#Thread ⟢ And the Crowd goes . . . Is that a child ?

[woso-dreamzzz]

Flag

Frida Maanum x Emma Lennartsson x Child!Reader

Summary: Frida gets a surprise

There's something about the atmosphere at Borehamwood that Frida likes. Maybe it's the pitch or the changing room or something else. But, secretly, Frida thinks it's the fans.

They turn out in droves, filling the stands and lining up for hours to get in.

The fans are perfect and the signs are funny too.

Frida likes the flags the best though. It's not often that she sees a Norwegian flag in the stands. Plenty of English flags and Ireland flags too (Katie seems to have a never ending amount of fans from Ireland flying over just to see her play).

It's always a nice day to see a Norwegian flag in the crowd. They don't even have to be the big ones hanging over the railings or the ones that fans would give her to wear around her shoulders.

Any flag, big or small, was always welcome to see in the stands.

Frida thinks they make her play better. She sees it and she almost always scores a goal or assists someone else's.

Just like today.

She'd spotted it in the second half, a little handheld flag being waved over by the seated area. She thinks a kid is holding it but it's too far away to properly see.

But the ball was at her feet and then suddenly it was in the back of the net and, as Frida celebrated, she knew it was seeing her flag that got her through it all.

She sees the flag again when the match is over, waving back and forth.

She follows the flag to a little hand. The hand to an arm. The arm to an Arsenal shirt. The Arsenal shirt up to two chubby little cheeks and those chubby cheeks to a very familiar face.

Frida's moving again before anyone can stop her. Stina tries to talk to her but Frida doesn't wait. She's not meant to hop the barrier but she does.

She takes the steps two at a time before reaching the little girl with the flag, crushing her into a hug.

"Hi, Mama," You whisper against her.

"Hi, squishy," Frida says to you. She lifts her head up to rest her chin on your head, looking at Emma. "Hi."

"Hello," Emma chuckles," Good surprise?"

"The best surprise."

Frida releases you but you don't move, happy to curl into her body.

"Did you see my flag, Mama?" You ask," I bought it just for you!"

"I did see it, squish," Frida says. One arm wraps around you again while the other reaches out for Emma. "I scored that goal for you, you know."

You giggle. "Silly, Mama. You don't know we were here!"

"But I saw your flag," Frida insists," And that made me score my goal. Thank you, squish."

You smile at her, a big smile that has Frida raining kisses down on your face. "It was a good goal, Mama. Mummy was very happy."

Emma's face goes a little red at that but Frida doesn't care about teasing her right now, more than happy with you in one arm and Emma's hand in her own.

"I'm glad," Frida says, looking down at you again," I'm glad my girls are happy."

"I'm always happy to see you, Mama!"

She isn't quite sure why but Frida chokes a little, trying to force down her tears so you don't notice but you do.

"Mama," You say," You're crying."

"Happy tears, squish," She assures you," I am very happy that you and Mummy decided to surprise me."

"We woke up very early," You say to her," And then we got on a plane."

"It's been a long day," Emma agrees. She draws you away from Frida and you go willingly. "Go and get changed and we'll head home."

"Come with me," Frida blurts out.

"Home?" Emma asks in amusement," I assumed we were already doing that."

"No, I mean to the locker room. I don't think I can cope being separated now."

Emma bounces you on her knee. "Would you like that, squish? Going into the locker room with Mama?"

You nod, head bobbing up and down. "Yes, please."

Emma gets up and settles you on her hip so you're comfortable. She keeps her fingers threaded with Frida's as she's guided through the halls and into the locker room.

Most of the girls have already come in so Frida's one of the last and everyone stares when she leads you and Emma in.

You've met the Arsenal girls before but you're not too familiar with them because you live in Sweden with Mummy most of the time, going with her to practice at Linköping.

So, you get put in Mama's cubby as she changes. She makes silly faces at you while Mummy talks to a few people she knows.

Mama was wearing a red Arsenal shirt like yours. She always gets you a new one whenever the new kit launches so you can match.

You don't see Mama in person a lot because her life is in England but she always calls every night to read you your bedtime story. She does all the voice correctly and she always makes you laugh.

You like that you get to have your favourite stories read to you in person tonight.

"Ready to go, squish?" Mama asks.

"Yes, Mama. We going home now?"

Frida beams at you. "Yes, we're going home."

[thisblogisaboutabook]

Neon Moon

Azriel x Reader/Rhysand’s Sister - Angst

Rhysand’s sister grapples with a one-sided mating bond that has yet to snap for the Shadowsinger. When a drunken night brings the two closer together than ever, Azriel is made aware of a circumstance that could change the course of her life.

This is a one-shot that is able to be read as a stand-alone fic.

This is also a prequel to Wicked Felina and elements of this prequel will be involved in the remainder of the series. Wicked Felina Part 5

Warnings: Sexual content, alcohol, language, age difference concerns

Y/N - 19 Years Old

When the sun goes down on my side of town, that lonsesome feeling comes to my door.

Pretty moans echo through the walls of the House of Wind only broken by an ocasional deep groan.

I roll over with an aggravated sigh, pulling an overstuffed pillow across the back of my head, covering my ears. Not that it will do any good. Curse being High Fae and the exceptional hearing that comes with it.

I lay awake, taking deep breaths, trying to sink into the starry depths of my mind but Azriel’s hook-up of the week lets out a particularly loud cry of pleasure before her moans are muffled by what I assume is a gloved hand and a low reprimand.

I roll my eyes. He may as well chide her with a warning of “Shh, don’t wake the baby.” by the way he treats me.

Never mind the fact that I am an adult now. I have tits for cauldron’s sake, nice ones at that. I wouldn’t be wearing this oversized, ridiculously soft knit sweater if I didn’t.

And yet he still views me as a child.

It’s cruel to think that on my eighteenth name day, a golden thread snapped. Tethering my soul to him… and yet, he has no clue. That, or he does, and has no intention of acting on it, refusing to view me as anything other than the little sister of his best friend.

I’ve got a table for two, way in the back where I sit alone and I think of losing you.

So I grin and bear it. And if I happen to wear clothing a bit too cheeky when he is around and other males inevitably gawk at my exposed skin, thus prompting the overprotective bat to shuck his sweater off and toss it to me, and then I spend the rest of the night drinking him under the table? Well, that will have to do for now. So, I wait for the day his soul is ready to seek mine.

Y/N - 21 years old

He’s watching her again. He always does. She dances through the room like petals on a breeze, enamoring the crowd with vivacious conversation as she skirts throughout those gathered in the room. How will I ever compare to the radiant and lovely enigma that is THE Morrigan? I shouldn’t feel bitterness toward my cousin and yet I do. I get why people flock to her, she’s kind and lovely, strong, somehow both approachable and unobtainable. She’s a total pain in my ass busybody cousin-acting-as-older-sister I never wanted.

I requested that the band play Azriel’s favorite song tonight. The one time he’ll loosen up and let himself enjoy a moment. It has become a routine, our dance. The one time that he holds me a little closer. The one time I can pretend he sees me as the mature female that I am and not the child I was.

But tonight, the song plays, and it’s Morrigan in his arms, not me. It’s not the first time he’s chosen her over me. When she’s here, I don’t exist.

I can’t stand it anymore. I can’t watch this.

I spend most every night beneath the light of a Neon Moon.

I turn to leave, exiting the hall, winding through the crowd of pompous nobility from all courts. The garden. I’ll find solace in the garden, beneath the glittering stars, among the fragrant blooms. Sneaking down a quiet corridor and out a shadowed alcove, a guard opens the door for me and the warm, lavender scented breeze greets me like a friend. My steps fall swiftly, distancing myself from the evening revelry. As I wind down a path of blooming roses, a loose stone causes my sole to slip, bracing myself for the fall and the sting of rock to my palms. Instead, I am shocked to feel warm, strong arms catching me. Looking up at my savior, a few long golden locks of hair fall over the concerned, emerald green eyes staring down at me.

Y/N - four months later

“Shit, Shadowsinger. You look like you could use this more than me.”

The start of a grin tilts the left corner of his lips upward as an incredulous laugh slips from his throat. Reaching a scarred hand toward the bottle of my brother’s finer wine and swiping it from me.

Azriel’s hazel eyes assess the bottle, giving a raise of his brow. “Looks like you’ve done a number on this one already.”

“I never do things halfway.” I tease. Giving a nod toward the wine that was indeed half-empty. His dark brows rise again as I unveil a second bottle before he could remark on it. “Some Spymaster you are. You should’ve know I’d come prepared with the best selections from Rhys’ secret-” The playful jest is interrupted by the tickle of a shadow trailing up my arm and spiriting the second bottle right out of my hand, eliciting a pout of my lower lip.

“Hey, now that’s just greedy.”

The handsome planes of Azriel’s face illuminate in the twilight, causing my heart to stir. Perhaps it’s the way the night shrouds him in ominous twilight, or the way his shadows sit strewn across his shoulders but I know tonight was hard for him.

Mor had shown up to dinner as radiant as ever, a red dress clinging to her delicious curves, some male she’d picked up at Rita’s on her arm.

Now if you lose your one and only, there's always room here for the lonely

I should leave him alone but I can feel it in my chest. Stoic and broody? Yes. A lonely soul? Also yes.

And damn, do I know I deserve better than to be the female that will never be chosen first? Yes. And yet, he’s my mate and more importantly, my friend.

“Scooch over,” my arm waives in a correlating gesture. “This grass is dewy and cold and this dress is far too thin. Your leathers can handle the chill, I’m stealing your warmth.”

With a small shake of the head, a lock of raven hair falls over his forehead, Azriel scoots, exposing the vacated patch of grass for me to sit on. “Gods, it’s still chilly.” I complain as I swipe one of the bottles back from the Shadowsinger.

“Nobody asked you to come out here.”

“And yet here I am.”

Azriel eyes meet mine, a small flicker of emotion passing behind them. “Yes.” He whispers fondly. “Here you are.”

I ignore the blush threatening to redden my cheeks and fire back at him. “Your breath smells like a vineyard. You’d already gotten started on the drinking without me?”

Recognizing the rhetorical question for what it is, Azriel presses his lips to the bottle, tilting his head back as he takes a long swig of the bittersweet wine. My breath catches as a harsh swallow bobs his adam’s apple. Heat pools through me and I quickly turn away, searching for something, anything to distract from the effect he has on me.

To watch your broken dreams, dance in and out of the beams of a neon moon

Shadows dance around us, like figures on the wind, weaving in and out of the moon’s luminescent rays.

“Y/N…” I turn to face him as a scarred hand reaches for me before seemingly thinking better of it and pulling back. “I didn’t dance with you at the ball.”

It’s my turn to laugh incredulously. “That was months ago Azriel, why bring it up now?”

That peculiar flicker of emotion crosses his eyes again.

“I’m sorry.”

I pause, taken back by the apology. Had he known how much it hurt to see him dancing with her? Thinking on it, I can’t seem to grasp whether it is better or worse that way.

I freeze, grappling with emotion as he ruffles his hair with a scarred hand, dragging his palm over his face. “Y/N. The conflict that wars within me, it’s… .”

Confusion conveys on my features and I resist the urge to dive into his mind and read exactly what he’s thinking. “What?” I ask as his sentence trails into a void of lost words.

He shakes his head as if he’s already pushed whatever he was about to confess aside. Hurt washes through me and I begin to turn away. A broad, calloused palm grasps my wrist. “You’re beautiful, Y/N.” He leans closer, his wine addled breath mingling with my own, only centimeters separate his lips from mine.

I think of two young lovers running wild and free. I close my eyes and sometimes see you in the shadows.

I’m certain he can hear my heartbeat as it roars through my ears. My eyes flutter looking into his heavy-lidded hazel and onyx eyes. His head tilts, low voice barely more than a rumble.

“You’re everything.”

Azriel inhales, his gaze searching mine in a silent ask of permission, preparing to close the hairs-breadth of distance between our lips. Suddenly those lust-addled eyes go wide, nostrils flaring, and he abruptly pulls away, swiping my bottle of wine as he withdraws his hand. “You don’t need any more of this, Y/N. Go to bed.”

My mouth gapes slightly, processing what just happened. “What?”

“It’s late and I have to leave for a mission for your father in the morning.”

He stands straight, stretching out his tall body and those glorious, broad wings, stiff from sitting on the ground.

My heart is crushed, once again. The words that could change it all sitting on the tip of my tongue.

You’re my mate. You’re my mate. You’re my mate.

But his feelings for my cousin still run strong and we have centuries ahead of us. I refuse to be in second place.

Azriel extends a tanned arm to me, eyes now softened, a slight crease between his brows as he takes me in. “Come on, Y/N. Let’s get inside.”

Taking his extended arm, we walk in silence through the grand entryway of the House of Wind, winding down the corridors within, stopping at my room, I murmur a rushed “goodnight.” before escaping behind the shield of my door, to the quiet lonesome solace of my room.

I sense Azriel’s presence outside my latched door for several moments before his steps pad down the hall opening the door one down from mine, into his room.

No telling how many tears I've sat here and cried, or how many lies that I've lied telling my poor heart he’ll come back someday.

Azriel

Azriel couldn’t take it. The way the walls closed in around him. Sleep was always just out of reach but tonight, he felt the weight on his chest in a crushing embrace.

If you lose your one and only, there's always room here for the lonely.

He’d spent the past few years dicking around, ignoring the shift he’d felt toward Y/N. For fuck’s sake, she was Rhysand’s little sister, barely an adult. She’d always gravitated toward him in her childhood. Looked up to him. And he cared so deeply for her, like a little sister. And then soon after her eighteenth birthday something began to shift in his chest. Something that he felt so incredibly wrong for feeling - and yet something he’d buried deep within begged him to accept that it was right.

He was a bastard for it and latched onto his feelings for Mor even harder, despite the fact that they’d simmered down in previous years. And then Y/N had changed her demeanor toward him and he knew- gods, he knew she wanted him but he couldn’t do it. Rhys would kill him for it if her father didn’t first. It was so wrong.

And it had gotten harder and harder recently. He’d brought females home, spent more time around Mor when she’d visit, anything to push her away without actually owning up to what his feelings were.

And then Mor had shown up on a whim tonight with some male that she’d picked up gods knows where, he couldn’t even fall back on clinging to her, leaving him forced to face how strongly he felt toward Y/N, so he’d indulged in booze and snuck out to sit beneath the moonlight and drown in his own pool of self-pity.

To watch your broken dreams dance in and out of the beams of a neon moon.

When she’d found him, any semblance of willpower was gone. Y/N was a goddess beneath the moonlight. Kind, strong, intelligent, and so damned beautiful and, out here, it was just the two of them. So, he’d finally given in. One kiss, one kiss would help him see how wrong this was. And yet as he leaned in, all he could feel was how right it seemed to be.

Until he’d inhaled, taking that final breath of courage to close the distance. That’s when he smelled it, the shift in her scent. Her scent was there but there was something somewhat familiar and earthen intertwined a scent so light and sweet, almost like roses. A scent that was not her own, not of her.

She was pregnant. He had no idea by whom but the realization sobered him up entirely. He swiped her wine and panicked. Did she know? Should he say something? Instead, like the older brother figure he’d once viewed himself as to her, he escorted her into the house and told her to go to bed, ensuring to keep the alcohol out of her reach.

Gods, he didn’t know what to do from here

He spent the rest of the night flying, taking in the stars and the moon as they shone brightly above, ethereal just like her.

He’d go on his mission this week, and Y/N and her mother would travel to the war camp that her father was at to visit him, and when she came back he’d talk it all out with her.

Yes, he’d support her and love her however she needed to be, whether it be as a friend, as chosen family, or as something more. It would all work out. It had to.

Come watch your broken dreams dance in and out of the beams of a neon moon.

————————————

Although this is a one-shot, it is also the prequel to Wicked Felina, you can read Part 1 here.

Tags

ACOTAR general: @lilah-asteria @thecollegecowgirl @mochibabycakes @nickishadow139

Wicked Felina tags: @glittervame @julesofvolterra @saltedcoffeescotch @candyjaypoppins @st4r-girl-official @nocasdatsgay @gxdsmonsters @honk4emoboyz

[tempered-chill]

"It's wonderful to meet you, Tartaglia," Yanqing says, giving a slight bow to show his respect. "Your timely assistance is greatly appreciated. My name is Yanqing," he also does not reveal his status as Cloud Knight Lieutenant - isn't sure that if this man's traditions differ from his in terms of greetings, so since the newly-introduced Tartaglia's status hadn't been revealed, maybe it was better to withhold his own.

After all, despite the fact that Tartaglia had come to help him, it doesn't mean that he's necessarily a good person - but it's good to show thankfulness to your elders. Jing Yuan's teachings in manners stick with him.

"Your fighting style is really cool," and such informalities contradict his earlier sentences being so formal, but Yanqing just can't quite help himself - the arrows, the weapons made of water. "You're a great warrior."

He feels a little awkward, honestly, standing here in this place that he doesn't know - he was just meaning to sightsee, really! And then he had to be helped by a complete stranger... "I hope I wasn't intruding on any of your time, but thanks for coming to help - again."

[ @whaleschild ]

And the Crowd Goes . . . Is that a child ?

Childe and Yanqing shenanigans @/tempered-ice

[sgiandubh]

Quick & on the go...

Greetings from this wonderful place. Not the Highlands (orange trees in the bungalow's yard) and the pic is old, couldn't be arsed to take the same one today. Just Archaia Epidavros, on the coast of the Peloponnese: the perfect quiet and cozy spot (with a huge fireplace) to cosplay Far from the Madding Crowd.

In the meanwhile, S built a snowman in his GLA backyard, because this is just what 40 something bachelors do, in their spare time - everybody knows that. Instead, the Mordorian mouthpieces (Marple & co) pitifully tried to deflect attention with the old 'latergram/not latergram' script. Not a latergram, by the way - still funny to read she did check pics of the weather in S's neighborhood, but no way she'd be a stalker. Nope.

Anyways, I just took ten minutes for this:

Not only two sets of footprints (as already noticed), but two sets of handprints, too. Credit goes to Someone for the upper arrow - 'probably a child in his arms, or something'.

You just have to love intelligent men: they make everything sound very, very simple and logical. And, reader, I do.

See you on the other side of this year. And thank you for all the wonderful thoughts you have sent me, in the comments thread or in DM. I will answer each and every one of you as soon as possible, but I want to take my time and these days, it's a bit difficult.

[Edit]: Also, who the hell tried to decorate that snowman, but just in its bottom third or so? Thank you for calling my attention in DM, you know who you are and you are just fantastic. And now, I am really off: long drive to Athens tomorrow, because when you have a dervish in your life, you should expect whirlwinds.

[smww4ever]

How I See It

I have no idea how to write this but I feel that I need to. The flow of words has been in my mind all day, after having spent some time watching clips from the Superman and Lois show, and comments from people on my SMWW accounts when it comes to SuperWonder. So I'm going to mesh it all together so you can understand if you decide to read through.

The clips were suggested by Youtube. I wasn't looking for it but came upon it and you know how it goes. You kinda binge watch these scenes. I was traumatized watching it. Yes. It reminded me of the drama I lived through as a child with my parent's marriage. What even made it all the more ridiculous was the guy has superpowers. So it didn't seem like he was helping the world, just his small world. And then you had the villains. They happened to be people of his own kind. Again not helping the world I stepped back and looked at it all and said this is a "soap opera".

But the appeal of the soap opera of this show is this is how the vast majority of comics fans want to see Superman. Just a regular schmuck in a regular marriage plus kids with a bossy woman. A female who has a strong personality, wears the pants in the house, not a real beauty, was promiscuous in her early days, but managed to bag the most eligible bachelor in comics.

Then of course I had to read the comments. What a trove of laughs that was. I screenshot many, but it would take time for me to crop and upload so I'm just writing. Things like that actress is a horrible Lois, not easy on the eyes. Then you have the responses to that which were basically, you're dumb, she a beauty better than Erica. (Erica in my opinion is a beauty.)

Then comments on the actor who plays Superman. How he's the best ever. (For me he looks like a vampire werewolf. Always has.) Then someone brought up how both are so alarmingly skinny. How is this supposed to be believable that they are these characters.

That point which is good point btw, got attacked. Again it's character assassination of the commenter that they never had a real relationship, or aren't a true Superman fan and live in the basement of their parents, because who cares about their looks..."they have CHEMISTRY!'

Whew!

I just had a weird, condescending comment about an image I posted on Threads. Let me tell you that Threads is a different beast. There are many people who have left X and other platforms even IG to congregate there and bish about everything. They are full of opinions. And self-proclaimed experts. They may not say it but you can tell by their posts.

There is some different content I post on Threads because the crowd is just different. After watching the clips, I saw the writers made a new character. An older brother of Superman who was abandoned. So they made more drama. Of course this brother is a villain. I can't tell you how predictable this was when I saw it. I chuckled the whole time. Tal-Rho has a problem with humans and doesn't like Lois or Kal's family. And yes, the brother calls him Kal. He has a British accent too. How predictable. Adds more to the condescension of the older Kryptonian sibling. But Kal is the name that Diana uses. So I don't know if that's an unintended or intended diss at her. As if this Superman doesn't care at all about his Kryptonian heritage or whatever. All that matters is Lois and his family. Who by the way are superwhiny. Looking at you Jordan. Like spank this kid already.

Then I had to step back even further. Because why is this show popular with this group of fans. Why do they consider it the best depiction of Clark and Lois? I even had someone say that it's for fans who are familiar with Superman characters. Because of course, I as a SuperWonder fan couldn't possibly be familiar with Superman characters just because I think and favor Diana as a true, romantic partner. Never mind that I'm older than a dinosaur and actually saw the Superman movie in the theaters. Ha! But I digress.

Really any other woman would be better at this point. I had a collab artist on IG send me an animation of Kal with Kara. I know there's a weird niche fandom that ships them. I looked at it and I'm like it works! That works too. Too bad that it's his cousin. They even did a comic about it in the golden age.

Why do all these other pairings work in my eyes?

Well first the problem here is that Superman and Lois is answering a need with people. There is a problem with dating, marriage, relationships and men and women in general right now. You see it with MGTOW and feminism and everything in between.

They see this as an ideal relationship. Or relationship goals. Their fantasy to be like them. I read "Oh they are so adorable." And this after Lois berates him. I mean do they even know what an ideal relationship is? Is that really it?

It's also relatable. Because Superman who is basically a killing machine. Step back and look. He can shoot lasers out of his eyes. I see you Homelander and Brightburn. They made him adorable and dumbed down. Harmless like a "golden retriever". That's what Clois fans call him.

So he is a puppy. He's Lois's puppy.

See he's not acting like a god. He's harmless. See he wears glasses. (A guy with supervision wears glasses all the time.) Like all the time. He's just Clark. Little farmboy. Average dude. A dork. And he's just happens to have superpowers. That's what is digestible to this fandom. It's a perfect fantasy to their eyes. What Superman should be!

No, not really.

So I can understand how they see Diana and Clark. It is threatening. It's a no-no. They are too perfect or godlike. Un-relatable. (But yet for Halloween, everybody wants to be them. In all my times as a cosplay photographer, I only saw one Lois Lane cosplay, one.).

I've strived to make them relatable and adorable in the art. Dare I say I have proven that Diana and Clark/Kal work. I used Ai to do it. But I did it. They have CHEMISTRY. Haha.

So now I have to step back even further.

Why for 80 years has this been the relationship for this character. Because you know that's what they'll say.

Because the second thing is, this is a Nephilim trope. Call it lore, history, myth. It is so ingrained into our consciousness. This idea of a super-being coming down to save us.

The creators of Superman said they were inspired by Moses because they were Jewish. And Moses was a savior in Hebrew history. But it's more than that. Either they didn't know or knew. I have no idea but inspiration can be an interesting thing.

Superman acts more like an angel. A being that looks human but has these amazing superpowers. That's what a Nephilim is. Half human and half angel. And the lore or history is written about in the Bible and even the Book of Enoch. Now that's a rabbit hole, you might want to go down, Alice!

Because that is what constantly gets brought up in the comments. How can Lois have coitus with a guy like Superman. And man do we have explanations and excuses. Of course all made up by writers.

The bio-aura field that protects anyone close to him.

The perfect control he exercises when performing intercourse so she doesn't wind up like the woman with Hancock.

The red sun gizmo that is used to make him human in order for him to do the big nasty and then he recharges in the sun.

Or going to Argo City and getting Lois pregnant there. Everybody is a regular schmo there!

Bonus: movie moment where he gives up his powers!

All those can be possible. If we look at him as an angel. Because in the lore, angels came down and chose human wives and impregnated them. They gave birth to 'men of renown'. Guys with superpowers.

I remember watching the Lois and Clark show back in the day. I also binge watched that show when it was available on Netflix. So that was many years ago. I remember a scene where Superman swallowed a bomb. And it exploded inside of his belly and he just belched a fiery burp.

That was the weirdest thing I had seen. Later on seeing them in bed floating just didn't make sense. They were both floating. That is some angelic sheeit right there.

Afterwards tho I felt like something was amiss. Like something is flawed with all this. It was romantic but flawed. My epiphany came then when I saw Diana with Kal and it made perfect sense. I think this was the time New 52 came out. Boy did it ruffle feathers.

Oh and most angels have "el' in their names to indicate that they are angelic beings. No surprise we have "Kal-El of the House of El". His names translates basically to "voice of God".

So Clois fans are consuming a Nephilim trope.

But would that make Superman a good angel or fallen one?

Well think on that. I think I may be running out of space. So I'll wrap this up.

So what if he's not an angel but an actual ALIEN from another world.

Looks like a human. But who's biology is radically different. Different enough that his cells turn into steel. Invincible. Not subject to death. He can regenerate. The photons, radiation and rays from the sun give him this invulnerability. Let's just ponder that alone. I'm not gonna talk about his other powers. Like his eyes can supercharge heat vision. Or that his lungs can blast cold air. Or that he can defy gravity. Etcetera...

I had a friend who worked out. He showed me his progress. I was impressed. When he pumped up his arm to show off his biceps, I had to feel it. It was like steel.

There are days when I can't even open up a jar of pickles. And you expect a human woman to be ok with an alien that can pull a cargo ship with a chain?

If I were Lois, I would be like nope.

If I were Superman, I would know that an earthling would be fragile.

So that really begs the question, why did Jor-El send Kal-El to Earth of all the planets and galaxies.

28 galaxies mentioned in the lore in the old movies. Mind you, I'm talking of stuff that is made up. There were several other places for such a highly evolved civilization to send "the Last Son of Krypton" to, right? Well, he's not the last son in Superman and Lois. See Superman can be re-written. That is essentially what they did in this show. Remember how I said his small world. In this show, he didn't use his Kryptonian tech to cure Lois of cancer. Like wth?

You know, off tangent there was a clip of him and Lois and the actress looked so much like Margot Kidder, but it was the Bizarro version however it was crazy. Over the top drama. It depicts them as who they really are. It's been there underlying in the depictions in all iterations. You need to see it. Maybe I can link it here. Here it is: Crazy!

I mentioned this a while back that the Superman you see with Diana is not the Superman with Lois. It really is the case.

I know Clombies talk down on Kingdom Come. But maybe in his older years, he got wise. Of course Diana made the choice to be with him. There was obviously something there. He had to have had feelings right. I know I can bring up comics and history to prove SuperWonder, but to a Clois fan that sheeit don't matter. They don't care.

Most are living through a comic book fantasy.

I see it with SuperWonder. And I'm being honest here. Most will like the young lovers they see in the art. Most will not like the older depictions. I see that with the views and likes. Of course there are fans who appreciate both. But for newbies who see them together, they prefer to live through that "young love". You know the butterflies you get when you're young and in love. When you're young you're invincible and at the peak of your vitality. Young people have a hard time envisioning what old age is about or how it will be. I've read the comments everywhere.

I don't think SuperWonder is perfect. No relationship is. However it is the better one. It really depends on the writer and how it's written. They really didn't give it a chance. I try to explore and depict them in many different ways. Especially for two beings that have longevity of life and similarities like twin flames, there would be a lot going on there.

It's hard for people to see their heroes age. Or have families. Or die. I used to get angry emojis when I did that Silver Series last year. No they can't get grey hair or old. How dare you! LOL

Probably why we see the same origin stories repeated. Or rebooted.

As for SuperWonder, there would need to be a paradigm shift. Which I've mentioned before. But this wouldn't have been a problem if we had interactions and live action of just them being friends, for Pete's sake. Snyder didn't give us anything. Wasted opportunity with Reeve and Carter. DC in it's current state isn't giving much with Gunn. It'll be a flop with the same old story. And then even with Clois fans, their show was ended.

They could have given us the multiverse but I'm afraid the WB and the folks behind all this, are just running it all into the ground.

Then of course they gave the public AI. And I think it will be in public use in a few years. So the people will be their own story tellers and movie makers.

I think so. I hope so. I got stories.

[our-transgender-experiences]

(brief mention of suicide) long ramble

I’m finally feeling a little bit less helpless. A friend of mine recently had top surgery. He gave me recommendations for his surgeon and how The Process sort of goes. I have a tangible number to aim for with saving up. I have a goal and a purpose now. I used to want to take myself away from this pain in /any way possible/ I didn’t think i’d live past 16, let alone make it to 22. But here i am.

I am going to find a way to be happy, and if i cannot do that on a clear path i will claw and carve and fight through the weeds to see that joy. I owe it to that lost, lonely little boy. I owe it to him to seize this thread of hope even if it’s tiny and fragile. We will make it, hand in hand. And fuck it, we will. Even if i am alone in life, there is that little boy just ecstatic that I am here.

I don’t know if im saying this just to put it into writing to prove that i Can and Will do this, refer back to it on those dark days, or if someone reading this might need it too. As tired a phrase as it is, you are not alone. I am not alone. You have a version of yourself in the past that would be so incredibly excited for what you are doing and where you have got yourself, even if it was a tiny step forward. There will be a future version of yourself fighting looking back, trying to make sure your current self would be proud of them too.

there will undeniably be bad days, horrific days, days you might want to throw your hands up in the air and say fuck it all, I give up. I don’t want to be hurting like this. but imagine that young version of you. Imagine them taking your hand. Imagine them tugging you up and pulling you forward with the joy of a child seeing the gigantic stuffed animal on the other side of the carnival. Walk hand in hand with yourself, and you will find your other hand may find the hand of your older self, or a friend, or the person you dream you can be. You will reach that other side of the carnival some day. You will be able to give that child the gigantic stuffed animal, and it will feel so right and so perfect that their beaming little face will burn itself into your brain even as they barrel back into the crowd to find someone else to grab by the hand and tell them It might be hard, and it might be ugly, but take my hand and we can do it together. Pinky promise.

anyway i started crying writing this out fml lmaooooo Take my hand. We can walk together, if you’d like.

🐝 bee anon

Anon, you said this so beautifully i could never.

We are in this together, and we can be happy.

[pullhisteeth]

Hi! I saw your "Wise Words" fic and got so excited because it was inspired by one of my favorite songs by miss blondie herself 🤣 And I loved your writing so much I thought I could request for a fic if that's okay 🥹

So the "Vigilante Shit" performance in the Eras Tour has been stuck on my mind for AGES (and for good reason) and I was thinking...what if reader is a dancer and is besties with Eddie, and he sees her perform like THAT for the first time...I wonder how he would react and keep his shit together lmaooo

Can't wait to read whatever masterpiece you come up with! Ahhh thank you and ilysm ❤️

oh this one was lethal. checked my notifs at like 10pm and bam! I was off!!! and now it’s like 2am lol. I loved writing this - I took some creative liberties because I do not know a damn thing about dance but I hope it’s okay! thank you for the request (and your lovely kind words) ♡

contains fem!reader, dancer!reader, best friend!Eddie, best friends to lovers, bad knowledge of dance (it shows), fluff. 3k-ish

-

The heat beneath your cheeks can’t be kept at bay. You’re all flushed, palms clammy the way they used to get before recitals.

It has been years since stage fright could even try to get the better of you. Too many hours spent in front of crowds - whether they be three people small, parents and siblings crammed into your living room, or hundreds big, it doesn't matter to you anymore. You know this is all there is for you, moving across a stage like you own it.

Today is an exception. You’re standing - hiding - behind the curtain, nose inches from the deep blue velvet, right on cue but without your guts or your confidence. There’s a gaping hollowness there instead. You’re nervous.

It’s not like nerves have completely escaped you before now. On stage you’re stoic, but in life you’re… Less than self-assured. Especially when it comes to boys, or rather one boy in particular.

“Hey,” someone whispers to your left, “you’re up in five.”

Seconds. She means five seconds. Soon, the curtain will lift, and you’ll be released into the open arms of cheering onlookers, and you’ll have to try your hardest not to look for him among them.

You hear the familiar rattle of the rope mechanism somewhere distant, the lowering sandbag and the gear up high, and then the light descends at your feet. The fluorescence is blinding as the curtain lifts above your face, but this is easy. Comparatively, holding yourself together here, on this stage, is child’s play. Holding yourself together in front of him? Not so much.

-

“I thought you’d be happy!”

Eddie stands at the foot of your bed with his hands on his hips. You’re recoiling, knees up at your chin, at the headboard, whinging something cruel about this surprise he’s been keeping from you.

“I am, it’s just-”

“What are you hiding from me?” he asks, smiling, coy like he knows already.

He doesn’t. If it goes your way, he never will.

“Nothing!” you exclaim, too enthusiastically. “Nothing, I just…”

“Just what?” He’s getting impatient; he’s started pacing again.

“It’s nothing, Eds. I am happy. I promise.”

“Good,” he says, grinning. It’s a smile you love dearly, and if this is something that encourages it, so be it. “Nance is coming, too. We got four tickets, so Rob and Steve are gonna try and get the night off.”

Before you can protest he’s throwing himself onto your bed, chest-first, his arms winding around your calves and squeezing a shriek out of you.

“I’m so excited,” he tells you, muffled, face stuffed into the comforter by your feet. “How’ve we been friends all this time’n I’ve never seen you dance?”

“You have,” you respond, absentmindedly threading your fingers through his hair, nails gentle on his scalp. You feel him relax into your mattress and you smile.

“The club doesn’t count,” he says, turning onto his cheek to look up at you. “I don’t even know what kinda dancing it is.”

“You bought a ticket,” you giggle, “surely you saw the name?”

“Yeah,” he says, a little confused, “but what the fuck is chair dancing?”

-

Before Eddie even makes it inside the club, he knows he’s sticking out like a sore thumb.

“Nance,” he whispers, bending ever so slightly so he’s closer to her ear, “where the fuck are we?”

“Shut up,” she says, laughing her breezy laugh and lifting her shoulder to brush him off playfully.

He’s out of his depth, surrounded by a strange concoction of people - plenty of gaggles of young women, sashes reading bride to be or birthday girl, as well as innocuous older men, distinguished in their suits and pressed shirts, speaking to each other in hushed tones.

Where the fuck is he?

The line gets shorter, and inside the door, once they’re past the lacklustre bouncers, Nancy hands their tickets over and Robin takes her by the arm, giggling with her as they descend the stairs.

Eddie eyes the posters along the walls - comedy shows, open mics, oddly themed club nights - but doesn’t find what he’s looking for.

The four of them emerge into a dimly lit room, where small tables hold even smaller lamps and are surrounded by leather chairs. He feels a firm hand on his shoulder and turns to see Steve looking at Nancy and Robin.

“Okay, girls, find us a seat, me’n Eddie’ll get us drinks.”

Eddie follows him wordlessly through to the bar, where a cheerful - and very pretty - woman takes their order from Steve, who turns to him as she wanders off.

“Hey,” he murmurs, dipping closer, “what’s up with you?”

Eddie groans and holds his head in both hands, elbows on the bar. “I don’t know,” he says into his palms.

Steve’s hand is back on his shoulder, firm again, grounding. “She’s great, you know.”

Eddie twists to peek at him. “You’ve seen her before?”

“Only practising. I was over at their apartment and she was in the living room.”

Eddie groans again, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his palms. “I feel… Nervous, for some reason.”

Beside him, Steve laughs, boisterous and accompanied by a squeeze at his shoulder.

“You should be,” he tells him, “she’s hot shit, Munson. Better be careful, or she’ll be gone before you can catch her.”

-

The music is your favourite part of dancing.

The dancing itself is fun, of course, but it’s nothing without the bass beneath your feet, the smooth curves of sound that seem to run straight through you like a livewire. You like all of it: jazz, rock, country, even metal, when Eddie’s playing it. But there’s something about that sultry kind of pop, the darkness and the sharpness, that turns you into some type of marionette, moving almost without thinking to the sound of gutsy women.

That’s doing yourself a disservice, of course; you’re a good dancer. You’re an excellent dancer. Eddie’s just never seen it before, and suddenly you’re quite sure you’re about to trip over your own feet.

The thrumming bassline distracts you for a flash, and you look over at the other dancers. You move seamlessly between one another, bare legs weaving and feet precise. Your hands lift in the air and run down your body, feeling the intricate beading of the handmade bodice gifted to you by the director. Every nerve is on fire, hyper-responsive and humming with energy. You flip your hair, bend at the hips, move your mouth in time with the lyrics. 

Your hand curls around the cold metal of the chair at the front of the stage, and as you lift your leg, planting a heel firmly on the seat, you forget there’s anyone watching, let alone him.

-

Eddie’s knee stopped bouncing the moment that the curtain shifted.

He loves music, but while you’ve made him listen to his fair share of pop, he’s never heard anything like this. It’s darker than the other stuff. Sexier, even.

His mind empties as the bass kicks in and the curtain hits its peak. There’s a line of dancers, each one beautiful and sparkling under the spotlights, but once his eyes find you there may as well be no one else in the room.

He knows what it’s like to be on a stage - the lights are too bright, the act of performing too consuming; trying to spot someone in a crowd is almost futile. And yet, for the first time in his life, he feels that insatiable urge to be noticed. For you to look over, meet his eye, and shoot him a wink or smile at him the way you do when he picks you up from work.

The way you move up there is unlike anything he has ever seen before. He knows you’ve been dancing your whole life, and when you’re out with friends you still move effortlessly, often emboldened by liquid courage and a good song, but even his wildest dreams - of which there have been many - could not have prepared him for this.

Your body moves with its curves, swaying and bending in a way that seems so natural on you. There’s a confidence he’s rarely seen before, and it’s electrifying, lighting him up from the inside.

“Isn’t she amazing?!” Nancy whispers beside him.

“Yeah,” he breathes, eyes tied to you. Every move you make is slow, methodical, intentional. You lift your legs, tilt your hips, curl your arm upwards like you’re made of water, and Eddie is thirsty.

He feels the warmth of Steve’s chest pressing into his shoulder. “Dude,” he whispers in Eddie’s ear, “shut your mouth. Gonna catch flies or something.”

-

Three songs isn’t many, but holding your own body weight the way you have to takes its toll, and the oppressive warmth of the dressing rooms only make you sweatier. So you race through your post-show routine, saying quick goodbyes to your friends and hanging the bodice carefully on the hanger with your nametag. On quick but tired feet you race through the dimly lit corridors, thankful for the simplicity of your sneakers, in search of the fire escape and some fresh air.

You know he’ll be out here. Part of you longs to linger inside, wait it out until you think he might have left with the rest of them, but you know it’s no use. He’d wait for you all night if you made him, and you’re not in the business of making Eddie Munson wait.

With your bag slung over one shoulder, you push firmly on the bar across the fire door and emerge into the dark alley, the air crisp - just the way you like it. The smell of pot and cigarette smoke drifts and you hear the familiar hum of late-night conversation from around the corner, so you close the door softly and follow it.

As you round the front of the small building, you’re met by thick, strong arms around your middle, lifting you into the air with a force you couldn’t fight even before a full dance routine. You squeal, your feet kicking up behind you, finding the shoulders of your friendly attacker.

“Here she is!” Steve booms, his voice a little muffled by your stomach.

“Steve,” you pant, grinning too wide to make the v sound properly, “let me down.”

He gives you one last squeeze and relents, lowering you slowly until your feet hit solid ground. You’re still grinning and he is, too, beaming at you so wide you can hardly bear it.

“You did good, kid,” he tells you, foregoing his boisterous grip around your waist for a gentle squeeze to your bicep.

“Thanks,” you breathe, eyes drifting as Robin and Nancy weave between the two of you and descend, fawning over you, giggling like children.

“You were so good!”

“Why’d you never tell us you could do that?”

“And that suit, oh my god-”

“Y’know the redhead? Do you think you could maybe-”

“Robin, stop it-”

“What?! She was hot! I'm only asking.”

“Hey,” Nance suddenly hisses, smiling something cruel and cunning, “someone else wants to congratulate you.”

She looks quickly over her left shoulder and you follow her eye line, finding Eddie standing a few feet away with his back to the wall and a cigarette at his mouth.

“We’re gonna head over there,” she tells you, nodding at a bar across the street. “Come find us, yeah?”

They saunter away, looking smug as ever, arms looped as they cross the street. You watch them go until you feel the phantom of someone behind you. It comes with the distinct scent of smoke, and underneath it you catch the bright, fresh smell of his washing powder.

“Hi,” you whisper as you turn to him. He looms over you a little, his head blocking the streetlamp so he looks like a haloed angel.

“Hey,” he says and you’re taken aback, because there’s a waver there. Something like nerves, except this is Eddie, and Eddie doesn’t get nervous. You do enough of that for the both of you. “You, uh… You were really good.”

“Thanks,” you say, smiling.

“I mean it,” he says, the words coming out all together like he might have stopped himself if he’d taken too long. “So good. I had no idea you… I didn’t know you could dance like that.”

“It makes me a bit nervous, I guess.”

“It shouldn’t,” he says without a beat. “You looked amazing.”

You smile at him, a little lost in this sea of nice words. Standing on the sidewalk outside a dingy dance club, under the gaze of your lovely best friend, what are you supposed to say?

“I saw you,” you tell him, voice quiet.

“Huh?”

“I was obviously concentrating, it was just a second, but you looked… Entertained.”

He looks down at his shoes, at where the toes of his boots meet your sneakers, and scratches the back of his neck. You dip your head down slightly to catch him forcing down a smile.

“It’s okay,” you laugh, “it’s kinda the point.”

“I know,” he says, laughing too, though it’s a nervous, unsure sound. “I know, I just…”

He can’t meet your eye. It’s worrying you, pulling your gut apart to make space for that black hole of panic. You stand back up straight and pull your bag up further onto your shoulder.

“I, uh, they went over there,” you tell him coldly. He looks up at you, still stooped a little like he’s being told off. “I’m gonna go meet them, um… You coming?”

You’re backing away on uncertain feet, suddenly acutely aware of the aches buried deep within your muscles and the burn of the soles of your feet.

“Wait,” he says, reaching out to wrap his fingers around your arms. You stop moving but look away, too filled with those wretched nerves to face him.

“Wait a second, I just…” He’s panting, stumbling, and you have no idea why. “I can’t… Fuck, sweets, I need to-”

“Eddie,” you snap, patience wearing thin.

He looks at you again, and you see it: the wavering of nerves in his eyes, though they’re hiding from you in the dark, dissipates into something deeper. Some miniscule movement of muscle in his face tells you everything, and yet you hang onto every word regardless.

“I lost my shit when you came out from behind that curtain,” he begins, a hand on each of your bent arms now, shifting lower to cradle your elbows. “I couldn’t… It was like my head went empty, except all that was bouncing around in there was this, like… Bouncy ball of regret.”

You can’t help but giggle. This fucking boy.

“I know, I know,” he says, smiling again, slowly stitching the rip in your anxious gut back together, “but it’s true, I can’t… I can’t believe I left it this long, and I can’t fucking believe it took me seeing you like that to get it together, I… I feel like a fucking teenager. But I just… I need you to know you looked so fucking hot up there.”

He’s as close as he can be without crashing into you. His hands are drifting and returning, like he’s restraining himself, but he has managed to walk you backwards so you’re sandwiched between his body and the wall.

“I-” you begin, though you’re the one with the empty head now and you have no intention of finishing your sentence. 

“You can head over there,” he says, tilting his head just so towards the bar, “no questions asked. And I’ll go home and leave you alone for a while, if that’s what you want. I just…” He lets his left hand leave your arm finally, and you let out a weak breath. He hovers over your hip, not touching but definitely there.

You hear him, but you don’t move, aside from letting your arm straighten so your bag can drop to the floor. There are people hovering around, loitering after the show, but you couldn’t care less, because Eddie’s knee is knocking yours and his hand has finally landed on your hip and his mouth is so close to your ear you could die.

“Eddie,” you breathe.

“Yeah, sweets?”

Looking down at you like this, Eddie doesn’t know how he’s kept his composure all these years. He really did feel quite stupid for being moved to act by seeing you on stage like that, but now that he’s this close, so close he could kiss you, he’s not feeling too bothered anymore. You’re looking back at him with wide eyes and your mouth’s in a slight pout and, god, maybe he could kiss you after all.

You crane your neck and lift up on tiptoes until your nose bumps his. You feel him smile and you smile back, until his lips brush yours and you’re knocked silly.

This feels a lot like dancing. Less like the dancing you do now; more like the dancing you did when you were younger, the more traditional kind shared between two people. A duet of movement that, once perfected, feels completely natural.

You’re no traditionalist, but you’re happy to let Eddie lead this one.

When he finally gives in and bridges the gap you whimper, because his knee is settled between both of yours and his hands are spread wide across either side of your hips, and you feel just as warm as you had running through the corridors. There’s the same sense of relief, though, that you’d felt opening that door.

He doesn’t linger, pulling back after only a few seconds.

“Thanks,” you say. He laughs.

“What, for that?”

“No,” you respond, smiling again. It won’t go away; maybe you’re stuck with it. You think about your grandfather and how he told you that if the wind changed, you’d be stuck making that face forever. “For coming to see me.”

He leans back in and kisses you again, more playful this time, firm at first and then dotting them like bursting stars around your mouth.

“You’re amazing,” he says. “So amazing.”

“So you’ll come see me again?”

“Every night, if you’ll have me.”

-

[existingkirb]

ExistingKirb’s DELTARUNE: Chapter 3 Take

“Smile! You’re on Camera!”

I decided to do a revamp the Chapter 3 take I did awhile back and turn it into a fully-fledged project of mine! Check out the Twitter thread as well! I plan on posting characters in batches on Tumblr, but you can see them posted as soon as they’re finished on Twitter.

READ BELOW FOR CHARACTER INFO

TENNA

It’s Tenna! THE Tenna! The Dark World’s ruler, but she doesn’t seem to care about asserting her authority, she’s just here to goof off and embrace the vast empire of entertainment she’s built. She frequently shows up throughout the chapter to host a show involving the Fun Gang for entertainment purposes. She doesn’t antagonize them, and is fine with them sealing the fountain as long as they stick around a bit to provide some quality entertainment! She’s TECHNICALLY an antagonist, but not a bad guy by any means.

MIKE

Tenna’s right-hand man and second-in-command of the Cathode Crew! Tenna’s not good with all that business-y junk, so she lets Mike take care of all that stuff while she goes about without a care in the world, this also includes running the late-chapter shop. He used to trade business tips to a certain salesman before going to work for Tenna. also im like 75% sure he qualifies as a sexyman

DIROOKTOR

And…action! Like his name implies, he directs most of the shows in the Dark World and is Tenna’s, as she puts it, “left-hand man, right-hand brother”. He’s short-tempered and has a no-nonsense personality, which is the exact opposite of his sister’s. He seems to know a little something about dark fountains and doesn’t seem keen on letting the Fun Gang mosey on over and seal it like his sister is. He’s hatching a plan behind the scenes, so stay tuned.

VIOLET

Who’s this kid again? Oh yeah! In her younger years, she was a relatively well-known street mime, often regarded as a child prodigy for how good her acts were. She was a sweet kid with a bright future. After a while, she started noticing a strange someone who always appeared in the crowd when watching her perform, which must’ve did something to her, because now she’s missing from the spotlight and isolates herself in an abandoned film studio. Violet and Kris both have a few strong connections with each other, mainly the fact they’re both angsty teens who feel they have no control over their lives. Violet enjoys Kris’ company (And Kris seems to enjoy her, at least more than Spamton), but things take a turn for the worse when Susie and Ralsei show up…Violet doesn’t seem to eager to let her new friend go so soon.

r. money

he’s the silly joke npc of the chapter like starwalker and nubert. he’s this guy who shows up sometimes and brags about how much money he has. he does nothing other than that and is a completely worthless character. everyone loves nubert, so this guy’s the polar opposite. no one likes r. money. no one. he’s based off that valentines spamton drawing recently toby did, because i thought it’d be funny if there actually was a character who was literally named “r money”.

These are all the characters I have finalized as of now, this’ll be updated as I make more, usually posted in batches.

Once again, check out the Twitter thread where it’ll be much easier to keep up with updates to this take.

[hadira]

she was sunshine, i was gay

"Love was the law and religion was taught"

A quite blasphemous statement that turned into our reality before we ever even heard these words. This wasn't a thought we could shoo away or an ideology we could unlearn, it was an organic sentient parasite that grew within us regardless of what we thought about it. You don't choose to have cancer, do you? No, cancer cells are born on their own and you deal with the consequences.

When you're a child it's hard to notice the growing pains. You live as usual, without much thought. So when it all unravels, it bursts open like pubescent acne on your face, coating it in sticky, burning pus. It's hard to wash off. Believe us, we've tried.

Imagine this, it's a random day in October of 2021 and you're on the school campus waiting for your bus when the personification of an androgynous grunge lesbian walks by you and you realize — oh. Oh damn. Butterflies tickle the inside of your stomach and your eyes are glued to that one figure in a crowd of hundreds. Your mind keeps rewinding the moment you saw her like a broken record. Your friend is right beside you, yet it feels like the world stopped moving and life withered away, taking that girl with it. But she had such a presence that she weaved her existence into the threads of the universe, so you can always feel her, you will always remember her even if the fire engulfing the earth eats you up as well. Her name would be the last word on your lips and the last sound to ever be made in your solar system. She will live forevermore.

Thus, the entire bus ride home you sit silently in your seat, contemplating life with a myriad of questions being asked again and again and again in your mind.

'Do I like her?'

'But she's a girl'

'Am I gay?'

Now when you are a dumbass it is the way of the universe to give you a fellow dumbass. And when you tell that dumbass about your epiphany, your conversation goes a little like this:

'Hey, I think I have something to tell you'

'What'

'I think...I like a girl'

'Oh, okay'

'.....dude its a girl'

'Oh. OH'

'Yeah'

'Lmao, me too'

'Huh'

Long story short, you now have two gay dumbasses controlling this blog where they feel like their business is everyone's business <3

[thebibliomancer]

Universe X #3

With Some Guy, Pope Immortus, Spiders-Man, a hand, and Mar-Vell’s arm.

There’s a lot going on with Universe X. Child Mar-Vell and Captain America are on a scavenger hunt. Cosmic Mar-Vell is gathering an army of the dead in the afterlife. The Prince of the Inhumans becomes heir to the English throne but refuses to take the Inhuman throne. The Earth has tilted on its axis, so climate stuff is going to doom the populace. Big crowds are gathering in protest of the Human Torches Mr Fantastic set up to reverse the mass imhumaning of humanity. Aaron Stack and Uatu are discussing everything. Nighthawk is predicting the future and Gargoyle is writing it down. There’s so many plot threads and little clue how they tie together.

For example, in this issue, there’s a scene where we see the Tong of Creel is reassembling Absorbing Man, the villain who killed the Avengers and destroyed Washington DC.

The Tong of Creel have been mentioned before and I’m sure it’s going to be a big problem but what role does it serve in the bigger narrative?

It IS rather like a puzzle.

In the afterlife plotline, Mar-Vell’s attempts to fly under the radar end as Thanos shows up to let them know that resistance will only earn them death and death and more death until they stop trying to resist Death.

Not that Mar-Vell is very impressed by Color-Inverted Thanos or his affection for Death.

But is anyone ever?

But the biggest share of the plot goes to Kid Mar-Vell and Captain America’s scavenger hunt. This issue it takes them to the Savage Land, where they meet with Ka-Zar and Shanna’s fursonas.

For a random process, terrigenesis sure has a sense of humor sometimes.

The scavenge hunting duo is looking for Antarctican vibranium, which can be found through the portal to Limbo. Which Limbo? Yes. Universe X boldly declares that Immortus’, Illyana’s, and Rom’s limbo are the same limbo.

In fairness, that had been partially established during an Avengers story where they ran into Dire Wraiths during an Immortus story.

To take vibranium from the Savage Land, the duo will have to get permission from the Master of Magnet ruling Sentinel City, a city made of destroyed Sentinels.

Surprise, it’s not Magneto.

When the magnetic poles shifted alignment, thanks to Franklactus slurping a Celestial egg out of Earth, for some reason Magneto and Toad swapped powers.

Now Toad is the jerk forcing Magneto to cavort for his amusement and throwing abuse his way.

How sorry should we feel for Magneto? Cap evidently feels this situation is sick and only swallows his disgust because Mar-Vell convinces him that the Plot is more important.

But. Magneto was this kind of dick to Toad for years. Physically and verbally abusing his most loyal minion.

Is it worse that Toad behaves the same way when their positions are reversed just because Magneto is a cooler character?

I dunno.

When the heroes (minus Shanna, who has History with Belasco and refuses to face him) go to Limbo, they find MEPHISTO.

Also, Rom, Space Knight, except they can’t say his name because of legal issues.

But mostly MEPHISTO!

There’s been a lot of devil talk in Universe X. From the talky characters who stand around and talk so much. Why are there so many devils and what is their role given the big Celestial revelations from Earth X.

Well, Mephisto is a dick. And I’m pretty sure it’s implied that he’s manipulating Pope Immortus and Gargoyle in different guises. I think the Some Guy on the cover is Mephisto in disguise.

I know I sound like an MCU theorist but I do think Mephisto is behind things in Universe X!

He offers Captain America a piece of Limbo, that can spirit him away if Death should corner him, since she can’t seem to go to that plane.

Captain America violently rejects the offer but apparently that was all according to keikaku. The slapped Limbo bit hits a frozen Belasco and transports him dazed and confused back in time to his first meeting with Shanna, where he thought she was Beatrice from Dante’s Inferno.

Comics are weird.

But why did Mephisto antagonize Captain America into slapping a thing at a demon man who harasses women and also children? And, as implied, why aggravate Captain America into starting Belasco’s published history at all?

I have no idea.

Maybe he really was just trying to prove a point.

But you know what’s more fucked up? The opening narration dialogue between Nighthawk and Gargoyle states that Belasco is actually one of the X-Men. And considering Belasco has one arm gone and a spade tail like the missing Nightcrawler that last issue made such a big deal about still being alive… it’s technically being played as a mystery but the obvious answer is very obvious.

Belasco has apparently been a time-looped Nightcrawler all along.

Okay, but why tho?

I have no idea.

Legally Unnamed Spaceknight gives Cap his Neutralizer, so he can banish people to Limbo if he wants.

Kid Mar-Vell suggests that he and Cap call for backup but if Death really is stalking them, Cap refuses to get anyone else killed.

Death literally hanging over events sure makes things ominous. And there’s also a devil retroactively making origin stories happen.

Cap and Mar-Vell’s scavenger hunt is getting a lot of attention. Weirdly, the end of the world by axial tilt has not been. Actually, most subplots have not been getting much attention. We are only three issues in, plus a 0 issue and a 4 special.

I’m just a little anxious for enough of the plot to come together so I can figure out what the plot is.

Next time, instead of issue 4, the Universe X Spidey Special.

Woo.

[shinsukeee]

𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐛𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐒𝐢𝐱: 𝐂𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐖𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐬

"𝐈 𝐬𝐞𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐧𝐨𝐛𝐨𝐝𝐲 𝐞𝐥𝐬𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐞𝐬"

WARNING: THIS MAY BE UNCOMFORTABLE AND DISTURBING SO PLEASE EXIT IMMEDIATELY IF YOU AREN'T COMFORTABLE WITH THAT. READ AT YOUR OWN RISK ‼️

If it was one thing Prim liked being in Teyvat, it's to forget the pressure and façade she had to maintain back in the real world.

Always needing to prove something of herself, always needing to put her studies first, unable to enjoy her life to the point that her mother told her to enjoy her life but gets mad when she does.

She couldn't rest — she just can't, it would hinder what she has to do. What she has to prove of herself, just to be a trophy daughter. The perfect daughter, a doll made for show.

"Everyone's watching, don't show a single flaw"

"Always be kind, don't show them who you really are"

"If you show such behavior like that, they'll say 'Is this how her mother raised her?'. You wouldn't want to upset me, do you?"

Quiet, be quiet!

She always hated those voices in her head. Everywhere she goes, she must maintain a façade just so her mother would shut up. To always be the top, to always exceed the expectations. To always be a doll that never had a life of her own, always study, study, study, study, study.

She hated being called perfect, she hated hearing it so much. She isn't perfect, she's hideous, she's ugly, she has flaws, she's too flawed. Everything isn't what it seems.

The pressure of always being seen as the good girl, she hated it. Always being polite, always showing a gentle smile, so soft-spoken, so responsible.

i hate it, i hate it, i hate it, i hate it, i hate it

As she grew older, the more burn out she feels. She hated being sensitive to others emotions, she hated the fact that a crowded place can drain her no matter the many people there is. She hated feeling their emotions, being aware, sensitive and always needing to be cautious.

One small step that could ruin everything, like walking on a thread that if you make one small mistake, you fall into the endless pit of nothing but a void of emptiness.

And she hated it, knowing what she feels isn't anyone's anymore. That the person she told her sense of sensing others emotions called it all a lie when it's the truth.

'You never experienced what I went through'

What she always wanted to say if she could ever go back in time.

'I gained this all from trauma you didn't have, I gained all this pain from something you should be glad you never experienced for once in your childhood'

She hated it, she hated it when people think she's making shit up when she doesn't. It's all real, it's her vulnerability. Why are you calling it such bullshit?

'You had a happy childhood, something I never had. You were never abused, tormented and ruined for the sake of 'obedience', for the sake of 'teaching a child'.'

Prim wanted to cuss that all out to the girl she once loved, the girl she dedicated her whole time to, she loyally fell for, to the girl who didn't experience the abuse Prim went through.

It was all planned. It all was.

To wait until college for them to finally be official, but no, no, no, no. Things just had to take a turn.

Prim became herself, became expressive, her façades were no more, non-existent when it came to that girl.

So why? Why?!

Why did she think all those were lies?!

Why didn't she accept the way Prim behaved?!

That it isn't the good girl Prim?!

That this is who Prim is?!

'I don't know, I just felt like being lied to.'

BULLSHIT

BULLSHIT

BULLSHIT

BULLSHIT

BULLSHIT

LIED TO?!

YOU FELT FUCKING LIED TO?!

YOU CALL MY VULNERABILITY A LIE?!

WHERE THE ABSOLUTE FUCK IS THE LIE?!

WHERE?!

TELL ME.

TELL.

ME.

Prim's chest rise up and down quickly, in anger, in rage.

Prim always had anger issues she tried to control, to the point that no one can tell when she's angry.

Her anger appears and dies down quickly as if it never existed in the first place.

She was in the piano room again, it was midnight. She was alone.

She always struggled to sleep properly, especially in unfamiliar places despite living in Teyvat for almost a month now.

She had moved on, yes.

But her anger, all the words and explanations unsaid were haunting her again.

It wasn't easy to move on, it's like the stages of grief.

She accepted it, that she couldn't change what happened back in November.

But a part of her is angry for being mistreated like that, that she felt it. She felt the way the girl she liked was replying to her as if forced.

She knew and she hated it.

She thought everything went back to normal after their arguement, but no.

It just stayed downhill.

She felt herself struggling to breathe again, she immediately clutched the side of her head as she sits up and tries to steady her breathing.

"27, 28, 29, 30, 31, 32..."

She mutters as she keeps counting to distract herself, to prevent her anxiety happening again.

It felt painful, each night during August that she kept having panic attacks for a week straight.

She hated it, she hated her own anxiety that can tear her down immediately even if she was prepared for it.

"40, 41, 42, 43, 44, 45..."

She counted again, and again and again before unknowingly sitting down and playing the piano.

Her favorite that could hurt her so much.

Duet from Omori.

Her fingers glided through the piano as she starts to play, the melody calming her down immediately as she continues to play.

She memorized Mari's part in that duet, she loved hearing it over and over again. It would never bore her, it would just comfort her.

As she continues to olay, she hears her mind play Sunny's violin, she smiles unconsciously and continues playing. Relaxing as she closes her eyes and lets herself be at peace.

The mansion was empty, but it was filled by the beautiful melody against these closed walls.

Prim liked being alone most of the time, it was to get away from all her responsibilities but she hated the hidden vulnerability in it. Ready to attack her at any times she lets her guard down, that's why she often isolates herself. She wants to be herself, to feel what she feels.

Not being wary of someone's emotions, not feeling what others feel. It's frustrating, knowing what you feel isn't yours.

but with music, it helps her. It eases her.

Diluc and Kaeya enter the mansion, the maids are in Vacation as Diluc had requested for thanking them for always taking care of this place, they immediately hear the melodious tune getting faster and faster.

"I didn't expect her grace to be awake at this hour"

Kaeya says, talking smoothly that would make anyone swoon while Diluc sighs.

Must've been her insomnia again

They head to where the source of the sound is and spot Prim in her nightgown and cardigan, clearly in her sleepwear as her hair is covering her face as she continues to play.

Kaeya remembered the first time he saw her play, it was beautiful yet sad.

And this one, this one hits harder yet he doesn't know why.

No words were sung in the air, yet why did it feel so...painful to listen to?

They waited until Prim finished playing before Kaeya clapped and caused Prim to flinch.

"Anak ng putang—"

They raised a brow but Kaeya spoke.

"That was a wonderful performance, Your Grace."

They hear her mutter something before they can finally get a glance of her face.

"Kaeya, Diluc. Done for the day?"

"Not Diluc though"

"Oh quit it, Kaeya"

Both of them take Prim's each hand and kiss the back of it, Prim is used to their gesture but she can't help but malfunction each time.

"It's late, Your Grace. Shouldn't you be sleeping?"

Kaeya smoothly asks, his tone already sounds worried as he places a hand on Prim's waist.

"Ah, yeah. I just...needed to relax"

Prim said, avoiding the reason which is about her anxiety.

"I see, well, now that we're here. Why don't we all do a cuddle pile? We haven't done one for weeks"

Prim hummed softly as if agreeing to the plan while Diluc sighs.

"I have matters to attend to"

"Well, the offer still stands, 'Luc~"

Prim tells Diluc to be safe which he nods as he leaves while Kaeya looks at Prim and carries her like a princess.

boy, what the absolute fUCK—

"Kaeya?!"

Prim's arms wrapped around his neck as Kaeya grins.

"Come on, can't I cuddle with my lovely creator~?"

Prim softly sighs as Kaeya carries her to her room and they cuddle in bed, despite Kaeya's cold vision, Prim seemed to like the coldness radiate from his body.

No words were spoken, only gestures. They both held each other as if they were afraid the other would disappear into thin air and it grounded them.

"Goodnight, Your Grace."

"Goodnight, Kaeya"

And it ended in a happy note el oh el 💀 sorry if it was too disturbing at first, I hope you enjoyed reading (?)

[ettawritesnstudies]

Crayon, graphite, and pastels for Hannah for the ask game?

Crayon: what was your OC like when they were four years old? Were they loud? Shy? Were they the resident "weird kid" or did they get along with others their age?

I wrote this book for the weird little girls of the world and Hannah was/is one of those. She liked exploring, she collected rocks in her pockets and mixed potions out of dirt and leaves, she picked up snakes and lizards and mice because she thought they were cute, just generally a feral outdoorsy child. She had lots of collections and meticulously organized them. Before the hyperfixation on memorizing scientific names she had a special interest in dinosaurs, and before that it was rocks, and before that it was space but specifically constellation stories. If it doesn't have to do with the natural world she's really not interested.

She was very loud and outgoing, autistic in the hyperverbal know-it-all "cannot pick up on social cues" undiagnosed gifted kid kind of way. Her sister Cecelia, who's a changeling and also autistic, was much more the "didn't talk until she was 4 and started speaking in full sentences", quiet and shy, refuses to make eye contact. They both share bad sensory issues with certain textures and get easily overwhelmed by crowds.

Graphite: what's something decently common that your character does in a unique or different way? (like how graphite is present in all pencils, but not everyone uses pure graphite)

Hannah carries a bookbag with common items like a pocket knife, red embroidery thread, extra snacks, and other things that are mundane on their own but kind of odd in collection in a kids backpack. They're all things that she uses as Fae-repellent to varying degrees of success. After her adventure, she curates this list to be more effective at fighting the Unseelie. These things just stay in her backpack 24/7 alongside her first aid kit and schoolbooks and phone as she becomes a young adult and when she eventually goes to college her friends are like "Why do you have a falchion and 50 yards of silk rope??? This is an agriculture class not survival school"

Pastels: Give me three colors that best represent your OC. Now give me three colors that your OC likes best. Is there an overlap?

I associate Hannah with a dark red burgundy color, like maple leaves, since red is opposite to green - the color of the fae courts, and she represents the human world!

[sarahnevra]

Lucky (Lucky Spring Thaw, Windy Gorge Clan) - Descent into Avernus

What is the character’s go-to drink order? -alcoholic: Rarely drinks in public, but if he must just whatever beer or ale is reasonably not-sour. -non-alcoholic: Very strong coffee (or tea, depending on locale) with cream.

What is their grooming routine? -Simple, quick, functional. Usually a quick dunk, scrub down, then rinse. Given his lack of fur he must bathe regularly, though, and if he has to go for more than a week without at least being able to wipe down with some clean water he gets very grumpy about it. He'll enjoy a hot soak if it's available but that's more a relaxation thing than a grooming thing.

What was their most expensive purchase/where does their disposable income go? -His most recent big spend was transcribing a bunch of spells into his new ritual book. Generally that's the kind of thing his disposable income goes towards, whether it's spell components or scrap/parts for tinkering or generally upgrading his gear, but he also buys books when it's practical to do so. He hasn't figured out what kinds of gifts his boyfriend likes yet, but once he does that's going to be another spending category.

Do they have any scars or tattoos? -Most of his body is covered in scars of some kind. From before his first death he a set of surgical scars, two curved lines under his pecs from top surgery and a vertical scar over his belly button from his oophorectomy, and a round puncture scar low on his left side. From his actual death he lost his right arm up to his bicep, right ear, and right eye, plus has a lot of acid/chemical scarring on that right side and a scattering of slice and puncture scars (including those on his face). Since being raised he's been able to heal most wounds with magic, but those that couldn't or weren't seen to fast enough are still sewn up with metallic thread or covered over in a woven metal patch if there was an actual chunk missing. He has one tattoo on the back of his neck, "lucky" or "good luck" in Draconic, and a number of facial (and intimate) piercings.

What was the last time they cried, and under what circumstances? -It was good circumstances, at least! While they were staying at a friend's apartment, his boyfriend took a belt to him (at his request) and pushed him all the way to crying. 

Are they an oldest, middle, youngest or only child? -Lucky is solidly the middle child, though he's never met his youngest brother. His older siblings are only a year apart, then it was three years until him and another five until his first younger brother. The youngest didn't come along until a few years after Lucky left home, unfortunately.

Describe the shoes they’re wearing. -He has cat paws, he doesn't wear shoes. He will concede to extreme weather or terrain by putting on what look like thick leather sandals to protect his paw pads, but that doesn't happen very often.

Describe the place where they sleep. -An extra-high king-sized bed with a four-poster canopy frame of iron scrollwork, one side set against the room's balcony windows. Iron bars cross the top of the frame, set with metal loops and hitches. The curtains are thick and heavy, with a velvety texture, pooling against the floor, closing in only the sides of the bed not against the window, and made of glamerweave. Bright pinpricks glint like stars, while the background shifts between deep green, blue, purple, and night-black with drifting wisps of brighter, nebula colors. The space under the bed is just big enough to serve as a retreat for him, crowded with pillows and blankets. The bedding is soft, comfortable linen, and he swaps periodically between dark purples and blues and lighter, warmer reds and violets.

What is their favorite/least favorite holiday? -He really loves harvest festivals and hunting celebrations; he's not big on participating as much anymore, it's often just too much for him, but he still likes to be there and bask in the positive energy. His party has also gotten him into really liking music festivals. There was a naming day in his home town where all the kits born prior to the last winter that survived until spring were officially recognized by the community, but it was always such a solemn affair because of the equal weight placed on mourning those that were lost that he really did not like being involved. 

What objects do they always carry around with them? -His Broom of Flying, his multi-tool, his arcane firearm (small metal rod with a ring in one end to hang from his bag, looks something like a fidget toy), his cloak (family colors, will never let that out of his sight if he can help it), his mechanical homunculus (a mechanical pill bug the size of a corgi with a set of dragonfly wings added around mid-back), his ritual book, personal first aid kit (metal thread, metal cloth, and hooked needle for stitching himself up), collar.

So my problem with most ‘get to know your character’ questioneers is that they’re full of questions that just aren’t that important (what color eyes do they have) too hard to answer right away (what is their greatest fear) or are just impossible to answer (what is their favorite movie.)  Like no one has one single favorite movie. And even if they do the answer changes.

If I’m doing this exercise, I want 7-10 questions to get the character feeling real in my head. So I thought I’d share the ones that get me (and my students) good results: 

What is the character’s go-to drink order? (this one gets into how do they like to be publicly perceived, because there is always some level of theatricality to ordering drinks at a bar/resturant)

What is their grooming routine? (how do they treat themselves in private)

What was their most expensive purchase/where does their disposable income go? (Gets you thinking about socio-economic class, values, and how they spend their leisure time)

Do they have any scars or tattoos? (good way to get into literal backstory) 

What was the last time they cried, and under what circumstances? (Good way to get some *emotional* backstory in.) 

Are they an oldest, middle, youngest or only child? (This one might be a me thing, because I LOVE writing/reading about family dynamics, but knowing what kinds of things were ‘normal’ for them growing up is important.)

Describe the shoes they’re wearing. (This is a big catch all, gets into money, taste, practicality, level of wear, level of repair, literally what kind of shoes they require to live their life.)

Describe the place where they sleep. (ie what does their safe space look like. How much (or how little) care / decoration / personal touch goes into it.)

What is their favorite holiday? (How do they relate to their culture/outside world. Also fun is least favorite holiday.) 

What objects do they always carry around with them? (What do they need for their normal, day-to-day routine? What does ‘normal’ even look like for them.) 

[jesytr]

NPC GUIDE LIST

( master - list of all the who's who in harley's world. they can and often will be featured in my threads. However I will not force her daughter on anyone who rps as the joker, nor her oc son on any batman and instead will only include them upon request since I have some anxiety with that. )

Lucy Quinzel : often portrayed as a hyper active fun loving tongue and cheek little girl. she will most likely range ages in threads. her father figure is unknown. ( *. Note : though if I stick closely to the comics version of HQ with your muse her father is the Joker ) or at least just not ever mentioned by Harley. just as someone who goes by the name " Jack Napier. " she was exposed to trauma young. experiencing loud gunshots from living in bad neighborhoods and exposed to gang leaders. almost being kidnapped when Jack brought her along to a set up by rival gang organizations when she was five years old. Harley feared for her daughters life so at the age of six she took her out of school and sent her to her aunt's to be raised until she could become a legal adult. while growing up Lucy develops mental illnesses like PTSD and hallucinations. But those develop in her teenage years.

Theodore Wayne: Theo was a surprise child that ended up on harley's doorstep one day as a seventeen year old telling her he came from the future. Apparently he loses time with Harley in the future and to get it back he time travels back in time. Assertive, popular, a jock and a bit of a weirdo he takes on traits of his mother as well as his father Bruce Wayne. He follows his father down the path of heroes after he gets straightened out of being a bully at school.

Delia Quinzel: Dee Dee is the sister of Harley and the aunt of her kids as well as the adopted mother of Lucy. she lives in uptown Gotham City in a nice upscale home. Often times she is too busy with work to watch over Lucy at home, but it wasn't like that when Lucy was younger. She has maids and butlers who keep track and care for the teenager in her absence. She tries to spoil her and keep her out of trouble but often times doesn't catch her when she does something she shouldn't. Dee Dee is on a strict rule by Harley to not tell Jack Napier ( comic = or the joker ) that she has his daughter and to keep her hidden. She has passports and extra cash on her on the off chance she needs to move at any given warning.

Bud and Lou: The two precious baby boys of Harley's. Toothy grinned and cackling hyenas that Harley has raised since birth. she was gifted them from Jack Napier ( Note * if comic HQ she raised them with the Joker ). they are adorable but able to listen to commands and often times commanded to attack people and to scare intruders off. Harley likes to spoil them in treats as well as keep things that remind her of them. Like portraits of them in silly cartoon drawings or coffee mugged hyenas. Unfortunately since they grew up with BOTH Harley and Jack they love both of them and get excited when they see Jack. Even if Harley would prefer they ignore him after their break up.

Jack Napier: considered to be her ex he'll only appear in threads if it calls for it. Jack is mysterious and never fully described as I'd prefer him to stay a mysterious force in harley's life. He's ruthless and runs in the wrong crowds. He introduced Harley to gang organizations and got her in too deep with the law. (. *. Note : he's loosely based off the joker as a sortve joker figure without actually being the joker completely. )

[waterlilywritespoemsandstuff]

Stone and Flame

A tiny, beating heart of flame Amidst a scarlet, bleeding sky A little cradle of ice and stone Borne in the Heavens up so high

Made of lifeless, faded dust A flower blooming out of black Metal that will never rust Thriving without a breath

Crimson petals open up The dark has given birth to light A tiny thing of ice and fire Floating, flying, in the night

It stretches tendrils, blind Pulling things closer to itself Around, aside, in front, behind The gleaming infant calls

More and more and more and more The flaming heart is gaining size Dust and rock and air and light The weaving of weightless, unseen ties

The little heart is fully grown A core of metal, skin of day The thread of life tied off and sown Cradle turns to gown

The cloudy cloak is growing wet Blue ribbons stitched on flesh Green growing on the cracks in skin Seed and stone entwine, enmesh

The crowd of lights observe Cluster near the new-made maiden Keep their distance, show reserve For fear of harming dust-filled skin

The mother sees the daughter's growth Proud smile lighting up the dark She daren't come too near her child But still she leaves her golden mark

She fills the girl with joy and love Makes ice turn into blood Watches the daughter far above So far, so close, so bright

Seed turns into emerald bloom The clock goes 'round, the daughter grows A woman in her own strong right As sure as sparkling river flows

When she grows cold, her mother's eye Lands upon her, warms her through Protection, love, forever nearby An embrace that's always waiting

Twin hearts of fire beat together Always one split up in two Flame and ice and stone and water A tale that always will be true

The daughter blossoms in her strength The mother's summer turns to fall Shorter and shorter grows the length Of their time as sapling, tree

The gleaming woman keeps her voice The maiden senses something wrong She asks in worry, is told nothing But quiet falls their lilting song

Red sickness rotting in the heart Swelling skin and growing bruises The mother knows this is the start Of a life that must bring death

The maiden watches, blood gone cold As the mother draws away She pleads and calls, falls to her knees But she's out of things to say

The mother's heart is pierced by cries But she won't harm the maiden She can't tell truth and won't give lies Doesn't know what she could say

Sickness festers, grows and feeds But distance hurts the duo more The mother won't infect her love The maiden feels like something tore

The daughter grows cold in icy dread Her heart is freezing, back to stone She knows that she is all but dead Without her mother

The quiet kills the mother's fear She sees her daughter, not even weeping Her tears are freezing over The mother knows, not long til reaping But she cannot endure

The mother rushes over, bleeding out a cry The two of them embrace in red The maiden boils in her arms, the only sound a happy sigh As her blood and skin burn off Together, smiling, sickness in the mother gone Beating hearts of flame both die

[talentforlying]

☎️ gotta be real quiet for some reason. like why am i imagining them using their quiet hushed voice to talk.

' mind if i say somethin' nasty? . . . hell, m'just gonna say it anyway. i don't think god made this world fer people like us. '

the murmur almost disappears beneath the steady rumble of the train — a sleeper car, splitting bed and board with a fella who carries himself like an accountant and snores like the groan of a falling tree. the small sounds of living cling to the edges of the call like cling film: whir of recycled air through hooded vents. chain-smoker lungs dragging up breaths like a net pulling through river mud. clink of ice against glass in a drink that's not lemonade, but that will be again, when he next goes back to visit. after this job, or the one after that. sometime. whenever.

a slow, deep breath, measured in tons instead of time, and when he picks up the thread again, his voice is careful, even quieter if possible. ' d'you know what i mean, us? '

the weight dangles there behind the words — not the trap of a fish hook, but the glint of a child's beaded bracelet, left errant on a bus bench in a space too crowded to have any hope of returning it. it's an opportunity: to pawn this secret thing off on the nearest appropriately-sized silhouette and forget about it, or to slip it on your wrist and own it. this small, shiny piece of a private life, never meant to be shared.

this call could be a confessional, if they made it, only it wouldn't absolve them of any sins. he doesn't want absolving, anyway; doesn't see the point. wouldn't offer to provide it.

a snort cuts the tension, dismissing any need for a response to pad the space between sentences. the rasp of a hand dragging down a face is as loud in the speaker as the buzz of an angle-grinder. ' f'you do, you're ahead of me, 'cos i'm not all that fucking sure either. don't even know what i mean by GOD, do i? the constructs of 'im, i guess, more than the bloke himself — all them do as yer told bits y'learn from church groups and the televangelists growin' up. now that god, their god? straight, white, good oul' boy god, the one robbing little oul' ladies blind for rims on a new land rover? he don't make the world for anyone but 'imself. christ knows why he'd put us in it too, then. ha, s'pose he would know, actually. '

a snore tears through the speaker, and the rapid, frustrated crescendo that had been building under every word abruptly caves down into silence. like if he speaks too loud, his questions could be answered, and he's afraid of what he'd hear. talking to a preacher is never talking to god, not really, but he's always dreaded the judgment of man ( of friend? ) over that of the divine.

' their god makes the poor blighter die for the sins of mankind, so the story says, and then they carry on judgin' like it never bloody happened. d'you think their god knew that's how it would go, when he served his kid up on a spit? that it'd be fuckin' pointless? and yeah, i know, it's the father's job to fuck up the son, but d'you think that's biblical, or human? or are they the same thing, just with different people tellin' the story? '

it's late — both the hour, and the questions. the need to know, and the desire to never, ever find out. exhaustion burns his voice down past whisper into cinder, as ash-thick and grey as the ones intended for repentance. he's lived a life he won't repent, and will live the same every bloody day hereafter, but hell . . . if he could just believe it would make a difference, in the end, with the same certainty in which rodrick believes that possums are the devil. if he could trust that the people he keeps sticking his neck out to save would make better, kinder use of their extended time.

' the sons never asked to be made who they are. never asked for this world. don't see why we're the ones who have to apologize for takin' up space when it was shoved down our sodding throats, s'all. '

@devilmass / MIDNIGHT CALLS