#[ fucked up specifically in a 'will burn the world for those he loves without remorse' kinda way

[pirateborn]

i love writing roger he rly is just a fun guy to write,

[rose2jam]

Why It Was Practically Inevitable That Severus Snape Would Join A Cult, an essay by Rose Jam

So, let’s talk about Cults. Disclaimer: This is just information I’ve gathered over the years from my personal fascination with religious cults.  I’m in no way an expert or a psychologist or whatever.  This is just my personal understanding from the research I’ve done.

A cult is started when a wildly charismatic Leader feels like they have a purpose, a higher calling, or a mission to be fulfilled (or they could also just be an egomaniac). Maybe they really do feel like what makes them special comes directly from a higher power, be that God, or the Heir of Slytherin, but either way, this person has a pathological need to be worshiped, and they need followers in order to do that.  

So, how does one obtain Followers easily? By finding the misunderstood misfits of society, and promising them something.  The people who feel like no one else understands them, or their ideologies.  But this Leader?  This Leader GETS IT, MAN! The Leader understands them perfectly, vindicates them, and makes them promises along the way.  Like, if they stick with the Leader, then not only will they finally be understood, but they themselves will also be revered.  That they will rise above all of the others who have put them down for so long, and will come out on top as a superior being.  

Any of this sounding familiar?

Charles Manson preyed on young people in the middle of the hippie movement, mostly women, who were feeling lost, lonely, and in need of guidance, or in terms of the men he recruited, seeking power over others.  Not all of these people were poor or helpless; some of them came from middle class, or even rich homes and families.  Yes, some of them came from broken homes, but all of them felt “broken” themselves, in some way. So Manson used their desires to have a family to draw them in.  He then used LSD and other drugs to keep them under his control, and he created a manipulative environment where the members of his “family” felt they could never leave him, and if they didn’t follow his commands, something horrible would happen to them.  I’m not going to go into full detail on the Manson Family Murders, but if you’re personally interested, check out the Podcast “Cults” on Spotify.

So back to basics, this Leader draws in Followers with flowery promises of community, power, family, or whatever.  But once the Leader has that following, the terror will begin.  Cult Leaders are usually master manipulators, and have completely brainwashed their followers into believing the “us vs them” mentality, that the outside world is evil, that the outside world will only harm them, that the outside world would never understand what they’re doing on the inside.  And that the Leader is the only one who knows the truth, so they better stick with him.  Or maybe the Leader has gaslit his followers so completely, that they become dependent on him for everything, to the point where they don’t know how they would possibly function without the Leader.  Or, the Leader has created an environment that’s so hostile, that Followers are too afraid of what might happen to them if they tried to leave, or didn’t do what the Leader commanded.  Typically, it’s a combination of all of the above.  Destructive cults will either hurt others outside of their circle (The Manson Family, Sect of Nacozari), harm themselves (Heaven’s Gate, The Ant Hill Kids), or both (The People’s Temple, Aum Sinrikyo).  

Now that I’ve laid this foundation, I’m going to tell you why it was practically inevitable that Severus Snape would join a cult.

Snape’s childhood ultimately laid the foundation for the mental state he would be in when he decided to join the Death Eaters.  He grew up in an abusive household, where his father, the muggle, had his magical wife so thoroughly whipped, that she couldn’t (or chose not to) use magic to defend herself, or her son (1).  Eileen had obviously told Severus about magic, about Hogwarts, about what a wonderful place it was, and what a wonderful gift magic could be.  Severus also watched as Tobias beat the magic out of her.  (I know it’s debated whether Tobias actually physically abused his family, but he certainly verbally/mentally/emotionally abused them, so the term “beat” could be used figuratively as well).  I don’t think it’s unreasonable to believe that Severus developed an extreme hatred of muggles with “burn the witch” mentalities from a very young age because of this.

Enter Lily, perhaps the only other magical person in his life besides his mother up to this point. He sees her using magic out in the open, perhaps recklessly, for fun, and he sees an opportunity to make a friend (and, admittedly, to be smarter than someone about something for a while). He was so eager to tell her all about magic, because getting to learn magic, and go to Hogwarts, has possibly been the only thing keeping him going in his young life.  And now he’s made a friend, a real friend who doesn’t think he’s weird because he’s magical.  Unlike Petunia, yet another muggle who makes fun of him for being weird (2). And Lily actually seems to like him back.  For a kid who probably hasn’t received a lot of affection in his life, this is monumental.  This friendship is everything.  Why wouldn’t he love her?

So the time finally comes to go to Hogwarts.  Severus gets to escape his abusive household, and finally has an opportunity to embrace magic for the first time in his life.  But almost immediately, he’s met with a hic-up.  Specifically, James Potter and Sirius Black.  So Severus is no longer facing abuse exclusively from muggles who think he’s weird, but now he’s also getting it from other magical people who think he’s weird (3).  And this started on the fucking TRAIN before he even GOT to Hogwarts. You can’t tell me that wouldn’t sour a kids dream right off the fucking bat.  And then, when he finally gets there, he’s separated from his only friend, by being sorted into different houses (4).  What a way for a life-long dream to be thoroughly dashed in less than 24 hours.

Let’s look at Snape’s Hogwarts experience.  He’s a good student, and he pours himself into learning as much magic as possible, and at being the best he can possibly be, probably motivated by a desire to be better than what his Father thinks possible.  During this time, he is regularly bullied and abused by the Marauders. Sometime before his 5th year, the Incident at the Shrieking Shack took place.  It definitely sucks to have been so thoroughly fucking duped, and put into a life-threatening situation involving a goddamn werewolf (5).  But perhaps even worse than that, the salt in the wound, was that no one fucking did anything about it (6).  He saw Sirius and James and Remus get out of that situation without facing any sort of proper punishment (as in, they all still stayed at the school as opposed to being expelled like they DEFINITELY SHOULD HAVE BEEN (At least Sirius should have been)). Dumbledore was looking out for the Marauders, but no one was looking out for Severus.  On top of that, Severus isn’t allowed to TELL anyone about it, not even Lily.  So, he goes through what was possibly one of the most traumatic experiences of his life, and he can’t even tell anyone that it happened.

So, what sort of support system does Severus have during all this?  He has Lily, sure (who literally told him he should be GRATEFUL to James, one of his abusers).  But, what he really has, is Slytherin House (7). I’ll say it plainly: Severus was sorted into a house that was already full of existing cult members.  McGonagall says in Sorcerer’s Stone that “Your house will be like your family” (she at least says it in the movies, I’m too lazy to get up and reference my books rn lol).  So, Severus’ family, his support system, for 10 months out of every year, is a house that is already full to the brim with pureblood elitists with prejudiced ideals, who would absolutely vindicate Severus in his dislike for muggles.  As a kid first getting sorted into the house, it’s obviously not unreasonable to become friends with the people you’re literally living with.  His dorm mates became his family.  So, when his dorm mates started to become Death Eaters… This is headcanon, I fully admit, but like, fuck, Severus didn’t have a lot of friends, and was probably already drifting apart from Lily.  Do you really think he was going to tell the people he had to live with every single day, not to mention the only people that had been supporting him for years, to go fuck themselves for using Dark Magic?  Especially when he was probably feeling like he was on the verge of thinking that their rhetoric made some sense?

On to Snape’s Worst Memory (8).  At this point, he’s spent 5 years in Slytherin House, with fellow students who casually throw around the M word.  He gets attacked by James and Sirius, he’s practically defenseless, and then the girl who he’d considered his closest friend for so long… has to force herself not to smile when he’s thrown upside down and exposed to everyone on the grounds.  Sure, she was trying to defend him at first, but she also fucking nearly smiled at his humiliation, his pain, his abuse.  So he hurls the one word that he knows is going to cut the deepest, that will hopefully hurt her as badly as she has hurt him. And it works.

Severus had been beaten down his entire life.  By Muggles and Magic Folk alike.  And finally, he’s betrayed by Lily, his last lifeline to the light.  He betrayed her as well, of course.  But he did try to show remorse.  And she doesn’t forgive him (9), which was her prerogative, of course.  

So.  Who does he have left?

I’ve placed little (numbers) throughout my writing here.  Each of those numbers denote the specific events that led Severus to becoming an angry young man, who hates muggles, hates (some) magic folk, and resulted in him feeling weak, helpless, and desperate.  For what?  For power, for a family, for a community.  For a world where he is no longer the weird one.  For a world where he’s respected, strong.  For the world he thought he was going to be a part of, when he arrived at Hogwarts in his first year.

And it just so happens that this is the exact world that Voldemort is (allegedly) trying to create.

Severus Snape was angry, and vulnerable, and as such, he was practically the poster child for the type of person who would be susceptible to falling for a cult.  Maybe he was recruited by his friends in Slytherin House.  Maybe he was recruited directly.  Either way, charismatic Tom Riddle came along, understood how he felt, where he was coming from, told him he deserved better, and offered him all of the things he never had in his life.  And being at rock bottom, being the lowest of the low, to Severus it must have seemed like a miracle of an opportunity, or perhaps, like the only chance he had left.

Now, let me be extremely clear; everything I’ve written is not trying to EXCUSE Severus Snape for his actions.  There is always a point where personal responsibility must come into play.  Except for children born into cults or victims of kidnapping, nearly every person who has ever joined a cult has made the personal decision to join it. I’m just trying to express how unbelievably easy it is, for a Cult Leader to find people with damaged lives and low self-worth, to suck them in with promises of a fulfilling life and grandeur, and for those people to be easily swept up and brainwashed into believing that what they are doing is right.  (Or that what they are doing is required, because the alternative is more horrifying.)  

The type of people who joined the Death Eaters are the same type of people who joined Heaven’s Gate, or The People’s Temple, or yes, The Manson Family.  Now, I’m just going to say, from my own personal point of view, I do not vilify anyone who’s ever joined a destructive cult.  On the contrary, I feel sorry for them.  Because most people who join a cult, don’t necessarily do it signing up for the… end result of what happened to them.  Some of them totally do, like Heaven’s Gate. Most of them knew that the end result was going to be the “evacuation of their earthly vessel”.  But the people who joined the Manson Family, for instance, did not initially join it KNOWING how it was going to end.  They were part of the family long before Manson even came up with Helter Skelter, and by the time the Tate-LaBianca Murders took place, they were already too far gone to go against it.

I highly recommend anyone who’s interested in a humanizing view of former cult members, to read the essay “Leslie Van Houten: A Friendship” by John Waters. https://www.huffpost.com/entry/leslie-van-houten-a-frien_b_246953

Or, at the very least, listen to this 7 minute NPR interview with John Waters about the essay https://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=111585116

It’s the story of how notorious film maker John Waters, became friends with former Manson Girl, Leslie Van Houten, and about how she broke away from the cult after her conviction, how she’s spent the last 51 years of her life recovering from the psychotic influence of a maniac who’d promised her the world, and how even though she was convicted to life WITH a possibility of parole, it’s never been granted to her, despite the fact that she has done literally everything possible to try and atone for her crimes.

Maybe I’m just a bleeding heart.  I’m pretty much the only person I know who feels sorry for Leslie Van Houten and other cult members who were brainwashed, abused, and manipulated into doing a lot of the horrible things they’ve done.  But there are people in the world, who have committed FAR more heinous crimes than the Manson Family murders, and who are far less repentant than Leslie, but because those crimes weren’t as notorious, they get to walk free.

Addendum: When I first posted this, I had a few people point out to me that they had always associated Voldemort and the Death Eaters with Hitler and Nazi Germany.  This is a perfectly fair point, but one that I personally don’t jive with, and the reason is simply the numbers.   There were literally millions of people in the Nazi party during WW2.   Death Eaters don’t even reach triple digits, as far as I’m aware.  As I hinted at in this essay, I consider Voldemort and the Death Eaters to be MUCH closer to Charles Manson and the Manson Family.  The Manson Family 100% had Nazi ideology, of course. "Helter Skelter” was Charles Manson’s prediction that there was going to be a massive race war; one that the Whites were going to lose, and that he and his Pure White family would emerge from it in order to rule over the remaining Blacks.  Kinda... sounds like a Death Eater thing, huh?

Sorry.  Back to Snape.  There is a lot we don’t know about Severus’ actual time as a Death Eater. I think it can be reasonably assumed he’s never actually killed anyone before Dumbledore (In Prince’s Tale, Severus questions if his soul would be safe from killing Dumbledore, and Dumbledore implies that his soul would not be damaged by helping an old man avoid pain and humiliation.  This leads me to believe that Severus never committed any soul-damaging murders before this).  Beyond being a sneaky spy and delivering the prophecy to Voldemort, his time as a Death Eater is all up for conjecture.  

Severus does make one important deviation from the typical cult member mold, however.  In the end, he manages to break away from the cult.  The scales fall from his eyes.  In a figurative sense, the LSD has worn off.  What made him sober up, was the threat to his last lifeline to the light. The one good fucking thing he’d ever had in his miserable life.  He was brought back by genuine love.  Ya know, the ENTIRE MESSAGE OF THE HP SERIES. And not only did he leave the cult, but he then spent the rest of his life actively attempting to destroy it, and atone for the mistakes he’s made, in an effort to bring back the world he’d been excited for, as an 11-year-old kid, so full of hope.

[theoriginalcarnivorousmuffin]

Hey, you once mentioned something about Tom Riddle being a little suicidal. Your new post reminded of that and I wonder why you think that. It’s the complete opposite of what the books want you to think.

Alright, it’s time, let’s do this.

My standard disclaimer whenever we venture into the dark pit that is my thoughts on Tom Riddle: I’m going to say a lot of controversial stuff that fandom generally doesn’t agree with, I will say so much of this shit that I simply do not have time to explain it all, I expect 99% of you to disagree with me and the other 1% to be so horrifyingly offended that I dare to contemplate a world in which Tom isn’t always an overly competent psychopath that they leave me notes telling me to take this trash out of their character tags.

We good? Alright.

So, when I say a little suicidal, I mean that he is suicidal.

Not on the level that he’s going to kill himself tomorrow, or even has plans to kill himself, but in that he makes very strange decisions for someone who desperately wants to live.

And yes, I realize I speak blasphemy given that Tom Riddle’s entire m.o. is supposed to be his crippling fear of death.

Oh man, this one’s going to be so long.

So, my reasoning comes down to a few things:

The location of the horcruxes and the nature of their protections.

The events of Deathly Hallows and Tom’s final actions in the novel

The nature of horcruxes and what it means to not only be able to create one but what it does to you (caveat that I am going to headcanon hard here and speak utter blasphemy)

So, let’s start in order this time, because I think the first two are actually far easier for me to explain.

The Location and Nature of the Horcrux Protections and the Trouble with Backdoors in Security

So, first, the horcruxes are all conveniently located in Great Britain. Not even just in Great Britain, all in places that Albus Dumbledore and later Harry Potter can track down with relative ease, all fairly close to each other.

Now, part of this is undoubtedly attributable to Tom’s overly romantic nature. 

Yes, Tom Riddle is a giant romantic, though not necessarily in the traditional sense everyone thinks of. The film “Patton” and its treatment of Patton comes to mind. Tom Riddle is a man enamored by a sense of greatness, of being remembered in this world rather than fading into oblivion, by the significance of places and times in history not only of the world but of himself. He creates an entire, grand, persona for himself because to live an ordinary life for him is to be worthy of nothing.

So, given that, of course Tom places the horcruxes in sentimental locations that have personal meaning to him.

However, it also makes them perilously easy to find and collect.

By itself, this wouldn’t spark my notice.

The ability to destroy horcruxes are not easy to come by. There’s only one basilisk and it’s by chance/Lucius fucking up that Harry gains access to the necessary basilisk venom. Using Fyendfire is an incredibly dangerous thing to do and just as likely to blow up you and the next three towns over as it is to destroy a horcrux. And if there are other means of destroying a horcrux they’re just as hard to come by or just as dangerous.

It’s not quite throwing it into the fires of Mt. Doom from which it was forged but it’s pretty damn close.

So, really, without JKR’s convenient Deus Ex Machina giving both him and Dumbledore the means to actually destroy these things, Tom Riddle’s horcruxes are pretty damn safe no matter where we put them. As we see from the locket, which Regulus manages to collect but Kreacher cannot destroy even after several decades.

However, what does spark my notice, is that the horcruxes can be collected by someone other than Tom Riddle when it appears as if they were never intended to be. What do I mean by this?

From what we see, there’s no benefit to Tom if the original horcruxes are found by anyone. He doesn’t seek them out to restore his original body, they’re just anchor points that should be hidden at all costs. So, he’ll never need a Death Eater to go collect them for him should he be indisposed (indeed, to do so would require a tremendous amount of trust in people he has very little trust in). 

So, why hide them in such a way that others can access them? There are canon based options which would have prevented anyone else from reaching them. Given the existence of age lines, I imagine Tom Riddle could make some arbitrary barrier keyed only to himself. There are mokeskin pouches, such as the one Harry is given in the seventh book, which we know can only be accessed by whoever they’re keyed to. There’s the Fidelius Charm which, true requires a secret keeper which Tom would be very meh on, but options exist.

Tom Riddle could wipe the locations of his horcruxes off the face of the map. He chooses not to. Which leads me to believe that, at least on some unconscious level, he wants the horcruxes to be found.

Then we have the protections.

Specifically, I’m thinking of the locket here.

Yes, the protections are very formidable, but they’re also goddamn weird. 

Rather than make the horcrux simply inaccessible, kill all those intruding, instead the intruder has to go through a very “Saw” like puzzle in which they drown themselves in despair until they finally get the locket, at which point they likely suicide by zombie.

More, there’s no hint that there’s any other way to retrieve the locket. 

Backdoors in security are a very bad idea. What they do is weaken the security as a whole and, if you can take a short cut is, it means that someone who is clever enough and motivated enough can to. Dumbledore is both clever and motivated enough, and I imagine if there was a way to get the horcrux that involved not doing this ridiculous task he would have done it.

More, we’d be back to the land of Tom making sure only he can access the horcrux by requiring a password, keying it to his magical signature, or something so that no one else could get it.

Which means, that’s right, if Tom wants to get the locket he’s drinking the goddamn despair juice just like the rest of us.

What kind of a person would do any of this?

I’ve gone over this before, but I don’t think Tom Riddle’s crazy. Rather, in this case, I think he’s driven by an unbelievable amount of nihilist rage and is also quite depressed.

Tom goes to collect his horcrux, “Ah, it’s time to remember what a miserable life I’ve led and the sheer awfulness of my own existence. Good, I was starting to feel a little too happy. Let’s see if I get eaten by my undead, vengeful, victims today.” 

The Events of Deathly Hallows and Tom Riddle’s Death

I think Tom Riddle’s final death in the books was suicide.

Tom takes over the Wizarding World, finally, and it’s as miserable as ever.

He’s trapped in this sham, barely functional, probably very painful body. His Death Eaters are completely out of control and for all that he wanted society to burn it’s now burning and no one’s even learned anything from this. Children in Hogwarts are being routinely tortured and have now staged a rebellion in which he’s having to slaughter them (I have reasons to believe that this is not what Tom Riddle wanted, at all, but that’s best saved for another post), and then he learns his horcruxes have all been destroyed without him even noticing.

There’s so little left of him, he has accomplished nothing, and there’s Harry Potter back from the dead yet again, gloating at him that love conquers all and Tom Riddle will never understand.

And Harry’s right, Tom Riddle will never understand, the world is meaningless and flat to him now and he finally understand that there’s no point to it. I think Tom Riddle decides he’s done. He’s just done.

He enters in a duel with Harry Potter knowing the weird nature of their wands. Now, it can be assumed he used the Elder Wand, but we know they get locked in Priori Incatatum , and that makes no damn sense with the Elder Wand (well, wandlore in general is silly, but I’m working with what JKR gave me here). So I choose to take JKR at her somewhat established canon and say that, no matter what Harry thought, Voldemort was using his original wand.

He throws out the killing curse, despite having now witnessed Harry resurrecting twice to this thing, and within two seconds it rebounds and kills him.

Voldemort’s death is a lot like this scene from the recent, terrible, 2020 live action Mulan (10/10 do not recommend).  Now, we’re supposed to think that this scene is the witch saving Mulan’s life and thus showing her hope for the next generation. In actuality, the witch literally flies into an arrow she could have easily deflected from Mulan’s path. It’s a suicide that Mulan is too stupid to notice.

Tom chooses suicide in the most ridiculous, flamboyant, and easily written off manner one can and no one even notices. Instead Harry crows that he has personally defeated Voldemort, with the power of love no less, HUZZAH!

And the castle parties.

The Nature of Horcruxes

I almost don’t want to include this because it’s so... well, I’m really drifting far from canon and fandom now.

However, with horcruxes, there’s always an overriding question of why Tom is able to make so many when we don’t see anyone else with these things around (especially as it’s clear that murder doesn’t simply happen for those that now have horcruxes).

Usually, you have fic authors just sort of shrug and go, “Well, he’s that evil, I guess.” Sometimes you have them go, “No one else is crazy enough to keep going, and that’s why Voldemort’s cuckoo bananas.” 

One very good explanation I’ve seen is that it’s because most people, when they murder, feel remorse immediately. The soul split happens, but they’re haunted by the murder for the rest of their life, and thus the horcrux isn’t made. Voldemort, feeling nothing when he kills anyone, is thus able to make them even for when he’s only indirectly associated with the death in question.

However, to me that never really jived philosophically.

Mostly, I simply cannot imagine that tearing apart your very soul is an act of indifference. Here’s how I see it: to do something like that to yourself, you must care, you must care beyond all imagine and human endurance. Your soul literally cannot abide it and saws itself in half, purging what you cannot stand about yourself the most. 

The remorse part is, yes, remorse for the act and the victim but more to the point it is the ability to forgive and reaccept the worst part of yourself. That part of yourself that you purged and destroyed, which is nearly impossible to do and might very well destroy the fabric of who you are). 

In other words, while creating a horcrux is an abominable act of hatred, it is also one of profound self-hatred.

Tom Riddle loathes himself so much that he is able to do this over and over and over again. 

As Tom Riddle goes on he makes himself into less and less and less of himself until he probably doesn’t even know who he is anymore. He just knows, whatever is left of him, he loathes that too. 

And then, of course, he gives up, runs into the nearest flying arrow, and dies.

TL;DR: Tom Riddle’s is a miserable existence that ended in a miserable if unintentionally hilarious manner

[aggravatetheaxe]

Can I have some Nick x bo thoughts? 🥺🥺 I’m intrigued

Okay I decided to just throw spaghetti for this one, so it's in the form of a chaotic bullet point list

STREAM OF CONSCIOUSNESS THOUGHTS ABOUT NICK/BO:

i feel like there'd be little to no chance of him living without carly also being alive; if anyone was going to appeal to bo's little shreds of humanity - his sense of family - it would be a girl begging for her twin brother's life

also i just like carly so what would be the point if she wasn't there?

it would have to be rather earlier in the movie. like, there is no going back from the point they're at in the final battle, you know? no amount of begging would assuage bo and vincent from murdering them at that point

on the other hand, seeing how resilient carly and nick are is a big turning point in the movie. it's super important for not just the viewers but all the characters to see how well they work in tandem. i wouldn't want to take that away from them

so maybe the best of both worlds would be if carly and nick decided to turn the tables on the boys after they shoot bo and he passes out in the theater?

like what if when he passed out, they tied him up and used him to lure vincent, and there was some kind of tense bargaining situation?

or, ooh ooh ooh, what if: so bo has carly down in his dungeon and nick can't get her out, so instead he captures one of the sinclair brothers and that's the trade off? carly's life for bo's or whatever?

then carly and nick aren't in a position where they can leave ambrose, but the brothers aren't necessarily in a position to kill them either

idk neither of those are perfect scenarios, but suspend disbelief with me

this would be Slow Burn. HELLA Slow Burn enemies to lovers. which i love, so

bo would hate nick on principle because he's the one bastard they couldn't take down, and he's just some fucking guy from florida. plus he's a cocky asshole who has a problem with authority, and though bo kens that, it also drives him FUCKING INSANE when he is the authority figure

nick would hate bo because, well, it's obvious: bo killed some of his closest friends, including dalton, who nick may or may not have had romantic tension with; and wade, his sister's boyfriend. to say nothing of the fact that bo hunted, kidnapped, and tied up his sister with the intention of torturing her later

who would break first? i think bo would. bo's hatred of nick is the principle of the thing, an almost puerile anger that he was outsmarted; nick's hatred of bo is deeply personal

but! that would give bo some time to come to terms with being bisexual. nick doesn't need as much time to come to terms with that, so by the time they hooked up, they'd be on more or less the same page with everything

would it start out as hate sex? almost certainly. they're both so fucking frustrated they feel this way. it might even happen on accident tbh

bo would be completely oblivious to the fact that nick was kind of with dalton/had romantic tension with him. nick would have to be like "??? dude. that was basically my boyfriend what the fuck"

does bo feel remorse for killing people? no, not usually. does he eventually come to feel remorse for killing these particular people? well... yes and no. if he hadn't, he'd never have met nick. but it's a real pain in the ass for your boyfriend and his sister to hate you for killing all their friends, when someone else's friends woulda done just as well

god they butt heads so much. they're both have an extreme aversion to authority, though i would argue nick's is a little more combative. nick doesn't care what punishment he gets - he sees himself as above punishment, uncontrollable - while bo has been taught to fear punishment and has a strong sense of "respect." it is possible to make bo bend under your authority; i don't think it's possible to do it to nick, at least not in the same way

Florida Man. that's all i have to say on that

despite butting heads though, they also have a hell of a lot in common. they were both considered the "evil twin" at ages when they literally couldn't help themselves and needed help, love, and compassion. now they've grown to be men who genuinely do bad things because of the preconceived notions and perceptions of others

the difference between them, though, is that bo comes off as a nice guy but he's actually a MONSTER. nick comes off as a huge creep and a punk, he does shitty things to make himself seem hard and cool, but inside he's a good person. they're foils of each other and that's always sexy

their foil is all about redemption and presentation vs action but maybe i'm projecting

they are foils though so they have some core things in common: strong love for their family, specifically their respective twins; dedication and steadfastness; perseverance in the face of death; quick wit and cleverness, fast thinking; finally, a tendency to say mean things that they either regret later or don't actually mean, in an attempt to protect themselves from being vulnerable

i don't know if these two would ever be truly happy with one another - it would be a tumultuous relationship for sure - but they would understand each other in a lot of ways

and most importantly? bo might realize that, after everything he went through in his life, he made the choice to be a serial killer and torturer. things could have been different

whether or not anything would actually change, i'm not sure, but he MIGHT realize how deep a hole he truly dug himself

but he's too far in now, nothing to do about it, ya know?

if more people came through ambrose, nick and carly would be right there trying to help them escape. come hell or high water, no matter the consequences, they would try to help, even if they could never truly escape themselves

nick would bargain, beg, and steal to earn carly the right to go see their parents (or any other privilege). she should be allowed to be free even if he's not. he's very self sacrificing

okay so that was very chaotic but i hope you enjoyed some of my Thoughts!

[nowandajenn]

Blue Christmas- Six

Pairing: Chris Evans/OC Kelly

Summary: After almost three years of marriage, everyone would tell you that Chris and his wife Kelly are the most stable, solid couple they know. But behind closed doors, things are tense as they keep trying for a baby, to no avail. When a secret threatens to shake their solid marriage to it’s core, will they be able to pick up the pieces?

Warnings: language, angst, shitty moms, family drama.

Author’s Note: I do not consent to have my content, whether it be this story or anything else of my creation, posted by a third party on any other platform other than right here without my permission. This blog is 18+ and is not intended for minors. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Heed the warnings.

December 24th

I don’t want to do this. I don’t want to do this. I don’t want to do this. I don’t want to do this. 

The same thought runs through my head like a conga line as I stand in the bathroom of Connor’s house, finishing up my makeup. 

“Hey, you almost ready?” 

I jump at the sound of Connor’s voice and his sudden appearance behind me in the mirror and almost stab myself in the eyeball with my eyeliner pencil. 

“How pissed do you think they’d be if I just didn’t show up?” I ask him rhetorically, already knowing the answer. 

“Well, dad would be disappointed but he’d understand, and mom would probably come and hunt you down and never let you hear the end of it.”

“I could just never answer her calls again.” I shrug. 

“Yeah, but then she’d show up at your house, the studio, HERE....and since I don’t feel like having her come over unannounced because you decided to be a chicken and skip out on Christmas Eve dinner, move your ass. We’re leaving in five minutes.”

As we stand in front of my parents’ front door, I run through a list in my head of things that I’d rather be doing than getting ready to face my parents. Or more specifically, my mother. 

Get stung by a jellyfish. Having to walk through a room full of Legos barefoot. Pulling my own fingernails out one by one. Okay, maybe I went too far with that one. 

“You ready?” Connor asks. 

“No.” I deadpan. 

Before we can stop her, Olivia reaches up and rings the doorbell. 

I heave out a sigh of relief when it’s my dad that answers the door, knowing that at least I’m not going to be insulted before I even step foot inside the house. 

We get ushered inside the house take off our coats before my dad wraps me in a hug. 

“Where’s Chris?” he asks. 

“He’s over at his dad’s house. You only get me tonight.” I say with a small smile. 

“I guess we’ll have to make do.” he huffs out dramatically. 

I make my way into the kitchen and my sister Colleen immediately hands me a glass of red wine. 

“Here, you might need this.” she tells me. I roll my eyes, knowing that there’s no other choice than to nut up and face the music. 

“Hey mom.”

My mom turns from the stove, her face completely devoid of any emotion. 

“I didn’t even know if you were coming tonight, since you haven’t returned any of my phone calls or anything.”

“I’m sorry. I should have called you back. Things have been a little.....” my emotions start to bubble up in my throat, threatening to choke me. “Things have been busy. I’ve been swamped with work and getting last minute things done for Christmas. I wasn’t actively trying to ignore you.” I tell her. 

“Why did you come with Connor and Olivia? Where’s Chris?” 

Here we go. 

“He’s at his dad’s house.” 

“Why didn’t you go with him?” 

“Because I knew I’d never hear the end of it if I didn’t show up here tonight. Chris will get let off the hook, though, right?” It takes everything in me not to roll my eyes. 

“Chris is a busy man. He has an excuse.” 

I take a deep breath, count to ten, and let it out before walking out of the kitchen. If there’s anything my mother loves more than passive aggressively insulting me at every turn, it’s getting the last word. 

We’re all sitting around the living room opening presents when the doorbell rings. Since I’m closest to the door, I get up to answer it and nearly have a small stroke when I open the door. 

“Hey.” Chris says, standing on my parents’ porch with his hands stuffed in his pockets. 

I can only stand there and blink owlishly at him as my brain tries, and fails, to come up with something intelligent to say. 

I look over my shoulder into the house to see that everyone is thankfully not paying attention, and pull the front door closed behind me. 

“What are you doing here?” I ask, my breath puffing up in clouds in front of my face. 

“Listen, I know what you’re thinking, but listen to me. I know your parents don’t know about what’s going on with us, and I know that if they think something is wrong, they’re going to be all over you.” Chris tells me. 

I wrap my arms around myself and swallow hard. 

I hate that he’s right. 

“Can we just pretend that everything is okay? Just for tonight? We get through dinner with your parents and get you off the hook, and then, we can....” he trails off. 

Before I can either agree or tell him to get the fuck off the porch, the door opens and my dad steps out. 

“Chris! Hey, we thought you weren’t going to be able to make it!” my dad says, pulling him in for one of those man hug things. 

“Not a chance. Finished up early so I headed right over. Sorry I’m late.” 

My dad eyes me disapprovingly. “Get in the house before you catch pneumonia.”

Three things happen simultaneously when Chris steps foot into the house: Olivia squeals at top volume (because Uncle Chris is her favorite person in the world, second only to me) and runs into his waiting arms, my mom’s almost always stern looking face breaks into a huge smile, and Connor and Colleen’s jaws both drop open at almost the exact same time. It would be funny if I weren’t shitting my pants even more now about how the rest of this night was going to go. 

Halfway through dinner, things are going about as well as can be expected, but I’m still ready for this night to just be over. Between Chris sitting next to me and having to act like we’re still the Chris and Kelly we used to be, the 13 passive aggressive digs my mom has thrown at me over the course of the evening, and the headache trying to hatch in my brain, I’m ready for this night to be over. 

“How are things going at the studio, sweetheart?” my dad asks me. 

“They’re fine. It’s always busy this time of year.” I tell him, pushing the food around on my plate.

“It must not be that busy if you can afford to be closed during the middle of the holiday season.” my mom sniffs. 

“Brenda-” my dad warns. 

“Mom, just let it go, okay? I needed a break. Things were a little hectic and I was getting burnt out. I needed some time off, and so did my staff.” I tell her. 

I reach for the bottle of wine to refill my glass, and my mom snatches it from my hand. 

“You’ve had enough. You’ve been drinking like a lush tonight, and I know you’re smoking again. I can smell it on you. You treat your body like shit; no wonder you can’t get pregnant.” 

The sound of several sets of silverware clattering against the fine China that’s only brought out for Christmas is deafening. 

My face burns with embarrassment and my heart lodges itself somewhere in the vicinity of my throat. Hot, angry tears spring to my eyes, and it takes me a minute before I can even move. 

Chris is absolutely frozen, absolute shock and disappointment evident on his face at what my mother just said. It was the lowest possible blow she could have dealt, and she just absolutely nailed me with it with no remorse whatsoever. 

Without a word, I push my chair back and stand up on shaky legs and leave the table and everyone hears the front door slam less than a minute later. 

When his brain can fully process what just happened, Chris gets up and runs out the door after me, just in time to hear 

“Just let her go. I didn’t mean it the way it sounded. She’s too sensitive.”

When Chris comes outside, I’m leaning against the passenger side door of his car, trying and failing to light a cigarette through my sobs. 

“Hey, hey, stop. Come here. Give me that.” he says, taking the lighter from me. He flicks it once and holds the flame steady so I can light the cigarette and I take a deep drag in. He lights his own and leans against the car next to me. 

“I stopped being surprised by anything she said a long time ago, you know. I stopped being shocked when she would make shitty comments about my weight or my clothes or anything I did. She’s always been like that with me. Nothing was ever good enough. I was never going to be as good as Colleen or Connor because I was the mistake. I was the baby she never wanted. I never tried to let it bother me or let it get to me, but....” I sob quietly and sniffle in the cold air. “Man, she just fucking sucker punched me right in the face. I never should have even told her about it; about how I was having trouble getting pregnant......I should have known.......” my words trail off as more sobs shake my body. 

“Come here.” Chris whispers. He pulls me against his chest and wraps his arms around me and I hold onto him as tight as I can. 

“I’m so sorry.” he whispers against my hair. Over the sound of the wind blowing, I can hear raised voices inside and can only imagine what’s going on in there. And to think it had been a pretty decent night up until that point. 

“Will you take me home? I just....I don’t want to go back to Connor���s. I can’t be around any of them right now. I just want to go home and see Dodger and drink some more.” 

“Okay. Whatever you want.” 

 The Usual Suspects: @averyrogers83 @wordywarriorwrites @imanuglywombat @joannaliceevans-fanficblog @hlkwrites @reminiscingrogers @mom—nicole @jtargaryen18 @alexakeyloveloki @kelbabyblue @sarahp879 @moonlessnight14 @mojean13 @mrskokitztelford @artisticrogers1972 @southerngracela @star-spangled-man-with-a-plan @mybesttobobcratchit @gracethegeek9902 @mdemontespan1667 @marvelfansworld @capslut2014 @dispatchvampire @jamielea81 @jamesbarnesappreciationsociety​ @nerdy-bookworm-1998​ @southerngracela​ @what-is-your-plan-today @letsdisneythings​ @theladybiers @lexeeehhh @sweater-daddiesdumbdork​ @autumnrose40 @donutloverxo​ @harrysthiccthighss​ @jessaywahh-blog​@smediumsmeatbae @before-we-get-started​ @lizette50 @littlegasps @rageshots @what-is-your-backupplan-today @clairebubbles @patzammit @sweet--catrastophe

Kinktober 2020: @saiyanprincessswanie​ @superquirky-blog

[amelia]

related to that last ask but now i actually have a question! what are your favourite episodes for amy as a character? (sorry if i’m pestering you btw you don’t have to answer right away ❣️)

it is absolutely never a bother for me to talk about amy pond!! gosh though this is a Question. okay. i did interpret this as episodes that are my favorite for the lens of My Understanding Of Amy instead of favorite pond era episodes as a whole if that makes sense? under the cut bc i got long as i tend to do

i think my number 1 has to be the big bang, because it really is just like. okay, pond era absolutely runs into the problem of frequently making stories/episodes that should be centered around amy's emotional journey actually about somebody else — but the big bang is all hers. it is all on her! she's leading the show SHE'S the one in the pandorica SHE'S the one who remembers the doctor into existence it is HER choice to say goodbye to leadworth and continue to travel completely without remorse SHE IS THE HERO. it goes from "time can be rewritten, he'll find a way" to AMY being the one who finds the way. rory and river and the doctor all of course get their Moments but it's unquestionably amy's spotlight moment the whole way through

i have also ALWAYSSS been obsessed with starless universe amelia and the way that she still believes in stars in a world where they DON'T EXIST the power of her mind and the conviction of her beliefs is a CORE TENET of amy's character, the doctor has NOTHING to do with it!!! it's just who she is !!! best character of all time <3

other things about the amy's writing in this episode i love: the line "the universe pouring into her dreams every night," space florida outfit <3, ok i obviously do not love this but i think so much about amy talking about the doctor at her wedding and her mother is still like "NOT THIS SHIT AGAIN… i thought the psychiatrists FIXED her" like once again !!! a UNIVERSAL CONSTANT that amy is the one who believes in things nobody else does and is LOUD about it and is RIGHT !!! (let's kill hitler tried to retcon this but it simply won't work on me ❤️ just like anything else about the let's kill hitler flashbacks ❤️❤️❤️), OKAY DOCTOR DID I SURPRISE YOU THIS TIME? <3

number 2, i think, is the eleventh hour itself? like it's just… i've rewatched it so many times and it's still the most captivating character introduction i have ever seen. i know i'm biased but i love it so much. her introduction as a clearly neglected seven year old girl (constantly think about the deleted line that has her talking to aunt sharon and saying "you're not supposed to leave me, i'm seven!" WOOF) who's not afraid of anything except for the crack in her wall… she has drawings up all over her house of burning houses, she draws smiley faces into her apples bc her mom used to do that, she can cook for herself way better than i could at seven, and she desperately just wants to leave. but when the doctor tells her he'll be back in five minutes, amy is already so used to adults leaving her and breaking their promises that she doesn't believe him. but he makes her believe anyway. and he doesn't come back.

and all of the rest of her character hinges on that introduction — of course she has to believe him, he was REAL, nobody can take his realness away from her even if she is the only one who believes. but he also left her all alone for so long, just like everyone else who was supposed to be there for her did, so what good does that to her? so yeah of course she grows up angry and bitter and hiding those layers of hurt deeply under the surface, scorning all attachment and serious relationships because she knows she can't trust them. she outwardly distances herself from her childhood self by changing her name but she IS still just such a child inside.

she's not ready to settle, to grow up, to become what everyone in her tiny village wants her to be, thinks that she should be — so when she gets the chance to GO, of course she takes it. but she's also not just going to let the doctor off the hook for [gestures] her entire life, you know? the exchanges "people always say that" "i'm not people, do i even look like people?" | "people always have a reason" "do i look like people?" "Yes." always just GUT ME. she may trust him but it's NOT a blind trust, it can't be.

number 3 has to be the beast below it just makes me SCREAM how good that episode is at really developing amy through her compassion for other people — right from the start she sees that kid crying and she thinks the doctor must ignore stuff like this all the time, and she says that she could never do that. she's learning and intuiting leaps and bounds about the doctor with everything he says to her — which is another one of my favorite amy character traits, the way she is SO quick to pick up on things about other people and analyze them. everything that she picks up about the doctor allows her to KNOW what to do to save the star whale, allows her to be confident in the fact that the star whale wanted to help the whole time. the choice is IN HER HANDS she IS THE HERO <3 as she always should be. you couldn't just stand there and watch people cry! all that pain and misery and loneliness and it MADE IT KIND. i don't care how overused that quote is it still HITS !!!

um. number 4 is the girl who waited but my very specific headcanon-ridden interpretation and cutting out all that garbage "rory's the most beautiful man i've ever met" "defying destiny causality the nexus of time itself for a boy" bullshit. idk there's so many terrible things about this episode but it also gave me so much to think about when it comes to amy it's on my mind a LOT. one thing i think about is the way it parallels amy's first abandonment by the doctor — not just in the obvious sense but in the way that she's actively fighting for her life in a hostile atmosphere, but nobody else SEES it as a hostile atmosphere. the two streams facility is leadworth like it really is. and what adds a more chilling component is the way the handbots signature line is "do not be alarmed, this is a kindness" — like all the people who were trying to convince amy she was crazy throughout her entire childhood really thought they were doing her a kindness. they thought they were helping her. but they were killing her. because she wasn't made for that environment.

beyond that i am just obsessed with 36-years-later amy she is an icon she is a legend she is the moment i don't care! every mean thing she said about the doctor and rory was absolutely deserved and in fact she should have been so much meaner! she is SO SMART she makes her own SONIC PROBES OUT OF CAMERA PHONES the fact that she even was able to SURVIVE THAT LONG and in COMPLETE isolation and still retain her own mental faculties is just insane to me it speaks so much about her insane mental strength oh my god it makes me sooo emotional i am tearing up a little typing this right now.

i just am always THINKING about the line "there he is, the voice of god. number one lesson: survive, because no one's coming for you. you taught me that" it says SO MUCH about her. oh my god older amy didn't want to die she'll be kicking and screaming and fighting til the end… i fucking hate this show and picking and choosing when paradoxes should apply OLDER AMY DESERVED TO LIVE

number 5 is probably the power of three but my own very headcanon infused interpretation of it. because it's like. the ultimate miscommunication/misunderstanding that exists between amy and the doctor coming to a head. where amy in 7.02 is like "i can't not wait for you, even now. (…) we think you're weaning us off you" (that line always makes me slow exhale … the phrasing of the doctor as a drug) and the doctor keeps insisting that's not true, "you'll be there until the end of me" "or vice versa" (and they have that loaded held stare and you know they're both thinking about what he said to her before he left in the god complex…)

but it's not until this episode where amy starts to actually believe he means it. at the same time she's spent so much TIME preparing for the inevitable moment where the doctor says goodbye and doesn't say hello ever again that she's not willing to fully hope that the doctor really means it when he says that he would never leave her permanently on purpose. and i love that this episode gives amy a lot of space to verbally communicate her emotions because the later pond episodes SORELY LACK THAT. and amy tells him, don't be nice to me, don't stop coming around just because you think that's the kind thing to do. even though she says herself that she doesn't know if she can have "both" — she knows that she can tell the doctor to stay, in her own way, and that he'll listen.

ideally they would have just gone off traveling together forever after that and the angels take manhattan did not happen but unlike what the doctor says about amy, i don't ever get what i want 🙃

also, this episode gave amy friends that weren't rory or the doctor or river so i love it for that on principal <3 i know amy had fun being the bridesmaid at laura's lesbian wedding. and kate!!

( i do hate that this episode ends with that conversation between brian and the doctor. i hate brian as a character and i will forever. won't get into this right now but OUGH )

honestly this list is kind of wobbly and might change if you asked me in a month so i'll just rattle off other favorite episodes / moments real quickly: the good night minisode (it counts!), RIVER SONG DIDN'T GET IT ALL FROM YOU SWEETIE (timeline frozen amy my beloved!), "i remember it so it happened so i did it," vincent and the doctor specifically when vincent tells amy that he hears the song of her sadness…. ow, i could write a whole other essay about amy's choice and how it is so much more complex than people give it credit for but this post is already so goddamn long

[sayonarasanity]

Reverberation 

Chapter III

Link to chapter I and chapter II

Link to AO3

-

By the time they were in seventh grade, she was obsessed with Shakespeare. 

Levi found it out one day towards the dusk when he was watching the sunset on the rooftop. There was a quiet chill in the air, only visible when a breeze swept past him occasionally and his body trembled instinctively. The sky was pastel pink, clouds were shadowy and reflected the soft colour of a day slowly coming to an end. The sun’s last rays enlightened the horizon and Hanji, gasping and sweaty, threw herself next to him, leaning on his shoulder for support.

“Did you bring it?” She asked, extending her hand towards him. She was acting like they were exchanging drugs, and he was the dramatic one of the two. How was that even fair? Without a word Levi put the chocolate milk and the sandwich, he had brought from home in her hand. 

She looked at him like she was going to cry. Good acting. “Oh, thank God for Levi Ackerman. I was starving.”

“You should stop wasting your money on books.”

“I am not wasting money, Levi. I am investing it.”

“What did you buy this time?”

She made a gesture with her hand to indicate ‘wait a minute’ as she quickly started to eat her sandwich and drank her milk. 

“Slow the fuck down,” he said, feeling a need to warn her when she patted her chest to ease the process of the food going down. Then she drank the milk furiously and squeezed it between her fingers until she sucked the last drop, and the inside of the cartoon packet was as dry as the Sahara Desert. 

After that, she sighed, content and happily rubbed her now full stomach. The sandwich was half-eaten though, she rewrapped it with the cling film and put it aside. Then she opened her bag, buried her hands inside, searching. “I found an old book shop today,” she said with a goofy grin on her face. “And bought these babies with the last money I had.” At that, she took out two books, worn, yellow and smelled ancient. 

Levi squinted his eyes as he took the books from her hand and read the titles. One was Macbeth and the other was Romeo and Juliet. 

“Cliché,” he commented.

“Shakespeare is not cliché, grumpy. He is a classic.”

She was apparently annoyed. It was so easy to work her up through her books. “I thought you had read them already?”

“I did but I read my dad’s copies and he won’t let me keep them on my shelf. So, I bought my own,” she grinned ear to ear. 

“Good for you,” he pushed the books on her hands, unimpressed. 

“I marked my favourite quotes while I was on my way here,” she tossed and replaced herself next to him. Shoulder to shoulder. “And I have a question for you.”

He didn’t have a chance to say no. “Shoot.”

“Are you a Macbeth like sky lover or a Juliet like sky lover?”

His face crumpled in confusion, and he blinked his eyes at her. Hanji was looking at him expectantly. She was actually waiting for an answer. Oh boy. He hadn’t understood shit. “Hanji you know I don’t understand your nerd shit without having you explain it to me.”

“Oh,” she said, extending the h. “Right, sorry. My bad. What I mean is…” She opened Macbeth, and searched the pages until she found the one she was looking for. “For example, in Act I Scene IV, Macbeth says, “Stars, hide your fires! / Let not light see my black and deep desires,” and,” she dropped it to open the other book. “In Act III Scene II, Juliet says “Take him and cut him out in little stars, / And he will make the face of heaven so fine / That all the world will be in love with the night/”

She turned her gaze again on him afterwards, adjusting her glasses. “So?”

“Hanji, what the hell are you trying to do?”

She rolled her eyes and closed the book. “Levi, I am just saying that obviously these two quotes,” she quoted the air while saying, “although out of context, are more or less about the sky so pick one.”

“But they don’t even make sense!” he objected.  

“They don’t have to. It’s literature. If you take the lines of the context, you can use them however you like.”

“For example?” Levi pressed, still waiting for a reasonable enough explanation.

Hanji, like the nerd that she was, started to explain, “Macbeth is about revenge, ambition and remorse, at least superficially, and Romeo and Juliet is about love, old-grudges and misunderstandings, again superficially. But if you take the lines out of those concepts…” she shrugged. 

“I can use them however I like?” Levi said, trying to come to her point. 

“Exactly.” 

“Like I don’t have any “black and dark desires”, but I can choose Macbeth?”

Hanji nodded. 

“Because he talked about stars?”

She nodded again.

“But what do they have to do with loving the sky?” Levi asked, having been unable to make the connection. 

Hanji paused, her eyes moved upwards to the sky, considering his question. She hummed thoughtfully. “Well, nothing.” Then her gaze turned back at him. “But don’t look for logic, Levi. Just pick one.”

“I said Macbeth already. Leave me alone.”

“Uh, you said that seriously?” She tapped her chin. “Why him though?”

“No specific reason.” Levi looked away to the town, observed the intermittent, weak lights of the houses underneath. “Juliet sounded way too sappy.”

Hanji snorted, and about a minute later she went on, “Literature doesn’t always make sense,” she said. “It’s like eating cotton candy. I mean, do you think it makes sense?”

Levi raised a brow at her. “Yes?”

“But—” Hanji made a stupid hand gesture. “It melts the second it touches your tongue. It doesn’t make sense. But you enjoy eating it because it melts the second it touches your tongue.”

Levi blinked hollowly. “I am not following.”

“Wait,” she said, excitedly. “I’ll show you.”

Then she thrust one of the books into his hands, shuffled the pages and pointed with her finger to the lines she had clearly underlined with a pencil. “Read it aloud.”

Levi was feeling like he had given up on whatever will power he had as he observed the lines. He could feel Hanji’s curious, and expectant gaze burning the side of his face. There was no escape from this. 

He cleared his throat before starting. “Tomorrow, and tomorrow and tomorrow,

Creeps in this petty pace from day to day,

To the last syllable of recorded time;

And all our yesterdays have lighted fools

The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!

Life’s but a walking shadow, a poor player 

That struts and frets his hour upon the stage,

And then is heard no more: it is a tale

Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,

Signifying nothing.”

When he finished, he realized the goosebumps that crept upon his skin, the way the words flew out of his mouth as if they were notes from an old, forgotten ballad, and the way they melted on his tongue, slowly but deliciously like pink cotton candy—

“Damn,” he breathed.

“Right?” Hanji exclaimed excitedly. 

“I don’t know what the hell he is talking about,” he said honestly. Just like how he didn’t necessarily like cotton candy because it was too sweet yet, the pleasure while eating it every now and then was undeniable. “But like—”

“It tastes good.”

“Yeah,” he stared at her.

Hanji laughed, cheerfully. Levi felt a slight twitch in his mouth as he watched her. “Do you have more?”

“Of course I do.” She then showed him a snippet from Romeo and Juliet. Levi took the book in his hands and read it aloud.

“My only love sprung from my only hate!

Too early seen unknown and known too late!

Prodigious birth of love it is to me,

That I must love a loathed enemy.”

The chance to make a reference was too good and too obvious to ignore so Levi whistled, looking at the pages. “That’s rough body.”

Hanji burst into laughter.

-

Afterwards, they watched the way the clouds move slowly blocking and revealing the moon, hiding the stars behind, and giving the night an almost otherworldly view. Hanji kept talking, of course, whenever something came to her mind. Levi never quite understood half the things she had told him, but he always paid attention. Because watching her like this was like watching the flowing of a cascade. It was endless and it was loud and for that it was fascinating, and it was addicting. 

And he couldn’t look away. 

“Levi,” she said when the air started to become colder, and he was about to tell her that they should go back now. “I want to be a rocket scientist.”

“Huh?” 

“I want to help people explore the universe,” she went on. She didn’t look at her confused expression, instead, she watched the stars with the slightest of smiles on her face. “I want to build rockets and I want to learn more about everything out there.”

She held up her hand, closed one of her eyes and looked at the sky through the holes between her fingers. “And I want you to be with me.”

Levi thought about cascades again and remembered a class in the school in which they learned how they created a pothole on the ground it fell. It was mere water, he had thought then, but it was strong enough to bore through the hard rocks. And Hanji was only a thirteen-year-old girl with a dream bigger than even the two of them, but she was a cascade, and as he watched her face which carried no doubt or insecurity, he believed at that moment that she could do whatever she ever wanted.

“I don’t think I can be a rocket scientist,” he said. Even the term itself sounded so weird in his ears when he tried to picture it on himself.

“You can be an engineer,” Hanji said, presenting another option. “You are smart enough to be. And then we can work together. Don’t you think it would be nice? Exploring the universe and other worlds behind the walls of the Earth? I mean we can even go to the same university. If you’d like to, of course.”

They were only thirteen. And those dreams seemed too big, too far away, and so out of reach and quite insolent for their age. But Hanji’s eyes were full of hope like she had no doubt about each of them achieving those seemingly distant dreams. And Levi wished he could be as hopeful as her and believe that they could go to the same university, then work together and explore the mysteries of the universe and maybe even more. Yet at the moment no matter how he tried, they still seemed so strange and so unlikely. Future was the furthest point of the ocean, a mirage in a desert, and they were merely kids with nothing but unformed, tender dreams in their hands. 

How daring, he thought. 

But then again, before he met Hanji, he had also thought that the sky was unapproachable, and the stars were just a view he enjoyed watching from time to time. Now, he touched them in an attic, underneath a makeshift sky and with a girl who had stardust in her eyes.

“Okay,” he said.

She smiled so big, she almost outran the sun. “Okay,” she repeated. “We have a dream then.”

-

“Good morning, Mrs Zoe.”

Hanji’s mother was a nice and kind woman with a height slightly over the middle, brown hair tied up neatly, and a pair of gentle brown eyes which were radiating warmth as they looked at him. She was dressed in clean and fresh attire and smelled like daisies. Levi would never understand how a girl, untidy, messy and dirty, like Hanji came out of this civilized woman.

“Good morning, Levi,” she smiled. “Come on in.”

Levi stepped inside and removed his shoes, then his jacket. “Is she—”

“She is in her room,” Mrs Zoe sighed, shaking her head. “She is being overly dramatic about it, boy. Be careful.”

Levi snorted. He had expected nothing less. “Sure.” 

Hanji’s room was upstairs, and Levi prepared himself for a war scene as he knocked and opened the door. He was right of fucking course. Books, clothes, empty water bottles, and old, stuffed toys were covering the ground. Levi wrinkled his face in disgust and put the bag in his hand aside next to the dresser. Then set in to tidy up the room; folded the clothes, piled the books on her library and shelves, threw away the empty bottles and some eaten chocolate packages. Then he opened the curtains and left the window ajar for some fresh air to fill inside the room. 

The figure buried under the blankets in her bed groaned and tossed. Levi watched as the bed creaked under her movements, and a puddle of messy brown hair showed itself on the head of the bed, setting free from the blockade of the blanket. He walked closer, reached down and pulled the blanket off. 

She yelped, eyes wide in shock, and her body stayed frigid on her bed. “What the hell, Levi?”

“Language,” he warned, smiling slyly. She frowned and attempted to take the blanket back, but Levi had already lied it over her again. It only covered her from the belly down this time rather than her whole body like a damn shroud.

Then he sat down on the edge of the bed. “Heard you were sick.”

Just then she sneezed and cleaned her nose with a tissue that was already in her hands. Then she groaned. “I’m dying.”

Levi rolled his eyes. Dramatic indeed. “Do you have a fever?”

“No,” she sniffed. “I am not sick actually. It is an allergy, because of the weather.” She coughed and sneezed again. “And by the everything holy out there, it’s killing me.”

It was early Spring, so it made sense. “I don’t think a spring allergy will kill you, four-eyes.”

“Actually, some allergies are deadly,” she cleaned her nose again. 

“But not this one.”

“Yeah, not this one I guess.” She stared at the ceiling, her eyes were watery, nose red and somewhat wounded, her oval-shaped glasses were slightly inclined, her hair was dishevelled, and her mouth was dry.

“You look like shit,” he said.

“Thanks.”

He got up from where he was sitting and took the bag he had left by the dresser. When he sat back down again, he handed her over two packets of chocolate milk. “Here you go, drama queen.”

She blinked at the items at first, until her vision became clear and when she found out what they were, finally a smile so big bloomed on her face that Levi felt relaxed. “Hero,” she uttered before she snatched the milk off from his hand and immediately opened one of them to drink with utmost appetite. 

They leaned their backs to the head of the bed as Hanji drank empty both of the chocolate milk. After that, she slipped down a little and rested her head on his shoulder.

“Levi,” she said, lazily and sniffed. “Quick wordplay.”

“Go.”

“Virginia Woolf?”

It was a stupid game they had played one day when they got so bored, they had started to dangle head down from Levi’s bed. Basically, they were trying to make fun of artists’ names in general. Trying to get as creative as possible. And failing a lot. “A she-wolf?”

“That’s sexist, Levi.” 

“How is that sexist?”

“I don’t know it sounded sexist,” she sneezed and cleared her nose, groaning miserably. “Okay, Shakespeare?”

He considered for a moment, eyes up to the ceiling. “A man who enjoys shaking pears?” The words almost made him flinch. So much for being creative.

“Levi,” she chuckled first, then started to giggle. “That was disgusting. Oh my God, you’re so bad at this.”

Levi scowled while Hanji’s laughter got out of control. At some point, her coughs joined the symphony but that didn’t stop her from laughing her heart out. She leaned into him more, almost making him fall from the bed. Fortunately, he balanced himself at the last minute with the help of the bedside table.

“Oi!”

“What is she laughing at?” Hanji’s mother asked from the door, smiling at her still laughing daughter, with confused eyes which held the understanding of a mother who was so used to her daughter’s antics. She was holding a tray in her hands and there were two bowls on top of it which Levi guessed to be soups probably. 

“She has lost her mind, finally,” Levi replied, blatantly. 

“No!” Hanji exclaimed, suddenly. Then there was a pair of hands grabbing his collar, then her wide, brown eyes were staring at him. 

“What?”

“Levi, you know what to say to that!” She shook him. “We’ve rehearsed this before!”

It took him merely two seconds to understand what she was talking about. “No.”

“Please,” she pleaded, even had the audacity to pout. “You have to say it!”

He sighed, looked away, then saw her mother still in the threshold, now appearing to be obviously confused. On the other side, there was Hanji, continuing to look at him with those big, pleading eyes. 

“O what a noble mind is here o’erthrown,” he said, with a tone so flat Shakespeare would possibly erase the line from the text if he were to hear it. 

“Oh my God, Levi!” Hanji giggled breathlessly. “Your face!” Then she started to laugh drastically again, she even had to lay down on her side, her body shaking with the intensity of her laughter. Hanji’s mother on the other hand merely sighed and left the tray on top of the bedside table. There was also a pill on it, Levi realized. “Make sure she drinks it okay?” she told Levi.

He nodded in response and she left closing the door behind her. 

Levi had to almost force the spoon down her throat for the soup to reach her stomach. She whined and tried to dodge from him like a four-year-old. Levi didn’t let her though until the bowl was empty. Then he drank his own.

“You’re gonna be a terrible father,” she said, wiping her mouth with her sleeve.

“Use a goddamn tissue, you uncivilized moron.”

“That’s none of your business.” She slipped down to lay on her bed after she drank the pill and pulled the blanket to her face. 

“My job here is done, I guess,” Levi murmured and stood up, putting the bowl on the tray. 

“You’re leaving?” Hanji watched him through the space left from the blanket which was covering half of her face.

“Yeah,” he nodded. “You get some rest.”

“But I’ve been resting the whole day, Levi. I am bored.”

“What do you want me to do?” He raised a brow.

“Stay?” She asked, blinking her eyes innocently. 

When Levi didn’t directly object her, she moved a little to create space for him, then opened the blanket and looked at Levi expectantly, and with a sheepish smile on her lips. 

Why can’t I say no to her? Levi mused and scowled at himself inside as he lay down on the bed. Her smile remained in its place as she pulled the blanket over their heads, and they laid face to face in the dark, the only sound was their even and quiet breaths. This close he could smell her shampoo and the odour which only belonged to her, a mix of ancient books, ink and something soft like vanilla-scented candles. 

“You smell very nice,” she whispered.

Levi was taken aback at the fact that they had been seemingly thinking the same thing. “I smell clean. Nothing you are used to.”

She snickered and sniffed. “So cruel, Levi.”

And he smiled only because she couldn’t see.

-

There was a marble pool near her school. It was round, bygone and had a small amount of water in it. In the water there were tokens of different sizes, some were new some were old enough to become rusty. Hanji enjoyed walking past and stopped by that pool every now and then. If she were lucky enough, she could find thirsty birds or sometimes protrude eyed green frogs. Today was one of those lucky days. 

“Hello, little bud,” she smiled at the frog, reaching out with her index finger to touch its wet, and sleek skin. The frog croaked and responded to her stare with its big, rounded black eyes. “Would you like to come with me?”

She smirked when she imagined Levi’s disgusted, and horrified face if he were to see it. The frog croaked again, and as if it had understood what was going to happen to it if it agreed to come with her, it turned its speckled back to Hanji and jumped into the pool.

Hanji sighed wearily. “Alright.”

“What’s that weirdo doin’?” A voice belonged to a boy near her age spoke and Hanji froze where she had kneeled. She folded her fist and waited quietly for them to just walk away. 

“Her weirdo shit,” his friend answered. What a sharp mind for his age! “Maybe she hopes if she kisses a frog it will turn into a Prince Charming and fall in love with her.” The three boys came walking behind her, two of them roaring with laughter while one of them made disgusting kissing sounds.

“I don’t think even a frog would fall in love with her,” Jack, the one who had talked first said and their laughter doubled up.

Hanji had recognized them, how could she not, they were unfortunately classmates. They had been messing with her since the first day they had started middle school. She had been ignoring them quite successfully since then. It was going to be almost three years and she was going to graduate anyway. She only needed to bear it for a little while longer.

Hanji slowly rose. She was going to meet Levi and she was already running late. Levi wasn’t a fan of waiting for her and each time she somehow managed to be late to their meetings. It wasn’t her fault that nature held so many things ready to be discovered by her. And Levi always chided her for being tardy, but Hanji knew he was never actually angry at her. Just slightly annoyed, but that was his nature.

She must’ve been incredibly tense because after thinking about him she felt her body relaxing. Even her jaw which was tightly shut eased, and she breathed then shook her head. No need to be so stressed over a bunch of good-for-nothings, Hanji.

She was about to be fully stood up when another body crashed against her and she stumbled forward. Her eyes widened, her world lost focus as she blinked her eyes and tried to understand the reason why she was seeing the things which were merely an inch away from her blurry. It didn’t take her much to understand. Her glasses were absent. 

“Ups, sorry. Didn’t see you there.” The boy who crashed against her said. Was it Jack or one of the others she didn’t know. She was busy looking for her glasses on the ground. Calm down, calm down, she repeated inside. If you panic now, you’ll give them what they want. 

“Watch out, Sammy, you’ll break her glasses.” 

Sammy, so it was Sam. Then the third was probably Daniel. Didn’t matter. She had to find her glasses. Right now. Or else she couldn’t go to the roof; she couldn’t meet Levi. Everything was so damn blurry. Where the hell were her glasses?

“What an ugly pair of things,” Jack said. He walked in front of her and pushed something with the toe of his shoe. That thing shone when it moved, a short moment of reflecting the light of the sun but Hanji had understood what it was. 

Calm down, calm down, Hanji, she remembered herself over and over again. Don’t panic. 

“Move,” she said to the boy finally raising her eyes to meet his stare. There was a smug look on his pale face. His hands in his pockets. 

“She can talk!” He exclaimed, laughing. 

“Move away, Jack,” she repeated. “I don’t have time for this.”

“For what?” He asked lazily. “You should be thankful that we are talking to you. I am sure you haven’t communicated with an opposite-sex all your life.”

That one was easy to let slide. The fact that her best friend was the so-called opposite sex was none of their business anyway. Thus, she stepped forward, ignoring his words. She didn’t want to kneel down to take her glasses. He had to move.

Yet, he didn’t. Instead, he stood where he was, his stare, cocky and priggish never leaving her eyes. As if he was challenging her to do something to him. What can you do? It was saying. You are a slim, feeble girl. You are nothing. 

A weirdo. 

Another step forward.

Loser. Lunatic. 

Hanji put her hand on his shoulder to push him back at the same time Jack took a step towards her. She hadn’t put much pressure to keep him in his place for she was only aiming at pushing him slightly back. So, when he moved, the hand on his shoulder was useless to stop him. Hence something cracked under his foot and Hanji froze.

“Oh, damn,” Jack said, faking a regretful voice looking down at what he had done. “I broke her dear glasses. How reckless of me!” He and the other two laughed together while Hanji stared at the broken piece of glass on the ground unable to move her body.

“But don’t worry. It was so ugly anyway.”

Calm down, calm down, the voice inside of her head proceeded to repeat in her head as if it were afraid of her losing control. Take deep breaths, let it go. You’re going to get rid of them in—

“Yeah, just like its owner.”

It was nothing she wasn’t used to. Ugly, dirty, messy. Are you sure she is a girl? She never even wears skirts. Maybe it is a guy under disguise. It happens in movies. Hahaha, maybe we’ll catch her in the boys’ restroom someday!

She was used to it and she always ignored them. Always let it past. They were just a bunch of teenage boys, silly and ignorant. And despite everything, she had been fully aware of the fact that she was much much smarter than them all. Coming from the same country, going through the same education but not each apple on a tree was fresh. Some were rotten and some were green. And there was already a boy in her life who was the direct opposite of everyone she had ever met. A boy who watched the stars with her, a boy who smelled like leaves, soap and the wind and a boy who memorized lines from an old, English poet not because he was so fond of them but because he knew that she was. 

The boy who was waiting for her now, and she was getting late.

It was that thought that single reality that had finally moved her body. The voice inside of her head silenced, and for once in her life, she let the wheels in her brain stand motionless. Her hand reached forward and grab the collar of the boy and with power mostly coming from her anger she turned and held the boy just above the pool and supported herself by putting her foot on the marble edge of it. Jack who had been caught off guard for he hadn’t been waiting for a launch from Hanji could do nothing but gasp in shock.

“What the hell are you doing, you lunatic?” he yelled and grabbed her hand which was gripping the collar of his t-shirt.

“Let Jack go, you goddamn weirdo!” One of the other boys exclaimed. 

“Don’t come close!” Hanji warned. “Or I’ll let him fall. I am sure it won’t be a soft fall, don’t you think, Jack?”

Jack’s eyes flared up with rage and vague fear. He took sharp breaths, as he tried to balance himself only with his folded legs. “Don’t come close,” he warned his friends without breaking eye contact with Hanji. “You’re going to pay for this.”

Hanji almost snorted at his words. For God’s sake, who was he? A mafia boss in the disguise of a teenage boy? She smirked, whatever. “I’ll be waiting.” 

Then she pushed him slightly backwards, causing him to yelp in panic and held her hand tighter. Her smile widened to the extent of becoming almost wicked. “Having fun?”

“You’re crazy,” he said, between thick, fast breaths.

“Maybe,” Hanji whispered. 

Jack was only a slim, teenage boy with no muscle or fat whatsoever in his system, so he wasn’t that heavy to hold. But even though her anger was feeding her at the moment, her arm had started to shiver, because she didn’t necessarily use her arm muscles for anything that required physical strength and she didn’t want him to realize it. Hence, she pulled Jack upwards, turned him around and threw his body to the ground. He hissed as he landed on the hard, stone ground. Sam and Daniel quickly reached and kneeled on either side of him, helping him get up. 

Her side was blurry, and it was coming back as nausea. She was still angry, her body was trembling with the force of it, her fingertips were numb. But they were three and she was one. If they decided to attack her altogether, she held a very little chance against them. Especially now that her vision was the least clear, she was at a disadvantage. The wisest thing to do was to run away now that their attention was not focused on her. And she readied herself to do so, a foot behind the other, her hands gripping the handles of her bag on her shoulder, she checked the direction she was going to follow, and she prepared to run—

And then, she couldn’t.

A hand grabbed her collar tightly, tight enough to almost choke her. She glanced before her in shock, with her eyes as wide as a pair of big, round rocks and saw Sam.

“You little bitch,” he whispered, drawing her close by the collar. His eyes were black as coal, burning with fever. “You think you can run just like that after what you’ve done?”

Oh, well, she thought woefully. That was bad.

“I have done nothing,” she said, blinking her eyes in ignorance.

Deep breaths, the voice talked again, keep your heart steady. 

He clenched his teeth, his jaw moved in a way that almost made her laugh. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

“No,” she said, calmly and smiled nervously. “But maybe you should—”

“Get,” a voice, so dark and smelled like ice, said. A voice so familiar, like the backs of the books on her library. “Your hands-off.”

If she was surprised before, now she was startled. Because it was Levi, in all his Darkling glory, standing right beside them, and with an aura as black as the shadow of death. He was glaring at the boy who was holding her collar. When had he come so close? She had never noticed. And also, why had he come anyway? He was supposed to wait for her—

“Who the hell are you?” Sam asked, frowning. 

“You’re going to find out if you don’t take your fucking hands off of her.”

Surprisingly, Sam did let go of her, but he didn’t seem the least frightened by Levi as he turned to face him. 

“Levi,” she started, but he didn’t separate his gaze from Sam. “Levi, it’s okay. Let’s go.”

“Don’t tell me,” Sam laughed, deridingly. “Are you her boyfriend?”

Hanji winced at the word in shock, but Levi was tranquil like the sky right before a catastrophe. 

“What if I am?” 

Sam whistled and glanced at Hanji from the corner of his eye. “Nothing, I guess.” He snorted. “Just surprised to see this weirdo having a boyfriend—”

It was a bad day for collars in general it seemed, when Levi grabbed Sam’s furiously, pulling his face close and a little down to him.

“Call her weirdo again,” he said in a low voice. “Or lay your hands on her and I will show you then who I really am.”

Hanji was impressed, to say the least. She felt like she was stuck in the middle of a low-budget film adopted from a best-selling but dabster romance-action novel. It was strangely exciting though but also becoming slightly dangerous too. 

“Levi,” she tried again. She didn’t want him to get into any trouble because of her. She caught the arm of his jacket. “Drop it. Let’s go.” 

“Where the hell you think you’re goin',” Jack came near them, his face twisted in a wicked way. “You little slut—”

The term that “everything happened so fast” mostly used in novels, was quite accurate as Hanji herself found it out first-hand when Levi’s fist landed the side of Jack’s face so fast, she only had time for a quick inhale. 

“Son of a bitch,” he snarled, voice full of such hatred it was almost like it belonged to somebody else.

After overcoming the first wave of shock, Jack straightened up, his teeth greeted and eyes aglow with anger, and wasted no time in punching Levi right back on his cheekbone. Levi’s body stumbled to the side; his hair black like the midnight ocean winnowing with the force of the blow. 

Then all hell broke loose.

“Levi!” she yelled and rushed forward. A yellow light, luminous like a streak of lightning flashed before her eyes, and within a moment the blood in her veins consisted more of raw fury than of platelets. However, she couldn’t make it that far for she was held back by a pair of hands on her arms. “Let go!” she screamed, struggling to free herself of those hands.

“You stay here, while Jack takes care of your boyfriend.” Hanji heard Sam’s sly voice behind her, and she grunted in frustration, still floundering to get rid of his iron hold. The word felt too weird and for some reason wrong because Levi wasn’t her boyfriend. He was more than that. He was her best friend. 

Her best friend, being beaten because of his best friend. “Let him go, Jack. You ignorant bastard!” She exclaimed, feeling guilty and incredibly useless.  

The two boys continued striking each other with punches and kicks. Gruff voices, and painful whines which Hanji couldn’t always decipher to whom they belonged filled her ears. She couldn’t even get a clear view of the two as they stumbled away from her, and because of her murky vision, she didn’t even know if the little, red spots on the ground were actually droplets of blood. And it terrified her to even think about whose blood they might be.

“Levi!” She screamed then grunted and kicked Sam’s leg and stepped on his foot while at the same time struggling to get rid of his hold. Sam hissed, and swore but didn’t let her go. Unlike Jack, he was taller and a little muscular in his arms. And she had nausea, also there was a stable pound right on her temple like a vein there decided to take the role of her heart. 

One of the two boys spitted and Hanji saw, albeit quite blurrily, that the colour of the spit was red.

“Oi, oi, oi oi!” 

An older, and rougher voice joined the chaos, and it sounded familiar, too familiar even, but Hanji couldn’t focus enough to think about who it belonged to. She realized Sam going solid behind her though, and someone shouted, “Kenny! Fuck, it’s Kenny the Ripper, Jack!” It was Daniel, Hanji found out when she looked around squinting. Kenny the Ripper?  The hell was that? 

“Shit,” Sam swore and released her arms. “Jack, come on! We need to go!”

Jack must have taken their warnings seriously for within seconds, she heard someone else, probably Jack, saying, “Fuck!” and the sound of three footsteps quickly running away. Levi, on the other hand, she knew because he was the only one left now, let out a hostile, muffled growl and took two quick steps forward, “Where the fuck are you running, you goddamn cowards?”

However, he couldn’t make it further away, for Hanji who dizzily stumbled to where he was, stopped him with her hands on his shoulders. “Let them go,” she said. “That’s enough.”

Levi was close, close so close for her to hear his sharp, quick breaths, and their cold touch on her cheeks, and feel the way his shoulders and chest moving up and down under her hands, his scent; fresh leaves, soap, sweat and blood—

And the bruises on his face.

“Levi!” She gasped, and without thinking, she took his face in between her hands. “Levi, your face…” 

There was blood on his lower lip and his nose, his right cheekbone was already taking the colour of a mix of purple, red, and blue another bruise was forming on his chin. There was also a little cut on his forehead, bleeding ever so slightly, but it was there. And it was there because of her.

Guilt punched her in the gut much harder than an actual, real punch would and it hurt a thousand times more than a simple blow of a fist would cause. “I’m sorry,” she said, her voice trembled vaguely, and her eyes burned like ashes were splashed over them. “I am so sorry, Levi. My fault, it was my fault. I started it—”

“How the hell those brats knew about that ancient nickname,” Kenny muttered, coming to stand beside them. When Hanji looked up, she saw him face shadowed, and brows knitted. He seemed to be somewhat, just a little bit, terrifying. “Oi,” he said, coldly, staring down at both of them. “What the fuck is going on here?”

“Nothing,” Levi said, severely and pushed her hands away. He turned his bruised face to the other side, hiding his gaze and the expression that was placed in them from her. 

“Your face says the opposite,” Kenny said, squinting and turned his gaze to Hanji. “Care to explain?”

“I—” she forced out, but she didn’t even know where to start. 

“We can talk at home, Kenny.” Levi walked past them, without sparing a look at either Kenny or Hanji. “Leave her alone.” 

He was mad, and he was right to be. Confirming it only made her feel even more shitty, and she bit her lip as to set a barricade to prevent herself from weeping like a baby just where she stood. She bent her head down when she started to walk behind him, both because of the guilt that weighed down on her and because looking ahead made her even dizzier and increased her headache along with her nausea. 

Kenny sighed but kept quiet as he too joined them. The three walked in silence, Hanji kept on chewing her lower lip as she traced the lines of her shoes and the cracks, holes on the pavement. A hurricane roared; a whirlwind grabbed the submerged emotions and relentless thoughts inside of her and twirled them wildly. The harder she fought the easier she lost against them. Conscience was a prison one had to visit from time to time. And currently, she was stuck within, the key was missing, and the guard was cold-blooded and unsparing.

A hand, steady and warm grabbed her shoulder and pulled her to the side. Hanji looked up in surprise to see she was about to crash against a lamppost had Levi not drawn her aside. 

“Careful,” he said.   

And it was his voice, low, smooth and gentle, and his hand which still held her not too tight but not too light either, or the way he moved his thumb on her shoulder, soothing, caring. It was all of them combined that in the end made her tear up.

She turned her blurry gaze to his face, he was staring ahead, his eyes were shining blue with the last rays of the sun and the blood on his lip and nose was almost dry now. She separated her lips to say thank you or I’m sorry, again, I’m so sorry. 

It was all my fault.

But the words died on her tongue, they never received a voice to come out alive, and he didn’t look back at her eyes. Instead, he squeezed her shoulder slightly as if to say, it’s okay.

She wasn’t necessarily convinced but for now, she chose to believe in him.

-

They were sitting in the living room of Levi’s house. Kenny was placed on a chair across from them, arms folded on his chest. She and Levi sat side by side on the couch. She was playing with her hands anxiously, her lip started to hurt from constantly chewing. Thankfully, her headache and nausea were better now.

They had arrived here about twenty minutes ago. Hanji couldn’t erase the look on Kuchel’s face when she saw Levi, blood and bruises all over his face, from her mind. Her face had turned white as the paint on the ceiling, making the guilt boil hotter and burn severely inside. 

There was no escape now. Kuchel deserved to learn what had happened to her son. So, Hanji told them while she treated the wounds on her son’s face, albeit reluctantly and when she was finished the room was silent for a while. 

Levi hissed as Kuchel cleaned the cleft on his lip. “Don’t tsk at me, boy,” Kuchel scolded him and attached a band-aid just under his lip. “You brought this upon yourself.”

“He didn’t,” Hanji objected. “Please don’t be mad at him, Kuchel. It was all my fault. I—”

“Shut up,” Levi snarled, suddenly.

“What?” Hanji asked, blinking.

“I said shut up!” Levi raised his voice, and when he looked at her at last, she saw the flames of his emotions rising up, up and up in his eyes.

“Levi,” Kuchel interrupted. “Calm down.”

Levi acted like she had never talked. “None of this was your fault!”

“But I started it,” Hanji attempted to say yet, he was too angry to listen.

“You didn’t start anything, Hanji! You protected yourself. You don’t walk around bullying people. You did what you did because they made you to.”

“But—”

“Stop blaming yourself for things you weren’t responsible for!”

He was breathing heavily, eyes wide and bright. Hanji was quite taken aback, lips parted slightly in surprise. She hadn’t expected him to yell at her like that. From his earlier reaction, she had thought that he was angry at her because she was the reason for what had happened to him. But now she saw, with a startling realization, that that wasn’t the reason at all.

“They deserved what happened to them,” he went on, then looked away. “I would do the same for ten times more if necessary.”

Words rolled left and right on her tongue, her voice lingered on her throat, sentences shaped before her eyes but no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t let a sound out of her mouth. Levi was like a river, she thought then as she watched the tempest in his eyes, with canals and meanders, sometimes he was as tranquil as the leaves on summer trees and sometimes he was wild enough to overflow over the edges.

“We are going to talk about it later, young man,” Kuchel said, looking straight at Levi. 

“What?” Levi asked, sharply.

“You can’t go around picking up a fight with strangers.”

“But they deserved it,” Levi pressed, jaw tightening stubbornly. 

“I can understand the reason why you think that they did,” Kuchel went on with a softer voice. “But violence is not the answer. You know that.”

Levi turned his face away, his jaw moved as he pressed his lips together, and he folded his arms. “Whatever.”

“You should be thankful to that old lady who saw you getting your ass beaten,” Kenny told him, leaning back on his chair. As it turned out the reason why Kenny had found them was an old lady who had recognized Levi and informed Kenny about the situation. Hanji genuinely wanted to find and kiss her hands for being the nicest person alive.

“I learned from the best,” Levi snapped.

Kenny squinted and looked at Kuchel. “Permission to beat your brat as punishment?”

“Declined,” Kuchel said, rolling her eyes. 

Levi smirked, and Kenny clicked his tongue, clearly irritated. 

“Hanji,” Kuchel turned her attention to her, kneeling in front of Hanji and she pushed a stray hair behind her ear. “I need to talk to your parents about this, honey, okay? They need to know. This is serious.” She held her hand and squeezed lightly. “You don’t have to face this alone, alright?” Kuchel smiled. 

Hanji bit her lower lip again when tears started sinking behind her eyes. She couldn’t find the strength to say anything, so she merely nodded in response. 

“Don’t worry,” Kenny said then, crackling his fingers. “If a verbal warning doesn’t work, I can always teach them a more permanent lesson.”

“Kenny, they are only children. Don’t be ridiculous,” Kuchel rolled her eyes and shook her head. “And it will work. We will make sure of it.” She raised her brows. “Right?”

“Yes,” she managed to whisper at last. “Thank you.”

Oh, no. She was near the edge of crying, only needed one more push and then she would fall and get drown in her own, salty tears. For some reason, she didn’t want to cry in front of Kuchel. There was nothing wrong with crying, she knew that, but still…

Then, a hand, the same one from earlier, grabbed her own and pulled her up. Hanji let him, despite the unexpected movement, and as Levi guided her out of the room, she merely followed without saying a word. 

“I am gonna take her home,” he informed Kuchel and Kenny shortly before they exited the room.  

The air was somewhat chilly outside, and the light of day was long lost but neither Levi nor Hanji were quite aware of it. Levi didn’t let go of her hand as he kept on pulling her, his steps were fast and determined, hand firm and warm around her fingers. She followed for a handful of seconds, trying to match his steps. She couldn’t get a clear view of the road, nor could she make out the lines of his figure from behind quite clearly. It took her several minutes before she pulled at his hand to make him listen, “Levi,” she called. “Levi, I don’t want to go home.”

He didn’t look back, he didn’t slow down, he didn’t even wait for her to reach him. “I know,” he said merely. 

With those two simple words, the final push came at last, and tears let loose without a warning. She sobbed and covered her eyes with the inside of her elbow, tears wetted her thin raincoat. And Levi squeezed her fingers as if to say, it’s okay, and this time she really, truly believed that it was. 

--

“Wait here for a second,” Levi stopped them minutes later. She didn’t know where they were. Now that it was darker, there were artificial, neon lights everywhere and they made her head throb. “Okay?”

She nodded and sniffed. Her face was wet with tears and very embarrassingly snot, however, she had no tissue with her or anything to clean her face with. 

Levi sighed and stepped closer. Hanji wondered why he was still there while he had just told her to wait. Then he lifted his left hand, and she saw that he had pulled his t-shirt over his palm. His right hand held her shoulder and as Hanji blinked her eyes confused, he brought his hand over her face then cleaned each wet spot with his t-shirt. 

She gawked at him in shock. “Levi!”

“Don’t.” He folded the fabric up after he was finished. “I don’t want to hear anything about this. Ever. Understood?”

She was still in awe; the great clean freak Levi Ackerman had just cleaned the snot in her face with his cloth! “You—”

“Understood, Hanji?”

It took much too effort to close her jaw, and say, “Yeah.”

“Good.”

Then he walked away, leaving Hanji astonished and very much impressed. She felt her heart fluttering a little, and her lips curled upwards. “Softie,” she whispered to herself. 

When he got back a few minutes later there was a bag in his hand and inside a couple of chocolate milk and her favourite snacks. “You hadn’t eaten anything,” he explained, and when they settled on their road to the roof, she smiled, looking at his side profile. Softie, indeed. 

-

Hanji drank her milk, and they ate together with the snacks he had brought. It eased her headache and appeased her nausea a little bit. She couldn’t look up at the stars though, what a shame.

“We should go to the same high school,” Levi said after they finished eating and were watching the view ahead.

Hanji beamed at him and shoved his shoulder with her own slightly. “Yeah, it would be great.”

She leaned on his shoulder afterwards and enjoyed the breeze, and his warmth she borrowed through the fabrics of their clothes. When minutes started to chase the hours slowly, the night got colder, and clouds started to gather up above. “We should—” 

“I don’t want to see you getting hurt again,” he said, suddenly. 

Hanji looked at him and saw it again. Levi was a river, high and low, wild and calm, complicated and wide. He flew through rocks, valleys and lands. Just like a river, she thought, he carried his emotions in an endless stream. And once she let herself be carried away with it, there was no way to escape. And it wasn’t like she looked for one in the first place.

“Can I hug you?” she asked, with a voice so low, it was as if she was afraid of hearing the word no.

“Idiot,” he said, and she saw the waters calming down in his eyes, and his voice was tender like the petal of a violet. “You never need to ask.”

She wrapped her arms around his neck tightly, and as he hugged her back, arms tight around her waist she wasn’t quite surprised to realize that her vision was yet again blurry with hot tears. “Thank you,” she whispered. “For being there.”

“I always will be,” he replied without hesitation. And then a heartbeat later he added, “To the last syllable of recorded time.”

A tear escaped her eye, she laughed hoarsely and breathed in. He smelled like leaves, soap and the wind.

He smelled like home. 

[f-117-nighthawk]

Playlist Update Part 2: Electric Boogaloo

Part 2! Here lies Endless War, Dystopian Fiction, and Filaments. EW hasn’t changed much, DF has a bit and it's all INFECTED's fault, and Filaments has more than three songs finally. My explanations for these aren't quite as fleshed out (partially bc there's less in my head to flesh out with and partially because these aren't nearly as set in playdough as the main playlist. more like set in syrup)

Part One

In chronological order:

Endless War

Dark Matter is here because it always is, twining through everything else.

(Don’t stop, don’t think, don’t look back/You’re a bolt of lightning in the sky now/Don’t stop, don’t think, don’t look back/I’ve pulled you in, nowhere to hide now)

I Am the One links into Eater of Worlds as sort of the aftermath, sort of during Apocalypse 1992. Our Fifth General has her realization about [REDACTED] far, far before Team Voltron does because she’s there in the thick of it during Through Apocalypse Skies.

(I am the one/I hold the dreams from fallen heroes)

(We are gods, we are monsters/We create to devour/Not for love but for power/What’s a life worth in the end?)

(From the caves beneath Dundee/Ancient hermit arrives/A messenger to the war in the stars/Korviliath is nigh!)

The Truth Beneath the Rose is from the perspective of our last (and first) Blade in the aftermath of Through Apocalypse Skies, as she realizes just what she helped create. Also… kinda connects to a song in the main playlist, but not very obviously.

(Blinded to see the cruelty of the beast/It is the darker side of me/The veil of my dreams deceived that I have seen/Forgive me for what I have been, forgive me my sins!)

Raise Your Banner is The Fifth General’s newfound resolve as she starts collecting allies against Zarkon’s empire.

(Wake up/I’m defying you, seeing right through you, once I believed in you/Wake up/Feel what’s coming deep within we all know)

Obey is a bit of a weird one. It’s in the same vein as You Keep What You Kill in the main playlist, but it’s more specifically about the creation of the first Druids and how Haggar uses them against the Fifth General and her team.

(Obey, we're gonna show you how to behave/Obey, it's nicer when you can't see the chains)

Silver Moonlight is cracks forming in The Fifth General’s new set of alliances and her desperate and occasionally rash attempts to get them to believe in her goal. Not just the main one to take down the empire, but the one that will allow them to do that.

(I’m impatient, but it’s colors that I need/Too many shades of grey, I cannot breathe/The dreams I have ain’t tainted, I need you to believe/The only way to make them real, oh)

Endless War is the title track, connected to Holy Ground and I’d Rather Burn as a specific event but also sort of encompassing the Fifth General’s motivations throughout the series. She’s “hunting a miracle” that is also those colors from Silver Moonlight, and then the end of Endless War kicks in with Holy Ground, and the Fifth General’s final stand in I’d Rather Burn.

('Cause you’re fighting an endless war/Hunting a miracle/And when you reach out for the stars/They just cut you down/…/Is it worth dying for?/Or are you blinded by, blinded by it all?)

(You got inside my head, I want you out/'Cause I’ve been betrayed on holy ground)

(Won’t let you take my soul away/I’d rather go to the stake/I’d rather burn)

Empty Eyes is [long spoiler beep]. (and yes! I found it on Spotify finally!)

(I don’t know where I’m going/In search for answers/I don’t know who I’m fighting/I stand with empty eyes/You’re like a ghost within me/Who’s draining my life/It’s like my soul is see-through/Right through my empty eyes)

Dystopian Fiction

Dark Matter is on here because title track, but also it does end up with effects. Especially by the end… and of course, the Thing that is Wrong With Earth.

(Don’t stop, don’t think/Move up, don’t blink now/On your knees pray for rain/Don’t breathe when you take your aim)

The Human Condition is the Éskhayklos manifesto. A warning of the end times. The condemnation of the parasites. The reveal of the only cure. The final extinction cycle. Also their new image song, as Cross the Line got moved.

(We have the cure for the disease/Locked down inside us/When all is dead, then we will see/We are the virus)

INFECTED is the Éskhayklos’s slow, well, infection of the Sol Federation, and their descent into full-blown terrorism. (And yes, I know the actual lyrics have ‘he’. Shhhhhh. It’s a STARSET song, it’s about a Shirogane, even if it’s sort of from Cascade’s POV)

(Here's a challenge for all mankind/The preacher man is warning of the end times/The weatherman agrees but she don't know/So she's got to go now)

Who Will Save You Now here is about Sam, and the aftermath of Here to Save You, in addition to its referenced role in the main playlist.

(Alone with this vision/Alone and blind/Go tell the world I’m still alive)

Codebreaker is Adam’s song! But here it’s also in conjunction with Cross the Line as the final Éskhayklos mission before...

(Codebreaker can’t you find/Can you read between the lines of code?/Tell me all that you know/How far down the hole does it all go)

(Cross the line, redefine, break away unbent, unafraid/Together we stand in the dark/Seeking the light and what is right, together we cross the line/Our journey will come to an end and then our human cause will be/Justified)

The Day the Earth Collapsed

(How much time has been elapsed/Since the day the earth collapsed?)

Dystopian Fiction is the title track for this part. With the events of The Day the Earth Collapsed, the Garrison and our heroes on Earth are at their lowest point. It really is a piece of dystopian fiction, between [spoiler] and [spoiler]. They’re fighting for something that, at that point, must seem like ‘superstition.’ And also: “Nobody can shoot me down, not just yet” is about Adam bc Fuck Canon. Even if he does, technically, get shot down.

(I’m a dead man/In the wasteland/I’m a soldier fighting for superstition/Under searchlights/In the long nights/We’ve been written like dystopian fiction)

World on Fire and The Reckoning are the two of their subset that make it over here because they’re the two that happen before the result of This is a Call can come to fruition, and are more focused on our Earth heroes anyway.

(Sent by forces beyond salvation/There can be not one sensation)

(We’re all alone, walking in twilight/The night has been long and so many have fallen/Feel no remorse, light will be breaking/Our freedom is worth it all)

Filaments

Filaments is still in flux but does have way more solid than it did. Like, you know, most of an ending. I just don’t really know how they get from A to B yet.

Dark Matter is here because, well. A) Title track, B) yes, it still has effects. It’s the overarching theme, after all. Filaments sort of has a subtitle itself, which is ‘The Undoing,’ after the other part of the lyric that the subtitle of the main playlist comes from. It’s about undoing a past mistake (that wasn’t obviously a mistake until much later) and reconciling the events of Your World Will Fail.

(I am the keeper/I am the secret/I am the answer/I am the end)

Filaments is the title track of this part. It’s… a little hard to explain without giving away the entire plot but it’s about the connections between different parts of the universe, and some fall-out of Cosmic Vertigo and Louder Than Words.

(These glowing filaments/Conducting this enchanting/Sarcophagus that’s holding us)

Starlight is, again, Adashi song, and this time the happy part

(Don’t leave me lost here forever/I need your starlight and pull me through/Bring me back to you)

Carry Me Home is its eponymous fic.

(Carry me home to the morning light/carry me home before you wave me goodbye/Oh, carry me home…)

And then we get to the new part. Know that stuff in Carry Me Home about “The record skip that only [Keith and Krolia] can remember”? Yeah, Prognosis is a huge step to figuring that out.

(How long is the body beholden?/How long 'til we run out of road?/Deep down in the black of the ocean/Fading from the glow)

The timey-wimey ball gets tossed around more in Blackstar. Partially due to [REDACTED] and a certain terrorist’s reemergence, but also due to Prognosis-related stuff

(They'll let you try/To reverse everything/Don't waste your time/Sing Hallelujah 'cause you can't change anything)

Eon straight-up plays Calvinball with the timey-wimey ball and gets the Paladins stuck in a groundhog-day situation, and the only way out? Isn’t good.

(If time's a song, I won't wait for its reprise/I am done wishing farewells and goodbyes)

The Art of War and Centigrade are the beginning of the end. The Art of War is Cascade finally showing his true colors, and the Sol Federation not having a good time. Centigrade is the other side of it, Team Voltron having a realization of just what they’re going to need to do.

(I can remember all the days of violence/I can remember all the days they fought for rights/When men united all by fear and interest/I mustered them with hopeful promises I've broken)

(What did you hope to find adrift and lost in time?/Is this the end ready to begin?/It's time to escape the fate of destruction, excavating within until salvation/No longer pretend the future's a lie from a past you cannot hide)

The Future is Now and A Theater of Dimensions are. Well. You’ll see. It’s a little hard to pick a lyric from AToD, I'll say that much.

(They said there was no way/But they forgot the black hole in the sky/Yesterday is nothing/I have half a life to rewrite)

(I’ve seen our freedom in the mist of time/The old signs I’ll follow and the day of relief will be yours and mine)

And then there’s Afterlife. Fitting to end on a UtA song, after everything, especially since The Immortal has repeatedly throughout DM been a metaphor for Voltron. Also fitting that it’s this one, considering the parallels between the end of The Immortal’s story and Filaments

(But with such power, think how you could rule/Hold to your promise to watch over those in despair/Why would you choose to serve when you could be master of all?/Be true to your honour and fight for a world that is fair!/Out of shadow, out of darkness, welcome to the light/As the day shines boldly over night/Follow me to finally be who you are inside/Open wide, embrace the afterlife)

[codenamesazanka]

A meta about Dabi! I surprise myself; but HUGE DISCLAIMER: Dabi is still not a favorite character at all, and I am biased as hell. This is my interpretation of events. I will not be reading his behavior as if he is without doubt Touya Todoroki - that’s not at all confirmed - and so I will be less sympathetic due to not coming from that perspective. Also, extremely long meta. 

First up: I’ll take Dabi for his word that he doesn’t gave a crap about the League. 

I’m not saying he absolutely does not have a single milligram of care for the League - he does seem to rely on and intend for them to provide support for his goal; but he’s very much detached from everyone else, and haven’t demonstrated much empathy for any member of the League. Not quite part of the ‘Found Family’. 

It’s very possible that he could be lying, trying look tough in front of the Hero. 

But the evidence from the past chapters kinda shows that he means his words. Here’s him burning away Twice clones and barely avoid hitting Real!Twice:

“He never actually hit Twice,” “He had no choice cuz Hawks was right there,’ ‘He knew those aren’t the real Twice, and what do you expect? He’s a villain, and he expects his teammates to take care of themselves.”(*1)

All fair! Still, I’ll say this attack is pretty careless; and moreover, it took away some of their much needed manpower. Two Twice clones could’ve created four more Twices and so on; and at the very least might have interfered with Hawks targeting the real Twice. 

And here’s him attacking Hawks in a way that would’ve burned Twice badly. 

Images are out of order, my apologies, but these panels show that 1) Dabi had really intended to hit Hawks (and Twice), what with him being shocked that Hawks had been able to evade the attack; 2) Dabi’s fire output was very strong, and so 3) as Hawks points out, he nearly burned up Twice. 

Even if he thought that Hawks would protect Twice, that’s still quite a risky move that would’ve badly injure a fellow League Member. 

Here’s a comparison of Dabi and Mr. Compress during the battle in Deika:

In the first image, after Mr. Compress ask for help, Dabi dismisses him. Sure, he does point out the Twice clones shortly after, but it cold enough that Mr. Compress even asks, ‘Are you so unfeeling?!’. 

Meanwhile, when it’s Dabi in danger, Mr. Compress is concerned for him, wishes to help, and yeah, that ‘Poor Dabi!’ 

All throughout My Villain Academia, he’s been pretty rude and aloof from everyone:

Refusing to help fight Gigantomachia (to go recruit a Hero that he never trusted in the first place) when everyone is ready to eat cold dirt for a month and a half with Shigaraki. 

And:

Dismissing everyone’s effort, and insulting them. 

In fact, in comparison to everyone else in the League, Dabi is really lacking. We all know Twice is a total sweetheart who would do anything for the League; Spinner is canonically in love with Shigaraki explicitly stated that his goal is to help Shigaraki realize his vision (Chapter 233). Toga showed her care for Twice during the Overhaul mess (Chapter 148). And Mr. Compress, again, was worried for Dabi (Chapter 230), wanted the Doc to help Shigaraki (238), and is in general genial towards his teammates. 

I think, overall, narratively in both writing and visuals, Dabi is written to be rather unlikeable to the reader (or at least neutral). 

My Villain Academia is the arc where the League are the protagonists, the Point-of-View characters: we hear their thoughts, and we learn their backstories.

A huge messy image! I’m sorry! But from the silly faces, to the little actions (Mr. Compress whispering, complete with ‘psst psst’), to the asides (Mr Compress, again, “Where did you pull that phone out of?”), these give us a bit of funny moments that kinda endears the League to us. (Even Giran gets a moment or two.)

Not quite Dabi though. We get a glimpse of his thoughts at the beginning of Chapter 228 when he encounters Geten, we have some interactions with Twice that are humorous (though it’s Twice carrying out the majority of it), and... that’s it. 

“What about Mr. Compress? We got no backstory.”; “What about Toga? We don’t really hear her thoughts either?” Yes to all those points, but these were made up for: as shown above, Mr. Compress having those little moments; and Toga, who already demonstrated her care for Twice in the Overhaul Arc, and we’re reminded of that directly when Twice brings out the handkerchief she gave him. 

There, of course, is that moment that he goes to attack Hawks and help Twice in Chapters 264-266. Good of him, right? Heroic, even. 

Except that 'rescue’ doesn’t really give it a feeling of ‘The Calvary Has Arrived!’. IMO. For one thing, he almost burned Twice. For another, the reaction from Twice is more desperate than relief or joy. Compare with Toga and Mr. Compress’s clear utter joy at being saved by Twice. 

(And no could forget those amazing spreads of Twice overcoming his trauma and unleashing Sad Man’s Parade? Those evokes such a feeling of “THE CALVARY IS HERE”, omg. Dabi’s flame entrance is not quite. *To me* )

I would even go as far to say as Dabi is being portrayed as a possible “third party” antagonist. 

Yes, the League are already the main antagonists in the overall story, but they’re quite sympathetic-- Dabi, in relation to the League, although being a member, is the odd one out in many aspects. 

I think the recent chapters with Twice and Hawks and Dabi illustrates this really well-- Because we go from [Twice vs Hawks] with Hawks as the POV ‘bad guy’; and now we have [Hawks vs Dabi], Dabi as the bad guy. The story writing and the art shifts immediately to portray that, aimed at directing our empathy, at the character Horikoshi wants us to root for. 

In Chapter 264 and 265, no doubt we’re to root for Twice. All those flashbacks! Him cowering on the ground. His heart breaking because he trusted Hawks. We feel for him. And so Hawks is portrayed as the ‘Villain’-- but not completely. 

For Hawks, we go from dark and menacing, him being looming and scary...then immediately move to seeing Hawks expression of remorse. Horikoshi wants us to understand Hawks is conflicted. And he’s not doing this for fun. And finally, they’re shown as equals in the fight: Twice and Hawk’s faces aligned at even levels. 

Chapter 266, we finally have the three together. Most definitely, Dabi is on Twice’s side - but like I said, it’s not actually showing Dabi as a reliable backup. 

Then we get to Chapter 267. We first start off with that cute image if the Fataxi. It’s adorable. Then Tokoyami notices the flames, the flying, putting two and two together. This positions them as sorta the main focus. We’re back in the Heroes’ POV. 

Moving onto the fight, I do sense anger from Dabi: the flames, the stomping, the stomping flames. But it’s more portrayed as manic, sadistic anger, instead of grief, vengeful anger. And that smile! 

It’s a true villain smile. The stretching of the corners of the mouth, and the way the eyes are curved. Joyful smiles tightens up the eyes. And sure, you can have a contradictory smile while angry and in grief, a grimace, but there’s other things to cue at that - tears, sweat drops, the eyes again - usually big and triangular. 

Do I think it’s possible he’s smiling contradictory? That he’s feeling real sadness and anger at Twice’s death? Yeah, it’s possible. But it’s also possible he isn’t - and I feel that’s the more likely option, given all he says about Twice being useful and about Stain’s philosophy (*remember Stain didn’t like Shigaraki! he didn’t like Villains either. He was going to purge the world of both.) 

Anyways, Hawks is right there, on the ground, trying to shield himself. It’s a pitiful look. He’s clearly drawn as the victim we’re to emphasize with, because this doesn’t look like a fight between equals. Just one guy playing with the other, having the ability to incinerate him immediately, but dragging it out.

(True, Dabi’s a villain, and-- “Didn’t Shigaraki do the same thing? With Overhaul? Dude chopped off limbs and laughed.” Yes! Absolutely. But Chapter 160 was from the League’s POV, and everything about it was to position the League as winners, badasses, ‘The Next’.)

(My god, we even get a Baby Hawks flashback for us to fawn over.) 

Here, it’s Hawk’s POV and Dabi is full Villain imagery. Hawks has to looking up from a protective pose - at a very menacing Dabi, looming over, stepping on him. The panels with the outside fighting and the city, linked with Dabi smiling - that’s classic {‘I’m going to target and hurt the world’ evil mastermind monologue, insert evil laughter}. 

Once Tokoyami enters the scene, there’s no more argument. A likeable Hero student? Arriving to protect his mentor? He’s the clear Hero we’re to cheer for, against Dabi, (who we never even get to bond with during MVA... unlike Twice). 

All in All, Dabi rejects the Heroes... and he also rejects the League. 

The thing that confuses me most about this whole arc so far is “Why the fuck did Dabi recruit Hawks?” He said he knew Hawks was lying from the start, but he still let a Hero into the club. Moreover, if Dabi noticed and knew enough to guess where Twice and Hawks is the moment the Hero attack started; if he knew enough to even think “This isn’t your fault, Twice,” then why didn’t Dabi do anything sooner?

We don’t know his specific goal yet. Did Hawks factor into it in an important way? He’s willing to kill Hawks right now. It could be that Hawks, by now, is more dangerous than he is worth as a trap for the heroes, say, so it’s time to cut some losses. 

But Hawks had pretty much only brought bad luck for Villains: Made Endeavor look good; found out about the MLA and discovered their plot; discovered the hospital; set up this attack. None of it furthers Dabi’s stated goal to Kill All Heroes, and none of it helps the League either.

Until we get his gameplan, I can honestly regard him as dumb. What is this series of events???

(Even if the other League Members were to be dumb and fuck up like Dabi, we know they did it with good intentions for Shigaraki, for the League. 

Toga, doing risky things: Literally said, “I’m sure [retrieving Deku’s blood, betraying the Hassaikai] will make Tomura happy.” 

Twice, the sweetheart: recruited Overhaul cuz he thought he was a good guy. Befriended Hawks because he thought Hawks believed in the cause.  

Mr. Compress: Kinda ruined the ‘kidnap Bakugou’ thing; but since then he hasn’t done anything. And we’re sure of his sincerity because: Lost an arm, still stayed with the League, fought for a month+ with a broken prosthetic.

Spinner: Was a Stain fanboy, but has stopped.) 

“This isn’t your fault, Twice,” and it’s true. It’s not Twice’s fault at all. It’s Dabi’s. The blame has to be on Dabi. 

-

So. Dabi. Looking more and more to be on neither side, and now having wronged both. What’s gonna happen to him? 

Not sure, but I’ve got a theory he might actually be killed by Shigaraki, to develop Shigaraki and the League. But that’s for another post. 

-

(*1) “...what do you expect? He’s a villain, and he expects his teammates to take care of themselves.” Also true. And I am aware that Shigaraki did the same thing when he decayed that tower no knowing whether Giran got rescued yet or not, so there was some callousness there. But consider: one guy had been so sleep-deprived for one and a half months that he had hallucinated slightly and was wobbling with each movement; and the other has not. 

-

All this is my opinion and impressions. Sorry if it’s unclear at points. Thanks for reading!!!!! And thank you so much to friends that helped me brainstorm and discuss this! Your contributions are invaluable. 

[let-it-raines]

Catch Me If You Can (14/?)

298 days. That’s how long Killian Jones was away from a baseball field. It’s less than a year, only part of a season for him, but it might as well have lasted a decade as he alternated between physical therapy and spending an excessive amount of time sitting on his couch.

But then he came back and won the World Series.

It’s something no one saw coming, and it’s certainly not something anyone who knows about his arm would predict. Now it’s a new season with new possibilities, and anything could happen. On-field reporter Emma Swan will be there to cover it all even if she is not his biggest fan right now.

Asking her out live on-air will do that.

Rating: Mature

A/n: So I got the impression that you guys were excited about the last chapter? I didn’t think it was too slow of a burn until I realized how many words were in the first 13 chapters. lol. Anyways, here’s some more words and a lot more feelings shared. All my thanks to @resident-of-storybrooke ❤️

AO3: Beginning | Current

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Tag list: @galaxyzxstark @eala-captian @mariakov81 @ultraluckycatnd @royalswan @shey-starsfury @sals86 @iam2307 @ashley-knightingale @karenfrommisthaven @scientificapricot @captswanis4vr @ultimiflos @jamif @idristardis @nikkiemms @resident-of-storybrooke @tiganasummertree @bmbbcs4evr @onceuponaprincessworld @jennjenn615 @mayquita @captainsjedi @teamhook @notoriouscs @kmomof4 @ekr032-blog-blog @cs-forlife @andiirivera @jonirobinson64 @qualitycoffeethings @thejollyroger-writer

-/-

Killian’s tracing the words “I love you” into Emma’s back. It’s a risky move, something he shouldn’t do, but he started doing this without truly realizing it. And then he couldn’t stop.

He loves her.

He loves her so much that he can feel it in every inch of his body, from the pounding of his heart to the emotion stuck in his throat and the way that his foot keeps tracing up and down her calves. Logically, he knew this was happening. There was no way that he couldn’t. He knew it was happening by the way that he spends his days wanting to see her, wanting to make her smile. He knew it was happening by the way that her laugh makes happiness settle in his stomach, and he knew that it was happening by the way that he’s wanted to tell her everything about his day and everything about the days where she didn’t know him.

All of the signs were there, all of the knowledge, but there’s nothing quite like when the moment hits you and you know that you’re in love.

Cheesy, sentimental sap that he is.

But Emma makes him feel in a way that he hasn’t in years, and while that should terrify him, all it does is make him smile to himself whenever he thinks about her.

Maybe he’s a sap because he’s sated, their lovemaking overwhelming and wonderful and so damn satisfying even if it was the first time with a new person, or maybe it’s because he’s got his girlfriend with him in his bed when he keeps missing her no matter how often they seem to run in the same circles.

Dating in secret is difficult when all he’d like to do is kiss her before a game and carry that kiss with him through every pitch.

He’s in love, and he can’t tell her, not yet. She’s not ready. That much, he can most definitely tell. Emma is the one who has to set the pace here, not him.

So he’ll carry it with him like he has from the moment that he realized he loved her when they were on the flight to Toronto four days ago. Emma was sitting two rows in front of him, the side of her face in his vision, and he kept watching he animatedly talk with her hands to Ruby, the two of them laughing so much that several of his teammates looked forward to see what was happening.

She was happy, the light evident on her face, and his stomach settled as he thought of her completely in her element and how nice that was to see.

That’s when it all clicked.

He loves her.

It’s funny how such a small moment could make him realize everything.

Asking her out, that first time, is still something he’s not proud of for how it negatively impacted Emma, but selfishly, he’s thankful for how it’s turned out for him…for the both of them.

Having her here in his arms is everything.

Soft lips (her lips are so damn soft) are pressed against his chest and up the hollow of his throat, and he feels the smoothness of Emma’s skin moving against his. Watching her move above him in the dim lighting of his room, firm muscles mixing in with the soft curves of her breasts and her hips, had been the most glorious sight he’d ever seen, and he most definitely plans on seeing it again.

Tonight.

And in the morning.

As much as he possibly can.

Her moving above him and him moving within her…magnificent.

“You’re comfortable,” Emma sighs into his shoulder, and he twists his head to look down at her as his fingers keep moving, this time in undetermined patterns instead of three specific words. “And your winter coat could keep a family of four warm.”

She pats his chest then, her fingers threading into the thick patch of hair, and he chuckles as his lips press into her nose.

“It’d be too bloody painful to wax all of that hair off, so it’s staying.”

“You would look weird without it.”

“Thanks, darling.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Aye, I do.” Her fingers mess with his hair some more, weirdly calming his heartbeat, and when she grabs onto the chain with his mother’s ring, he lets her, the silver reflected in the light. “What else would you be able to grab onto when you’re riding me like earlier?”

“Dirty,” she mock gasps, kissing his shoulder.

“I try.”

They lapse into a comfortable silence, one he wouldn’t trade for anything, and he wonders if he should dip his head and start kissing her again as his body hums with anticipation in what could be or if he should fall into sleep when Emma makes the decision for him by speaking.

“Did it…can I ask you about something?” Emma whispers.

“Anything.”

“You’re probably going to regret that.”

“I promise I won’t.”

Emma nods her head, her nose brushing under his collarbone, before she’s dragging her foot up his calf so that a shiver runs down his spine. He might regret talking when it means they can’t be doing other things. “Why haven’t you been pictured with a woman in so long when you used to get pictured with one every other night? I don’t mean to – it’s a dumb question. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“No, no,” he promises even as a heavy weight settles in his stomach, anchoring him to his spot as his mind races for an answer when he’s always known the truth. “It’s fine, love. You deserve to know.”

“Not if you don’t want to share,” Emma insists, her eyes pleading with him.

She’s nervous. She thinks she’s overstepped, but she hasn’t. He loves her, and she doesn’t know some of the biggest parts of his life. They have all of the time in the world to share, but he’s feeling so open tonight that he wants to share now.

There’s the chance that her mind could change after this, but he thinks that if anyone can understand a broken heart, it’s Emma. Or he at least has this hope.

“When I was twenty-two,” he starts, fiddling his fingers against his chest as he takes a deep breath to calm himself, “I met Milah. She was…she meant so much to me, and I very quickly fell in love with her. It was a whirlwind, I think. Looking back, it’s easy to see that, but at the time, it felt like I never could have enough moments with her. I – ”

He stumbles for words, his mind not sure how to tell the story. He’s never had to relay his heartbreak like this, and he thinks Emma knows from the way she threads their fingers together and then rests their joined hands on his chest.

“You okay?” She whispers the words, but he hears them loud and clear.

“Yeah, love. I’m fine.” He smiles down at her before looking at the ceiling, finding it easier not to have to look into those eyes of hers. “Milah was married. I didn’t – I didn’t know at first, and by the time that I did, I was so in love that I didn’t care. So, I made do with the fact that she had this other life for another year until she showed up at my apartment and told me that she was ending us so that she could focus on her husband and her son that I didn’t know about. It was…the hardest thing I’d been through after my mom and my father, and I just…I lost it, Emma. I thought we were going to get married. I had this foolish hope that things would work out for us, and I couldn’t even hate her for leaving me because who was I to keep a family apart when I would have given anything to grow up with happy parents? I don’t know – I hope she’s happy, that her son is happy too.”

“When did you two break up exactly?” Emma asks quietly, still very obviously unsure of how to act in this situation.

“Four years ago.”

He watches the lightbulb go off in Emma’s head, watches her eyes widen and her lips part, and he’s glad that she’s figured it out. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist.

“Killian, all of the partying and drinking and sleeping around – that was because you were heartbroken, wasn’t it? You were trying to cope?”

“Yes.”

And then Emma’s shifting, her body moving away from his, and his heart nearly shatters at the thought of her leaving him already when he sees that she’s simply moving on the bed, sitting with her back straight and her legs crossed over the other as she stares down at him, only half of her breasts covered with the white comforter. Something about that makes him chuckle. It’s like the fact that an hour ago his mouth was lavishing her there, and now she’s covering herself.

Funny how things change.

“I’m sorry,” she sighs, genuine remorse painted on her features. “That’s really fucked up, and I’m sorry for any remarks I’ve made about it in the past. That was…you should be able to do whatever the hell you want, and I’m sorry that you’ve been crucified for simply trying to live your life. I don’t – you didn’t deserve to have your heart broken like that.”

“I don’t think anyone deserves to have their heart broken.”

“Eh,” Emma scoffs as she pushes her hair back, the comforter falling around her waist. “I would say my exes most definitely deserve to have their hearts broken. Assholes can have their hearts broken.”

He can’t help but laugh at her and the casual way that she says this, a slight shrug of her shoulders. There’s something so effortless in the way that Emma acts even when he does know that she’s calculated and guarded. It’s a bit disarming, but then again, so is Emma.

“You want to share horror stories with me tonight? Or have I already dampened the mood too much?”

Her brows furrow together, lips pursing, and then she’s learning forward and taking both of his hands in hers, gently squeezing. “Hey, no. I know I’m not the best at words and feelings, but how you feel is how you feel. That’s not something to be ashamed about. You had what sounds like a really great love that had a bad ending for you, and it’s okay to be upset or hurt or sentimental. I think that’s pretty human actually.”

“And who said you weren’t good with words and feelings?”

“Every man I have ever dated.”

“I’ve never said that.”

“Just wait.” She holds her hands up before crawling over the mattress and standing on the floor, the curves on her backside on full display to him as she rummages through his bag to pull out his Vandy sweatshirt, the one that she seems to have a fondness for. He has a fondness for the way that it falls just below her ass. “Sorry, I was cold.” “You just wanted to steal my sweatshirt. You don’t have to lie.”

Emma winks before crawling back into bed and getting back under the covers with him, only the smallest bit of space between them. “Exactly. So, you want to hear about the shitty exes who broke my heart?”

The part of him that wants to know every part of Emma is desperate to know all of the things that make her tick, but he’s also not sure how he can hear about men mistreating Emma and breaking her heart. He can’t understand how anyone could do that to her.

But if they’re sharing tonight and she truly wants to…

“Only if you feel like sharing. We don’t have to do the whole tit for tat thing every time we share something dark.” Emma nods, her bottom lip tugged between her teeth. “I think I feel more comfortable doing it that way, if I’m honest. It makes me feel…less screwed up, I guess.”

“Share away then, Swan.”

“Okay,” she sighs, messing with the sleeves of his sweatshirt. “There’s this guy, Walsh. He’s actually, like, in a room on the floor below us because he works with me, and we dated for maybe a year.” Her brow raises like she’s doing the math in her head, and it’s cuter than it should be when he already knows that this story isn’t going well. “I’m not sure if I loved him, but I think I almost did. He went through so much of my career with me, was there when I got the job working for the Yankees, and I don’t know – it was such a happy time in my life that I didn’t see the signs when I should have.”

“Signs of what?”

“Cheating. And belittling me for my job, making me feel like I was less of a journalist or wasn’t good enough to do the job. And, I mean, obviously the fact that he was fucking someone else hurt me, but I think all of the little comments hurt worse because I’d already been through all of that before.”

This guy is a fucking bastard, and he doesn’t deserve Emma. No one who treats her like that does.

“From all of the asshole men who have demeaned you for your job?” he prods, trying to encourage her in her story.

“Yeah, kind of, but mostly just the one,” she mumbles, her eyes shying away from him. He doesn’t blame her for that. He did the same thing. He also knows that he felt infinitely better when Emma reached for his hand, so he does the same, twining their fingers together and resting them in the mattress between them, the both of them looking ahead as Emma talks. “There are a lot of reasons why I’m so passionate about being treated fairly in my job. For one, it’s because it’s what is right and fair. But also, it’s because when I was at NYU, I started dating Neal. I was still…I was struggling with accepting love from pretty much anyone other than David, so when he came around and treated me nicely and made me laugh and was just this really fun guy who made me feel good, I fell for him. I – ”

She takes a deep breath, and he squeezes her hand, trying to encourage her that it’s alright. They’re two people with complicated pasts, ones that never seem to be fully out there, and she’s not alone in all of this.

A part of him wants to tell her that he loves her and that it’s okay, but that would send Emma running all the way back to New York. She may have feelings for him and be in this with him, but there’s such a thing as heightened emotions and too much too quickly.

All the time in the world, he reminds himself. They have all the time in the world.

“I didn’t realize it first, you know? They say that love is blind, and I feel like this is what people mean by that. I didn’t realize that he was belittling me for my major or my job. I didn’t realize that he was telling me that my job wasn’t for women, that I couldn’t do it, that I wouldn’t be good enough for it. And then it spread into other aspects of my life. Neal told me that Ruth and David, that they weren’t my family, that they didn’t love me. He was the only one who loved me and could take care of me. I was with him for four years, and he has me so convinced that I was worthless that I believed it. Thinking back on it…God, I was a fucking idiot, and I hate that it still impacts so much of my life today. I still struggle with how I see Ruth despite the fact that I know that I love her. I still struggle every time someone thinks I only have my job because I’m attractive and that I don’t actually know what I’m talking about. I still – I’ve let Neal affect every aspect of my life, and he didn’t even stick around for me to break up with him. He just…he left one day and never came back like he was some kind of ghost.”

Fucking hell.

No. Just no.

Screw all of that. Emma doesn’t deserve any of that, doesn’t deserve to have been treated like shit by so many people. The fact that she still trusts anyone is most likely a miracle, and he can’t even believe what he just had to hear.

Every single bit of him is angry, furious really. So much about her clicked together for him just now. She’s never been given her credit, never been given her due, when it comes to her career, because she’s been belittled this entire time. He was someone who belittled her, even if he didn’t intend to, and of all of that added to everything she’s already gone through.

Personally and professionally, Emma Swan has been demeaned, and he can’t decide if he’d rather hug her or go out and punch the daylights out of her ex-boyfriends and every other person who has hurt her.

But none of this is about him at the end of the day.

It’s about Emma.

Sighing a deep sigh, he brings Emma’s hand to his lips and kisses each knuckle before sliding down in the bed and encouraging her to move with him so that they face each other, their joined hands in between their chests and his right hand on her hip, thumb rubbing circles into her skin.

The tears in her eyes make them all the more green.

“You, darling,” he begins, his voice quiet even if he was intending for it to be louder, “are one of the bravest, strongest people that I’ve ever met. Seriously. You’re a badass, and you’re also kind and quite frankly, hysterical.”

“I mean, I am hilarious.”

“Exactly.” He winks at her, and a smile curves over her lips. It’s soft, but it’s there. “I don’t know how anyone could ever treat you like you’re not worth everything. It’s unfathomable to me. Those men, every single one who has hurt you, are in the wrong, and they never deserved you. The fact that you’re open to letting other people in your heart after all of that astounds me.”

“You did kind of have to convince me.”

“You asked me out, Swan.”

“Technically you asked first.”

That sobers him for a moment while his heart sinks. “I’m sorry about that again. It goes at the top of my asshole moments.”

“Hey, hey,” she soothes, inching a bit closer to him so that he can feel her warmth and smell the vanilla that’s still in her hair, “I forgave you for that. We’ve worked it out. I don’t know why I’m crazy enough to give you, us, a shot, but I am. You don’t have to apologize anymore. We’re moving past that, okay?”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Completely” There’s a squeeze of his hand, and it rights his heart. “I think we’re actually doing pretty good at this relationship thing, if I’m honest. Did you know we have all of our serious conversations when in a bed?”

“That’s the best place to have them.”

“Is it?”

“Mhm,” he hums, trailing his hand up her body so that he can run his fingers over her cheeks, feeling the soft skin there as she smiles, “because we can either go to sleep afterward or have sex or even have just a bit of a cuddle.”

“Why not all three?”

“I like the way you think, Swan.”

And then he’s leaning in to guide his mouth over hers, something soft and timid that quickly escalates into a rough and dirty kiss. This is not at all how he expected his night to go, but then Emma showed up at the pool when he was trying to work out some of the kinks in his shoulder, and everything has spiraled from there.

No part of him regrets it.

It’s been one of the most intimate nights of his life, physically and emotionally, and he’d like to stay wrapped up in it as his body climbs over Emma’s. His teeth drag across her bottom lip, enjoying the little sounds that she’s making, and their hips roll together. He’s still bare of clothes while she’s only in his sweatshirt, and his fingers mess with the hem, pulling it higher and higher so he can get that feeling of skin against skin.

He hasn’t had enough. He needs more.

Their first time, just under two hours ago, comes back to him in flashes, and while he knows that they were hurried and desperate, it also felt like the moment lasted forever. He got to explore her body as she got to explore his, but they need more and more time.

Not right now.

It doesn’t take long before he’s hard and wanting, desperate to feel Emma’s warmth wrapped around him again, and his fingers deftly toy with her, riling her up as she writhes underneath him, more keening whines escaping her lips until she tells him that she needs more, that she needs him.

He reaches over for the package of foil, ripping it open and sliding it on himself, before he slowly sheaths himself inside of her, biting onto the side of her neck hard enough to leave a bruise. It’s perfect, the way she feels around him, tight and warm and wet, and he has to center himself before he slowly starts rocking within her, pleasure already trickling up and down his spine.

“Divine,” he murmurs into her neck as his hips flex and his elbows move to steady himself all the while Emma’s nails dig into the skin of his back and her ankles hook just above his ass. He expects crescent moons to be tattooed on his skin by the time that it’s over. “You’re divine.”

“K-Killian,” she moans in response as he starts to get into a rhythm, one that seems to be working for the both of them.

“I know, love. I know.”

His hips thrust and roll into hers, and when she shifts, he slips that little bit deeper into her, heat covering his skin and making him sigh against Emma’s mouth as their tongues snake together. It’s messy and rough, and the sound of their skin moving against each other is all that he can focus on as he loses himself in the softness of the woman who he loves and the feel of his chain pressing between them.

There’s something about the coolness of the metal on their warm skin that does something to him.

When Emma’s hand moves between them to brush at where they’re joined, he knows that she’s close, knows that she’s coming apart in their desperate coming together, so he arches his hips up to give her more space and snaps into hers at a pace that has them both panting and falling apart one after the other.

Holy hell.

Nothing is ever going to be enough when it comes to Emma even though she is more than enough.

Always.

Later, after they’ve cleaned up and showered, washing the sweat and chlorine off of their bodies, they sprawl out on top of the bed, their feet stretched up across the headboard and their gaze toward the speckled ceiling. He’s not entirely sure how they got into this position. He thinks it was Emma who did it first, her legs obviously a little antsy, and she’d rolled around until she got comfortable.

It is actually pretty comfortable, and he wonders if they’re so exhausted and sleep deprived that everything would be comfortable to them.

But he’s not exhausted enough to fall asleep. Not at all. It’s been a rollercoaster of a night, but it’s one of those nights he’d never like to end.

Emma’s stomach rumbles, and they get into a conversation about how Graham usually cooks for she and Ruby, especially when they’re both traveling, and that he’s probably the only reason she doesn’t starve. She also reminds him that he promised to bake for her, and he rekindles that promise, his mind already trying to figure out when exactly they can do that. It’s a busy season, the two of them live full lives, but they’ll figure it out. They both want to make the effort, and they will.

She also tells him that David is thinking about helping her out by commentating on a game sometime this season, and he’s so damn proud of her that his heart could very well burst.

It’s relaxing and calming and absolutely everything just to be able to talk to someone about his day outside of baseball, even if they do naturally fall into shop talk, and she listens as he talks about Liam and Elsa and the ridiculousness of having them as his support system. He hasn’t truly had someone to talk to about his friends and family until now, and it’s still taking some getting used to.

But he loves her and keeps falling more in love with her, so he thinks that they have all of the time in the world.

That’s what he keeps telling himself because he has the hope for it.

All the time in the world.

[wickedsrest-rp-archive]

Name: Matthew Kincaid Species: Vampire Occupation: Artist and supernatural snitch Age: 66 Years Old Played By: Gray Face Claim: Luke Arnold

“I don’t live with anything, man. Technically.”

The nice thing about looking up from the dirt is that you’ve got a lot of room to dream real fuckin’ big in. Matty made the most of it. And he had to, because he spent a lot of time on the ground as a kid - kicked there by every playground shithead in every town his military parents dragged him through. The Kincaids moved around the whole motherfucking United States, and West Germany, besides; for him, they said. Matty didn’t see it that way. His parents were what they were because the money was good, good enough to buy them a nice house, a nice car, a nice life. Good enough to put him through school, which would be a good, good thing, because he was smart, wasn’t he?

When he applied himself, maybe. If he just knocked it off with all his bullshit about being an artist and started focusing on a real career, they would always say, a real life. Instead of sneaking out to the bars of West Berlin and Hamburg and Frankfurt and El Paso and Columbus and Oklahoma City and so on. Instead of splattering paint all over his new shirts and piercing his own ears just “to try it.” Instead of wasting hours closed off in his newest bedroom, singing along to cranked tapes of the Stones, Zeppelin, and the Scorpions. Trying to get it right. Trying to sound like someone else, so he could be someone else, somewhere else, doing something else. Maybe, then, he’d fit. Maybe.

Then Matty found out that, actually, he could have all that by sounding like himself - because he sounded pretty fucking amazing, when he let that big voice out. It took until his first year of college, at a school he’d picked because his parents made him and it was as far away from them as he could get. What a feeling, singing along with everyone else at some freshman party, pissed faceless on tequila… and the room going dead quiet around you, just to listen. After years of being shit on by his mom and dad and teachers and classmates for daring to step into drama club and actually practicing for band, for doing art projects “wrong,” for bringing German rock records and other “stupid crap” to school, for wearing his hair too long and his pants too tight and so on, and so on, and so on, Matty was stunned.

And it wasn’t a fluke. He’d thought it must be, but no. From covers, he started improvising, and people liked that too. Liked it more, even. Open mic Fridays at the campus bar became the best fucking night of the week. So he found more, scattered throughout the city. Soon, Matty was entirely hooked. On the freedom, on the confidence. On being seen and heard and loved like that. He’d never known anything like it. And now that he had, he couldn’t imagine life without it.

The band erupted like a goddamn volcano, from there. Warhorse. They’d found each other at just the right time, in just the right place, and, fuck, man… the music they made was something else. People noticed. Fast. Matty spent his twenty-first birthday touring the country to sold out shows, and by his twenty-fifth, it had all gone global. They were legends, and he was thriving on it. And on the fiercely tight-knit family he’d found, in his bandmates. They weren’t gonna be like the rest, falling out and apart. No way. Not that there weren’t highs and lows, of various kinds. But they made it through, for love of the music. And they always would, despite all the drama, and the distractions, and… yeah, the drugs. Hey, they were rock stars. Par for the course.

But the course took a swerve nobody could’ve seen coming, and from there, everything crashed and burned. And the end, like the beginning, and the press, and the fans, was all about Matty.

It happened in New York. Some dingy bar, after a show, groupies, the usual. Until somebody fucking bit him. And - God, if only he’d been twice as hammered. Maybe he wouldn’t remember the rest. The blood and the cold and the dark. Then a bandmate’s hands on his face, rousing him to the worst ache he’d ever felt. A hunger. Something so furious and painful that he snapped like an animal, teeth, fangs, in his bassman’s neck. He drank until the haze sizzled off, long enough to taste it. To realize. To come to his senses, and run. And that was that. Warhorse, one of the most explosive bands of its age, never played another show. Just collapsed. That was shocking enough, but the disappearance of Matty Kincaid, specifically, became the stuff of conspiracy theories and urban legends. These days, the band is remembered largely as a mysterious musical tragedy. Which is a shame, because as any real classic rock fan can tell you, Warhorse - and that iconic frontman of theirs - were so much more.

Of course, Matty’s a whole other kind of more, these days. Or less, as he sees it. He’s entirely repulsed by what he’s been turned into, and never properly had the chance to grieve the life he’d had, the people he left behind, and hurt. He nearly killed one of his best friends in the world, somebody he loved. And he lost everything. It’s not even the money, the fame. It was the meaning. So, no, he’s not over it. And, to some extent, he holds that against every vampire he meets, and all the rest of them. Enough that he usually doesn’t suffer an attack of moral qualms when he points the local hunters towards some supernatural or other. Usually. And if he does? A bit of ash will probably fix that. Or the blue mushrooms. Daverin will do, if that’s all he can get. Nectar, as a last resort. Whatever it takes, to make sure he’s out of it more often than he isn’t. Why should Matty get remorseful, anyway? They’re all monsters.

Character Facts:

Personality: Passionate, creative, charming, affectionate, defensive, conflicted, fearful, self-loathing

Since he came to White Crest, for the sake of avoiding awkwardness, Matty’s been going by an alias - Matthew Kerrigan. No, it’s not especially inventive. Because he doesn’t trust himself to remember to answer to a different first name, and alliteration should help him keep the surname straight, right? 

Warhorse is about as substantial a piece of rock history as Styx, REO Speedwagon, Twisted Sister, or Quiet Riot. So, not one of the first names that pops to mind, but not too far down the list. They’re your thing if you like “dad music.” Though, all that’s old is new again, and a few of the band’s big tracks have made their way into blockbuster soundtracks lately. There’s usually a song of theirs on your average radio mix of standard summer tunes, and since the band’s gone official on Spotify, they’ve popped up on plenty of those “Essential 80s” and “Roadtrip Classics”-style playlists. One of those bands that you’ve definitely heard, even if you don’t really know them. 

Matty still looks almost exactly the same as he did when he was fronting Warhorse. Maybe he can’t help the fact that he literally hasn’t aged a day, but. He hasn’t got rid of the band hair, either, and that’s a choice. So are is the thrift store throwback style. Dude’s living in the past… 

Matty hasn’t touched music in… decades. But he can’t really stay away. He’s started drifting in and out of any live shows in town that seem interesting. It’s not the same. Nothing is. He’s been working up the solidity to head into For the Record, just to see if he can find a couple vinyls worth having. 

Though he spent most of his time with Warhorse at the front, singing, Matty is also very capable on the piano and guitar. The rest of his artistic side shone through in the work he did designing the band’s album covers and show sets - so, for some viewers, his art has seriously nostalgic vibes. Even if they’re not sure why... 

[sunflowerchester]

please tell me what you thought!! I'm not worried about spoilers, i already know what happened, i'm gonna see it in a few days and i'm so psyched! tell me all your thoughts please!!!

I am so charged up about this movie I don’t even know where to fucking start!!! I guess I’ll start with my initial Twitter rant bc GODDDAAAAMMMMNNNN!

Here’s some non-spoilery things about the movie for those who don’t want to be spoiled:

Mother! is a horror movie for every woman whose pain was ever used & romanticized to further a man’s personal growth.

Mother! is a horror movie for women who have invested and fallen in love with a selfish man.

Mother! is a horror movie for women who feel the constant suffocating entitlement of the patriarchy.

Mother! is a horror movie for women who feel they’ve been constantly taken advantage of and are demonized for daring to speak up about it.

Mother! is a horror movie version of The Giving Tree by Shel Silverstein. (And I said this BEFORE I saw this tweet by the director 😍)

Mother! is a horror movie for any woman who was only valued as a cure for a man’s pain instead of valued as a full, human person.

Mother! is a horror movie for women who were treated like IRL manic pixie dream girls and then tossed aside like garbage. 

Also I found it able to tap into horrors of being a woman that were subtle and specific in a slightly Get Out kind of way, imho. I felt very understood in many ways even as I was being horrified by what I was seeing. 

Below are some spoilery things:

The movie opens with a woman burning, a tear falling down her face, and then her turning to ash. Javier Bardem sets a gem stone on a stand and then a beautiful home surrounded by nature appears out of the ashes. I knew as soon as Javier Bardem’s character sat that gem on the mantel and the scene turned to Jennifer Lawrence appearing out of the ashes in bed that that is where the movie would end, and it would end with another girl in her place. 

AND IT DID. For a bit there at the end, I was wondering where it was headed because of the chaos, and I nearly forgot about the gem itself, but then we ended right where I expected. What I didn’t forsee was what the gem was made of: it was the last thing that Bardem’s character could squeeze out of his previous lover before she turned to ash, something beautiful that he could put on display before he started it all over again with someone new. 

GOD-FUCKING-DAMN

This movie is about a woman who gives all of herself (physically, literally, spiritually, emotionally, horrifically) to a man because she loves him, because it is expected, because she thinks he will view it as love, and it is never enough. He never stops taking from her, not even when there are literal mobs in their home tearing the physical house apart, stealing their belongings. At one point an actual war spills into their house and she barely escapes with the life of herself and the child she is about to give birth to. When she begs her husband to send these people away, he refuses because they stroke his ego. 

I don’t think the chaos of the previous 10 minutes of the film before she asks this question nor her struggle through them were literal but rather a representation of how it feels to be in her position, where she’s tried everything to be enough for this man for as long as she has been with him, rebuilt his house by hand, made it a home, served all his guests and fans without complaint, and even carried his child. She finally started believing with her pregnancy that she was going to win him over and be with just him, that this would be the key to finally meeting that standard of enough, but that was never who he was ever going to be for her, even as a father. And when she realizes, at 8 months pregnant, that his true love is still himself, his writing, and his fans, despite his child growing in her womb, she felt her world slip. The insanity of the the wars, the executions, the mobs in the house weren’t real but that’s how it felt. Her world was crumbling and she’d never regain any control again. 

In the end he even invites his fans to hold their baby and the baby ends up dying. It’s horrific and disgusting, and what does he say to her? He tells her that it can be something beautiful and encourages her to forgive, that there is nothing more beautiful than forgiveness, so they must. As if she doesn’t have rights to feeling ugliness in the face of losing her child. I felt suffocated myself by this immediately invalidation of even the most understandable and vulnerable of feelings. 

There are other moments like this throughout the movie where Jennifer Lawrence’s character is trying to speak up and voice her needs but it’s like shouting into a pillow as she asks politely and reasonably. No one listens or seems to care, especially not her husband. He seems to only placate her lovingly when he can tell she needs to feel he’s heard her, but he never really does or cares to try to actually listen to her. This last time, when she is weeping about her son being murdered by the people he allowed into their house, is the last straw and she calls the people around her what they are: MURDERERS. And because she finally yells and screams at them, they beat the everloving shit out of her and call her names like whore and bitch and cunt, etc etc. 

So she makes her way down to the furnace and burns the fucker down. GIRL YES BURN THAT BITCH TO THE GROUND.

And yet after the explosion that incinerates it all, guess who is intact and who is charred to the bone. Javier Barden, completely complete, carries Jennifer Lawrence, a burned, scaley version of herself, through the rubble of the house. She can’t understand how he is able to do this when she and everything she built is destroyed. 

She asks, “What are you?” He replies, “I am life.” She asks, ”What am I?” He replies, “You are home.”

You don’t have to be sexualized to still be objectified and if this isn’t exactly the damaging dynamic in so many male/female relationships, I don’t know what is. He is what life is and she is where he gets to live. Does she have her own life, her own plans, her own goals, her own space? It doesn’t matter, she exists to house him. 

She asks, “Where are you taking me?”He replies, “To the beginning.”

He lays her on the charred bed and tells her there is one more thing he needs from her. She says she has nothing left to give. He says that isn’t true, he wants her love. She relents. “Take it.” He digs physically into her abdomen and pulls something bloody and charred out. Jennifer Lawrence’s character turns to ash and the mess in Javier Bardem’s character’s hands turns into a gem. He marvels at how beautiful a thing it is, the only thing left of his lover. He doesn’t grieve that she is nothing but a pile of ash now, he sets the gem up where the old one once sat and the opening scene repeats with a new girl waking in their bed, signifying that this is what this man does to women and what he will continue to do. He doesn’t learn his lesson or change because he doesn’t value the women he is with enough to see their pain as destruction. Instead, he only sees it for how it can benefit him.

She is ash. He is whole. A parasite going from woman to woman. 

To me, one of the scariest elements of this movie is that Javier Bardem’s character himself isn’t really that scary, he’s not a horror. He’s even sweet sometimes, albeit neglectful af. What’s smart and unfortunately really relatbale about this is it makes him seem like (if not a good guy at least) an okay guy. He’s not evil. She doesn’t befall this horrible fate because he is malicious. It’s a Nice Guy who just wants to Create something Beautiful. But in the process he fucking destroys and sucks the entire life out of the woman he is supposed to love with no remorse at all. There are so many fucking men out there who do this very thing to every woman they are with, emotionally and mentally. Sometimes physically, too, but that’s easier to pinpoint. The horror of Javier Bardem in Mother! is that he could be and really kind of is many of the men we will come in contact with. 

(Bro I know I’ve fallen in love with and had this done to me by one ALREADY)

My thoughts on how this movie has been received:

What blows my MIND is that large groups of people DO NOT GET this movie and I think it’s because it is largely and almost exclusively a fundamental female experience. There are whole hot takes and think pieces trying to figure out HMMM WHAT IS THIS MOVIE ABOUT???? when like…to me, it was obvious and direct in my opinion. I’m not trying to be a bitch about it, like I’m smarter than everyone. I understand that I get it because it’s for me, it’s about a female perspective, but to say it’s about nothing is ASININE. Which many of them are saying. 

If you don’t like the way this movie told its story, that’s fine and fair. We all have different tastes. But if you don’t get the message and therefore want to criticize what it’s trying to say because you think it was pointless, maybe THINK AGAIN. It didn’t fail because you PERSONALLY don’t get it. It maybe just means that there are other experiences in this world and you’re lucky enough to have never had to understand what this movie is saying, the feelings it evokes in many viewers, or the horrors it represents for them. And most likely never will.  If the movie is just not for you I GET THAT bc damn it was rough, IT WAS HARD, it was awful. But it wasn’t about nothing. If you didn’t see the point, be thankful.

There were some think pieces analyzing it and coming to the conclusion that it was about global warming and the Catholic church, which there was definitely some imagery for but that for SURE was not the POINT. If you thought Mother! was just about taking on the Catholic Church while identifying the other ‘weird’ stuff in it as just ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ you MAY be ignoring the literal title character of the movie & her entire emotional journey throughout the whole thing. 

Which, SHOCKER, is like… the point of the entire movie. 

Good job I GUESS. But you still missed point by proving it. 

I mean, I get it, make it about whatever resonates with you, but it is undeniably about a fundamentally female experience. No wonder it’s being overlooked. "Gee what could this movie entitled ‘Mother!’ be about? Should we look at the mother character in the movie?? OR HOW ABOUT we just dive into the symbolism surrounding the woman instead while ignoring her completely.“ 👍🏻

To me it seemed any side-symbolism in that movie was to promote the dynamic of her giving all she was & him feeding off of it. Including any messianic imagery. As a smart, smart friend of mine said, “Men will of course deify themselves all the time.” That’s EXACTLY what the religious imagery was about, about Javier Bardem’s character living out his desire to be a god to his fans for his own ego, so deep that he let them devour his own child. It was about the church but it was only in service TO EMPHASIZE HOW HE CONSUMES HER AND WHAT SHE HAS GIVEN. Like… LORD help me. (No pun intended.)

I cannot believe a horror film about a female experience is so baffling for people to understand when we’re half the people out there. “WHAT IS IT ABOUT?????” It’s about what she’s showing you it’s about. PAY ATTENTION!! 

But how poetic (ew gross) that many people who don’t get it write it off. It’s the same reason so often women are not believed and their experiences are questioned. No wonder women feel LIKE NO ONE LISTENS.

It’s like there are people looking directly at this movie screen and seeing a blank black box for 75% of it. And here I am screaming into a pillow.

This is not to say that Mother! doesn’t take on many things, it does. There is a lot to unpack and it would be unfair of me to say there is only one way to read it. Of course there isn’t, and many parts are going to resonate with different people for different reasons. With that being said, though, to anyone trying to make the point of this movie about anything other than the experience of the female lead character, remember the gemstone and the burning woman at the beginning of the film, and then at the end. It is bookended this way for a reason. This is about the pattern of a man and how it affects the women he chooses to be with. This is about a woman who loves a selfish man who unapologetically lives selfishly and what it does to her to be in his life. 

It’s metaphors, it’s symbolism, obviously it’s hyperbolic, but it’s still REAL👏🏻AS👏🏻FUCK👏🏻.

[oh-god-theres-6]

No one asked for it so here it is

Aren’t we active tonight? Haha this is rare trust me, but I needed to give a side note with this next writing piece as it would be confusing without it.

This writing piece originally started out as a Roleplay between the two of us based around the ReligionMatsu AU, but we placed things and characters a bit differently. This specific part of it contains Choro and Oso, ‘speaking’ about a former S/O of Oso’s, who was Death in our version. We wanted to share it with you cause, well, it’s fun to see different sides of these boys! We both hope you enjoy our joint writing piece and if you have any questions about it, feel free to ask us! We’ll be happy to inform you on anything you have^-^

————

Osomatsu slammed his palms against his desk, the fireplace behind him flaring with angry red light. His teeth grit painfully and his toes curled tightly in his dress shoes. Choromatsu glared at him from the polar end on the desk, the dark wood acting as the only barrier between them.

“You can’t expect me to allow you to go through with this, Osomatsu,” he scolded, bare arms crossed authoritatively across his chest, crunching the fabric of his toga beneath them. The older of the two grunted, his nails imprinting eight crescents into the end of his desk.

“I have to! You don’t understand any of this!” He seethed, stamping a foot against the ground and shooting an accusative finger at his brother, who watched without amusement. “You can’t understand a single thing about what’s happening!”

Choro, sure that his brother would soon be smoking from the horns, huffed and embraced his middle tighter.

“So you decide that the best solution would be destroying everything I,” he paused, restituting his sentence,” we worked so hard to create...?” The younger brothers gaze faltered for a slow moment, the emerald orbs focusing in on the burning floorboards pressing up against his bare feet. A few side steps and a sigh later he turned away from his brother, the defiant and authoritative hold on his stomach faltering until his arms hung loosely at his sides, only his fingers twitching in hopeless attempts to grasp at nothingness.” Why...? Why does this matter so god damn much?”

“Why?” Oso huffed, pushing away from his desk fiercely, “I find myself alone down here and you dare ask me why?”

His jaw caught at an aching angle, parting his lips for warm breath to slither out, a gentle gray tint flowing with it. A flicker of memory, like a film, played in his mind. A glance of dark eyes, a sinister and playful grin, the sleek slide of a finger across his shoulder. His hands rose to cup his head, fingers pushing diligently against his skull. His head shook and he groaned. “I don’t have to justify my actions anymore! I don’t want to!”

With Oso’s outrage dwindling in the background Choro’s own actions were becoming tighter, angrier, his loose hands curling into fists while punishing words hit against his back in waves of devilish rage. It wasn’t long before the green eyes shot back around, a hand punching down into the hard wood table with a resounding ‘thump’ echoing through the room. “I don’t care if you don’t want to! What you’re contemplating doesn’t just effect you, Oso! It will kill all of us!” His usually calm and gentle eyes were glowing with malice, eyebrows tightly knit together with his teeth clenched and his mouth quivering, he was seething.” You...you selfish low life! How can you not see what this will do!? Why aren’t you thinking about the large scale effect!?” Dribbling down the table was a small trickle of red, the color forming around the hand which had made a large impression on wooden surface.” Why do you only ever think about yourself!? Why.... why?... why?!” Repeatedly he shouted the word, his bloody hand curling tighter into the table before he ripped it away, the crimson river cascading down his skin and embarking to the floor in a small pool of red. “You are the epitome of pathetic, Oso... and yet you act as if I’m the bad one here...”

“No, you’re never the bad one! I’m the bad one, aren’t I?” He smiled desperately, eyebrows raised defiantly. “Aren’t I supposed to be the bad one?”

Oso crushes his head in his hands again, more snippets of moments long passed reeling along behind his maroon irises. There she stood, in all her dark glory. The cape she covered herself with held her body proportions, shaping her up perfectly. He could still feel the edged and rounded concaves of her body against his hands even as they carded through his hair. The confident press of her lips against his neck still skipped across the skin like a phantom. She held all the world in her hands, carefully pinning down those she deemed ready to leave. She was all he could call his own, and yet, just as her name held in prophecy, the warmth of her body against his died, festering with his rotted anger.

Choro could see the dreamy haze in his brothers eyes, the way they sunk into thought, no doubt it was the thought of her. Oso’s horns died in flame and his body clouded into a steady stance, wavering him into a lulled state that drowned his anger into remorse, and the other could only watch with fury clouded vision as he clicked his tongue,” No one ever said you had to be the bad one, that was a title you made all for yourself...” carefully he pulled his hand up to his chest, taunting his robe of white in crimson glory as he stared down his brother.” Never before has anyone called you the bad one, never before has anyone pinned you as the bad guy. Not once have I looked at you with hatred and malice, not once have I looked at you with anything but admiration... you... you were the one who stood in the mirror and wrote that name across your chest... not I, not anyone but you...”

“Then why am I here?” He growled, bearing his sharpened teeth. He stepped toward his sibling, his hand pressing roughly against the other’s chest. Smoke rose from the contact and pain bubbled in Oso’s palm and Choro’s chest, but as Choro winced Oso did nothing to step back. “Why am I the one everyone fears? The one who nobody must follow? Why am I not bad if you’re the idol for the entire fucking world?”

Oso sent the other back with a heavy shove and turned away, sending Choro into a curled up mass on the wood below their feet. Pain rocketed through the younger brothers chest, leaving him to do nothing but watch from the floor.

“You don’t know what being hated feels like. You don’t know how wonderful it feels to have someone who might understand- who might care about you and you certainly don’t understand what it feels like to have that ripped away from you!” Oso’s outburst continued as the flames in the fireplace roared with life, the fiery tendrils licking at the high ceiling and the color smoldering a dark purple. Her signature color.

It was absolutely terrifying to watch from Choro’s curled up position, the purple flames illuminating his elder brother in a dark aura. The green in his eyes were drowned out by the flooding wash of darkened licks of fire. They widened slowly, watching as the flames grew higher and higher and Oso grew angrier and angrier.” No... no I don’t...” he whispered, the back of his tunic holding a burned in hand mark, his back flaming red and scolding him with each muscle movement as he stood.” I do know how it feels to be betrayed by someone you trust though, someone you love.” He could see the disgust in his brothers eyes center on him, but right now he could take it as long as he could get a point across, even if it didn’t fully reach Oso.” I know what it feels like to loose everything,” he stepped closer, hands clenched into tight fists and his legs stammering forward in his uneven walk,” I know, what it feels like to have your heart ripped out,” he finally looked at Oso, his green eyes burning violently, lit brighter by the flames surrounding the the room,” I know what it feels like to feel unloved. Unwanted. Uncared for... I know what it feels like, Oso....” he was deflating as he walked closer to his brother, each step bringing him a bit lower till he was directly in front of him. Pain raced through his body, hands holding his opposite arms tight while he breathed out heavily.” Do you know what it feels like to never find love in the first place? To never have someone kiss you in passion and tell you that you mean something... do you know what that feels like, Oso...?” He looked up to him, eyes cold as eyes.” Do you know what it feels like to be alone....”

“Really? Never found love, huh?” Oso chuckled, fingers raking through his hair. His finger pointed dramatically to the heavens, the flames behind him burning again. “Well, the options you’ve got are much more reliable than mine I guess! It’s only a matter of time, you know that!”

He huffed, leaning back against his desk. He bit his lip painfully, a small collected of blood coloring his lips with a red tint.

“Hell, you’re not even meant to love, huh? That’s too much temptation. It kinda sucks for you. Never getting to love, or kiss, or fuck.” Oso laughed loudly, his hand sliding down his face. “Shit, you’ve literally got nothing but a pond and a bitch.”

He looked over at his sibling, his face almost calm as another snicker shook his shoulders. “What I wouldn’t give to be a bitter, lonely guy.” He shot to his feet once more, laughing more maniacally. “What I wouldn’t give to have my heart frozen because of sin! What I wouldn’t give to wipe my mind of any good memory I’ve ever had with her!” With a growl he swiped his hand to the side, slamming it on the table. Every object on the surface slid to careen into the wall, leaving the desk empty. “But no! I’ve been left with this and now I’ve been painfully reminded of just what I have to fucking do! I think you’ve forgotten,” he hissed, stepping up to Choro and narrowing his eyes, their faces so close their noses bumped, “Hell hath no fury like a lover scorned.”

Instinct lead to many bad decisions, ones that could ultimately ruin everything for people, more than just the people involved. But for once, Choro was confident in his instinctive choice to lift his knee up, kicking his brother away with scared eyes and a shaky stance. He wasn’t dying today. Not because of him. As Oso stumbled back and Choro regained his stature he paused, looking towards him quietly.” Maybe it doesn’t...” he was heaving now, limbs shaking heavily from the stress his body was under, caused by the burn, the flames, and all around being here was hurting him.” The fury of hells fire will never reach your scorn, but when you fall you will burn in your own desires and hatred and be left in the rubble of your lovers scorn.” He hissed Out quietly, curling down on himself and staring vacantly at his brother, eyes tired and scared, but his aura, for once, holding confidence.

“Get out...” those two words filled the room, drenched in venom and Malice.” Get out!” They repeated, louder, bolder, leading Choro to stammer back further from his sibling. On the ground Oso had collapsed, the weight of everything falling on him as he took solace in the floor.

From where Choro stood it looked... pathetic almost, the flames had died and the body was lying limply, forearms only holding him barely above the ground as he continued to mumble those two words in repetition, his mind a broken record now. Wordlessly Choro agreed, his left hand reaching to the side with an open palm, green lights flickering around his body before shadowing him in an aura of white light, and when it faded he was gone, leaving Oso pitifully alone on the floor. Still, he whispered into the air the same two words.

“Get out,” bed mumble into the floor boards, fist pounding down against them again and again,” Get out! Get out of my head! Why won’t you leave me alone! Get. Out!” His brother was no longer who he spoke of, and all he could be comforted by was the resounding echo of his own regrets filling the room around him.

[mdwatchestv]

Game of Thrones 7x01: Shall We Begin?

Yooooo it's Thrones time baby! I know a ton of people are going to write about this season and I originally wasn't going to, but then I wasn't writing about anything else and the gaping pit of self doubt and shame that lives just beneath the surface of all my thoughts was beginning to open up again so I thought fuck it I'll write about it because you only live once. Unless you're Jon Snow.

Game of Thrones is one of the only shows I continue to watch live, and there is truly no greater television joy than hearing that theme song swell. Game of Thrones has led the vanguard of must see TV for the past six years and facing a world without it is a dark prospect indeed. But winter is here friends, and we are facing a cold eternal darkness without Westeros. So let us return, together, for the second to the last time, to our favorite blood-spurting, boob-baring, dragon-wrangling, power-plotting, Stark-slaughtering show. 

Shall we begin? 

Season seven begins with a cold open, and it is the COLDEST of opens. Mysteriously we are back with Walder Frey (as unwelcome as he may be, a scenery chewing performance from David Bradley is always extremely welcome) who we witnessed Arya kill in the most delicious way possible at the end of season six. The clearly still living Walder has gathered his miserable brood in celebration, even treating them to fancy wine. However his speech of celebration becomes increasingly pointed, accusing the gathered of celebrating the death of an unborn child as well as a hardworking mother of five. That's because twist- Walder is really Arya Motherfucking Stark and she has come to MURDER EVERYONE. THE NORTH REMEMBERS SMASH TO-

Doo doo do do doo doo do do doooooo. 

Not only is Arya cold as ice, she can now literally be any character at any time. I am super cool with this. We are all Arya. Arya is me. Anyway moving on we get treated to a sweeping dramatic shot of the the army of the Night King, it is big as hell and includes many giants. Winter is coming indeed. Also Meera Reed has hauled Bran all the way to the Wall in a sled.  What a metaphor for life. 

In Winterfell we pick up with King of the North Jon Snow and Sansa talking Night Army strategy. Lyanna Mormont of Bear Island is also there smashing the patriarchy and repping Bear Island. Truly my all time favorite character on any show. Westeros could burn to the ground, or freeze into a block of ice, and Bear Island will still be an impenetrable fortress filled with men, women and children all armed to the teeth and ready to fuck you up. Long live Lyanna.

Anyway the idealogical rift between Jon and Sansa is only getting wider coming to a head when Sansa calls Jon out for choosing not to punish the Karstark and Umber families for fighting alongside the Boltons. Sansa believes the keeps of these traitor families should be given to knights loyal to the Starks, while in Jon's view the offending family members have already paid with their lives on the field of battle. Jon gets his way and has the surviving member of each house (who are literal children) swear an oath of fealty. Sansa is pissed and rightly so. Yes Jon's choice may seem like the magnanimous one, but it is not necessarily the wisest. Rewarding the fortresses of the Karstarks and Umbers to loyal families seemed to be the popular choice among the Stark banner men, a group whose loyalty he will need to retain when things start getting cold and scary. Whats more the two fortresses in question are in critical tactical positions north of Winterfell and he has handed them over to inexperienced children. Sansa is on point when she tells Jon he needs to be smarter than Ned and Rob, especially when Jon himself has already been betrayed to his death (once again by a child). Sansa is also correct that while Cersei may be a distant threat, she doesn't need to march an army to Winterfell to cut down the Starks. Jon is wary of Cersei's influence on Sansa, but he should be putting the lessons of King's Landing to use! Yes there was political maneuvering at the Wall, but none of those crows has ANYTHING on the Lannisters and in this arena Jon truly knows nothing (sorry).

 One of the many (many) beautiful aspects of Game of Thrones is the storytelling work done in costuming. in this episode Sansa is rendered in a black dress with severe, chain-like metal detailing. The costume suggests the threat of war, the confines of duty, the acquisition of power and resolve. it also mirrors....

The new Queen of the Seven (more like three) Kingdoms Cersei Lannister! While she may be queen, Cersei has now lost all her children, leaving her only with  the warm embrace of the iron throne and Jamie's semi-terrified love to prop up what remains of her humanity. But despite looming threats from every cardinal direction, Cersei is still on her game and looking to get into bed (perhaps literally) with Westeros' hottest new family to ally with - the Greyjoys! More specifically Euron Greyjoy who has a new look and party attitude! I don't remember him being this much fun last season, but I welcome it. 

Meanwhile Arya is walking through the woods and comes upon a wild Ed Sheeran, as one does. The success of Game of Thrones means that they can integrate higher profile names into the show (see Jim Broadbent) without breaking the ~*~*~illusion~*~*~ of the world. Personally, I felt like Ed was a little too extra... I couldn't stop thinking "That's Ed Sheeran sitting next to Arya. Do the Lannisters know that Ed Sheeran is in their army? What does ‘Shape of You’ sound like on a lute?" I was assuaged by the knowledge that he was hired as a treat for Maisie Williams, who deserves treats, so I will let it slide. Other than the presence of the Ginger One, this was a nice counterpoint to Arya's brutal opener. While she may be a hardened killer, she is still a young girl, just as most of the cannon fodder in the Lannister army are young boys (and Ed Sheeran), and this scene offered a poignant contextualization for the cost of war in Westeros.

Phew, I forgot how many things happen on Game of Thrones. The Hound comes across the man and child he doomed seasons earlier and feels remorse (character growth!) He also has a chilling fire-vision of the Army of the Dead marching away by a mountain (or maybe THE Mountain? Never let the dream of Clegane Bowl die). 

Sweet Samwell is essentially a house elf at Maester HQ, and instead of learning about how to kill White Walkers, he is carrying poop and organs around. We also find out that poor greyscale infected Jorah is locked up there likely in hopes of being cured. While his outside may be peely and gross, his profile remains as rugged as ever. All that out of the way, we did learn some important plot stuff here too. Sam steals a book from the Restricted Section filled with tips and tricks to slicing and dicing White Walkers. White Walker kryptonite is dragonglass, which we kind of knew from Jon Snow and company's misadventures north of the Wall. But what is more interesting is that we learn the Targaryen built fortress of Dragonstone (hey that's the name of the episode) is built on a giant pile of dragonglass (convenient!). If you cast your mind back to previous seasons, or even just the previously on at the beginning of the episode, that castle is where Stannis (lol remember him) had his base. In my experience Previously Ons are often the Rosetta Stone of television and the premiere's held additional clues as well.  Not only did the Previously On remind us that Dragonstone was where Stannis hung out, it also made sure to show us that the ill-fated Shireen spent quite a bit of time there too. Shireen who miraculously recovered from her greyscale after living on a giant pile of dragonglass, suggesting perhaps that dragonglass could be the solution to more than one problem...

And speaking of Dragonstone, we finally come to the titular location. Seemingly completely abandoned since Stannis bounced, Khaleesi and her crew roll up as their first landing in Westeros. In a beautiful silent sequence Dany mounts the stairs of the throne  but eschews the seat of power for the strategic promise of the war room. And she might as well be addressing the audience itself with her final cool query.

Oh my god that was so much writing. I'm going to bold keywords so you skimmers can anchor on to the topics you want to read about.

MVP: Arya Sheeran-Stark

XO MD

Bonus:

[astral-writings]

Forgetful (part 3)

Word Count: 1,633 Reader Gender: Female I guess idk Warnings: Hospital, reader injuries Love Interest: Pietro Maximoff Note: This might bring a close to the Forgetful series, but idk ‘causeI haven’t written it yet. I’ll write more here once I’ve finished writing this part see you in a jiffy.

It seems I have done a 50/50, but I felt like this was a solid ending.

Tags: @ladywolfdemon @iamvvanda @hownottodie101 @aweways @kkrissy12

|| Part 1 || Part 2 ||

The soft, steady beeping of the heart monitor gave Pietro comfort, yet it sent him into panic all the same. While the heart monitor gave a reassurance that she was still alive for the moment, it didn’t promise that she’d be alive in the future. So, here he sat for the past two weeks, sitting by her bedside. The only time he’d leave is when he’d need to use the restroom. He’d only eat when forced; which meant Wanda all but shoving food down his throat whenever she came to visit.

The rest of the team came to visit when they could, and while they worried for her, they also worried for Pietro. There were many mixed emotions going around the team; some blamed him, others felt bad. Tony was a main party in those that blamed Pietro, and he made sure to let Pietro know whenever he was in the vicinity. Bucky was on the fence on how to feel about Pietro, Bucky was more concerned about her well being than anything else. Steve was similar, but still harbored feelings of blame on Pietro.

Nat was beyond pissed at the both of them, but her anger for the figure in the hospital bed was matched by her endless worry. Clint would bring her cards every day, and they got a little more ridiculous as the days passed. Bruce was still missing, but he had sent her favourite flowers and a simple note that said ‘Don’t die, friend’. Thor came back down to check on things a few days ago, and was very distressed when he was told. Needless to say, Pietro got an earful from him.

Even without the entire team letting him know exactly how they felt, he was still in daily panic. Even more so than usual, there’s been 3 near-deaths in time she’s been here. Pietro completely blames himself for everything, and the weight of guilt keeps him from moving from his chair. Guilt and love, that’s what keeps him here. Some time ago he came to the conclusion that her being in the hospital is some twisted way of making him pay for what he did. That’s why he never argues when Tony goes off on him.

Between him losing himself in his guilt-ridden thoughts, and him crying his eyes out, he talks to her. The topic will vary occasionally, but it mainly stays with him either apologizing, making promises, begging for her to come back, or vocalizing memories. Right now he had his head in her blanketed lap, his hand in hers. They had, at one point, her hooked up to a breathing machine when she had first got here. To say that she had sustained severe injuries would be an understatement.

The doctor himself even said that it was a miracle that she was even still alive right now. There was injury to her organs, hips, ribs, neck, arms, and one of her legs. There was also a large portion of skin damaged on her back, and it’d still be a bit longer before that healed.  Her neck was almost fully healed, as well as her arm. Today Tony was in the room along with Pietro, which had become a norm. Tony was with her almost as much as he was, the difference being that Tony wasn’t the one that put her in here.

“You did this, you know.” Tony said, beginning to start another argument.

“I am well aware.” Pietro clarified for the millionth time.

“Great, because I’m here to remind you. Think of me as you own personal alarm clock.” Tony said.

“Will do.” Pietro said with a sigh.

“Not like you have much of a choice here, anyway.” Tony said matter-of-factly.

“I realize this, Tony.” Pietro spoke, closing his eyes in frustration.

“You better, because she’s going to go off like a firecracker when she wakes up,” Tony continued, “Like the Fourth of July of doom.”

“Looking forward to it.” Pietro spoke, a little more passively this time.

“Will you two-ow-shut the-ow- fuck up-ow.” A familiar voice said, clearly irritated. 

“Y/n!” Tony and Pietro said at the same time.

“Wow, can we not talk so loud, I have the world’s biggest headache.” Y/n said as Tony went to notify a nurse.

God, I’m gone for two seconds, and they’re already at each others throats. They’re both secretly children, I’m almost positive. Wait, why the fuck am I in this room? This is not my bedroom. This is not the Tower. This is not anywhere that I’m familiar, it’s too fucking white and bright to be any room that I’d ever go in. I looked down, now noticing that I had on a hospital gown on instead of my normal clothes.

I looked up, glaring at the person closest to me (and the only person in the room), Pietro. He, surprisingly, looked like the worst thing in the world. He had clearly not been sleeping properly, to say the least. His eyes were red, like he had just been crying. He was also holding one of my hands. another thing that I just noticed. I would’ve snatched it away, but the sight of a needle in my arm caught my attention instead.

“Don’t even think about it,” Pietro said immediately, covering the IV with his hand, “It’s suppossed to help you.”

“Oh yeah, sure, just like you helped me?” I questioned harshly, still glaring.

“I’m sorry.” Pietro said and my glare softened a bit.

“Yeah, well, sorry doesn’t get me out of this fucking hospital.” I stated simply.

Tony came back into the room, the doctor following shortly after. The doctor greeted me politely, but I just grumbled in response. I fucking hate hospitals, I want to stab someone. I huffed as the doctor started explaining everything, and small flashbacks of the incident began to pass through my mind. The sound of the glass shattering underneath me. The feeling of the tires rolling over my stomach.

The headlights of the vehicles burning holes into my eyes. My skin tearing on the metal of the vehicles. The sound of sirens that was barely audible to my ears. The sight of pure darkness, consuming me with blinding pain. The gentle, yet distressed, touch of a hand on my cheek. ‘Please, please, stay with me,’ rang through my mind. At the time, I didn’t know who it was, but now that I can think a bit clearer, it was obviously Pietro.

The doctor took his leave, telling me he’d be back soon with test results. Tony then announced that he was going to head to the Tower and tell everyone that I was awake and alive. Silence ensued between Pietro and I, neither of us bothering to say a word. For different reasons, I’m sure. I didn’t know what to say. Part of me wanted to scream, just for everything that’s happened. Another part of me just wanted to be hugged at the realization of me almost dying.

“Listen, I know you probably don’t even want to see me right now, but I’m so sorry, Y/n.” Pietro said.

“Hey-” I began.

“It’s all my fault, I know. If I hadn’t asked you to come and meet me, and if I hadn’t done what I did, you wouldn’t be like this.” Pietro continued, referencing my hospital-ridden state.

“Well-” I began again.

“And I know that me asking for forgiveness is selfish, and probably too soon, but I’m just glad that you’re okay.” Pietro said, and I raised my brows, “I mean, I know you’re not healed yet, but you don’t know how happy it made me to see you awake. You could’ve ended up in a permanent coma, or worse, because of me.” He continued.

“Pietro-”I began.

“I know that this is karma getting back at me for what I did, but can you please forgive me?” Pietro asked again.

Well, if you’d let me talk, you big blue idiot.

“Sorry.” He apologized again.

Whoops, didn’t mean to say that one out loud.

I looked at him for a moment, seriously considering what he had said. He really did look awful, and remorse was very clear on his face. He looked like he’d simply die on the spot if I uttered the opposite. While I was still very angry at him, a small part of me wanted to forgive him. I don’t think we could go back to being a couple, at least not so soon. So, forgiveness at friend status is now up for debate.

I suppose I forgive him for putting me in here, it wasn’t directly his fault. It certainly wasn’t mine either, but that doesn’t mean it’s okay for me to just take it out on him. I sighed deeply, his grip on my hand tightening slightly. Maybe it’d be okay if we were just friends? Like, friends who met on the first day of school and are only talking to one another because they don’t know anybody else. It’s oddly specific, but there we go.

“Fine, but you’re never to speak to me again.” I stated simply.

“O-Oh, okay, that’s fine, I’m just really happy you forgave me.” He started, “I guess I’ll just go then, I’m sorry, I’ll get out of your hair-”

“Pietro, Pietro,” I began frantically, “I was just kidding.”

“Oh,” He sighed deeply, a little relieved.

“I forgive you, but I don’t think we can go back to what we were,” I began, “At least not so quickly, but we can be friends.”

“Thank you, thank you so much.” He said, and it appeared as if a weight had been lifted off his shoulder.

“You’re welcome,” I said, “Now get over here and give me a very platonic hug, reality hit me in the face like 10 minutes ago.”

[castlehead]

(walking with no heart)

As I walked out to the car, I looked up at the sky. It seemed like a storm. But maybe not. What signs further on could change me? Direct me?

I got in the car and turned on the ignition. Harried halfconscious by somnambulism. Like a voice saying I had to go, now. My hands, shaking.

As I drove I examined an odd thing. It was under darkened clouds. A cast of downy and confused ruin cast against these swathes of laden hay.

Abandoned combine that once shucked, sticking out of the boring, distant fields like omens of a horror. The road it felt like a nothingness.

The road it felt like some pretended mimic. As I drove I must have forgotten where I had decided to go some 20 times, but somehow got there.

I drove into the parking lot and parked. Sighed. The titans in my head I said. Telling me I am some bewitching frailty of a person. Not God.

She sat in me and raved and raved and burned. I looked up without aim at the sky through the hood. Overcast blight. I wondered about mother.

I opened the door to my car and felt something very special and eyed someone shady outside the supermarket smoking a cigarette or something.

Something's always spoke from out its misery like one whose attempts at screaming are strangled and hushed by dint of them being in a dream.

She asked me what I meant to do, sitting there inside myself like a fetus. Something's always is prone in me I said. "Yet you wish to live!"

It was her. I knew it. Her voice it shot straight through all custom as if making up for some obscure dereliction of duty. "I can hear you."

I had one of my deaths in the supermarket looking for cucumbers, because cucumbers are supposed to be good for the skin. Mothswarm, burning.

The taste of an ideal is what makes it for we are fragments I began. I did not finish this thought, amongst the egg cartons and the creamer.

I examined an odd thing. I had sensed was eternally following behind me as I cranked my placid grocerycart down the sinister bland symmetry.

Of aisles. aisles of produce. Hordes of cereal, famished mascots. A thing of horror. It took on its aspect truly, as I examined it the more.

In such and such a paradoxical way as to suggest what caught my eye to start with had not even been visible to me. Pressure against my ears.

She said I was already telling my story somewhere craven leapfrogging men make it for me. I recalled this with difficulty sewing up my eyes.

"Your frequenting here. Looking to fade out. What has will anymore in this society? Of you and some friends?" She started chasing me. I ran.

As I was running I breathed out the mothswarm the figure wanted. She could have my disease, if it revived her. I didn't turn around to look.

Later on I forgot about the supermarket. Loose incidents happen all around me I said in my car. I said this in my squalor. Metallic shrieks.

I finally uttered: "All I wanted was to feel something. And here we are bitching away." The air cold and the wind infrequent though cutting.

The next moment I was from the patio to bed as if I did not fully realize myself. A thing had made me unreal, a thing at the foot of my bed.

Part of me was not in bed, was outside. This apparition, sentinel and wordless. I imagined it or not, it did not matter. Her form was there.

What of hatred, incarnating its wandering blessing in me? Stopping there, to breathe like I am now on the patio? Go to bed. That is crucial.

I sniffed the odor of cold air outside. I thought of hatred in its first sprigs and thought, my friends Carl and Murphy are the apparitions.

Something told me in my unending pax on my patio that whatever residue of touch I'd have left would remain after my death as a living thing.

Thoughts left me wondering about my friends. Shards of power whipped up some following Titan or Ideal in myself most carnivorous. I sniffed.

The night half-stark. Dim under a fuzzed consciousness. The lee of my ears whooshing, approaching whispers improvising down my ear. My debt.

How much in this life goes despised! Nobody is ever satisfied. I kept repeating my awe: bitching away. The sins in this ambition, fledgling.

I said, "All I wanted was to feel something." And she looked at me reproachfully. Her hypothetical form was realized above my bed, hovering.

Her face was a tone. Through that was a fever of a skeleton flashed, filing through ray and particle, for decisions about the light looming.

“Feel? For what? Damn you masochistic one. Chasing after your fellows’ decryptions of who you are. Do you not see who you are? Do you need?”

“Do you need these emotions to be a currency, a trade; can purity exist in your heart outside of these finnikin rarities and collectibles?”

She said. I could hear her fury trying to steal my breath and prolepsis. I embraced a tree and in reality was clenching my hot sheets hotly.

I felt myself waking up and then thwarted from it by the knowing some malevolent underbelly of knife-like people, stabbing me back to sleep.

“But why didn’t you recreate me? Was I too little too late?” The creature broke from her gaol and insinuated my remorse a lie: “Fake tears.”

She kept arguing with me. A limitless unreason going in voided circles not even circles, fractures forgetting why they were a point of view.

I awoke to my usual WORLD in either tears or surrounding beads of sweat. Faded light managing through the curtains. Concluding light of day.

The story of an ending day that perhaps is my protection against mortality. Or a reminder of it. Memento mori. A thing crucial rooted in me.

Time is an always converging on reality’s brutal second-hand. Picked up the phone to call, shrugged off the dream and the neighing thoughts.

They said she was more than remembrance, more than bitterness. I believed them then; now, not sure. Her sad face always guiding to my guilt.

“Yeah come over. Yeah.” I said. There wasn’t much to do anyway. Rimbaud said our inner desires lack a cunning music. I believe him. Flashes.

I walked to my deck for a breather with my phone. “Sure. Why not come over and have some fun.” I said. The ebb of day practically trickling.

A story yet was made of it to myself. But I needed her closer. So she was in my dream and I was waiting for my friends. I was there and not.

She was in my dream and I thought Carl and Murphy would like to know. I told them, and they said she was dead, but not dead in my heart yet.

We usually talked about philosophical things. We always meant to figure them out but never did. Till next time I guess. It was nice outside.

What awaited me: existing inspirations, figurations, or dreams. Sounds, familiar ones for me to get back her. Looking lashes, cricked heads.

Said I needed some air. Looked down at the flowers. What life was as well as wondering about it was a beautiful thing. I heard Carl call me.

I went inside to meet them. Before that passed to look around. Looked through the door into the living room with them at table. Batty fucks.

The forsythia bush drooped yellow outside of my house under the window and something else groaned out of the ground. I didn’t know about it.

Murphy and Carl and I talked around the table playing cards. Smoking and drinking beer. Death came up. I asked about it but nobody answered.

A void flowered out of the flatlands between one and another side of my door. A flower that grew out the door of a mind. I asked who it was.

The void said it was baffling stuff. I wouldn’t understand. I told him I had Murphy and Carl over and the void said, What about the machine?

I said to the void, The machine was named Murphy. The God named Carl. Carl and Murphy drank and made up stories that were more than stories.

They drank and sang in the night wind and yearned for the heaven neither of them would go to and made up songs like this.

The void was not listening and looked up, smiled halfway about baffling stuff. Of the heaven, and the clarity of chaos, its hopeless purity.

Murphy churned out what Carl said. Carl said they were right there. Suddenly. Waking from sleep in a Keatsian vale.

I asked them, half quoted, half adumbrated by reality: I did not ask one specifically: I let them breathe for a second, asked of this, thus:

Reality was leaves she woke up to into this World where her heart sang with fear. “Don’t you mourn her? You loved her. Grief is a slow deed.

"I have to piss.” He sniffed rough like to grab her in the mucus. Like saying I know what you are trying to say. Center me at least in this.

The God was named Carl. Carl was born here where he, the man, tripped over the watery stones dappled with light once. He went in the bushes.

The fern looked alive as it swung as drops of piss hit it and moved it about. He knew it would turn. Just one more object of mortal bracken.

He felt like a ghost. He knew she did, too. She must. There were only a few trees loud in their brittle spareness. Soon there were no trees.

They came upon a desert. He was not trying to lift himself up into his body anymore. Just reach. Reach for what? He could not read her face.

Him: “She’s dead now. I’m left walking with no heart. I tend to leave out a part of what I don’t say, from myself. Like myself from myself.”

Will pain, He thought. Groom pain. Like a dog. Or I am the dog. Who ever really speaks, when all the voices are always preparing themselves?

She said, “We didn’t know it was whatever that thing was that they needed. Maybe we’re at the dead blinked out crust. A mysterious purpose.”

Their deserted surroundings. “Na,” It was almost a declaration. “The last say on it all. But that was for those big ugly fucks upstairs eh?”

“The machine knew about the heaven. We’re not immortal. Don’t you fucking get it?” She said. He looked mournfully at his cap, at everything.

She looked at him. “So this isn’t real? This sand?” He drew up some clot in his hand and spit it through his fingers. “The machine knew it.”

He felt invaded by some fickle prognosticator, saying in loops of material death. You’re welcome, he thought. He thought, My cap isn’t real.

I whispered to her, Don’t you understand? You are both my myth. I was a brief unsettling wind knocking at her. I beckoned her into my dream.

So it happened she saw me through the grey fug of his wit, saw me not as myself but as him, after wading errant through swamplands of being.

She woke into his dream and his head and I voiced out his desultory ego, hid behind that, which wavered on its plinth, like to topple over.

Call me as with the tyrants like Saddam then. I would make dream and life uncertain just to flee those judgments. You, she, doesn’t hear me.

I spread the words he spoke to you over you like a blanket. I wanted you to know this mythos could get achieved but only through some death.

Wayward sense, the human you, or him; or to be able to touch the clime where you get freed from this OTHER unto me as others I could handle.

One that would not make water the mouths of titans, whom I cannot check, because they made me. Be my Prometheus o love, I said out to there.

Yet I made you both to check them, in destroying THE OTHER of me. It does make me human, yes. And yet these titans are all names for voices.

She thinks to herself, You, and him there in front of you a few yards ahead, baking in the sun of what seems an endless day, seems to speak.

Only night is in the quick blinking you do, o momentary darkness, please: rape and deform my stating with your being despite your nonbeing.

Then you will get to I know not what but is some weak part of these titans chasing you. Maybe I should make myself be hassled in quotations.

“You say something like you heard me though made no tell of it, you’re both so borne upon owning why you travel. Awaiting me to tell it you.

My new from whence, my backwarding, bewildering evil?” She said: “And, how does he become He? I fucked him. I knew already. It didn’t work.”

She: “He was enjoying myself. I felt far away, more inhuman than ever. It could not be me who is the prophet here. I don’t exist. I’m not.”

And me, the ‘I’, said back: “It will only be once he is capitalized. It will only be once he seems a greatness.” She was not breathing, was.

Me: “You’ll go on being ignorant of your own while he thinks of that dead machine, deprecates it yet thinks of it.” She smiled at the irony.

Me: “I am the creator of you. I now am to destroy a thing of myself through your destroying THE OTHER, which is not the other in human you.”

“I know,” She said defiantly, as if she knew. “We are one of many at random to feed the titans. But you will not be Zeus or Jupiter for us.”

They struck out to pure miles of a mountain they traveled by foot on but vertically, as if held by a strong unguent to mimic gravity. Miles.

Did not even notice their own switched WORLD till I told it her, who bit her tongue at it. I know, she said to me, that is, not him but 'I’.

“Extinguish you? She said, in herself yet thus outwardly, halfquoted, telepathically, to him. "In the next few days’ dissipation will pain.

In the next few days’ dissipation would lead them miles of some weird uncapped valley and they both knew it was this. Just with no mountain.

The miles didn’t matter anymore for more ill was the symmetry of their actions, like puppetry. It was noticeable. Like they were controlled.

They saw a barn. It was an outstanding shadow or cowlick graced up against this faded space. They also were indented on the WORLD similarly.

They walked inside, it not the place in the next few days’ dissipation would lead them, into whatever CITY or labyrinth they weren’t at yet.

He seemed bled out. Hands on hips. Heroically wasting away. But the other in him we both knew was not THE OTHER we sought, a vague religion.

"Don’t they make you feel small?” She said. For once felt like his comrade in this scant place, barely described. He was sweaty. Wet shirt.

She tilted her head inquisitively at him. “Why do you think THE OTHER is this kind of wanted thing by the titans? Don’t they extinguish you?

She knew. She knew as he spoke his speeches and all of it, his look said, I refuse to know the 'anything’ that hussy machine explained, you.

"Something is looking at us and becomes our reality without our consent.” He said, his voice faceless and yet itself a professing old druid.

“Something tells me we shift between a 'they’ and 'we’” He said. She knew. He strandedly aimed his eyes around the structure, inspecting it.

She thought, looking around, stretching, Tell him why I had sex with him. As if to feed the thought the barn door swung shut, locking us in.

A voice filled and shook the barn, it said we were fakes. Maybe a titan, coming to look after the apocalypse. Spoke sans quotation. Quotes.

Said they were as real as that stone over there. A stone lay in the corner of the barn. But if you find and burn THE OTHER the heaven opens.

For you still live, are living, are adulterated life. An abomination. She smiled at herself, her warp, her soul. “Just accept it my friend.”

He wept as he kicked it. She just watched sitting on a destroyed beam, in the open attic of the barn. The stone was sizable. “Fuck you all!”

He kicked and kicked the sad stone. The stone did not feel any of it but he felt sad and was in the stone and was viciously trapped in self.

The door unlocked. They heard it do so. They absterged hay from clothing and went into the fey day. Compared to the barn it was hot outside.

They entertained themselves with meditations on THE OTHER’s makeup, then after growing bored of that left the pursuit elsewhere in the mind.

They looked struggling through sight awhile, the others in them angered because exploited by them however little the two of them understood.

When he stopped limping it was days later and they saw a tree in the distance from the barn. Days passed blindly, strangely displaced, here.

They walked out to the only tree in what seemed an endless field. Unripe wind, breaths as if stolen, disturbed the surrounding grassy lands.

They stood under the forgiving branches. “Good place to rest.” He said, looking away from her. She without quotes, What else could go wrong?

The tree provided good shade from the white unction of the heat from the white sun hung like a circular wound, surrendering to the huge sky.

They put their heads against the base of the tree and drifted off. He was asleep before she was but as time slipped away oblivion soon came.

She dreamt she slept on question, in looking for that machine. Still as death she sought a deeper GOD within. She thought, She was, qua sky.

The sky was made of words. Then interposed this rare utterance from the nowhere. In the dream words drifted across the sky, toward question.

They awoke. He with her traveled for hours towards quietly flickering lightning, too far for sound to penetrate to them, furthering granted.

They followed in the dirt and dusk. Their footsteps rattled. Both hungry for THE OTHER to be more than this rare utterance from the nowhere.

After a search through turns in the pathway He said something yet she only figured some other words, beheld their marmoreal quality as rare.

These were the belched words from him sufficed to keep her on levels of reality she could only think she knew. She fell asleep to the words.

Lazed over a lattice like unknowing flowers. “Is anything but what I hope this is anything, if it is too much to ask for a successful myth?”

She could imagine the titans arguing their milage for her, and knew what happened last night was truer than this. This, anything, an acedia.

She thought about herself concentrating on the flourishing wounds on her ankles from being so long on foot. He ran faster. Her mind ambling.

But she still ran because to burn THE OTHER would lead them to the heaven, where they could create titans that did not want to destroy them.

Could create themselves out of this hellscape of a CITY. No arguments there however from one machine to another? Were those GODs expendable?

She wanted to have a voice inwardly speak her mind to her like the way one cradles a child. The titans had wanted her an artless gentleness.

He was ahead of her presumably wrestling with the other. He seems like an obsessive, She thought. And my thoughts at the end will be quoted.

She ran after THE OTHER. I am them and why they want THE OTHER. 'I’ am but as Zeus to Prometheus. She couldn’t help but notice that beauty.

She saw it as she chased. Saw the floating alien thing well. A silhouette against a pane, this torched, painless, sky. Permanent as minutes.

He tied rags cuffing the blanched wrists. The body or form was exceedingly dirty. The form of it seemed itself out of a mere physical body.

As if THE OTHER had been waiting for this moment and knew what to do to be freed. He sensed this buzzing anticipation and called it tragedy.

He poured Nepenthe into the ear of THE OTHER and grunted, “There will be the heaven. Quit it, you dickhole! Shit!” They bit him on the hand.

His squirming trophy’s decease he nearly was too frantic to have come. “He will numb out alright.” She faltered, Supply him no strong hand.

“Stop it!” He’s already gone.Look? Is anything but what I hope this is anything. He looked her straight in the eye. I will burn him damn it.

“Do you recall where to go?” He was still hugging the puffing body, restraining it but as like a lover. She thought, That machine, so close.

She tried to remember. Something special brought her to this land with him that was not THE OTHER. But, I say, it was; I am he of a present.

She: “On top of one of the last buildings that still stood in the CITY?” “Where that old schlub said it was.” He said, knifing scarred wind.

They the both of them began speaking in their heads to eachother. Maybe the heaven would come for them this way. A Deus Ex Machina for sure.

She looked at all the rotted hulks dispassionately, How long before the air is gone?Look, I don’t know exactly how tenuous the WORLD is. OK?

Should I stop here? He thought. They had been carrying THE OTHER together for awhile. She hoped whatever they or it was hadn’t changed much.

She tried to answer. He went on, vibrating, chest vibrating. “That’s why GOD’s a machine.” She held to her prolepsis, standing idle for him.

“Perception sucks,” He said. “There’s too much of it all.” He looked at the burnt sky. Then he and her looked at the body they had wrangled.

Even if she was dead and couldn’t, she wouldn’t have. She was like that. Though with a core of metal, an outside of fair reasoning. Machine.

His response was short and menacing. She muttered low inside her brain, We were about to abort the machine but the machine, she didn’t care.

They. But who? Surely mostly him and her. Flickering in and out of consciousness, swinging likewise, aloft. “Stop with this no point shit.”

THE OTHER said barely they were an end to the 'I’ -a why to it. Must enjoy tragedy more. Something gotten almost. Sad eyes in, out of sleep.

They were to burn THE OTHER so as to be themselves, hopeless as that was. Or themselves too mediocre for to hold some big staff of identity.

The WORLD wanted to kill them, because it wanted a turn at what they had. Yet she was affronted by him. She said. “Perception is our jewel.”

“Why create, if what created us wants to kill us?” And she thought to herself, Wanted this silence for awhile. There is moisture on my neck.

They took THE OTHER for a good long time in silence. She held their legs tighter as THE OTHER started to wake. Then he sniffed, “The WORLD.”

“I feel like we’re getting somewhere with you.” He said to her. THE OTHER wanted to say, they were I of the rain. No, heaven is much better.

She said to herself, an aside, ignoring the beaten, wound-ridden OTHER: I know, the fucking sadistic Zeus-whore he is. I know, worst timing.

I want it to rain myself on them. But they will not know. They are in mutual ruin. “It did matter to me. It mattered, you fucking torture.”

I look upon them, hidden, and make it start to rain. He thinks Hebriacally, “This is the moment I am become being.” And lets fall the match.

I am the 'I’ or what these two others wanted to be and cannot, thus I cannot be, while they exist and are without knowing I am their father.

He and her felt no more real. Like dolls. Him: “We have to fucking get out of here.” The heaven, there. Her: “I know.” For more than titans.

She murmured, “Sorry.” Transfixed. At him, at as well the screams and the heat of THE OTHER, a struggling slave in repulsive, ratty bondage.

“You said it didn’t matter that I was with her. That she died anyway. That that was the fucking price I had to pay, one I think you paid.”

THE OTHER begged and begged as if there lay some hope despite their own charred skin. She watched. I am conjured, sadly. As still as a doll.

“No, GOD, please. Please!” THE OTHER said, struggling to free himself from the flames. The thunder was a mourning sound off in the distance.

“Like when you told me that we had become stiff and meaningless.” Well the WORLD was over, wasn’t it? He said, “I didn’t want to scare you.”

She said, through her barrier of tears, waiting for the heaven to come, each second proving nothing but especially proving it wasn’t there:

“Why did you tell me that shit when we were sleeping together?” She made him pause. Ugh. 'Sleeping together.’ Yo who calls sex that anymore?

He lowered his arm ceremoniously. Nobody could know. They waited for catastrophe. She wavered; he was still. He said, “Because I wanted to.”

Who cared about this blasé planet? This was as they had been told the escape from it. The sacrifice was drawn out enough. They looked on it.

The body became form. Then form formless. She did not hear him say how the rain tasted like lead because she was not close to him anymore.

So normal. Sucked into a hole of normalcy. Like this happened every day. His hat was wet. “This rain tastes like lead,” He mused. It sucked.

The sky looked threatening. The sky was grey and lackluster and humdrum drops fell in small bombarding fleets of rain, battalions of mist.

The body quit seizing after a little while. They could not hear anything but their hearts in their throats, backing away from the effigy.

“Ok now the fuck what?” He said. She couldn’t say anything to that. The heaven was for titans. Silence. Then, “Well. That should teach you.”

She felt like she couldn’t say anything, like this giant censoring ghoul made the moment between them too holy, the door to the heaven ajar.

The rain was just the dregs of rain. It chafed and chilled his shoulders against his clothes. “What we did we had to.” She needed to say.

It smelled the way you would picture a burning body. The form was a pyre. The both of them had eyes that glowed in the fire’s arrhythmia.

“How can you say this wasn’t your fault? Misery? C'mon. Your doubts eat you alive like mine do but you can’t handle them. You’re a faggot.”

She had had enough long ago and was about herself like a mother puttering cleaning up her son’s mess. He laughed flatly at the smell of it.

“Why did he bother trying to live?” She thought to herself. He had his arms crossed and his weight on his right leg, so casual. So intimate.

The less she knew the better. Distance needed to be put between them before he could even think of breathing. The fiery corpse lay aground.

Feelings had been heard in him, directed him, before. He knew at this time she would stay where she was. She had her own feelings about it.

“I told them not to come.” He was not listening but knew the gist already. He had known it for awhile. He clenched his hat and looked down.

“Yeah, that’s what you said.” They looked at each other. The moment might as well have been vacated, an empty house smelling of tarpaulin.

This was what he had thrown away. Those verses in his bleeding head. What corruption here. At the hand of a pestle so much dust to extract.

He started walking away then, and stopped at the foot of a church two blocks out of view, crying at the leaves weighted down by the rain.