to have him and share your body with him.

Your lover does not want to waste time either. "Eru." he whispers as he takes his shirt off, carelessly letting it fall on the floor "I thought this day would never end."

You hum in sympathy, caressing his naked chest with your hand as Elendil's fingers lift the hem of your shirt.

"Something important?"

"Paperwork, nothing more."

"You would have rather been here with me?" you tease him, and your lover smiles.

"I would have rather been here with you than anything else in the world."

He is sincere, as he has always been, and those words that would sound corny in the mouth of so many other men fill your heart with happiness, and you feel safe, and grateful this amazing man is part of your life... even though not in the way you want.

You get rid of your shirt together, and let it fall on the floor. Elendil can't stop kissing you; his warm hands move on your naked back, leaving a trail of goosebumps behind them. He whispers your name, moaning as you start kissing his chest, and he unfastens your bra before drawing you under him; he caresses your breast, smiling as he sees pleasure blossoming on your face.

"I want to drive you crazy." he promises as he lays down on you, and that is exactly what he does.

*****

It all started eight months ago, to the day. You and Elendil had been nothing more than casual acquaintances for years, since you worked on different floors and your paths only crossed in the cafeteria or in the corridors. Then, Elendil's team was tasked with an important project and a few employees from other departments were assigned to help them, among which you. Three months of late-night meetings and ten-hours shifts (you really couldn't take it anymore, you had almost forgotten what your apartment looked like!) had allowed you to break the ice and build a cordial relationship, and yes, you might have gotten a tiny crush on him, and how could you not? So tall and handsome, with those bright blue eyes and deep, musical voice, you should have been blind not to admire him, and what's more, you couldn't help appreciating him as a person as well: he was clever, strict when the deadline was approaching or a member of the team did not pull their weight, but not above cracking a joke or buying a round when the team got together at the pub to celebrate the reaching of a milestone or, finally, the completion of the project. The two of you had bonded, and Elendil had praised you more than once, but you never imagined he could desire you...

... which is the reason why, when Elendil joined you in the company's empty parking lot as you were leaving on the day after your team's last meeting, and he asked you to go somewhere private with him (this is exactly how he said it, as if too embarrassed to speak frankly, but the look of those blue eyes was enough to make his intentions more than clear) you were left speechless, and then

"But you are married!" you exclaimed in a tone of reproach you probably didn't have the right to use, no matter how much you disapproved; you had noticed the golden ring Elendil wore on his left hand on the day you had started working together, proof that your team leader was out of the market, at least as far as you were concerned "I am... flattered, but really, if you think I am the sort of woman who..."

Elendil blinked, taken aback. "Wait... wait, please, (name). My, ehm, my wife died four years ago; she drowned." he told you, and seeing you blanch he hurried to add "I... I am sorry, I clearly overstepped, please forget I said anything..."

He turned to walk to his car, and this time it was you who hastened to stop him. "Wait! Elendil, I am sorry, I... I shouldn't have..." you stammered, and he smiled, shaking his head.

"It is all right; you could not know. I... I have been alone for four years, and I thought I would remain so for forty more; I never... never wished for company since she passed, and then..."

"And then...?"

"And then I met you. I mean, I really met you, and got to see how special and beautiful you were. And I couldn't stop thinking about you, not even while I was home with my kids. I... I know we still don't know each other very much, and if you want I'll never talk about this again, but I heard you are not dating anyone at the moment, and... and I really hope you'll let me bring you somewhere nice where we can be together for a while. You... you don't have to say yes, of course..."

You never asked him if at the time he actually planned to simply sleep with you once (or thrice) and then he realized he wanted more, or he had already developed feelings and he had hoped something would develop out of a physical relationship; in the end, you don't really need to know. What you are aware of, at least now, is the amount of courage he must have had to proposition you, not only because you could have declined, an unpleasant experience in itself, but also because, after the loss of his wife, the simple realization he had developed feelings for another woman had filled him with guilt, and to give himself permission to pursue them, maybe even to consider the hypothesis of a new relationship...

Some might have called him callous, and insensible, even though his wife had died four years earlier; but had you loved your partner like he had loved her, you doubt you would have dared to open yourself to love, or even just to pleasure, again.

But Elendil, thank Eru, did, and "Yes." you answered, without thinking, not as if you had let slip something you'd rather keep hidden, but rather as if you had let your heart speak for you "Yes, of course. I'd... I'd love to. I think I know a place."

Elendil's happy, relieved smile was enough to disperse whatever doubt you could have felt; you took the hand he was offering, and let him take you away, already sure you would not regret it.

You didn't. You haven't. And you never will, no matter how painful it is to keep secret something you both deserve to live in the open.

*****

Even considering the modest sum you have to pay for the room (and, Elendil being a gentleman, you had to insist quite a bit before he let you share the expense) the motel is not the coziest accomodation you could find nor the most comfortable, but it is the only feasible one. You share your apartment with two housemates (one of which is the girlfriend of a colleague, and the other who works for the company herself), a couple of busybodies who would be all too happy to make sure every single employee knows what you and your lover are up to, while Elendil lives with his three children, who he has to care for by himself after the loss of his wife: Isildur (eleven years old), Anarion (nine) and Eärien (eight).

Elendil doesn't talk often about his children when he is with you, but they are the real reason you cannot disclose your relationship, even more than the unwritten rules of the company you both work for. The children adore their father, and are also very devoted to their mother's memory (even the youngest, who barely remembers her; and maybe, you have reflected, this is the real reason), and your lover not only does his best to care for and spend as much time as he can with them, but he is also sure that knowing he has fallen for someone else would strongly upset them, destroying the fragile equilibrium the little family has built in the last four years. It is nothing personal, your lover has assured you when, three months after the beginning of your relationship and after you had both realized you could no longer lie to yourselves and say this was only sex and fun, no strings attached and no feelings involved, you had shyly proposed he introduced you to his children, and he is sure you and the kids would be great friends... were things different; but they are still too young to understand that while he has fallen in love again, he has not stopped loving their mother or forgotten her. Having a new, hitherto unknown person as part of the equation would be too hard for them; not only they could never accept you, at least for the time being, but your presence could be cause of an estrangement between father and children, which is obviously something you are determinee to avoid. You have never even met the three siblings, but the last thing you want is to be cause of suffering for them, and for Elendil, since he is their whole family and the three need their father more than ever.

Which makes keeping your and your lover's relationship secret imperative; not only he can't spend the night (sometimes the children sleep at their friends' place, which would theoretically allow their father to sleep with you, but to organize three sleepovers on the same night is next to impossible) but the length and the frequency of your dates is inevitably cut short. Elendil was sincere when he said he wanted to enjoy your time together, to take a bath together and order room service, but you are rarely together for more than a couple of hours, and you can treat yourself to dinner together only once or twice a month, and always in restaurants out of town, where you are less likely to be seen by someone who knows you.

On the day of your birthday, Elendil was with his children, both members of their school's football team, for a match out of town. You told him it was fine, especially because the match was the day after the anniversary of Elendil's wife's death and his children needed him more than ever, and he did everything he could to make it up to you (a beautiful bunch of flowers sent to your apartment; an expensive gift; and some really amazing sex, including a couple of things you didn't even know existed, on your next date) but you couldn't help feeling like the loneliest woman in the world. Really, the fact that Elendil is such a great and attentive father is one of the many things you love about him, and you can't blame him for putting his children first, but...

But. But it hurts, having so little time for yourselves, and having to keep your relationship secret, and having him cancel your dates when one of the children is sick or needs attention. Most of the time you are able to accept it, knowing he is not neglecting you because he does not care about you or doesn't enjoy your company; but occasionally you try to make him stay, begging him (just ten minutes more, please)... or seducing him. You are not proud of it, and always feel guilty of it later, especially if you do succed in holding him up, but seeing the man you love leave the bed in a hurry, as if he had a wife he had to keep in the dark about your relationship, never ceases breaking your heart.

Blast, it is seven o'clock already! I have to hurry.

I am sorry, darling; I'd love to stay more, but I really can't.

Eru, (name), I need to go... no, stop, please, don't do that, let me go...

Anyway, today Isildur and Anarion have both been invited to spend the week-end at the beach house of a family friend, while Eärien is at her ballet class, and will be driven home by a friend's mother. This fortunate series of events means you and your lover have some time for yourselves, and you are determined to enjoy every moment of it. You are lying on your belly, naked between the sheets, while Elendil plays with your hair and draws with his finger on your back; his legs are interwoven with yours.

"You are so gorgeous." he murmurs, still awed after so many nights (well, evenings) spent together, as he moves to kiss the skin between your shoulder blades. You turn on your back, smiling as you look at the handsome, kind man lying on his side next to you, and lift an hand to caress his chest.

"I think Nori suspects I'm seeing someone from the office." you tell him. Nori Brandyfoot is your assistant, a young intern fresh out of college who has been assigned to your team so you can teach her the ropes; she is smart, hardworking, and enthusiastic about learning new things, and you hope her internship will be converted in a long-term contract, because she is exactly the sort of person you like to work with.

Elendil's expression darkens. "She told you that?" he asks, tense as if your colleague had warned you of an impeding terrorist attack.

"No, no; it is just an impression that I have."

"Blast..."

"You don't need to worry; I know I can trust Nori, she would never snitch on us, especially since she knows what the consequences for us would be." you try to reassure him; you and your assistant have worked together for four months now, and you know that, unlike your housemates, she has no interest in other people's personal matters, especially when revealing them would affect them.

Elendil looks unconvinced. "What time is it?" he wonders after a while as he turns on his back to look at your wrist watch, the only thing you are still wearing.

"A quarter past seven. But I thought you could stay a little longer today." you point out; you sound unhappy, even whiny, and you know it, but you can't help it. You usually try not to burden your lover with your unhappiness, since you know very well it is not his fault you have so little time to spend together, but you cannot go on like this, dates cut short and often cancelled, and having to hide like a couple of criminals. You really can't. "Aren't your boys away until tomorrow? Isn't her mother's friend driving Eärien home?"

"Of course, but I'll have to be home for dinner with her."

"Of course."

"She is only eight, (name)." Elendil points out; he sounds pleading, as if begging you to remember nothing of this is his fault "She cannot cook for herself."

"Of course not." you repeat, because it is clearly true, even someone childless like you can easily see a eight-year-old cannot prepare a meal alone, and you can't blame your partner for wanting to take care of her, but still...

Still, sometimes you wish he were childless. Not that the kids had died, perish the thought!, just that they simply... weren't there, or at least that they were old enough to understand it was normal, even good, for their father to love again. It makes you feel like the cruelest, most egotistical person in the world, and it fills you with guilt, but you can't lie to yourself.

"What's wrong with you today, (name)?" your lover asks, tilting his head on the side to meet your eyes. You are looking straight in front of you, as if the naked wall of the room were the most interesting thing you had ever seen, while you order yourself to stay calm, because you don't want to fight and expressing your frustrations would help no one "You seem... upset."

"Nothing. I am... thirsty, that's all."

You sit up on the bed to grab the bag you had left on the floor next to it, and your water bottle inside. Meanwhile, Elendil stands with a sigh and begins picking up his clothes from the floor; after a moment he turns to look at you, his gaze drifting on your chest and down to the gap between your thighs, but unlike what usually happens having his eyes on your body doesn't arouse or flatter you: it is simply frustrating.

"But... what if we were discovered?" you wonder in a flat tone a moment later; you are not looking at him, but you feel the instinctive alarm in Elendil's voice when he answers.

"But you said the Brandyfoot girl..."

"I was not talking about Nori. Just... let's suppose they actually discover we are together. What would we do?"

Elendil is putting his shirt on. "Well, the rules say we couldn't keep working together, so one of us would be transferred; probably you, because..."

"... because I have less seniority; I know, Elendil, I know the rules as well as you do."

Your lover is still looking at you; he has sensed your irritation, even though he does not understand what has caused it. He silently approaches once more, sitting on the side of the bed close enough to rest his arm on your shoulders. You can feel the warmth of his body on your skin, and you still desire him, so much you could cry, but this time your lust can't distract your mind from the gloomy thoughts that for weeks and months have tormented you more and more often.

"What if I did it?" you ask in the end, your voice barely rising above a whisper; you are still not looking at him.

"If you did what?"

"If I asked to be transferred. To another office."

Elendil blinks. His hand had started moving on your hip, as if his heart did not wish to leave as soon as his conscience ordered him to, but now he stops, and turns to look at you.

"You want to leave?" he asks, incredulous "I thought you liked working at the head office."

"I do, but after all I've been there for six years already; it might be time for a change. I know a couple of people who work at the office in Hyarnustar and I'm sure they could find me a place. It'd be only twenty miles away from home, and I could ask Nori to come..."

"Why are you thinking about this all of a sudden?" Elendil asks, confused, but when you turn to face him, without the need to utter a word since your eyes speak for you, you see him blush; he is still half-dressed, but it is not because of that that he looks more vulnerable than you have ever seen him. "(name), I..."

"It is only an hypothesis; I'm not deciding on something so important on a whim. I just thought I, we, could talk about it, and see whether me working somewhere else could improve our situation."

He takes your hand. "I don't want you to do it." he says, clearly determined to stop you, and looking in his blue eyes, for the first time you feel anger surging inside you.

"Why not? In case you haven't noticed, I am an adult, Elendil, and I can make my own choices without someone who decides for me."

"I know, darling; I know. I just... don't want you to sacrifice yourself..."

"But I'm ready to do it; I'd be happy to do it, if it meant being with you. Are you really worried about me? Or you don't want me to go work somewhere else because you know that then it'd be up to you and you only to decide the future of our relationship? That you could no longer hide behind workplace rules and you'd have to finally decide what to do about us?"

Silence explodes in the room; you have raised your voice without realizing, and someone from a nearby room shouts at you to be quiet, but you both ignore it. You hate fighting, especially with Elendil, a man you love and whose only weakness is the desire to protect his family, but what about me?, you would like to scream, am I not important as well? Are we going to keep this secret until your youngest is of age? You said I deserve better, but have you ever done anything to give it to me?

You don't say any of that, but your lover seems to hear it all the same, and he sighs, helpless and guilt-ridden... and uncertain.

"I never wanted you to suffer, (name). It... it won't be forever, but if you want this to stop..."

"Of course I don't! Do you?"

"I'd rather kill myself." he immediately answers, and he is not the sort of man who says things like that lightly "I love you. I want to be with you, and I know that I can't decide for you, not even to spare you from pain. Transferring to another office would save us from having to hide from our colleagues, but it wouldn't change my situation. So your sacrifice would be mostly useless."

As you thought. As you feared. "Are you really sure your children would not accept you being in a new relationship?" you tentatively ask, sitting cross-legged on the bed; suddenly you are cold, even though the room's temperature is more than acceptable "Is it not because you think I would not be a good company for them...?"

"Eru, (name), no; they would love you, just like I do. Nothing would make me happier than introducing you, and the five of us spending time together." Elendil earnestly says "But... there was an accident two months ago. You know Miriel from accounting?"

You nod, and your friend tells you that two months ago he had to leave his car in the shop for an engine problem, and Miriel, a colleague who was also a college friend of his, offered to drive him home. His children were there when he arrived, and when they saw a (very pretty) lady with their father, someone they did not know and who was clearly friendly with him, they immediately thought the two of them had been on a date, or were already in a relationship.

"Don't you love mom anymore? Have you forgotten her already? Who is that woman? Are you going to marry her? Is she going to come live with us? You should have seen them, (name); they were... terrified. They looked at me as if they had caught me killing someone, or already in bed with Miriel. I tried to explain Miriel was just a friend, but it was no use; Eärien cried herself to sleep, and the boys didn't utter a word for the rest of the day. They were all so close to their mother, and the idea of someone replacing her, even just in my heart..."

"They would interpret it as a betrayal; and this is to be avoided at all cost, especially now that they are still so young and need you." you complete for him, and your lover looks at you, lost and helpless.

"Exactly. I love you, (name), but I don't want my kids to hate me, or to lose the relationship we have now. I know this state of things is unfair, but they, and their serenity, come before everything else, at least for the time being."

That's a truth you cannot deny, or argue with. You can talk about it until the end of the day, but the situation is clear to both, as well as your inability to change it; and you are tired. Tired of talking, tired of hiding, tired of feeling lonely and abandoned. Tired of being understanding, tired of being patient, tired of feeling as if everything but you and your emotions mattered. No, you don't want to break up; you never could, no matter how painful it is to go on as you have until now. But for the first time in eight months, you can't stand being in Elendil's presence for another minute.

You gently slip your hand from his, stand, and quickly put on your panties and shirt before shoving your bra in your bag, not caring if someone notices you aren't wearing it.

Elendil looks up at you, alarmed. "What are you doing?"

"I'm going home."

"(name), please..." he begins, but you don't want to listen; you are determined not to.

"You should go as well; it's almost dinnertime. Or you can stay; the bed is comfortable enough even if you are alone, I can vouch for that."

It is a cruel thing to say and you know it, and while you would rather punch yourself in the face than cause Elendil the least amount of pain, bitter pleasure fills your heart as you see him react as if he had been slapped. Your lover looks at you, hurt but silent, and doesn't even try to protest or make you reason as you dress yourself, make sure your tablet is in your bag, and leave the room without looking back.

Stopping in the hall, that today appears even more squalid than usual in your eyes, to pay, you see a stack of the familiar business cards of the motel on the counter, but you ignore them; you have the feeling that from now on you won't need them too often.

You reach your car in the mostly empty parking lot, the cool breeze of the evening caressing your cheeks. Sitting inside with the keys in your hands, you wait, looking towards the motel's entrance and hoping to see Elendil appear, and run to you, and... and do what, exactly? Promise he will tell his children about you, which would allow you to live your relationship in the open and at the same time potentially destroy theirs? The consequences at work are a secondary matter, and being transferred would be an acceptable sacrifice and even a good thing for your career; everything depends on him, on this amazing, kind man you have fallen in love with and who loves you back with his whole heart, but who is torn between you and his family...

That family you had hoped you would be part of, one day, maybe with a child of your own.

But Elendil does not appear. He was in a hurry, to make sure his little girl was safe at home and would eat dinner at her usual time, but he lingers inside... as if he were trying to avoid you. As if he felt you had nothing else to say to each other.

You cry until you reach your apartment, sobbing alone in your car.

*****

Twelve hours later, you wake up in a sunny but cool morning; you yawn as you sit on the bed, which you have never shared with your lover (how you wish you had, at least once, even simply to sleep held in his arms!) but then, why do you feel so alone all of a sudden? You sigh as you think back at your argument of last night; is it the end? Will Elendil decide to break things between the two of you, no matter how much you care about each other, for the sake of his family? Will he do it today, or next week, or in six months? Or... should you decide to break up? It is the last thing you want, because you know you love this man and there is no sacrifice you wouldn't be ready to make in order to be with him, but at the same time you can't take it anymore, hiding as if you were doing something illicit and to be ashamed of. You can't blame your lover for wanting to protect his children, and it won't be forever, he told you, but it is not enough, not anymore, and thinking than in a year you could still be struck in this limbo makes you want to scream...

You decide to put aside your romantic troubles and focus on work. You get up, take a cold shower and wear one of your best suits; a good breakfast later (that you have to force yourself to eat, since you are not hungry at all) you are ready to go.

You arrive at work earlier than all the colleagues of your department, determined to have a productive day, and then maybe you'll go to the gym, an habit you have neglected recently, or do some jogging, or you'll vacuum the floors of your apartment, since this week is your turn, or you'll bring some important documents to the accountant who takes care of your taxes, and who has asked for them two weeks ago. Whatever you'll think of, whatever it takes to feel productive and in control of your life, and forget at least for a while the hopeless situation your heart has put you in.

Nori helps you with your work as usual, bringing you the files that require your attention and writing some e-mails with the notes and the addresses you have given her. If your assistant notices your red eyes (you have cried yourself to sleep last night) and the paleness your foundation could not fully hide, she doesn't mention it: after a while, though, she stands from her desk, only slightly bigger than your bedside table at home, and announces she'll take a break to buy a coffee and a sweet roll from the cafè across the street. "What would you like, (name)?"

You smile at her, tearing your gaze from the screen of your laptop for the first time in three hours. "Thank you, dear; but I am not hungry."

"And a cinnamon roll it is. I'll be back in ten minutes." she answers, almost inflexible despite her diminutive stature and young age. You look at her as she retrieves her wallet from her bag and almost marches out of the office, as if to forbid you from protesting, and feel a deep sense of affection fill your heart: Nori is clever and capable, even though she is still very young and inexperienced, but she is also a good person, with a kind heart, and that is something neither the passing of time nor a prestigious internship can give her.

"Oh, hello, mr. Andúnië!"

"Good morning, miss Brandyfoot. Everything ok?"

You would recognize that voice everywhere, and because of this you keep your eyes fixed on the screen (specifically, on a document you have already read ten times) as the man who has run into your assistant in the corridor outside your office enters, cautious as if he feared being pounced on by a tiger.

"Hi."

"Hi." you curtly answer, still not looking at him; no matter how much you love him, you really don't want to see Elendil now, because you are still hurting, sad and disappointed and lonely... and because you know it will only take a look of his blue eyes to made your sulky facade crumble.

Which is exactly what happens, a minute later, since unfortunately Elendil knows you too well to be deterred; he approaches your desk, but he doesn't try to touch or hug you. "(name)... I am sorry for last night."

You sigh as you finally turn your swivel chair towards him, and as you expected, a look is all it takes to make your resolve crumble, and to fill your heart with shame. The situation is not easier for Elendil than it is for you, the only thing he wants is to protect his children, and he is torn between his love for them and his affection for you; he doesn't deserve to be blamed, and you have no right to do it.

"You did nothing wrong." you admit, and he smiles; your lover's hand takes yours, and his lips devotedly kiss the back.

"I hate this; I would throw myself into the fire to protect my kids, but you... you are important to me, (name). I... I want a future with you; I'm sorry if I ever made you feel otherwise. You deserve better; better than that rat-hole we have to meet in, and better than to hide as if we were committing a crime."

"We both deserve it." you remind him, taking his hands in yours as you stand; that simple gesture means you are already crossing the line, because at any moment a colleague could peek in and see the two of you, and the last thing you and your lover want is gossip about your relationship, but you can't help it... you need to feel him close, and while knowing you have his heart like he has yours is enough, that does not alleviate the feeling of loneliness and hopelessness that for months has filled your heart "I know you don't like this any more than I do; I am sorry, I shouldn't be angry. It's just..."

"I know, darling. I know. And I am so sorry for it, but I can't help it."

You nod; the whole situation is painful and frustrating, but you know that what is stopping Elendil from living your relationship openly is not the fear of commitment so many other men suffer from. Sometimes you wish it were.

"How is Eärien?" you impulsively ask, tearing a smile out of Elendil.

"Her school is putting on Swan Lake and they gave her a tutu with a pair of wings on the back and a feathered skirt."

"Oh, that sounds adorable!"

"She is. She wanted to wear it to school, this morning."

You find yourself laughing as you imagine the scene; Elendil smiles back, and slides something on the desk's surface towards you. You don't need to look at it to know it is one of the Armenelos' business cards. He looks at you, expectant and at the same time pleading, and you have tried many times to look at your issue from his point of view, but maybe you had never realized, never fully understood, how afraid he must be: not of his children finding out he has a lover, not of your colleagues discovering about your relationship, but of losing you.

Oh, my darling; that will never happen. Never. I don't care about the pain, I don't care about the loneliness, I'll keep it secret forever if it means being with you...

Your fingers brush against his when you finally pick up the card; on the back, it has 16:30 written in ink, and next to it a tiny heart.

You hesitate only for a moment before slipping it in your pocket. "I'll be there." you promise, determined "Today and always; as long as I'll need to."

"All right."

Elendil turns to look behind his shoulders; made sure no one can see you, he lowers his face to yours and kisses you on the lips, quick but deep, and passionate. "Thank you." he whispers, making you laugh; Eru, you love him so much.

"My pleasure."

Reluctantly, your lover leaves; on the doorway, he turns and winks before disappearing. Alone, you brush your fingers against your lips, still savouring the sweetness of that kiss, and find yourself smiling; vaguely melancholic, but a smile nonetheless.

You can't wait to see him again.

And a moment later Nori is back, a paper bag, from which a delicious smell comes, in her hands.

TAGGING @starlady66!!

#The Lord of the Rings #The Lord of the Rings: The Rings of Power #The Rings of Power #Rings of Power #Elendil #Elendil the Tall #Elendil x reader #Lloyd Owen #Bellona's stuff

[emptymanuscript]

OMG - I have SOOOOOO much brain fog right now.

... <_<

And yet I am also being productive ????

For me, anyway.

WTF?!?!

I also kind of just need to scream in excitement because I feel like my IRL group is really getting going and I'm so excited and I want to go to back to sleep but also just run around like my hair is on fire and do everything and like call everybody and say, hey, I'm terrible at organizing and communicating and saying anything short but I want to volunteer for everything. Please let me love you all and do anything anyone needs so we can get momentum and totally be a thing and I love that we've been named a "co-op" because OMG I so wanna cooperate with you all, when can we meet? How can I help? What can I ddddoooooo???

It's weird because one guy - I'll refer to him as F, and I thought we weren't going to get him because he is a bit farther away than a lot of other people and I'm so happy that he has joined because he is EXACTLY the sort of person you want in this kind of group, like, seriously, you find someone who is dedicated and eager and throwing their whole-ass-self body, mind, and soul into being present and engaged and OPEN, OMG, F is open. He is there to learn and there to work and there to find joy in the moment. AndI'm just really excited he joined but anyw - F was talking about how he meets up with other writers and just gets inspired to write and was sort of betting on how we would respond the same after this last (first? I have no idea how to classify this stuff. I don't even really know what is going on. Just that it is good and exciting and I want to be MORE of a part of it) meeting and be really inspired to write. And I'm not... really. Like I'm absolutely feeling inspired but it's not so much for writing. I'm feeling inspired to join or contribute or be active or something like that. I'm inspired to be more a part of this whatever it turns out to be. This co-op of writers is what I want out of life. More of this please. Let me contribute more in some way. :/ I just need to figure out how to do it without like begging and needing my hand held and constant instruction.

And I can't think straight for more than a minute. But I feel fine if I'm still and don't move and ignore the fairly blazing headache. I should eat. I should drink. I should go back to looking at the co-op information instead of running around screaming about it.

Just needed to run around and scream a bit.

... I wonder if this is why that guy I knew in college said he felt like I was a helium ballooon and his job was to grab me and pull me down before I flew away. Dude, I'm just excited ok? And you're the one who has to explore and touch everything? Please don't turn that. He was cooler than the rest of our group in retrospect. He got shafted with the short end of the stick. Suck. My friends in college were so DRAMA. I'm so strangely both anti-drama and sure love being around the people who have it.

Maybe it's nice to be the quiet and stoic one for a change.

Hmmm... I should probably remember that for therapy. That sounds like a rich vein. You're fine, how am I... so if you're all nuts, that must mean I'm sane and reserved. Hooray!! Yeah, I bet I can talk about some projection or something in that.

I may need to engage in some self care like food and drink and sleep... maybe some breathing exercises. After I get back to the co-op.

Sorry for the screaming. I'm just full of HEEEEEEElium. Like a baloon. Wheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!!!!!!!!

0_= I'm tired now. Thanks for watching me something something. We now return you to your regularly scrolling dash. Or not. Maybe you need self care, too. Maybe tumblr is not the answer. Doubtful ;p but possible ;p

[vermutandherring]

Warning: This article contains images of violence and blood.

The first part of the review: ORIGINS The third part of the review: WHERE ART IS HIDDEN

There are small spoilers that do not reveal the plot of the game, but only separately highlight certain moments in the game.

This is the second part of my review on Vampyr, in which I talk about the plot and its construction.

Due to russia's attacks, the time to use electricity is getting shorter. It deprives me of both writing time and inspiration (greetings from Ukraine). Anyway, someone tagged my previous Vampyr review as a long read. I know it's a little too much for Tumblr, but sometimes I feel like if I don't dissect a game I've played, these thoughts will eat away at my brain. So this is the second of 3 parts dedicated to Vampyr, namely to its plot.

At the first immersion in the game, which occurs even at the stage of reading the annotation, the plot may seem a bit dry. Doctor Jonathan Reid returns from the war to quarantined London, overflowing with mass graves of citizens who died from the Spanish flu. Now, trying on a new role as a vampire, he must investigate the causes of the spread of the disease and find out what happened to him on the way home. To do this, having enlisted the support of the vampire Lady Ashbury and Dr. Swansea, Jonathan will have to fight against vampire aristocrats, devout vampire hunters and his own nature torn by contradictions.

If you remove all the vampire fleur, the plot will resemble novels with stories about loan sharks, lawyers, bureaucracy, promissory notes and securities, dragged by the smog of industrial cities of the XIX century. In addition, in the center of the story is a military doctor (doesn't it remind you of anything?), that is, a representative of a whole 'broken generation' that saw human cruelty in all its manifestations on the battlefields of the First World War. If you want to imagine the state of people at that time just for a second, look at the works of the artist Otto Dix, who went through this hell himself. Or spend one evening on Twitter, browsing posts with the Ukraine tag. By this I mean that the protagonist of Vampyr is a traumatized character with some issues. More precisely, it could be like that. But back to the in-game story.

I like the approach to plot selection. It is not simply included in the chronological framework of the era, but is closely related to the real events of the covered period of time. Because of this, even the main character himself seems like a historical figure, which led me to read about blood transfusions and when this method was actually discovered. Answering this question, blood transfusion was invented long before 1918, and is used by Stoker as a way to save the bloodless Lucy. And the very decision to make a vampire a doctor, tying the plot on it, is truly brilliant. This duality of Jonathan's new nature presents the player with a dilemma from the start: to allow the protagonist to honorably keep the Hippocratic Oath while grasping for scraps of humanity, or to place its remains on the altar for the sake of achieving the goal at any cost.

It is worth saying right away that the first option is more difficult. Quenching your thirst (i.e. killing characters) will give Jonathan a lot of experience which you can use to improve your vampire skills and level up. But with each life taken, Dr. Reid will become less and less like himself. Saving the lives of potential victims will not benefit you in itself. To do this, you will have to spend on quests, the completion of which will give you the desired experience points. But don't take it as a boring burden. The tasks from the townspeople are mostly interesting and what is most important - reveal not only their characters, but also Jonathan's vampiric side.

In the previous part, I already mentioned the restraining power of morality, borrowed from Christianity through the lens of Stoker. But the writer uses morality on the contrary, as a driving force, as an idea that drives the characters to save a dear person and cleanse the world of Dracula. In Vampyr, morality seems like a safety net, keeping you as Jonathan from making a mistake. Often, in attempts to 'solve the problem' of another character, I stopped at the question: do I have the right to this? Does Jonathan have the right to take away mortal life and give eternal life? Do I have the authority to judge the rightness of someone's actions when I am the one who does evil? After all, Jonathan is an ordinary vampire, not a deity. And it's not just my guilty conscience. Your acquaintances tell you about it to your face, or these messages slip through the dialogues themselves. And even if you want to play a good doctor, you should remember that everyone has their own definition of good. My first decisions in the game were terrible, although I believed that I was doing the right thing and in good conscience, satisfying all sides of the conflict. As we know, you can't please everyone.

But do not perceive your choice as a mistake, and its consequences as a bad ending. After all, life is about choices and their consequences. In the game you do not have the opportunity to return to a certain point and roll everything back. The plot of the game and the story of the main character flow like life, which cannot be begged to be given another chance. But you can always look back to think about how to fix mistakes. Depending on the chosen path, taking into account all your decisions and summing up the amount of blood drunk, the game will reward you as you deserve. This is much more than I could expect from a game of this caliber.

Returning to the main character, our Doctor Reid is not deprived of 'exclusivity syndrome'. Before the events of the game, Jonathan was already known in scientific circles as a skilled doctor and surgeon. In the world of medicine, he is a superstar, as the very first chapter of the game makes us understand. And it is on these stellar shoulders with an exceptional mindset that the sweet gift of vampirism and the heavy burden of saving the homeland falls.

On the one hand, I am somewhat annoyed by the concept of 'exclusivity' of the character. Think how many titles you have in Skyrim that are mutually exclusive, not to mention that you are humanity's last hope for salvation. Think of all the games you've played - in most of them, your main character almost changes the fate of the entire universe. For no apparent reason, just because. The first to change this concept for me was Cyberpunk 2077. Although you are fighting global evil in the form of corporations and their expansion, your 'avatar' is a small cog that has a chance to remain the same at the end of the game (I say this because I got the most stupid ending). But Vampyr approaches this question in a balanced way. The plot quite logically explains why the superstar-surgeon-vampire-champion Jonathan is the chosen one to save England and why only he can do it. As I said in the first part of my review, the game will definitely answer this question at the end. And the answer rests on one of the pillars of the game - science.

The already mentioned concept of the character's dualistic nature and the connection of the plot to the real events of the past allow the game to stand firmly on its feet. This allows you to combine various aspects of the game layout into a single logical whole. First of all, we have a fairly 'realistic' reason for the development of events, supported by historical facts. In Vampyr disease doesn't just hinder our progress toward the truth. It is part of the truth that the player must reach. The beginning gives a rather vague explanation of what is happening. Against this background, the behavior of people also seems strange, because it is not completely clear whether they are aware of the existence of vampires. The game does not go into excessively fantastic explanations of what is happening. But it leaves them a little far from our understanding, as the idea of primitive people about the state of things in the world. It makes one feel as if such a thing really happened, and the ambiguity of the explanation of the phenomenon of vampirism is as much a logical fallacy as the logical gaps in the Bible (I still consider myself a believer).

Secondly, the detective style of the story is a good motivation for completing the plot. Jonathan's professional experience allows him to draw rational conclusions to match his meticulous mind. And oh wonder! This is not inconsistent with the fact that we have a story about vampires here. Thirdly, the attempt to give the story realism is also followed in the attempts of the developers to explain some minor game moments. Can you shoot a gun? Even the small revolver that Jonathan uses weighs not so little. Besides, it is not enough just to be able to pull the trigger. You have to know how to aim and consider the return. The average doctor hardly knows all these subtleties. But in the hands of Jonathan, a doctor who went through the war, the weapon does not cause dissonance. At least a firearm…

Influenza is also an explanation for why Jonathan wanders around at night and asks the people of London why they themselves are not sitting at home at night. This is an insignificant detail that should not be paid attention to at all. But the game tries to remain rational until the end.

From all of the above, it may seem that in terms of plot, everything in the game is perfect from start to finish. But it is not quite so. Let's go back to the first paragraph, where I argued that Jonathan is a representative of the war-traumatized generation. In fact, the game squeezes very little out of it. Only in a few dialogues does Dr. Reid mention this experience. We also see some of his flashbacks, which present the protagonist as a dedicated doctor, ready to go to the end. In this case, the arc of the character, which can turn Jonathan into a bloodthirsty beast with your good will, seems somewhat illogical. How can a person who has seen oceans of blood, seas of human tears and their suffering come down the path of a ruthless monster? He is either subconsciously a maniac or a weak-willed person, although his military experience proves otherwise.

Also, as I mentioned in the first part of the review, Jonathan has very progressive views at the time. He does not look like a haughty nobleman and treats all patients equally; he supports the emancipation of women and respects them; does not condemn same-sex or interracial relationships. Today, after years of struggle, all of the above is normal. For the beginning of the XX century, this is a little too much. I'm not saying it's implausible and destroys Jonathan as a character. But he is too perfect a man, whom I personally did not dare to destroy with the curse of vampirism. Maybe that Marty Stu effect smooths the plot a bit. Regardless of the path he chooses, Jonathan still goes through his character arc. You either overcome the thirst, keeping everything human in you, or you allow the new nature to consume you.

In this part of the review, I tried to explain why Vampyr has a really interesting and original plot, which among all modern works about vampires could be a kind of classic. It has a great premise, good motivation for the main character, moderately gothic and fantasy, but at the same time not overloaded with magical silliness. The narrative is neat and logical, and most importantly, interesting, full of drama and poetry (more on that in the next chapter). The story of the game allows you to develop your own vision of the character's story, bringing it to a predetermined ending.

Looking at the game on Steam or the Wiki page, you will see reviews about the mediocrity of the game, the weakness of the combat system, the heavily modified original source, out-of-place face animations, weak graphics and, of course, bugs, lags and freezes. Because of this, I deliberately avoid some boyish view of the game, focused on leveling and crafting, on digging to the smallest detail and complaining about 58 FPS instead of 60. I want to say that each game in terms of content's depth outweighs some quantitative indicators and I advise you to take a game (at least Vampyr) first and foremost as a work of art, not a battery-operated doll. In art criticism, you will not find a five-point rating scale for a painting or a rating of the best sculptors. After all, each work is unique, and in order to prove why it is bad or good, you need to qualitatively analyze its "means of expression". This time, I laid out the plot of the game on the shelves (at least for myself). In the next part, I will try to find something about the visual component, a little about the drama and, of course, the music, in order to finally reveal the essence of this game.

I wrote the review in a hurry, trying to make it to the next power outage. I apologize for all the mistakes, circumlocutions and perhaps not very clear constructions of sentences.

#gaming #video games #videogames #vampire game #horror games #video game review #games art #vampire #vampire aesthetic #vampyr #jonathan reid #dracula #my articles

[rainymoodlet]

I posted 820 times in 2022

That's 820 more posts than 2021!

320 posts created (39%)

500 posts reblogged (61%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@rainymoodlet

@buglaur

@hauntedtrait

@gothoffspring

@dreamstatesims

I tagged 819 of my posts in 2022

#reblog - 395 posts

#ts4 - 160 posts

#ts4 edit - 84 posts

#txt - 79 posts

#ts4 challenge - 68 posts

#others’ sims - 54 posts

#others' sims - 54 posts

#tzr - 53 posts

#;lbts - 50 posts

#ts4 story - 49 posts

Longest Tag: 140 characters

#have u ever had to only take showers in a fckin ymca and maybe get heat in the winter when someone lets you sit in their car at the gas n go

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

See the full post

236 notes - Posted August 9, 2022

#4

behavioral observer 0-026 (bee) for @blarffy’s marshmallow!! 🐝

because how could i not. bo0-026, also known as bee, is on her very first excursion to marshmallow’s planet! she’s never had to disguise herself on any other planet, so why start now?

bee’s entire unit is dedicated to the study of social cultures and behavioral norms in different species across the universe. she was given a file, told she was secured a spot in a “popular sim-world television program”, and sent rocketing down to the surface with that much information under her belt.

has she any idea what a “dating show” is? absolutely not. is there a cute green girl here that seems to be the focus of this whole thing? yes there is. that flirting with her is the ritual, well… one must adhere to the local customs!

private dl if she’s chosen!! i just love lil peep so much okay she deserves a hot, tall (f)alien gf 🥺

249 notes - Posted September 27, 2022

#3

hey there! 🌧️ new simblr alert!

281 notes - Posted March 13, 2022

#2

See the full post

290 notes - Posted June 10, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

seasons change and it's getting cold, we're getting old, too old to leave 🐺

773 notes - Posted June 17, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

#tumblr2022 #LOOK AT KRISTOPHER GOOOO #i can’t believe i only joined simblr this year dhshdhvd #my buglaur bias shows…… #BUT ALSO HELL YEAHHHHH #when i tell you all our avs looked so good together dhdvdhshd #thank you all for a wonderful year 💛 #long post //

[auliasbookcorner]

Review: Babel, or The Necessity of Violence: An Arcane History of the Oxford Translators' Revolution by RF Kuang

Book 15 of 2022

Start Reading Time: 22 September 2022

Finish reading Time: 7 October 2022

Page Count: 545 pages

TRIGGER WARNINGS: COLONIZATION, VIOLENCE, DEATH, BLOOD, MURDER, SUICIDE, RACISM, MISOGYNY

This is the spoiler-free part of the review. I will put up a spoiler alert before going into the review that contains spoilers.

Hello there! If you've been reading this blog for a while, you must have already know that I'm a die hard RF Kuang stan, since I seem to be unable to stop babbling (pun intended) on and on about The Poppy War (I'm serious, it seems that I mention TPW in every other book review in this blog). I mean, If there's anything you need to know about me, and if we're meeting for the very first time, I will tell you that:

I love books that make me cry,

RF Kuang is one of my favorite authors of all time, and

The Poppy War is the best trilogy ever written

My obsession with TPW is borderline concerning. I mean, I created a whole ass Spotify playlist for this trilogy, consisting of songs dedicated to each of TPW characters, I had daydreams about the TV series adaptation of it, who would play who, what the soundtracks and theme songs would be, etc. I'm telling you, it's kinda creepy how much I think of this book series, that's how obsessed I was with it, and still am.

I also have to mention that this trilogy is what kick-started my book review career. Because I started chronicling my reactions while reading the 1st book in this series with my Instagram stories. I have all of my breakdowns, highs and lows while reading The Poppy War captured and published on my IG stories, and now it's all been well documented in my IG stories' archive, and I am so glad for that. Because you very rarely get to really re-experience that special moment when you found something or someone so special that will stay with you for the rest of your life (I mean how many people have documented the exact moment they fell in love with the love of their lives? Well maybe the people who go to those reality dating shows, but even The Bachelors and all of its franchises only have so few lasting marriages). But I have those IG stories that have perfectly captured that special moment that I can now visit and relive whenever I want to. And from there, I've been making more book contents, which then turned into book reviews, and book ramblings, which then gave birth to this tumblr blog. And here we are now.

I mean, I have always been a book lover ever since I learned to read, I read all the time, and I feel like I have always been overly dramatic. But it took the amazing RF Kuang to ignite my will to publicize all of that to the internet and make it my whole ass personality in the internet, because TPW is just that freaking awesome AND I NEED EVERYONE TO BE AS OBSESSED WITH IT AS I AM. I have by now influenced a few people to read The Poppy War and got them to be obsessed with it and turned them into raging RF Kuang's stans like myself (you're welcome, guys 😉).

Having stated all of that, for me to say that this review will be unbiased, would be a big fucking lie. And I appreciate you and the time you're taking out of your day to read this review too much to lie to you about it.

I do have some criticisms about this book, but I started reading this book already knowing that I will like it, because it's RF Kuang's book, and it just checks all of the boxes in terms of the things I like to read about. I just simply can NOT make an unbiased review of Babel, when RF Kuang has impacted my life so much in the last 2 years, and I have been waiting for this book since the end of 2020, after I finished The Burning God. I had been digitally stalking RF Kuang, from which I first heard about this book. I saw every one of her Instagram posts, watched almost all of her Instagram lives, read her tweets, listened to every podcast episodes, watched every Youtube videos, and read every blog posts, articles and interviews she had ever been in and/or made herself. Every time she mentions any updates regarding this book before its release date, my anticipation grows bigger, because with every update she gives, the book seems to be getting better and better for me personally, like she just keeps hitting all the right spots for me.

I mean, she teased her readers with updates like: it's a dark academia book (oh my God, I'm obsessed with dark academia), but also a historical-fantasy book (fuck yeah, after TPW, I need more books of this genre from her), it's inspired by The Secret History by Donna Tartt which is also RF Kuang's favorite book (ARE YOU KIDDING ME, I enjoyed the fuck out of that book, even if I hate the ending, but I fucking love the whole dark academia vibes in it, this book is like the poster child of Dark Academia, and just imagine, a The Secret History-inspired historical-fantasy book written by THE RF Kuang??? At this point, my will to live if only just to be able to read this book went 📈📈📈), and finally when the cover design was published (WOULD YOU LOOK AT THAT MASTERPIECE OF A COVER!! LOOK AT HOW FREAKING GORGEOUS IT IS!! LOOK AT ITTT!!!! GOOD GOD, I FELL IN LOVE WITH IT AT FIRST SIGHT, IT LITERALLY GAVE ME GOOSEBUMPS WHEN I FIRST SAW IT).

To say that I was so excited to read this book would be an understatement, as my expectation for it to be the next best thing, and my new obsession since the Poppy War (and Beartown trilogy and Stormlight Archive series and Mistborn trilogy, yes I'm obsessed with a lot of book series), continues to grow. But here's the thing with expectation, people say that it's just premeditated resentments, or that it often leads to disappointment. And so, I was also nervous and scared that Ms. Kuang will fail to deliver with this book what's gotten me so freaking hyped these last two years, and/or that she has lost that particular quality in her writing that has gotten me so in love with her works. I mean, I was sure that I would like it no matter what, but there was a little part of me that's scared that I would have to lie and convince myself into liking it, if the book turns out to be bad.

Now, having read this book, I can safely say, THE BOOK IS ACTUALLY SO FREAKING GOOD. RF Kuang has truly gotten better and better with each book she releases. I mean, DAMN, GIRL. I should have never doubted her. But then again, I have trust issues, so that might be why.

I didn't know what I was expecting this book to be like, but whatever it is, this book exceeded it all, and more. I'd forgotten what it feels like reading Rebecca's writing after 2 whole years without reading her books, but this book reminded me of how masterful Rebecca is of her craft and she had improved so much since The Burning God. I mean, the prose is just so freaking good (you'll see from the quotes I include in this review), the magic system is one of the most brilliant I have ever read so far, the thorough research she'd done is obvious, and she efficiently utilized the footnote feature of the book (which I absolutely love, it makes the whole dark academia vibe even more apparent). And what's more, she perfectly captures the ✨Dark Academia vibes✨ and she successfully transported me to 1830's Oxford, and got me to fall madly in love with the awesome foursome that is Robin, Ramy, Victoire and Letty but then broke my heart into million pieces in the latter chapters. Oh, also, let's not forget one of the main reasons why I love Rebecca's writing so freaking much: nobody, and I mean, NOBODY writes rage, angst and fury so raw and beautifully like Rebecca. That shit is just 🤌🏻🤌🏻🤌🏻.

Also, I have not yet read anything to represent my frustrations about racism quite like her writing, she just eloquently puts to words all of these frustrations and desperation and make it into something a lot of people can understand, relate to and sympathize with.

Once again, Rebecca tackles such a heavy, intense and important topic such as the one in this book, with such care and thoughtfulness that I'm sure the readers, like me, will be left deep in thoughts, to question and reevaluate all of the values they have ever held. I'm hopeful that this book will definitely spark important discussions regarding the impacts of colonialism in our education, and our languages, also regarding white privilege and racism in the academic sphere, among other important topics.

And once again, Ms. RF Kuang has given me a new obsession in life, new characters to daydream about and make a new Spotify playlist for, and for that I'm so grateful. My biggest complaint of this book is that it's a standalone book and it's only 545 pages long, and even though I tried to prolong the reading time to make it last longer, I still finished it in only 2 weeks' time, I mean, if you're gonna give us a standalone book this good, couldn't you at least pull a Brandon Sanderson and make it 1000+ pages at least, for God's sake but it's fine, whatever.

Nope, I lied, it is NOT okay. The truth is I WISH THERE WERE MORE OF THIS STORY TO READ, BECAUSE I NEED SO MUCH MORE OF IT. Just give me one more book about Babel and I will die happy. But, you know what, I'm glad that at least her 5th book, Yellowface, will soon be published too, so I don't have to wait so long to read more of her work. One simply does not NOT crave more of RF Kuang's books after having read any of her previous books, it has now become sort of an addiction for me. Even now, I'm still in a sort of book hangover from it. Other readers who had finished reading this book, please tell me how to move on from this book, because it has been a week and I can't even start to read a new book because my mind keeps lingering on Robin, Victoire, Letty, and Ramy (oh my God, Ramy, my dearest, most brilliantly clever and funny and charming Ramy 😭).

That's enough dramatic babbling from me, now let me give you a not so brief synopsis of this book.

In 1829, the plague that later became known as Asiatic Cholera came to Canton, China, and took many lives. A little boy watched his mother die in front of him, while he himself was helpless, unable to help his mother in any way because he also caught the sickness and is in critical condition. He's the only one left alive in his house. Just when he thought he's about to die, a mysterious man he didn't recognize came and kicked down the door to the boy's house and found him lying on the bed beside his mother's lifeless body. The boy thought the man came to reap his soul. But then, the man put a silver bar on the boy's bare chest, and spoke two words: Triacle (French)/Treacle (English). The bar then glows white, and there's an eerie sound from nowhere, like a singing or a ringing. The boy whined and curled to his side, the man told him to bear with it and to swallow what's in his mouth. The boy does as he's told, and says that it tasted so sweet. The man says that it's good and that it's working, and he puts the bar back into his pocket. Seconds later, the boy's breathing steadied, and he could see the man's face clearly. He's a white foreigner man whom the boy has never seen before.

The man has healed the boy with his silver bar and magic. The man asks if there's anyone else still alive, to which the boy says there's no one else, and the man asks if there's anything the boy can't leave behind. The boy wanted to take his mother's body with him, but the man said he couldn't take her body. So, the boy said his books, and the man took the books and the boy, and they left the boy's place.

The man informed the boy that he wants to take the boy as his ward, provides him with a comfortable life in England, and all he asks the boy to do in return is to focus on his study and to study hard, because eventually the boy will be studying languages in the Royal Institute of Translation, in Oxford, where the man teaches. The man is Professor Richard Lovell, an Oxford professor, teaching languages in Babel, with a particular interest in Mandarin. The boy agreed to his proposal, thinking he has no family left in Canton and a life in England seems so much better than living a lonely life as a street urchin in Canton.

Prof. Lovell told him to pick an English name since no one in England will be able to pronounce his Chinese name. Inspired by his favorite book and its author, the boy picks the name Robin Swift.

Robin is bilingual, fluent in English and Mandarin, and his Cantonese is passably good. The boy had received parcels of books written in English twice a year since he turned 4 years old, and an English woman named Miss Elizabeth Slate, whom the boy had called Miss Betty, had lived with his household for as long as he could remember, and she taught him how to read and speak in English. The boy realizes Prof. Lovell was the one who sent the books and hired Miss Betty, though he doesn't know why he did all of that. When the Professor tested him with a silver bar with two engravings on it: one in English and one in Chinese, Robin was able to make the silver bar hum and work its magic on him. He has passed Prof. Lovell's test, and that's why he wanted to take Robin as his ward.

In England, Robin was set up to study Latin with Mr. Felton and Greek with Mr. Chester almost immediately, so he could catch up with his peers. He's also set up to study Mandarin with Prof. Lovell. There's a bookshelf full of books, the kinds that Robin likes. When Prof. Lovell was away for weeks in Oxford, Robin went to London and traveled by himself and read everything, even things he didn't understand. He learns the origins of some words and rhyming components of some of the names and words, he even comes up with some of his own. Mrs. Piper, the housekeeper, cooks him so many delicious foods that he has never eaten before.

He's enjoying his new life in England. But one day, he'd lost track of time while reading the new adventure book that Prof. Lovel bought him, he didn't notice that Mr. Chester had been waiting for 1 hour for him. Prof. Lovell comes home to this and immediately confronts Robin who's startled. Robin was about to go see Mr. Chester when Lovell suddenly punches him on the side of the face, thrusting him down to the ground. The Professor then beats him on the side of his torso with the poker from the fireplace. Robin was too stunned to even cry, and Lovell said that it's good that he didn't cry when he got hit. Lovell threatens to send Robin back to Canton where he doesn't have any family, or know anyone, or have any money to support himself, and that he won't get the same opportunities he had in England, nor go to Oxford. Lovell made Robin choose, whether to study hard as they agreed that day back in Canton, so he can stay in England and go to Oxford, or go back to Canton where he'll live and die alone. Robin chooses to stay. This satisfies Lovell, and he tells Robin to go downstairs to begin his study with Mr. Chester that day. Robin does as he's told, while still reeling from the pain on his face and torso. The next day, Lovell acts as if nothing had happened.

One night, after Robin crashed one of Prof. Lovell's gatherings with some of his friends, one of them had remarked on how Robin looks more like Prof. Lovell than the previous one, which sparked confusion in Robin's mind. Does he really look like the Professor? He always knew that his hair and eye colors were a softer shade of brown than the indigo-black that the rest of his family have, but he never even thought that he might not be full-blooded Chinese. Is the Professor his biological father? But why didn't he claim him as his son, but as a ward instead? However, in the end, Robin decided to never confront the Professor about this, as he's too scared to lose his comfortable life in England and lose his chances to study in Oxford.

Finally, the day came when Robin finally went to Oxford as a proper student. While he's studying there, he will be living in a lodging located in Number 4, Magpie Lane. He said his awkward farewell to Prof. Lovell, and meets his first new friend, a charming young man named Ramiz Rafi Mirza, or Ramy for short. He's a Muslim and is from Calcutta, India, and just like Robin, he came to England as a ward of a rich English man. He had left the rest of his family back in Calcutta. Robin felt an immediate connection to Ramy as they have so many things in common. Robin really likes Ramy, and he realizes that he wants to impress Ramy, and Ramy seems to like him back, as he already lovingly gave Robin a nickname of "Birdie". Robin realizes he will make a life there with Ramy, living close to him, and he thinks it wouldn't be so bad.

Robin and Ramy gleefully explore Oxford together as the classes won't start until a few days later. The night before their first day of classes, Ramy left his important notebook in the Bodleian. Robin offered to get it himself, as Ramy almost got into a fight earlier when a group of drunk racist Oxford students confronted Ramy. Robin suggested Ramy go back to their lodgings ahead and he'll return there as soon as he'd retrieved Ramy's notebook. However, just when Robin was leaving the Bodleian after he found Ramy's notebook, in the middle of Holywell Street, he heard a voice furiously saying something in Mandarin, which attracted Robin's attention. Robin then found out the voice belongs to someone who looks almost identical to himself, and there are also two other people with the guy who looks like him. Robin finally realizes that they're actually thieves, as they were struggling with a trunk filled with silver bars, and they were running away and hiding from the constable, who's looking for those thieves. Robin's doppelgänger begged for him to help them and Robin put his hand on the silver bar and said "Wúxíng", which is the word that his doppelgänger has been trying desperately to say, and then "Invisible". Then, the four of them became invisible, and the constable couldn't see them and went to look somewhere else. Robin then threw the bar away and the four of them re-materialized back into the physical world. The three thieves left hurriedly after gathering the scattered silver bars on the ground, and Robin's doppelgänger tells Robin to find him in The Twisted Root. Robin was so shocked, overwhelmed and confused by the whole thing, he's terrified because he had assisted in the theft of silver bars, which is a very serious criminal offence. Robin didn't tell Ramy about it when he got back to his lodging.

The next day, Robin and Ramy meet the other two people in their class, two girls named Victoire Desgraves and Letitia Price. Victoire is Haitian, she speaks French and Kreyòl, and English with a faint french accent. Letitia, or Letty, is English, born and raised in Brighton, England, she speaks French and German, and is an admiral’s daughter. Robin and Ramy were so shocked that their classmates are girls, and they acted awkwardly at first towards the girls, but the four of them would soon hit it off. An older student named Anthony then came and took them for the tour of Babel, the tower where they'll be studying in for the foreseeable future, and if they work hard and are lucky enough, one day they'll be working in it, too.

After their classes for the day, Robin and Ramy walked the girls back to their lodgings that's located outside of the college area, which is pretty far from the tower, due to the fear of the girls corrupting the boy students. Victoire casually mentions that there's a pub called Twisted Roots near their lodging. Robin remembered that name, as it was the name of the place his doppelganger told him to go to meet him, so he asks her where it is, and Victoire gives him the location of the pub. After Robin and Ramy said goodbye to the girls, Robin lied to Ramy about going to Prof. Lovell's house in Jericho, which is closer to the girls' lodgings, to visit the Professor and Mrs. Piper, and told Ramy to go back first, and Ramy does as requested.

Robin met his doppelgänger in the pub, and demanded information regarding who he is, and why they look alike, and why he's stealing silver bars. What his doppelgänger told him and the proposal he gave Robin that evening lay the foundations for the events that will unfold during Robin's years in Oxford.

Family drama, secret societies, betrayal, power struggle, violence. Babel is the tallest and safest building in England, guarding the knowledge the people working in it has collected from all over the world, and the magic that's keeping the British empire together. But it's going to be brought down by the very people it has enslaved to enrich itself. Revolution looms ahead for the British Empire.

🚨SPOILER ALERT🚨

From this point forward in the review, I will mention spoilers, plot twist and the ending. So, if you don’t wish to be spoiled, you can skip the rest of the review and come back to this review once you’ve finished reading this book.

There are so many things I love in this book, but here are the very best things about it for me:

THE FRIENDSHIP. There are so many things I love about this book, but the one thing I love the most would definitely be the friendship between Robin, Ramy, Victoire and Letty. I don't even know how to even begin to to tell you about my love for their friendship. I feel like I always mention in every book review of the books that have some kind of friendship between the characters in it, that I found the friendship to be the best thing about the book. Because I think that friendships are such a magical thing, and this book, through the bond of friendship of Robin, Ramy, Victoire and Letty, just reminded me how true that is. As Hanya Yanagihara brilliantly wrote in A Little Life, "Wasn’t friendship its own miracle, the finding of another person who made the entire lonely world seem somehow less lonely?” I find one of the most magical things in this book is that these four individuals, who were born and raised in such vastly different cultures, thousands of miles away from each other, could find their ways into each other's lives and become such an irreplaceable part in them. How many people can say, "I would die for you," to you and you believe them 100%? And this person has no legal obligations that bind them to you, nor sexually attracted to you, nor has any genetic relations with you. This is a whole different separate individual who was raised with different values, rules and principles, yet they still choose to love and care for you, and they choose to be in your life, even though they have no obligation to. If that's not magical, I don't know what is.

This friendship that the four of them have, I feel like it's special among any other friendships that I have read and have come to love in other books, because it feels like they're each other's first loves. It might be because they're all each other has in Oxford, so no wonder they clung to each other like they do in the book. They're became a family, and it's like them VS the world. They were the outcasts, as Oxford at that time is reserved for the education of White Men only, and they find that only each other can truly understand them, and they find peace, happiness and solace in each other, by simply being together. I used to think that I understood how much they must love and care for one another, but I really didn't. Because I never really had that kind of friends, as I am lucky enough to have never got to be in their positions. But RF Kuang has written it so brilliantly that I can feel how much they love and care for one another, it exceeded the bounds of friendship, that at times I feel like they're even more than just friends and lovers, and it made it hurt so much more when the betrayal happened.

The one quote by Fredrik Backman (one of my favorite authors of all time) in Us Against You immediately came to mind when I was sobbing while reading THAT betrayal scene, "The best friends of our childhoods are the loves of our lives, and they break our hearts in worse ways." That quote had never resonated with me more than at this exact moment, with these four characters. I remember hearing in a really great episode of an awesome podcast called Dear Sugars, that the heartbreak from the breakup of a friendship is so much worse than the heartbreak from a breakup of a romantic relationship, because people in romantic relationships breakup all the time (there are millions and millions of breakup songs, and thousands of books about marriage and romantic relationships, but how many songs and books about friendship breakups are there in this world?), but we think that friendships are supposed to last forever, and so the pain that comes with that is soul crushing. People cheat in romantic relationships all the time, but when friends do the act of betrayal, I feel like it's so shocking and disorienting because we almost never see it coming.

But these betrayals do happen, and friendships do breakup often in real life, even to the strongest ones that people thought would and should have lasted a lifetime. I love how RF Kuang depicted the conflicts that often happen in friendships, especially friendships between a group of people with such vastly different backgrounds, because conflicts happen all the time even in friendships between people with similar backgrounds. I felt the frustrations that Robin, Ramy and Victoire felt when they explained to Letty about the racism that they face for the millionth times, and Letty still not getting it, to the very end. How could she love them, as they did her, when she didn't even understand the very present racism that they faced? It hurts, but friends do hurt each other, sometimes.

However, while it lasted, before that betrayal happened, their friendship was so beautiful and magical, it was such a joy to read. I remember my school days and the friends I had from those days. There's something very special in that friendship where we get to be present in each other's lives almost everyday, bearing witness to their highs and lows, and then motivating and cheering them on their long and hard days, and the happiness that's multiplied when we're celebrating each other's successes, or even the mundane everyday dialogues and silences, it's all very precious and special to me, now. But the thing is, I took it for granted when it happened, and now I wish I had cherished those moments more, taken more pictures and videos with them, and made more effort to actually keep in touch with them after those school days are over. And so, I love that scene where they took a group picture of themselves, even though Robin, Ramy and Victoire hated the picture, in the end it's the only remaining proof of their happier days in Oxford.

(art by Kimberly McDonald)

To quote Andy Bernard from The Office, I wish there's a way to know you're in the good old days before you've actually left them. Maybe that's why I love reading about friendships in books. Because maybe, in a way, I'm reliving those days through these characters in their stories, maybe it's my way of making those days last longer and cherishing it, like I should have done back then. So yes, I will always have a soft spot for beautiful friendships in books, and Robin, Ramy, Victoire and Letty's friendship has a special place in my heart.

MY PRECIOUS SON, ROBIN. I think it's fair to say that, at this point in my life, I have read many fantasy books, and I have fallen in love many times with the main characters of those books. But the things is, the main characters of those books are often times described to be a powerful brave knight who's also often times a natural born leader, and even though their initial situation may be tragic and incredibly hard, by the middle to end of the book they will have overcame it all and they heroically lead the fight against evil. Some might say, these are Mary Sue characters. Now Robin Swift, is a very unique main character, and by no means a Mary Sue, in my opinion. He is a scholar, and in no way a fighter, at least in 80% of the book. He literally ran away to avoid a fight, and he was so scared that he would lose an opportunity to study and have a good life in England, that he told his own brother to not involve him with anymore of Hermes business, even though he knew it's the only way he could take a stand against this powerful evil institution that is about to go to war with his home country, China (though he would later learn from his mistakes and rejoin The Hermes Society). All of this is to say, Robin is an unconventional fantasy book heroine, and that is so refreshing and that's one of the reasons I love him so much. Don't get me wrong, him being a scholar and not as heroic as other fantasy book heroines doesn't make him any less interesting or boring, quite the contrary actually, it's so interesting to read about him growing and changing over time as the story progresses. It almost feels like he went from one end of the spectrum to the other end, because even though he was so docile and non confrontational by the beginning of the book, he was so furious and hungry for revenge by the end of the book, but it was written in such a brilliant way that it doesn't feel forced or unnatural for him to change so drastically.

True, in the end, Robin took the charge and led the Babel students' strike against the British government, but there's absolutely no way it's his initial choice of action. Because it took many tragic deaths of some of the most important figures in Robin's lives, and the betrayal of one of the people he loved the most in this world, to get him to finally be so unhinged that he chose violence, and blew up an entire tower, and himself, along with some other willing characters. He was pushed so far beyond his limits, that by the end of the book, he was so unhinged, I even think that Rin from TPW would be impressed by the amount of destruction that Robin caused, and it was so hard to read. It definitely gave me flashbacks to the ending of The Burning God, and knowing Rebecca, I knew for sure by then that Robin will die in the end. Because homegirl simply does not write the easy happy endings, no.

Rebecca writes the hard and heartbreaking endings, because they're the right endings to the stories and the characters in it. One thing for sure, RF Kuang is NOT afraid of killing her darlings, and it's the quality that I have come to highly respect and appreciate of hers. Because it must not be easy for her. Fredrik Backman said in his events when asked about how he makes his writing so good to the point that it made so many people cry, he said that people crying while reading his books is the extension of him crying while writing his books, because to write something so profound and poignant that so many people were able to relate and cry to, it took so much out of the author, and that Backman even wrote himself into depression at one point. Now, I don't know if Rebecca agrees to that sentiment, and I don't know if she cried when she was writing this book, but I can definitely imagine her sobbing while writing this book, because I was sobbing while reading it. I don't know how these incredible authors do it, to make people you don't even know cry and be so impacted by the pieces of art you created... It's wizardry. These authors are wizards. I highly appreciate the emotional labor they put into their books.

Anyway, Robin be robbin' my heart in this book. It was such a journey reading his story. My guy has one of the most tragic life stories, but my God, is it inspiring and impactful for me personally. I really love reading his inner turmoil about wanting to stay to study in Oxford and make Prof. Lovell proud of him, but also knowing that what Lovell's done is NOT right and wanting to do something about it. I also love his character arc, his character growth is incredible, heartbreaking though, it was. I felt his heartbreak when he realizes that no matter how hard he tries, he will never ever be seen as a fellow human being by Lovell, let alone be a son he can proudly claim for the world to know, much less be a son he can ever love, all because he's half Chinese. I think, from Robin's story, we can all learn how critical it is for us to take a stand for what is right, in anyway we could, and to not be trapped in the comfort of our everyday lives. To comfort the disturbed and disturb the comfortable, I think it's one of the most important message this book has. Although, granted, by the end, Robin was so blinded by rage and fury, and he was also so broken from all the tragic deaths of his loved ones, that the actions Robin took in the end is very extreme, that I hope that we would never be put in positions where we have to do anything even remotely close to it. But I think the message is very well delivered. It evokes the question if violence is really necessary to break free from oppressive systems? With all of these reckonings happening all over the world, be it about injustice, oppression, or even global warming, one thing for sure, we should all take a part to help make a good change in this world.

Also, I gotta say, I can relate so much to Robin. I can also see my precious late son Kitay in him, and in a perfect world, these two precious characters never had to die and live long and fulfilling lives, but alas, the world is too rotten for these two angels, and now they're in heavens, where they belong. As I have mentioned before, I would very much like to read more of Babel, and if Rebecca ever graciously decides to make more books about it, if it's a sequel, I hope we get to find out how the British Empire is impacted by the explosion of Babel, and how Robin's legacy is being honored, and about Robin's and Griffin's other half siblings (since in his letter to Robin, he said there are more of them), or if it's a prequel, I hope it's about Griffin and The Hermes Society.

I wish we got to know Robin's real Chinese name.

MY SWEETHEART, RAMY. Ah, so we've arrived at the point where I have to relive the biggest heartbreak I experienced while reading this book. Okay, first let me tell you the reasons why, to me, Ramy's the brightest star of this book:

He's the first muslim character in a fantasy book that I've ever read, and RF Kuang excellently, respectfully and accurately depicts him as a muslim. Because Ramy is so well written, he's multi dimensional and complicated and overall, such a joy to read. And, if you haven't notice even from the hijab I wore in my profile picture, I, myself, am a muslim. I was taken aback when I read about him doing prayers, saying Inna lillahi wa inna ilayhi Raji’un when a character dies, and Rebecca even remembers to not make Ramy drink any alcohol, because those are the things that I do too. I feel so close to Ramy due to this, I feel like he could be one of my classmates, except for him being exceptionally bright with an exceptional talent for languages. I had to keep reminding myself that I'm reading a dark academia fantasy book, because it just seems so unbelievable to me to be reading about a muslim character in a book of this genre, but I am so grateful and incredibly ecstatic to have that representation. And yes, I am aware that I need to read more, as there are A LOT of muslim characters in fantasy books already existed before Ramy, especially in the ones written by muslim authors. Trust me, they are now added to my TBR list and I am so excited to read those books.

The book doesn't mention it outright, but I think it did insinuated that Ramy is gay. I mean, tell me you disagree with me after reading this scene:

"‘Why won’t you dance with Letty?’ ‘I’m not looking to start a row.’ ‘No, really.’ ‘Please, Birdie.’ Ramy sighed. ‘You know how it is.’ ‘She wants you,’ Robin said. He’d only just realized this, and now that he said it out loud, it seemed so obvious that he felt stupid for not seeing it earlier. ‘Very badly. So why—’ ‘Don’t you know why?’ Their eyes met. Robin felt a prickle at the back of his neck. The space between them felt very charged, like the moment between lightning and thunder, and Robin had no idea what was going on or what would happen next, only that it all felt very strange and terrifying, like teetering over the edge of a windy, roaring cliff."

RIGHT?!!! Also, I think Robin might also be gay or bi, because it seems that he was having a gay panic in that scene above. Also, take a look at this scene:

"Ramy gesticulated wildly as he spoke. It was clear he wasn’t truly angry, just passionate and clearly brilliant, so invested in the truth he needed the whole world to know. Robin leaned back and watched Ramy’s lovely, agitated face, both amazed and delighted. He could have cried then. He’d been so desperately lonely, and had only now realized it, and now he wasn’t, and this felt so good he didn’t know what to do with himself."

And I love that for them. I mean, this is just my theory though, I don't think that Rebecca has ever commented about the characters' sexual orientations, so this is all just my personal assumption. And so, that makes Ramy a complicated character, since we know from how he's depicted in the book, that he's a pretty devout muslim, and Islam doesn't look kindly upon anything LGBTQIA+, not at all. I can only imagine Ramy having multiple complex inner conflicts about this, and I wish we'd gotten that being explored in this book, because queerness in Islam is a topic not being discussed enough, and to have Ramy be proudly gay and a muslim would have been an important representation to have. Especially for young queer muslims who would've felt represented had it was explored more in the book, instead of just being a subtext. But I understand that Rebecca may think that she's not well equipped to be tackling such complicated topic, since she's not a muslim herself, also the book's setting is in 1830s England, which is not a great time and place for queer people.

Ramy's very sarcastic and funny, and I know he might be using sarcasm and humor as coping mechanisms since he had to deal with the gross racism almost everyday while living in England, and that behind the funny and sarcastic facade is a whole lot of hurt, but that's one of the reasons why I love him, because I can relate. Who among us doesn't use humor and sarcasm as coping mechanisms? Well, not me. I am completely fine, and I don't have nor need any coping mechanism whatsoever.

His background story made me cry more than the others'. Again, it must be because I'm a muslim, but reading about his childhood in Calcutta, his family and his father, oh my God, it just gets to me. When his father was being humiliated by those rotten racists in front of Ramy, his own son. And when his father was saying goodbye to him when he was to board the ship to England. Those remain one of the most heartbreaking scenes in this book.

Okay, now, let's talk about THAT scene. When he was shot and then died, I almost threw my phone across the room (because I was reading the ebook on my phone). That scene fucking broke me, because Ramy was one of the best things about this book, to me. And he was killed??!!!! By Letty, no less. Oh God, I can't even begin to tell you the overwhelming anger, shock, and devastation I felt. Just know that I was ready to throw hands, and sue RF Kuang for emotional damage. I wasn't even in denial, like I usually was when I first read about the sudden deaths of my favorite characters (SPOILERS AHEAD FOR THE POPPY WAR, MISTBORN, A LITTLE LIFE AND CROOKED KINGDOM!!) (Altan of TPW, Kelsier of Mistborn, Willem of ALL, Matthias of SoC, etc.), I fucking knew that Ramy was really dead, and that he's not coming back. Because if there's anything I know about Rebecca, it's that she likes to make her readers suffer. While I understand that his death is instrumental in moving the story into its climax, it still hurts, Rebecca. It hurts so much reading about the murder of your favorite character.

MY QUEEN, VICTOIRE. Queen of surviving, or survivor queen(?). I truly hope we get more of her, because I feel like we got so very little of her in the book, but she was actually a fascinating character with a lot of depth, which we only find out in the end of the book. I get that maybe she's more of a quiet type, and I can relate to that, so maybe that is why we don't get more of her in the book. I feel like every friend group has that one quiet friend who would rather be a wallflower to the group's more extroverted friends' lively discussions and shenanigans. Maybe you yourselves have or even have been that one quiet friend. However, it almost feels like I was robbed of more scenes where Victoire and her personality shines before shit hits the fan.

I was so glad that she didn't die. Listen, when Robin was becoming unhinged and I realized that he will have to die by the end of the book, I was TERRIFIED that Rebecca's gonna kill Victoire too, because one of the most heartbreaking thing about The Burning God is that (SPOILERS AHEAD FOR THE BURNING GOD!!) Kitay died along with Rin in the end. So, when I had that realization that Robin will die in the end, I was like, OH HELL NOOO!!! I was still reeling from Ramy's death, and while I was already slowly accepting Robin's inevitable death, I was in no way ready for Victoire's death. And that is why I was so happy that in the end, she chose to leave and continue to live. And I truly think that it's such a brave choice for her to make, such a radical one too, in her position.

It's a radical choice because I think people would expect her to die along with Robin, you know, because best friends are supposed to die for one another and be each other's ride or die, which is actually unhealthy. While yes, people in friendship should ideally care about their friends, and in some cases if they're lucky enough maybe those friends even love each other, but we should never expect anyone to die for us. I mean, loving our friends means respecting the fact that they are individuals with their own lives and free will, and they should be able to make choices regarding their own lives. So maybe we should stop this belief that friends should want to die for one another. Call me crazy but you should be able to love your friends without giving them your whole life and death. This applies for romantic partners too, IMO.

Also, because in Robin's case, while yes, he died in an effort to prevent the British Empire from attacking China, and thus, saving many innocent civilian lives, but it's also because he's been so broken that he didn't have the will to live anymore, so he wanted to kill himself, which is, as Ramy and Victoire told him, an escape for him, as it is the easy way out. As Victoire said, the evil and injustice doesn't end with Babel, and there is still so much they have to do to stop the colonization of the British Empire in the world, to accomplish what the Hermes Society was made for. Their fight is so far from being over but they have to be alive to actually fight it. And so, to continue living and continue the fight is actually much harder than dying by blowing up Babel. But Robin said that he couldn't go on, and in the end he chose what he chose. I really love the fact that he respected Victoire's wishes to leave and live on, and so did Victoire towards Robin's final wishes. What's heartbreaking though is that, in the end, she thought she was being selfish, because she really wasn't.

WE NEED TO TALK ABOUT LETTY. Do I hate the bitch? Yes. Oh, believe me, yes I really do hate her. But oh God, is she hurting too. It feels like everything she loves, she hurts. She's also suffering, even if it's in a different way than Robin and Victoire are suffering. Imagine having to live with the knowledge that you killed the man you loved, who's also one of your best friends. She must also blame herself for the death of her brother, and then Robin and Victoire's (even though Victoire is actually still alive, but Letty would never know that). These are the people she had loved dearly. I cannot even begin to imagine what a miserable life that is. RF Kuang did a great job making me care for Letty too, even after everything, she really is the queen of writing morally grey characters.

Gosh, I really should have known better because Letty was already exposing herself from the beginning, anytime Robin, Ramy or Victoire show any sign of not being happy with Babel due to its racism, Letty was all, "Why aren't you happy? you should be grateful." Reminds me of somebody (Lovell). But when I was reading it, I brushed it aside, I thought she would come around soon enough, but then she did it again, and I was like "Pooja Letty, what is this behaviour?!!"

But still, I trusted that she will eventually understand and support her friends. I really suck at detecting toxic people, huh? But I was able to sense that something is wrong with her when she wanted to walk around by herself around the Old Library. When she pointed the gun to Robin, Ramy and Victoire, I still thought she was just bluffing. So when she actually shot Ramy, I realized what I was this whole time...

And when we got to the 2nd interlude which was about Letty's back story, I was like NOPE. Not giving you a chance to make me feel sorry for this bitch, Rebecca. But, I was too scared that it would include something important that would be pertinent to the remainder of the story, so I did read her interlude. And now, here we are. Feeling sorry for Letty.

Oh, and that scene when she tried to convince Robin and Victoire to give up before the army attacks them, I hate that I still feel sad for her. I kept reminding myself that she's Ramy's murderer, but I'm too soft, I can't help but feel sorry for her. Maybe being so lonely and full of regrets for killing someone as precious as Ramy and losing amazing friends like Robin and Victoire is punishment enough for her. I can't imagine having to live with such pains.

POOR BRAVE GRIFFIN. Another character that I hoped to get more of in the book, but didn't. I initially didn't trust him, I thought he was just using Robin to sell those silver and use the money himself or other nefarious things, but he didn't, he was actually doing the most for The Hermes Society. He really hated the British Empire and did his darndest best to help bring it down. By the few final chapters I regretted ever not trusting him so much. His life is so tragic, maybe arguably even more tragic than Robin's, although it's not a competition. I wish we get more of his story and the missions he did for the Hermes Society.

THE BEAUTY OF LANGUAGES. I'm so grateful to be bilingual (English is my second language, Bahasa Indonesia is my mother tongue), and I have always been interested in so many other languages. Being a lover of books, I understand the beauty of words and so I have also come to love the languages of the books I loved. Last year I briefly learned Swedish in Duolingo, in an effort to be able to read the third and final book of one of my favorite trilogy of all time, The Winners, of the Beartown trilogy, by Fredrik Backman. The book is originally written in Swedish and it's released in October last year, while the English version has just been released this month in the US. My study of the Swedish language on Duolingo came to an abrupt end when I realized there's no way I would be fluent enough to read and fully understand the book without actually translating every other word with google translate, so I accepted my defeat and waited a whole ass year for the English version of the book. But, when I was only 2 chapters into Babel, it has reignited my will to study Swedish. I'm happy to announce that I will soon resume my study of the Swedish language, not that anyone cares. Who knows, maybe by the time Backman releases a new book in Swedish, I would be fluent enough to actually read and understand it, though I hope it wouldn't take Backman that long to release another book. I love that my whole motivation for studying a whole new language is books.

My whole point is that Babel has that effect on its readers. It really showcases the beauty of languages and the magic that they have. Because languages really are magical, there are literally sayings in one language that can't be properly translated or explained in any other language, but there's so many people who spoke that language and have it as their mother tongue who understands that saying and so it's like some kind of the biggest inside joke ever. Isn't that so magical? Languages open doors to new knowledge, and new treasures that are written in books from all over the world. As Anthony pointed out in the book,

"‘Languages aren’t just made of words. They’re modes of looking at the world. They’re the keys to civilization. And that’s knowledge worth killing for.’"

THE BRILLIANT MAGIC SYSTEM. I think it's so brilliant of RF Kuang to use the translation-based magic, where translation is deconstructed and attached to a magic effect, using silver and a person who has mastered a minimum of two different languages. I think it's so smart and brilliant and unique. I love it so much. Of all things in this world that she can imagine having magical powers to use in her book, she chose translation, and silver. I understand that it must be because Rebecca loves languages and is passionate about translation, but I mean, using it in a fantasy book might be the best thing she ever did, in terms of writing magic systems for her books. I'm so excited to find out what's her next best idea for her books would be.

THE REFRESHING TAKE ON DARK ACADEMIA. It has been known that Dark Academia lacks diversity. In most cases, almost all of the characters in Dark Academia books and movies are all white (The Secret History, Kill Your Darlings, Dead Poet Society, etc.), and if you look up dark academia fashion inspo, it's almost always white people in those pictures, wearing Dark Academia inspired outfits (although now more and more POC make Dark Academia fashion inspo too, via social media, which is awesome). So it feels like Dark Academia is reserved for white people only, and for the longest time I felt guilty for liking it. That is why it feels so refreshing to have 3 of the 4 main characters of the book to be people of colour, and the main conflict of the story to be about racism in the academia world and colonialism. It's like RF Kuang is saying fuck your white dominance in the world of Dark Academia, here's the diversity it has been lacking. She's showing that POC belong in the academic world just as much as everyone else, and it's high time we depict that in our media. What a power move. For that I will always stan this woman.

As much as I love this book, I do have some criticisms…

I find it a little hard to believe that Griffin regains his ability to make silver bars with mandarin engraving works ever since he heard Robin say something in mandarin, because isn't he supposed to be traveling abroad often, why didn't he just go to China and regain that ability back years before he met Robin?

I need to know SO MUCH more about the Hermes Society, I feel like the book should have given us more about it in order to make us root for it more. It's very hard to make people root for something they don't really know about.

I wish we get multiple POVs (Ramy's, Victoire's and Letty's, and even Griffin's and Lovell's) instead of only Robin's. I truly believe it would make this book even better than it already is, since it will undoubtedly give more life to the other 3 main characters, and probably even give them more depth. I'd also like to get more out of these three characters.

THIS BOOK IS WAAAYYYYYYY TOO SHORT FOR ME, I NEED MORE OF THESE DELICIOUSLY AWESOME CAST OF CHARACTERS. I'm thinking of starting a petition for RF Kuang to make more books or novellas with these awesome characters. Give me prequels, sequels, anything, PLEASE.

Here are my favourite moments from the book:

Those first days when Robin and Ramy were exploring Oxford for the first time and they had a picnic just the two of them.

When the four of them were laughing themselves silly in Victoire's room looking for the ripe pears that the stench must be coming from but there's no pears.

When Griffin gave Robin the three-volume set of Oliver Twist because Robin mentioned to Griffin that he likes Dickens.

When Robin impressed that snobby Pendennis and his snobby friends, who were undermining him, at that wine party.

That ball scene in the Babel tower, thrown by Babel students.

That night in the old library when they had dinner, when they were scheming to defy the British empire.

And finally, here are my favorite quotes from the book:

"He felt a sharp ache in his chest as Canton disappeared over the horizon, and then a raw emptiness, as if a grappling hook had yanked his heart out of his body. It had not registered until now that he would not step foot on his native shore again for many years, if ever. He wasn’t sure what to make of this fact. The word loss was inadequate. Loss just meant a lack, meant something was missing, but it did not encompass the totality of this severance, this terrifying un-anchoring from all that he’d ever known."

"He had no right to be resentful. Professor Lovell had promised him everything, and owed him nothing. Robin did not yet fully understand the rules of this world he was about to enter, but he understood the necessity of gratitude. Of deference. One did not spite one’s saviours."

"He quashed his memories too. His life in Canton – his mother, his grandparents, a decade of running about the docks – it all proved surprisingly easy to shed, perhaps because this passage was so jarring, the break so complete. He’d left behind everything he’d known. There was nothing to cling to, nothing to escape back to. His world now was Professor Lovell, Mrs Piper, and the promise of a country on the other side of the ocean. He buried his past life, not because it was so terrible but because abandoning it was the only way to survive. He pulled on his English accent like a new coat, adjusted everything he could about himself to make it fit, and, within weeks, wore it with comfort. In weeks, no one was asking him to speak a few words in Chinese for their entertainment. In weeks, no one seemed to remember he was Chinese at all."

"‘But that’s the beauty of learning a new language. It should feel like an enormous undertaking. It ought to intimidate you. It makes you appreciate the complexity of the ones you know already.’"

"But even then, Robin was not too young to understand there were some truths that could not be uttered, that life as normal was only possible if they were never acknowledged. He had a roof over his head, three guaranteed meals a day, and access to more books than he could read in a lifetime. He did not, he knew, have the right to demand anything more. He made a decision then. He would never question Professor Lovell, never probe at the empty space where the truth belonged. As long as Professor Lovell did not accept him as a son, Robin would not attempt to claim him as a father. A lie was not a lie if it was never uttered; questions that were never asked did not need answers. They would both remain perfectly content to linger in the liminal, endless space between truth and denial."

"Inside, the heady wood-dust smell of freshly printed books was overwhelming. If tobacco smelled like this, Robin thought, he’d huff it every day. He stepped towards the closest shelf, hand lifted tentatively towards the books on display, too afraid to touch them – they seemed so new and crisp; their spines were uncracked, their pages smooth and bright. Robin was used to well-worn, waterlogged tomes; even his Classics grammars were decades old. These shiny, freshly bound things seemed like a different class of object, things to be admired from a distance rather than handled and read. ‘Pick one,’ said Professor Lovell. ‘You ought to know the feeling of acquiring your first book.’ Pick one? Just one, of all these treasures?"

"He cocked his head. ‘Do you wish to return to Canton?’ Robin swallowed. ‘No.’ He meant it. Even after this, even after the miseries of his classes, he could not imagine an alternate future for himself. Canton meant poverty, insignificance, and ignorance. Canton meant the plague. Canton meant no more books. London meant all the material comforts he could ask for. London meant, someday, Oxford."

"‘I’ve always just tried to blend in,’ said Robin. ‘But that’s impossible for me,’ said Ramy. ‘I have to play a part. Back in Calcutta, we all tell the story of Sake Dean Mahomed, the first Muslim from Bengal to become a rich man in England. He has a white Irish wife. He owns property in London. And you know how he did it? He opened a restaurant, which failed; and then he tried to be hired as a butler or valet, which also failed. And then he had the brilliant idea of opening a shampoo house in Brighton.’ Ramy chuckled. ‘Come and get your healing vapours! Be massaged with Indian oils! It cures asthma and rheumatism; it heals paralysis. Of course, we don’t believe that at home. But all Dean Mahomed had to do was give himself some medical credentials, convince the world of this magical Oriental cure, and then he had them eating out of the palm of his hand. So what does that tell you, Birdie? If they’re going to tell stories about you, use it to your advantage. The English are never going to think I’m posh, but if I fit into their fantasy, then they’ll at least think I’m royalty.’"

"They stood looking at each other in silence. There was no question about what had happened. They were both shaken by the sudden realization that they did not belong in this place, that despite their affiliation with the Translation Institute and despite their gowns and pretensions, their bodies were not safe on the streets. They were men at Oxford; they were not Oxford men. But the enormity of this knowledge was so devastating, such a vicious antithesis to the three golden days they’d blindly enjoyed, that neither of them could say it out loud. And they never would say it out loud. It hurt too much to consider the truth. It was so much easier to pretend; to keep spinning the fantasy for as long as they could."

"‘But academics by nature are a solitary, sedentary lot. Travel sounds fun until you realize what you really want is to stay at home with a cup of tea and a stack of books by a warm fire.’"

"‘Translation, from time immemorial, has been the facilitator of peace. Translation makes possible communication, which in turn makes possible the kind of diplomacy, trade, and cooperation between foreign peoples that brings wealth and prosperity to all."

"And then they were laughing again. Soon it became apparent that no topics were off limits. They could talk about anything, share all the indescribable humiliations they felt being in a place they were not supposed to be, all the lurking unease that until now they’d kept to themselves. They offered up everything about themselves because they had, at last, found the only group of people for whom their experiences were not so unique or baffling."

"One thing united them all – without Babel, they had nowhere in this country to go. They’d been chosen for privileges they couldn’t have ever imagined, funded by powerful and wealthy men whose motives they did not fully understand, and they were acutely aware these could be lost at any moment. That precariousness made them simultaneously bold and terrified. They had the keys to the kingdom; they did not want to give them back."

"‘Babel collects foreign languages and foreign talent the same way it hoards silver and uses them to produce translation magic that benefits England and England only. The vast majority of all silver bars in use in the world are in London. The newest, most powerful bars in use rely on Chinese, Sanskrit, and Arabic to work, but you’ll count less than a thousand bars in the countries where those languages are widely spoken, and then only in the homes of the wealthy and powerful. And that’s wrong. That’s predatory. That’s fundamentally unjust.’"

"So you see, translators do not so much deliver a message as they rewrite the original. And herein lies the difficulty – rewriting is still writing, and writing always reflects the author’s ideology and biases. After all, the Latin translatio means “to carry across”. Translation involves a spatial dimension – a literal transportation of texts across conquered territory, words delivered like spices from an alien land. Words mean something quite different when they journey from the palaces of Rome to the tearooms of today’s Britain."

"And he wondered at the contradiction: that he despised them, that he knew they could be up to no good, and that still he wanted to be respected by them enough to be included in their ranks. It was a very strange mix of emotions. He hadn’t the faintest idea how to sort through them."

"Then he blinked, because he’d just registered what this most mundane and extraordinary moment meant – that in the space of several weeks, they had become what he’d never found in Hampstead, what he thought he’d never have again after Canton: a circle of people he loved so fiercely his chest hurt when he thought about them. A family."

"He felt a crush of guilt then for loving them, and Oxford, as much as he did. He adored it here; he really did. For all the daily slights he suffered, walking through campus delighted him. He simply could not maintain, as Griffin did, an attitude of constant suspicion or rebellion; he could not acquire Griffin’s hatred of this place. Yet didn’t he have a right to be happy? He had never felt such warmth in his chest until now, had never looked forward to getting up in the morning as he did now. Babel, his friends, and Oxford – they had unlocked a part of him, a place of sunshine and belonging, that he never thought he’d feel again. The world felt less dark. He was a child starved of affection, which he now had in abundance – and was it so wrong for him to cling to what he had? He was not ready to commit fully to Hermes. But by God, he would have killed for any of his cohort."

"‘Which seems right to you? Do we try our hardest, as translators, to render ourselves invisible? Or do we remind our reader that what they are reading was not written in their native language?’ ‘That’s an impossible question,’ said Victoire. ‘Either you situate the text in its time and place, or you bring it to where you are, here and now. You’re always giving something up.’ ‘Is faithful translation impossible, then?’ Professor Playfair challenged. ‘Can we never communicate with integrity across time, across space?’ ‘I suppose not,’ Victoire said reluctantly. ‘But what is the opposite of fidelity?’ asked Professor Playfair. He was approaching the end of this dialectic; now he needed only to draw it to a close with a punch. ‘Betrayal. Translation means doing violence upon the original, means warping and distorting it for foreign, unintended eyes. So then where does that leave us? How can we conclude, except by acknowledging that an act of translation is then necessarily always an act of betrayal?’"

"‘Languages aren’t just made of words. They’re modes of looking at the world. They’re the keys to civilization. And that’s knowledge worth killing for.’"

"English did not just borrow words from other languages; it was stuffed to the brim with foreign influences, a Frankenstein vernacular. And Robin found it incredible, how this country, whose citizens prided themselves so much on being better than the rest of the world, could not make it through an afternoon tea without borrowed goods."

"'History isn’t a premade tapestry that we’ve got to suffer, a closed world with no exit. We can form it. Make it. We just have to choose to make it.’"

"Come back with me, he almost said when they parted. Come to hall. Come back and have Christmas dinner. But that was impossible. Robin’s life was split into two, and Griffin existed in the shadow world, hidden from sight. Robin could never bring him back to Magpie Lane. Could never introduce him to his friends. Could never, in daylight, call him brother."

"‘You have such a great fear of freedom, brother. It’s shackling you. You’ve identified so hard with the colonizer, you think any threat to them is a threat to you. When are you going to realize you can’t be one of them?’"

"At last, Griffin shook his head and said, ‘You’re lost, brother. You’re a ship adrift, searching for familiar shores. I understand what it is you want. I sought it too. But there is no homeland. It’s gone.’ He paused beside Robin on his way to the door. His fingers landed on Robin’s shoulder, squeezed so hard they hurt. ‘But realize this, brother. You fly no one’s flag. You’re free to seek your own harbour. And you can do so much more than tread water.’"

"A hundred arguments swam through Robin’s head – that he had not requested these privileges of Oxford, had not chosen to be spirited out of Canton at all, that the generosities of the university should not demand his constant, unswerving loyalty to the Crown and its colonial projects, and if it did, then that was a peculiar form of bondage he had never agreed to. That he had not wished for this fate until it was thrust upon him, decided for him. That he didn’t know what life he would have chosen – this one, or a life in which he’d grown up in Canton, among people who looked and spoke like him. But what did it matter? Professor Lovell would hardly sympathize. All that mattered was that Robin was guilty."

"‘You drink the champagne, Robin. You take your allowance. You live in your furnished room on Magpie Lane, you parade down the streets in your robes and tailored clothes, all paid for by the school, and yet you say all this money comes from blood. This does not bother you?’ And that was the heart of it all, wasn’t it? Robin had always been willing, in theory, to give up only some things for a revolution he halfway believed in. He was fine with resistance as long as it didn’t hurt him. And the contradiction was fine, as long as he didn’t think too hard about it, or look too closely. But spelled out like this, in such bleak terms, it seemed inarguable that far from being a revolutionary, Robin, in fact, had no convictions whatsoever."

"Mr Trevelyan turned back to the other guests. ‘Consider this boy and his father. Both of similar ability, both of a similar background and education. The father begins with even more of an advantage, I would say, as his father, I’m told, belonged to a wealthier merchant class. But so fortunes rise and fall. Despite his natural talents, Mr Mirza here can attain no better than a posting as a domestic servant. Don’t you agree, Mr Mirza?’ Ramy saw the most peculiar expression then on his father’s face. He looked as if he were holding something in, as if he’d swallowed a very bitter seed but was unable to spit it out. Suddenly this game did not seem such fun. He felt nervous now for showing off, but couldn’t quite put his finger on why. ‘Come now, Mr Mirza,’ said Mr Trevelyan. ‘You can’t claim that you wanted to be a footman.’ Mr Mirza gave a nervous chuckle. ‘It’s a great honour to serve Sir Horace Wilson.’ ‘Oh, come off it – no need to be polite, we all know how he farts.’ Ramy stared at his father; the man he still thought was as tall as a mountain, the man who had taught him all his scripts: Roman, Arabic, and Nastaliq. The man who taught him salah. The man who taught him the meaning of respect. His hafiz."

"His father stood a little way back, observing his wife and children, blinking hard as if trying to commit everything to memory. At last, when the boarding call sounded, he hugged his son to his chest and whispered, ‘Allah hafiz.* Write to your mother.’ ‘Yes, Abbu.’ ‘Forget not who you are, Ramiz.’ ‘Yes, Abbu.’ Ramy was fourteen then, and old enough to understand the meaning of pride. Ramy intended to do more than remember. For he understood now why his father had smiled that day in the sitting room – not out of weakness or submission, and not out of fear of reprisal. He’d been playing a part. He’d been showing Ramy how it was done. Lie, Ramiz. This was the lesson, the most important lesson he’d ever been taught. Hide, Ramiz. Show the world what they want; contort yourself into the image they want to see, because seizing control of the story is how you in turn control them. Hide your faith, hide your prayers, for Allah will still know your heart."

"‘I’m not a traitor,’ Robin pleaded. ‘I’m just trying to survive.’ ‘Survival’s not that difficult, Birdie.’ Ramy’s eyes were very hard. ‘But you’ve got to maintain some dignity while you’re at it.’"

"‘It’s called yánghuò,’ said Robin. ‘That’s what she called the opium. Yáng means “foreign”, huò means “goods”. Yánghuò means “foreign goods”. That’s how they refer to everything here. Yáng people. Yáng guilds. Yánghuòre – an obsession with foreign goods, with opium. And that’s me. That’s coming from me. I’m yáng.’ They paused over a bridge, beneath which fishermen and sampans went back and forth. The din of it, the cacophony of a language he’d spent so much time away from and now had to focus on to decipher, made Robin want to press his hands against his ears, to block out a soundscape that should have but did not feel like home."

"Robin saw a great spider’s web in his mind then. Cotton from India to Britain, opium from India to China, silver becoming tea and porcelain in China, and everything flowing back to Britain. It sounded so abstract – just categories of use, exchange, and value – until it wasn’t; until you realized the web you lived in and the exploitations your lifestyle demanded, until you saw looming above it all the spectre of colonial labour and colonial pain. ‘It’s sick,’ he whispered. ‘It’s sick, it’s so sick . . .’"

"What he wanted, Robin thought, was for Professor Lovell to admit what he’d done. That it was unnatural, this entire arrangement; that children were not stock to be experimented on, judged for their blood, spirited away from their homeland in service of Crown and country. That Robin was more than a talking dictionary, and that his motherland was more than a fat golden goose. But he knew these were acknowledgments that Professor Lovell would never make. The truth between them was not buried because it was painful, but because it was inconvenient, and because Professor Lovell simply refused to address it. It was so obvious now that he was not, and could never be, a person in his father’s eyes. No, personhood demanded the blood purity of the European man, the racial status that would make him Professor Lovell’s equal. Little Dick and Philippa were persons. Robin Swift was an asset, and assets should be undyingly grateful that they were treated well at all."

"He had become so good at holding two truths in his head at once. That he was an Englishman and not. That Professor Lovell was his father and not. That the Chinese were a stupid, backwards people, and that he was also one of them. That he hated Babel, and wanted to live forever in its embrace. He had danced for years on the razor’s edge of these truths, had remained there as a means of survival, a way to cope, unable to accept either side fully because an unflinching examination of the truth was so frightening that the contradictions threatened to break him. But he could not go on like this. He could not exist a split man, his psyche constantly erasing and re-erasing the truth. He felt a great pressure in the back of his mind. He felt like he would quite literally burst, unless he stopped being double. Unless he chose."

"The origins of the word anger were tied closely to physical suffering. Anger was first an ‘affliction’, as meant by the Old Icelandic angr, and then a ‘painful, cruel, narrow’ state, as meant by the Old English enge, which in turn came from the Latin angor, which meant ‘strangling, anguish, distress’. Anger was a chokehold. Anger did not empower you. It sat on your chest; it squeezed your ribs until you felt trapped, suffocated, out of options. Anger simmered, then exploded. Anger was constriction, and the consequent rage a desperate attempt to breathe. And rage, of course, came from madness."

"‘Diē?’ He did not know what made him say it, the word for father. Perhaps he thought it would stun Professor Lovell, that the shock alone would bring him back to life, that he could yank his father’s soul back to his body by naming the one thing that they had never named. But Professor Lovell was limp, gone, and no matter how hard Robin shook him the blood would not stop pouring. ‘Diē,’ he said again. Then a laugh escaped his throat; hysterical, helpless, because it was so very funny, so apt that the romanization of father contained the same letters for death in English. And Professor Lovell was so clearly, incontrovertibly dead. There was no walking back from this. There could be no more pretending."

"‘It’s just – you’re all signed up to help me conceal a murder?’ Robin couldn’t help all his statements becoming questions. The whole world right then seemed like one great, unanswerable question. ‘And you’re not even going to ask how, or why?’ Ramy and Victoire exchanged a look. But it was Letty who answered first. ‘I think we all understand why.’"

"How could they tell her she was being delusional? That it was insane to imagine that the British legal system was truly neutral, that they would receive a fair trial, that people who looked like Robin, Ramy, and Victoire might kill a white Oxford professor, throw his body overboard, lie about it for weeks, and then walk away unscathed? That the fact that she clearly believed all this was only evidence of the starkly different worlds they lived in?"

"‘You want to do the right thing,’ said Ramy, bullish. ‘You always do. But you think the right thing is martyrdom. You think if you suffer enough for whatever sins you’ve committed, then you’re absolved.’ ‘I do not—’ ‘That’s why you took the fall for us that night. Every time you come up against something difficult, you just want to make it go away, and you think the way to do that is self-flagellation. You’re obsessed with punishment. But that’s not how this works, Birdie. You going to prison fixes nothing. You hanging from the gallows fixes nothing. The world’s still broken. A war’s still coming. The only way to properly make amends is to stop it, which you don’t want to do, because really what this is about is your being afraid.’"

"‘What do you mean?’ Letty cried. ‘Of course I’m with you. You’re my friends, I’m with you until the end.’ Then she flung her arms around Victoire and began to weep stormily. Victoire stiffened, looking baffled, but after a moment she raised her arms and cautiously hugged Letty back. ‘I’m sorry.’ Letty sniffled between sobs. ‘I’m sorry, I’m so sorry . . .’ ... Still, something did not seem right, and Robin could tell from Victoire’s and Ramy’s faces that they thought so too. It took him a moment to realize what it was that grated on him, and when he did, it would bother him constantly, now and thereafter; it would seem a great paradox, the fact that after everything they had told Letty, all the pain they had shared, she was the one who needed comfort."

"‘There are no kind masters, Letty,’ Anthony continued. ‘It doesn’t matter how lenient, how gracious, how invested in your education they make out to be. Masters are masters in the end.’"

"‘The thing about violence, see, is that the Empire has a lot more to lose than we do. Violence disrupts the extractive economy. You wreak havoc on one supply line, and there’s a dip in prices across the Atlantic. Their entire system of trade is high-strung and vulnerable to shocks because they’ve made it thus, because the rapacious greed of capitalism is punishing. It’s why slave revolts succeed. They can’t fire on their own source of labour – it’d be like killing their own golden geese.'"

"‘Violence shows them how much we’re willing to give up,’ said Griffin. ‘Violence is the only language they understand, because their system of extraction is inherently violent. Violence shocks the system. And the system cannot survive the shock. You have no idea what you’re capable of, truly. You can’t imagine how the world might shift unless you pull the trigger.’"

"‘But that’s the problem, you see. No one’s focused on how we’re all connected. We only think about how we suffer, individually. The poor and middle-class of this country don’t realize they have more in common with us than they do with Westminster.’"

"One day Robin would ask himself how his shock had turned so easily to rage; why his first reaction was not disbelief at this betrayal but black, consuming hatred. And the answer would elude and disturb him, for it tiptoed around a complicated tangle of love and jealousy that ensnared them all, for which they had no name or explanation, a truth they’d only been starting to wake up to and now, after this, would never acknowledge. But just then, all he knew was red blurring out the edges of his vision, crowding out everything but Letty. He knew now how it felt to truly want a person dead, to want to tear them apart limb by limb, to hear them scream, to make them hurt. He understood now how murder felt, how rage felt, for this was it, the intent to kill he ought to have felt when he killed his father."

"Grief suffocated. Grief paralysed. Grief was a cruel, heavy boot pressed so hard against his chest that he could not breathe. Grief took him out of his body, made his injuries theoretical."

"‘The university doesn’t own me.’ ‘Bah. The university gave you everything.’ ‘The university ripped us from our homes and made us believe that our futures could only consist of serving the Crown,’ said Robin. ‘The university tells us we are special, chosen, selected, when really we are severed from our motherlands and raised within spitting distance of a class we can never truly become a part of. The university turned us against our own and made us believe our only options were complicity or the streets. That was no favour, Sterling. It was cruelty. Don’t ask me to love my master.’"

"She had chosen to let him die. This did not hurt as much as it should have. Rather, it clarified things; the stakes before them, the insignificance of their lives against the cause they’d chosen. He saw her begin to apologize, and then catch herself – good, he thought; she had nothing to be sorry for, for between them only one had refused to break."

"And Oxford at night was still so serene, still seemed like a place where they were safe, where arrest was impossible. It still looked like a city carved out of the past; of ancient spires, pinnacles, and turrets; of soft moonlight on old stones and worn, cobbled roads. Its buildings were still so reassuringly heavy, solid, ancient and eternal. The lights that shone through arched windows still promised warmth, old books, and hot tea within; still suggested an idyllic scholar’s life, where ideas were abstract entertainments that could be bandied about without consequences. But the dream was shattered. That dream had always been founded on a lie. None of them had ever stood a chance of truly belonging here, for Oxford wanted only one kind of scholar, the kind born and bred to cycle through posts of power it had created for itself. Everyone else it chewed up and discarded. These towering edifices were built with coin from the sale of slaves, and the silver that kept them running came blood-stained from the mines of Potosí. It was smelted in choking forges where native labourers were paid a pittance, before making its way on ships across the Atlantic to where it was shaped by translators ripped from their countries, stolen to this faraway land and never truly allowed to go home. He’d been so foolish ever to think he could build a life here. There was no straddling the line; he knew that now. No stepping back and forth between two worlds, no seeing and not seeing, no holding a hand over one eye or the other like a child playing a game. You were either a part of this institution, one of the bricks that held it up, or you weren’t."

"Power did not lie in the tip of a pen. Power did not work against its own interests. Power could only be brought to heel by acts of defiance it could not ignore. With brute, unflinching force. With violence."

"‘Oh, don’t you judge me.’ His lip curled. ‘Righteous Letty, brilliant Letty, should have been at Oxford except for the gap between her legs—’ ‘You disgust me.’ Lincoln only laughed and turned away. ‘Don’t come home,’ she shouted after him. ‘You’re better off gone. You’re better off dead.’ The next morning a constable knocked at their door and asked if this was the residence of Admiral Price, and if he would come with them, please, to identify a body. The driver never saw him, they said. Didn’t even know he was under the cart until this morning, when the horses had a fright. It was dark, it was raining, and Lincoln had been drunk, traipsing across the road – the admiral could sue, as was his right, but they doubted the court would be on his side. It was an accident."

"‘They’re just lying there – Anthony, Vimal, Ramy—’ They hadn’t carted them to the morgue. Hadn’t even covered them. They’d simply left the dead where they’d fallen, bleeding across the bricks and pages, were simply stepping around them on their way to excavate the library. Was this their petty revenge, retribution for a lifetime of inconvenience? Or did they simply not care? The world has to break, he thought. Someone has to answer for this. Someone has to bleed."

"‘They can’t touch us. No one can touch us. They need us too badly.’ And that, the key to Griffin’s theory of violence, was why they might win. They’d finally worked it out. It was why Griffin and Anthony had been so confident in their struggle, why they were convinced the colonies could take on the Empire. Empire needed extraction. Violence shocked the system, because the system could not cannibalize itself and survive. The hands of the Empire were tied, because it could not raze that from which it profited. And like those sugar fields, like those markets, like those bodies of unwilling labour, Babel was an asset. Britain needed Chinese, needed Arabic and Sanskrit and all the languages of colonized territories to function. Britain could not hurt Babel without hurting itself. And so Babel alone, an asset denied, could grind the Empire to a halt."

"How slender, how fragile, the foundations of an empire. Take away the centre, and what’s left? A gasping periphery, baseless, powerless, cut down at the roots."

"Privately, Robin did not want this to end. He would never confess it to the others, but deep down, where the ghosts of Griffin and Ramy resided, he did not want a speedy resolution, a nominal settlement that only papered over decades of exploitation. He wanted to see how far he could take this. He wanted to see Oxford broken down to its foundations, wanted its fat, golden opulence to slough away; for its pale, elegant bricks to crumble to pieces; for its turrets to smash against cobblestones; for its bookshelves to collapse like dominoes. He wanted the whole place dismantled so thoroughly that it would be as if it had never been built. All those buildings assembled by slaves, paid for by slaves, and stuffed with artefacts stolen from conquered lands, those buildings which had no right to exist, whose ongoing existence demanded continuous extraction and violence – destroyed, undone."

"Robin put the bar back into his pocket, took a deep breath, and wondered at the hammering in his veins. He wanted a fight. He wanted to jump down there and bloody their faces with his fists. Wanted them to know exactly what he was, which was their worst nightmare – uncivilized, brutal, violent."

"And if the oppressed came together, if they rallied around a common cause – here, now, was one of the impossible pivot points Griffin had spoken of so often. Here was their chance to push history off its course."

"‘Only it builds up, doesn’t it? It doesn’t just disappear. And one day you start prodding at what you’ve suppressed. And it’s a mass of black rot, and it’s endless, horrifying, and you can’t look away.’"

"‘But that’s precisely the devil’s trick,’ Robin insisted. ‘This is how colonialism works. It convinces us that the fallout from resistance is entirely our fault, that the immoral choice is resistance itself rather than the circumstances that demanded it.’"

"Robin thought he understood now the way that Griffin had once looked at him. This was a failure of nerve. A refusal to push things to the limit. Violence was the only thing that brought the colonizer to the table; violence was the only option. The gun was right there, lying on the table, waiting for them to pick it up. Why were they so afraid to even look at it?"

"‘It was like an exercise in hope,’ she said after a pause. ‘Loving her, I mean. Sometimes I’d think she’d come around. Sometimes I’d look her in the eyes and think that I was looking at a true friend. Then she’d say something, make some off-the-cuff comment, and the whole cycle would begin all over again. It was like pouring sand into a sieve. Nothing stuck.’"

"‘We look so young.’ He marvelled at their expressions. It seemed like a lifetime had passed since they’d posed for that daguerreotype. ‘We look like children.’ ‘We were happy then.’ Victoire glanced down, fingers tracing their fading faces."

"There was no future without Ramy, without Griffin, without Anthony and Cathy and Ilse and Vimal. As far as he was concerned, time had stopped when Letty’s bullet had left the chamber. All there was now was the fallout. What happened after was for someone else to struggle through. Robin only wanted it all to end."

"But it was so hard to look at her now and not see a friend. How could you love someone who had hurt you so badly? Up close, staring her in the eyes, he had trouble believing that this Letty, their Letty, had done the things she had."

"For a moment the three of them only looked at each other. They stood uncertain in the middle of the lobby, an unbalanced triangle. It felt so fundamentally wrong. There had always been four of them; they had always come in pairs, an even set, and all Robin could think of was the acute absence of Ramy among them. They were not themselves without him; without his laughter, his quick, easy wit, his sudden turns of conversation that made them feel like they were spinning plates. They were no longer a cohort. Now they were only a wake."

"She blinked, and suddenly tears traced two thin, clear lines down her face. This was not an act; they knew Letty could not act. She was heartbroken, truly heartbroken. She loved them; Robin did not doubt it; at least she really believed that she loved them. She wanted them safe and sound, only her version of a successful resolution was to put them behind bars. ‘I didn’t want any of this,’ she said. ‘I just want things to go back to the way they were. We had a future together, all of us.’ Robin bit back a laugh. ‘What did you imagine?’ he asked quietly. ‘That we would keep eating lemon biscuits together while this country declared war on our motherlands?’ ‘They’re not your motherlands,’ said Letty. ‘They don’t have to be.’ ‘They do have to be,’ said Victoire. ‘Because we’ll never be British. How can you still not understand? That identity is foreclosed to us. We are foreign because this nation has marked us so, and as long as we’re punished daily for our ties to our homelands, we might as well defend them. No, Letty, we can’t maintain this fantasy. The only one who can do that is you.’ Letty’s face tightened. The truce was over; the walls were up; they had reminded her why she’d abandoned them, which was that she could never really, properly, be one of them. And Letty, if she could not belong to a place, would rather tear the whole thing down."

"‘Guilty,’ he repeated. ‘Guilty, that’s exactly what I am. Ramy told me once that I didn’t care about doing the right thing, that I just wanted to take the easy way out.’ ‘He was right,’ she said fiercely. ‘It’s the coward’s way, you know it—’ ‘No, listen.’ He gripped her hands. They were trembling. She tried to pull away, but he squeezed her fingers between his. He needed her with him. Needed to make her understand, before she hated him forever for abandoning her to the dark. ‘He’s right. You’re right. I know it, I’m trying to say it – he was right. I’m so sorry. But I don’t know how to go on.’ ‘Day by day, Birdie.’ Her eyes filled with tears. ‘You go on, day by day. Just as we’ve been doing. It’s not hard.’ ‘No, it’s – Victoire, I can’t.’ He didn’t want to cry; if he started crying, then all his words would disappear and he would never manage to say what he needed to. He ploughed through before his tears could catch up. ‘I want to believe in the future we’re fighting for, but it’s not there, it’s just not there, and I can’t take things day by day when I’m too horrified by the thought of tomorrow. I’m underwater. And I’ve been underwater for so long, and I wanted a way out, but couldn’t find one that didn’t feel like some – some great abdication of responsibility. But this – this is my way out.’"

"‘We have to die to get their pity,’ said Victoire. ‘We have to die for them to find us noble. Our deaths are thus great acts of rebellion, a wretched lament that highlights their inhumanity. Our deaths become their battle cry. But I don’t want to die, Robin.’ Her throat hitched. ‘I don’t want to die. I don’t want to be their Imoinda, their Oroonoko. I don’t want to be their tragic, lovely lacquer figure. I want to live.’ She fell against his shoulder. He wrapped his arms around her and held her tight, rocking back and forth. ‘I want to live,’ she repeated, ‘and live, and thrive, and survive them. I want a future. I don’t think death is a reprieve. I think it’s – it’s just the end. It forecloses everything – a future where I might be happy, and free. And it’s not about being brave. It’s about wanting another chance. Even if all I did was run away, even if I never lifted a finger to help anyone else as long as I lived – at least I would get to be happy. At least the world might be all right, just for a day, just for me. Is that selfish?’ Her shoulders crumpled. Robin held her tight against him. What an anchor she was, he thought, an anchor he did not deserve. She was his rock, his light, the sole presence that had kept him going. And he wished, he wished, that was enough for him to hold on to. ‘Be selfish,’ he whispered. ‘Be brave.’"

"Often, he had thought of death as a reprieve. He had not stopped dreaming of it since the day Letty shot Ramy. He entertained himself with ideas of heaven as paradise, of green hills and brilliant skies where he and Ramy could sit and talk and watch an eternal sunset. But such fantasies did not comfort him so much as the idea that all death meant was nothingness, that everything would just stop: the pain, the anguish, the awful, suffocating grief. If nothing else, surely, death meant peace. Still, facing the moment, he was terrified."

"Tears streamed down Ibrahim’s face. ‘I don’t want to die,’ he whispered. ‘There must be some other – I don’t want to die.’ They all felt the same, a desperate hope for some chance of escape. In these last moments, the seconds weren’t enough. In theory this decision they’d made was something beautiful. In theory they would be martyrs, heroes, the ones who’d pushed history off its path. But none of that was a comfort. In the moment, all that mattered was that death was painful and frightening and permanent, and none of them wanted to die. But even as they trembled, not one of them broke. It was only a wish, after all. And the Army was on its way."

"One minute to six. He loosed a shaky breath. His thoughts flew about, casting desperately for anything to think about that was not this. He landed not on coherent memories but on hyperspecific details – the salty weight of the air at sea, the length of Victoire’s eyelashes, the hitch in Ramy’s voice just before he burst out into full-bellied laughter. He clung to them, lingered there as long as he could, refused to let his mind go anywhere else."

"Five. Ramy, smiling. Ramy, reaching. Robin placed his hand on the nearest pyramid, closed his eyes, and breathed, ‘Fānyì. Translate.’"

"He thought he’d be scared. He thought he’d be fixated on the pain; on how it might feel when eight thousand tons of rubble collapsed on him at once; on whether death might be instant, or whether it might come in horribly small increments when his hands and limbs were crushed, when his lungs struggled to expand in an ever-tinier space. But what struck him most just then was the beauty. The bars were singing, shaking; trying, he thought, to express some unutterable truth about themselves, which was that translation was impossible, that the realm of pure meaning they captured and manifested would and could not ever be known, that the enterprise of this tower had been impossible from inception. For how could there ever be an Adamic language? The thought now made him laugh. There was no innate, perfectly comprehensible language; there was no candidate, not English, not French, that could bully and absorb enough to become one. Language was just difference. A thousand different ways of seeing, of moving through the world. No; a thousand worlds within one. And translation – a necessary endeavour, however futile, to move between them."

"‘It’s so odd,’ Robin said. Back then they’d already passed the point of honesty; they spoke to one another unfiltered, unafraid of the consequences. ‘It’s like I’ve known you forever.’ ‘Me too,’ Ramy said. ‘And that makes no sense,’ said Robin, drunk already, though there was no alcohol in the cordial. ‘Because I’ve known you for less than a day, and yet . . .’ ‘I think,’ said Ramy, ‘it’s because when I speak, you listen.’ ‘Because you’re fascinating.’ ‘Because you’re a good translator.’ Ramy leaned back on his elbows. ‘That’s just what translation is, I think. That’s all speaking is. Listening to the other and trying to see past your own biases to glimpse what they’re trying to say. Showing yourself to the world, and hoping someone else understands.’"

"But he’d waited for death to come before. He remembered this now - he knew death. Not so abruptly, no, not so violently. But the memory of waiting to fade was still locked in his bones; memories of a stale, hot room, of paralysis, of dreaming about the end. He remembered the stillness. The peace. As the windows smashed in, Robin shut his eyes and imagined his mother’s face. She smiles. She says his name."

"Victoire Desgraves has always been good at surviving. The key, she has learned, is refusing to look back."

"She learned revolution is, in fact, always unimaginable. It shatters the world you know. The future is unwritten, brimming with potential. The colonizers have no idea what is coming, and that makes them panic. It terrifies them. Good. It should."

"She won’t let herself grieve that friendship, as true and terrible and abusive as it was. There will come a time for grief. There will come many nights on the voyage when the sadness is so great it threatens to tear her apart; when she regrets her decision to live; when she curses Robin for placing this burden on her, because he was right: he was not being brave, he was not choosing sacrifice. Death is seductive. Victoire resists."

"Anthony called victory an inevitability. Anthony believed the material contradictions of England would tear it apart, that their movement would succeed because the revels of the Empire were simply unsustainable. This, he argued, was why they had a chance. Victoire knows better. Victory is not assured. Victory may be in the portents, but it must be urged there by violence, by suffering, by martyrs, by blood. Victory is wrought by ingenuity, persistence, and sacrifice. Victory is a game of inches, of historical contingencies where everything goes right because they have made it go right."

To conclude this exhaustively long review, if you have not yet read this book, I 100% recommend it (and The Poppy War trilogy, obviously). Yes, I am biased but trust me, it will be 100% worth your time, there's a reason why I'm biased in the first place. These books have brought so much happiness which is weird because TPW is a grim-dark fantasy book and Babel is a dark academia fantasy book with emphasis on the DARK part into my life, and made my heart so full. Even though it IS a heavy read due to the dark content, topics and themes, and even though they DID make me hysterically cry, sob, and throw up, don't let that discourage you from reading these amazing books. They're truly some of the best books I have ever read.

PLOT - ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

WRITING STYLE - ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

PAIN ENTERTAINMENT LEVEL- ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

BOOK COVER DESIGN - ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

OVERALL BOOK RATING - ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

#babel #babel an arcane history #book review

[cruelangelstheses]

on each other’s team

fandom: fire emblem rating: T characters: hilda/edelgard words: 2.2k additional tags: post-canon, post-crimson flower, comedy, forced to work together, unresolved sexual tension description: after an attempt to parley ends in them being knocked out and captured by slithers, hilda and edelgard must work together to free themselves and defeat their captors. a/n: ok so this was written for the 2021 fe3h femslash exchange on ao3 except i kind of forgot tumblr existed and never posted this on here until now. oops! don’t think too much about the politics/lore of this okay i just needed a reason for them to be tied up together in the dark lmao. title from “team” by lorde

read it on ao3

—

It’s quiet, deathly quiet, and darker than the blackest night. The only sound is Hilda’s breathing and that of the woman whose body is squished against hers.

Finally, Hilda can’t take it anymore. She speaks.

“This is your fault, you know.”

Edelgard—Emperor Edelgard—scoffs and shifts slightly. Her back is up against Hilda’s, and the rope that ties them together constricts against Hilda’s chest. More rope binds her hands and feet, and Edelgard’s are probably the same. Hilda tries not to think about how close they are.

“My fault?” Edelgard says. “You’re the one who couldn’t resist bringing a Heroes’ Relic to a parley.”

Hilda rolls her eyes, not that anyone can see it due to her blindfold. “Fine, fine. Blame me for wanting to be safe. Blame me for being a bit cautious about meeting with the emperor I fought in battle against not six months ago. Pretty sure they came here for you, Princess, not my stupid weapon. Of course they’d take advantage of the fact that the Emperor herself was going to be here.”

Edelgard sighs. “I didn’t want to send an envoy because I thought you would trust me more if we spoke in person. And I didn’t want to bring a whole squadron of bodyguards with me for the same reason, as well as so they wouldn’t give away my location. But clearly someone found it regardless.”

It’s only been a couple months since the war ended with the Empire’s victory. About two weeks ago, Hilda received a letter from Edelgard herself asking to meet at Gronder Field, about halfway between Enbarr and Goneril territory. It’s a bit further to travel on Edelgard’s end, but Hilda supposes she wanted to show that she was dedicated to peace talks and negotiations. Or something.

Hilda’s not sure what, exactly, Edelgard had intended to discuss. Probably something to do with the Almyran border, though she could have just sent a message directly to Claude—no, Khalid—or even Holst, for that matter. He’s the one who’s been in charge of fighting the Almyrans at the Throat, though that’s all starting to change now. What does Hilda have to do with any of this?

It doesn’t matter now, of course, because they barely had the chance to speak before they were attacked, knocked out, and tied up together alone in the dark. It feels like they’re moving, and every once in a while, Hilda feels a small bump. They’re probably in a carriage or wagon, being taken somewhere else for…she’s not quite sure what.

This is why Hilda avoided Edelgard at the Academy. There was always something about her—her serious demeanor, her strong will, her ambition—that set off warning bells in Hilda’s head. Don’t get involved with her, they said. You’ll just get caught in her whirlwind. Now look where she is.

“Ugh,” Hilda groans, “who are these guys, anyway? I thought the war was over. If they’re your enemies, then what do I have to do with it?”

“They’re enemies to all of Fódlan, not just me,” Edelgard replies matter-of-factly. “I worked with them in the past, but only because we shared a common enemy in the Church. Now that our alliance is done with, we’re fighting our own war, though most of it takes place in the shadows rather than out in the open.”

If Hilda could, she’d rub her temples. “Sounds exhausting. Finish one war, start another.” Her head hurts just thinking about it.

“After we defeat them, the fighting will be over for good,” Edelgard replies, a sense of conviction in her voice—impressive, considering their current situation. “I swear it.”

“Good to know,” Hilda says, squirming. She’s starting to sweat due to their combined body heat (and definitely no other reason). “But first, I think we should focus on getting out of here.”

“Right,” Edelgard says. “Hubert had a feeling something like this would happen. We have a system set in place. He should be here soon.”

“Ughhh,” Hilda says, both at the mere thought of that creepster and also at the thought of having to wait for him to save them. “You don’t think we can get out of here ourselves? It’s just rope, right?”

She feels Edelgard shrug in response. “We can try.”

She and Edelgard both strain against their bindings, to no avail. Even with their combined muscle—for, despite their short statures, Hilda knows they’re both quite strong—the ropes barely budge.

Hilda kicks her foot out and feels it connect with what is probably one wall of the wagon. She kicks again—and feels something small and sharp jab against the sole of her shoe.

“Oh, hey,” she says. “Help me scoot over here. I think I found something.”

She and Edelgard inch their way closer to the sharp object. With what limited reach she has, Hilda feels around against the wall until her fingers brush against what she thinks is a nail sticking out of the wood.

“A-ha!” she hisses, so as not to alarm whoever might be driving the carriage. She holds her tied-up hands next to the nail and slides the rope back and forth against the rough edge.

It doesn’t cut cleanly, but after a good thirty seconds, the rope tying Hilda’s hands together splits apart and falls to the ground, freeing them along with her lower arms. She bends her neck down and, with her hands unbound, pushes her blindfold away from her face.

The wagon is covered and dark, but there are cracks in the wood that let enough light in for Hilda to see. There doesn’t seem to be much else in here besides them. Huh. Where’d they put Freikugel?

“If your hands are free,” Edelgard says, “do you think you could reach into my left boot?”

With their backs against each other, it’s difficult to maneuver. Edelgard twists her hips and bends her knees until both of her feet are near her left side. The ropes are tight, constricting like a boa and pressing Edelgard’s boots flush against her skin, but Hilda manages to slip her fingers into the left one. She feels the hilt of something metal and slides it out with only mild resistance. Sure enough, it’s a dagger.

“I didn’t particularly want to carry any weapons,” Edelgard says, “but Hubert insisted I at least take that.”

Hilda isn’t sure whether or not that’s the truth, but she supposes she shouldn’t be passing judgment right now, considering that this dagger is going to make things a lot easier for them. She cuts the ropes from Edelgard’s feet, then her own, followed by the thicker ropes tying them both together. When those fall to the floor, she and Edelgard sigh in unison, letting their bodies relax. Hilda cuts the bindings from Edelgard’s wrists and hands her the dagger, and Edelgard removes her blindfold.

“Hm,” Hilda mutters, staring down at her now entirely free body. “Kind of amateurish, if you ask me. If it weren’t for that dark magic knocking us out, I’m sure we could’ve taken them.”

“Something tells me this wasn’t a coordinated attack,” Edelgard says. “I think it might just be a small group who happened across us and decided to strike.”

“Oh, I get it!” Hilda says with a bit of a smirk. “It’s one of those ‘If I capture the Emperor and deliver her to Master, he will finally recognize my worth and promote me to Head Executioner’ things.”

Edelgard snorts. Hilda can’t help but feel mildly proud of herself.

“Anyway,” Edelgard says, “let’s try not to alarm them.”

They stick their heads out of the flaps on the back of the wagon, and Hilda squints against the sunlight. In the distance, she thinks she can see a black horse galloping toward them, with a few other horses just behind them.

“Timely as always,” Edelgard comments as Hubert comes more clearly into view.

Behind him, Hilda thinks she recognizes some of the former Black Eagles—Caspar and Dorothea. She didn’t take either of them for horseback riders, but they seem to be faring well enough.

At the front of the wagon, Hilda thinks she can hear some confused muttering, followed by the wagon slowing down. They probably heard the horses coming.

“So much for stealth,” Hilda says. “Oh, well. Time for payback.” She cracks her knuckles. She likes to pretend to be helpless, but the truth is, she doesn’t need Freikugel to kick these squishy mages’ asses all the way into next Tuesday.

Edelgard stares at her for a moment with an unreadable expression on her face. Then she clears her throat. “Er. Yes. Right.”

Was she…checking Hilda out?

No time to think about that, with their allies now directly in front of them. Caspar tosses a large axe in Edelgard’s direction, and Edelgard catches it with one hand.

It’s Hilda’s turn to gawk at that. Tiny but mighty, indeed—both of them.

She and Edelgard jump out of the wagon, which has now fully stopped. The dark mages, of which there are four, have hopped off their horses, and so have Caspar and Dorothea. Only Hubert remains mounted.

Five on four. This shouldn’t be difficult. They’ve all carved whole armies in half before.

Hilda lunges for the first mage she sees. With an uppercut, she knocks his stupid pointy mask right off his face. Then, while he’s staggering, Edelgard appears from behind her—Hilda didn’t even realize she was still there—and knocks him to the ground with the blunt end of her axe. She spins it around and points the blade at his neck.

“Who ordered this attack?” she demands, effortlessly assuming the role of the powerful emperor.

The mage hesitates. He seems to be looking somewhere behind him. Hilda glances over her shoulder and finds that the rest of his allies are in a similar state, with Hubert, Caspar, and Dorothea having each taken one down. It’s true, then—they’re amateurs, having only gotten the jump on Hilda and Edelgard due to stealth. Without that on their side, they’ve crumbled.

“Er, n-no one,” the mage stammers. “It was just us. Please, spare us!”

Edelgard and Hubert exchange glances. Hilda doesn’t doubt that Hubert would end them all without a second thought. But Edelgard…is she as ruthless as her second-in-command?

“Very well,” Edelgard says, turning back to the mage and removing the blade from his neck. “I doubt you will be telling your leader anything about your foolishness or your humiliating failure.”

The mage shakes his head rapidly.

“Then go,” Edelgard says. “All of you. Leave before I change my mind.”

The mages scramble to their feet and climb back on their horses. One of them drops Freikugel from where it had been resting on the front seat of the wagon. Hilda picks it up and slings it over her shoulder so that it rests against her back. Within a few seconds, the mages and their wagon are on their way, barreling down the path.

Edelgard lowers her axe. Hubert looks like he wants to say something, but he holds his tongue for the time being.

“Good work, everyone,” Edelgard says. “Hilda, I apologize deeply for the inconvenience. Incidentally, the matter I had intended to speak with you about is the same one you just saw for yourself.”

Hilda frowns. “Wait. So it doesn’t have anything to do with Almyra?”

“That’s only a small part of it,” Edelgard says. “If that had been my only concern, you likely would not have been the person I would have contacted. But I need all the allies I can get in the fight against Those Who Slither in the Dark, and you were suggested to me.”

“Those Who Slither in the Dark?” Hilda repeats with a snort. “That’s what they’re called?”

Edelgard puts a hand to her forehead. “Hubert came up with the name. We still don’t know what they actually call themselves.”

Hilda crosses her arms over her chest. “So, what, you came here to ask me if I wanted to join your cause?”

“In essence, yes,” Edelgard says. A tiny smile graces her lips. “It appears you and I work well together. I would be sure to compensate you appropriately if you agreed to lend me your hand—and your blade—once again.”

Hilda can hear that little voice in her head again, telling her to refuse. You’ll only have to do more work, it says. You won’t live up to her expectations. You’ll disappoint her. Besides, nothing good can come of getting involved with her. But that’s not necessarily true, now, is it?

Hilda thinks about how they helped each other without a second thought. She thinks about Edelgard’s body pressed against hers, thinks about Edelgard’s laugh at Hilda’s little quip.

“Well,” Hilda says, cocking her hip, “I suppose if you really want me to join you…”

Caspar cheers. Dorothea runs up to Hilda and slings an arm around her shoulders. “That’s a yes,” she sings triumphantly. “Let’s go, everyone! Enbarr awaits.”

As she drags Hilda over to one of the horses, Hilda thinks she sees Dorothea wink at Edelgard. Edelgard’s face burns bright red, and she makes a throat-cutting motion with her finger.

Hilda tries—and fails—to hold back a mischievous grin. Perhaps working with the Emperor won’t be so bad after all.

#hilda goneril #edelgard von hresvelg #hildagard #fe3h #fire emblem three houses #my fics