#((reminded me i never posted the second part of this project))

[angryandereleon]

The Madness of Duke Lovecraft

Based off this: Madness of Duke Venomania

[hedgehog-moss]

The lower rung of the ladder in my kitchen broke last month and I stuck a little Post-it note on the wall to remind myself to step over the missing rung so I wouldn't break my leg every time I go up or downstairs—but then my mum came to visit and she saw me hopping over the gap in the ladder with practised ease and her face was the definition of "you live like this?" And she went to get a screwdriver to unscrew the ladder from the wall so we could carry it outside and repair it.

Some people see a broken ladder and immediately open a toolbox to fix the problem; some people see a broken ladder and stick a Post-it note to the wall to train themselves to step over the problem forever. (I admit my response is inferior.)

I think I felt daunted at the thought of tinkering with this ladder because it's been here in the same place for over a century and I pictured the whole thing crumbling into dust if we tried to move it—but no, it's still solid, except the lower rung. Which wasn't damaged by time, but by Pandolf. (And some insects. But mostly Pandolf.)

When he was a baby, for a week or so after I took him home, he was extremely upset about having to spend the night in his dog bed in the kitchen while I went upstairs to my bedroom, he would cry and cry and one night in a fit of despair and rage he attacked the ladder. The next morning I found the lower rung (the only one he could reach) looking like it had been attacked by a termite colony, but it was Pandolf's pointy little puppy teeth. By the look of it he'd spent half the night furiously gnawing on it until he dropped from exhaustion—his reasoning was clearly that if he destroyed the ladder, I wouldn't be able to go upstairs anymore and would be forced to spend the night on the floor of the kitchen with him.

It's really hard to be mad at baby Pandolf, though. Go on, try.

Eventually he got used to sleeping in his dog bed and he abandoned his ladder destruction project, but the lower rung has been fragile ever since, and it finally broke last month.

My mum is extremely efficient; she sent me to the barn to find some kind of thick board (you can find anything in the barn if you have a torch and aren't afraid of bats or century-old spiderwebs) and when I came back she had prepared all the tools and taken all the measurements.

The worst part was tapering the sides so the rung would fit in the notches, because if one side was a little bit thinner than the other then it was wobbly—

—plus I used a file at first and it took forever (Pandolf was so bored), but then I remembered I own a sanding machine and it went a lot faster. So much so that my mum said I should make a second rung while I was at it—she was motivated to replace all of them, but then it started raining and we decided the rest of the ladder is solid enough and we'll replace the rungs two at a time.

I always forget that it feels satisfying to fix things! There's this little spark of pride from then on when you look at the repaired thing because you helped make it. I tend to procrastinate because I assume it'll take ages or I'm worried I'll do it wrong, until someone who's more confident with their hands than me goes like "no come on, we just need a saw, a file, a hammer, it'll take an hour tops" and we do it and it's never as difficult as I feared. (My mum: "We gave you a toy toolbox when you were little, to smash sexist stereotypes, and you're afraid of fixing things :( ...") (I cheered her up by reminding her that my brother smashes sexist stereotypes by being also afraid of fixing things.)

But yeah I spent half an hour sanding down the sides of these two lower rungs and now I look at my ladder and remember the delightful feeling of getting the tapering just right and inserting them into their slots effortlessly like a VHS tape into a VCR. I have a whole new affection for my kitchen ladder now.

[somewhereincairparavel]

Annabeth Chase and Jason Grace - two sides of the same coin, an analysis post.

after a long wait, I've finally posted my analysis on jason/annabeth being similar, and mirroring eachother as rivals/potential sibling figures more than percy/jason's 'bro rivalry', based on this post of mine which has crossed over a THOUSAND notes in the last week alone, and I've been getting so many reblogs and comments asking me to expand on my tags in that post and do a full analysis. so here it is. I've been procrastinating this for quite a while now for some reason but I'm glad I'm over my writer's block and I got to articulate my post well enough.

annabeth and jason have had very minor interactions throughout hoo, but the parallels and similarities in their character is jarringly noticeable, which is why I hoped for a jason/annabeth rivalry and not a percy/jason rivalry. they've both been raised at their respective camps since they were literal kids, they were well versed in their respective fields of knowledge, and were well respected/intimidated in their camps.

let's start off with the lost hero

when jason first meets annabeth, he says that her eyes were really intimidating and fierce, so right off the bat, we have jason who's pretty put off by annabeth because she very obviously looked angry, especially since she was frustrated about jason's arrival instead of percy, and looked like she could kill jason to get percy back.

-----------------------------------------------

this parallels to a lot when hazel kept going on about how difficult it was to warm up to jason because his eyes were always calculating and cold, and he gave off an untrustworthy vibe, that he'd sacrifice anyone for the sake of the mission.

both annabeth and jason have a certain similar ‘look’ in their eyes, which have nothing to do with the color. they both have the tendency to make people nervous simply with their eyes, because they always look like they're thinking of new things every few seconds. Ironically, jason first perceived annabeth, the way everyone else perceived him. scary and intimidating with an icy glare and hardened eyes.

They were both said to be ‘studying’ each other in distrust many times throughout. A part of why they didn't trust each other, was, in my opinion, because they embodied their least favorite shared personality trait of each other, secretiveness and guardedness. which is why annabeth got on so well with percy, and jason with leo/piper.

they didn't admire the closed off-ish vibe that they gave eachother. they both needed people who were open and carefree.annabeth said that jason looked like he knew too much information, but chose to keep it all a secret, very similar to her own guardedness from time to time, keeping it a secret and wanting to deal with it silently.

we also know that annabeth and jason are extremely knowledgeable in greek/roman mythology, they both love debates and were quite passionate about history. they were both assigned architecture projects by the gods themselves as a mark of honor and favour.

moving on to the next most important point, they reminded eachother of the people they missed, causing them to feel resentful.

jason, barely met his sister after they reunited. he was bitter when thalia said he had to go look for percy to help out annabeth with the search. he was aware that thalia and annabeth were childhood friends, getting closer to eachother than jason and thalia ever did. she found a home in luke and annabeth, not even a few months after baby jason was thought to be ‘dead’, that knowledge would've weighed a lot on jason. annabeth became the sibling to thalia grace that jason could never be.

while annabeth? the only thing annabeth thought of, after jason had a face off with his mother's remnant in boo, was the fact that jason, who looks eerily similar to luke, could've experienced the exact same fate as him. luke was jason if he had more wrath and held grudges, jason was luke if he had less anger and resentment. annabeth could connect the dots so easily, and that was truly the moment where she gained immense respect for him.

and, when jason told annabeth that his sister was thalia? she had a very odd sort of expression on her face.

annabeth also quotes that looking at jason made her feel bitter, because he reminded her of heras exchange, and the fact that she lost percy for months. whenever she looked at jason, she would only see her two childhood friends, a found family that was broken, and a love that was challenged.

whenever jason looked at annabeth, he would be reminded that thalia had a closer contact to her than she did jason, and had to accept that he would never know thalia as much as annabeth does.

annabeth and jason also appear very confident and sure of themselves, but have second thoughts all the time. they had to put on a fake facade, to live up to their expectations and lineage.

they were both also sort of people pleasers, annabeth couldn't really say no to anyone who asked her for help with things, like carrying the sky for luke especially, because not only where they giving her a chance to execute her knowledge and skill, the thought of helping someone made her genuinely happy. jason also loved seeing people happy, always wanting to say the right thing to satisfy someone, even if it meant he had to sacrifice his own struggles to help them.

fatal flaws:

annabeth’s fatal flaw, is hubris. when you are confident and sure that you can do something, and have a sense of excessive self pride.

and jason's fatal flaw is the temptation to deliberate. hesitation and second guessing, to put it in simpler words.both fatal flaws are so different, yet so similar, and they have both flaws, just in a different viewpoint.

as a child of athena, annabeth appears super confident and even conceding at times because of her wisdom, but at the same time, annabeth had to make sure she was one step ahead of everyone. she had to rethink everything and had to have a plan in her mind all the time, fearing that things wouldn't go smoothly.

she had to hesitate and second guess herself alot, despite her knowledge, like she did when she knew she had to look for the mark of athena. piper and percy had to boost up her confidence with affirmations, to let her know she's on the right path and to just follow her gut. annabeth feels obligated to have a temptation to deliberate, because, as a child of athena, she has to be all knowing and wise, and most definitely cannot fail her mother.

and jason? despite having a very low sense of self esteem and hesitation, he was so used to leading the people who were considered slightly inferior to him in camp jupiter, and basically getting treated like a celebrity for 12 years of his life in camp jupiter, that often, he thought what he did was right, he had his own perception of what a hero should be, and I quote

[“No, no,” Jason said. “I made my choice. You’re not to blame. You don’t owe me anything except to remember what I said. Remember what’s important.” “You’re important,” I said. “Your life!”Jason tilted his head. “I mean… sure. But if a hero isn’t ready to lose everything for a greater cause, is that person really a hero?”He weighted the word person subtly, as if to stress it could mean a human, a faun, a dryad, a griffin, a pandos… even a god”- Tower of Nero]

which was normal, since he had everyone basically following his lead without question as a kid. he's expanded on this in his conversation with piper in mark of athena, where he said he felt weird to suddenly be around people who were either equal/or superior to him in power, and not being in the ‘lead’ particularly.

jason had hubris, but certainly not in a way that you would call it an ego or excessive pride. he was hardwired and brainwashed into having his own perception of what is right and what is wrong, that he thought he was always making good enough decisions, at least from a roman child soldier’s standpoint. [Like when he was okay with not saving nico because it might sabotage their mission, he genuinely didn't think what he said was insensitive until hazel called him out, because he was brought up that way. he thought he was doing the right thing, by prioritising the mission and the duty, first. Like the dutiful roman he was made to be].

both annabeth and jason, have hubris and a temptation to deliberate.

annabeth and jason, also had an extremely difficult time breaking free from the thoughts that their godly parents were always right. It took on alot of disappointments for both of them to stand up to their parents (and not just godly ones, mind you)

they've both had disappointing absent mortal and godly parents with a hostile stepmother involved and monitored with each and every one of their moves. annabeth has had to deal with her stepmother playing the ‘bad cop’ with her father not even coming to her defence, just the way hera came butting into jason's life and giving him terrible memories, taking him away from thalia, with zeus not even caring.

speaking of which, they are both the only demigods who have harboured the most amount of resentment for hera. just the sight of hera pisses them both off, as it hera, stripped off so much time away from annabeth and percy, and memories from jason, which he never permanently got back.

this is sort of irrelevant but I'll add this anyway, in boo, athena also immediately liked jason for calling out zeus's unfairness to apollo, saying something like 'the boy is right' and she gave him an approving/appreciative look for his wisdom, which is pretty rare for athena to say or do to literally any demigod ever. this makes me wonder if she ever saw jason as someone who had some sort of athena legacy in him, which is why she was so pleasantly surprised with him. ugh we could've so gotten jason and annabeth as potential sibling figures bc of how many parallels they have, too bad that the percy/jason rivalry narrative was pushed too hard.

I hope I've drawn enough parallels with their characters, as a lot of you have been looking forward to this post for a while, hopefully this analysis hasnt been underwhelming for you all to read!

@thevoidcaller @karmaajr @onestorytorulethemall @newlyfoundwren @thesummerstorms

[wilwheaton]

This is from Star Trek Wholesome Posting on Facebook.

And because it's a FAQ, here's the story of The Infamous Clown Sweater, as I told someone who asked there:

"I did this fundraiser for EFF in San Francisco in ... 2001? 2002? Something like that. It was at DNA Lounge, and after we were done, this person came up to me with this horrific sweater (jumper, for you non-Americans). They told me it was part of The Infamous Clown Sweater Project. What's that, I asked. They told me they are getting as many people as possible to wear it and pose for a photo, which they would then upload to their webpage -- not website, webpage, because it was 2001 or so -- for all to see.

"Of *course* I was down for it, and that face I'm making in the first photo is my very real reaction to the _awful_ stank that was just infused in the acrylic fibers.

"The second picture is from a con about ... 2014? Something like that, based on how I look. Someone actually made their own version of that horrible sweater for me. One arm is too long, on purpose, the neck is all stretched out, on purpose, and it fits poorly, on purpose. It's so damn funny to me, and it came along at a moment when we were doing this "then and now" thing on Twitter (before the fascists took over).

"I still have the second sweater. I have no idea what happened to the original. Last time I checked, the website that hosted all those pictures -- so old it was manually coded in html, predating even Flickr -- was lost to the sands of time.

"But it never fails to make me smile when this picture comes back around. It reminds me of a specific time, when there was just so much hope for the online future we were all building."

And for those of you who are too young to know what Riker giving Wesley his "fondest wish" is, well ...

Wesley wanted to grow up to be a blue-eyed blond who I'm pretty sure the costume designer wanted to fuck?

GEORDI! You're not helping!

Look. I love you, Commander Riker, but ... you're gonna want to try again. Wesley's fondest wish rhymes with "marathon betazoid orgy on risa".

[magniloquent-raven]

I'm getting distracted from my current projects by someone else's post again someone tell me to stop going on tumblr while I have WIPs lmfao

@rosetterer this isn't EXACTLY what you posted about but it does get there in the end

**

Twenty-four hours has never seemed like such an insurmountably long time.

Buck's had long shifts before, the boring ones when he'd stare at the alarms on the wall, willing them to go off—he can picture Maddie's disappointed scowl if she ever found out about that, but he swears he was only hoping for something small and harmless to break up the monotony—and the busy ones. Ones that leave his ears ringing with phantom sirens by the end. Those days only ever seem long in retrospect, when he's bone-tired and trying to remember all the names he asked for.

But now every shift seems to find new and shittier ways to be gruelling. Eddie's miserable and trying to act like he isn't. There's this weird, uncomfortable tension brewing between Hen and Chim. Ravi got himself transferred to B shift—probably to get away from Gerrard, and Buck can't exactly blame him, but he sort of does anyway and their new probie is terrible, and... then there's Gerrard.

Like, Buck already knew he was a piece of work, but. Knowing and experiencing are two very different things. He could barely stand keeping his mouth shut at the medal ceremony when he met the man for five seconds, and now he has to put up with him making smug, belittling comments towards all his friends, all the time. Constantly needing to remind himself he doesn't want to get fired is actually killing him.

It doesn't help that every so often he'll remember Tommy's offhand Captain Gerrard was like having the dad I already had, with a pang as he wonders what exactly Tommy grew up with. What parts of Gerrard's condescending tyranny were familiar to him. Phillip Buckley may not have been father of the year, but maybe never being looked directly at was better than being raised neck deep in toxic waste.

Every time he remembers he gets the urge to pull out his phone and call Tommy up just to... he doesn't even know. Just to hear his voice, maybe. Know if he's doing okay.

Another reason work days seem so long now, if he's being honest. He's always counting down the hours until he can see Tommy again. Like a kid on the last day of school, watching the clock tick closer and closer to summer vacation.

So, of course, right near the end of a particularly busy shift, Gerrard gets them all lined up for a lecture about how sloppy that last save was. Everyone did something wrong, and everyone needs to hear about all the ways they could have gotten someone killed, like they don't all know how risky the job is already.

By the time he's finished telling Chim it's a miracle he managed to convince anyone to let him out on calls, Buck is clenching his jaw hard enough to make his teeth ache.

"I'm sure Captain Soft-Touch loved telling you all it was okay to be mediocre, and that you were trying your best," Gerrard sneers at them all, waving a dismissive hand at very idea of Bobby's captaincy. "But the coddling ended when he retired. Sparing your feelings is going to get people killed. Diaz!" He shouts, abrupt, turning on his heel towards Eddie. Eddie doesn't flinch, but Buck does.

"Yes, sir?" He's coolly polite, and his face is carefully blank, but his posture is tense.

"If I ever catch you checking your phone at a scene again, I'll make sure you're mopping floors for the rest of your life."

Eddie's expression hardens. It was a fender-bender and Eddie didn't even touch his phone until everyone was accounted for and packed into the ambulance. "It was a text from my son. Sir." His tone veers a little to the left of polite.

"I don't care if it was from the goddamn Pope, when you're in the field your focus stays on scene. Next time your brat needs something tell him to go cry to his mother about it."

This time when Buck flinches, everyone else in line does too. Hen bites down on a grimace. Chim hisses quietly through his teeth.

"I can't do that," Eddie says flatly. "What with her being dead and all."

The firehouse is silent for a long, horrible moment. That might've taken the wind out of any decent person's sails, Buck thinks. At the very least most people would've retreated into awkwardness and ended the lecture entirely.

Gerrard's brow pinches angrily. "Don't get smart with me, Diaz."

Buck's not sure it's possible to hate someone more than he hates their new captain right now.

"I don't care about your little sob story excuses, I care that you're sloppy and distracted. If you can't handle the job and the kid, drop one of them."

Oh, he was wrong.

He hates this man so much he's choking on it, it's clogging his throat like bile and he's running out of strength to care that he shouldn't spit it out, spew it everywhere and ruin everything just for the chance of hurting this man in the process. He feels like his skin is bursting at the seams.

Eddie's biting the inside of his cheek, rage and sorrow warring silently on his face.

And Buck breaks. Bursts. "Hey, Captain, that's—"

"Can it, Buckley," Gerrard cuts him off before he can even start. It's not angry, it's not anything, he brushes Buck off like he's an annoying fly buzzing in his ear, barely worth glancing at for the two seconds it takes to tell him he doesn't care. "You're all dismissed. Get out of my sight."

Some of them flee, scurrying to their lockers, the kitchen, anywhere but here. A couple of people throw backwards glances before they walk away. Hen and Chim exchange grim looks. Eddie disappears out the back door in an angry haze. And Buck...

Buck feels. Empty. Small. Like he cut himself open trying to relieve the pressure and now there's just nothing left. No one to patch up the wound, and no reason for any of it, he didn't make an impact, he didn't help anyone, he stood there listening to his friends get degraded, and now—now he's feeling sorry for himself?

It's stupid. He's stupid. He feels like shit because, what, because he didn't get yelled at? Because his piece of shit captain took a break from implying he's a disgusting pervert?

He thinks himself in circles about it his whole way home, the pit in his stomach getting a little deeper every time he tries to will it away.

He's wallowed himself halfway through a six-pack, staring sightlessly at his TV, by the time his front door opens.

"Evan?"

One of the knots in his chest loosens. "Yeah," he calls out, not bothering to sound less pathetic than he is. "In here."

"Hey." Tommy's stopped next to the stairs, eyeing him. His gaze is assessing, but his tone is soft. He's always so careful with Buck. "Bad day?"

Buck takes another sip of his beer. Shrugs.

"Ah, one of those."

The couch cushions dip as Tommy takes a seat next to him. He's close enough that Buck doesn't have to look at him to know he's there. There's warmth radiating off him. The woodsy scent of his aftershave. Buck presses their knees together, and exhales properly for the first time in hours.

He knows he could talk about whatever he wants and Tommy would let him. He's waiting for Buck to take the lead here. Buck could avoid the issue entirely and decide to talk about anything. The fact that he can't really tell the difference between the fancy beer Tommy insists is better than the crap Buck's drinking right now. The documentary about bees he's pretending to watch. The goddamn weather.

What comes out of his mouth is a quiet, "I feel like an idiot."

Tommy pulls the beer bottle out of Buck's loose grip, puts it down next to the couch, and then takes Buck's hand in both of his. "Why?"

Buck scrubs at his eyes. "I..." He catalogues the tiny scars on Tommy's knuckles. Two, three, little dots on his index finger. A lopsided vee on his thumb. "Something happened at work."

"Did Gerrard say something to you?" There's an edge to Tommy's question, something sharp and flinty. It makes Buck's heart do dumb little somersaults.

"No." He stops, shame burning his cheeks. "Not. Not to me. That's... He was lecturing everybody, and I..."

"Evan." Tommy grips his chin, firmly, gently, guiding Buck's face until he looks him in the eye. There's a sympathetic twist to his mouth. "Tell me."

He does. As best he can when it feels like what's didn't happen is more important, and he can barely put into words why that is. But trying helps, a little. Trying to whittle it down into an explanation forces him to look at the whole of it, and realize it's not looming over him anymore.

Maybe it's just Tommy's hands on him, soothing the hurt away.

"I dunno. Feels like I could have done something differently, maybe"

Tommy hums, tilting his head in acknowledgement. "You could've."

Buck winces.

"But it wouldn't have turned out any better."

Oh.

A flower blooms on the TV, purple and white petals reaching for the sun. Buck toys with Tommy's fingers, and shifts his leg closer, hooking their ankles together.

"It felt so shitty," he mutters.

"I know."

He would, wouldn't he. Buck gets that pang in his chest again, and he pushes the rest of the way into Tommy's space. Tommy wraps his arms around him, and drops a kiss into his curls, seemingly content to let Buck situate himself however he wants.

He kind of wishes Tommy wasn't still wearing jeans, but asking him to take his pants off might send the wrong message.

"You don't think I'm, like...a bad friend, right?" He cringes his way through the question.

"No." Tommy responds matter-of-factly and without hesitation. Then the corner of his mouth twitches. "I think you're a very good boy."

Buck's entire head feels like it's on fire. A grin starts to creep across his face. It might be the first time he's smiled all day. "Oh, yeah?"

"Mhm."

Maybe he should ask Tommy to take his jeans off after all.

[humblefryingpan]

The "Amy likes spiders" poem in doki doki literature club (Natsuki's second poem) just makes me think of being closeted with internalized homophobia and I think it works really well for her

There's the poem if you haven't seen it!

(This is just me analyzing the poem and it's probably my longest post yet. I've been overanalyzing all the poems but this is the only one I've typed out atm lol)

It specifically makes me think of four things - Yuri liking different things and her disliking her for it, Natsuki being so far in the closet that she'll take any excuse to avoid the pretty girl™, Natsuki's self projection onto "Amy" and most importantly internalized homophobia, like I said earlier

It generally makes me think natsuri but I'll get to that later. So if we go from the internalized homophobia + closeted perspective (more like raised homophobic and doesn't know she's gay but ykwim), it reads as "a girl I know is a lesbian and Im meant to hate her for it. She's pretty and she makes me feel things but I can't be friends with her because she's a lesbian"

'The narrator' (Natsuki) heard a rumor that a girl, "Amy" (the lesbian), apparently likes 'spiders' (girls) and is repulsed. And that's why she isn't friends with her.

"Amy" sings the narrator's favorite love song, her voice is cute and it's making her heart pound. But she still likes 'spiders', so she can't be her friend.

She hurts her leg and "Amy" helped her get to the nurse. She tried to avoid touching her because her hands might be gross due to touching 'spiders', so she still can't be her friend.

"Amy" is very popular, but "she probably talks about spiders" (being gay). "What if her friends start to like spiders too?" (This entire verse rlly speaks for itself)

The next verse is shortest and even more repetitive than the rest of the poem (to emphasize her point) "it doesn't matter if she has other hobbies, it doesn't matter is she keeps it private, it doesn't matter if it doesn't hurt anyone" because to the narrator - she can't be "Amy's" friend, no matter how bad she wants to, because she's always going to be a 'spider lover' (lesbian) and she won't be able to ignore that.

And then the final nail to seal shut the door to the closet - "it's gross, she's gross, the world is better off without spider lovers. And I'm gonna tell everyone" because she needs everyone to know she hates 'spider lovers' to make sure no one knows she is also one. It's so gross because she was taught it was and now she can't stop thinking it's gross, no matter how nice/pretty/kind "Amy" is.

Onto the natsuri part so if you don't like that ship feel free to skip the rest of this (if you're still here lol)

Yuri and Natsuki like such different things (creepy and complex vs cute and simple) and they reach the point where they've argued so much that Natsuki doesn't want to admit she doesn't dislike Yuri. Even if she likes her poems, she'd never tell her because she feels like she can't at this point.

Natsuki couldn't see past their differences for a while, when she finally does, she's too embarrassed to apologize and too uncomfortable to befriend her without apologizing.

Nearly every verse of the poem will talk about how great the girl is. How she has a cute voice, she helped her, she has lots of friends, she makes her heart pound. But every verse she will still come back to "but she likes spiders. That's why I'm not friends with her". It feels like her gradually warming up to Yuri but still reminding herself that she can't be her friend, they're too different, Yuri likes creepy things (Yuri probably does like spiders so that's a bit more literal but it's also that spiders seem to symbolise everything she likes that Natsuki doesn't) and she couldn't be friends with someone so different.

And lastly, Natsuki's self projection (this is what the meaning is said to be in-game), meaning "Amy" is Natsuki herself. Natsuki likes manga and her friends won't believe it counts as literature. Her manga is the spider in this interpretation, she doesn't want people to judge her based on what she likes. She's had to be so defensive about what she likes, she may even judge herself for liking it at this point. She doesn't want people to judge people by their interests.

I keep seeing people say that Amy is a real person but that's one of the only interpretations that makes no sense to me. Because Natsuki may be a bit judgemental but even she wouldn't make an entire poem about disliking her classmate's love of spiders. She said herself that anyone that agrees with the narrator in the poem is a bad person. It's far more likely that "Amy" is a made up idea, she's barely even shown as a person. She's seemingly meant to be symbolic of Natsuki's flaws and insecurities, whatever you perceive those insecurities to be.

Portraying Amy as an actual person kinda cheapens the poem, at least in my opinion, because she was talking about how people should be given a chance no matter what (or who) they like and if Amy was a person it wouldn't make sense

[scara-meow-che]

then they were roommates ┃ sweet deception with thoma

CW. NSFW (MDNI), afab! reader with no set of pronouns, roommate! thoma, use of sedatives, oral (f receiving), unprotected sex (wrap it!), pervert! thoma, noncon, he takes pics of you, male masturbation, pervert and a bit ooc thoma ♥︎

AN. another reposted work. i promise that i'd be posting new ones soon <3 just a little more from my part on actually editing the drafts that i have here but anyway, enjoy our ooc pervert, roomie thoma!

thoma is the sweetest roommate you’d ever ask for!

besides the fact that he constantly reminds you of the tasks you have absentmindedly forgotten or prepares breakfast in the morning, he also helps you with your projects whenever he has some time to spare.

you also want to take note of the tea he always makes!

“hey thoma! you haven’t told me what brand this tea is.”

the weekend had just arrived and you were left sprawled in the comforts of your blankets while watching another rom-com with thoma. he was laid adjacent to your side, the two loveseats occupied by your tired bodies.

“silly, how many times do i need to tell you that i handmade this! you can help me pick up the ingredients tomorrow morning if you want,” thoma offers with a smile. he can see how you immediately perked up in interest, nodding your head in agreement. “well, just make sure that you sleep early now since i often leave around 5.”

and he hears you grunt afterward.

“come on now, you wouldn’t miss an opportunity like this, yeah?” he encourages you, standing up from his seat. he eyes you, taking a huge sip of your tea before dropping down the cup on the nearby table. he shudders, a satisfied sigh escaping his lips before he reaches out both his hands to help you stand up.

as you do, you can feel your body slipping into a relaxed state, almost stumbling and falling back into the seat. but thoma was fast and had an arm wrapped around your body, gently cradling you in his warmth.

“easy now,” he mumbles. it felt quite nice to be wrapped in his embrace as the nature of his being caring seeps through while he guides you to your room. “getting sleepy now, aren’t you?”

you hummed, feeling the softness of your blanket caressing your skin as thoma gently lays you down on your bed. as each second passes by, you find your eyes can barely keep themselves open. and before you were consumed by sleep, you can hear the faint whisper from your roommate, a sweet smile etched on his face.

“sweet dreams f/n.”

it was truly sweet, thoma had always been like this every day and you barely notice the patterns. he is someone so kind, dependable, selfless, and caring so you trust him. there’s never a reason to doubt him, not when he had you gullible just as he wanted to.

don’t get him wrong but thoma genuinely cares for you. he likes you, a lot. but the intensity of his emotions quickly becomes too much for him to handle. you were so pretty, so perfect in his eyes that he can’t help but give you what he thinks you’d want, what you’d like, what you’d find worthy of your affection.

but he thinks that fucking you when you’re asleep is something you wouldn’t approve of.

when he sees the steady motion of your chest, lungs pumping air in and out of your relaxed and vulnerable state, he’s quick to adjust your body, letting you lie flat on your back and your legs pressed on each side. you’ve always looked beautiful to him, no matter what you wear, no matter how unkempt your hair was.

and he finds you most beautiful spread out like this for him to take. an angel you are in his eyes.

he groans when he feels his cock ache inside his tight pants. you’re just that perfect, fuck, he’s so damn lucky that he’s the one who gets to share this apartment space with you and not just a random bastard who wouldn’t treat you like he does.

he just hope you wouldn’t find out the debauched person he can be.

thoma wants to put all the blame on you. you should be held accountable for how adorable you are, and how your beaming eyes always had him hooked whenever you tell him what happened in uni. you should know that he’s utterly smitten from how much you cling to him, trusting him to the point where you don’t even notice that the tea he makes was the very reason why he had you pressed down like this.

of course, he wouldn’t dare hurt you. he’s not an asshole who just takes advantage of you like this and ends up hurting you in any way or form. thoma would spend the time preparing you, holding you, and pleasing you before he could even please himself.

as he had your legs spread open, he would gently remove your pants, revealing you in your underwear. he finds it cute how you wear this particular pair every weekend, the soft pastel red cotton undies he always love!

then he would notice how you’d shiver, feeling the cold gust of wind welcoming your flushed skin. thoma would cover you up with the blanket he made for you, smiling as he remembers how you were elated to receive this from him.

as he provides you a source of warmth, he would continue and leave kisses on your thighs, his large hands pressing down to spread your legs wider. he dares not leave any hickeys, as much as his mind tells him to mark you already. he can do that later when you’re finally sober enough to know what the hell he’s doing.

after leaving feather-like kisses on both your thighs, thoma would press two of his fingers between your clothed cunt, sliding up and down your slit. he can hear the gentle hums of satisfaction escaping your lips.

“even when you’re in deep sleep, you’ve always loved being pleasured like this, huh?” he whispers, putting in some pressure that the tip of his finger glides down your clit. “we wouldn’t want to mess this though,” he adds before he hooks two of his fingers to the band of your underwear and slowly pulls it off your body.

with your lower half exposed for his eyes to feast on, thoma almost came at the sight of your cunt slightly shimmering from your slick. he curses under his breath, impatient because he just wants to shove his cock but had put an immense focus so to mentally stops himself.

before he even loses control, he moves his head down and has his lips close in your cunt. he hums, satisfied, tasting you as his tongue laps up and down your clit. he can finally taste you, so sweet against the sensitive flesh of his mouth. you were addicting, thoma can’t help but give your pussy lips a kiss before he had his whole mouth sucking on your poor cunt.

he felt your thighs occassionally close back from the sensation, your eyebrows furrowing that your sleep-induced state tries to focus on the pleasurable feeling you’re receiving between your legs.

“you’re so damn cute,” thoma mutters before he goes back on assaulting your sensitive clit. he wants to hear you moan, to hear you whimper about how good he’s treating you, how good he was on eating you out, on pleasing you but that can wait.

after flicking his tongue on your sensitive nub, he had two fingers slowly pumping in and out of your hole. you were so wet, so ready for him to take but he wants to make you cum first. thoma goes back on sucking on your clit as his fingers smoothly go in and out of your hole, adjusting it to reach the most sensitive spot inside that he knew by heart. you were so warm, so tight around two of his digits.

the pleasure he gets from fucking you like this had him rutting his hips down the bed, cock itching to shove itself inside your warmth and have your tight walls snuggle it closer. his pants' already ruined from his pre. he groans as he does so, eyes peering up to witness how your back softly arched from the vibrations he had let go on your clit. thoma can feel how close you are, your warm walls sucking him in with fervor.

“that’s it f/n. go on, cum for me,” he says even if you won’t even hear him or know that it was him pleasuring you like this. your walls clamped on his fingers, your hole gushing out so much slick as thoma didn’t stop sliding his digits in and out to ride your high.

your body was still shaking a bit from the aftermath of your orgasm when thoma swiftly moved up and pulled his hard and aching cock out of his already-ruined pants. he hissed as the warmth of his hands made contact with his skin, quickly rubbing the bulbous head on your cunt to relieve himself from the pain.

“‘want you so badly, f/n, just let me—” slowly, he pushes himself inside your walls, grunting at the sudden tightness engulfing him. he eyes your body, those emerald hues watching every twitch of your eyebrow and how your chest lets go of a shaky breath as he finally pushes all the way in. “fuck, you feel so good around me.”

thoma’s head was spinning at the view he’s getting of you even more when he looks down to where you’re both connected. his long girth feels just perfect to be inside you, smoothly sliding in and out. hell, he wanted to roughly bend you in half and shove himself as deep as he could but you might wake up. he doesn’t want that but fuck, you’re making it so hard for him.

in seconds, he rocks his hips against your body, his thighs softly smacking against your butt as he slowly ruts himself in your core. thoma bites down on his lips, focusing on being gentle while getting the most out of your cunt. he closes his eyes, savoring how your walls sucks him in, tightening every time he bottoms out. he was so big yet he had managed to have you adjust to his size perfectly, molding you to have his cock alone.

he was close, the pleasure so intense on bis lower half he had somehow let go of his focus and started a rather quick pace in fucking you. he hears you whimpering, his mind thinking that you’re awake and was ushering him to go faster, that you’re close too, that you want him to make a mess out of you.

“anything for you, f/n. fuck, i’d do anything for you,” he utters with a moan, sweat glistening on his forehead, his balls slapping oh so loudly against your thighs covered with your slick. and he pulls out, groaning as his cold hands started to jerk on his sensitive cock before he lets out his thick cum just right outside your hole.

thoma could barely keep in his moans, shivering at how he coats your pussy lips with his load that you looked so damn messy but fuck, you’re just so beautiful in his eyes.

“i love you,” he whispers but gained back his focus in seconds when he hears you humming. his eyes darted back to your face only to see that you’re still fast asleep.

thoma sighs, shaking his head, and went back down to look at your cum-stained cunt. he could just jerk again at the sight but doesn’t want to wake you sooner than he’d think he might. but, before he puts your legs back down and it let relax, he pulls out his phone from his pocket and quickly took pictures of your body, more on how he ruined you below, angling it where he can see how he had claimed you to be his.

with this sweet smile on his face, he bends down and slowly left a kiss on your forehead.

“sweet dreams, angel. i hope that we can spend more time soon.”

⠀⠀scara-meow-che © 2023 ┃ do not copy, modify, or repost ANY of my content

[misfitwashere]

We the People will succeed

A note of reassurance on election eve. 

ROBERT REICH

NOV 4

Friends,

These are the most stressful and nerve-wracking days I can recall. I vacillate between optimism and fear, hope and dread. 

You? 

I don’t recall an election in which the two candidates represent such opposite poles of the American character. 

Harris is the rule of law; Trump, lawlessness. Harris, inclusion; Trump, exclusion. Harris, decency; Trump, loathsomeness. Harris, the American Dream; Trump, the American nightmare. 

Harris wants the best for the country; Trump wants the best only for himself. 

I don’t need to go on. You know all this. The question is why doesn’t everyone else? That almost half of America appears willing to vote for Trump is itself shocking. 

I write this short missive to you every day (sometimes more than once a day) because I want to fortify you. Not just with facts, analysis, and logic, but also with reminders of our shared morality. 

I want to reassure you about the common good. 

A large part of that common good consists of our concern for something larger than personal wealth, power, or advantage over others — in other words, the opposite of Trump. 

The common good is what we owe one another as members of the same society. These duties create a set of relationships that give us a civilized way of living together. 

But the common good has been under assault in two ways.

First, it’s been under assault by people with great wealth who have been using their wealth to corrupt our democracy and spew cynicism about the whole project of self-government. 

These people include Elon Musk, Rupert Murdoch, Peter Thiel, and Tim Mellon. 

Let me also add two powerful people whose cowardice has been reprehensible: Jeff Bezos, who won’t allow his Washington Post to endorse Kamala Harris because he’s afraid of angering Donald Trump. And Jamie Dimon, chair and CEO of JPMorgan Chase, America’s largest bank, who never misses an opportunity to comment on public issues but has gone silent when it comes to the dangers posed by Trump. 

Worse yet, hugely wealthy people like them have rigged the American political and economic system to their own benefit. They have siphoned off a significant part of the gains of the economy. 

The median wage for the bottom 90 percent of Americans has risen just 15 percent in real terms over the last forty years. Over the same years, the stock market has risen 5000 percent. In the 1960s, CEO pay was 20 times the typical worker’s pay. Today, it’s 320 times. 

Second, the common good has been under assault by people who have been exploiting Americans’ fears of others to build their political power. The “others” include immigrants, people of color, gay people, trans people, secularists, even women.

The perpetrators include Donald Trump, JD Vance, and much of the current Republican Party, which has become a cesspool of bigotry and lies. 

There’s an important relationship between these two threats to the common good. 

A major reason so many Americans are willing to follow Trump and blow up the system is they feel they have nothing to lose. 

For years they’ve worked hard and followed the rules but have gotten nowhere. They’ve become frustrated, anxious, and angry. Trump, Vance, and the Republican Party have tapped into these feelings and channeled them into hate of “them” — as if immigrants, people of color, gay and trans people, secularists, and women are responsible for what has happened to white working class men. 

Both threats to the common good are inviting brutality. They are undermining decency. They are corroding our shared morality.

In these ways, Trump and his sycophants and funders have elevated the dark side of the American psyche. They have normalized viciousness in America.

Since Trump came on the scene in 2015, hate crimes have soared. America has become even more polarized. Average Americans say and do things to people they disagree with that in a different time would have been unthinkable.

Defeating Trump and Vance tomorrow (or however long it takes for the election to be decided) is only the first step. 

The next step is to hold Trump accountable for his criminality. 

Third, we must contain the billionaires who are undermining American democracy. We must demand a tax on great wealth, more vigorous antitrust enforcement to break up monopolies, and true campaign finance reform.

Fourth, and hardest of all: We must ensure that Americans who have voted for Trump — whether out of anger, despair, bigotry, or delusion — are brought back into the realm of rationality and included in the nation’s future prosperity.

We must create means to achieve the American Dream that do not require a four-year college degree. We have to get big money out of our politics. Social media must filter out hateful disinformation.

The preamble to the Constitution of the United States opens with the phrase “We the people,” conveying a sense of shared interest and a desire “to promote the general welfare,” as the preamble goes on to say. 

Which brings me back to tomorrow’s election. 

I know you’re scared and stressed. So am I. Some of you may feel quite alone right now. You are not. 

All I can say to reassure you is that time and again, Americans have opted for the common good. 

We supported one another during the Great Depression. We were victorious over Hitler’s fascism and Soviet communism. We survived Joe McCarthy’s communist witch hunts, Richard Nixon’s crimes, Lyndon Johnson’s Vietnam War, the horrors of 9/11, and George W. Bush’s wars in Iraq and Afghanistan. So far, we have survived Donald Trump’s malignant narcissism. 

The common good in America is still alive. 

If we are true to our history and ideals, Kamala Harris will win, and we’ll get through the destruction Trump will again try to wreak on our democracy in the wake of his defeat, as we did before. And we will get on with the work of achieving broadly-shared prosperity and strengthening our democracy. 

We the people will succeed. 

[neflil]

Aah here is the text post...

The usual couple doodles ::D

And future projects / catching up vv

*taps mic* Yaelokre gabbro makes a return. Also new song is out! Go listen to it if you haven't jshfjjs

Just gabbooo :3c

Okay so, gather up everyone. Schools started, I suddenly have to study and memorize two latin texts within a few days, history, and ancient Greek philosophy analyses and translations. Not fun, kinda! I don't have as much time as I did during summer and I can't finish a full drawing within a day. *But* ideas are as vivid as ever. And honestly I really want to do some of the stuff I'm imagining. Some are already in the works !!! These are mostly gabbro/time buddies related. Sorry fans of other characters but I spent the entire summer only drawing slate </3

Sooo... What to expect from me? Well:

• I'm writing a short fic! Which is close to being done- Without saying much- a replay of certain memories before the eventual death/creation of everything.

• I am currently doing an OC piece with two owlks ::D this should probably be next post if I finish it soon!

• More short animatics. Cus I have... So many songs... That I want to draw with the time buddies. Short ranging from a couple of seconds, to maybe a minute, so don't expect much. All I'll say is- guhhh y'all better enjoy flower face because all of these are with her songs lmfao..

> There are two songs atleast that I want to make almost full animatics, but that's probably not going to happen, so instead I'll take sections from them.

> Two lyrics from the same song I made last time buddies animatic. Cus I had a vision and I must fulfil it. If this continues, at this rate I'll animate the entire song every time I get struck with a vision, part by part lmfao.

> A possible gabbro centric animatic with the chorus of a song.

• And well, more school doodles/drawings ofc.. but those are kinda random. Please, if you have any suggestions drop them in my ask box!

• A certain fic might get an animatic. I won't elaborate on this. Patience.

• Lastly Mica and Slate piece, bc apparently I've never drawn them and that should be a crime. Some fluff to break up all this incoming angst.

These have a priority list ofc, but the way I work is pretty much spontaneous. So whatever I'm up for will take priority. It'll take time but I hope to have finished all of these within the next couple of months. We'll see how things go... I also have to balance other things and art in-between so blehhh. It's a mess.

Reminder if anyone wants to browse through my art easier without having to go through my entire account- the tag #noofposting is here for that reason. o7

Also also, since I now have these two animatics and more to come- to not get lost in my acc, I'll also tag them with #noofanimatics to be able to filter through my stuff easier.

[moonchild-in-blue]

Vessel and the New Lore

So the new messages got me thinking and connecting dots. I don't know coherent this will sound, but I think there's something here? Anyways. Something about the relationship Vessel has with himself vs. The Mask.

I thought it'd be interesting to link the parallels between the Room Bellow show and the Fall For Me video messages, with the new ones and the album. Long post ahead so I'll put a cut somewhere.

(This is the second time I'll be writing this cus tumblr decided to be a hoe and deleted my entire draft so if it seems weird, you know. Pro tip: never use the app for long posts.)

Disclaimer: I'm in no way endorsing or encouraging any type of discourse about Vessel's irl identity and/or other [Redacted] and such. Unfortunately I do know things, but not everyone does. Respect the band; don't spoil it for others. If you know, keep it to yourself.

So, starting with the first message:

Mask: Why am I here? What is my purpose in all of this? Vessel: Your purpose is twofold. You protect me, from them, and you also protect them from me. Mask: How is it that I serve to protect anyone from anything, that makes no sense. Vessel: In order for all of this to work there has to be a certain boundary in place. They need to be able to project themselves onto this, without anyone else's identity getting in the way. In turn, I need to be able to show my true self to them in a way that does not compromise their ability to connect. Mask: So that's what I am? A boundary? Vessel: Yes.

We have here a confirmation of what he has told us many times before, either indirectly or not. The Mask/the Vessel persona serves as a way for him to connect and engage with us, while keeping both parties safe. We get to project onto and take from him some sort of comfort and catharsis, without any external factors to influence and skew the way we interpret his music, and He gets to expose and deal with his pain and negative thoughts in a protected environment. Who he is is irrelevant, we're merely here to share and understand each other.

Through the anonymity the mask offers, he is free to be as vulnerable and open with us as he wants, while keeping his identity safely stored away. The Mask serves as the physical reminder of how much we are allowed to know about him, and in return, how far he can (or should) expose himself without compromising his true identity. By living as Vessel and forgetting himself, he is ironically free to bare his most fragile and imperfect parts of himself on display (much like how we're all infinitely more honest about our struggles behind a fake online name than in irl.)

(curiously, this seems to be a contradiction to Higher's second verse, which feeds into the idea that Sleep is not the protector Vessel sometimes claims Them to be - "With all that you believe / You still refuse to shelter me")

From the Room Bellow:

"I experienced a great deal of pain in my life, however I do not believe I have suffered as you have suffered. Perhaps that Is another reason why we are here. At the very least, we have all suffered."

Lore wise, we are told time and time again that Vessel is a "sacred guardian", a messenger, a weapon, a tool - a physical vessel - for Sleep and Their message. He is the answer to Sleep's necessity for connection with us. And for that to work, he willingly gives up his identity for Sleep. For us.

Mask: I don't believe you. I believe there is more to it than that. I believe you are afraid of something. Vessel: We are all afraid of something, are we not? Mask: What is it you are so afraid they will see? Vessel: That I am exactly like everyone else. ... Vessel: I think I am afraid of becoming you. Mask: What does that even mean? Vessel: My life is becoming gradually consumed by you. Before long, all that I am will be contained within you. Then, one day, when I no longer wish to wear you, there will be nothing else left.

"I am afraid, are you afraid? I want to understand what it is to let go." (Fall For Me)

At the end of the day, Vessel is just some guy - he fears, and aches, and bleeds the same as us. We're equals. But as Vessel, he can't allow himself to crack, to break the illusion. As Vessel (and to connect to the lore, as the vessel of a god), he poses as someone we can look up to, someone who's there to carry our pain for us, almost like a symbiotic relationship of sorts - we feed on each other's emotions and energies.

From the Room Bellow:

"To love oneself is not the easy task we are sometimes told it is. (...) My own path towards greater self acceptance is paved with the art that I create. It is a path I continue to stumble down at the expense of everything else."

Without getting too much into it, it seems Vessel/Sleep Token were created as a sort of coping mechanism to deal with whatever it is that He went through. And he seems to have achieved that - he escaped his former self and became "Vessel", someone who's allowed to cry and rage and let his feeling loose. Someone who receives praise and comfort for it, someone who is finally understood.

Except that somehow, that same safety the Mask offered him backfired. Because how can you tell what's you and what's not? It appears that the lines between Vessel vs. Him have blurred beyond recognition. Because "Nothing lasts forever", so once ST ends, and Vessel is no longer a necessity, who does he become? Can he go back to his old self? Is there even a self to go back to?

Do you ever believe that we can turn into different people? It's getting harder to be myself. Do you wish that you loved me? Could we ever release? Is it better to just not feel?

I think it's worth mentioning DYWTYLM. Usually when I listen to it, I just interpret as being about self-love/esteem, suicidal thoughts, insecurities, yada yada yada, BUT! I think it kinda fits this right?? Like a conversation between Vessel and Him, the guy behind the mask.

And really, if you think about it, I think this dialogue is the basis of what TMBTE is. It's Vessel facing all these different facets of himself, the past versions, the ugly sides, coming to terms with them and learning to move on. And in the end, we see he finally does realize, albeit somewhat reluctantly, that there is more to it, than he can "be someone new", even if it means he needs to shed and let go of past versions of himself.

(of course, this is putting aside the whole trilogy and the story we've been told about Sleep/Vessel/Whatever romantic entanglement he was involved in. i'm merely giving this some other meaning and choosing to look through a very specific lens. call it a parallel universe if you want)

It's him accepting that although there may not be a version of himself to come back to, his Eden so to speak, there is finally something more waiting for him. But I'll get more into it later.

Also worth mentioning, this part of conversation-

Mask : Do you think they want you to cry? Do you think they like it? Vessel : Not as such, I think they just want to know that I am feeling something, feeling what they are feeling, perhaps. Mask : Do you think that this amount of crying is healthy for you? Vessel: I don't know. But at least I feel something, if I don't feel anything than why would I even do this?

-seems to be directly co-related to those lines on DYWTYLM. He wonders if maybe would be better not to feel at all, as if really asking himself, "should I continue to live as Vessel?", because that is his/The Mask's function.

(I almost forgot to mention the "Smile back at me" / "I can only ever see them smiling. That's good, I want them to smile." co-relations, but you see where I'm going right?")

Mask: It seems you have forgotten who you are. Before you had me you were nothing. All of this artifice, all this pathetic conjecture about your identity, it is nothing but a manifestation of how short-sighted and solipsistic you have become. I lifted you from misery and obscurity. You would be better to become me. You are nothing without me. You always were nothing without me.

"I am nothing without this music. I am nothing without this mask." (Room Bellow)

Sleep is a dickhead. And there it is - another confirmation of what we all assumed, of what he has also told us many times before in different words. Vessel, or better yet, Him, struggles with imposter syndrome, and a part of him seems to believe his worth is exclusively tied to his ability to create music and perform. Because who matters is Vessel, not Him. The praise and adoration, the glory, belongs to solely Vessel (in-lore, to Sleep).

He does not matter. He is insignificant. He is nothing.

So it makes sense to see how much he wishes to be someone else. How dependent he on his Mask (on Sleep). He can't shed that new identity away, because somehow, it became is ONLY identity. And yet, he knows that one day that must happen. And from a creative/artist standpoint, when you expose yourself the way he does into your art, almost bleeding into it, if that outlet is taken away, you really are left with nothing.

(yall, read the poem "about the PEN conference" by Bukowski).

"The truth is, I am ugly, I am inadequate, I am lost. I am no God." (Fall For Me)

And can I just say, how incredibly heartbreaking it is to hear him talk about himself like that? I have so, so much love and respect for Ves, it's almost ridiculous to think he is only worth the weight of his mask. I would give him a million hugs if I could. Whether or not he still believes that, I hope he one day can look at himself the way we do, and be proud and happy of the amazing human that he is.

I also think that, and this is just me rambling, their sudden explosion to fame must've taken some sort of toll of sorts. It must be SUCH an amazing feeling to see this many people connect and dedicate themselves to something you created, to be able to read between the lines of you thoughts, but it must just equally as scary. Suddenly there's SO many eyes on you, demanding and picking apart every gesture. Viciously clawing at the mask for a glimpse of the fragile soul within. It must not be easy to cope - and this goes to everyone in Sleep Token. They have to deal with so much unfairness, it's disgusting.

Vessel: You. Are. Wrong. In the end, my fractured sense of self was only another piece of fuel for the fire that burns in the eyes of these people before us. They too are pained. They too not know who they truly are. They are each stood alone on a stage of their own. And yet, they are here. United by that sense of never truly belonging. They see something beyond their own bleak horizons. And they reach for it. Together. So let us join now. To reflect their joy and to serve as a conduit for their anguish. To swallow their fear. To Worship.

"So for now let me serve as a living drama of your pain. If we are to be submerged then let us be submerged together." (Fall For Me)

And this is the part that really breaks me. He knows how much we need this, how much we rely on his music, on his words. He fights against his own claims that he has no value - he serves a purpose and that purpose is to serve the audience. Us. To take our struggles, our desires, and make it his own. To basically serve as a sacrifice for our well-being. To suffer, to feel together. To serve as a living drama of OUR pain.

"I will smile through the agony for you".

Because in the end, we're all equally broken. Because that's what the Mask is for, the anonymity, the mystery, the band - for us to "project ourselves" onto him, onto them. They are vessels, servants, worshippers of a god who shelters them; much like how we interact with their music, much like how Vessel thinks his purpose is for.

(and I could expand on this weird worshipper vs worshipee cycle, but i'm tired and i can't ramble on for too long. someone more clever than me feel free to expand)

(a post edit: peep that "fire that burns in the eyes of these people before us" vs "those eyes like fire, I'm a winged insect, you're a funeral pyre" parallel. Vessel sacrificing himself to us, for us. Performing and being Vessel as something he cannot but feel compelled to do.)

From the Room Bellow:

"We are here to silently collect. To project ourselves onto one-another. We are here to remember. We are here to forget."

WHICH BRINGS US TO EUCLID.

No, by now The night belongs to you This bough has broken through I must be someone new

If we are to take the messages as a complement to the album, then this definitely marks the "shift" in Vessel's perspective. He CAN be more, and he NEEDS to be more. To be new.

The night does not belong to god - it belongs to US. To Him. Not just Vessel, but Him. Obviously this is all speculation, but it really feels like he's ready to let go of so many things, and move on. To renew himself, to stand up and fight. To finally "bite back". He doesn't seem to be completely changed, as there are things he still seems to hold on to (just listen to Euclid). But it´s different now. The "vicious cycle is over."

"They see something beyond their own bleak horizons. And they reach for it. Together. So let us join now."

Vessel seems to emphasize the "collectiveness" of what Sleep Token is and represents quite often. So in a way, it´s him saying "We´ve all suffered together, we've all experienced so many things together, so let us reach for something better as one. Let us all become new. You are not alone in this, and neither am I, so hold on to us and be happy."

WHICH IS!!!!! JUST!!!!!

I think this shift represents something important. My guess, like many others have said, is that Something Big is going to happen in/after Wembley. I don't know what, I don't know if it's truly the end of the road for ST, as many speculate, but something is definitely going to happen. Whatever it is, I hope this is a positive change for them, and specially Vessel, and I am just so so grateful to be part of this amazing community of ours.

(if you read the whole thing, I love you and thank you and I'm sorry. My brain was itching real bad and this had to be let out. Don't take this a proper analysis or whatever, this is me squeezing excess water off the old rag that is my mind)

[captainuranium543]

Hi! I just wanted to know your thoughts on this post here: https://www.tumblr.com/yamishika/761491771751596032/something-that-has-been-bothering-me-regarding-the

Do you agree with this? Disagree with this? Was this just a light comedic moment? It def feels out of character for Jellal to a large degree. You have such great takes on Erza in general, that I wanted to check about this. I tried looking at your posts (now that I have better cell service) and didnt see this on your posts list. Apologies if you’ve covered it already. Thanks in advance!

the post in question^

thanks so much for this ask actually cuz I have been resisting the urge to yap about this forever and now I have an excuse ahaha.

honestly I completely agree, I've been saying it forever but as fairy tail has gone on Mashima has kind of stopped putting as much thought into it has he did early on. Early on the characters where the center of the narrative and honestly I think that's when ft is at its best because that has always been the best part if ft as a whole. The tower of heaven and the trauma Erza and Jellal faced along with countless others had so much impact on the story as late as season 6 because of just how massive a tragedy it was.

starting with Erza and Kiria, it feels especially disgusting for this to happen to specifically Erza because she has spent so much of her life being treated as less then human already. In the tower her purpose was literally to work herself to death, they needed sacrifices and lots of them. As soon as she wasn't useful to them anymore she would killed without a second thought and her life would only be another number added to the massive death toll of the r system project. she wasn't a person in there, she was a tool. Even after the tower she was still under someone else's control (on a leash you might say) with Jellal holding the lives of her friends over her head to keep her quiet, constantly taunting his power over her by spying on her with seigrain in the magic counsel. this is exactly what happens with Kiria and it feels genuinely horrifying to see it happen again but still its just played for fanservice and I find that incredibly irritating.

as for the Erza vs Jellal fight in the Aldoron arc, here we have a scene that is objectively horrifying to both of them. Erza and Jellal share INTENSE trauma associated with mind control and the loss of free will, and yet the scene is played for laughs and fanservice.

I do understand why Hiro did this, if they took the scene seriously it would probably set Jellal right back into his old ways again of avoiding Erza like the plague which he doesn't want because he's trying to push them closer together. I get that but its still feels like such a missed opportunity to give them some kind of emotional development which neither has had in so long. I'm gonna get into my own idea for the fight here so bear with me.

The fight begins and they intercut it with flash backs to the tower of heaven arc, or even further back to their actual childhood, showing how genuinely afraid of him Erza is right now while also trying to control herself and keep her "fight" instinct at bay because she doesn't want to hurt him. the fight from her perspective should be chaotic, rapidly throwing her between past and present while she desperately tries to hold onto a sense of reality and remind herself its not him.

now imagine this, at some point she loses control and really starts to spiral and he gets the upper hand. she's totally beaten and exhausted after trying to fight him and her demons at once and while she's on the ground he approaches her, lifts her up, and we get a call back to this scene.

throughout this fight we never really see Jellal's face, its mostly been from Erza's perspective and when we do see his face its a flashback to a different time while he was mind controlled. Now in the present jellal says something, idk what he would say exactly, but its something similar to the "it was the color of your hair" moment where it reminds Erza of something he said to her while he was himself. Erza finally snaps back to reality, she looks down at him and we finally get a clear view of his face in the present, and we see that he's crying.

that is enough to fully snap Erza back and finally give the fight her all, because its not just for her sake its for both of them. he would never forgive himself if he hurt her so she's going to have to be the one to do it even if it hurts because its the only way she's going to save him. and more than anything she wants to save him. (Again, call back to the tower of heaven, she was to late to save him then and it weighs on her to this day, she wont be to late this time.) anyway fight ends shortly after that she knocks him out and she's crying because obviously she never wanted to hurt him either she's just taking one for the team (like always but that's another rant). Just before Jellal passes out he looks at her and he thanks her for saving him (ONCE AGAIN CALL BACK TP THE TOWER OF HEAVEN but this time its not manipulation he's being fr showing us that its really him now). he passes out, erza gets up, looks back at him maybe one last time, says shes sorry, then goes off to go keep fighting. fight over

case and point I think this could have been sick as hell and i'm sad it didn't happen. its not that I have a problem with fanservice I just think it should be tasteful at least a little.

[jackseverywhere]

Wanna know one of my hc for Johnny Fiama that is also kinda crack ship ?

I thought about that months ago lol I think it came up because at that time Johnny and Lips were my beloveds and it would be fun to show that at some point they tried to have something but it was so catastrophic that they didn’t go past the two dates.

Around 2005 Johnny wanted to formally come out to the media as Bi. So walking around some bars he met Lips, playing solo on stage, y´ know, because in those years he was apart from the band. Johnny asked him for a duet, bought him drinks and offered to accompany him to his apartment, holding hands.

And seem idyllic… but it was only in theory! Despite having many things in common, Johnny and Lips didn’t have any chemistry. Mainly because Johnny was more focused on attracting some paparazzi than on his date. And on Lips' part because he agree to accompany the man because, deep inside, his calm voice and bearing of Frank Sinatra slightly reminded him of Zoot, finding that in fact, they are nothing alike.

To Johnny’s fortune, a paparazzi saw them just as they left the bar, making sure to squeeze Lips' hand, a little too hard and smile at the camera. Now, Lips doesn't mind being seen holding hands with Johnny Fiama, let alone with a man, but someone putting a camera with a flash straight in his face, naturally.

Well, if the date was so terrible, why did they go out again? Easy, once Johnny got the exclusive he wanted, he went back to being the flirty man we know, so Lips decided to give them another chance.

Somehow the second date was worse! They met in Johnny’s apartment and every topic they decided to talk about just made their differences more obvious for the worse, making everything uncomfortable. Stuff like:

They said goodbye that day, with the silent promise of never seeing each other again. Although I find it funny to think that Johnny actually refers to Lips as his ex, even though they only had two dates. Because Lips is a beauty and it’s always cool to have such an attractive ex.

But they met again 16 years later, during the filming of The Muppets Haunted Mansion.

Both were surprised to see the other on the set, as they never actually knew that the two were part of The Muppets; Lips, because during the time he was away from the band he decided not to know anything about The Muppets and Johnny…simply because he is distracted.

So Johnny decided to say hi to Lips, friendly:

But hey, some things changed at Lips… he came back with the band!

And yes, The Electric Mayhem and Johnny Fiama already knew each other, they worked together on several Muppet projects. Even so, Johnny never knew that Lips was part of the band.

During the breaks both talked a lot about many things, so Johnny found out that Lips already had a relationship with someone in the band, getting a ¨yes¨ to each member when he ask who it was. Their conversation flowed great this time, even Johnny was somewhat disappointed that Lips already had a relationship (or so he thought, he didn’t quite understand).

But Lips and the band invited him to hang out with them, even after the recording. Lips and Johnny agreed to call themselves ex´s to the media, only to generate gossip.

...And Sal? Hahahaha WELL! Sal was there all the time and always knew Johnny’s intentions. Sal looked after him in the distance always, he wasn’t going to let Johnny walk alone at night on unknown streets! also Johnny and Sal live together, he could hear through the walls that awkward date. Although he is the first to mock the fleeting infatuation of his best friend, he accompany him during the duel, even buy him ice cream.

And that is all! I thought about this months ago and the memory came to me because someone asked about hc of Johnny, a post that I plan to do later, but I wanted to expand on this silly point separately. Thanks if you read so far, you just read a long crackship fanfiction xd

[sassy-bi-latina]

I have a new ramble incoming that might get me in deep waters with some bl stans. I'm sorry, I TRULY mean this with no hate.

First and foremost, I want to say I in NO WAY, SHAPE OR FORM mean hate towards Fourth nor Gemini

Context:

If you know me, you know I'm a ff reader, if you don't know me, well now you do. I mainly use AO3.

I'm currently watching 23.5 degrees, I love it so I went to read some fics.

There are 115 fics under the show's tag. I got excited thinking people work fast, absolutely not realizing the pilot trailer was out in 2022. I knew I've been waiting. I just didn't realize how long.

Previously to 2024, there were only 3 Ongsa fics.

Okay I'm rambling here and I'm not gonna edit the post. I write as I think.

So this is the context. Which brings me to my point.

I'm actually happy Fourth and Gemini are not part of the project anymore. I don't know them as actors. But I'm sure they would have done great. But I'm glad they aren't here.

As I said, there's 115 fics in total as of right now, Sunday 31st of March, but once you filter out Night/North you are left with 37, and that still leaves you with some other mlm tags. If you filter those out, you're left with 22. TWENTY. TWO. fics in TOTAL. And excuse me but I find that sad. And you might think, oh maybe you filter out some Ongsa/Sun fics when filtering everyone else. Yeah, I did, like 3 where they weren't main. And not even the ones left are only theirs but they're sapphic ships of the show. It's 25% of the totality of the fics made, in a show THEY ARE STARING.

Look, I'm the first to say, ship whoever you want, don't let canon cut your wings. I'm okay with people shipping, I'm happy people love something so much they decide to make art about it.

And this post isn't about going against these two actors or their fan base. It's mostly a I'm tired post.

I'm tired that sapphics in media always come second or third or whatever place but never first. Not even in their own shows. It's discouraging.

I'm tired of popular sapphic shows in western media getting cancelled left and right. I'm tired of barely there rep in the asian countries' media I watch. I'm tired of being shadowed by the latest pretty mlm couple.

So yeah, I'm happy they're not here. I know their fans could have brought more views which is a bonus. But I feel we would have media flowing with people talking about them and we want companies that GLs can have the same pull.

I'm happy that we still have gay men rep because I don't want that being pushed aside. But I prefer this approach where the focus are not one but two sapphic couples.

I also like that the boys aren't models and that they look nerdy. And soft and just, I just like this approach better.

If you read all this, thanks!! If you read all this and you're a fic writer. Continue that fic you left forgotten or are unsure to finish. You're marvelous and I love you. Y'all kept me sane during hard times.

Final note, I want to remind, once again, no hate to the actors nor their fanbase.

I also don't know how much sense this all made. Sorry for that.

[pocket-sized-nightmare]

this post by @teapot-of-tyrahn reminded me that pearl was canonically in a coma on empires s1 for long enough to fill her empire with cobwebs. which made me wonder – how did she wake up from it? so consider: gempearl

The creatures just keep attacking.

They’ve morphed from skeletons to demons to faceless shadows, but they refuse to stop. Pearl’s swords never last. There’s nothing in her environment that’s stronger than wood, and something seems to weaken its durability with every new sword she makes. Pearl can feel her energy waning and her strength slipping away. She doesn’t have much fight left. The worst part?

None of it is real.

Pearl’s body is heavy with the weight of sleep. She knows she’s dreaming. The realization would normally be enough to awaken her, but somehow, she’s remained unconscious through this one. She’s tried everything – pinching herself, screaming, splashing water on her face, even cutting herself with her blade – but the nightmare refuses to release her. Whatever she does, PearlescentMoon will not wake up.

A shadow grabs her by the hair and drags her backwards. She claws at its arm until it lets go of her, then stabs through it with the remains of her last sword. It bleeds with crimson ink, but it refuses to die. Pearl turns and runs, desperate to find another tree. I can’t let them kill me. This can’t be the end. If I die in the dream…

She doesn’t want to think about that.

I have to get out of here. I have to wake up.

Gem has done a lot of questionable things in her life, but she’s never broken down a castle door.

It’s Pearl’s castle door, too. Her partner. If there’s anyone whose infrastructure Gem wants to preserve, it’s Pearl. There is absolutely no reason why she should be approaching the castle gate with an invisibility potion and her staff.

It’s just… Pearl hasn’t responded to her messages in two weeks. She hasn’t been seen since then. Jimmy only just rescued Gem and Scott from imprisonment, and Xornoth’s new minions are still furious about it. And now, the Gilded Helianthian castle is locked.

“It’s just to make sure,” Gem mutters to herself. “Just to check on her.” With a deep breath, Gem points her staff at the locked door and whispers a breeze spell.

Even with her wind charge, Gem has to use her full body weight to get the door open. She stumbles into the entryway and stares in concern. The spell definitely broke the lock, and Pearl’s door is not that heavy. The pit in Gem’s stomach grows. Something’s wrong here. “Pearl?”

Her voice echoes through empty hallways, but there’s no response from her partner. She sees cobwebs in corners and dust on shelves. Still, the lock was on the inside of the door. Someone must be there. Unless…

The tiniest thought of what if she’s dead crosses Gem’s mind, but she refuses to let herself process it. She would have seen a death message. Pearl must still be alive somewhere. She has to be. “Pearl, where are you? Please say something!”

The castle remains silent and still. Gem takes off running, checking every room she passes. It barely registers in her mind that she has the castle layout memorized as though it was her second home. It doesn’t feel like home right now. She needs Pearl. She has to find Pearl.

Gem runs up the stairs and reaches Pearl’s bedroom. The door is closed, and there are cobwebs across the doorframe. It looks like it hasn’t been opened for…

for…

for as long as Pearl’s been missing.

Gem doesn’t so much as hesitate before casting another wind charge.

She has no idea what she’s going to see when the door flies open. Her mind races through a thousand possibilities, each more horrifying than the next. She casts another wind charge at the door, desperate to reach her partner. “Please. Pearl, no, you’ve got to be alive, please just be alive, please be okay…” She’s not used to this feeling. Even while Sausage and Joey were holding her captive, she refused to beg until the very end. She refuses to make herself vulnerable for anyone’s sake. So why is it that now, when she isn’t even the one in danger, she can’t hold herself together?

Gem casts one more spell and throws her entire body against the bedroom door. This time, it splinters and cracks in two. She collapses into Pearl’s bedroom, leans her head against the wall, and takes a deep breath. A piece of her wants to turn around and run away before that awful feeling can hit her again. Her stomach aches. She presses the cold crystal tip of her staff to her forehead and closes her eyes. Void, what would Pearl say?

The cool, smooth texture against Gem's skin is grounding. She takes another deep breath. “She’d say… she’d say something like ‘letting your walls down is good for you,’ or ‘loving people can scare you sometimes,’ or…” She blinks back a stray tear. “Or honestly, she’d say something like, ‘Aw, you nugget, I’m really that important to you? When did that happen?’” Gem laughs under her breath. “But I’ve gotta…” She uses her staff to push herself to her feet. “I’ve gotta find her first. And then she can make fun of me.”

There’s a soft, distressed sound from across the room.

Gem’s smile fades.  She races over. “Pearl?”

----

Pearl has known she’s dying for days, but now it’s starting to scare her.

She misses once every few hits now, and it’s getting harder to get up when she falls. Her whole body aches. No matter how loud she screams for help, nothing she does breaks through to the real world. Giving in sounds more appealing by the minute. 

No. Don’t even think about it. She’s a warrior, isn’t she? She’s supposed to fight through everything, to defend her empire and her friends without so much as a cut on her skin. Xornoth wants her gone, but she’s fought him before, right? She can win this. She’s not hopeless. She’s not–

A shadow shrieks and dives for her, pinning her to the ground. The weight on her chest makes it hard to breathe. She’s never been more tempted to give up.

There’s a sudden sound from behind her. It’s soft, almost imperceptible, but familiar – a voice, speaking in low tones. She knows that voice. It’s Gem’s voice. Either she’s somehow hallucinating within her own nightmare, or her partner has found a way back to her.

The shadow tries to claw at Pearl’s skin, but Pearl summons a newfound wave of energy and kicks it in the chest as hard as she can. She stumbles to her feet. “Gem? Is that you? Help me! Get me out of here! Please!”

She isn’t sure how much of her message has gotten through to the waking world. All she can do is hope it’s enough.

----

“Pearl!”

Gem shakes her shoulder, but Pearl stays fast asleep – beyond asleep, really. Her skin is clammy and pale, and she looks like she’s starving to death. If it wasn’t for her unsteady breathing and pounding heart, Gem would think Pearl was already gone. “Pearl, wake up! You have to get up!”

Pearl doesn’t move.

“Oh, void.” Gem struggles to hold back tears. “Pearl, no, what’s happening? Are you sick? Is there a cure? What happened?”

She doesn’t even stir.

“Pearl, wake up! Please, just give me a sign! How can I heal you?” She’s not going to cry. GeminiTay, Wizard of the Crystal Cliffs, does not cry. She keeps a level head and solves problems before they can hurt her. She does not let Xornoth or their corruption emotionally affect her. She has to keep herself safe. She has to keep herself safe, even if Pearl isn’t. Right?

“Fuck it,” Gem says aloud. Her eyes spill over with tears. “Not doing this. Not today. Pearl, please, you have to come back to me.” She kisses Pearl on the forehead, trying not to focus on how cold Pearl’s skin is. “I love you so much.”

Pearl doesn’t stir. She doesn’t make a sound. But somewhere in the emptiness of her body, she manages to make her hand grab Gem’s wrist.

Three short squeezes, three long, and then three short again. Gem doesn’t know much Morse code, but she does know exactly what an SOS signal looks like. That’s a distress call. She’s in danger. But how can she be in danger if she’s asleep? Unless…

The locked doors. The unbreakable quiet. The impossibility of communication. Gem knows this story. 

She’s lived it.

----

The voice grows closer and louder, surrounding the whole dream. It’s still unintelligible, but it’s more familiar now.

Four words – give me a sign – cut through the noise. Pearl punches an approaching shadow. “I’m trying, Gem! I can’t! Where are you?”

More noise, and then a whisper. You have to come back to me. It’s the clearest phrase yet. The shadows hiss and shrink away.

And then, for the first time in days, she can sense again. A soft, warm point of pressure on her forehead. The scent of glowstone and nutmeg. Words she hasn’t heard in weeks but keeps with her every day: I love you so much. The fuzzy outline of her partner sitting next to the bed. A way out. She has a way out.

Pearl puts every last ounce of strength she has into wrapping her hand around Gem’s wrist and sending out a distress signal. Her energy ebbs away. Xornoth’s got me, she tries to whisper, but sound refuses to escape her lips. Please help me.

From the way Gem reacts, Pearl hopes she’s right to believe her partner got the message anyway.

----

Xornoth kidnapped Pearl. Jimmy found me and Scott too easily last time. He needed somewhere safer to hold her, somewhere she wouldn’t be found. And she’s beaten him in a fight before. Where better to hold a fighter than a realm of her own monsters?

Gem's mind goes unsteady with a new wave of panic. But I’m not a healer. I explode things and make potions. Katherine is good at healing people. Sausage is– I mean, Sausage was the one who always took care of us before everything. I’m not a savior. I don’t know what I’ll do if I try to save Pearl. I should get– That thought dies quickly in her head. No, I don’t have time to get anyone. If I leave, she might not make it. This one has to be me.

Gem takes out her staff and presses the crystal against Pearl’s forehead. “I’ve got you. You’re gonna be okay. Please hang on. This is gonna take a lot out of me.”

She closes her eyes and whispers a spell under her breath. A small beam of purple light illuminates the crystal, then floods into Pearl’s mind. Gem searches, reaching out with all her power to break through shadowy fog. “Pearl, it’s me. Just try to move towards the light. I’m gonna get you out.”

The shadows scream and swarm Pearl, dragging her back into the darkness. She struggles forward, reaching out in desperation. “Gem, they won’t let go of me! Help me!”

Gem reaches deeper into the nightmare spell, breaking through concealing walls and monsters. She will destroy the whole nightmare if she has to. “Keep going. You’ve got it. I’m not going anywhere. Not until you’re with me.”

Pearl summons everything she has left in her, throws the shadows off of her, and runs into the purple light. “Gem, do it now!”

Gem uses her full concentration to drag Pearl’s soul out of the nightmare prison and back to earth. As the prison dissolves, Gem slumps against the bed and tries to catch her breath. “Please tell me that worked. I don’t think I can do it again.”

Pearl sits bolt upright, barely able to breathe herself. “Gem?”

Gem gives up on compartmentalizing her emotions and breaks down sobbing. “Oh, void, Pearl…”

Pearl collapses into her arms and blinks back tears of her own. “You did it. You saved my life. Thank you…”

“Of course.” Gem tries to get her emotions in check, but she can’t. “I’m sorry. I’m not used to… this hasn’t… it’s wrong. Nobody’s died before.”

“Correct,” Pearl says with the tiniest smile. “Nobody’s died. And that’s because of you.”

“You know I’m nobody’s protector.” Gem’s hands shake as she pushes Pearl’s hair back to cradle her face. “I barely figured out how to save you in time.”

“But you did.” Pearl struggles to her feet. “How long was I out for?”

Gem doesn’t meet her eyes. “Two weeks.”

A flicker of alarm passes across Pearl’s face, but she shakes it off. “My empire’s probably grown cobwebs by now, huh? I should deal with that.” Her stomach growls. “Also, I think I’m about to starve, so I should get… breakfast? Lunch? Dinner? My schedule’s still all thrown off.”

“Lunch,” Gem says softly. “I’ll get you some bread and soup. Please eat slowly. I don’t want you to make yourself sick.”

“Nobody’s protector, huh?” Pearl chuckles.

She expects Gem to laugh, but instead, Gem wraps her in a tighter hug than she’s ever given before. “You scared me. You disappeared. I thought… you were… I really thought…” She can’t finish her sentence.

“Bread and soup,” Pearl says. “And tea, and a bit of gardening later once I’m really awake. I can celebrate you saving my life forever, or we can never speak about this again. It’s been a scary few days. I know that.” She kisses Gem on the forehead, then hugs her back even tighter. “If Xornoth thought I had a dysfunctional sleep schedule, they could’ve just told me.”

Gem snorts. “Glad to have you back.”

“Anytime.” Pearl stops in the hallway and takes Gem’s hands. “Listen to me, okay? No one is going to die. We’re going to defeat Xornoth, and no one is going to die. This isn’t the end of the world. I promise.”

Gem doesn’t let go. Pearl doesn’t either.

[heliza24]

I realized I never posted on here about my on-going Armand/Daniel fic!

This is my version of the events between when Louis leaves the penthouse and when Daniel is turned into a vampire (I feel like every fic writer in the fandom is allowed one of these haha).

It's got a particular focus on bodies and disability and the way that Armand and Daniel connect through that (because that's the kind of stuff I always end up writing about). If you liked my metas about disability in the show (and especially the idea of Vampire Danny retaining his disability), you might like this too.

A little snippet from chapter 3 which I'm currently working on:

And then the idea that Daniel may be able to blame his memory loss on Armand and not his own shortcomings really sunk in. It fully stopped him in his tracks. He stood on the wide and empty sidewalk, staring at the canal beneath him, and felt the guilt he had carried his whole life not disappear but lighten just a little.  A second thought rose unbidden in Daniel’s mind: the idea that the part of his life that he had always chalked up as a complete failure, as a time when he struggled to hold down work and human connection of any kind, may have actually been underpinned by something akin to love. That understanding took his breath away, and he nearly collapsed with how much he suddenly wanted it to be true. Not just love. Reciprocated love. Someone loved me through the years I was most broken, some wild thing inside him howled.  He felt tears prick his eyes. The creature inside reminded him of how long it had been since he’d really felt wanted. By family and friends even, much less a romantic or sexual partner. He was more broken physically than he was in his twenties, and he had closed himself off to it. He didn’t think he deserved it.  He would give it all up– the anger, the suspicion, the need to unpick those slimy fucking vampires who rearranged the trajectory of his whole goddamned life– if it meant feeling wanted, he thought wildly. 

[whatgaviiformes]

Fic: Grannies - Part 4 (Finale)

Summary: Gordon's committed to the bit. The bit just happens to be an obnoxious amount of granny squares.

A/N- In the finale: warning for a bit of whump. Whole lotta love though. Words for this part come to 2K.

Part 1 here | Part 2 here | Part 3 here | AO3

Thank yous: craftyfam, patient readers, my yarn stash for inspiration, Kat for the read through and assuring me this was post ready. FFXIV I can't thank you because you are a menace and a distraction no matter how much I love you.

*****

Part 4: Finale

Because Gordon never goes half-assed into anything, Virgil is still finding granny squares. 

He has to keep reminding himself that he appreciates Gordon’s dedication. He actually relies on this part of his brother’s character. Frequently, in fact. 

But as he pries a stray granny square out of his sock drawer and tosses it into the project basket housing its companions, Virgil has to roll his eyes. Fondly of course. In the project management world, they call this scope creep - with no real end in sight, the project keeps getting bigger and more involved, and it’s all too easy for it to just keep living on indefinitely. But then, Gordon is one big Scope Creep anyway since he was never one for boundaries in the first place. 

His definition of an appropriate time to stop was very different from Virgil’s. 

At this point, the new square isn’t anything Virgil hasn’t seen before. He knows by now what to expect from Gordon’s work. And, honestly, it’s just like Gordon to somehow manage to desensitize Virgil away from everything he knows about color theory, however briefly. So, neither the presence of the piece of fabric nor the color combination provides any shock value anymore. 

What it does do is remind him that he’s got his own project balancing to do. That of actually… you know… finishing the damn thing. And figuring out what to do with the rest of the squares, he reminds himself as he slides on his socks and laces up his boots for the day. 

The newest acquisition - two rounds of golden yellow followed by two rounds of aubergine purple and a final in white - doesn’t look as visually discordant alongside its peers, the scrambled rainbow they are.  They are all the ones that didn’t make the cut for Gordon’s afghan, the  squares Virgil keeps finding anew, and inevitably the future ones Gordon will continue to make until he receives another lightning strike of an idea.

Right beside it is a second project basket. Gordon likes a big blanket, so enough squares to fit a king sized bed are already packed up and labeled in their sequential order. As he’s had time, Virgil has started sewing them together based on the design Scott helped with. There’s enough space still for him to store the bolt of fabric John helped him find too, once it finally arrives. 

Virgil’s grateful for their help, and their part in the project has made it just that bit more special. He hopes Gordon feels that way too. It took Scott reminding him that it wasn’t his own aesthetic he was trying to please for the design to come together. Otherwise, Virgil has no doubt what he would’ve designed would’ve been lesser for his own misery trying to force order into chaos. 

Somehow, with the power of math, Scott’s perspective on patterns and probability and randomization had been just the ticket. Gordon also probably hadn’t realized just how many squares he’d made that started with the shade of yellow or orange or his typical bright shades. Just that little bit of consistency was all he and Scott needed to figure the rest out as they laid out the squares. It wasn’t a pattern, a fade, or even entirely randomized. But a couple edits later, they had the final layout, the squares numbered, and Virgil had gotten to work joining his own granny stitches into his brother’s work in the only color Gordon considered “neutral” - yellow. 

Unable to resist the smile it brings, Virgil tugs the blanket out of the basket and unfolds the two rows he’s finished, with the third halfway complete. It doesn’t bother him that his connecting yarn is still live - the hook has his last loop stabbed into the working skein, and even if it does come unraveled a little, crochet is not so difficult to start again. 

It had taken a few tries to find the right hook to help him match Gordon’s stitches. Even though Virgil taught him a few years ago, no two makers’ work was exactly alike. And Gordon was as carefree with his gauge as he was in the rest of his life. 

Excitement thrums through him; it’s morning, the birds are chirping, and he’s feeling motivated and productive. The crochet work is soft in his hands, the next square in the sequence visible in the project basket below but hiding the rest of the queue for the third row. It’s the perfect day to grab some coffee, hide away in his studio for a few hours, and let the project surprise him. 

That’s the way a WIP should work: it should inspire along the way. 

Virgil has just thrown a towel over the basket to make it seem like it could be laundry - just in case he runs into a wayward squid - when the alarm in his room sounds and John’s voice comes over comms. 

They have a rescue. 

~*~

Virgil awakes to the smell of antiseptic and the uncomfortable feeling that his mouth tastes like cotton. 

Something about that makes him want to giggle, except he can’t actually do that. 

“Easy, Virg.” Hands, soothing, graze his hairline. “They’ve got you on the good stuff.”

He can tell. He hasn’t opened his eyes yet to know if he’s in a hospital or the infirmary, nor does he know what happened to land him there.

Based on the cotton in his throat and in his head and in his lungs, maybe he ate Gordon’s blanket. 

The giggle turns into a groan. 

“You’re okay now. Rest, Virgil.” 

Since the voice is Scott, he does so.

~*~

The next time he remembers waking, he’s in the infirmary on the island. Again, this he knows not because he’s opened his eyes to figure it out, but because his senses tell him so. Only one brother knows sea shanties enough to be familiar with that one and, if Gordon is here humming it, they’re both definitely not in a hospital.

The words he wants to say trudge through the molasses on their way out.

“Wha’ happ’n?” 

“Virgil!” It’s surprise, and excitement, and relief all rolled into one, but Gordon has the good sense to keep his voice low once the original shock of him waking settles.  

Gordon knows the drill well, his voice barely above a whisper as he closes the blinds and scoops some ice chips into a cup. Virgil’s grateful for the gentle way he moves about the room; he can hear him shuffling around, dictating as he goes. By the time Gordon returns with the cup of blessed relief for the feeling in his esophagus, Virgil has managed to tearily blink his eyes half-open. 

Beneath his brother’s brushed fringe hides a bruise the size of a fist, purpling so harshly at his hairline that Virgil ignores the ice chip Gordon offers him in favor of reaching up to check the injury out for himself. Immediately, his body protests the movement, and Gordon urges him to lower his arm back to the support of the bed.

“Yeah, maybe don’t try that?” Gordon waves him off. “I’m fine. What do you remember?” 

Through the pain in his lower half and the color of Gordon’s face, the memories of the rescue come back clearer. Unfortunately, of all things, they’d been called out to a mudslide. He’d checked Gordon out in the field, he remembers. A panicked civilian with a wayward right hook while Gordon was calming his husband. The man had been incredibly apologetic, and Gordon assured him no harm was done, but Virgil pulled him off duty as a concussion risk and left him in Two with  Grandma talking to him.

Then, when Virgil went after a lifesign in a toppling two-story… 

“A house hit me.” 

“Well, more mud than house. You’re ok though. You were buried from the waist up. Had some compartment syndrome. Everything you’re feeling - or not - is temporary.”  

“You came to get me.” Virgil could argue that grounded meant grounded, that Gordon should never’ve gone after him in such dangerous conditions, that he’s the big brother and Gordon’s the little one and he should keep himself safe when he’s told to do so. But there’s a challenge in his little brother’s warm honey eyes already, and he remembers faintly words spoken in worry and fear, assurances that tighten in a coil around his heart.

“I did. There wasn’t anyone else.”  

He owes Gordon everything.

Virgil hums, “Thank you.”

Between the pain medication and water soothing the grittiness in his throat, he feels more aware by the minute and ready to try sitting up for a time. Gordon helps him settle a few pillows into position and raises the head of the infirmary bed to the appropriate level. He’s got to let Scott know he’s awake - and Grandma -  Gordon tells him. Before either of them decide to have scolded Squid for dinner. 

Virgil doesn’t have the energy to chuckle, but it does as he knows Gordon intended: leave him with a smile for the few moments Gordon needs to step away to communicate Virgil’s situation. 

His heart is music, his soul is color. Where sound is oversaturated with the wisps and hums of machinery tracking his vitals, his heartbeat in rhythm, color becomes his touchstone. Outside the window will be the cerulean of the sky and sea. Green, which he thinks in its most basic form because it’s every combination of the hue throughout the robust plant-life of their Island. Dandelion yellow - the sun and safety and Gordon’s baldric. 

Past the shut blinds, it’s all just a sliver. More prominently, there’s just white and infirmary clean grey.  He has to blink away the dullness, as he tears his gaze away from the window and finally musters the strength to glance at himself and especially at his lower half past the pain where Gordon promised his lack of feeling, muted through painkillers, was temporary. 

Color, so much of it that it’s blinding, greets him with the neon of signage amidst the Las Vegas cityscape and the celebration of the New York Pride parade they attend each year. The blanket draped across his lap is authentic Gordon through and through, in familiar squares assembled in a chaos true to their variety. No rhyme, no reason. 

So much care. 

“Grandma will be in shortly.” Gordon plops into the chair at his side, wiggling in the armchair to reacquire the work he’d placed on the seat cushion. He catches him looking, wide-eyed. “It’s not your project, promise. Though I did bring it in for you to work on when you’re feeling better. It’s over by the holoscreen whenever you want me to bring it over. You’ll be here for a bit healing, so I figured…” He shrugs, trailing off. 

“Gordon?” He slides his fingers between the stitches and curls them gratefully into soft, comforting colors. “What are you doing?” 

“I’m - uh -” Gordon flushes in dim light. “I’m weaving in my ends finally,” he admits, holding up the darning needle. “Sorry if you had another idea for the squares, but once I finished putting yours together, I realized we had enough still to donate some more blankets and those really should be finished.” Gordon weaves a red tail end back and forth between the strands the way Virgil taught him, and the way their mom taught Virgil. “I really did go a little overboard on granny squares didn’t I? I just figured it would be okay for me to help you along. So you could finish what you were working on. Was that ok?”

“More than.” 

It also tells him a significant amount about how serious his injuries were and how long he might have been out of commission, if Gordon’s found the time to finish as much as he has. The concern for what he’s put his family through spikes his heartbeat again, and his younger brother glances up to check on him, the monitors, back at him.

Virgil gives him a weary smile, tugging the blanket further up his chest. “I’m ok,” he assures him. “Thanks to you.” 

“Don’t do it again,” he admonishes, shaking his head.

Neither of them can promise the other, not in their line of work, and they both know it. 

The words go unspoken, but they are woven delicately in the strands of their gifts to each other. Virgil feels the care against his skin, in colors that chase away greys, and soft cotton that sifts fear and worry out through openwork patterning. And when Grandma finally makes her way in to check in on him, his heart is so full with the chance he’s been given, the support he’s always had by the people he cares for, that the love hits him with a wave of exhaustion. 

Into sleep he falls, deeply into dreamless rest by the time Grandma finishes her checks and  Gordon tucks him in with a thankful salute to the stars above.

The End