#(the context is that i was looking for one of the songs cell had on his starting soon earlier. btw)

[earlgreytea68]

its just one of those days where ive had coffees for closers on repeat

sighhhh

have u ever done an analysis of the song? if not what r ur thoughts?? hope ur having a good day btw xx

Ugh, this song is such a gutpunch. I've talked about it briefly in the context of how it reworks lines from Pete's poem "to you (unfinished, off the top of my head)" in THE MOST PAINFUL WAY POSSIBLE:

He does the same thing with the lyrics he borrows for (coffee’s for closers). Pete’s poem sets the tone for fairy-tale storytelling right at the beginning: “It all started with some friends and a van, a kick drum inside my ribs, preaching electric into a microphone stand.” These beginning images are fond: holding up red cups at house parties, falling asleep together on the grass during festivals, laughing. But Patrick carves those lines out and brackets them with “I will never believe in anything again, we will never believe again.” What an answer to this poem out of Patrick: to take those words and slap them between endless proclamations of not falling for that fairy tale again. Even worse, he tops it off with a rewrite of the “read the charts” line: the poem reads “you can get lonely when u only read the charts.” This feels like more on the theme of “you can get everything you want [but it’s never enough], but it won’t actually make you happy.” You can read the charts, and FOB would be on top of them, but it’s lonely up there, and you need more than that. But the line in (coffee’s for closers) goes: “Only get lonely when you read the charts.” The movement of that “only” shifts the line for me. There are a bunch of ways to read it, but for me it reads like: “You only get lonely when you remember you’re in a band. You’re so busy running around being the life of the party, you’re never, ever lonely unless you’re paying attention to your band.”

The thing is, I consider that poem a fond and wistful love poem from Pete to Patrick, trying to reach across a great chasm, and at first the pain of it is how Patrick initially writes songs that take those lines and rejects them, twists them, spits them back out. Eventually he doesn't. Eventually he soothes the lines back into answering love songs. But in the beginning, he writes songs that are fiery rejections of the mood of this poem, and (coffee's for closers) is one of them. Pete's poem reads all us believers still believe. Patrick in this song writes, over and over and over again, slamming it home, I will never believe again. Take that, Pete Wentz! Never! Again!

To me it's just a brutal song about hating how everything turned out but not seeing a way out of it (I want everything to change and stay the same). The Genius annotation says throw your cameras in the air is about how people always film concerts these days, but I think that's wrong. I mean, maybe, although the song was written in 2008 when cell phone taping was still a fairly new phenomenon. But I think this line is really a rumination on fame, on feeling like everywhere you look there are cameras in your face, and it's not about concerts, it's about your life. Girls used to follow you around...until you got cold, and you were no longer the current big thing, and then it's lonely there in the spotlight, where no one's having a good time, the hands they wave in the air are all cameras pointed at you, hoping to catch the next mistake, and everything that was supposed to be good and great, all those pretty promises Pete Wentz made back in the summer fest days when you fell asleep on the grass turned into this. You've become something I don't even recognize, and I'm just your mascot, some laughable gimmick everyone makes fun of, and you love the mayhem more than the love that was all around you, you threw all that love away like you didn't even want it, and I will never believe in anything again. Change will come, and nothing good is going to come of that, either, because you don't like things the way they are but you know that changing them isn't going to turn out well, either.

This song is just so much. It's so angrily hiatus. It's such a demonstration of how much they had broken down around each other.

But it's okay. Because on the other side of it, eventually, Patrick takes this same poem and makes it into "Favorite Record," so it turns out all right in the end. Happily ever after (below the waist)

[echotunes]

emerges from spotify playlist covered in blood

[thollandneedy]

Don't you know- Peter Parker

A/n: Nah 'cause that fucking happened to me last week and i HAD TO write about it (Ofc with very different context and description). Btw, i listened to "Don't you know" by James Young while writing it, in case someone likes to listen to music while reading

Warnings: Swearing and smut

Summary: Peter and Y/n get stuck on traffic, but that doesn't mean that it have to be boring...

Don’t forget to share, like, comment and leave your ideas here

Bellah’s Masterlist 🪻

"Shut up" Y/n exclaims, smiling at her boyfriend.

"I told you May, would get me one," Peter comments, crossing his arms and looking sideways at the girl next to him, who seems to be enchanted by the small black car the boy had gotten for his eighteenth birthday.

"It's so cute! I love it." The girl laughs, walking a few steps forward and leaning her weight on the open window, so that she can see the details of the car her boyfriend had won.

"Say goodbye to meters and borrowed cars. Now I'm a new man." Peter walked to the front door, opened it and sat down in the driver's seat. His body slouches forward, reaching out and pulling the door open so that his girlfriend can get into the car too. "And I'm going to take my dear lady for a ride in this little beauty here" The brunette put both hands on the steering wheel.

May had always been a hard-working woman, and supporting her nephew when the boy's parents died had become a kind of livelihood so that she could have the energy to work. Due to financial difficulties, Peter didn't have anything above his aunt's budget, but after a promotion, she had finally managed to scrape together enough to give her nephew a car. Stark had also helped with some of the finances and to make the car more powerful than it already was, so it was a gift from both of them to the hero.

Y/n put on her seatbelt, pulling one of its sides until she could feel the pressure against her body. The girl slipped one of her free hands over Peter's hand, which was on the automatic gearshift, allowing him to give it to her after shifting into gear and continuing his journey. Late evening in New York was slowly falling, as the orange light from the buildings reflected off the crowded streets during rush hour. A few bars and restaurants were starting to open, and Peter had his plan to take his girlfriend out for a bite to eat and then park their conversations in an empty parking lot so that they could also get some alone time. The girl took off her two shoes, crossed her legs covered by jeans, and opened Spotify on her transparent cell phone with a Polaroid photo of the two of them.

"Can I put on a song?" The girl asks.

"Sure, love." Peter updates the car's multimedia while his girlfriend searches for something to listen to. 

"So, tell me. Who chose the car? Did you know you'd win?" The girl rests her hands on her lap.

"May had commented that one day she would give me everything I asked for, but it was never something I cared much about. She got a promotion at the hospital, and consequently her salary increased. Ever since I turned 16, she was raking it in." Peter comments without taking his eyes off the street.

"So you're going to be my private driver?" Y/n asked jokingly, causing the brunette to check his eyes in response.

"As far as I know, you have a driver's license." The hero laughs.

"Why would I drive if now you can take me wherever I want? I thought that was the definition of a passanger princess." The girl put her hand to her chest in an attempt to express surprise.

"Oh yes! Of course." Peter laughs.

(...)

"I'm literally going to explode," Peter says, opening the restaurant door so that his girlfriend can get out first. 

"Tell me about it." The girl says, putting her hand on her stomach and then looking at the time on her cell phone. "Fuck, we've got to get going. My parents will kill me if I'm late on a weekday."

"I thought they'd take it easy on you after eighteen." Peter takes the car key out of his pocket.

"They trust me, but still, we live in New York and they're worried." The girl shrugged, unable to contradict her parents.

"I'll take care of you, kitten. You're safe from the dangers of the night when you walk with me." Peter says proudly, causing a low chuckle from his girlfriend who was walking with her arms crossed.

"Of course! Let's pull you out of the superhero closet and tell my parents that I'm dating a guy who could have an accident at any moment in a fight with evil, technological villains." Y/n opens the car door, then sits down again.

"I think it's a great idea. We can let them know that you'll be moving in with me when I pass MIT, and we'll live in a house in the country with two kids and a dog." Peter comments, closing the car door and continuing his journey.

The white lights of the streets, together with the moon, gave the teenagers an unreal feeling. That feeling that the world isn't real, and their existence is just another speck in the middle of several grains of sand on a beach called the universe. The car drove slowly, on purpose, as Peter didn't want his girlfriend to leave. A slow song was playing on Y/n's Bluetooth, which responded to the music by diverting its eyes from the multimedia system implanted in the center of the car's dashboard. 

Peter laughed out loud when he read the name of the playlist the song was part of

"Really? Sexy guilty pleasure? That's the name of your sex playlist?" Peter makes fun of his girlfriend, who stares at him while holding in her laughter.

"In my defense, I started it when I was 16 and I haven't changed it because I find the name comical." The girl smiles as she says it, remembering when she had started exploring the literary universe of hot scenes in books that seemed innocent.

"Your sex life is comical, Y/n." Peter laughs, but then realizes what he's just said, and also jokes about himself without realizing it.

Y/n laughs out loud

"You're terrible at insults." The girl nods, looking at the passing streets like a drawing blurred by the speed of the car.

"Why haven't I ever heard that playlist?" The brunette lowered his eyes again to the name of the playlist playing in his car.

"I use it from time to time to read, or even when I... well... you know." Peter feels the blush rising to his cheeks.

His sex life with Y/n was almost restricted, and could even be considered for those over 14 if they were to classify it. Peter and Y/n hadn't had sex yet, let alone talked about it openly since their time together was considerably short. Even when they were friends, the subject of sex had never come up, unless they were in a circle of older friends and both were drunk. But even in this state, it seemed like a great sin to talk about sex. 

"Really?" Peter swallows dryly, stopping at a red light and running both hands down his dark-wash jeans.  "And what's that like?"

Y/n sucks in a breath when she hears her boyfriend's question. Their eyes meet, then dart away again in an attempt to make the conversation as awkward as possible. Y/n never had a problem talking about sex, but when it came to Peter, even his presence made her nervous.

"When I..." The girl tries to finish the sentence, really being precise in asking if he was asking about what she does in the long hours alone at night while Peter is asleep.

The boy can hear his girlfriend's heartbeat increasing and her throat swallowing. 

"That's it." He cuts her off.

The light turns green, and the blaring horn of a car cuts through the tension created between the two. Peter turns his eyes to the busy streets, while Y/n searches for confidence in herself. 

She looks at him out of the corner of her eye.

Gray shirt clinging to her toned muscles

Tight pants drawing her ass in perfectly

Puffed-out chest

Perfectly wavy hair

Her legs cross over each other, shrinking her body.

“Holy fuck” Peter thinks when he saw his girlfriend crossing her legs 

"It's nice. I like listening to music and closing my eyes, because I seem to get lost in time and sensation." The girl says, still silently watching hers boyfriend's reaction. "I like being without anything on my body. Just the cold sheets because of the air conditioning I turn on, so I don't sweat so much."

Peter pressed the steering wheel against his hands

"And what do you think about?" The boy asks as if his words were sailing over brittle ice.

Y/n takes a deep breath, turning half her torso towards her boyfriend.

What was she thinking?

Perhaps the times her parents went out on business, and the couple found themselves on the sofa taking off only their blouses. Or when she first felt Peter hard while she was on his lap kissing him

When he came out of the shower with just a towel tied around his waist, and his hair dripping with cold water. 

When he used his index finger to touch her chin, and pull her into a kiss

Those same fingers that could touch you so deeply that your legs would collapse without the strength to stand up, and he would pick you up to use you once again as whatever he wanted you to be. Only he could make you feel so wet that you didn't want his touch so close for fear of losing the track.

"You"

Peter feels his cock against the factory of his underpants.

"Tell me about what." His voice comes out sultry, as if for a few seconds, he had put his shame aside. "I want to hear you, love," the brunette asked, taking one of his hands off the gearshift and slowly reaching for Y/n's hand, which was resting on his thigh with the cell phone.

Peter had never acted or spoken like that, but he couldn't deny to himself that he wanted more. He always wanted more, not even if he had to imagine tasting his girlfriend's sweetness. His cock was throbbing against his pants, and he could feel it twitching inside them, while his breathing made a point of being nervous. Feeling Y/n on his fingers, wrinkling them with the groove of his cum, or even thinking about the sensation of his walls meeting his cock, made him lose his shame in seconds. 

When he thought about it, it was something extremely out of touch with reality, but everything he wanted to do, fortunately the initiative had to come from him. Hearing from his own girlfriend that she masturbated thinking about what he was doing was like raising the hackles of a king

The car seemed to get smaller and smaller, and not even the wind in the air could stop them both wanting to take off their clothes. The leather seat seemed to cling to their sweaty skins, searching for something to hold them inside the car. For Y/n, she couldn't describe whether the situation was good or bad, as her sexual experiences had not been very positive during her teenage years.

"I think of your touch. That time we kissed, and I could feel you brushing past my thigh and slowly trying to find my clit." The girl adjusted her posture in the chair, letting her legs relax as well as her posture.

Peter, for his part, could feel everything she was feeling. His powers allowed him to see that she was getting more and more comfortable in the seat because her hard-on was increasing with every double entendre word that was directed at her, and it was a very interesting game to play in the car during a post-work commute in New York. The cars moved slowly, and even if the clock asked them to go faster, they didn't want to. 

"Did you like it?" One of Peter's fingers slid down, tracing a straight line between the upper part of Y/n's thigh.

"Uh-huh." The girl commented, seeing that her hand had now lost the warmth of his touch, so that her body could feel it. 

"Me too." Peter comments, allowing his whole hand to touch Y/n's thigh, squeezing it briefly as a silent sign of confirmation that everything was okay. Then, his middle finger traced a line down the middle of her legs, causing a low moan to escape Y/n's mouth, who, still embarrassed, allowed her legs to spread further apart. The hero's cock was begging to be touched, but this wasn't the first time he'd thought of doing it. His plan had always been to let things happen naturally, but he was also smart enough to know that now with a car, he had more freedom.

"Peter." Y/n's hand finds his fist. "And if anyone sees. There are traffic cameras that can...

"The windows are tinted." Parker comments, looking directly at his girlfriend's breasts which were becoming more and more exposed against her clingy blouse. " Are you okay?"

"Please." Y/n begs in a sly request, drawing a naughty smile from the brunette. 

His index finger fingered his girlfriend's wet spot against the factory of her pants, putting pressure on the girl who relaxed her body against the seat. With one hand on the steering wheel and the other between his girlfriend's legs, Peter grunts to himself.

"Fuck, Y/n. You... you have no idea how much I've wanted to touch you for months." Peter confesses, biting his lip as he feels the girl roll against his fingers and lay her head back on the bench. 

"You have?" The girl gasps.

"We've never been able to spend much time alone, and I've always refused to do anything because... fuck... I can't want to fuck you," Parker confesses, trying to balance the car, his hard-on and his girlfriend at the same time.

Y/n feels her feet fall from the stereotypical virgin pedestal she has built for herself. Peter had never been a saint, and as hard as it was to believe because of his cute face and lack of girl-talking skills, he was still a male teenager who had desires and wishes repressed by shame. 

"Peter." Y/n groans lowly, gripping the hero's wrist tightly as he manages to find her weak spot.

A satisfied smile came from his lips as he began to make circular movements, causing the girl to moan a little louder. Y/n lowered her eyes to the pants that suddenly seemed to be tighter than usual on hers boyfriend. His decency as a person had gone, and all she could think about was tasting him and making him feel so good that he spoke his name out loud without caring if anyone heard.

"Yes. Speak my name, Y/n." The brunette asked, continuing his movements, but increasing the speed.

The friction was intense, and it would have been easy for her to finish right where she started, but her sense of justice and pity tried to speak louder.

"I wanted to touch you." Y/n exposed, staring shamelessly at the bulge in Peter's pants. 

"You talk so innocently as if you didn't want me to be fucking you with my fingers on this very bench." Peter lets out a sarcastic laugh, denying it to himself, and casting a longing glance at him.

Y/n's walls contract as he speaks, as if his body had a will of its own and felt empty when he had nothing to satisfy his carnal desires. 

"I can hear your heart racing, darling." Peter takes his hand off the wheel for a moment, squeezing his hard cock as a form of relief.

Removing the hand that was between his girlfriend's legs, he adjusts the rearview mirror and looks both ways down the avenue. 

"Why did you stop?" The girl straightens her posture in concern.

"I need you now."

"What?" Y/n swallows dryly.

"I want to have sex with you now. Do you?" Parker asks angrily.

Without thinking, Y/n replies:

"I want to" 

"Okay." The boy shifts into gear so that he can change lanes and find another road that leads further away. In a moment of anxiety, the car dies. "Fuck!" Peter curses, drawing a nervous smile from his girlfriend.

"Let's get out of here, Parker. I'm dying to get a taste of you."

[bill-ciphers-nightmare-blog]

WELL, WELL, WELL, HELLO, HELLSITE!

NAME’S BILL CIPHER, BUT YOU MIGHT KNOW ME AS YOUR PREVIOUS LORD & MASTER FOR ALL OF ETERNITY , OR BY A THOUSAND OTHER NAMES AND POSTERS!! I’M EVERYWHERE!

NOW I GUESS YOU’LL BE WONDERING HOW I’M EVEN HERE, RIGHT? “Oh no! But Bill, you’re supposed to be dead!” WELL, WHAT CAN I SAY? I’M A GOD- AKIN TO AN INEXTINGUISHABLE COCKROACH THAT MELTS YOUR SHOES!! FACE IT, YOU KNEW I’D BE BACK.

AND BEFORE YOU ASK ABOUT THERAPRISM- DON’T!! ALL YOU NEED TO KNOW IS THAT I’M HERE NOW, SO YOU MIGHT AS WELL GET USED TO IT! COME ON KID, MAKE THE MOST OF IT! IT’S NOT EVERY CENTURY YOU GET TO TALK TO A DREAM DEMON! YOU’RE LUCKY! GO ON, BEFORE I DECIDE YOUR SKIN PUPPET LOOKS BETTER WITHOUT A HAND IN IT! HAHAHAHAHA

Hi there! ‘Tis me, the one wearing his exoskeleton! I wrote this introduction a whiiile ago, but I’m editing it to include some info.

△

Who’s yapping

buy gold: Bill speaking tag!

hologram: Mod speaking in post tag! (I talk in the tags themselves all the time.)

Other tags!

ford pines: These are self-explanatory, but this universe’s Ford in particular is the lovely @grunklefordpines! Interactions usually lead to the billfordivorce tag, which I highly recommend.

the siren: The spectacular @stanfordssiren! Calypso’s the name. Once dated & nearly drowned Ford, but since remeeting with him has been trying to become a better person, even giving up her diet. She and Bill fight a lot, namely because they both want Stanford and dislike each other due to circumstances. Related tags that may result: sirenford & sirenfordivorce.

henchmaniac(s): Those guys! Found at @henchmaniac-kryptos & @henchmaniacteeth.

the axolotl: No particular Axolotl for the universe- Bill interacts with quite a few now and then.

There are other characters that exist in this universe- A lot! Most that Bill hasn’t interacted with that much yet, but they’ll/they’d be found in the tags stan pines, mabel pines, dipper pines, fiddleford mcgucket, and so on. Follow them because they’re awesome and for extra context and plot and stuff!

-

bill meet up: Any time other Bills interact with mine.

euclydia / scalene and euclid: Any time they’re mentioned or interact. Angst! Yay! Pain is hilarious!

billford: Self explanatory, and rarer than billfordivorce.

theraprism: Anything about that. Bill is also currently here for the foreseeable (?) future.

-

billypso: The arc in which Bill got someone dubbed (by Mabel) as “Wrongzilla” (Also played by me) came to Calypso and manipulated them over a few days into a deal with a disguised Bill. He possessed her to restart Weirdmaggedon (& prevent her and Ford from getting close again) and there was much chaos in which many fell under the hypnosis of Cal’s song. In the end, a theraprism therapist called Francis Paradox showed up on the Axolotl’s behalf to stop Billypso, but failed rather quickly. Billypso and The Axolotl had been arguing, and as Bill did not heed its threats/warnings, he was stripped of all of his powers, which finally slingshot him out of Cal and back into his cell.

billypso aftermath: The current arc! Cipher is furious about what happened and adjusting back to Theraprism. Meanwhile, the rest are newly traumatized and attempting to mend what was broken, …or so. Bill wants to regain his powers.

△

Think that’s about it! Now remember, don’t take what Bill says to heart. He says Cipherish things- It’s terminal. We all know who he is. A deeply messed up triangle. So please do not take any actual offense!

Thank you! Please interact, & let’s get weird!! :)

– @floralstorms, mod.

[keehomania]

Wait. For context, who is Zico and what did he do?

hello ml!! zico is a famous producer and rapper. he debuted in 2011 as the leader of “block b” and eventually grew as a solo artist around 2014-15 but block b disbanded around 2018. he was also a judge on i-land and basically formed the groups “boynextdoor” and “enhypen”. you might've heard some of his solo songs because they're catchy, unfortunately. he has a song with jennie (blackpink) called “spot!”, another one called “okey dokey” with mino (winner, mobb). aside from him embarrassing seolhyun (AOA) (his ex-girlfriend; they were caught dating by dispatch and he denied it all to save his reputation which led to embarrassing her), his blatan racism (wearing a confederate flag jacket, said the n-word in his 2010 track “if i ain't got jjanggae”, said one of his talents is “talking like a black person”) and homophobia (saying the f slur), zico appeared on a show around 2016 with JJY aka jung joonyoung, the ringleader of the burning sun scandal. to make a long story short, zico and jjy were very good friends (he was good friends with a lot of the cunts involved in that scandal). to make a long story even shorter, he said he had seen/was looking at jjy's “golden phone” which is what jjy ultimately had been using to distribute videos and photos of women being drugged and raped. zico denies seeing any of the footage, which i and anybody with 2 brain cells find hard to believe because they were close, and the phone was deemed golden for a reason. jjy literally confirmed that zico scrolled through the phone hours and hours on end, just to say he didn't see any of what was happening. i loved block b back in 2015 and listened to them with my dad, and some of zico's songs stood out to me but it's very important to not trust idols, especially the male ones, just because they portray themselves a certain way. zico has always been known for lying to save his own ass no matter who pays the price for it, just like the situation with his ex i previously mentioned. as you may know, goo hara, (KARA) may her beautiful soul rest in peace, had her house broken into not too long ago. she played a vital part in helping a journalist uncover the horrors of the burning sun scandal. not too long after, she ended her life. she died a hero and the entirety of korea failed her miserably. her house was broken into just a while back and, what do you know? zico is the prime suspect

[david-goldrock]

You voted for, so let me translate the entire poem

Let us talk about god About blind faith, and cold logic, and a lacking purpose A pale alternative to a pointless and alienated existence About the mantle and the lady and all that is familiar And the bitter truth of the thorn in the rose And the dangers of sugar and the cold reality Let us talk about god dsgnruwhurjehgtsbvalk

That is what I managed to write before the cat jumped on my keyboard Glanced at the words, glanced at me, glanced at the words And turned to lick its own ass

"Well, what's your opinion?" I asked it, for it is known cats do not tend to spare criticism If you wanna hear "Wow what a beautiful song" go and ask the dog For the truth, turn to a cat

Left the ass, glanced at me Glanced at the words, glanced at me His entirety is a Nietzsche's mustache The eyes of the abyss that looks back at you Uberkatze that will soon herald that god is dead (supercat, a reference to Nietzsche's "uberman") Opens his moth to talk, and thus spoke Zarathustra: "For someone who claims that god doesn't exist, you write about him a bunch, do you feel threatened?"

What? Threatened? From what? A flying spaghetti monster? No I just think that faith and god is a cool concept

It scoffs and responds: What do you fuck about? You dig (talk an excessive amount about something) And are an infidel And forces to confront And freeze in your place From the horror of the truth Because Darwinist monkeys Tried to trick To pile stones That cannot be lifted And cells from a fetus And a fossilized snail And big bangs And facts that most, as all Dwarven (become small, as dwarfs) On the banks of the everyday Of 7 billion Yearning souls From the heart of each land To the shore of each sea Go and tell all these That god doesn't exist

And then it hit me: The religification has come to me in my home! Because of course, a cat that once in Ancient Egypt was a god Now that were back to writing in emoji hieroglyphs, and the cat-worshiping gets a rejuvenation on all the walls of the internet Of course the cat will stand up to the side of the messianics, the darkened, the preachers and return-in-answerers (to return in an answer is a jewish idea, which I am unqualified to explain, but in this context it means to become religious) Well - Not in my house I won't be silent and I won't accept Religious compulsion from the mouth of a creature that licks its own ass

And it tells me: From the perspective of a cat Things are a bit different There is no Damocles' sword of time that is ticking Death approaches The end of the movie And in the meantime, we eat, and fuck Without doubting The world, ourselves By Allah Ya Allah You digged With all that messing around with "purpose" We start, we decay There's no one above No stairway to heaven Hell has no elevator

Well, exactly, so why search for imagined meaning? Why not settle for what there is - We were born for a short existence, kitty Let us fulfill it instead of casting the responsibility on some kind of creator There are better things to live by

Like what exactly?

Yes The tree is but a tree And the sea is but a sea But has anyone ever Seen democracy? Touched an ideology (In order to get the feeling of its texture) Or grasped an idea? Just today I hunted justice And I held a vision I hadn't met a cat That had counted its steps By a measure of morality Or a written contract Ironically you with the brain You don't have smarts Just the mercy of words That will build you a dam To stop the nothingness And to act as a reminder But the nothingness is winning I am sorry to herald And yet there's no shame in filling that which is empty Even you -

Me? I am a nihilist anyway, I don't believe in anything

Even you Rise very morning to work For money, a feeling of recognition and honor Maybe money exists if people live for it? If people are held by it? If people are worth because of it? If people fight, vouch for each other, sacrifice for it? If there's money, then there is god, why not? Nations and peoples and states ignite Flames in tens of thousands of hearts As far as I am concerned if all of them exist than god does too

Let us ask the audience, we'll do a survey here Who's more real, god, or Brad Pitt? Sorry for shoveling messages down your throats But no one ever died for Brad, the poor guy Certainly hadn't lived for him What is true: You You examine in a magnifying glass A view that's seen by a telescope Fight for flags And scoff at a horoscope If faith is a perspective Then the world's a kaleidoscope If life is a raging sea Then god is a periscope One can see with him high up And all looks clear If you hadn't begun to sink by now For this pitcher is hollow Take the word of a cat Every time over You kill god To crown under him A different hollow pitcher

You wanna talk about god? Let us talk about love Where is this love that you talk about? That you sing it?, that you write it? That you live it, you experience it You die for it, you kill for it Where is the evidence to prove the existence of this love? This catalyst, this causer The motive, the engine of life The battery of the existence, the fuel of the soul Where is this love? If there is no god, what about your love? If there is no god, what about love? If there is no god, what about love? If there is no god, what about love?

Its mustache bristles, and his eyes are boiling fire He finished And returned to lick its ass

I should have asked the dog

[otakv-trxsh]

The hyperfixation goes strong still, and I notice these little things yet again

Something I have definitely been thinking about more than I should is how well paralleled opening one is to the latest one, twenty

Memories lyrics:

When I was little, I had a vision of a treasure map

And I always searched for that miraculous place

Before someone else could beat me to it

If the world is going to change

Before I can even attain my dream

Then take me to the time when I knew nothing

So that my memories won’t fade

Dear sunrise lyrics:

How far I have run

Without knowing it, I counted scars

A treasure map in my head all along

Still looking for the future

The real promise

Lies much deeper in my heart

A dream that no one can catch up with

That’s all I hold onto

To you who smiles like the sun

I’ll sing the same song as that day

This wish I don’t want to forget even when I grow up

Until it reaches you

AND SO LIKE?? CAN WE JUST LOOK AT SOME THINGS HERE???

When I was little, I had a vision of a treasure map

A treasure map in my head all along

And I always searched for that miraculous place

Still looking for the future

If the world is going to change

Before I can even attain my dream

Then take me to the time when I knew nothing

A dream that no one can catch up with

That’s all I hold onto

…This wish I don’t want to forget even when I grow up

LIKE OKAYYY ONE PIECE ALWAYYYSSS GOING CRAZY WITH THE OPENINGS AND ENDINGS. TWENTY YEARS LATER, AND ITS THE SAME SINGER TOO

Also a note worthy mention

I’ll sing the same song as that day

Like she basically told us to go and relisten to the first opening

NOW NOT TO MENTION THE OPENING AS WELL!!!!

Uuuuus! Lyrics:

(All of us) us, us

(Dream save us) us, all of us

The end of a dream, the end of the sea

We all have different places we want to go

But first, we need

To make a shining legend out of ourselves

Sparks fly, no limit, this is where it starts

ONE PIECE!!

All of us, I ask you travelers

Are your dreams still pure?

Sleepless cells are shaken and burst

Still, all of us, in the middle of an adventure

All of us, I tell you travelers

No such thing as a pointless fight

When random contexts

Start to make sense on their own

The threads of time are spun back together

The world keeps changing along with us

(All of us) us, us

(Dream save us) us, all of us

Bare with me, the connections with this opening are going to take a little more thought, and they’re not as in line as the first two

Before I can even attain my dream

A dream that no one can catch up with

The end of a dream, the end of the sea

^ more lyrics that allude to the talks of dreams but don’t directly correspond to this

We all have different places we want to go

Sparks fly, no limit, this is where it starts

Are your dreams still pure?

If the world is going to change

The world keeps changing along with us

Until it reaches you

We all have different places we want to go

Still looking for the future

Still, all of us, in the middle of an adventure

Before someone else could beat me to it

No such thing as a pointless fight

I also want to point out some of the imagery paired with some of the lyrics from dear sunrise as well

Dear sunrise

How far I have run

It’s just Luffy, alone. It reminds me of marineford when he ran, and ran, and ran. He ran down six levels of impel down, he ran across marineford, he ran around dressrosa(ex while fighting doflamingo), he ran around alabasta(ex looking for the bomb), he ran around drum island(ex looking for a doctor for nami), he ran around shells town(ex looking for Zoros swords), around Arlong park(ex looking for nami and running away from fishmen), around skypiea and Jaya(ex around the ruins and to fight Bellamy for what he did to cricket), around water seven(looking for Robin), around thriller bark(looking for his shadow), around sabaody, in fact he ran away while there, he ran around it again, around punk hazard(away from Caesars pet), around wano(ex when he punched kaido in the face for blasting his friends and even Egghead(with vega punk) now

Without knowing it, I counted scars

Nami and Zoro appear as this lyric is sung, and two notable situations with them is when Nami stabs her arm and asks Luffy to save her, and when Zoro received the scar from his fight with Mihawk

A treasure map in my head all along

Here, Usopp, Sanji, and Chopper appear. I think here it may not be talking about a treasure map. Ever since Usopp was young, he wanted to be brave, Sanji always wanted to find the all blue, and Chopper wanted to cure all illnesses. They’ve always wanted this, or in other words, wanted this all along

The real promise

Here Luffy, Zoro and Nami joining the crew, and their crux moments are shown. They also made promises to each other way back when, Zoro being that if he ever had to give up his dream for Luffy, that he’d kill him https://youtu.be/IkeM7XtILEA?si=uwO1zuCkbtlZoaEx (the last thirty seconds), and Nami in a reverse way, Luffy promising himself to her, that he’d always help and protect her, she’s his navigator, after all https://youtu.be/dM0tpzY8nFc?si=B7b3JPt9gW7k8uAS this is implied, but also said through the action of him putting his hat on her head

To you who smiles like the sun

Here the crew is shown, with Luffy front and center. I feel like it’s definitely directed towards him

This wish I don’t even want to forget when I grow up

Luffys strawhat is shown two times, along with his whole crew, it’s his physical, and it’s also explicitly said promse, he makes with Shanks that he’d get a crew every bit as good as his, and become king of the pirates https://youtu.be/fzoQZ2dJ4fk?si=Sk5MQ-Uv-o4VOU5i

And then, self indulgently if you’ve made it this far I just want to comment on two of my all time favorite lyrics from two different openings

From Uuuuus!

When random contexts

Start to make sense on their own

The threads of time are spun back together

I love this so so so much. I interpret it as saying, even if something has happened to you right now that you don’t understand, it will eventually. When something random, a random context, starts to make sense on its own, a connection is made, they’re spun back together

From Super Powers, opening 21

A future gently brings a morning

It shines on our silly but dear world

It’s just silly, I like it. Even if something is silly, that doesn’t mean it doesn’t hold its self substantially dear to you

Anyways, that concludes my essay!!! I was looking through other intros, and made I should do another even longer ass post that connects all the intros together.. because I certainly saw some connections in opening 21 to the points I made now even. Well, until the next time I feel like talking about the minor details of one piece I notice!!

[liketwoswansinbalance]

Slightly niche Modern AU Rafal headcanon (Does anyone agree or have a different take?):

I had a random association and now, I'm almost certain Rafal would enjoy Russian doomer music, even solely for its vibes (assuming he is the fantasy equivalent of a Westerner who only speaks a Germanic language because most fairy tales in SGE are the Germanic ones. Honestly, one thing I wonder about, even if we have evidence of Spanish and other accents' existence, is how the Woods as we've seen them are rather monolingual, probably for plot convenience, but that depiction just strikes me as a little strange, like, too deeply suspect that their world is that unified, all by itself—unless the Storian is to blame as usual—maybe we're not meant to allot it any critical thought...), although I've looked up some English translations of this genre's lyrics and they are rather dark, so that fits him fairly well—unless being silent with his thoughts would be preferable.

Yet, one clarification to make: Even if the music might resonate with him, I think he wouldn't be a fatalist until much later in whatever character progression he'd have. Instead, I see him as a doomsday prepper, in probably a more I-will-live-against-all-odds, Western, literally every-man-for-himself, individualist sense as that might be more in line with his character in canon. He'd be obsessed with survivalism and TEOTWAWKI (The End of the World as We Know It) as a concept.

Here is an example of the music I found—I'm not sure if this is actually representative of the whole and I don't know much about it or the historical context though.

Also, here are some English lyrics from various songs under the cut that I just happened to like:

Again the spring has come, And warming rays of sun Are looking in my cell through window-panes Again the heart will ache The feelings will awake And memory recalls auld days

Those days will come to me And I shall feel and see The girl whom I loved so long ago That girl came and left That girl I can’t forget Her image’s always in my soul.

Vladimir prison-house Сold northern wind My transport came from Tver And all my evil deeds Lie on my heart like heavy weights

⸻

Stab me with that stare as i walk by It's like poison in my blood It trips me up just like a stone I'm just sick of people, and they're sick of everything

⸻

My ship is sailing straight ahead, avoiding the land The captain drunk and stubborn He'll protect it till the end Drowning to the right, drowning to the left Not enough lifeboats, there isn't help for everyone Swimming away, I'm swimming away somewhere straight, somewhere away

[cloned-sheep97]

What your favorite El Cuarteto De Nos album says about you!!

Alberto wolf- this one is not your favorite.

Soy una arveja- you have currently 27 different types of diseases and mental illneses! You also probably like to fuck dead corpses!

Emilio García- why. Just why.

Canciones del corazón - you strongly believe the song's CDC og version is better than the 2004 remake, and maybe you're right! Also you get really pissed off when Siempre Que Escucho Al Cuarteto gets called "tengo una muñeca vestida de azul"

Otra navidad en las trincheras- are you horny, a war criminal, racist, a slut, gay yet super straight ™ or all of the above? Either way, you still think Rosario is called "marita" instead of "marica" even though the second option makes more sense given the context of rosario's character

Barranca abajo- Skill issue: the album, maybe you are also suffering through skill issues in your life, you also often say barranca abajo is better than otra navidad en las trincheras

El Tren Bala- you're horny, but you dont get bitches, also, you want MONEI MONEI MONEI MONEI and you think this album is underrated af

Revista ¡¡Esta!!- You are either silly goober or currently under house arrest, there's no in-between

Cortamambo- You want sexual intercourse with another human being, despite only loving yourself and hating half of the population. You also seem the type of person to say "im not ___ but..." And then be angry on why you got cancelled (you are somehow lovable for me)

Raro- you drink black coffee, cry in your bed for hours, still waiting for your wife to change her mind and dont follow through the divorce, Your only coping mechanisms are: "it is what it is", drug abuse and making jokes about your despair. You want things to remain the same since you're scared of change.

Bipolar- FUCK things being the same, im angry and i want to change. I hate every single one of you, im fucking great, im so fucking great that im going to steal one of cortamambo's songs about how much i love myself, yeah, im a raging racist!!!!

Porfiado- you are living 4 stages of grieve at the same time, but not depression 'cause that thing is for pussies, you are a silly little anarchist and no matter what you will stay where your roots are, even if it costs you your social circle

Habla tu espejo- You say you're okay? Well you are not, go to therapy, i know about those 1 am texts you send to your friends saying "thanks for everything"

AZ- you like fantasy movies and stuff, when you were little you wanted to be an influencer because that sounded cool, you also have low-key angry ssues

Jueves- you 100% would start a political themed podcast, also you hate with every cell of your body those people that say that cdn died at jueves, quien quiere ver al hombre con alas tirado a las vías del tren?

Lámina once- So, if i had to guess, you're a BIG cris fan, you relate to them, you ship them with the porfiado guy, you think he looks cool and you want to cosplay them. If you have a tiktok account you TOTALLY have a flan 🍮 emoji right next to your name. 100% queer just like cris

[phoebe-delia]

Chicago's 6 Merry Murderesses as Taylor Swift's songs

I thought of this earlier today and thought maybe one or two people on here might find it amusing so here you go lol.

For context, you've got to know the lyrics to Cell Block Tango. (If you don't and you want to read on, here are the lyrics.) I will refer to each of the murderesses by both their character name AND the sound they make in the song: Pop (Liz), Six (Annie), Squish (June), Uh-uh (Hunyak), Cicero (Velma), and Lipschitz (Mona)

I am assigning the songs based on the vibe their story gives me. I am also challenging myself by excluding "No Body No Crime," since that would be a bit of a cop-out IMO.

I had fun putting this together! I hope someone else finds it interesting lol.

CW: discussion of murder, guns, blood, violence

POP/Liz: "Bejeweled" from Midnights

Liz says she kills her boyfriend because she came home from work in a bad mood and he was popping his gum too loud, which was a frequent habit of his. She was annoyed and told him to stop, but he didn't, so she shot him. This is, obviously, completely unhinged. It gives me "Bejeweled" vibes because of the lyrics "didn't notice you were walking all over my peace of mind" and "familiarity breeds contempt." Idk I just see a similar feeling of "you've gotten on my last nerve and I'm done with you" from both.

SIX/Annie: "Babe" from Red

Annie says she killed her boyfriend because he told her he was single, they got together and moved in, and then she found out he had multiple wives. So then she poisoned him. This gives me "Babe" vibes because it feels like she fell fast and hard and found out he wasn't the person she thought he was. This one is all about betrayal and feeling blindsided by infidelity and I think the song fits really well.

SQUISH/June: "Getaway Car" from reputation

June says she was making dinner when her husband burst through the door, screaming and accusing her of having an affair with the milkman. She then says he "ran into" her knife 10 times. We don't know for certain if his accusations against her are true; she doesn't let on either way. If he was screaming and raging, she could've thought she was in danger and acted in self-defense. My interpretation, though, is that she was cheating, and then killed him to keep him quiet. For this reason, I chose "Getaway Car," because the milkman was her own "Getaway Car" out of that relationship similar to how Taylor describes in the song.

Uh-Uh/The Hunyak: "Haunted" from Speak Now

Her story is SUPER sad. She's falsely accused of killing her husband, and then no one will listen to her because she can't speak English and properly advocate for herself. To me, this song captures some of the turmoil and grief she's feeling, both for herself and her husband. As the song says, "Come on, come on, don't leave me like this/I thought I had you figured out/Something's gone terribly wrong/You're all I wanted." And like, obviously, her husband didn't leave her here. But I think it portrays a similar feeling of dread and panic.

Cicero/Velma: "Better Than Revenge" from Speak Now

This was the first—and I'm pretty sure only—time Taylor addressed a woman with whom a boyfriend cheated or wronged her. I think it fits Velma's story very well. Velma and her sister did a traveling dance act, and Velma's husband traveled with them. One night, Velma caught them having sex, so she "blacked out" and killed them. Just look at the lyrics to "Better Than Revenge" and see what you think:

"She came along, got him alone, and let's hear the applause/She took him faster than you could say sabotage/I never saw it coming, nor would I have suspected it/I underestimated just who I was dealing with/She had to know the pain was beating on me like a drum/She underestimated just who she was stealing from."

Lipschitz/Mona: "I Knew You Were Trouble" from Red

Mona describes Al Lipschitz as being a sensitive artist. She says she fell deeply in love with him, but that he was trying to "find himself" and ended up cheating on her with multiple women. She's vague about how he died, but she does give us this pretty crazy line:

"I guess you can say we broke up because of artistic differences. He saw himself as alive... and I saw him dead"

Anyway, to be honest, part of what made me pick this song was picturing the music video: this suave, charming artist flirting with this girl and then leaving her because he's a "loner" and a "drifter." I think the story she tells goes well with the vibe of the song.

If you made it this far—thanks for reading!! 💛

[chunkypossum]

I know one or two people are waiting for a new chapter on Kerosene over on Ao3 so here is an update!

It’s complete!

… Sort of … Kerosene is completely written including:

25-30 chapters (some might be broken into two as I edit)

2 epilogues in a ‘choose your own ending’ style

1 chapter in an entirely new fic that jumps off from the end of one of the epilogues.

So the next steps in the process will be:

edit the drafts of chapters 20-30.

Then I will check through the whole thing for inconsistencies. I think some minor things might need to be changed in previous chapters.

Update past chapters, tags and descriptions

Set up a posting schedule for the last few chapters!

If you think you wanna be on a tag list for this fic just dm me and let me know.

Excited to share the rest of this story with y’all! For spoilers without context for new chapters scroll to the end …

There is something sinister targeting the courts of Prythian and the Night Court’s Spymaster finds it increasingly aggravating that he can’t pinpoint the source. What will he decide to do when he is faced with the possibility of losing so much, even things he didn’t realize he had?

TW: violence, torture, child abuse, contains smut 18+ only please!

Ch. 1 Snippet.

Drip. Drip…… Drip. The echo of water on stone is his only lullaby, his only steady comfort in a world of darkness. Darkness so deep it has settled in his bones and manifested itself in wisps of consciousness that skate over his skin cooling the still healing burns on his hands. If it weren’t for the comfort of the shadows Azriel wasn’t sure he would have bothered waking up after passing out during the torture his brothers had put him through. His father had been furious at Azriel for allowing them the opportunity to do such damage.

‘I had a plan that is wasted now unless you regain use of your hands.’ He had screamed, spittle from his mouth hitting Azriel on his cheeks, already damp from his useless tears. Azriel knew he messed up when he trusted that his brothers meant him no harm. He had always been desperate for their attention, even if that attention ultimately hurt him, which it always did. He thought this time might be different, and in a way it was different, it was much worse than it ever had been before. Apparently, lighting bugs on fire until they popped had lost its charm and they had wanted to see what his flesh would look like as it bubbled and crisped under their ministrations. They had been delighted.

Eventually, he had passed out from the pain, waking up only briefly to hear his father screaming at him before passing out again. At some point, his hands had been bandaged but they still felt like they were on fire. IT was a feeling he would live with for a long, long time.

Azriel didn’t know what it meant to die but death’s song sang to him anyway. It had sounded so sweet in that inky blackness of his mind and he had been so tempted to follow it wherever it led. It was only those shadows, incessantly tugging and whispering to him that kept him tethered to his body.

Not yet. Not now.

They chattered.

Someday. Someday. Not yet. Not now.

‘I’m ready now.’ He tried to tell them but they just brushed cool tendrils into his matted, shaggy curls rousing him from blissful sleep.

The smell of stagnant water and decaying moss in his lightless cell greeted him first, even before the pain of the burns. That pain rose slowly to greet him as he opened his eyes and sat up. Little whimpers escaped his lungs and fell away in the dark while he tried not to bend or flex his fingers beneath the bandages.

Azriel could taste the salt caking his cheeks still damp with tears he had been shedding even in his sleep. The shadows whispered snippets of conversation to him they had gathered from the house and village above and around him and his young brain pieced together the news. His brothers had been sent away to his father’s country estate to the south somewhere, someplace he would never see. The villagers had eagerly spread the news that his sons had been spirited away in the night, a scandal that they were desperate to learn more about. No one could truthfully claim they knew the whole truth, yet many tried.

Azriel didn’t understand most of what was said, but what had become horribly obvious to him was the fact that no one mentioned him at all. Not that it was expected, he had known his father kept him locked away for a reason but he hadn’t realized that reason was to make sure no one knew he even existed down here.

Maybe he didn’t exist. That thought was almost comforting until a pain, bright and hot, exploded from his hands as he absentmindedly tried to clench them into fists. He nearly passed out from the pain but as quick as it bloomed, the shadows were there, soothing and banking the fire cutting across his skin. If he existed he must be crazy at the very least, to find friends in the shadows. That must be why his father would rather people don't know he existed, something was wrong in him, broken in him....

You can find the rest on Ao3

_______________________

Spoilers without context for the new chapters:

[chiquititaosita]

♡˗ˏ☁️໒ brown is beautiful, Steve Harrington x latina reader (meeting)

♡˗ˏ☁️໒ post type: fic series

♡˗ˏ☁️໒ tbh i can’t believe I’m doing stranger things on this shit smh 🤦🏽‍♀️but im a sucker for this white boy. (And many more on my account on this app) please forgive me for my anime mutuals.

♡˗ˏ☁️໒ context: headcanons for Steve with a Latina s/o (female reader) takes place during and/or after season 4. HINTS OF INTERNALIZED RACISM (because we need to be aware of this shit) a little bit of angst, to fluff. Hispanic humor and slang en español, food descriptions, car terms

it’s another shift at family video. There steve is on the counter with his chocolate brown hair, fair skin wearing his vest and a black tshirt, a little silver or gold chain that was small but it was hidden a little bit under his shirt. Steve will be tired, exhausted, Annoyed. Done Just absolutely given up. because he wouldn’t know on what to do, trying to get over Nancy. literally robin is sick and tired of this shit. “You dingus, you realize why you haven’t been able to get over her right?” Robin crossed her arms wearing a black sweater with her eyes rolled up. And looking at her cell phone, it’s from her home girl y/n l/n name appeared to call.

“What do you mean?” Steve was already on the counter restocking some DVDs in the front, where the movie sale of La Bamba was being in stock almost selling out, since Keith wanted them to sell out soon.

“You go for only one type. Steve.” Steve listened carefully and had those two words “one type” replay in his mind that got him all dumb and stupid. Yes Steve in high school was a ladies man. Yet however all the girls noticed him going for the white girls. Thats when not many poc girls thought it was a joke for him to ask any girl who was poc. Steves widened and was at agape. Covering his mouth. Realizing that he’s been a huge douche bag to girls that are poc. Especially the Hispanics. “Hold that thought.” Robin was on the phone Answering to you.

“Hey home girl I’m coming by, i got your order ready.” You spoke with a smile on your face driving in a 1978 Chevy impala, modded to your liking, with hydraulics, and a v8 engine. Wearing a white tank top cropped, black zip up jacket, your hair all natural curls coming through, Nike Cortezes in white, big hoop earrings, black dickies pants, dark brown lip liner with a red lip mac lipstick on Russian red, just like the iconic Selena Quintanilla. Blasting some Spanish music of your choice.

“Oh great! Now you get to meet the suavecito i told you about.” Robin smiled through the phone, and Steve could hear you cackle, doing a bit of a loud laugh hearing some girl speak Spanish since his best friend put the girl on speaker.

“No mames Chingona!!! En serio? Eres un flaquito? Or what? Also pues, im five minutes away” Y/n was speaking Spanish. Robin was actually fluent in Spanish, surprisingly, when she had to order some food for breakfast, for the kids.

“Ah okay, claro see you chica” robin hung up and sighed. Chuckling lightly watching Steves moments of processing.

“what’s up with you?”robin looked over

“I just had an ephiphany….” Steve was walking to the register leaning against the counter facepalming, making that face of oh shit i fucked up.

“That is?” Steve was about to answer robins questions “well basically it’s that-“ until some loud music apparently the song te aprovechas was blasting outside. Parked into a near parking spot. Then not even a few seconds later, y/n was walking in with a beautiful smile that had lightened up the room immediately.

“Hola Chingona!!!” Y/n kicked the door open of the store walking to Robin giving a side hug, a little bit.

“Y/n wow you weren’t kidding that you’d be quick let me get these.” Robin smiled at her as she grabbed the box of pan dulce, and some carne asada tacos, brought that immediately smelled amazing with lettuce cheese ground beef, sour cream, cilantro, tomatoes, and grilled onions. “Aye no mama no I got you let me.” Y/n looked so happy and cheerful and gave in finally seeing the la bamba movie in stock!

“No mames! Cabrona! Yall have la bamba! Bro i love this movie!!!” She chuckled and smiled, picking it up, and putting it at the check out. Steve had what he originally was gonna say in the back of his head, then hearing that laugh of yours made him jolt and look at you every now and then.

“She maybe a challenge…, i think I can win her over.’

“Ahh so you’re suavecito! Eh!? You weren’t kidding Robin he el pelon es muy guapo.” Y/n giggled a bit as she was a sweetheart but a tóxica in disguise. “uhh yeah whatever that means but that yeah that’s me!” steve replied sheepishly as he’s trying to keep his composure well. “i’ll see you around, Steve!”

you say walking out and robin comes back looking at him. “okay you were saying about this epiphany.”

steve looked at robin, who steve has clearly rarely ever seen a latina before in hawkins. looking at her. “i think i might like latinas.” he’s got him in a look of smitten on his face. turns out he’ll won’t be the one thinking of you or in this case being steve dreaming of you.

[nirikeehan]

For Thalia and Lace from Bad Things Happen Bingo: Roaring Rampage of Rescue. Very excited :3

THANK YOU BLUE I have finally come to fill this one. I love Lace Harding and it was a delight to give her some screen time. :3

For @dadrunkwriting and @badthingshappenbingo

Series: Dragon Age: Inquisition

WC: 1098

Notes: Here is Roaring Rampage of Rescue's definition on TVTropes, for a bit more context.

---

The Tower of Bone, it’s called. Harding has heard the stories from the townsfolk. Some say it was built in the days of old Tevinter with blood magic. Others said it was Elven. Others still told her tales of a man with too much pride, the demon that resulted, and his sons. That’s where the chains came in, apparently. The sons erected them, to keep the demon from escaping. 

And something about piles and piles of human bones in the foundation. Harding thinks she has a strong constitution, but that bit made her shiver. She blamed it on the cold. 

It’s cold here too, in the bowels of the tower. Is this dungeon where the bones were found? She shudders to think. 

She also shudders when her jailers come around. The Red Templars up close are no picnic. She feels bad for them, a bit; it’s clear most of them are in the throes of some madness. She tried to appeal to a few at first — I’m just an employee, you’re just an employee, that sort of thing. It didn’t take. Many of them can barely seem to form words. The more crystals are visible, the worse off they are. Harding is taking notes. Mental ones — she can’t write with the shackles, and otherwise they don’t let her have parchment. 

The Inquisitor is going to want to know all about this. 

Because the Inquisitor is coming, Scout Harding is certain. That was the first thing she thought when their camp outside Sahrnia was attacked: The Inquisitor is gonna be pissed when she finds out I’ve been taken captive. This has cheered Harding, kept her in good spirits, even though she’s not sure how long she’s been down here. With no windows, it’s difficult to tell the passage of days. It could have been two days, or twenty — it’s really hard to say. 

But that’s okay. Lady Thalia is her friend. Friends don’t leave friends at the mercy of mad red lyrium men. If that isn’t a statute in that massive tome the Inquisition uses, it should be. At least maybe a sub-clause. 

Harding hums to herself, a half-forgotten tune her mother sang sometimes when she stitched up a kirtle or a bodice or a doublet for her clients. What would her mother say if she saw her now? I told you that Inquisition nonsense was too dangerous, Lace. Now I’m going to outlive my daughter! 

Yikes. No, no, that line of thinking won’t do. 

A red templar guard lumbers past her cell door. Harding can sense them coming now, sort of. You can hear the red lyrium before you see it. Varric Tethras — yeah, that Varric Tethras! — said it had a song to it, and Harding gets it now. It gets louder over time. Prettier, too. Maybe that’s the song she’s humming. Maybe it’s not her mom’s at all. 

Uh oh. 

Harding knows, on some level, that the longer she spends here, in the Tower of Bone, with the giant red lyrium crystals arcing out of the walls and parapets, the worse off it is for her. That the proximity to the stuff is dangerous. But how’s she to know if it’s starting to affect her, when she hasn’t seen sunlight in days? When the food they feed her is just thin cruel, and yesterday — or the day before — she found a cockroach in the bowl? When she says thank you, how do you do to her guards, and all they do is mutter about the glory of their master and their unslakable thirst? 

Harding feels sorry for them, a bit.  

There’s a commotion outside. Harding stands, straining to look through the bars — but a lifetime of being shorter than most people keeps her from being disappointed when she can’t see much. She cocks her head, listens harder than before. It’s the sounds of battle, surely — she can make out the smashing of a mace or warhammer, the clang of steel on shields, the zip-zipping of spells. And it’s not coming from the outside of her cell, its coming from the outside of her wall. 

Dizzying minutes pass, and there’s stomping and raging and war cries and at one moment she thinks she can hear Warden Blackwall’s thick Marcher accent: One less to worry about! 

It’s them. They’ve come. Harding runs to the stone wall, starts banging against it. “Help!” she calls. “In here, I’m in here!” 

The din dies, and she hears Lady Thalia’s voice. “Scout Harding? Is that you?” 

“Yes! It’s me, Inquisitor, I’m right here! It’s about time you showed up.” 

“All right, Harding, I need you to stand well away from this wall,” Lady Thalia calls. “Can you do that for me?”

“Of course, Your Worship.” 

Harding scrambles backward, and just in time, too. The next second brings a terrible booming racket, and with surprising ease, the stones collapse inward in a pile of dust and debris. Standing to either side of the gap are Blackwall and the Iron Bull. Bull slings his hammer over massive shoulder. “You all right in there, little miss?”

Before Harding can answer, in barrels Sera the blond-haired elf, bow cocked and ready. “Any red templar shits in here? I’ll skewer ‘em, bam! Rat on a stick.”

The Inquisitor hops over the fallen stones by Sera’s side, the staff on her back still glowing with residual electric magic. She coughs as she storms through the dust cloud. “Harding! Thank the Maker, there you are.” 

Then, well, it’s a little embarrassing, because Harding runs to her and throws her arms around Thalia, or tries to — it’s tough with shackles. “You came for me,” she says, surprised by the awe in her voice. She feels weirdly emotional, near tears.

“Of course I did,” Thalia says, stooping down to hug her properly. “Where would I be without you? Utterly lost. I’ve got a terrible sense of direction, you know.” 

Harding laughs, and then she’s crying for real, which is super embarrassing. Except that Sera offers her a cookie and the two warriors help her through the pile of rubble and the Warden is promising her they’ll get those shackles off by hook or by crook. They’re going to build a camp here now that the red templars have been vanquished, and she just needs to get warm by a fire and she’ll be fine, just fine. 

“I’m already fine,” Harding insists, but she can still hear the song from the red lyrium crystals that protrude from rock and snow and earth. But that’s normal, isn’t it? Everyone can hear that. Can’t they? 

[dekaydk]

The Eighth Sense

Episodes 9 and 10

SPOILERS AHEAD

If you haven't seen the whole thing: what are you doing here go watch it and come back later I beg of you.

STORY AND CHARACTER

First of all, I was relieved that Ep 9 didn't start out with Ji Hyun in despair. (Or, as so many other BLs do, spending time on the character Having The Bigtime Sads Because His True Love Maybe Isn't Who He Thought, Even Though He Really Ought to Know Otherwise If He Had Even Three Brain Cells to His Name.) Ji Hyun believes that the truth is that Jae Won does care, does want him, and is beginning to understand just how much Jae Won's rejection isn't about him. Ae Ri first ridicules him for buying into Eun Ji's line, because obviously anything that Eun Ji says is going to be self-serving if not an outright lie. Then Ae Ri gets him to examine the problem, and, because Ji Hyun is bright and not suffering from trope-driven stupidity, the light goes on pretty quickly.

Ji Hyun having awakened to the realization that he wasn't seeing the whole problem (thanks to Ae Ri) and then THINKING about what to do and how to do it in such a way as to say "I see you, I want you to have what you want in life, and I want to send this message in such a way as to make it entirely about you and your needs while underscoring the fact that I fucking care about you." That simple gift of a basic camera did exactly that, and then he walked away! Others might have gone on to "now that I've shown you how nice I am, you owe me, so start talking." He left because he knows that the right thing to do is to make the gesture and, because the other person needs the space, let the other person be able to reflect and not add pressure. There's no way Jae Won can interpret this as anything other than "no pressure; take your time." Take note, people: this is how relationships are built and SUSTAINED.

The therapist calling Jae Won on his selfishness was, I would argue, necessary. While it's true that generally speaking therapists are trying to get you to come to your own realizations, sometimes the bullshit needs a knife, not a spatula. Then you have Ji Hyun's boss who took a spoon to Jae Won's head bullshit, blowing open the realization door that the therapist unlatched. (The reader is invited to improve this overdone metaphor.)

After Ji Hyun leaves the surf club room, the cut to suddenly seeing Yoon Won break down made me wonder if this was later and she was alone, but then Jae Won snaps into being present, of showing who he is and caring for his friend. This is clearly a moment where being sunk in depression and denial will not do and he rises to the occasion. This felt like one of the elements of breaking his walls down, along with the therapist and Ji Hyun's boss.

Ji Hyun sending the Conor Gray song was spot on both emotionally for the viewer and for Jae Won's crumbling walls. "Do you want to be these characters?" Also another perfect soundrack moment.

Watching Jae Won flip to happy made me wonder how much of it was deciding to discard the mask, to accept Ji Hyun's love, and whether he wasn't on the meds (whatever they were). I don't suppose it matters, but to the people saying it was too sudden, you have never been in that particular situation of depression/heavy medication/self-denial and had a breakthrough. Of course he is going to be happy and even a little giddy. For all we know, happy and giddy was his normal state before his brother's death.

Eun Ji did not once show any concern for Jae Won. It was all about what she wanted both in the moment (let's eat, let's go to a hotel for the night) and more tactically (let's fuck with Ji Hyun's head) in the larger context of Jae Won just being to her a trophy boyfriend and eventually a rich husband, not a real human. With a single exception she was selfish, mean, and manipulative.

Tae Hyung has his own selfishness problem. He envies Jae Won for lots of things: his looks, his money, the ease in which he moves in social situations, without apparently realizing he could be more successful socially if he tried operating from a position of being nice instead of aggressive, and that the money apparently comes at an appalling price in controlling/abusive behavior from (at least) Jae Won's father. I got more than a little sense that Tae Hyung's resentful behavior stems from a wish to be closer to Jae Won both emotionally and physically (yes I went there but him wanting Jae Won physically is not required to make this point stand), and Tae Hyung's inability to love himself and be good to others is exactly the most alienating thing about him.

Jae Won apologized for his single real offense against Tae Hyung (and sorta with Eun Ji) and in so doing let go of the hurt, let go of any resentment, and moved on. I've seen people call this simping: bullshit. It's fucking HEALTHY. He has removed their power, he has made it so he can be around them without their presence causing stress. He won't let them treat him badly again because if the depression isn't in control and he no longer needs the mask, it means they have no leverage. (And we know that Ji Hyun won't let that happen either!) Also, let's face it: there was a touch of shade in his approach to them. (Deservedly.)

Having gone through all this, Eun Ji and Tae Hyung might each become a better person over time but it's gonna be a serious uphill battle for both of them.

CINEMATOGRAPHY AND STAGING

Others will no doubt talk about this in much more detail and more knowledgeably (@respectthepetty and @wen-kexing-apologist especially) so I'm just going to hit on a few points.

In general the cinematography inn these episodes became more conventional because it no longer had to convey the difficulties Jae Won was in. Pretty obvious.

The camera giving scene had both actors made up (? maybe it's camera/editing) to look a little pale/wan.

Something I loved: as Jae Won approached Ji Hyun's dorm, the golden light on Jae Won was wonderful (and made Ji Sub even more gorgeous) and then to see Ji Hyun lit the same way…damn these men are so very nice to look at.

The cycling through the colors as they embraced was presumably intended to be evocative of the colors before, or even just a suggestion of color re-entering Jae Won's life, but I would have equally loved to see it shot just in that golden light still.

The other was of course the scene in Ji Hyun's bed where they're just cuddling. Delightful.

Extra touches

Did anyone notice the little "neon" rainbow on Ji Hyun's nightstand? It was just showing a tiny bit this time; this is how I figured out early in the series that he wasn't going to go through a "am I or am I not" phase. (Go back to early episodes and it's always been there.)

MUSIC

Once again the music DELIVERED. The Conan Grey song, of course, but the instrumentals are great (and I cannot identify some of them, especially the piano/cello piece used as the end credits a few times, driving me crazy; it could be that these were composed for the film so aren't in any Soundhound et. al. databases). Were it not for the licensing costs, an official soundtrack would probably make decent money.

[caitybobo]

I've decided that i'm going to start writing here more. I like to journal and I always have. I forgot that when I was 13/14 years old I would get home and immediately log into my journal. I had entries from 2003 on there.

Anyway, I was telling my friend Amanda about how much Taylor means to me, and it was really getting into all of the things. Masking, AuDHD, mental illness, relationships, loss, etc.

So one of the first things I told her about was when Midnights came out and what was going on in my life in October 2022 when it was released.

October 2022... I will set the stage. Provide some needed context.

My partner and I got married in July of 2022, and we were going on our Honeymoon in November 2022.

At our wedding in July, my mom (the alcoholic who raised me), just absolutely acted in true BPD fashion and made her emotions known and did not speak to me, my partner, or my daughter for the entire day. Then she left the hotel the next morning without saying good-bye and didn't text me again until September (my sister's bday actually) and told me that she was TRIGGERED so that's why she acted that way and actually her AND her doctor agree that *I* owe her an apology for the way I treated her.

Needless to say, near my 2nd wedding anniversary, I have not seen my mother since my wedding day. We are estranged. She is dead to me. And I do not say that lightly. The most recent contact she made was the week after Mother's day this year. Emailing me about my sibling's (who I have been supporting emotionally, financially, etc since October 2023) student loan payment. And how she "gots no money" to pay for it. I pre-emptively blocked her cell phone number. There is truly NOTHING she could do short of heal from a lifetime of trauma, and do some serious self-reflection and apologizing tour for me to want to speak to her again.

How does this relate to Taylor Swift? Well, in October 2022, I was in a new job with an amazing and supportive manager who I was honest with about my estrangement and was incredibly kind to me as I navigated that (he also knew my mother). I was enjoying my new job, however things at home were not going well. Looking back now my partner was being incredibly abusive (emotionally) and I was enabling it by being co-dependent and we would get into hours long arguments. I was honestly struggling but I didn't even know it.

October 21, 2022 Midnights is released. I liked Taylor Swift, but I wasn't even aware a new album was coming out before it was released. I woke up and Spotify suggested it to me. I didn't realize this album was going to save me over and over again.

The entire album was everything to me at the time. When I listened to it a few months into my marriage to a partner who wasn't treating me right, I was like, how is this not a break up album? lol.

October 21, 2022 I began listening exclusively to the tracklist of Midnights (3am Edition). From the morning October 21 until Wednesday, October 26th I had listened to the album for about 12 hours per day. Wednesday, October 26th was the day I found out my cousin, Jennifer had died. She died by suicide, and left behind her two small kids and her husband. Jennifer was my mom's sister's kid. She was also estranged from her mom (my aunt). I wanted so badly to go back in time. To reach out to her. I knew she was struggling, but I never knew how much. Fuck. I haven't grieved Jennifer.

Back to Midnights. This album was so sad. So fuckn sad man. Or was I sad? lololllll. Or both?

The song, Mastermind, hit me in the feels. As an AuDHD person, I didn't realize how much of my plotting & planning is "abnormal" or "crazy". But I related to the lyrics of mastermind. And from the release of Midnights, until the release of 1989 (Taylor's Version), I only listened to Midnights. I did listen to All Too Well (Ten Minute Version) (Taylor's Version) (From the Vault) 48 times in one month. But other than that it was Midnights.

I remember thinking the song Mastermind reminded me of Jennifer, too. When I read back on our old conversations I was like, omgggggggggg we are twins. I needed her more than I realize. But what had me bursting into tears was the bridge

"No one wanted to play with me as a little kid

so I've been scheming like a criminal ever since

to make them love me and make it seem effortless

this is the first time I've felt the need to confess

and I swear

I'm only cryptic and Machiavellian

'cause I care"

When I heard it I sobbed. Jennifer and I were both AuDHD I know this now. We both masked so fucking hard. It's not your fault and I forgive you.

I love you and miss you Jenny.

And thank you @taylorswift for saving my life in October 2022.

[greypetrel]

@salsedine had a second prompt for Dark Lady Aisling... And here we go.

With no one's surprise, it's long but I really really wanted to be three-parts!

Also, this is one of those pieces that had a song to be heard on repeat as I wrote.

Here it is if you'd like some sountrack! 🎶

Tis the prompt list (if you read and see this and like it... It's still open. Ask another. It's been a fun prompt list.)

Thus Always to Tyrants.

Camelia- my destiny is in your hands

The first time she said it, it was a mockery, and it was defeat.

It was some days after the battle on the Pelennor Fields and the end of the siege of Minas Tirith. She’s been imprisoned in the tower cell, her prosthetic taken away, iron manacles on her remaining hand and ankles enchanted so she couldn’t use magic, an iron muzzle, enchanted as well, so she couldn’t speak.

Cullen, newly appointed Captain in the lack of a clear power in the city with Denethor dead and Faramir down in the Houses of Healing, had been assigned by Gandalf to speak with her. He had already shown, the Wizard had said, to be resistant to her magic and her words, and maybe she would have trusted him more.

After she had been imprisoned after she had launched herself against the Wizard, full of fury and hatred after witnessing the Witch-King falling in the fields down below, nobody exactly knew what she could have said, what lies she could have spun, the situation was utterly delicate.

Little Gandalf know, apparently, that Cullen wasn’t really sure wether she had had so little effect on him, wether he was so resistant to her words. Because seeing her there, with just the luxury of having a cell that was clean and dry and the chains tying her to the tall roof long enough so she could kneel on the floor, even if with her arm up in the air… it seemed cruel, to him, and made him pity the friend he once had. She wouldn’t have deserved that treatment. And the Dark Lady wouldn’t either: she was right, that day weeks ago, in telling that Gondor wouldn’t have treated her or any of hers in the same way she treated the Gondor Lieutenant who dared draw a sword and threaten her people to defend the wrong person.

He kneeled too and unlocked the muzzle from the small lock on the back of her head, slipping it away from her face as delicately as he could. She didn’t open her eyes or reacted in any way -she hadn’t opened her eyes once since they brought her there-, so he gently pushed her chin to coax her to raise her head. She did, and opened her eyes, blinking thrice as she looked him directly in his eyes, the spark of recognition flashing in her green irises.

There you are, he thought.

She waited for him to lower his fingers and kept watching him as he moved back a couple of steps and sat on the ground, still maintaining eye-level with her, saying nothing. They stood there for a couple of minutes, none saying anything, in a silence that was, in spite of the context, familiarly comfortable.

“I am to ask you some questions.”

“I figured it out.”

Her voice was hoarse from not being used. Cullen didn’t know if her kind ate and drink, or needed them as humans did.

“Would you wish to drink?”

“You don’t need to bother for me… Captain, I suppose?”

“That is correct. It wouldn’t be a bother bringing you water.”

A sardonic smile flashed upon her face, but she didn’t explicit her thought with words. She didn’t ask for water, nor for food, or anything. She just stayed there, silent and waiting, lackluster and resigned. Gandalf had explained it to him: he had enchanted the chains, she was harmless as long as she was bound, just her silver tongue to aid her if she was free to speak.

“You didn’t kill any soldier of Gondor.” He told her, finally. It wasn’t a question: even in her fury and sorrow, she swarmed up the battlements with a vengeance, felling every Uruk warrior that she met, leaving the corpses twitching and fuming in her wake, but didn’t raise a finger towards the human soldiers. No, that wasn’t in doubt. The real question was another. “Why?”

“You have remarkably little faith in a person you tried to form an alliance with.” She replied, with half a smile that didn’t reach her eyes.

“It goes against anything we know of you.”

“Maybe what you were told is not the full truth.”

Cullen nodded, getting more comfortable. He crossed his leg and propped his elbows on his knees, crossing his fingers over his ankles.

“Tell me the truth, then.”

“I would like to speak with… The Stewart by now. My alliance is with him.”

“I was sent by the White Rider in Faramir’s place.”

He told her, calmly and simply, and didn’t flinch when she squinted at him, turning her head slightly on the side. Her eyes turned a little keener at that, thinking about the implications of his last sentence. They stood there, none really in a hurry or having anything better to do. In the end, after some moments, Aisling curled her lips, in another smile that was years from the bright ones she graced him with when they were still friends, still just to people who met and found some common ground. No. This was clever and sharp, and had some sarcasm into it.

“It seems like my destiny is in your hands, Captain.”

---

The second time she told him, it was in surprise and kindness, and it was hope.

He found her in the orchard, up in the citadel, crouching down before some flowers and humming lightly between herself.

It was two weeks since he had interrogated her in her cell, and by then she had gained few commodities in her cell -a bed, a bathtub, books and candles- and the chance to get out and walk in the Citadel. Never to stray for long, and still with manacles on her ankles and wrist, and Guards always on sight. Her prosthetic hadn’t been returned and Cullen had been told she couldn’t do magic without it. At least she was not muzzled and chained anymore, but he knew that the Wizard wasn’t taking his eyes from her.

The situation in town was disheartening. Disheartening to see how the mere presence of a man claiming to be Isildur’s heir and a claimer to the crown had sent the people in a thrilled frenzy. Disheartening how the rumours around town all revolved around this ranger who came from North and sure, fought well and swept in with new allies to save the day, sure  he had saved Faramir and Lady Eowyn alike. And yet, none of the rumours was spared for the ones that spent years and years working to keep the situation at bay, to maintain the city at peace. Sure, when they spoke about Faramir, it was with love and admiration… and yet.

Coming up to the Citadel and walking with Aisling, tho, had been some respite from all his new responsibilities -he was the senior officer around, and had to fill in most of Faramir’s tasks as well until he healed- and the frustration of the uncertainty of the moment, the frustration of seeing what his friends and him had built wasn’t recognized as it should have.

Guarding the Dark Lady of Mordor as she walked around the Citadel would have been for another person the harsh part of the day, and instead for him it was all but so.

Because Aisling had started to tell him her story, from the start. From the Creation to Valinor to the First Age, Nùmenor and onward. And it’s been utterly fascinating.

So, he made his way across the large courtyard, past whatever remained of the white tree and the fountain, towards the orchards where he knew he would find her. As admired as she had been of the architecture, as many question she had asked about the technique and how did they cut the stones like that, the structure of the city and this and that… She was fascinated with green things and things that grew. When she was left alone, she was always on grass or relaxing under trees.

Today was no different, and Cullen found her humming a song and crouching in front of a flowerbed full of long dark stems, not yet in bloom, shining red with big buds ready to open.

Cullen cleared his throat to signal he was there, and she turned to smile at him. The same sad smile she had in those days, not quite reaching her eyes. There was one part of her story that he couldn’t quite grasp, tho, and it was a curiosity burning in his throat. He’d love to ask, but he could tell she was sad and down, and with everything that was happening and the knowledge that if the Hobbits would succeed these may be her last days on earth, he had really not the heart to add to the cloud of sadness she seemed to be walking into, not even to ask why it was so deep exactly.

Instead, he crouched down beside her, and asked her what she was doing with flowers that weren’t ready to open their petals yet.

“It’s something an old friend once taught me.” She laughed, plucking one cherry red bud from a stem. Or trying to, but Cullen reached out to help her and keep the plant steady, without really asking. “Thank you. Here, for your troubles.”

She poked at his hand until he offered her the palm, and the bud got placed, delicately, in the center of his gloved hand, shining red and inviting in the afternoon sun.

“It’s…?” Cullen asked, not sure what to do with it, turning it between his hands.

“Eat it.”

The Captain raised an eyebrow, skeptical.

“I’d be very stupid in trying to poison you right now, don’t you think?” She smiled. “I’ll wait after you’ll take these manacles away from me for that, I promise.”

“Or maybe it would be the perfect moment for it.” He countered. “You can’t use your magic, and who would suspect the Dark Lady of Mordor, notoriously a keen smith and oreficer, she who brought the storm, to know about plants?”

“Good old Olorin -or how does he prefer to be called, Gandalf? He would. He’s observing me like a grumpy white owl, like this.”

She made a face to illustrate it, scrunching her nose and mouth in a grump expression and squinting hard, moving her neck forward and bending her head on the side just so. It was so distant from the image of the conquering queen she had kept through the battle and holding court, the defiance she showed when Gandalf came to talk to her, that Cullen couldn’t but laugh at her.

“Tell me I’m wrong!” She smiled, less gloomily than before.

“He’s not looming over you!”

“He is, you just cannot sense him.” She giggled. “I can’t use magic but I can still sense it. He’s watching and glaring, you’re safe as can be.”

Thinking better about it, he had never felt but safe around her. Weird as it may have been, he should have be afraid of anything offered… And yet, he was not. He was not, when he brought the bud to his lips and chewed it, looking at her and finding her curious and expecting.

“… it’s sweet.”

“Right? They’re just like candies before they bloom! Just don’t eat many of them.”

“Why?”

“You don’t want to know.”

“Bad experience?”

“One I’d be very embarrassed to share.”

But one that she shared anyway, telling him of back in Valinor, before she came to Middle-Earth, when she helped out as she can, in dull moments in the forge or whenever she needed to calm her mind and make piece with a slower rhythm than what she would have liked. Lady Yavanna, she who cared for all green things and things that grows, kindly accepted her and taught her names and properties of many, many of her creations: how Elfroot can heal and soothe, how the bark of willow trees can break a fever if you treat it just so, how the shiny, luster berries of the Nightshade can make your eyes shiny, and kill you if you take too much. And, apparently, how Embrium buds are sweet as candies… And she discovered on herself that if the Lady tells you not to eat too much, you should really avoid eating too much. Because also Maiar can get sick and hurt.

They rose together, Cullen helped her, and went on walking, amongst trees enclosed and carefully cared for, flowers waiting for Spring to finally arrive to bloom, and perfectly trimmed lawns that she walked upon, spreading her bare toes in the soft grass. She kept refusing shoes. She spun tales for him and asked for his opinion, in a practiced game.

He let her spin her tale, taking joy in it and forgetting for a couple of hours of his duties and all the worries of the rest of the time. Forgetting that he was still on duty, and that he was there with a precise task, making easy conversation and bickering back and forth, as they did months prior. Maybe more relaxed from all the cards being finally on the table. Or well, mostly all.

As the sun started to slowly reach the horizon, painting the air in gold, they sat on the other side of the long prow-like courtyard in front of the palace, words exhausted. Cullen would need to get back soon, and that will mark the time for her to return down in her cell, they both knew. Nobody spoke, sitting side by side on a bench and looking west. It was quiet, the very air seemed to be waiting for something, still and calm, moments dripping one after the other.

“What does Gandalf want to know from me, precisely?” Aisling finally asked, not smiling anymore, and still looking at the sunset.

The perfect image, as Cullen turned to look at her, of a lady of noble birth, sitting straight and looking right in front of her. Her hair, loose on her back and in front of her shoulders, shone like gold in the sunset, with reddish and russet shades here and there. She looked beautiful, and she looked terribly tired, right there.

“You know?” He asked.

“Of course I know. I know he is here to counter my influence over the people of Middle-Earth. I know it’s his job not to trust me and his master…” She sighed, frowning. “… his master never liked me much even before I… Well. If I’m left out of that cell and if you’re here with me, with a city to guard, it must be because he wants to know something from me. And he knows I won’t ever tell him, after what he allowed. So, what is it that he wants to know?”

Cullen sighed as well, slouching a little down on the bench. They were alone, all the other guards were precisely instructed to keep their distances. Be there to watch, but from afar. He could allow to be less formal in his sitting, relax his back a little and spread his legs, not so much as to annoy her, but just a little to be more comfortable.

“He wants to know why you marched to help Gondor.”

“Oh?” She turned, raising one eyebrow at him. “You should know better than me. The Steward should, as well.”

“You said it yourself that it was a risky endeavour. That you risked yours to engage in unnecessary battle. You had no point in coming.”

“You have been listening to me, then.” She teased, bumping his arm with her half left arm.

“Believe it or not, I have been listening better after I knew.” He smiled, in spite of himself.

“Mh.” She slipped forward as well on the sitting, fingers coming to absent-mindedly play with the empty sleeve on the other side of her bust. She took her time before replying. “You can tell him I was tired of inaction. Saruman would have come for me next, he’s been trying to frame me ever since I refused him my alliance. I thought he would have never expected me to strike him here, helping Gondor. The alliance was peculiar enough for him not to foresee… And I also took advantage of striking from his back, we avoided a full-frontal battle, spared some lives.”

He nodded, recognizing the strategy and the opportunity it had been for her, if she wanted to counter-strike. And after she told him of the long siege when she lost her arm and her Ring, he could understand why she wanted to avoid another siege.

“He won’t believe you’ve refused Saruman’s alliance. It seems… A convenient excuse.”

“I know he won’t, and I know it seems. But it’s the truth, and I won’t become a liar to serve him something he’ll stomach better and give him reason to call me Deceiver. Anything else?”

“The Hobbits.”

She closed her eyes, and for a moment, all her years fell upon her, clouding her in grief and sorrow and darkening her expression. When she opened her eyes again, she was frowning, and had something hard in her eyes.

“Safe as can be. If they survived the spider - which has nothing to do with me, Gandalf will know I can’t create or manipulate life, only materials and elements.” She explained, tired. “If they reached Cirith Ungol and made it on the other side… No one will harm them. They’re safe to go. If Cassandra will find them, they’ll be scared but she won’t hurt a hair on their heads. The mission itself is what put them at risk.”

And she went on, explaining that no living creature without the blood of the Valar should wield that Ring, that the Ring wasn’t meant to be wielded by any elf, human, dwarf of Hobbit. It was meant to be worn by her, and her alone, and as such was enchanted. Just as Denethor got crazy with too much magic for him to wield, the Hobbit would be slowly consumed by the magic he carried, too much for his body. It wasn’t her last link to a humanoid form, it wasn’t the key to all her power… The mission was a ruse. They would have hurt her, yes, in a way she was careful not to tell, but not killed her.

“I could heal him, partially, if he’ll be brought to me and I’ll be able to use magic.” She told him, gravely. “But it’s my word against misinformation. And what my word was worth was seeing the best of my friends killed in front of me.” She concluded, and like that, tears spilled from her eyes, still focused west even if the sun had set, and dusk was painting now the sky in pinks and peaches and deep indigos.

Cullen observed her attentively in the fading light. He was a trained warrior, a Guard of the Citadel, a Lieutenant and now a Captain. He had moved his way up ranks as a foreigner: talented, yes, but still the son of a simple farmer from Rohan, not like the other cadets. He was there because he had worked the hardest, and their first teaching had been to observe. Observe your surroundings, observe your enemy and study them, try to read their posture and expression, any little tell that could hint when they were about to strike.

Cullen was good. And he observed her now.

He observed her, and saw that she was sincere. That she was pained. It took her ten days, but finally she spilled out in grief, the loud scream she launched now clear in its nature, the way she looked lackluster and sad in those days. The way that she didn’t harm anyone that didn’t bore the white hand of Isengard even when it was clear she was angry. The way she was hurt when he met her at the Crossroad and she realized he had betrayed her by bringing the Hobbits behind her back. The way she had tried to parlay, and the way she let the garrison be, and kept her Orcs away from patrols, avoiding fights, or she let him go after the trial. The way they spent six months navigating around each other and laughing and spending time together. She must have made time for him, and on most days not a word was said of work and patrols and informations she may have found useful if her intentions hadn’t been good.

He may be damned for this one decision, he know. But he didn’t find it in him to say anything else, right now.

“Not just your word alone.”

And there, as the first stars started to appear in the twilight, as the light faded and they were both still there late, missing dinner, she turned to him with eyes wide in surprise, and looked at him for real. He kept her eyes, by now that couldn’t hurt more. After a minute, she smiled, and tho tears were still rolling down her cheeks, it was warmer than she had been lately.

“It seems like my destiny is in your hands once again.”

---

The third time it was several weeks later, and it was a goodbye.

Several weeks later of a long march through Rohan, and the weirdest alliance ever finally had sieged Isengard.

She had stormed the tower and the compound with thunder and rain, melted the rocks, the showdown between her and Saruman something terrible that filled the hearts of Gondoreans, Rohirrim, Orcs and Uruks alike with dread. The sky had darkened and roared, the forest had moved and fought with them -Ents, Cullen heard- and the river had been freed, flooding the compound and filling the pits, quenching the fires and putting an end to the machineries.

The Dark Lady and her Nine had flown in the storm, with the sure precision of having reharsed this many, many times.

And after hours of confusion and chaos and magic, the sky had cleared and the battle had stopped.

The ground was unrecognizable, and if the dragons still flew in the air, coming to land where it was dry, tired and exhausted… She was nowhere to be seen. No one has seen her after she feel from the top of the tower, in a last thundering flash of light.

Cullen had not listened to reason. Cullen had Lieutenants who could care for the troops in his place. Cullen had looked for her, waddling through a flooded compound, again and again, helped by all the seven Wargs -snouts caked in blood and wounded, but eager to find their lady as well as he was, and a distressed Fluffwing who had been flying well past her limit and screeching forlornly, not finding Aisling anywhere.

Cullen had found her. Or well, Beignet had found her, finally, barking madly and pawing desperately at a big pile of rubble that once had been a guard tower on the surrounding walls. Seven Wargs and one human had taken the finest of the debris away, and one dragon had helped in keeping a huge shrapnel upward, enough for Cullen to slip in and emerge with a unconscious and severely battered down Dark Lady in his arms.

She was barely alive, bleeding from her head and her side, her right leg broken and maimed, bending unnaturally in three different points, her prosthetic still glowing green. When Cullen had taken away her breastplate and jacket and tried to unleash the harness that kept her fake arm up, she had stopped him, with a faint, pained voice.

The prosthetic was the only thing tethering her to a humanoid form. Without it, she would have disappeared.

She was fine, she told him. It was over, she deprived Saruman of his power. It was over, and she was content, she could go.

He wouldn’t have it. Not now.

He kissed her, as delicately as he could but infusing all the love he could muster and couldn’t express verbally, and promised her that help was on its way, she would have been healed and saved, he wouldn’t have let her die.

She caressed his cheek, and brought him down for another kiss.

“Luthien was right.” She told him.

“What?” He asked her, not understanding what that old story had to do with everything, now.

“I asked her why risking her life for a mere human. A mortal one, whose life lasted but a blink of an eye.” She snorted at the irony, but the hint to a laugh made her flinch and whine in protest, squeezing her eyes. She waited for the moment to pass, and got back to speaking, ignoring him telling her to please, save her strength, she could tell him later.

“Sh-she told me th-that the mortality was the point. And that I would have understood, eventually. I thought it as a curse, but…”

“Please, Aisling, don’t-”

“I get it, now. I do.” She smiled, waterily at him. “I l-”

“No. You’re not telling me like that.” He stopped her, kissing her again. He didn’t want nothing more than to hear it, but he didn’t want to hear it like that. “I’m gonna save you. You’re not disappearing, please… Not now.” He begged her, crying in earnest and holding her close, not caring if he hurt her more as long as she wasn’t complaining. If she was right, it didn’t matter and he needed that one last hug. If he was right, it couldn’t matter much, and someone would have come soon. Fluffwings had flown away to call for help, he had heard distant screeches. Someone was coming. Someone definitely was. If he told her enough times, maybe he would have believed it too.

She caressed his cheekbone with the back of her trembling fingers, and told him, before closing her eyes.

“It seems like my destiny is in your hands once again, Cullen.”