#THEY LITERALLY DEFIED DEATH WITH BRICKS

[funnefox]

[eldritch-bf]

I know the decrepitness of the house in Bride is just supposed to be a mood setter/stock horror genre setting but I can’t help but look at it as a reflection of Dan and Herbert’s relationship.

The dilapidated couch with tears, the dust everywhere, the closed drapes, and poorly lit rooms—it all screams ‘we’re falling apart’ and also ‘of course they’re falling apart it’s two men living together’. Chapman invites himself in, sits on their couch, makes himself at home in their home when we haven’t seen them act at home in the living room (or elsewhere) at all. Chapman comment or even seem to notice what a hellhole it is. And why would he. His wife his dead. His own place likely doesn’t look much better.

Francesca is immediately shocked and put off by the state of the place (a woman immediately recognizing the death of a home) but recovers and starts cooking in the brightly lit kitchen. Giving some heteronormativity for Dan. And then they immediately have sex.

The basement/embalming room—hidden behind not one but TWO locked doors, concealed from the world, containing beautiful yet profane things, a place Chapman forces his way into against Herbert’s wishes, and a place Herbert refuses to allow Francesca to enter—is in a better state than the rest of the house.

The basement is well-lit and organized, though still with the backdrop of brittle old brick and cold cement floors, it is this secret place where Herbert and Dan defy God that is the heart of their home.

And of course the storm comes, because God always shows he’s angry with a thunderstorm, and collapses the roof of the adjoining crypt inward, the wall of which Herbert literally had partially disassembled himself. Herbert’s actions metaphorically weakened the foundations between the dead (the crypt) and the living (the house), but also traditions and blasphemy.

Herbert is ostensibly killed in the collapse while Dan, rescuing the damsel in distress Francesca both emerge from the ruins of Herbert’s obsession. The heterosexual couple is finally free from danger and the influence of the ruinous Other.

[occasionalsnippets]

hello there i have finally slept but woke up at 2;00 am what do i do

warning: rant fuelled by one (1) cup of jasmine tea, Re1999 brainrot, and a weirdly good 5 hours of sleep idek if half of the people on this blog know what Re1999 is

anyways thinking of ReM! MC getting isekai^2 (at least not cubed) into the Reverse 1999 world because. time-reversing storm exists and uhm St. Pavlov Foundation being eerily similar to the SCPF (LITERALLY ONE LETTER OFF)

assuming that MC reverses time when they die, and storm unaffected areas n devices are also unaffected by MCs time-reversing dying (because maybe they work the same way), Timekeeper and her harem the gang would probably detect and think they're a unique arcanist (also thought that they're maybe working or the manus vindictae??) and investigate them despite MC technically being human by blood and they're trying not to die via storm syndrome (i like to think it still affects them because the imagery of MC eating a brick of gold nonchalantly is fun)

MC takes off a Manus Vindictae member's mask (it looks cool) and the member dies (storm is happening rq), MC is like "woopsies"

if MC told Timekeeper the whole dying thing she probs wouldn't bat an eye cuz. arcanists are wild (she's gonna take interest in the way MC affects time because the only thing that reverses time is the Storm so far) (correct me if im wrong cuz i haven't seen the new chapters and event stories since math scares me and wdym there's a whole island of math ppl) maybe the SPF would experiment on them like they did with Timekeeper

MC joins team Timekeeper since free living place and no more eating money and the only thing you have to do is go on missions sometimes

MC offhandedly mentions liking horror once and now Horropedia is zooming down the halls trying to talk to them about FNaF lore (SCOTT CAWTON IS AN ARCANIST AND MADE FNAF BEFORE THE YREAR 1999 TRUST ME) (or the SPF got the internet past the 21st century somehow and he secretly downloaded the games and all the game theories idk, the new event takes place in 2007 so)

Click and MC bonding over experiencing death (+Necrologist for obvious reasons including death)

MC meets the Fool and mentions that he reminds them of someone

thank you for coming to my TED talk. It is 2:47 am here. I will actually go to sleep now

(I've been on this blog for a long, long time now. It's actually the reason I made a Tumblr account. thanks for introducing me to this small community of reader-insert SCP isekai with death-defying powers :D. can I be sleep-deprived anon :3)

Welcome sleep deprived anon :))

Alskjfa idk stuff about reverse 1999 but I might get around to it

[kingkangyohan]

TDJ Meet Joe Black AU

It's Christmas and I would really love to make that post about Yo Han and Ga On being eachother Jesus I keep thinking about, but you will have my headcanons for the Meet Joe Black AU instead. Both Yo Ha as Death and Ga On as Death.

I can't give up either of both options. Yo Han and Ga On have such a different relationship with death.

Yo Han should have died so many times, and always refused.

He was abandoned as a kid, literally left to die by his own mother (and father), growing up abused and beaten, he even survived the fire. He has fought tooth and nail against death. But then death comes for a visit.

And Death is beautiful. Death has the face of someone that used to love him. Death has the face of someone he loves.

Yo Han is on the brick of completing his long plan, where he thought he would defy death once more, but now he has Death by his side. And oh, he is so tempting.

On the other end, Ga On has tried to die several times. He seeks death since he was in high school, always feeling it as something close, something reachable - although, always refusing him. Death in Ga On's eyes is justice, the ultimate atonement for his simple crime of still be alive.

The day Death finally visits him, Ga On despise it. Despite him.

Death is corrupted and violent.

Death is no longer a light at the end of a tunnel. Death is the Abyss.

[madammuffins]

ON YOUR OWN -PT 1

Fandom: Rise of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles

Rated: Teen and Up

Warnings: Canon typical violence, Bad Future Timeline, Main Character Death, Angst, No Happy Endings, Kraang Invasion

Links: AO3, Wattpad, Playlist

NEXT

There wasn't much to the end of the world.

Time stretching endless, dust, debris. Death. A lot of death.

But eventually, between the glass, dried out plants, and bones of those who had fallen before you, you got used to the persistent gentle crunch of your feet as you walked.

The sleepless city streets of New York were gone. In its stead was the eerie silence of a world deprived of inhabitants. It was rare to see a pigeon, let alone another person. It didn't used to be that way. Even in the beginning of the end there was life.

You pushed open the half sunken doorway to what was left of the convenience store, adjusting the bag on your shoulder.

Though there were people. Hiding in the basements, sewers, broken pieces of city raized to hell. It was rare to run into those who were hiding. Despite that, the feeling of being watched never left you. Maybe it was paranoia. Maybe it was survival instinct.

Maybe it was trauma.

Who knew.

Hints of what the city used to be hidden in burnt husks of buildings, signage ripped and bent and smoldering. The taste of the acrid air was permanently engraved on your tastebuds, in your nose. You cursed, tripping over a collapsed street sign before righting yourself, bag toppling over your head.

There were the brave left. There were always brave fools in life. The end of existence made them braver, you thought, kicking a pile of dirt. It made sense that they banded together to create a resistance. You'd heard of them, of their mystical leaders who swathed a path through the apocalypse in kraang blood. But you weren't brave. You caught the edge of the kraang ship hovering on the horizon, closing distance quick.

And that was okay, you figured. Hiding in the most desolate of places. Sneaking out to gather what supplies you could. A rebellion in your own, quiet way. Surviving despite the odds, giving what life had become the middle finger. Defying death silently, with a whisper - not a bang. You learned how to hide, to sneak.

You ran across the distance, for something to obscure yourself with, to duck behind.

The risks were still many; the kraang could attack, the building could collapse, trapping you within. Which had happened once. Three days of digging through debris finally saw you in the dull light of day. You'd wondered how many had perished that way before you, in the beginning. Back when people thought plaster and brick could protect them.

Whole families lost in seconds.

The sewers could become flooded after a hard rain - after all, there was nothing to absorb the water fall anymore.

It was surprising most of the time. For how advanced the kraang ships were, their scanners had a difficult time differentiating life signs. A human could be overlooked in lieu of an errant squirrel, though there wasn't much of any kind of life left.

You felt there was a joke somewhere in there, not seeing the forest for the trees or creating too broad a stroke for the canvas or some shit. If it weren't so damn terrifying.

The sheer power, the relentless persistence. The stench of ozone and burning. Always burning, as though purging the earth with literal flame.

You knew that the resistance tried. You also knew it was futile. They were always five, ten minutes too late, always arriving after the kraang, or seconds before - never truly stopping the passage of war. At most just delaying the inevitable. In an endless battle, winning skirmishes didn't matter. Holding the line was futile when there were no lines left to fight for. But they saved people sometimes.

That had to count for something, you guessed. Hope, maybe. A light to cling to in endless darkness.

And, you reasoned, for what it was worth, you wished they were with you right now.

The massive ship sailed overhead, thrusters and motors humming so loudly you felt it in your teeth, putting off so much heat you were sure your skin was tomato red despite the distance. The dead tree you were cowered behind most likely did nothing to obscure you.

But they weren't looking for you.

The radiant heat felt like it would fry you in the aftershock of a powerful blast, the whine of the laser focused attack made you cower, cover your ears as the decrepit building before you starting to give way, crumbling and falling in two as the red concentrated laser of fire ate through concrete and steel. Windows exploding and raining on you in shards that bit and clattered.

People screamed.

Your heart stopped. For a second you forgot your own vulnerability as you moved to cross the distance.

People screamed

[amjustagirl]

when the sun loves the moon: chapter 1 

chapters: one.~ two.~ three.~ four.~ five.~ six.~ seven.~ eight.~

pairing: bokuto koutaro x f! reader  genre: romance, angst, loads of fluff  wc: 3.1k summary: bokuto loves you. he can’t help but tell the world 

Your first day working for the MSBY Jackals wasn’t supposed to be like this. 

The corridors you run down frantically looking for your new office smell faintly of sweat and salonpas, a world away from the sterile offices you used to work in, and distracting you enough you barrel directly into Meian Shugo, the captain of the team. Then as if it weren’t bad enough that you’ve slammed into a literal brick wall face first, you were dealt with a mountain of files, stacked to the ceiling that your predecessor left for you to wade through, which meant that you missed lunch (the horrors, your stomach shrieks) and now you have to deal with whatever predicament Bokuto Koutaro has seemed to find himself in. 

The guy in question seems nice enough, though he curls in on himself, shoulders bowed, allowing his manager to do most of the talking. The manager in question – well. He reminds you of the scumbags you met in law school, the boys who hide their smirks behind their hands when you make a mistake, talking within your earshot about how the girls in class are going to pad the bell curve, hi-fiving obnoxiously whenever one of them would land some cushy job with a big law firm (jokes on them, most have crashed and burnt out of law completely, while you’re working in their dream job HA) – 

“Wait a minute”, you silence the manager (Ono-san, you think his name was) with an imperious wave of your trusty red pen. “Repeat. Rewind.” The manager looks vaguely offended, but you can’t be bothered, you’re too annoyed by the stench from his sliminess that’s permeating your nostrils. 

“Bokuto-san has had death threats sent to him for months and you’re only now asking me whether you should report this to the police?” 

(death by italics would certainly be preferably compared to death by a deranged stalker)

The manager splutters about his client’s public image and having to deal with the press and god knows what else – 

You smile, all shiny teeth and lean forward. “You care more about that than your client’s wellbeing?” 

Bokuto chokes back a laugh with a cough, and the manager just looks like he’s about to wilt into the very earth. You’re probably not a good person because you’re deriving the same joy you did when you tore pieces off your odious male classmates’ ego with a cutting rebuttal or two, and you just sit back and watch as the manager tries to dig himself out of the hole that he’s created. 

“It didn’t seem like anything serious - ”

“Bokuto-san, I’d strangle you if you ever date someone other than me. And another - I saw you at the Sukiya down the street with a woman - I won’t hesitate to make sure she never sees you again”, you read out, eyebrows arched. 

Both men stare at you in silence, and you shrug, flipping the print out.  “Ooh, here’s another juicy one - ’ 

“We get the drift”, Ono-san mumbles, having the minimum amount of decency to look away from your stare. “We’ll report it to the police.”

“I’ll accompany Bokuto-san to the police station to make the police report”, you snap back. You don’t trust the manager to downplay the gravity of the situation in some misguided attempt to keep the matter from the press. Of course he puts up some resistance to being separated from his client, but you’ve learnt to be firm and oust him from your office with a steely smile. 

You turn to the man sitting before you. You’re not unfamiliar to Bokuto Koutarou - anyone who has the slightest interest in Japanese volleyball would know of the larger than life outside hitter, what with his back flipping ways and gravity defying hair, but you’ve never seen him like this before, looking at you with watchful eyes, and almost cowering into his seat. 

“Are you okay?” 

That’s probably a stupid question considering he has what seems to be a deranged stalker, so you reset, regroup. “Um. I mean. I’m sure everything seems kinda scary, but I’m sure everything will resolve itself once the police get to the bottom of things.”

“I’m not scared”, Bokuto shakes his head. 

A muscle head then? You think he must be stupid to not take these death threats seriously, but your initial disappointment recedes immediately when he adds, almost shamefacedly - “I’m sorry for causing so much trouble.”

“Why would you feel responsible for this situation at all?” 

The truth comes tumbling out. It turns out that the messages started coming from an anonymous instagram account a few months ago, claiming to be from a lonely, depressed young girl who’s just hoping to seek comfort by chatting with her favourite volleyball player. It doesn’t even occur to Bokuto not to respond to these messages, so he pours in his usual sunshine in a bit to cheer her up, until it just gets too much and she starts sending unhinged messages and well - 

“It’s all my fault”, he concludes. “If I hadn’t entertained her in the first place - Akaashi said I really shouldn’t have, and Ono-san said I was just being stupid.” He sniffles. “As usual.”

You’ve never felt more like beating up someone before. 

“It isn’t stupid to be kind”, you state fiercely. “It isn’t stupid to want to help others or reach out to someone you think is in need, and the world is wrong for telling you so. I think the opposite, really. You’re brave for being kind, especially in this day and age when kindness is in short supply. And you can tell anyone who tries to convince you otherwise to go and eat shit.”

He stares at you with eyes rounder than the full moon, before bursting into a smile that’s just pure sunshine. 

“You really, really think so?” 

“I do,” you nod solemnly. “You’re a good man, Bokuto-san.” 

Then, arresting him before he rockets off his seat to bounce off the walls, you anchor him back to reality. “Now, shall we file your report before it’s too late?” He nods, you sweep him off to the neighbourhood police post where he gives his statement, and sit by his side as he tells every part of his tale, eyeing the police officer taking his statement warily when they promise him they’ll contact him if their investigations bear any fruit. 

“We’ll contact you for regular updates”, you pronounce too cheerfully after wheedling out not just the police officer’s contact details but that of his superior’s before deigning to leave the station, one Bokuto Koutaro in tow. 

You really should head back to the office to clear the work that must have already started piling up by now but your thoughts are very rudely interrupted by a loud rumble that’s almost as loud as the cars speeding by you. Bokuto scratches the back of his head sheepishly, and you try your best to hide your smile. 

“Would you like to grab Yakiniku with me? I’m sure you know the best place to recommend.”

It’s well known that Bokuto Koutaro is very much loved by all the Yakiniku joints in the area for proudly proclaiming the virtues of grilled meat on his very active instagram page, and it’s borne out when he nods eagerly and practically drags you to his favourite hole-in-the-wall joint, where the owner knows his order by heart, and the food just keeps coming until you lean back in your seat, completely stuffed as Bokuto makes off with the bill despite your protests. 

Your belly is full and you’ve made a new friend. Your first day working for the MSBY Jackals wasn’t  a bad day after all. 

You never intended to befriend the athletes for fear of rumours brewing or snide remarks about how you’re using your newfound job to land a husband (for the love of – well – heaven and hell and everything in between, you’re not desperate for one, thank you very much), but somehow you find yourself drawn into an easy friendship with the lot of them. 

Much of it is Bokuto’s doing, because he draws you out of your hole with offers of lunch and that invariably involves the team, and so you get to know them. You start to become friends with them. Sweet, cheerful Hinata, with a heart of gold, the first to offer to help carry your files and stacks of documents if he ever comes across you struggling in the corridors. Quiet, responsible Sakusa, who snaps at the team to be a little less rowdy, a little less free with the swear words because there’s a lady around. You’re tempted to tell him that you probably could curse and swear with the best of them, but you do have a professional image to obtain. Drama king Atsumu, who swaggers around like a rooster but who turns into an absolute sap whenever his wife and daughter drop in on training or watch his matches. 

But your favourite is still Bokuto. He whirls into your office at least twice a week after training with the air of a good natured tornado, lighting up your dreary desk with a grin that’s full of sunshine, chasing away any gloom with his booming laugh. At first, you chalked his incursions into your territory up as an excuse to check in on how his case is proceeding with the police (things are moving at a glacial pace, but at least no new threats have come in), but now you realize he seems to just want a friend, he just wants someone to talk to. Which is strange, because Bokuto Koutaro is a man with many friends. You’re not quite sure why he bothers with you. 

Still, you don’t demur when he brings cakes to share (to split the sugar, he says, voice lowered to a stage whisper as if his nutritionist might pop out from your filing cabinet to catch him red handed), or when he drags you out for yakiniku dinners every Friday, waiting patiently for you to finish work.

“You really didn’t have to wait for me”, you chide him, because his training ends at four, and you work until seven most days when the sun is setting and the moon is steadily shifting through the skies, on the rise. “You should be going home to rest, don’t you have training tomorrow?” 

“What’s Friday evening without my favourite yakiniku partner in crime?” Bokuto asks, pretending to pout. “Who else is gonna help me achieve my goal of visiting every yakiniku joint in Osaka?” 

“I’m sure you have plenty of friends”, you answer, shrugging on your coat. “Come on, Mr. Popular, let’s go.” 

“Ehhh? I guess?” he says, head tilted. “But they’re not you.” 

You think he’s just being friendly. You think he’s just being polite. 

That’s just what you expect is the most interest anyone would show to you. You’ve spent your whole life navigating first the education, then your professional career, without the time to consider that romance might slip into your life someday. Sure, you’ve been forced on a few dates before by your well-meaning parents, but your dates generally were duds or worked better with you as friends. Heck, you don’t even know what flirting is if it slapped you in the face.  

Besides, this is Bokuto Koutaro. He’s a professional athlete, sweet and sunny and kind and way, way out of your stratosphere. 

“How did you end up talking to your stalker?” you ask, when alcohol removes your inhibitions, emboldens you, makes you far more direct. “Most people just ignore random messages that they receive on social media – but I saw the logs, you talked to them for months. Why?”

He throws back his beer, chuckles when you reach over to wipe the foam off his upper lip. 

“Cos they might need someone”, he answers. 

“Everyone needs someone”, you reply, inelegantly tipping your glass back, falling into a fond smile. “Why you?” 

“Why not me?” he says, genuinely confused.   

His answer is so simple and so very him that you can’t help but feel a bloom of warmth in your chest,  like sunshine on your skin after a cold, hard winter. There’s a lot you want to say to him – like how much you admire him for genuinely being so good that he doesn’t even think twice about it, like how rare he is – a kind soul surrounded by world full of wolves, but you don’t because you’re just little old you, feet firmly on the ground while people like him reach for the sun – nay, while people like him are the sun. 

So you don’t notice when he looks at you for a beat too long to be construed as simple friendly interest, don’t notice when he chokes on his spit when you walk into the training grounds in heels and a tight dress (you have to attend some stupid conference that night) and coughs so loudly that Atsumu has to bang his fists against his back. You don’t think too much of it when he starts bringing your favourite coffee to your office at four thirty sharp every day, not even pretending that it’s work related anymore, calling your name with the sunniest of smiles. 

It doesn’t even occur to you that it’s odd that you’ve started blocking out Friday nights for your yakiniku outings with Bokuto out of habit, that your office is cluttered with things that remind you of him – the spare chair that he squeezes into, his bulk making the poor chair wheeze, the tin of his favourite biscuits that you have on hand so he has the excuse to sit and chat when he brings his daily offering of coffee to you. 

It’s just Bo. He’s just a friend.  

You’re so dense you could probably sink to the bottom of the sea. 

“You look really, really stressed.”

“It’s my job to be stressed”, you joke, looking up to the familiar sight of Bokuto leaning against the door, your coffee in hand. 

You have no desire to tell him that you’ve just spent the better half of an hour on the phone with the police superintendent, arguing with him to take the death threats against Bokuto seriously, and at least find out who the perpetrator is. But the officer on the phone is dismissively, gratingly so – explaining to you with condescension dripping from his voice that such threats are a dime a dozen these days, and the police can’t expend public resources to go on wild goose chases. 

“If he gets hurt, it’ll be on your head”, you yelled before slamming the phone down, vein throbbing in your temple. 

So it’s no wonder that you’re a little more frazzled than your usual self today. 

“Still”, he insists, looking a little distressed. “You need to destress! Relax a little!” 

“And how d’you think I should go about that?” 

You probably shouldn’t have asked because he manages to talk you into a yoga class, of all things. At least you don’t have to pay for it (he has a one for one offer, he says) and you’re not alone in a room of strangers. There’s Bokuto (coach said I had to find some ways to calm down), obviously, and Hinata who apparently took up meditation in Brazil, but there’s also Kaiyo, Atsumu’s wife and Ichika, her best friend – and it’s actually fun, especially when they all drag you out after class to an izakaya to unwind. 

“Rather defeats the point of yoga”, you laugh as the table groans from the weight of greasy, fried food. 

“But it was fun, wasn’t it?” 

You can hardly say no to Bokuto on a regular day, let alone now when he’s staring at you with pleading puppy dog eyes that makes you want to lean over and pinch his cheeks. 

“It was. I’m glad you asked me out”, you admit, chuckling when he punches the air, letting out a little cheer. 

Kaiyo eyes you curiously. 

“Bo’s a lovely guy”, she ventures when the guys get too immersed in volleyball chatter. A match against the Adlers is coming up next week, and they’re squabbling like housewives in a fish market who can get the most service aces. Their honour is at stake, so you leave them to it. 

“He is”, you answer. “He’s been such a good friend to me.”

“A friend”, she repeats, the word lazy and languid on her tongue. “Only that?” 

“Oh my god”, Ichika interrupts, slapping her hand over her friend’s mouth. “Not this again – Atsumu, control your wife for gods’ sake –“ 

Atsumu immediately scuttles over, resting his head on top of Kaiyo’s, dodging her swats. 

“Woman, I leave ya alone for a few minutes – “ 

“There’s nothin’ wrong with a little meddling if it all ends up well – “ 

You chalk the strange encounter up to Kaiyo being a little tipsy, because Atsumu ushers her out of the bar later, arm snaked around her waist as she stumbles against him. You suspect they end up kissing in the alley behind because, well, you hear sounds. 

Sakusa looks grossed out. Ichika just looks amused. “If your kid is conceived in the back of the alley I’m never gonna let you live it down”, she calls, and you want to see how it all plays out because their antics are hilarious but then Bokuto takes your elbow and insists on walking you home so you leave Hinata to wheeze and Sakusa to frown. 

He really is such a gentleman – so unlike the idiot male colleagues that leered at you when you were in your old law firm (ahem, old boys’ club, you mean), that he offers you his coat when he notices you shivering from the crisp winter chill, insists on walking beside the road to shield you from any stray splatter of water from passing cars. 

But tonight he’s oddly quiet – or well, more quiet than usual because he doesn’t chatter or bounce beside you eagerly like he usually does. 

“Thanks for tonight”, you say when you reach the lobby of your apartment building. “I really enjoyed myself.”

“That’s great”, Bokuto replies, a little breathlessly. You wonder if the drink he had is hitting him, but then he continues, a little more steadily – “We should do this again, sometime.”

“Sure”, you chirp. “Hit me up when you’re free!”

He stares at you. His eyes - usually the shade of burnt amber gleams almost gold, reflecting the light of the full moon.  

“Will do”, he flashes you his usual grin after a few beats, though it dims as you disappear into the lift and disappears as he walks home alone. 

m.list.~ taglist.~

a/n: let me know what you think! also, yes this is part of the storm chaser universe :) 

[dragonsruby]

@jaeltree

Considering the family that Ara grew up with were notorious for their death-defying feats of action and Ara was the designated member sent to keep them from dying, she figured she would have grown used to the feeling of falling unexpectedly. That, and the fact that her main method of transportation was via literal wavelengths of light made it so that sudden descents were no longer an uncommon sensation. Mind you, usually she could tell when a sudden drop was expected, and when it wasn't expected was in front of the grocery store.

There was no preperation, just a step to what looked to be a paved-over brick and her foot didn't connect. She fell through the ground, through a moment of pure darkness, and then through a more natural-looking darkness that was signified through the dark clouds covering the sky. There was a moment where she tried to activate her light trasportation, resulting in a small flash of light from her fingers but with no other light to connect to, she could only move about six inches to the side before plummeting. A second of panicked consideration, then a heavy thump as she hit the earth below.

She may not have fallen as far as it felt, since the impact wasn't painful, but she still felt fairly winded. When she was able to catch her breath, the difference in surroundings became apparent. The ground beneath her was pitch black, course and heavy, warm to the touch and it seemed to crumble beneath her hands. The air smelled rank of what she prayed was not rot of any sort, but it seemed to reek from the earth itself. If she focused hard enough, she could taste the slightest hint of iron on her lips. This couldn't be an illusion. She was somewhere entirely different from Reignis Nagira. Had she found an opening between the Earth and the magical world? That felt unlikely, as any such opening would be protected by the patrols, wouldn't it?

Ara slowly looked around, ignoring the pounding in her head and trying to make out her vicinity. It was dark a moment before, but now that a moment had passed, there did seem to be a source of light nearby. A blue, crystal-like source illuminating the crumbling tan structures around it. The scene resembled an image she was familiar with. One that she had seen many times on her phone in the not-too-distant past, when she would lie in her room and watch cartoon adventures in the dark. But there was no way...

Oh crap. Oh crap. That wasn't possible, right? There was no way. A work of fiction? This had to be a trick.

A red haired woman with a scarred-up face missing a portion of an ear falling from the sky while wearing a loose white t-shirt... and blue freakin' jeans. In the Land of the Black Sand. An ideal citizen, no doubt.

Ara clumsily pushed herself off the ground and began to move as quickly as she could stumble in search of a path or anything of the sort out of the area.

She did it. She made it to the fantasy realm of her childhood. Now she could lay down and die.

[kylorengarbagedump]

Defy Your Authority: Chapter 3

Read on AO3. Part 2 here. Part 4 here.

Summary: You always hated tagging along on boys' night.

Words: 3300

Warnings: tw//kassanovella

Characters: Kylo Ren x Reader

A/N: HI LOOK AT ME I GOT THIS OUT IN TIME. I did indeed test positive for COVID so this was wrought through my fatigue--and may be why there is a delay for the next chapter. We'll see!

I hope y'all enjoyed this. I am doing my best to respond to all the feedback, but I'm like... so tired LMFAO. Thank you so much for your support and engagement. It literally means the world to me and is so encouraging.

I love you. ❤️

It didn’t matter how many times you told yourself to calm down. Your pulse bounded like a rabbit, every thump a reminder of your tightening chest. The walls of the Steadfast washed past in black-silver blurs, your mind wild with fear. Hux’s words replayed over and over, a cruel broadcast in your brain. Requests for response from the officers stationed there have gone unanswered. 

Realistically, that could mean anything. Pessimistically, everyone was dead and you were homeless.

The thought of losing your crew weakened your knees. For four months, they’d been your solace and something akin to a family. Not like you’d had other real options on that little butthole of a planet--but you’d gotten lucky. You’d made a home out of Orinda; a home where you’d planned to return. 

Lip pinched in thought, you joined Kylo in a new turbolift, crossing to the corner again as if he were a disease you wanted to avoid. You folded your arms over your chest, stared at your shoes. If you were homeless, it was anyone’s guess as to what you’d do or where you’d go next. It was clear that your supposed… whatever he was didn’t care for your presence. 

Leather gloves scrunched in the silence. The lift arrived, and he stormed off, in expectation that you’d follow. You rolled your eyes, trailing behind him, allowing the need that had burgeoned between your thighs to deflate. 

He’d said he would punish you. But you couldn’t think of a punishment worse than going four more months without his touch. 

Kylo broke through another set of blast doors into the hangar, officers and Stormtroopers alike snapping to attention in his presence. If he noticed or cared, it didn’t show--he pushed through the quiet floor, furious stride carrying him toward one of the ugliest ships you’d ever seen. 

Black durasteel panels formed a long, cylindrical frame, the bow outfitted with a row of rakish teeth and bordered by two guiding flaps. The engines looped like two smooth bricks at the stern of the vessel, the two ends connected by rows of external piping and guarded by a sprinkle of gunning stations. Its blocky build bore a resemblance to a prison transport--if that prison transport was then modified by an eager, unsophisticated halfwit. 

He climbed the descended ramp in thundering strides, and you skulked in his wake, only to be greeted with one of the mercenaries you’d seen earlier. You paused, but Kylo passed the soldier, marching toward the stern and abandoning you in the main corridor. The man--at least, you were fairly certain he was a man--wore a mask embedded with breathing tubes, a huge, heavy club in his hands. The weight of his gaze anchored you to the floor. He said nothing.

“Uhm…” You tried to find an introduction, but none seemed appropriate. Grimacing, you offered him a half-hearted salute. “Sir.”

The man did not respond. Face burning, you scurried into the ship, hot on Kylo’s heels. 

Few lights rimmed the interior of the vessel, your only guide the resonant thump of his boots along the durasteel slats. It was as dim as it was dank--the deeper you delved, the heavier the air. It was sticky with the stench of war, weighed with iron and brimmed with smoke. And underneath that, a scent you’d only describe as one owned by a pack of panting massiffs.

A chill crept over your scalp. This ship was empty of kindness, barren of mercy. You didn’t need the Force to know that nothing good had ever happened within these walls.

Your fear had you scampering to keep pace. Kylo led you through a flickering hall and turned a corner, swiped a switch. A set of blast doors opened to sharp steps, another pair of doors at the top. Those parted as you approached, light spilling from the Steadfast hangar through wide slats of red transparisteel. You’d arrived in the cockpit.

Six chairs lined the wrap-around dashboard. Two as pilot seats, two positioned at gunning and weapons systems, and two plugged toward the back, each in front of a monitoring station. One seemed to handle communications--or lack thereof, the radio receivers and wiring were all almost entirely torn out--and the other dedicated to internal surveillance. At the latter, a matrix of screens with live feed of the interior of the ship.

Even through the shadowed halls, you could distinguish a handful of prison cells. Each of them was torn apart, littered with metal scrap and half-shorn weaponry. The walls themselves were adorned with sloppy graffiti, one of them decorated by a mural of a massive, five-legged lizard beast. A huge red beam was bursting through its neck. Within the tiny walls were separate collections of cultured artifacts. You knew enough about war to know they were trophies.

Every room also possessed a rumpled, dirty bed. A flash of hall light near one cell, illuminating notches in the durasteel where the head of the bedframe met the wall. Like the frame had been slammed against it. Over and over and over.

You swallowed. On one of the feeds, a body slipped through the hall like a living shade. Pausing, you watched until it disappeared from view. The sound of footsteps whispered, then hummed, then roared. You spun, seeking out Kylo, finding him by the co-pilot’s chair, and darted into the pilot’s spot as if this was a totally normal occasion and you weren’t on a weird deathship surrounded by his weird death bodyguards.

Kylo turned to gaze at you, and the blast doors opened, stealing his attention. In the frame stood another would-be man, outfitted with a ribbed-weave robe and carting a huge plasma rifle. Filth smothered him from his boots halfway up his legs, and his head was obscured by a helmet, not unlike the one you’d known Kylo to wear. This one had two blinders on either side, like this man was a predator. 

Like he was a hunter.

Whatever fear you felt for him, he certainly did not feel it for you. He glanced between you and Kylo, trying to ascertain the relationship that resulted in your presence.

“She’s in my seat.” His voice was grainy, like glass on stone, distorted underneath his mask.

You held up your hands in deference. “Hey, sorry. I had no idea this was your seat.” You went to stand, frowning at Kylo, who was studying your every movement. Really had to love how helpful he was being.

“Hurry up,” the man said. 

Nodding, you wriggled around the chair with your hands still raised, as if this would offer any form of protection between you and this fully armed guard. He squared his feet and stalked toward the pilot’s seat. You side-stepped him, but he shoulder-checked you despite it, and you stumbled back, wincing. 

“What the f--”

Kylo Ren’s saber screamed to life, slicing a divide between the hunter and the chair. He stalled, fists balled, neck rolling to stare at Kylo. You gulped, rubbing your arm, your eyes flipping between him and the crackling rod of plasma only a foot away from the man’s waist.

“Sir.”

“Careful,” Kylo said.

He snorted. “Of a Lieutenant--”

“Kuruk.”

Kuruk pivoted to you, and you met his stare somewhere behind the shield of metal. Whoever was underneath the helmet was rending you apart in his mind. 

He shrugged his shoulder and looked back to Kylo.

“Excuse me. Sir.”

The saber disappeared, and Kuruk took his seat at the dashboard. You flushed. At least he’d done that much. You snuck to the back of the cockpit, thinking to sit at the surveillance station, but pausing there too. Every one of these seats could have an owner whose name you didn’t know. Glimpsing Kylo, you threw up your hands in confusion.

Kylo caught this, but did not acknowledge it. “Resistance activity was spotted on the scanners. Get Cardo and Trudgen on the turrets. Ushar gunning.”

“Yes, Master.” 

Your eyes widened. Master? 

Kuruk fussed with the dashboard, relaying the information, and you gazed at Kylo, examining his body in the same routine you’d practiced nightly with your hands between your legs. Fuck, he was big--the thick expanse of chest rose with a slow breath, and you watched it fall, then watched his neck tense as he turned, attuned to your observation. Heat rushed your spine when you linked eyes. His jaw stiffened.

“Get in your seat, Lieutenant.”

“Oh,” you replied. “Is this my seat? I didn’t know.” You sank into it, shooting him a wide, sparkling smile. “Thank you, Master.”

Kylo swallowed.

The blast doors opened again, the soldier you’d seen at the entrance bursting through and tromping to a gunner console--you assumed this was Ushar. He tossed his club to the side, flicking on the controls and calibrating the sights. The ship itself bellowed to life, rising from the floor, and you gripped the seat, unable to force your focus from Kylo--just as he was unable to force his from you. 

The two of you were in competition. That much was clear. 

You just couldn’t figure out what the loser would be impaled with--or if that would make them a winner, instead. 

The Buzzard shot into the stars, coasting in a direct path toward Orinda. You broke the staring contest, glimpsing the little planet through the cockpit, pulse picking up again. Requests for response unanswered. Once you got on the ground, you’d go find your crew and make sure they were safe. That’s all you needed to know. Whether or not Kylo wanted you to come back was irrelevant.

You met his gaze again, his irises hiding a storm. Blood bit your cheeks.

Mostly. 

“Nothing detected on the sensors,” said Ushar. 

Kylo glanced at him then turned toward the transparisteel, searing you with a leer before he sat at the dash. You shivered. Whatever you’d done to make him feel this way, his brief glimmers of favor only made it worse. Maybe you did want to fuck him so you could get a chance to figure it out. Or maybe it was just frustrating to know him in ways no one else had while simultaneously knowing almost nothing at all.

The three men operated in silence as you approached Orinda. From space, it seemed normal. With no starcraft popping up, there was a chance it was a false alarm. That it had been a fly-by. You held your breath when you broke the atmosphere, flames whipping the transparisteel. The Buzzard trembled with gravity, diving toward the ground, greens and browns and blues splitting to trees and fields and sea. 

Then a flash of light, smog blooming to life, tiny fires swallowing your narrowing field of vision. Air froze in your lungs, nails biting the hard back of the seat. 

“Fuck.” You launched from the chair, scrambled toward the dashboard. “No, no no…”

Kylo spun to face you, but you ignored him, shoving between the two pilot seats to crane over the console and peer through the transparisteel. 

He stood, looming over you. “Back to your seat.”

His words swum in the tsunami of your mind. The outpost was smothered with smoke. The closer you drew, the dimmer the horizon, until the Buzzard landed on the border of the eruption, the entire sky encompassed with billowing black fog. Every muscle in your chest felt like wire around your ribs, forcing the breath from your lungs. You shook your head, hands starting to tremble.

They were out there. They could be dead. 

The blast doors opened, and you whirled to leave, but Kylo caught your shoulder and stilled you. 

“What the--”

“Gather the rest,” Kylo said. He was speaking to Ushar. “Spread out and secure the perimeter.”

Ushar nodded, grabbed his club, and disappeared down the steps. Huffing, you wrenched yourself free from Kylo’s grip and stomped toward the exit only to be paralyzed by a very familiar nothing. You growled, unable to even make a fist.

“Dude!”

“You will remain on board the Buzzard until I return.”

The fact you couldn’t turn to look him in the eye made you even angrier. “You’ve gotta be kidding me,” you said. “That’s my crew. They’re my responsibility.”

“Stand down.”

You snorted. “Hell no.”

Two long, slow steps brought him behind you. His presence consumed you like a black hole, crushing you in darkness. 

His chest met your back. “Every one of your little quips has gone unchallenged.” Another step, and his mouth fell to your ear. “Do not test me here.”

Warmth flooded your thighs. If he didn’t like being challenged in front of his soldiers, he shouldn’t have put you all in the same space. His own fault. 

“I don’t care,” you said. “These are my crew members. You don’t know them. I do. Let me go.”

“No.”

“Why are you even doing this?” you said. “You’re the one who fucking brought me here!”

A pause. Silence settled between you, the only sounds the distant noise of destruction and your anxious, heaving breath. You heard him exhale.

“Kuruk,” he said. “Scout and support.”

Behind you, Kuruk stood, followed by the metal click of him grappling his rifle. You watched, stuck to your spot, as he charged through the cockpit and down the steps. The blast doors to the stairs shut behind him. Then the ones to the cockpit. And you two were alone.

Kylo snarled, snatched your throat--he was a swoop of rage, swiveling and slamming your back to the wall. You seethed, squirming under his grip, unable to hide the smirk curling on your lips as you tried to pry his wrist away. He subsumed you like a star subsumed space, bright hot and pure, and you were a simple nothingness, addicted to his heat.

“You think you have earned my submission,” he muttered. “You have not.”

You wheezed, gazing into his eyes, finding an electric spark of hunger and fury within them. Four months without this had been far, far too long. As long as he was treating you like a stranger, you didn’t want to give in. But that wouldn’t stop you from making this torture for him, too.

“Then what have I earned,” you purred, “Master?”

He sucked in air through his teeth, pinning your body flat--his chest rolled with excitement, his voice raked over lust. “The further you push me, the worse your earnings.”

You bit your lip, bucking your hips against his, feeling a growing bulge between his legs. “You’re ridiculous.” You’d thought he’d wanted you to go to Orinda. Maybe you’d been wrong. “What, is this because I left?”

A huff. “No.”

“Then I don’t get it.” You rolled your pelvis into him again, and he jerked forward, crushing you to the wall. “Why don’t you want me around? What did I do?”

Kylo shifted, panting into your neck, his mouth centimeters from your skin. “Not what you did,” he said, clutching your throat tighter. “What you saw. It will not happen again.”

Some bit of that stung. You saw inside of his mind. “You act like I made you admit it!” It was difficult to speak under the pressure of his palm. “You could’ve just let me go.”

“Hm.” His hand squeezed, and he dragged his hardening bulge along your thigh. “Perhaps I should have.”

So that’s what this was about. Whatever had happened, he’d decided that what he’d shared with you was weakness. And being Supreme Leader meant he couldn’t be weak. Meant he couldn’t have room or time for you. All you were was a living regret. 

Frowning, you glared at him, driving your thumbs into the meat of his wrist and throwing his hand from your neck. 

“Yeah,” you said, shoving him back. “Perhaps you should’ve.” His eye twitched. A screeching blast broke the air, and you tensed. “I’m going to find my crew.”

You stalked out of the cockpit, blast doors parting for you as you hit the stairs and cut through the halls back to exit the Buzzard. It was one thing to abandon you. One thing to make you leave. One thing to act like he’d never held you, kissed you, or whispered your name. 

But it was an entirely other thing to imply he wished it never would’ve happened. The thought pierced your heart, and you steeled your jaw, tried to pull the pain free. You didn’t have time to play Kylo Ren’s newest Game of Repressed Emotion. You had friends to find. 

The ramp to the Buzzard was already down, and you hurried to the ground, smacked with the scent of blazing fuel. Embered ash battered your eyes, and you coughed, covering your face with your arm. Under the wailing wind of heat, you heard Kylo approaching the exit, so you trudged toward the outpost, seeking out any hint of life.

“Tonis!” Your voice was eaten by the flames. “Mirna! Lin!” Narrowing your gaze to protect it, you pushed toward the hangar, knowing that if they were anywhere, they’d be there. 

Sweat crawled down your nape, scattering over your lower back as you drew nearer to the fire. The mercenaries were nowhere to be found, but you supposed that was okay, since they didn’t seem very fond of you regardless. The hangar was beyond the completely engulfed fueling station and therefore impossible to see, but as you curved around the fire, you could discern slivers of it. Edges of the building, and then whole sections.

And your stomach dropped.

Another couple of steps, only to discover the hangar scorched, collapsed in on itself like a shattered greenhouse. You stopped a scream and bolted, careening toward the wreckage to see if you could find anyone or anything among the debris. Thick durasteel girders stuck out of the heap like nails, the ridged ceiling crumpled in pieces and mirroring the fire’s light.

“Tonis!” Your back burned from the heat, but you didn’t care. You tried to find a way in, a way to pull something apart, a way to find someone. “Mirna!” You grabbed a huge wooden beam, hands slipping on the soot, but you fruitlessly tugged anyway. “Lin!”

A ragged shard of wood ripped your palm, and you shrieked, cradling it to your breast in shock. Cursing, you left the mass alone, following the foundation around the corner, hoping against hope they escaped out of the back and were huddled behind the hangar. You approached the corner, calling their names, louder and louder. They weren’t coming to meet you. Again, and louder, and you turned the corner, pleading with the Force that they’d be there.

Of course, they weren’t. 

In front of you was a cluster of discarded starship parts, all outdated or malfunctioned or busted. It was a collection you’d gathered since you’d arrived--arranged and created when more parts were added. Each fragment was unique, and when building it with your crew, it sometimes resembled a sculpture. Under the clouds of smoke, it looked like a pile of junk. 

Growling, you rushed it, kicking the base and sending it all tumbling to the ground. Your furious hands found purchase and hurled whatever they had grabbed to pieces. A scream shook your chest, and you jammed your foot against a solar array panel, cracking it in half. Underneath, you found an old, pretty fuelcell splinter. You grabbed it in your bloody hand and hissed, pulverizing it with your fist. Grunting, you threw the dust into the air, watching as the firewind ate it all.

You heard the rustle of grass behind you. Your shoulders sagged.

“There are no signatures of life remaining at this station.”

Sighing, you turned to Kylo. He was watching you, face blank.

“Yeah.” You wiped your palm on your pant leg, smearing it with blood. “I know.”

His eyes flicked to your hand for the shortest, sharpest moment. Then he met your eyes. “The silencer is still in need of repair.”

You frowned, averting your gaze. “I don’t want your pity.”

“You’d prefer to sleep outside in melted trash.”

“Maybe.” You shrugged a shoulder, crossed your arms. “Dumpster fire and all that.”

Kylo Ren held you in his stare, cape fluttering and hair rumpled in the breeze. Tears stung your eyes. You wanted nothing more than to run into his arms.

“Come.” 

He turned the corner. Clearing your throat of sadness, you followed him. You allowed him to guide you through the devastation, past the flames, and up the ramp until you were safe in the Buzzard cockpit. And then he left, likely to gather his men before departure.

And then you were alone.

[sloaners]

Sloane. Sloane~ The entire thing screams that Shaggy and Kisame end up dating too. I mean, he canonically dated an alien after all. Kisame isn't that odd in comparison. And! Kisame can like totally scare off all the other scary things!

It’s fucking AWFUL how much I like and want this, now I want to draw it ):<

I’m just imagining Kisame having this confused prey drive about it, where’s his just “you’re weak and I could so easily kill you in other circumstances, but I admire how you can literally eat anything, and somehow otherwise evade death in ridiculous ways.” And Kisame is just like.... is Shaggy secretly an Akimichi??? What’s his deal??? Who knows, but it makes him a bit interesting.

So they’d make for a pretty funny team in any case. Shaggy traditionally makes for excellent live bait in mysteries, leading villains to capture. (He tends to always miss seeing whatever Kisame does with the villains though....) He’s actually pretty athletic as a known gymnast, fast on his feet, and does some pretty death-defying stunts occasionally. I also think, instinctively, Shaggy’s the kind of guy you’d want to stick under your cloak and keep safe, like some dumbass ferret.

And Shaggy is a pretty honest person; he’s fearful, but he’s living his truth about it and his feelings about any situation. Shaggy also totally would have a fear-boner PG rated appreciation for Kisame, and probably even admit it to him. And lbr, Shaggy would always appreciate having a brick shithouse of a person on his side. Maybe he’s a little into the teeth too? Why not—

ANYWAY, Shaggy’s not unfamiliar with physiological weirdness; he got turned into a fuckin’ werewolf once and had to win his humanity back in a road race; is this any weirder, really?

[meta-squash]

Brick Club 1.3.8 “Death Of A Horse”

Lots of reference research and then Angry Feelings About Tholomyes in this one.

The facade is starting to crumble. Tholomyes has just kissed Favourite instead of Fantine. He’s drunk and even his friends want him to shut up. And now Zephine is complaining that she likes the food at Edon’s better than Bombarda’s.

Blacheville points out the mirrors on the walls, and there’s some wordplay there with Favourite re: “glace” for looking glass and ice creams. This also sounds like Favourite deliberately defying Tholomyes’ earlier rant about not eating sugar.

Tholomyes has a weird moment, he seems maybe about to get maudlin. “Silver is more precious than bone,” says Blacheville, to which Tholomyes replies “Except when it’s on the chin.” I may be reading this wrong, or backwards, but this sounds like a brief insecurity about aging. (Also I imagine the fact that he’s staring out at the dome of the Invalides is significant, but I don’t know why.)

“A discussion is good, a quarrel is better” is really just an excellent summary of what kind of “devil’s advocate” type douchebag Tholomyes is. (It’s also interesting that at no point does he “discuss,” “debate,” or “quarrel” with any of them. He has the floor and he monologues, there’s never any real back and forth with him.)

Tholomyes is pretty drunk at this point, so I’m really not sure if this following dialogue is him being mocking or him fully dismissing philosophy altogether in favor of theatre. I’m inclined to assume it’s the second, considering his earlier comments about preferring theatre. Descartes and Spinoza are, obviously, philosophers, but Desaugiers was a composer of operas and comedies, as well as the manager of the Vaudeville from 1815 until 1820. Either way, Tholomyes is pretty blatantly saying here that he doesn’t much care for philosophy.

He’s kind of the anti-Amis here, professing essentially that he doesn’t like Serious Thinking and would rather be entertained by theatre or by grisettes than think about anything substantial. His improvising is mostly empty, crappy advice where he criticizes women and gives bad dating opinions (compare with Grantaire’s improv which is mostly good social/political critique with dashes of obnoxiousness). His “wisdom” is comprised of the 19th century version of sexist pricks saying a bunch of stupid shit and then wondering why women don’t like “nice guys like him.”

More going on about contradictions, only this time seriously, rather than in the form of punnery. Life is about contradictions and irrationality, according to Tholomyes. He’s trying to be all science-y, but then he just goes back to talking about food. He goes on about how the wine they’re drinking is from a higher altitude, but it’s cheap. (Interesting that so far all of his improvised speeches have either been about women or food/drink.)

Fameuil gets a little barb in, though. He asks Tholomyes who his favorite writer is. Arnaud Berquin (which is Fameuil’s guess) was a French children’s author in the mid to late 1700s, so basically Fameuil is calling Tholomyes childish and maybe a little stupid. Berchoux (Tholomyes’ answer) was a comedic poet who invented the word “gastronomy.”

Everything with Tholomyes comes back to the sensual pleasures. Food and sex and theatre and gratification without having to actually reciprocate. This is drastically different from nearly every other character that we see. Most of them are incredibly poor and have barely any access to things necessary for survival, much less pleasure. Or, like Valjean or Javert, deny themselves sensual pleasures for various reasons. (Valjean out of piety and guilt, Javert for control, except for his little pinch of tobacco.) Tholomyes just cares about his own pleasure (but not his own personal wellbeing, considering Hugo says he’s “in poor shape” and basically physically gross) and whatever manipulation or money or schmoozing it takes to get it.

And a sudden barrage of references! Thargelia was a famous ancient Greek courtesan/hetaera who was very powerful and full of wit and had connections to Persian royalty. Hugo seems to have masculinized the name and imagined what that version would be like. I cannot find anything on Munophis of Elephanta; I’m guessing Hugo has butchered the spelling enough that whatever it is has become impossible to figure out, or he was talking out his ass. Apuleius wrote Metamorphosis, which had a lot of commentary on cultural/social life of the time; also Apuleius was part of the Dionysian cult. He quotes Solomon in Ecclesiastes (there is nothing new under the sun) and then pronounces that love is the same (quoting Virgil), there is nothing new there, either. From what I can understand by skimming that section in Georgics, that part of Virgil is about animal husbandry and is specifically talking about horny animals and how they’re going to want to mate no matter what. He’s basically saying that all men are horny and that‘s not going to change, and that they’re going to care more about sex than romance and always have. As far as I can tell, “carabine/carabin” is referencing a sex worker who caters to “carabin” aka medical students, although I’m not sure why the barge at Saint Cloud? Aspasia was the lover of Pericles; some sources depict her as a prostitute. She was foreign, so she actually had more rights than native Greek women, and she was very beautiful and very smart and witty.

Basically, Tholomyes is being a slimy bastard and saying men don’t want romance and women are there to keep men entertained and their dicks wet, and if they’re smart/witty as well as a good lay, that’s even better (perhaps a backhanded compliment for Favourite here? Since she’s supposed to be the “clever one”). Asshole. God, I hate him.

I know most people seem to say that Thenardier is the worst character in the Brick, the closest to a “bad guy” you can get in this book, but I think it’s actually Tholomyes. Thenardier, throughout the book, is awful, but most of his horrible actions are at least primarily fueled by desperation and a complete lack of access to, well, anything. Tholomyes, on the other hand, is the opposite of socially or financially desperate. He’s a rich, charismatic law student who thinks he’s hot shit. He manipulates and uses a girl 11 years younger than him, gets her pregnant, cheats on her, mocks her in front of his friends as well as her own friends (or the girls she thinks are her friends), never corrects her about the nature of their relationship, and then abandons her completely in a cruel prank. And if we’re interpreting this whole monologue right, it’s all for his own amusement. What a horrible, awful man.

The death of this poor weak horse feels like a foreshadowing, or at the very least a metaphor for the plight of poor women. Made to work hard, sacrifice themselves, starved, tired, and even when they’ve fallen either morally or literally, they’re blamed rather than helped, and then they die because no one ever tries to help them.

Tholomyes riffs on Francois de Malherbe in reaction to the death of the old horse. The Malherbe quote is from a letter of condolence to a colleague on the death of his daughter and says “But she bloomed on earth, where the most beautiful things have the saddest destiny; / And Rose, she lived as live the roses, for the space of a morning.” Tholomyes’ riff is (as best as I can do with google translate) “She was of this world where cuckoos [or cuckoo clocks?] and carriages have the same fate / And, nag, she lived as live the nags, in the space of a morning.”

Fantine gets her first spoken line here, sympathizing with the horse. Which, if this is foreshadowing as well as general commentary, is just so sad. Also, the fact that everyone else brushes off the horse’s death is interesting. If it is a metaphor, so is this brushing off. The grisettes are highly aware of their precarious position in life. One bad thing can send it all crashing down; but they expect it. They don’t sympathize or feel bad about it because they’ve seen it happen around them, they know it’ll happen to them one day too.

Favourite is the one who remembers the surprise. She’s been the only one of the girls actually talking about it. She’s the one who gets the dialogue asking for it and the one that keeps reminding the men about it. I don’t think she’s in cahoots with them about it or anything, but I wonder what she thinks is going on.

Also interesting that the “moment” that is suddenly right for this surprise has just been preceded by a downturn in mood at the shock of the dead horse. This horse has just dropped, and now the girls are waiting for yet another crushing emotional blow.

The fact that Tholomyes derails the kiss to a kiss on the forehead is definitely him trying to distance himself from Fantine. A kiss on the mouth would perhaps make her think he has feelings for her, that there’s any emotion involved in this at all. Plus he’s been cheating on her with Favourite. A kiss on the forehead is distant enough that it’s more emotionally “safe” for all of them, but especially Tholomyes, who really just wants out of this whole situation because he really doesn’t want to deal with a girl having feelings for him (or his child!) or pretty much anything that doesn’t have to do with his own pleasure. He’s just so manipulative and sleazy, I hate him.

The difference between Favourite’s reaction as they walk out the door and Fantine’s reaction is interesting to me because it seems to confirm just how oblivious Fantine really is. It’s not like she’s judging the others and thinks she’s in a Real Relationship, which is not like what the other girls have. She’s definitely not even remotely aware of the emotional status quo that everyone else recognizes. Favourite thinks it’s all good fun and games. Fantine seems to genuinely think that everyone else feels the same as she does about their affairs with the students. She seems to assume that she’s not the only one who’s in love. All the more shock for her in the next chapter, when the other girls are laughing and she’s devastated.

This whole thing is made all the worse with the fact that every single person involved in this affair is extremely aware of the difference between Fantine and everyone else. They talk about it to each other, and even to Fantine, who doesn’t seem to notice or get it. They probably giggle about her behind her back the entire time. They all know she’s in love with Tholomyes, and I assume they all know she also has a kid. They are perfectly aware of the difference between her and them. Which means all of the men are perfectly aware of how she’ll probably react to the “surprise” and what it might do to her socially. They don’t give a shit. They obviously think she’s a space case and a child and probably think she’s “no fun” compared to the other grisettes. So it doesn’t matter to them what happens to her; it doesn’t even matter to the other grisettes what happens to her, because they’re laughing at her too.

[thusatlas]

Ask for what you want, not what you think you should have

I have a theory. Well, I have many, but this particular theory is a doozy. The theory is… (wait for it) …

Everything is connected. I know, I am a genius. Thank you for coming to my Ted Talk. I’ll collect my Nobel Award whilst I pick a up cucumber canapé on my way out.

But seriously, as obvious as it is, the more I reflected inward on my stream of conscious and started asking why, the more I have begun to connect the dots. I have become more aware that my actions, feelings and emotions that can be explained through cause and effect.

Here I want you all to take one mental step to the left to avoid falling down the free will and determinism rabbit hole before you. That is not today's topic. It might be next weeks, but not today. So just shimmy on over to this mental path that I’m laying for you here. On this path, we are accepting that we as individuals are moral agents, accountable for our actions and behaviours. Therefore, you have free will in a world that has been pre-determined by other free moral agents. Or if that’s too deep for you, just move right on past this philosophical premise and carry on enjoying the allegory I’m about to weave for you.

This all began some time ago, way back in high school, when I had to write my CV for the first time. I know that feeling of discomfort one feels when you fill out a job form, write a personal statement or cover letter is not individual to myself. This is a widespread phenomenon and yet the only way that you can progress professionally or academically is to sell yourself. Hence there is an entire profession in which you can be paid for writing somebody else’s CV. Furthermore, hence the reason why the widely understood, highly inaccurate statistic accepted as truth is that all CEO’s and higher business people are psychopaths; one of the defining features of psychopathy being arrogance and narcissism (that part is true but again, not the point of today’s topic…moving on).  We, the neuro-typical, non-psychopathic, really struggle to write about our best selves when it comes to applications of any kind. We do it because we have to, not because we want to.

Now think about it. I write and talk about many things throughout my days, from objective truths to subjective feelings. I process categorical facts and infer meaning that is hidden within the subtext. I imagine stories, characters, worlds, conversations and ensuing emotions. All without effort.

And yet.

I cannot write about myself. I cannot write about my good qualities with ease, without that feeling of discomfort. I cannot do it as easily as I am writing this now.

Sound familiar? If it doesn’t, then firstly what’s your secret? If that does resonate with you, keep following me down the yellow brick road of this allegory. I’m going to turn it into something less deep, far easier to swallow and then bring it back to filling in application forms.

It’s going to be cool.

Hopefully…

The list of top 10 most loved/dreaded questions. Somewhere on this list is: what do you want for Christmas/your birthday because I find answering it be an egoistic minefield to navigate. Apparently, it’s considered impolite to ask for all one’s problems to be solved or a million pounds or a new car/house/holiday. What I used to say, was what I actually wanted in an exaggerated way that would generally garner a chuckle. Both myself and the other participant in the conversation knew that I was being 100 per cent serious and if the person asking was happy to buy me my dream house then I would shamelessly have accepted (whilst also repeatedly enquiring if they were sure because I couldn’t possibly, hoping beyond hope that they would not come to their senses). However, this rarely (never) happened. Thus, the usual rapport was:

Person A - “What do you want for your birthday?”

Person B - “I would love a 50-foot yacht and a butler named Steve to attend my every whim”

A and B participate in the prescribed requisite chuckle.

Person B – “But seriously, I haven’t really thought about it.”

Person A – “let me know if you think of anything”

Person B – “Of course, though you don’t have to get me anything”

Person A – “nonsense, it’s your birthday”

End scene. I will pick up the Oscar for lead performance whilst I sample these delectable mini-hamburgers. Thank you for coming to my Ted Talk. I had this conversation for years until I questioned what’s the point of it if nobody gets anything out of it. Having been both Person A and B, it’s uncomfortable for both parties because Person B doesn’t want to be perceived as selfish while Person A is asking to avoid the stress of having to guess what Person B wants. Now, while I love a good humble moment, this is not the time to be humble. Similar to job interviews, CV writing or personal statements. Why is it that we are not comfortable with celebrating our wants, our needs even when we are being directly asked to sell ourselves or literally tell someone what we want.

So I had a revelation a couple of years ago. I am aware that this is not going to be groundbreaking for other people but stay with me here. As of now, my life in regards to birthdays and Christmas’ consists of throwing the humble pie out of the window. My birthday is fast approaching and my family have begun to ask what I want.

AND HERE IS THE POINT OF THE ALLEGORY!

Bedsocks.

(Groundbreaking isn’t it.)

But seriously, my feet get cold because my house is old and the end of the bed is right by a window. You see the issue. Might as well sleep with my tootsies exposed to the winter’s chill.

However, (plot twist) I also want the new Jean Paul Gaultier Classique perfume which retails from £44 - £88 depending on the outlet.

I’m going to pause here because this is a Q.E.D moment. While the point of this post is not about asking the internet to get me what I want for my birthday, I feel the need to point out that I would, of course, be happy with just a card or a hug or a text for my birthday. I am merely using this as an example for the said allegory which has not yet been fully actualised. I am not some entitled princess who’s going to throw a tantrum reminiscent of Dudley Dursley if I don’t get what I want.

(If you’re not getting that reference then shame on you).

Now that I am 80 per cent sure that you don’t think I’m Veruca Salt (you better get that one), I shall continue with my point. I chose to embrace and show that yes, I want bedsocks and yes I also want magnificent perfume. Two drastically different items for the same person but these are items that I objectively want. I was asked so I answered. I am a bougie queen with cold feet.

What was interesting was the reaction of person A. There was an acceptance of my bedsock suggestion, though they did amend with, “Is that all? It’s not much”. The response to the Jean Paul Gaultier suggestion was “you don’t want much do you?” said with a scoff. We shall gloss over the mixed signals and possible shadiness and explore the duality of these responses to the embracing of my wants.

If you ever need to ground yourself or remind yourself that you are a product of all that came before you and all that will come after you, look to the Ancient Greeks. For a society that existed over 4000 years ago, we are still practising and preaching the philosophies of Thales, Aristotle, Socrates and Plato. You can find watermarks of the Greek thinkers hidden in the folds of much of modern societies ideologies, legalities, politics and psychology.

Does that mean they were ahead of their time or with all that society has evolved over that time, the human condition remains the same, regardless of how wise and savvy we think we have evolved to be?

Now it was widely accepted amongst theologians, philosophers, sociologists and psychologists that if you wish to look at the skeletal structure of a society in a snapshot, then look to their religious beliefs.

I’m going to need you to take a mental step to the right to avoid falling down the ‘is God real’ rabbit hole. We are not here to discuss the objective existence of the divine. So, I’m going to need you to hope back on our yellow brick road where we are accepting the truth that all pantheons have objectively exist in the narrative of human history within their respective societies.

To the point, the Ancient Greeks believed in a pantheon full of diverse Gods (big G, we don’t theologically discriminate here). When I first thought of the Greek pantheon, my thoughts immediately go to Zeus and his ilk. However, I’ve been on the Google and am now more informed than I was 5 minutes ago (look at me and my fact-checking… if only Fox News were the same).Anyway, briefly for your understanding, the Greek pantheon is split into 8 parts.

Parts one through to four covers the Gods who are the essential ingredients for the fabric of reality. So, Gaia who is the Earth, Pontos the Sea, and Ouranos the Dome of Heaven. The Daimones (spirits) and Nymphai who nurture the life of the four elements and so on. The Daimones that affect the body and mind: Eros the spirit of love (not to be confused with lust or attraction), Phobos the spirit of fear, Thanatos the spirit of Death. The Gods who control the forces of nature and who interacted and taught mankind. Helios the sun and Anemoi the wind; the agricultural earth Gods Ploutos, not to be confused with the pastoral Gods Pan, nor the city Gods Hestia. The Titan Gods Themis, Kronos, Prometheseus etc, are not to be confused with the defied mortals who are considered to be part of this section of the pantheon: Herakles, Asklepios etc. Nor should they be confused with the Olympian Gods Hebe and Mousai. This condensed list is actually very long.

Now we have the fifth part that everyone knows. The 12 Olympians who preside and govern over the aforementioned and the ones who have yet to be mentioned. They are Zeus, Hera, Poseidon, Demeter, Artemis, Apollo, Ares, Athene, Aphrodite, Hephaistos, Hermes, Dionysos and Hestia. Part six through to eight covers the constellations and the horoscopes, the monsters and the semi-divine love children of the Olympians who defeated them

That is a majorly condensed list however its extensiveness is the point I am trying to make here so I appreciate you if you have stuck with me thus far. If you wish for a full list of the Greek Pantheon here are links to further your own reading: (1, 2, 3).

So, the Greeks had this diverse belief system. These beings who governed their every action. Literally everything, physical and metaphysical alike.

Now tell me what they missed.

Tell me what’s missing from this very extensive list.

Evil.

Ah, but there is Hades the God of the underworld you say! There are monsters!

Hades was made evil by Disney I’m sorry to say (though he was fabulous).

Hades in the Greek pantheon is the God of the dead and Zeus fucked up and much as he did. Odysseus is a soap opera, I swear. Anyway, the monsters?  They’re as neutral as death. They are creatures doing exactly what is within their nature to do. Thus the underlying ethos of the pantheon. Every one of those deities commits actions that can be perceived to be ‘right’ or ‘wrong’ by the humans they lived alongside. The Greeks did not revere them to be absolute good, nor absolute evil. What they did, was perceive them to portray unavoidable facets of our day-to-day lives that should be celebrated, acknowledged and respected. For example, take Dionysus, the God of wine, pleasure, festivity, madness and wild frenzy. Basically, this bitch was the life of the party. As such, large banquets and hedonistic orgies were often held in his name, celebrating pleasure, life and the loss of control within the madness of relinquishing stress.

But we aren’t the Ancient Greeks are we (though I know I look fetching in a toga if I do say so myself).

Western civilisation, take the United Kingdom, for example, founded its legal system upon the 10 commandments of the monotheist pantheon of Christianity. Furthermore, The Act of Supremacy in 1534 appointed King Henry VIII the first Supreme Governor of the Church of England. A largely ceremonial title that has been passed on to reigning monarchs ever since. Within the United Kingdom, Church and State have been very much intertwined since the days of the court governance. As such, themes of Christian teachings and concepts became entwined within our culture, and over the years have become so embedded that accepted behaviour and social nuances are not intrinsically associated with its religious teaching. The obvious examples to point out are the recent milestone law amendments to same-sex marriages and abortion. Going deeper into social norms: the concepts of purity and promiscuity, humbleness and arrogance, greed, sin and punishment. I have been brought up in a time where I have heard the rhetoric about my own body change from ‘do not sleep around, don’t be easy’ to ‘it’s your body, equality, if men can do it, you can to’. Aside from my own personal views on this topic, this social rhetoric is a symptom of the culture in which we live. They also echo some (not all) Christian teachings. Triandis and Triandis (1988-2004) have produced many works on the development of culture, the bare bones of the explanation being that culture of a society is a product of history, language and stories. Prior to written print, all information was passed on from generation to generation through stories. These stories contained information about countries' histories, experiences, and beliefs. The languages and gestures telling the stories are a creole of invading forces and immigrating travellers. These are the bare ingredients for culture. All that is left to perfect this recipe is time. Leave to mature of a few centuries and you’ve got a fine wine and a handful of convoluted social norms. Hence, the aforementioned rhetoric and the continued acceptance within British culture that the Monarch is the head of the Church.

The Ancient Greeks didn’t have time. Their teachings and stories are still hailed today, but their civilisation did not survive long enough for their culture to become a social norm.

Now, the reason why we’ve gone through this is to point out that the Christian pantheon is heavily reliant upon the idea of ‘right’ and ‘wrong’.  Absolute good. Absolute evil. I could do an entire blog on the different theological branches of Christianity and how they have affected Western culture. In this instance, we shall focus on the concept of sin. Though it is obvious, it must be pointed out:

Sin is bad.

Bad is punished.

Ergo -  Must avoid sin.

What is sin? Well, sinning is many things if we go by the Bible and the wholesome Leviticus, but here we are focusing on the widely known and accepted concept of the Seven deadly sins. Though these little devils didn’t specifically make a named appearance in the Bible, their themes were present throughout. Thereafter they were popularised and named via Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales and Dante’s Purgatory.

Hopefully, you’re beginning to see all the threads of this post coming together now.

The Seven deadly sins are as such:

Greed

Envy

Lust

Gluttony

Wrath

Sloth

Pride

It is accepted within Western culture that behaviour must avoid ‘evil’ to avoid punishment. Ergo, we must avoid behaving in any way that can be associated with the aforementioned fiendish sins.

And so. The point.

I want bougie perfume and bedsocks for my birthday. Bedsocks is an acceptable humble and utilitarian item. It is not frivolous.

Bougie perfume? It is frivolous. It is a luxury. It is Greed. The fact that I boldly stated as such? Maybe a hint of Pride in my request? Either way, it is a social norm to at least raise an eyebrow at somebody stating frankly that they want an expensive item for their birthday.

To stress this point: if I had asked for driving lessons which are double the price of the perfume, no comment would have been made because of its utility. And so I bring you right back to the beginning. I am applying for jobs and finding the whole process unbearably uncomfortable because I am wondering if me toting all my achievements in one go and really selling myself will come across as arrogant (pride).

I should be humble, shouldn’t I? Humble me in the face of power…Isn’t that the social norm here? Which leads me to my final conclusion. Here are two different worldviews and neither are false and neither are true. If everything is connected (and that is what we call a callback) and if I were an Ancient Greek, how would I apply for jobs? How would I tote my credentials when there is no punishment for being proud of my accomplishments? When there is no concept of sin within the narrative of my worldview and just differing aspects of my nature, surely applying for jobs, asking for presents, networking etc, etc, etc, would be a far less painful experience?

[cavesalamander]

My brief thoughts on this season of anime!

Just a quick review of the ones I’d recommend and/or keep watching. I managed to find all of the below on Funimation or Crunchyroll or Youtube!

Horymia: (Yes) This is looking to be a very funny romcom slice of life style anime, and seems to be a fairly good one! Had me laughing a lot. The Main couple are a nerdy quiet boy who’s actually dumb as a sack of bricks using his disheveled appearance to hide his tattoos and piercings, and a popular pretty girl who’s actually a total homebody. Their friends seem to have a lot of potential to be fleshed out as the series progresses and I look forward to seeing how it goes!

So I’m a Spider, So What?: (Yes) Whooo another isekai (excited)! This time a girl and her entire class!? Get isekai’d in a massive explosion. The main character reincarnates as a trash monster in a dungeon and must fight her way up the food chain just to survive. Meanwhile her friends who have mostly reincarnated as Cool Humans or the occasional elf or baby dragon, have mostly found each other, and want to figure out what happened/why and if they’re all okay. It’s genuinely pretty funny, though leans a little too hard sometimes on the gamey aspects of this new world. I think it may get darker as it goes along too.

Mushoku Tensei: (No) Whooo another isekai (derogatory). 34 yo old man gets reincarnated and uses his worldly experience to Learn Magic Fast and creep on his mom and prepubescent tutor. If you can stomach that stuff, it actually has a fair amount of potential? It did set itself up to touch on some interesting stuff down the road, but I’m kind of Over the horny toddler/young boy trope and it kinda just seems like the protagonist is Just Awesome At Everything but not in a remotely charming way.

Cells at Work Code Black: (Yes) If you liked Cells at Work, this is that but dingier, and is able to tackle some darker themes - like what stress, smoking, drinking, and probably eventually STDs can do to your body.

Kemono Jihen: (Yes) I don’t wanna explain TOO much about the plot of this one because it looks to be a mystery series, and the first episode sets it up the characters very very well. A man from the city is called to a rural town where animals are being mysteriously killed and found rotting. He’s tasked with finding and killing the perpetrator, assumed to be a monster of some kind. It does the horror very well, and even in the first episode manages some twistyness.

The Hidden Dungeon Only I Can Enter: (No) Even for a blatant fan service anime this one is just......... stupid. It might have a scrap of joy to it if the protagonist were anything other than a boring sycophant. His harem just all seems to be random girls who’s singular personality traits are to be in love with him in various stereotypical ways, that he just uses to min max his Cool Stats. But like, it’s not even self aware enough to make that into an interesting premise.

Sk8: (Yes) It’s a racing anime that seems super stylish and fun and very well animated. The protagonists have some cool chemistry already, and it really leans into the Underground Illegal Racing part of the fun - all the various characters who battle in death defying races through this abandoned mine, all have seemingly ordinary day jobs. Definitely worth a shot if that sounds up your alley.

Suppose a Kid from the Last Dungeon Boonies moved to a starter town?: (Probably) Okay so the premise is just there in the title and is actually pretty fun. Think: a random NPC who is considered pretty weak where the monsters are lv 50 moving somewhere where the monsters are scary at lv 5, shenanigans ensue. The MC boy is hilariously oblivious to the fact that anyone with a shred of sense can see he’s insanely over leveled to the area, and just trying to be nice and polite to everyone ^u^. The tentative nature of my recommendation is that it is kind of leaning harder on the Girls are Obsessed With Him train than is ideal. How much it depends on that as opposed to utilizing the premise to its fullest extent will have an enormous bearing on how fun the show is to watch going forward.

Ex-Arm: (Absolutely not but yes) It’s a fucking train wreck.

Heavens Design Team: (Yes) God decided to outsource creating animals to a team of angels, and works as a client giving weird ass requests for the angels to fill. Hilarity ensues, and it is peak edutainment to boot. It’s so much fun learning weird shit about animals, or trying to guess the animal these seemingly random train of failed attempts leads to.

Dr. Ramune -Mysterious Disease Specialist-: (No) It has a promising premise and some good moments. The main characters are solving these weird “diseases” that people get by finding the actual emotional cause and using magic of some kind to monkey paw it into a resolution. This could be really fun and interesting, but something about the execution just... falls flat? Like maybe it picks up as the season goes on but for now it’s not rly worth it.

Vlad Love: (Yes) I was going through the list of anime this season and was like wtf is this and literally just now watched episode 1. It’s about a girl with a blood donation kink and her vampire girlfriend. Literally. It’s rly funny and over the top ridiculous but like, gay vampires.

Back Arrow: (No) It’s like... fine. It’s about these two warring kingdoms surrounded by a wall with a mountain range between. They worship the wall as god, and occasionally get gifts from beyond it, in the form of mech suits they use to fight each other in. One day a boy shows up from beyond the wall in one of those suits and no memories of anything and he wants to get back. Which... could be promising I guess? But something about the show just didn’t grab my attention.

Skate-Leading Stars: (No) It’s like Yuri on ice if it was less gay and less well written I guess...? The first episode set up the Drama competently enough, but I just... couldn’t give a shit.

Project Scard: (No) For some reason part of Tokyo has been turned into a post apocalyptic hellscape where people just murder each other. They also have super powered tattoos and use them to fight each other. Animation is very similar to Handshakers - which is an Aesthetic that may not appeal to some. The first episode didn’t rly do much for me but I could see it going somewhere if it tries.

Wave!!: (No) Might have been a tentative yes if I hadn’t gone on and watched the second episode. First ep went hard with the queerbaiting cause they want to be the new Free! but with surfing, but Ep 2 just forgot all about that entirely. Dialogue is mostly boring and there’s like 3 sets, which becomes painfully obvious very quickly by ep 2.

Idoly Pride: (No) Literally looks like they ripped off the waifus of a bunch of other more popular anime and made an idol anime with the most basic ass idol plot. Nothing exceptional here.

Gekidol: (undecided) It’s an idol anime... set after a mysterious apocalyptic event? It’s mostly so far seemed intriguing as hell but not my jam. Mysterious craters destroyed parts of Japan, and its rebuilding and the MCs wanna bring light to the world. Maybe aliens exist? Idk! I’m intrigued.

I*Chu: (No) Another idol anime but this time it’s cute boys! Idk maybe this is a decent idol anime but it rly didn’t grab me and idol stuff isn’t usually my jam. I couldn’t tell anything exceptionally unique about this one from just the first episode.

WIXOSS Diva: (No, but) I don’t normally watch spin-offs of series but I didn’t realize until halfway into this that it was one cause Crunchyroll didn’t attach it to the core line. It’s like... magical girl battle idols in VR! Which honestly if you’re a fan of that it might actually be worth checking out.(edited)

Idolls!: (No) Another idol anime! But this one uses mocap 3d models. Phoned in plot line delivered by a weird tiki statue that tells the girls what to do. Seems extraordinarily low budget, and more just a way to sell music. The whole episode happened in a single set and  was basically just... girls want to make it big as idols... oh no... gotta book a stage! Yay they got one! Now must get an audience! Like... ok

Hortensia Saga: (No but) Sword and sorcery fantasy setting that’s mostly sword, main character is a princess masquerading as a male knight alongside the son of her dead parents’s also dead bodyguard. The first episode is very lore heavy and felt kinda like the prologue to a video game. So it ended up feeling a little expository and trope laden, but it has potential. Seems a bit Game of Thronesy? Wasn’t like... bad or anything, so if it’s your thing you might enjoy it.

Otherside Picnic: (Yes) I think it’s gay first of all, two girls going exploring / treasure hunting / monster hunting in a bizarre mirror world to their own. Girls are cute, it’s very interesting premise and writing seems solid.

Wonder Egg Priority: (Yes) It deals with some HEAVY themes? But it’s... a bit of a psychological horror but in a way that feels very like it’s dealing with some of the real life issues. The main character girl comes across as neurodivergent, and it’s just... idk man the first episode was good and left me wanting more.

[notthecanadianaverage]

All 65 ho! 😤

1. Do you ever doubt the existence of others than you?

I mean I guess kind of sometimes? As someone with ADHD, object permanence is a big thing so if I don't see you, you aren't real xD

2. On a scale of 1-5, how afraid of the dark are you?

Um, it varies, actually. Generally speaking, I'm not afraid. But sometimes I have lots of nightmares and the darkness is awful and I will deadass sleep with the light on. Also while I'm not afraid, if I hear sounds, I am terrified xD

3. The person you would never want to meet?

Jason Mamoa. He seems like a fine person but something about his appearance triggers my fight or flight.

4. What is your favorite word?

Hippopomonstrosesquipedaliophobia

5. If you were a type of tree, what would you be?

I think maybe either a birch or a weeping willow?

6. When you looked in the mirror this morning what was the first thing you thought?

That's not yellow

7. What shirt are you wearing?

I'm wearing a green Legend of Zelda: Ocarina of Time shirt that my sister got for me a few years ago at Fan Expo.

8. What do you label yourself as?

Panromantic asexual. Gender identity wise, demigirl. I recently learned what omnisexual is and I'm curious, but I don't want to come out again so panromantic it is xD

9. Bright room or dark room?

Bright! Lots of sunlight for plants and reading!

10. What were you doing at midnight last night?

I was being trained at work

11. Favorite age you’ve been so far?

I think 18, just because mentally I'm still there.

12. Who told you they loved you last?

My boyfriend :3 I miss him.

13. Your worst enemy?

Dickface. He called me his step daughter once and I almost fucking lost it in that Tim Hortons. I had to fight so hard not to say anything. I was also fighting some pretty rough food poisoning that week so I was not in the mood to argue xD

14. What is your current desktop picture?

On my computer? I think it's a rat xD it's either me with Cortana on my shoulder or Willow peeking through some bars, I can't remember.

15. Do you like someone?

I like my boyfriend. A lot. I mean I hope I do since we have been dating for 6 years xD but I also have a celebrity squish. Patrick Dempsey. Motherfucker. Yes. That smile. Those EYES.

16. The last song you listened to?

https://youtu.be/0Eh4b0Ge-sM

17. You can press a button that will make any one person explode. Who would you blow up?

That power hungry cheeto. But only if I wouldn't get caught.

18. Who would you really like to just punch in the face?

Dickface. He is a child abuser and just a shitty person all around. I called him a stupid idiot on my birthday and lost my fucking mind because I didn't actually mean to and he looked PISSED.

19. If anyone could be your slave for a day, who would it be and what would they have to do?

I don't know who, but I would make them cuddle because I am touched starved and need a fucking hug xD

20. What is your best physical attribute? (showing said attribute is optional)

I'm doing this all in my phones notes so I can't add a picture, but I love my tattoos and piercings! I have both nostrils pierced, my septum and snakebites. Tattoo wise, I have the Triforce of Courage on my left hand, a small blue hard on my right thumb, a beautiful memorial rat tattoo on my left leg, Midna's Fused Shadow on my left arm and Expecto Patronum on my right wrist. I. Need. More.

21. If you were the opposite sex for one day, what would you look like and what would you do?

Not gonna lie, I'd probably jerk off xD

22. Do you have a secret talent? If yes, what is it?

If I shared it, it wouldn't be a secret.

23. What is one unique thing you’re afraid of?

I... don't know

24. You can only have one kind of sandwich. Every sandwich ingredient known to humankind is at your disposal.

I would stick with my normal Subway order: lettuce, tomato, red onions, LOTS OF PICKLES, cheese, black forest ham, mayo and salt and pepper.

25. You just found $100! How are you going to spend it?

Not gonna lie, I would probably get some Subway and maybe some candle making supplies.

26. You just got a free plane ticket to anywhere in the world, but you have to leave immediately. Where are you going to go?

California. I miss my boyfriend. Let's go.

27. An angel appears out of Heaven and offers you a lifetime supply of the alcoholic beverage of your choice. “Be brand-specific” it says. Man! What are you gonna say about that? Even if you don’t drink booze there’s something you can figure out… so what’s it gonna be?

Joke's on you, I don't really drink alcohol! I would instead request all the apple juice :')

28. You discover a beautiful island upon which you may build your own society. You make the rules. What is the first rule you put into place?

Pet rats for everyone!!!!

29. What is your favorite expletive?

I enjoy cunt :3

30. Your house is on fire, holy shit! You have just enough time to run in there and grab ONE inanimate object. Don’t worry, your loved ones and pets have already made it out safely. So what’s the one thing you’re going to save from that blazing inferno?

My little stuffed lion. I would also grab my teddy bear seeing as they are always together.

31. You can erase any horrible experience from your past. What will it be? (Tw rape for this question)

I mean... all of these experiences have made me who I am. But if i can erase one experience without changing who I am, it would be nice to not have been raped.

32. You got kicked out of the country for being a time-traveling heathen who sleeps with celebrities and has super-powers. But check out this cool shit… you can move to anywhere else in the world!

I would say Indonesia because volcanoes! But I am also very gay and I don't believe that is a gay friendly country... so... maybe Japan? All of this assuming that the boyfriend is with me. If not, then California.

33. The Celestial Gates Of Beyond have opened, much to your surprise because you didn’t think such a thing existed. Death appears. As it turns out, Death is actually a pretty cool entity, and happens to be in a fantastic mood. Death offers to return the friend/family-member/person/etc. of your choice to the living world. Who will you bring back?

My grandpa. I really miss him... I want him to see how far I've come and I want to spend more time with him.

34. What was your last dream about?

I have been having a weird amount of sex dreams lately...

35. Are you a good….[insert anything you’d like here]?

Rat mom? I like to think so! Shameless plug, but I have a blog here called @ratpotatoez where you can see my beautiful chonks. I'm also on Facebook and YouTube.

36. Have you ever been admitted to the hospital?

I mean yes? But not for like an overnight stay.

37. Have you ever built a snowman?

Yes

38. What is the color of your socks?

Fuck socks

39. What type of music do you like?

Depends on my mood. I love heavier, alternative rock but my heart will forever belong to Simple Plan.

40. Do you prefer sunrises or sunsets?

I think they're both really lovely!

41. What is your favorite milkshake flavor?

Vanilla

42. What football team do you support? (I will answer in terms of American football as well as soccer)

I don't like football. The only sport I watch is hockey.

43. Do you have any scars?

I am covered in self harm scars (I'm working on covering them up with tattoos). I don't really have any scars with cool stories. I had one that went down my arm but somehow it healed??? Someone in gym class accidentally took a chunk out of my arm with their finger nail and I had a hole in my arm for the longest time!!! I also have a scar on my knee from when I was really young, maybe 3 or 4. I was balancing on some bricks in someone's garden and I lost my balance, fell, and hit my knee on the brick. I remember there being blood running all down my leg as I screamed and cried. So that was fun.

44. What do you want to be when you graduate?

I don't know. I do know, though, that I want to go to culinary school. I also want to go to school for creative writing.

45. If you could change one thing about yourself, what would it be?

My weight. I gained 100+lbs when I went off my anti-depressants and I swelled up like a balloon. I've felt like shit about myself ever since.

46. Are you reliable?

I sure as shit hope so!

47. If you could ask your future self one question, what would it be?

Was it worth it...?

48. Do you hold grudges?

I try not to, but I think I do ._.

49. If you could breed two animals together to defy the laws of nature, what new animal would you create?

PIGEON RAT

50. What is the most unusual conversation you’ve ever had?

"I just really want to punch this horse in the face, okay?"

51. Are you a good liar?

I think so, yes. Trauma does that to you.

52. How long could you go without talking?

When I get super super drained, I go mute. I can stop talking for days at a time.

53. What has been you worst haircut/style?

I once left the hair dressers with essentially what was a fucking bowl cut. Yea, I wasn't thrilled. I refused to remove my hat.

54. Have you ever baked your own cake?

Yes. At 3AM. Because fuck a healthy sleep schedule.

55. Can you do any accents other than your own?

I can do an okay British accent and an okay Indian accent.

56. What do you like on your toast?

Butter. Just butter.

57. What is the last thing you drew a picture of?

Um... I don't remember the last time I drew. Actually, that's a lie. I tried drawing a "small town doctor" while playing Drawful. I drew a very tiny doctor with a city skyline behind him.

58. What would be you dream car?

Literally anything with the popup headlights.

59. Do you sing in the shower? Or do anything unusual in the shower? Explain.

I talk to myself in the shower. Granted, I do that everywhere xD it's the only way I can work through my thoughts. I also cry in the shower a lot.

60. Do you believe in aliens?

Yes. We can't be the only ones here.

62. What is your favorite letter of the alphabet?

I don't really have a favourite. But I do like D. Mostly because it's the first letter of my boyfriends name, but also it reminds me of a woman I helped while working in tech support. She needed help figuring out her gif keyboard so I helped and she was so excited when I told her how to search for gifs. She then started giggling like a little girl saying she wondered what might happen if she searched for DICK. She made my day xD I think about her a lot. I hope she's doing well.

63. Which is cooler: dinosaurs or dragons?

Don't do this to me...

Dragons are obviously amazing but haVE YOU EVER SEEN A DINOSAUR?!?!? LIKE THOSE THINGS ARE REAL. THEY WERE ALIVE. THEY FUCKING RULED THE EARTH. HAVE YOU SEEN A STEGOSAURUS?!?!?!?!?

64. What do you think about babies?

I like babies a lot. Like so much. I have super colourful hair, too, so they seem fascinated with me :') but their little chubby cheeks omg

65. Freebie! Ask anything interesting you can think of.

Fun fact: I actually really like the smell of wet dog. It's kind of a really comforting smell.

[ohdearhiddles]

TITLE: Angel of Death

CHAPTER: 6/? (Chapter Masterlist)

WORD COUNT: 5255

AUTHOR NOTE/WARNINGS: I'm going to be super honest, though, I struggled a lot with this chapter and I wasn't sure why. It's like my creative juices took a vacation and said "nope," so I had to sit there spinning the wheels manually for days. I do hope this was alright, though! (AO3 LINK)

TAGLIST: @inumorph​ @literally-anythin​

The cold feeling radiating from Loki’s skin seeped through the fabric of your shirt as his fingers spread across the expanse of your back, seemingly trying to touch as much of you as possible. After his small speech, you couldn’t bring yourself to look at him. So, when you had ducked away to turn from his grip, he had only pulled you ever so closer, holding you to his statuesque body. He said nothing as you let tears fall freely down your cheeks, darkening his shirt with every stain.

You had never expected this. No, you couldn’t even begin to dream of something like this. Sometimes, sure, your mind would wander and you’d find yourself daydreaming about the endless possibilities, but then you stopped yourself. There was never a good enough reason to do that - never a good enough reason to risk him.

But you liked him, that much was true. Once upon a time, liking someone wasn’t a death sentence. Given the circumstances, though, the feeling was one of dread. Instead of butterflies you felt like a cage filled with restless bats. They were swatting away at your innards, making way for the heavy burden of death you would inevitably carry once the god holding you drops to the ground as if he had never lived in the first place.

Was killing a god even worse than killing a mortal? Would you not only rot in prison, but would the gods of the highest order send someone to smite you? To ensure that your existence was cut short once and for all? The thought was neither appealing nor appalling.

However, no matter how much you decided to fret over it, because of your own selfish desire to get to know him along with your inability to walk away from his advances, the god before you would meet an unfortunate end. It would be all your fault. No one blames the dead. Even if his lips were the ones that had touched yours, you had let it happen. You had allowed someone to get far too close, and you had no way to reverse the damage.

You pulled away from Loki’s grasp, not wanting to spur on the actions he had just taken. If there was one thing you couldn’t afford to do it was kiss him again. So, you stepped back, inhaling deeply before standing up a little straighter. Perhaps if you feigned a calm attitude, then he would see your words as something more than just a frantic jumble of ideas that could or could not potentially work. He stood stoically, the fear in his eyes still hidden away beneath the apathetic wall he had put in front of it. You couldn’t ignore the fear you had seen in his eyes; it was clear as day, even if it only lasted a brief moment. 

Neither of you seemed to want to say anything at first. The tears were dried, and your posture was getting tiring to maintain. You had spent six years believing that an incident like this would never have to occur again; yet, here you were. Maybe you should have prepared yourself more thoroughly for the possibility that it would happen again. But then again, you were a firm believer in the idea that there was nothing in the universe that would soften the blow of knowing that you were the reason for someone’s death.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, you mustered up the courage to speak, “If we hurry, we might still be able to do something - anything. ”

Loki seemed to ponder over your words more thoroughly than he did previously, but his expression gave no indication of how he felt about it. Even after a few moments of contemplation, he shook his head. “There is no need.”

You narrowed your eyes, feeling like you were going to burst with something more like anger than sorrow at any given moment. 

“This is not just about you, Loki.” You gritted your teeth, feeling your anger brimming every corner of your being now. You typically didn’t have much of a temper, but this was not a typical situation. You were no longer “typical.” This is too much, you thought . Far too many feelings and far too much pent up frustration.

“If I allow you to die, I am nothing short of a murderer. I’m fully aware of what will happen to you, and if I can do something to stop it, then by God, I will do it with or without your help.”

“You said yourself that it is no guarantee,” Loki spoke calmly, and it almost, almost made you want to slap him in the face for it. He shouldn’t be calm, and if that look in his eyes was anything of an indication of how he truly felt about all of this, then he should be screaming. He should be the one getting angry, screaming at you, calling you a monster. “I’d rather not waste time on something that may end up being a fruitless journey.”

A waste? How is fighting for his life considered a waste? For a second, you wondered if one of the immediate side effects of your so-called power, or curse, was delirium. Loki certainly seemed downright insane for not even blinking at the thought of living. The god always seemed to be on the verge of insanity though; after all, he was known for being vexatious and prankish. 

“So,” you breathed, attempting to calm yourself. “So you’re just going to accept your fate without kicking and screaming?”

“I’m not quite sure what would come from kicking and screaming, it’s not as if the Norns will care for a god throwing a tantrum.”

“That’s not - I mean, you won’t try to defeat fate?”

Loki didn’t answer this time. You could see the internal battle he was having about the idea of defying death. He sighed, sitting on the chair behind him. “I’m not sure if evading death will be so easy this time,” he whispered, eyes trained on his palms. This time? You wondered what that meant, but you weren’t going to question him about it, especially not now. “This is something that even I do not seem to have the power to control, and perhaps that is for the best.”

Some part of you wanted to get angry again, but watching the God of Mischief look more lost than you felt was something of a damper on your ever-changing mood. Processing his words, you attempted to find some hidden meaning to them. Soon enough, you pinpointed the fact that he seemed to be surrendering to the fate given to him, and part of you wondered why. 

Everything that you had heard about the Loki who attempted to take over New York being fearsome and tyrannical seemed to wither away into the back part of your brain because no.

The Loki standing before you was the one who’s hands gracefully caressed pages of books, who’s eyes danced when looking at the trees and sunset, and who’s brows furrowed at memories he would rather suppress. The Loki you had before you was the same one who was far more hurt by the idea of you rejecting him than the thought of dropping dead. If there wasn’t a lingering feeling of dread hanging in the air, you would have been tempted to speculate if this Loki was seen by anyone else besides you.

“Then what do you plan on doing?” You finally asked.

“Are you asking what I plan to do with my remaining time?” He questioned right back, an unreadable expression on his face. You nodded, sitting across from him. Briefly, you caught a glimpse of his hands twitching in his lap as if he wanted to reach out and grab something but was holding back. “Well, first, I’d like to finish eating,” he said. It wasn’t a complete answer to your question, but seeing as though neither of you could be certain how long he would be able to eat greasy comfort food, you let it slide. After the night's events, you couldn’t help but feel guilty that you didn’t ask for something fancier - something more fitting as a last meal.

As Loki began eating what was left of his food, you pushed yours around, not feeling as though you could stomach something at that moment. His eyes would glance over at you from time to time, and you’d hesitantly bring a small bite to your lips to appease the god. 

Suddenly, you came to the conclusion that there needed to be distance between the two of you. You could not risk him attempting another life-altering kiss that would sooner put him in his grave than bring him happiness. This needs to be done, you told yourself. You cannot continue to hurt him; you cannot risk it. So, as silence and the smell of cold Chinese food filled your apartment, you began the painstaking process of placing the bricks back into your walls - the one Loki had so easily torn down. 

By the end of the night, the wall you had sheltered yourself with had been repaired faster than it had come toppling down. 

It’s for the best, you thought, eyes fluttering shut as you laid in bed that night, knowing sleep would not come. 

Monsters do not rest.

 ******

You were sitting on the window seat, glancing out into the streets below, wondering if the city truly never slept. People passed every once in a while. Some of them seemed to have a sway to their step that could have only been explained by the consumption of alcohol, or drugs, but you wouldn’t assume. A mug of hot tea sat in your hands, steam climbing into the air as you all but neglected its warmth.

Three days had passed since the night you had thought you sealed Loki’s fate. The past few nights were filled with unease and tension that the sharpest blades probably could not cut through. Loki appeared on your doorstep right around sunset each night, a book in hand and a stoic expression on his face. You wondered how much he regretted the kiss, and this horrible, nagging part of you kept saying how utterly selfish that thought was. 

How could you have enjoyed something that would bring about the end of a being over a thousand years old?

Every waking second was filled with palpable trepidation. When Loki was not at your apartment, you were frantic, wondering if he had dropped dead on his way to you or if he even woke up that morning. There was not a second that passed by that did not fill you with a feeling that his fate was approaching far too quickly. 

So, you stayed true to your word.

You researched day and night; you read books on curses, articles on witchcraft, and you even began looking up places within the city that may hold more information. Of course, this meant that you had traveled to some very strange locations in the past few days, and unfortunately, all of them were nothing more than shops filled with irritably repetitive trinkets and tarot cards.

Sleep was something you chased relentlessly. Each time you closed your eyes, you were reminded of the fact that someone else closed their eyes and never opened them again because of you. The mental image berated you as if saying that you were not someone who deserved the luxury of sleep. However, such nightmares and terrible daydreams did not have to remind you of it. You knew.

Your tea had long since cooled down when you stood from your spot. As you got to your feet, you spotted a person standing across the room. Startled, you felt your grip falter, the cup almost falling from your hand. 

Loki’s face was emotionless as he stared at you from his spot near the sofa. You weren’t sure if he was real until he began walking towards you, his expression still neutral as he approached. He still looked the same; there were no veins popping from his forehead, no discoloration. No, this Loki was alive.

“My apologies, I seem to have forgotten my book,” he spoke, his voice flat.

You exhaled, your eyes screwing shut as a temporary feeling of relief coursed through you. The feeling subsided quickly as you realized that it was also only temporary for him to be alive. 

When you opened your eyes again, Loki was standing much closer. You took a step back, reminding yourself that distance was key. Sure, you thought, maybe it’s a little late for distance, but it’s better off this way, right? His eyes scanned your face at your sudden retreat, eyebrows furrowing as he lifted his hand. His fingertips had barely touched the skin of your cheek before you turned away. This, apparently, was the last thing he wanted.

His cold fingers gripped your chin. It was a soft, yet firm, grip that forced you to face him. Loki’s other hand grabbed the mug in your hand, placing it on the counter before reaching up to graze the skin beneath your eyes. It was a gentle caress that was the complete opposite of the grip he had on your chin. His grip did not slacken in the slightest as you attempted to move away from him.

You forced yourself to look anywhere but at the god before you, hoping that he would soon let go and leave you be. Clearly, such things would not work on him. Loki was a god after all; he was probably much more patient than you could ever imagine. Tricks and moments of stubborn resistance would never work.

Exasperated, you broke the silence, “What?” Your arms were hanging limply by your sides in defeat, surrendering to his touch.

“You have not been sleeping,” Loki’s voice was firm, an indication that he was simply stating a fact that he had observed. You wondered if the light from the lamp in the corner was making the bags under your eyes more intensified or if you truly looked like the mess you felt like you were. The gentle caresses on your cheek carried on, making you feel drowsy, but you knew better than to close your eyes.

“I have slept,” you lied, and it was clear that Loki did not believe you.

“Such feeble attempts at deceit will not work on me. Shall I put you to sleep again?”

“No, I told you not to do that anymore.”

“I seem to remember you telling me to not do so unless I asked first. You never said that you had to agree, only that I needed to ask.”

At the remark, you glared at him, hoping that your gaze would make him let you go. It didn’t, but it was worth a shot. A small arrogant smirk was playing on his lips, and you had to resist the urge to roll your eyes. He had definitely meant for you to get irritated enough to steal a glance, and you were foolish enough to fall for it.

“Don’t,” you warned. You weren’t sure what the warning was for. Another kiss, perhaps? Or a warning not to put a sleeping spell on you?

“I won’t,” Loki responded, his grip finally loosening. His hands, instead, cupped your cheeks as he brushed his thumbs against your skin. He sighed as you stepped farther from his grip, and his hands fell to his sides. “I do wish that you would sleep.”

“I can’t,” you replied hastily.

“You can,” he replied with just as much urgency.

“No,” you began. “No, I really can’t. You don’t understand.” You grabbed the mug from the counter as you walked towards the kitchen, Loki following in your stead. He blocked the entryway to the kitchen as you reached the sink, cornering you. “Loki, please move.”

“I will move as soon as you agree to rest.” He held his ground as you attempted to find a way to get around him. To an outsider, the two of you would have looked like two wrestlers looking for an opening on one another. When you opted to just try to barrel through him, as if that was a good idea, he caught you by the shoulders, holding you steady in front of him. His expression was stern as he spoke again. “You have not slept. Why?”

“I told you that I wasn’t going to sit back and watch you die,” you blurted. “I can’t sit back and let that happen.”

His expression softened, concern washing over his features. You were getting used to him giving you more vulnerable looks instead of his typical emotionless, detached expressions that were plentiful during your meetings in the park.

“For me?” Loki questioned, his voice quiet as if he wasn’t really expecting that to be the reason. Obviously, the thought of death didn’t seem to phase him the way it did for you.

“Yeah, for you,” you reiterated, hands resting on your hips as you stared up at the god.

The God of Mischief’s hands fell to his sides again as he looked you over. He didn’t say much else as you brushed past him, walking into your living room; however, he didn’t allow you to get far. Loki grabbed your wrist, pulling you with him as he walked the short distance to your bedroom. For a moment, you wondered what he was doing, but he seemed to answer the question himself as he motioned for you to sit on the bed.

“Sleep,” he ordered. He had crossed his arms over his chest, staring at you expectantly.

“I just said -”

“Yes, I’m aware. You stay awake for my sake.” He interrupted. “I am grateful for such dedication, but I do not wish to see you fade away. I said this before. I accept my fate, and I will not allow you to fall apart while trying to change what you deem inevitable.”

You opened your mouth to speak, but he held his hand up as if to silence you.

“Sleep, I will not ask again.”

“You didn’t ask me, though,” you retorted.

His gaze was borderline amused at your response, but then he smiled softly, reaching forward to brush a stray hair from your face. “Please, sleep.”

How could you say no?

****** 

When you woke, you felt content. It was a brief, fleeting moment of peace that you wished would have lasted forever. There were no nightmares while you slept, an occurrence that you had grown so very grateful for whenever it happened.

Loki was nowhere to be seen as you walked into your living room, and you wondered if he had made it back home okay. The god had gladly sat at your bedside, reading aloud in an attempt to ensure that you were aware that he was still very much alive as he sat beside you. Maybe he was the reason for your lack of nightmares.

Without annoying work emails to sort through, your days were becoming agonizingly long. Feeling much more rested than the day before, you quickly decided to go out to see if any more shops would be helpful to you at all. Helpful to Loki.

The air was brisk, a cold city breeze blowing right through you. It was enough for goosebumps to raise on your skin, but not enough for you to want to huddle by a fire until you were once again warm. You spent the day going to shop after shop, disappointment after disappointment. Everything was the same in each store; the only differences to be seen were the people behind the counters and the names above the doors.

Your final stop was in Harlem. With a sense of defeat, you glanced up at the sky before descending into the subway station. The golden rays of sunshine were slowly depleting, covering the streets in a pinkish hue that made everything look ethereal. 

The ride to Harlem was quiet. Not many people seemed to be on the line, which was a bit worrying, but you wouldn’t question it. In fact, you found the silence inviting - a welcome haze of nothingness to fill your mind.

As you walked the streets, you felt the stares of those around you. You wondered if there was something wrong with the way you looked, but when you glanced into the reflective surface of a window in front of a passing shop, you found nothing wrong with your appearance. You did, however, catch a glimpse of a store on the opposite side of the street through the reflection. Weird, you thought. That wasn’t there when I was walking this way, was it?

When you entered the establishment, your nose immediately picked up on earthy smells that you weren’t sure could even be found in the city. The walls were lined with staffs and shelves, and honestly, you weren’t sure which one was more intriguing. The staffs on display exhibited intricate carvings; some of them were made from wood while others out of stone. Materials such as twine and some other wiry material wrapped around various parts, emphasizing the grooves on the surface. The shelves sported what looked like ordinary jewelry with the occasional piece that looked as if it were ancient. Other shelves seemed to carry books written in a language you couldn’t possibly begin to read. The obscure symbols made your eyes ache just looking at them.

“Hello?” You called, looking for the counter and the register.

“Come in, child,” a ringing voice replied from the back of the shop. As you followed in the direction of the voice, you started to realize that this shop was far from ordinary. There were seemingly archaic books, open to stained and withering pages in glass displays. The language was foreign and the images reminded you of ritualistic circles.

When you saw the woman, you were almost afraid to ask her anything. She was definitely not what you had expected to see. She wore a crimson-colored floor length dress with a golden sash wrapped around her waist as a belt. The sleeves were flared, the fabric seeping towards the floor as the woman stood as still as stone. Her hair was golden, flowing easily past her shoulders and down to her hips. The smile on her face as you approached was kind, gentle even.

Okay, you thought, smiling back. She at least looks authentic.

“Do you happen to have anything that’s supposed to break curses or at least delay the effects of one?” Your voice was taut as you spoke, uneasy about speaking so casually. The woman before you practically radiated an otherworldly aura.

She didn’t speak, and for a brief moment you wondered if you had offended her. Do curses exist? Were those the wrong words to use?

Caught up in your own thoughts, you almost missed the sound of your name falling from her lips. Her silvery voice rang throughout the room as she said it again. Briefly, you tried to recall if you introduced yourself. You didn’t, of course, but then again, maybe it was normal for people like this to just know names off the top of their head. When you looked up, her hand was outstretched towards you, the rings on her fingers shimmering in the soft glow of candlelight.

Hesitantly, you took a few steps towards her and eyed the hand, not sure if you were meant to hold it or give her money. The woman answered your own unspoken question as she reached down to grasp your hand in hers. The cool metal of her rings caused goosebumps to rise on your forearm as she held it up, patting it softly with her other hand.

“You may call me Veleda, child. I have been waiting for you.”

“Right,” you dragged out, pulling your hand from her embrace. “Nice to meet you, too.”

As you held your hand up to your chest as a way to show that you didn’t want her to touch you again, she smiled. It was a different smile this time, though. It was almost motherly. She seemed to scan you up and down, taking in the sight before her. Then, suddenly and without so much as a word, she spun on her heel, walking towards a curtain that probably covered the back room of the shop.

“Wait,” you called. She didn’t even help me.

Veleda came to a halt right before the curtain. A mirror stood beside her, and in the reflection, a white haired woman that looked positively hoary stood in her place. When she glanced over her shoulder to look at you, you found that the words you wanted to say would not come out.

“Your days of suffering shall soon end. There is hope for you yet.”

And with that, she disappeared into the adjacent room. Not knowing what to make of the experience, you decided to just leave. Trick of the light, just a trick of the light. 

As you exited the building you caught a glimpse of the reflection on the opposite side of the street again. The shop was nowhere to be seen in the reflection, and when you turned back around, it looked as if you had just walked out of a wall. Stepping back towards the door you could have sworn you had just let go of, it felt as if you walked through an invisible veil. Then, once again, the shop was there.

Weird, you thought, hastily walking away from the scene.

Sitting on the subway was a lot less pleasant going in the opposite direction. It was rush hour, and were almost certain that if one more person stepped into the car, the train would cease to move entirely. You were cramped by a wall, arms clenched to your chest as you waited for your stop to come. There were many reasons as to why you were in a rush to get home. The first and foremost reason was that Loki was probably already there, and there was an odd tightness to your chest that screamed at you to make sure he was okay.

He needs a phone or something, you note.

The second reason you wanted to get home quickly was because there was a strange stone in your hand, and you couldn’t quite remember how it got there. You felt as if you would have remembered picking it up; besides, if you had accidentally taken it from the shop, you needed to go back and apologize for stealing it. Murder was already on your track record, and quite frankly, theft didn’t seem like another blemish you wanted to harbor on it.

You had already googled the strange symbol engraved into the surface, and it only made you more curious. From what google said, the marking was meant to say that you had reached the end of a journey, or some turbulent thing. Your memory was hazy, and honestly, google wasn’t very helpful when all you could search was: “Weird butterfly looking symbol on stone.”

Google also wasn’t helpful when you could barely get reception or breathe without inhaling sweat from the bodies surrounding you.

When you arrived home, you found that you were right. Loki stood by the window, his arms crossed, and briefly, you wondered if he teleported into your home or if he found the spare key in the hall. Either way, it’s not as if you were complaining, knowing he was a god kind of fended off the idea that he may try to steal something unless he was obsessed with collecting dusty DVDs and uncooked spaghetti noodles.

Loki’s hair was tied into a nice little bun, and part of you wanted to reach up and touch it. You suppressed the thought, though, knowing that distance was still very important even if you weren’t very good at maintaining it. 

You smiled at him, walking closer as you opened your mouth to speak.

“I thought you had been whisked away by your local authorities again,” his voice was low as he spoke, interrupting your attempt at speaking. His emerald eyes were wandering over your body, searching for something.

“No, just went shopping.” You responded, glancing around the apartment to see if Loki had brought one of his books with him. Perhaps he knew what this symbol meant.

“I see no evidence of your indulgence.”

“Yeah, I guess I didn’t really think about buying anything, but I brought something back.” You held your hand out, the stone laying flat in your palm as you displayed it for the god to see. His eyebrows knitted together as he examined it before picking it up.

“Where did you get this?”

“Some enigmatic lady from a shop that disappears.” You stated, watching as Loki didn’t seem to even flinch at the words. Are disappearing stores normal? “She knew my name and everything. Said she was waiting for me.”

At that, Loki shook his head, “I believe you’ve encountered something along the lines of a seeress.”

“I’m sorry, a what ?”

“A seeress.” He repeated, eyes glancing up to meet yours. “A prophetess. A völva. Any of these words would probably suffice. Your kind seems to have given many names for those who possess such powers granted by the Norns.”

“You mean a fortune teller?”

Loki sighed, “I suppose if you choose to see it as such, yes. They use seiðr for clairvoyance and rituals. They’re not common - the fact that you found one here in the city strikes me as odd.”

“Or,” you begin to suggest. “Maybe she was just some crazy lady who knows a few magic tricks.”

The god before you hummed, not bothering to feed into the conversation any longer. His eyes were fixed on the engraved stone that rested in his palm. You stood patiently, waiting for him to speak. That wasn’t very smart, because you could have sworn you stood there for an eternity before you finally grew too impatient to keep quiet.

“The sign apparently means my suffering has ended or something along the lines of that.”

Loki gave you a strange look and, in return, you smiled bashfully, hopeful that you didn’t just speak complete and utter nonsense. “I googled it earlier.” He nodded in acknowledgement, but he appeared to still be deep in thought. He grabbed your hand after a moment, placing the stone back in your hand. It was warm as it touched your skin, probably heated by his stare because there was no way his body heat made it warm. Loki was more like a lukewarm glass of water than a nice cup of tea - neither hot nor too cold.

“I don’t believe this rune was meant to be read that way.” He stated, crossing his arms over his chest once again.

It was your turn to look confused as you squinted at him. “That’s the literal translation.”

“Yes, when it’s upright.”

Upright? “Loki, maybe you’re seeing something different than me,” you huffed, examining the symbol again. Do gods have bad eyesight? Is that why he’s always glaring? “This thing can only be upright no matter how you look at it.”

You watched as he rolled his eyes at you. “It’s true that Dagaz cannot be reversed, but, when being read, it’s meaning can be the opposite.”

“What,” you breathed, only growing more confused. “What does that even mean? You basically just repeated yourself.”

“It means, little one, that change is coming. Even if it is not yet here.”

[agl03]

So what do we think about Jemma saying that night was when she put him in the friendzone? I’m still not sure how I feel about it...

Hi Anon,

The first thing I feel is very important with this is that this is just after Fitzsimmons just started talking to each other.  And this was after months of Jemma thinking he hated her and Fitz trying to come up with something clever enough to say to her.

Another is that due to their education path Fitzsimmons had far from normal childhoods or relationships.  Neither one made friends easily with Fitz being shy and Jemma being an ‘odd bird’ at the Academy.  And personally I feel that those two fell in love long before they realized what love really was.   We literally saw the moment it hit Fitz like a ton of bricks in FZZT and for Jemma it took seeing Bobbi after Ward hurt her so bad and Hunter worrying over her.  

When Fitzsimmons were at the Academy, especially Jemma, they were very competitive and not just with each other.  Being the best was top priority and romantic relationships would get in the way of that.  That is why I felt that Jemma put Fitz “in the Friend zone” because in that moment she wasn’t even close to thinking about that kind of relationship. 

Everyone falls in love differently.  For some it’s the second they meet while others it can take years.  One person can know before the other. My own marriage started as just us friends hanging out and over nearly a decade of friendship developed into more.  And like Fitzsimmons our friends saw it before we did.  

That comment also doesn’t change the fact they are completely and utterly in love now.  Married.  Defied Space, Time, Death, and repeatedly crossed the Universe to be together. Ready to spend the rest of their lives and start a family together..   A love like that is unstoppable, even if it took them time to realize that is what those feelings were.

[juleswolverton-hyde]

The dying of the light (NJ x Reader)

Genre: Angst, Werewolf AU

Pairing: Werewolf!Namjoon x Human!Reader

Warnings: Allusion to domestic violence/abuse, character death

Summary: Do not go gentle into that good night.

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Masterlist

Never judge a book by its cover is one of the righteous tenets to live by for everyone deserves to show the tale within and be judged based on that. It is quite astonishing what a person might learn this way.

But what if the chronicle is hideous? The title page a mere delusion?

Downstairs sound loaded curses, the breaking of glass and the plates filled with the dinner of the day adding a sharp edge to the animalistic growling tone in which is spoken.

That was used against an individual to whom it was promised never to be used yet was, the terrible overwhelming fear burning as bright within at the resonating words of argument as the scarlet outline on a tear-stained cheek. Withal, the hit has to be forgiven because it is the animal inside the brown-haired mature version of the bad boy with platinum strands who has a surprising liking towards philosophy and literature that forces the behaviour.

It is still you somewhere in there, Joon. You didn’t mean to hit me.

Nevertheless, it is difficult to believe the thought despite having been together for four years, the promising ring set with a moonstone signifying the love of the tall otherwise incredible man now gone mad with beastly instincts for a mere human regardless of the many she-wolves throwing themselves at the alpha’s feet whenever the season for continuing the bloodline has begun. That faith in faithfulness has to be held onto as much as the belief that the accidental branding is just that, an accident.

Right?

Maybe the topic of prolonged absences should not have been pushed, fabricating allegations which are obvious lies of not being loved enough to be talked to because the prestigious family of the apparent ancient Kim line would never tolerate anything other than a proper alpha female for the second-in-line to be the heir and the dawning of this at last realized by Namjoon.

Then came the sound of a vicious palm on an unsuspecting cheek, ear-deafening in the silence that followed the outrage of seeing any type of apology, verbally and physical, go to waste by being pushed away.

Literally.

Bloodthirsty ruby irises.

A snarl on plush lips.

Wrong.

The wolf hated it.

He merely did not like it.

You meant it. It wasn’t the beast, it was you, Joon. I could tell. It was you.

Bare feet storm up the creaky oak stairs of the two-storey home recently moved into together, making a damaged face instantly crawl haphazardly away from the position leaning against the door to the bed with thick blue-striped alabaster sheets that normally feels so safe when lying down with the fiancé after a long tiring day. Paralyzed with horror, the thick duvet is pulled up till the eyes only able to look on helplessly, hope the lock on the door rapidly put into place before the second flight will hold.

A loud bang on the wood evokes a heavy flinch, causing digits to hold on tighter to the self-made futile sacred haven. ‘Y/N! Open up!’

A second bang, frightful rattling. ‘Y/N, I’m serious. Open the door!’

Please, stop. Just go. Just this once, I want you to go.

A few more attempts are made at opening the entrance to the last secure place left in the small home, both parties knowing full well the werewolf could easily force an entry yet decides against it with every ounce of remaining sanity on this starry night lit by an almost full moon. A deep sigh of relief is barely audible when it escapes lips pulled into a grave straight line, allowing shoulders to sack slightly in relaxation upon hearing a civilized baritone voice from afar when the noisy threats have faded. ‘I really, really didn’t mean to hurt you, baby. I don’t kno- I can’t- I don’t understand what’s happening. It feels as if... as if-’

What follows the unfinished sentence are painful outcries at bones rearranging themselves to fit a dominant beastly body, having to retreat to the cage and collar on a short chain in the extended basement fast to not commit one of the other violent mistakes that were also sworn to never be made. ‘Fuck. Y/N- ngh- I know you’re listening, can hear your heartbeat. Ah! Ha... ha... Breath, baby. Just breath. I’m gonna go, okay? Try- Shit, need to hurry up. I’m slipping away, that’s what it fee- argh!’

Like the former utterance before the continuation of the confession, all that wanted to be said before the jaw started transforming and bright teeth forming the most delightful of happy smiles deform to malicious predatory fangs remains unspoken.

A relentless hush fills the wake of hasty stumbling footsteps down the creaking stairs, getting away as fast as possible from a person who has been hurt to a whole new extent that will be hard to surpass. Indeed, the fear of death is nothing compared to the harm inflicted by the actual brown-haired beloved and not the innate beast using Joon as a permanent host.

The calm does not soothe, but eventually eyes continuing to water with the burning aftermath of the supposedly unintentional slap on the cheek surrender in the lightless space to the slumber of the night.

Trying to ignore the dimmed growling mixed with agonizing outcries tearing the soul in two. One part wants to flee and never come back, mercilessly unforgiving for the act of domestic violence while the other wants to give a second chance because it is steadfast in its belief this wreck can be salvaged.

Endeavouring to dismiss the muted howl signifying Namjoon is no longer there.

Only the animal held in high esteem in the defied family.

A senseless beast.

That makes the hope of finding the tanned tall kind-hearted husband in the morning incredibly small if existent at all.

Maybe, this time, there is nothing to prevent being permanently truly lost.

It has become a relentless routine to, once consciousness is retrieved to a coherent level at the crack of dawn, go downstairs to the cellar immediately after chaotic nights given body by the barely audible tinkling of rattling chains. Normally, it is a relief to do so but considering the events of a recent past, each step made of lead is calculating, considering to wait a bit longer, longer than usual. Questioning whether or not the offender wants to be seen again.

The least I can do is set you free. Save you for the last time.

After a self-deprecating shake of the head, the last of the oaken steps are descended and bare feet pad over the cool tiles of the small hallway to the crisp white-painted door just underneath the staircase revealing fresh deep claw marks on the inside wood upon opening. Fingertips lightly trace the marks made by the monster, guilt at even daring to question whether the cruelty in the form of the abuse had been inherently the beloved’s sinking to the bottom of the stomach and sitting there heavily because the crude traces remind of the might of the suppressed being within.

As does the naked sweaty honey-toned body lying unconsciously on the hard concrete ground of the cage that was installed directly upon moving in, chained to the brick wall by a sturdy glistening iron chain and collar which allows just enough freedom for the current position. Considering the dewiness of the bared skin, the return to humanity has taken place quite recently, mayhaps twenty to fifteen minutes earlier than the digits carefully grabbing the keys to the constraints that were retrieved from the mahogany nightstand drawer before leaving the safe sheets arrived.

Lying where they are always being kept.

Next to the emergency gun.

Each movement is languid, every advance towards the significant other seeming to be in vain due to toes feeling as if they are incorporated into the cement below, afraid to approach and thus taking up a determined resisting stance a few metres away from stirring limbs. Withal, Namjoon is, apparently unconsciously, gradually approached regardless.

Familiar lashes flutter open in utter fazing, civilized irises the colour of the earth after rainfall on an autumn day taking in reality while meticulously constructing it from the increasingly registering pieces revealed by brief glances. Until they find the last simply staring puzzle piece, which makes the brow furrow in ashamed apologetic begging. ‘Y/N?’ The werewolf has left the ability to talk entirely, instead letting the affected husband speak with a sonorous voice inherently his albeit in need of some adjustment after the transforming harrowing event. ‘Y/N, I- I’m sorry. I shouldn’t- didn’t mean to- I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry. I hate myself for what I did to you, for losing control like that. I’ve never wanted to be a monster.’

Long fingers wrap themselves tightly around the iron bars, foreheads resting against each other as best as possible with the obstruction after a terrified wife with the paradoxical toxic wanting to forgive falls to the knees in front of tears streaming over glistening sun-kissed cheeks, unlocking the door while revelling in the comforting intimacy. However, when once solacing fingertips graze the spot where the hit landed, the body immediately flinches back as if being pulled into retreat by an invisible rubber band, eyes wide with the expected horror of a harmful repeat.

A similar expression maintains the unbroken lock of gazes, the hand likely meaning well hanging futilely in the air and falling away in defeat, plush lips slightly trembling in the effort to remain coherent. ‘I won’t- Baby, I won’t hurt you again. Please. Please, come closer. It was the wolf within-’

‘It was you.’ Breathlessly, the observation breaking the heart all over again as it denies the argument of the claw marks now that reality and the source of pain is too concrete, too close, is spoken aloud.

Protest in a recomposed beloved voice does not help conviction. ‘I’d never-!’

‘It was you, Joon. Just before you hit me, I saw it was you and not the beast.’ The headshake is too confirming of the empirical experience that is attempted to be denied despite knowing better but believing the self-served humanity preserving lie.

‘If it was truly me I would have never beat you! I would have stopped myself!’ The yelling reduces to a softness bordering on a whisper, clearly recalling what had been said in the night at the door before vanishing underground. Seeing the truth behind the conjured mirage. ‘I really- dammit, no, I couldn’t... couldn’t have. I- I can’t. I don’t want to be a mindless beast. I don’t- I don’t want to slip away.’

Though despising oneself for it, as soon as slender digits clamp agitatedly onto brown sweat-matted messy locks and Namjoon stares at bare feet, palms folded over the head to shield himself from cruel reality, instinct kicks in and makes a conflicted woman crawl towards the loved heavily sobbing man. Precisely as was done on the rare occasion the platinum bad boy showed his true hurt persona to a nerdy outcast girl while sitting in the gravel on the side of the high school building filled with students fearing him.

Everyone but her.

Because she understood.

Because she loved.

Arms envelop freshly transformed sticky shoulders after a brief instant of hesitance, one hand moving upwards to entangle in velvet locks and cradle the back of the head of the extraordinary significant other directly pulling a strangely affectionate body flush against a quickly rising and falling chest, face buried in the side of the neck to not show the brooks streaming uncontrollably again.

The promises formed by a tongue that wants to live in assuring fantasy sound misplaced, inappropriately positive in the grave atmosphere merely forming a prelude to a terrible future. ‘We’re gonna get through this. We’ll figure it out.’

‘You- You say that but- but your heart is racing with fear.’ Long once trusted digits wrap themselves around upper arms, undoing the embrace and creating a bit of distance to properly, at least attempt to do so, talk vis-á-vis. When the rooted horror becomes visible despite the mask under which it was supposed to be hidden, Joon’s troubled fragmented voice cracks further with sorrowful resignation. ‘You’re- You’re scared of me.’

A wordless shake to deny the truthful allegation, hoping to convince the tall cruelly wonderful man of the opposite yet failing in doing so as innate systems do not lie. ‘Don’t deny it, Y/N. It’s obvious. Still... still I want to ask for a second chance, but,’ this time, the tracing of the agitated mark left behind as a reminder on skin powerless against the beast is allowed, but it takes every ounce of strength and courage to remain, ‘but if I can’t change, if we ever come this close again to me accidentally killing you in rage again, then-’

‘Don’t. Don’t ask this of me.’ The shivers at the image of the unavoidable deal made at the start of the relationship remain as chillingly harrowing as they were at first when Namjoon revealed what is within and can overtake the body and soul entirely when not being appropriately trained to control it. ‘I won’t do it.’

I would run away, leave forevermore. But I cannot end the story the way you want. I don’t want to.

‘I beat you, baby. Furthermore, while trying to apologize, I came too close to transforming at the door and killing you by giving the... thing free rein. I only didn’t this time because I barely managed to get myself here.’ Comforting large palms frame a face gone pale with anguish, having to undeniably acknowledge this is indeed the matter of the circumstances and haunted by what the aftermath will look like. ‘You know what can happen, what I’ll do. I don’t want to discover your body in shreds at dawn, murdered by my hand because of a lack of control.’

The kiss lingers, tasting of salty desperation and genuine dangerous love.

Tasting of goodbye.

‘Promise me you’ll use the gun. Don’t shoot try to shoot in one of the paws but aim for the heart or between the eyes.’

‘Joon, stop. Don’t talk like this.’

‘I’m slipping away, baby.’ Affectionately, a thumb begins to gently brush over the clear sign of abuse, almost as if being able to kind-heartedly make it vanish by the soft contact yet unable to do so for it shall continue to linger. ‘We have to talk about it now because if things don’t change soon, I’ll be gone. Forever.’

I can’t do it. I can’t be the one to put you down.

‘Joonie, please stop.’ Teeth bite down on a quivering bottom lip, lashes fluttering shut to bask entirely in the warmth of the precious husband’s hands. The abuse can be borne and can be helped with aid in the form of anger management therapy. Surely that has to help against malevolent animalistic outbursts.

There has to be a way out of this.

Out of fate.

‘Kill me.’

‘No.’

‘Y/N, I’m not asking anymore. I’ll need you to put me down.’ Urgency has crept into a defeated baritone voice that wants, needs to be heard daily in order to live.

Is forbidden from fading by vows promising to withstand the storms blowing on the path of marriage. ‘We can work this out.’

All storms eventually pass.

Right?

Stay with me. Don’t leave me behind.

‘Maybe we can, but there is a big chance we can’t.’

And he was right, because the next month there was solely the wolf after being beaten worse than before.

He slipped away.

Aim.

Fangs.

Do not panic.

Growling.

Pull the trigger.

Regret.

Make it end.

Save yourself.

A second.

Crimson.

A whine.

Bullet hole in the wall.

Transformation.

Closing eyes.

‘Thank you.’

Tears.

The end.

The waiting crib of a fatherless child.