#a country punk can survive

[cheralith]

vogue — 「 boss/fashion designer!geto suguru x reader 」

synopsis ; even without much knowledge in the world of fashion, you decide that it's in your best interest to work for the country's fashion magazine powerhouse. however, you begin to second-guess your decision when you're faced with the grueling labor of its one and only editor-in-chief who expects nothing less of perfection. can your efficiency meet his standards or will you be out the door before you can even blink?

content tags/warnings ; gn!reader, use of they/them pronouns, mild language, traditional japanese basis of (l/n) (f/n) used, reader wears glasses, makeup, and heeled boots, some mild manga and jjk 0 spoilers (three minor characters from each are introduced), uhhh suguru being a dick lawl, some parts not edited/not beta read

contains ; editor-in-chief!geto, fashion designer!geto, assistant!reader, assistant turned ****!reader, platonic roommate!ino, modern au, mild angst, some crack if you squint

word count ; 10.2k

notes ; heavily inspired by "the devil wears prada" and "paradise kiss", so there'll be some references i've dropped within this—see if you can spot them! also the censored is spoilers so until then, hehe.

now playing ; seven days in sunny june - jamiroquai

It’d be foolish not to know the household name of Geto Suguru, the ultimate male muse of Jun Takahashi whose title has yet to be reigned by another. He was the ultimate breathing mannequin of the iconic Yohji Yamamoto piece he had worn on the Milan runway back when he was just a teenager. It was one of the most staple pieces of the new century that helped open the gates of the mixing of world culture and avant garde fashion—an England-Japanese punk fusion of an ashen and tattered kasaya layered under the contrasting statement piece: the earth-toned gojōu-gesa splattered with weaves of gold—and it was that very piece that rose him to the top of the fashion world as one of the most powerful names in global fashion.

And how could he not? At seventeen, he was scouted as a model for Gaulthier and became his muse at the ripe age of twenty before several other worldwide designers began to fight for his eyes. It was only a few shrewd years later that he’d open up his own successful fashion line, RIIKO, named in honor of his late sister, resulting in it becoming one of the fashion line pillars in the modern century. 

It didn’t take long after that, due to his fame and distinct education from Jujutsu University, rising to the top for Kaizen fashion magazine and ruling it with an iron fist and several cups of coffee with almost all his designs on display for all to see in the office. It was due to his work that Kaizen became the powerhouse of powerhouses of fashion editorials and magazines and it was solely his work that made fashion what it was in present times. 

Whether it was direct or indirect, Geto had impacted the industry in all sorts of ways. Be it blossoming an upcoming supermodel’s name or setting new fashion trends, everything could essentially be traced to Geto Suguru. 

So it’s understandable that many had called you a fool—a dimwit, even—for not understanding how big of a deal it was to become his junior assistant after lazily submitting your resume. Originally, you had just wanted to become a simple lifestyle journalist for papers like Sankei Shimbun or The Japan Times, but seeing how it was between a seemingly mysterious fashion magazine that mentioned, received gasps, or the measly and homely newspaper of The Hokkaido Tribune, a magazine you knew would only give new journalists the scraps of what they earned, the choice was obvious. 

Whatever gave you more money, you’d take. Survival of the fittest, was this world not?

“Do not tell me you’re going to your interview at Kaizen wearing that?” Ino barks out a laugh as he finishes his morning cereal for breakfast, scanning your outfit. “You’re going to work in a fashion magazine, not some dingy corporate office.”

You sneer at him as you shove on your loafers (don’t mind that the leather is peeling slightly on the side). You think that there’s nothing remotely wrong with your overused gauntlet gray matching set of trousers and blazer with a slightly wrinkled button-up underneath it. 

“Oh, please,” you roll your eyes at your roommate and parttime brother figure. “What on earth do you know about fashion?”

“Enough of it to know that outfit is atrocious for that type of environment,” he states simply as he shoves a donut in his mouth. He kicks his feet up on the table, making you cringe at their nakedness. “Trust me, change if you can. Make a statement for ‘em.”

Ino Takuma sighs and glances at your thick spectacles that you’ve worn since early college. “And at least change your glasses for your contacts. Heard they don’t like those sorta things over there. At least not the prescription kind.”

“Can’t find them,” you grunt when you feel the weight of your shoulder bag heave down your body. “I’m already late, anyway,” you sigh, “Listen, if I don’t come back alive, which I will by the way, then you can dance on my grave all you want.”

“I’m holding you to that,” he chants before he lets out a haughty snicker that gets muffled instantly when you slam the door on him. 

You throw insults at Ino in your mind, grumbling about how a mere job hopper like him wouldn’t even know the speck of fashion, how you refuse to take advice from someone who wears the same thing every day. There’s nothing wrong with the gray, you think. It’s safe and presentable, ordinary and professional, and you’d much rather blend in than stand out as you believe standing out and making yourself known is just a recipe for trouble. 

Stretching out a hand on the street, you call for a taxi and humbly enter as you smooth out your trousers. The taxi driver eyes you in the rearview mirror with a questioning glint in your eye. “Job interview?” he asks.

“Oh, um,” you nod your head. “Yep! I'm a little nervous, haha.”

“Really?” he says as he gratefully steps on the accelerator a little faster. “Better get you there quick, then. Would hate to have you late. Where are you planning on working?”

“Kaizen Magazine,” you declare confidently, an affirmative look on your face.

“Kaizen?” questions the driver slowly as his eyes go to scan your outfit in the mirror again, his brows raised. “As in the… the fashion magazine?” 

You nod with visible apprehensiveness. You think that maybe you truly were the only person in the world that didn’t know the impact of Kaizen, seeing as how a mere taxi driver even knew about the name and you didn’t up until a few weeks ago. 

“I see…” he mutters. The drive there is a mix of silence and everyday morning conversations, before he pulls up to the building that held the key to your dreams. “Well then, here’s your stop.” 

You let out a little gasp of excitement. “Thank you so much,” you reply as you shove some cash into the slot. 

“Hm, well,” the taxi driver counts the money carefully, barely looking just before you close the door as he mutters, “Good luck, Plain Jane.”

You turn back to the taxi, your hearing a little awry. “Sorry, what was that?”

But when you turn back to the yellow cab, all that’s left is a billow of smoke and cinders. Dazed and confused, you quickly shake those feelings off before you head inside to the building that was now your shining beacon of hope with a determined smile still plastered on your lips. White is the first thing that greets you when you enter the building as it was essentially aired out onto every corner. White marble counters, white tile flooring with white grout, white frames of fashion icons—the white screams pristine and perfection to you and its message went very much noticed. You haven’t even met Geto Suguru yet, but you understood already that he expected nothing but excellence.

You ride up the elevator quietly and alone, trying not to focus on how your anxiety increased with each ding of the passing floors. The elevator screen seems to almost taunt you as it closes in on your doom, the numbers getting closer to the designated floor until it slowly pauses and shone brightly the number 21 in stippled red.

The doors slowly open and the light seeps itself back to your vision, white flooding your senses again. You carry yourself carefully down the hallway whilst taking your time to admire the many framed pictures of past magazines, multiple runway models, and scraps of newspaper articles. One specific piece catches your attention, however; it was large, almost half your body size and framed in a gilded black frame. It was a picture of a mannequin wearing a tawdry gray-black robe with the kanji characters of “summer” painted with purple messily atop. Layered was a loose, but well-fitted piece of thick green and gold cloth that looked much more refined to the messiness of the other materials. 

You stare at it for what seemed to be forever whilst admiring the contrast and beauty of the work before your name is called out.

“(Y/N) (L/N)?”

Your trance breaks from the voice approaching you. You turn to see a short and young woman with dark blue eyes staring at you with a raised brow. “That’s you I presume?” she asks.

“Oh! Uh,” you nod furiously and smooth out your trousers again. “Yes… yes, that’s me. I assume you’re Manami Suda? The one I spoke with on the phone?”

She nods slowly, her eyes going to study your outfit which was a rather stark contrast to her own attire that highlighted an emphasis on shades of opal and navy. Her eyes have a similar glint in the way that Ino’s and the taxi driver’s had, further enunciating the message that your attire was rather… something.

“I see you’ve dressed up for the occasion,” she murmurs. Sarcasm going undetected by you, you grin as a response and think that a compliment from her was a sign you did something right. Her eyes go to rise back and meet yours again before she turns and redirects you to the end of the hallway where some rooms belonging to subordinal editors sat in, clacking away at the computers. There was one singular room that held the only door on the floor and it doesn’t take you long to assume who it belongs to considering the large letters of GS frosted onto the glass.

Two desks stood on each side of the door, one completely devoid of life and decorations. Manami guides you to the empty one and patted the top of it. “This will be yours if you manage to miraculously pass.” 

Manami taps on her clipboard a couple of times, listing off a couple of requirements that you were most likely going to need in the future: efficient time management, ability to fight for what Geto wants, sharp memory, quick feet…

“And uh…” Manami flickers her eyes to you and the details (or lack of, in this case). She mutters under her breath quietly, “... a good wardrobe.”

You turn to her, internally wondering if you were going deaf today. “Sorry, can you repeat that?”

“A good, warm…” she squints, obviously finding the right word to keep that ignorant smile on your face. “... welcome to start off his day.”

She succeeds in her task as you merely nod with the same blatant grin attached. “Got it!”

Manami tours you around the floor of the office, letting you say hello to your future coworkers that work in the cubicles that send you worried looks behind your back. They obviously seem too pitying of you, knowing that your fate would be sealed as Geto’s potential right hand man the moment you signed that employee contract.  

“This is Human Resources,” Manami gestures over to a room filled with chattering employees who seemed to be getting their gossip out before their day started. “You’ll contact them if you have any—” her phone dings suddenly. Casually, she pulls it out, only for all of her resolve to disappear in an instant. Manami then abruptly blows a whistle with her teeth, alerting everybody in the radius.

“Everybody! His morning facial was canceled!” Manami hollers. “Geto is coming in…” her phone pings again with another notification, and you can tell Manami’s heart instantly drops. “Oh God… he’s in the lobby! Everybody, places! You,” she snags the sleeve of your blazer and drags you along with her, your clunky loafers nearly tripping you. “Come with me.”

Manami takes back to where you first started and orders you to stand in the front of the blank desk with a look that screams both fright and anxiousness all in one. She lists off too many tasks that you need to do before he comes, but you’re so frazzled with trying to remember how to act in front of your future boss that you can’t even remember the first thing she told you. 

“Help me arrange the drafts of the magazines from most recent to least recent before he—”

The elevator dings and all goes quiet; Manami tosses the magazines over her shoulders and positions herself firmly in her place, gesturing for you to do the same. The doors open and unveiled from two bodyguards is a man—a tall man, around six feet or perhaps even taller—dressed in noir fitted pants and a matching button-up closed only halfway to reveal a silk navy turtleneck. Caped behind him is a black velvet trenchcoat that you’re sure is worth half your rent and a watch plated on his wrist that is well over your life savings. He’s slightly sunkissed, with blue-black tresses of hair with a soft bang sneaking through and large plated earrings to match. His eyes, however, show a tint of color—a sharp dark amethyst that you think could cut through you like crystals.

But he’s almost hauntingly attracting—like a spirit. Something about him was an enigma and his aura was nothing less than powerful. 

“Good morning, Geto,” Manami chants with an artificial happiness to her tone.

Geto doesn’t reply, just merely giving a silent blink before he sheds his coat off and tosses it aimlessly towards Manami. It proves to be heavier than anticipated, giving how she fights to groan from the weight of it. He’s handed his briefcase from one of the bodyguards and begins to open the door to his office until he pauses and turns and glances at you, the stranger.

“Hello,” you state with a slight bow. “I-I’m one of the interviewees for your junior assistant. My name is—”

“(Y/N),” Geto murmurs; his voice is soft and low. It’s all knowing, with indigo eyes boring into your own. “(L/N) (Y/N), I know. The one that graduated from Jujutsu University recently, yes?” 

 Adjusting your glasses to wave away the blurriness, you nod with anticipation. “Yes, that’s me.”

Geto turns back and opens the door, to which he only replies back, “In my office.”

You glance at Manami for confirmation, only given back with a jut of her head towards the door. All the unease you felt in the elevator comes hurdling back to you in an instinct and you feel as if you were no more than a peasant to someone that was essentially royalty in the fashion world. 

Geto turns his chair to face away from you, shuffling a few papers over each other that appears to be your resume, before he spins it slowly towards you. He kicks his feet up lazily on his desk. 

“It’s nice to have another Jujutsu alum to join us,” he says. His voice is still the same—a little baritone with a wisping edge of a whisper to it, but it almost sounds… bored. Unamused even. “A bachelors in print journalism… same as mine, hm. Tell me, is Professor Tengen still as loose as ever with their practices?”

You fight to fiddle with your glasses as you watch as Geto tangibly toys with his own, with his focus angled on the papers in front of him rather than you. “Um, I assume so. Though I believe they’re actually retiring this year.”

“Good,” he sighs in what seems to be relief. “Shame that the university had wasted time and money by hiring them. Truly, I hope they can find someone much better suited for their position.”

“Really?” you quietly question. You had only taken their class a few semesters ago and thought despite their rather… all too lenient disposition… you did learn quite a lot in their class. “I thought they were a rather alright teacher…”

Regret pools in your mouth from the moment you have finished your sentence. Geto finally goes to look at you from the edge of his glasses with a sharp look, narrowing his eyes ever so slightly. 

“Tengen was merely a sorry excuse for a professor. They were rather nothing but a nanny who gave their students too much leeway,” Geto declares. “Though, I’ll admit, I am pleasantly surprised that you managed to take something out of that class.”

A laugh that’s just dripping with nothing but nervousness leaks out of your lips. “I suppose I had learned just a few things…”

“Mmh,” Geto nod nonchalantly, eyes drawing back to the papers. “Well. Let’s start with the basics. Why exactly do you want to work here?” 

Geto already feels the cliche comments erupting. Had the person in front of him say at least one of them, he was ready to insert the papers he was holding into the nearby shredder. Or maybe out the window this time, he wonders—something nice for a change.

“I was inspired by your work.” 

“It’s been my dream to work at Kaizen.”

“Fashion is my absolute passion.”

“I want to—”

“I’m just in need of a job, really,” you say lifelessly. 

He goes to raise his head slowly from the packet and turns to you slowly. Geto doesn’t say anything, but his facial expressions indicate a blend of confusion and intrigue. A slithering tongue darts out to slick his lips, indicating you’ve piqued his interest. “Well, obviously. But why this job specifically? What about it stood out to you?”

You clear your throat. “I had learned recently that Kaizen is a rather prestigious mag—”

“‘Recently’?” Geto repeats quietly. “You hadn’t heard of us before?” 

Lips thinning, you shake your head slightly. His eyes go narrow again to your dread, serpent-like. “My specialty is more in newspapers rather than magazines, I-I’m not too knowledgeable in that area.”

Geto goes quiet and the silence makes the air go thick. It’s then that familiar glint sparkles in his sullen eyes when they go to examine your choice of clothing—it confirms Ino was truly right in the end, as he lets out a smile-less chuckle that doesn’t do much to ease your brain. 

“Continue,” Geto gestures and takes off his glasses to look at you, or you suppose your outfit, more properly. He folds his hands and places his chin on top of them. “You said you only learned about us not too long ago?”

“Yes, and I realized that perhaps working here for a while would, at least I hope, grant me access to other media houses,” you explain. It’s only then you realize that your declaration sounds absolutely ludicrous and almost disrespectful to the editor-in-chief of the most iconic fashion magazine in the nation. “Connections are quite powerful in this day and age, haha…”

“I suppose,” Geto mumbles with not much interest in your poor humor. “What about me? I do hate bragging but surely, you know about my name or at least my fashion line?”

Your hesitant countenance and silence tells Geto all he needs to know. He thinks that it’s almost some sort of marvel that no one has heard of him or his works before.

He sighs. “Do you have any experience working in any fashion-related activities at least?”

“Well, I once worked in a department store for a few months back in high school,” you say thoughtfully (and ignorantly).

Geto gives you a blank look. His blinks are apathetically slow.

“Um,” you clear your throat again and shake your head, timid. “N-no…”

“Then tell me,” he continues smoothly. “Why exactly should I hire you? You obviously have no taste in fashion and you hadn’t even heard of my name, let alone my magazine, until recently. What is there within that makes you want to work here other than you just… what was it that you said?” He air-quotes mockingly, “‘needing a job?’”

Your throat runs dry and limbs go stiff. A heat rockets to your face when you seemingly can’t get any words out to excuse yourself, much too caught up in the same of your ignorance towards Geto’s profession. And that’s all the response he needs to make his decision. 

His hand takes the packet again and to your horror that you fight to keep in, inserts it into the paper shredder. The groan of it rumbles through the room agonizingly and you realize that Ino is going to have the time of your life planning your doomsday. 

Geto gives you the mercy of breaking the thick silence first. “You may go.” 

With a swift flick of his wrist, Geto dismisses you with a slight edge to his murmuring as he puts back on his glasses to examine the morning newspaper to not waste any more incessant time in the day. 

You don’t even attempt to fight back with any poor excuses. Tears prick the corner of your eyes, the sting of them frustrating you to your wits end. Instead, you gather the last of your resolve and bid him through a strained throat good day and make your leave, humiliation and disappointment trailing not too far behind. 

You hope that Ino will give a nice eulogy, at least.

Out of all the miracles that await you in life, you do not expect the one that comes in the form of an early morning phone call that wakes you at the ass-crack of dawn. When you pick it up with sleep still very much embedded in your eyes, it dissipates in the instant you hear Manami’s voice. It’s only then that it hits you why on earth she was calling so early and why she was demanding to know your whereabouts, claiming you were going to be late on your first day of work. 

You think it’s some sort of cruel joke maneuvered by Ino, especially with how his comforts from last night were mixed with taunts. But when Manami’s voice finally registers in your brain, by some sort of miracle or stroke of luck, you have gotten the job as Geto Suguru’s junior assistant. 

You don’t know how, but you don’t waste any time questioning how on earth you landed in such a position because you leap out of bed at 7:23 a.m. and manage to do your morning routine in the matter of what you think is a record-breaking fifteen minutes. Your ruckus manages to wake up deep-sleeping Ino, who, when you excitedly tell him to postpone your funeral, gives a groggy thumbs up before drooling back into his pillow. It’s 7:38 a.m. when you shove on your shabby coat and you realize you only have a mere twenty-two minutes left until you have to officially clock in for work. 

At 7:40, you’re out the door and sprinting to the located coffee shop that thankfully wasn’t too far from where you lived.

At 7:47, you’re at the designated cafe whilst attempting to swim through the crowds of morning bustlers to pick up Geto’s coffee.

7:50, you’re sticking your hand out waving desperately for a taxi and tip extra to make the driver speed through as you attempt to make sure the coffees don’t spill out of their containers.

7:58, you arrive at the building and just barely make it into the narrow gap of a tight-fitting elevator, earning stares from the others from your rather… frazzled appearance.

At 8:02 a.m., you dash out the elevator and officially clock in for your first day at work at Kaizen Magazine amidst a birdnest of hair, clothes that were plucked out of your hamper, and what you pray to the heavens above are hefty layers of deodorant and perfume since you were given no time to shower.

When Geto comes in that day, all suave and composed, he takes one good look at you before sighing and focusing his attention to the more refined Manami and lets her take the gears for the day. The only attention he gives you that morning is the rough toss of his heavy coat—a cashmere pearl peacoat today—flung at your arms that nearly makes you tumble from its weight.

You quickly learn that working for Geto requires high demand and maintenance, as he is not one to skip over any details in his day. Not even three hours in your first day, you already have to plan out his future meetings, reschedule one with a rather feisty and insistent client, edit a forest of emails, finishing by dashing out five blocks on foot to the two michelin star restaurant to retrieve Geto’s weekly steak for lunch. Had this been your old corporate job, you only would’ve gotten half the tasks you had completed by the end of the usual eight hours, but you realized early on that you had barely scratched the surface of your future in Kaizen.

You think that after plating his steak with the shakiest of hands, you finally have time to relax during lunch time when you see the small hand of the clock finally hit 12:00 p.m. , especially since you and him were left alone in his part of the office together. But the moment that Geto saunters into the office again, he tends to you once again with a final task by himself.

“(Y/N),” he calls from the office, the scrape of his fork against ceramic cluttering your ears agonizingly. 

You fight the urge to cringe from the sound as you scurry to the doorframe, hands stiffly intertwined together. “Yes, Mr. Geto?”

“No need for such formalities,” he remarks with the dab of a napkin to his lips. “They make me feel old, and I’m surely not much older than you are…” you think that’s the longest he’s spoken to you since the day had started. “Did Leibovitz confirm?”

Blinking, you tilt your head ignorantly. “D-did who confirm?”

He pauses and does that taunting slow rise of his eyes from his steak to you. “Leibovitz. Did she confirm?”

Silence fills the office, much like the silence that drowned you back at the interview. He clicks his tongue and dismisses you with a disappointed shake of his head. “Just go on your lunch,” he mutters, sighing.

Manami, the savior that she is, is called into the office after her break and is asked the same task and you watch with humiliation whilst packing your things to go on your lunch as she picks up the telephone and speaks to someone over the line before confirming to Geto that, “I’ve got Annie!”

“He hates me, Taku!” you cry out whilst flopping onto the dinner table. It’s ten in the evening and you’ve just come home after what was supposed to be an 8-5 shift. You suppose you should be used to this already after two months of working for the Lucifer donned ritually in white in the building, but you don’t know how much your sanity (and body) can take. 

Normally, Geto is usually cold to those who he wasn’t familiar with, but you think that his distaste for you sours everyday. You notice that he’s beginning to pile you with the more urgent and busier duties and that he often stares you down more menacingly in the morning with those piercing purple eyes of his, like you were gum stuck on the bottom of his shoe. You thought it was just him being normal Geto Suguru, the man with the expectations higher than the clouds, and that you just were still adjusting to such a high-intensity environment, but it was today that your world came crumbling down when you overheard him muttering to his associates about you, tone icier than ever.

You were on the other side of the door, a fist going to rap on the glass with the other holding his afternoon coffee pick-me-up when you heard it.

“... can’t even do the most miniscule things right,” Geto had groaned. “I ask if Lanvin’s models are all good to go for next Thursday’s shoot and somehow, they have the nerve to ask ‘How do you spell Lanvin’? For fuck’s sake, I can feel my goddamn conscious just wither away by the second.”

You hadn’t heard Geto swear since you had started working there, but something about his venomous tone enunciating such words had made your blood run cold from the other side of the door. Not having the courage to face him after that, you left his coffee on Manami’s desk for her to tend to with a post-it note saying a sorry excuse for yourself before letting your eyes sob frustratingly in the bathroom, isolated from others.

The last time you had cried that hard was way back in childhood, where you had broken your arm from falling down a tree branch. But you think that Geto’s words had twisted through your skin and bone much harsher than that pain ever will. 

“It’s a miracle how I haven’t been fired yet… I don’t even know why he hired me!” you wail.

Ino sighs from across the dinner table and you can’t tell if it’s a sigh of pity or a sigh of criticism. You learn that it’s both when he rolls his eyes at you whilst simultaneously pushing a plate of much needed food towards you. 

“First off, you need to eat,” he presses, staring at your gaunt features. “The way your face is swallowing is making me feel like I’m living’ with a ghost. You’ve lost some weight, I’ve noticed.”

Awareingly, you touch your cheekbones and realize he’s right, for you feel the small disc of sharpness from them prick your fingertips. They’ve never been so cavern before. You suppose it’s because of the lack of proper meal time between your days and how you often eat small and very late dinners back at home, truly not enough needed fuel for you.

“Secondly,” Ino chews his tongue, wondering if he should really say what he’s about to say because of your current disposition but goes through with it anyway. He might as well rip the bandaid off now to let more time for the wound to heal. “You won’t like what I’m ‘bout to say, but you need to up your game. Severely.”

An aching body rises up from the table. You go to stare at Ino through glazed eyes and a pouty lip, asking him what he meant.

“Ah nope! Don’t give me that face and don’t play coy with me,” he hisses, looking away to not give in to your helpless puppy eyes. He can’t—he shouldn’t give you the easy way out and just say to quit—not when you’ve been earning so much bank that rent isn’t a problem for either of you anymore. He wonders, though, for a moment if so much money is worth your rationality.

He drags a hand down his face before placing his chin on it, examining your haggard appearance. “What I mean is that you need to see through Geto’s eyes. See what he sees when he looks at you. Tell me, if you had an assistant that showed up wearing things that looked like they were plucked from the clearance bin at a thrift store and didn’t show any respect for your brand, which just so happens to be a fashion magazine out of all things…” Ino eyes you with a raised brow. “You startin’ to follow me?”

Your fingers fiddle with each other. “... sorta.”

“Now listen,” he raises his hands up lazily in surrender. “I already know what you’re ‘bout to say about me not knowing’ how to dress in shit other than black and more black, but even I know that you should put in more effort into your appearance. That’s the first step.”

“But I have—!” you exclaim helplessly, “I-I swear, I’ve been trying to… but it’s not my fault that it isn’t up to his standards.”

Your roommate groans and rubs his forehead, not really knowing what else to do for your situation until an idea pops in his head. “Free up your weekend,” he demands with a sly grin that makes you a little uneasy. “I’m no fashion connoisseur, but you know who is?”

“And remember, we never touch anything with chevron on it, especially in today’s fashion world,” Yuki chimes as she slaps on a navy blue pageboy cap on your head and she prances about your bedroom that’s been littered with spare clothes from her very own closet she graciously gifted to you for the past weekend. “I’m so utterly relieved that the trend has dug its own grave.”

The past weekend had been filled with endless shopping trips and you shuffling in and out of clothes every minute, practicing how to pair items and colors together by Yuki’s teachings. Of course you should’ve known that Ino was going to contact the one person that he was within reach that was essentially a walking encyclopedia when it came to fashion. You’ve met Tsukumo Yuki before, found her to be quite delightful even, but you never anticipated she would be this giddy, especially about clothes of all things.

And she used her brain to good use for not only clothes, but the entirety of yourself. You never knew how much just a simple haircut could do your face along with small hints of makeup to emphasize the best parts of it. Dared not your hands go to a lash curler, but here you are now, making sure your powder compact and lipstick for the day was in your bag before you went out. 

“Uh, I don’t think I ever mentioned this before yet, but thank you for helping my wardrobe out, it really means a lot,” you say just before she slides on a pair of gold bangles on your wrist. “Are you sure you wanna give these clothes to me? I’m okay with just borrowing them.” 

“Nonsense, babe,” she wavers off before shuffling through your now-hearty closet, a closet that’s now bursting with many clothes given by her. “I needed space in my closet anyway, so take as much as you need.”

So (Y/N)’s closet is basically her trash can, a particular shaggy brunette thinks with a roll of his eyes. Ino fiddles with the piece of toast in his mouth as he leans on the doorway, watching as Yuki essentially treats you like her very own Barbie doll at such an odd morning hour. 

“(Y/N)’s not a doll, Yuki,” Ino lazily calls aloud through a tired yawn. “You better get ‘em out the door soon or else they’ll get late for work. Especially need that money since the landlord’s been on our ass about increasing our rent…” he mutters, sniffing. “Damn bastard.”

She snaps at Ino to be quiet and let her work before she shuffles on a regal blue overcoat over your shoulders that completes your look. When you look at yourself finally in the mirror, you almost think there’s a stranger in your house from the way you look so dignified compared to the you just three days ago. It’s a simple outfit with not much layering, but it’s still enough to ooze charisma and elegance to wandering eyes. You’re adorned in a white weaved sweater with flared, light-wash jeans and white boots to match. Over the outfit lies the coat that drapes almost like a king’s mantle behind you and the pageboy cap as your crown.

Yuki creeps up behind you, her manicured hands on your shoulders affirmingly. “How’re you feeling, hun?” she asks quietly as she shares the same sight with you in the mirror. “Don’t you look wonderful?”

You know that it was all her work, it was all her creativity that made you into the artwork that you are now, so breathlessly laugh with a smile on your painted lips and thank her quietly once more before whispering, “Yeah… yeah, I do.”

Her eyes study you for another minute, going to stare at the glasses still atop your face. Yes, they were new and much more modern considering she quite literally called your old pair atrocious, snapped them in half, and tossed them over her shoulder, but she was still quite dissatisfied when you told her about your hesitance about using contacts. “Are you sure you don’t want to give contacts another chance?” she sighs. 

You shake your head with a small smile, “I’ll feel completely naked without them,” you murmur, “Besides, I think they actually compliment this look, if I’m being honest.”

Her lips stretch out into a grin, too absorbed in her fashion education finally being used. 

“Well then!” she begins to drag you by the sleeve out your room. “We wouldn’t want you to be late then for your first day as the new you, right? Let’s get you a cab!”

Somehow, you think you really are at your first day at work again from the way you feel that same fluttering in your stomach and from how the people you’ve once grown accustomed to seeing in the early mornings are not merely passing you with mundane nods of their heads but instead, greeting you with wide-eyed gawks and open-mouthed smiles. Some of them, a few who you knew but never spoke a word to, even do a double take and compliment you aloud on the new look. Even the cute barista in the lobby that never bothered to spell your name right at last did after finally taking a good look at the holder of the card.

When you exit out of the elevator, Manami nearly drops the pile of magazines she’s holding when she spots a refined and refreshed you. You offer a bright smile to her and you watch as her gasp slowly forms into an affirmative grin when you round your desk.

She laughs softly. “And who might you be?” she asks with a tease in her voice. “‘Cause last time I checked, that’s my coworker (Y/N)’s desk.”

“I murdered them,” you shrug nonchalantly, earning another chuckle from her. You take it as a good sign, great even, considering up until now, Manami had been rather stoic and a little indifferent towards you because of your amateurism; but now, you suppose that ditching that Plain Jane from just two days ago is finally beginning to do you good by finally grounding a proper relationship with her. “Shame, isn’t it? Poor thing.”

“Truly,” she nods. Her eyes trail further down until they spot something that makes her gasp. “Don’t tell me those are—”

“—the new calfskin gold studded Louboutin boots?” you finish for her. You flex your ankle and show off the ravishing red bottoms of your shoes. “Oh yeah.”

Manami squeals in excitement and rushes over to your desk, begging to take a look at them. “How on earth did you manage to get your hands on these?! I’ve been looking for them fo—”

The elevator dings again but with a tone that makes you and Manami flinch. Both of you stiffen and straighten out your posture, falling into a thick silence when out comes Geto traipsing out like he usually did—his aura being nothing less than dominating. You and Manami chime out in sync a good morning to him as he saunters towards his office as he begins to shuffle off his coat as usual to toss to you until he looks up and catches you in his field of vision.

He stops all of a sudden with his eyes dancing about your figure, a stark contrast to the rest of his paralyzed body. Geto’s lips thin all of a sudden, and so do his eyes when they scan your outfit. He takes in a sharp breath and opens his mouth to say something to you, yet nothing comes out, even as your eyes glisten with anticipation.

It merely instead zips itself close and he finally whisks himself into his office, coat still on and briefcase still in hand, and slams the door shut. 

But not without glancing at you one last time.

Much has changed in the past month for the better.

Yuki was a godsend—she had been your guardian angel, your fairy godmother of sorts—because you swore your career life had taken a complete 180° the moment your closet was revamped. Ever since that makeover, you had felt so much more confident in your actions, so much lighter on your feet. The price of your efforts was beginning to pay off as well, as Geto began to slowly thaw his icier sense of self when you began to actually put effort into your appearance. His thrusts of his coat towards you began to become less aggressive, was significantly more lenient when it came to more of the impossible tasks, and had at one time actually muttered a ‘good morning’ to you and Manami after months of greeting with silence and judgemental glances.

She’d occasionally check up on you every once in a while, usually to offer new clothes that she didn’t want anymore. And by offer, it actually just meant packing them in a box from her place to yours with a post-it that’d usually read “With love, YT ❤” in neat cursive. Along with forming a close bond with Yuki, your relationship with Manami improved significantly, especially when you gave her those white Louboutins she was eyeing. She often invited you to lunch with her other friends, Larue and Remi. 

The iconic John Galliano once said that, “The joy of dressing is an art.” A month ago, you would’ve never believed what you would think is a rather tacky statement, but now, you can truly see it to believe it. It never occurred to you to actually look at your surroundings closely, but you often would sometimes take a few seconds out of your day to admire the many colors and materials that would adorn your coworkers. Whether it be admiration for their sense of style or mild jealousy over luxurious pieces, you were finally understanding what makes fashion, fashion.

And your epiphany was awarded today with the task that you thought would never come into the light of your days working for Geto—being tasked with dropping off The Book.

The Book was a collection of pieces that were needed for the upcoming edition of the magazine, regarding it as being the most important item in the entire company. It was a duty that usually Manami tended to, but she hypothesized that you managed to finally get on Geto’s good side after a while and congratulated you. Manami spoke to you briefly about how trivial The Book was to both Geto and Kaizen. She told you about how you must guard it and Geto’s key to his penthouse with your life, and that you were to remain absolutely invisible to him if he was in the apartment. Manami told you because it was usually the hour he needed most concentration—it was during the later hours of the day that he usually mended last minute edits to the edition or he was working on his latest fashion collection since he was only able to work on it during the weekends as Kaizen took too much of his time.

Manami told you he would most likely be found on the second floor of his penthouse, and you were to remain on the first floor at all costs. 

“The editors will finish The Book around 10:30 or 11:00 at night, wait in the office until then. Then, drop the book off at his penthouse at no later than 11:30 with his dry cleaning, too.”

Her words echo in your mind as you tiptoe out of the cab and look up to see a gleaming, glamorous building sitting in the heart of the city. It’s one you’ve passed a plenty of times—hell, you pass it on your way to work—but it never occurred to you that it’d be this antique white, Parisian-styled building that would be the abode of your boss. 

“Take the elevator to the top floor and enter his apartment. Do not call out his name, don’t wander around, don’t even make a single sound. You are nothing more than a ghost when you step foot into his house.”

The only doors that are on the very top floor of the apartment complex are two large metal doors that sit before you. You enter the key into the keyhole and push them open with controlled force, closing them as quietly as possible with Manami’s whispers still floating about your head. You knew that Geto was certainly a man of luxury, but to see that wealth exempt in a form other than fashion was a sight that you weren’t sure if your eyes deserved to feast on. Sculptures and paintings decorated the foyer and hallway, adding occasional splashes of color to the ivory-adorned apartment. After hanging the dry cleaning in the designated coat closet, the first room you enter - and perhaps the only one you’ll ever be in - is the said living room with the glass coffee table sitting in the center of it.

“Place The Book on the coffee table in the living room. That’s it. Do not toddle any longer in his house and get out immediately. Don’t let curiosity get the better of you and just simply go afterwards. It’s for your own good.”

But oh, how curiosity is just a little devil of temptation that sits far too easily on your shoulder. A house holds the most of a person, and Geto is just an all too mysterious enigma for you not to at least dip your toe in. The doors at the end of the hallway are waiting for you, but so are the picture frames that sit atop the TV stand. You suppose… maybe another minute wouldn’t hurt.

Your feet carry you slowly to the stand and you crouch, adjusting your glasses to get a better look at the pictures. There’s only two of them—six by fours, both in oak brown frames. The first one is a picture of a smiling young girl with short chestnut hair sporting a smile with a cigarette between her teeth. Beside her are two boys taller than her, both making similar faces at the camera. One of them, the one that’s a little taller with silvery snow hair and opaque black sunglasses, throwing a forced, all-too wide grin that almost looks maniacal. It doesn’t require much brain power to know the other figure in the photo is a younger Geto Suguru, his hair shorter in a tight bun with a rare, but soft grin on his face, his gaze affectionate to the others.

The other picture is of the same two boys arm in arm with each other. Both of them are grinning now, with the white haired boy still smiling a little more largely than the other. It doesn’t take long for you to assume who the other boy was considering that the shade of purple sheathing his twinkling eyes is unique to only one individual in your life. 

Best friends, you suggest in your mind as you study the pictures a little longer than needed. A minute, you thought, wouldn’t do much harm, but how utterly wrong your thoughts prove when you suddenly hear the slam of a door from the floor above. The crash of it makes you yelp and breaks you out of your trance from the pictures and your gaze suddenly snaps to the open stairs above you, as well as two voices echoing aloud. 

“Y-you can’t—” an unknown voice wheezes. “I’ve been your muse for years. You possibly can’t just abandon me out of nowhere…”

“You say that as if I’m not doing that right now,” a familiar one replies back boredly. It’s Geto, and his voice makes your nerves electrify in fear because it’s in that moment that you remember that you can’t get caught inside of his house. “This is the last time I’m telling you, Shigemo. Get out.”

The man that you assume is Shigemo heaves heavy breaths. “You need me,” he declares.

“Needed. Past tense,” Geto corrects as he almost forces Shigemo down the stairs with an invisible force surrounding him. You can see their figures above you, Shigemo slowly stepping backwards with each step Geto takes forward. “You’ve done me well these few years, I admit, and I do thank you for that. But I suppose your expiration date has finally come.”

“I’m not a food,” Shigemo snivels. “I’m a person. Most importantly. I’m the reason your fashion line flourished, I was the inspiration for almost all your works. We’re essentially a team.”

They’re towards the end of the staircase, towards where you are still present in plain sight. Your eyes scatter about a place to hide in the meantime, but there are seemingly no places to hide that would hide you well without the notice of Geto’s eyes.

“A team?” Geto barks out a sarcastic laugh, one that makes shivers run down your spine from both the rarity of the sound and how utterly intimidating it is. “I work alone and I always have. There is no point on relying on anyone of any kind when my independence obviously pays off.”

“Who will you have then?” Shigemo retaliates with a whimper in his voice. “You know that I’m the only one that will tolerate you. It’s not like you can go crawling to Goj—“

“Finish that sentence and see what happens,” Geto hisses, causing the other man to fall into a forced silence.

Your eyes finally land on the small space between the fireplace and a pillar. It’s a space large enough for you to fill and efficient enough to hide you from sight. Unsticking your feet from the ground, you make a run for the small space, only for you to forget about the obstacle that was the ottoman sitting spitefully on the floor.

The thud that comes from your body almost rivals the volume of the door slamming open moments earlier and just like the door, it attracts unneeded attention. Geto and Shigemo stop their bickering for a moment to search for the cause of the sound, only to see you humiliatingly face first on the floor. Geto narrows his eyes at the sight of you, an unwanted visitor in his home. 

A pained groan slips from your lips accidentally. You silently curse yourself for not taking the time to properly break into the tantalizing loafers Yuki bought you the day prior and wince at the pain blooming from your knees and chest. When you finally get up, you can’t help but notice that everything around you seems rather… hazy.

“Who is that…” Shigemo mutters.

Geto bites back a sigh and instead, pinches the bridge of his nose. He supposes that despite your improved mannerisms, your clumsiness still has yet to dissipate. Annoyed, he grunts out, “One of my new assistants.”

Shaking his head, Geto decides to deal with you later. His home is already suffocated with one individual, he doesn’t need another clogging the atmosphere up. He returns his attention back to Shigemo. “I thought I told you to leave,” he states, shoving his bag towards him.

Shigemo’s face paints a horrified expression once again. “Geto, please rethink this,” Shigemo pleads. 

He lets out a chain of pleads and excuses for himself as Geto essentially escorts him out with just walking towards him, his face still icy. Shigemo ends up on the other side of the door to his penthouse and it’s there where his patheticness exudes the most—he falls on his hands and knees like a beggar, claiming he’d do anything and everything just to be by his side. 

But his voice is suddenly cut short when Geto finally slams the door in his face, the thickness of them guarding him from Shigemo’s whines. He lets out another sigh and locks up the door securely before dealing with the other parasite in his house.

“I don’t think dropping off a book should take longer than thirty seconds,” Geto drawls as he saunters towards the living room, where you’re still on all fours on the floor, your hands tapping around. “So tell me, why are you still here?”

At the sound of his sharp tone, you freeze. You’re sure you looked utterly stupid and a mess right now, considering that you had just lost a fight to an ottoman out of all things, but you couldn’t let Geto see you in such a state. It didn’t take you long to realize that the reason why everything around you looked so blurry was because of your now-missing glasses that you attempted to look around for. But you pulled a Velma, and just like her, you can’t see without your glasses.

Everyone thinks it’s an exaggeration when you state that you felt utterly naked without them, but you truly did. You’ve been wearing glasses ever since childhood and you really didn’t appreciate the looks you had gotten when you were younger when at times you’d take them off. Some complained that your eyes were too small, too big—others mentioned you looked “off” and “weird” without them. Either way, comments from the other children stuck with you like scars, and ever since then, you refused to be seen without them. 

“I a-apologize,” you stutter, shuffling your body to hide behind the recliner so Geto wouldn’t see how much of a clutter you are. You’ve humiliated yourself too much already in the office and the last thing you truly need is for you to get fired merely because your curiosity got the better of you. “I was about to head out and th-then I heard your voice from upstairs and—”

Your words fall deaf on Geto’s ears. He lets out another groan while stretching the aching muscles in his neck as he closes in on your disorderedness. A hand goes to shield your face—you don’t want him to see the bareness of your face, especially since you didn’t bother wearing makeup today. You can’t even bear the thought of him looking at it. In a rushed state, you wander around for your glasses with your head tucked in, using the remnants of your hair to curtain your face.

A jumble of excuses tumble out of your quivering lip, but Geto is too preoccupied with the gleam of something catching his eye. Laying flat on the floor are a pair of glasses that doesn’t take Geto long to presume who they belong to. He plucks them from the ground and examines them for a brief moment before holding them above you. 

“I assume these are yours,” he asserts with a cocked brow.

Your head snaps up at the sound of his voice directly right above you and through your foggy field of vision is the seraphic figure of Geto holding what seems to be your glasses. Lips escaping a relieved gasp, you hurriedly scramble to your feet. Your eyes are too poor to see it properly, but Geto also shares surprise, but for an entirely different reason.

He doesn’t give you the sanity that is your glasses right away, because he’s much too preoccupied studying your face. It’s so… fresh. Your glasses were hiding such a view, like curtains to a window that unveiled the utmost rare and breathtaking sights. The way your eyes are wide open, pupils blown with a touch of singularity makes him even more intrigued because of how they’re uniquely placed onto your face along with the rest of your features. Your lips, plump with a natural sheen to them—your cheekbones, perfectly rounded. The slope of your nose fell just right. Geto studies it like an artist to a blank canvas, devoid of anything yet holding just the perfect amount of space—wanting, waiting to be filled with anything and everything.

When his eyes stare at you in what seems to be bewilderment, you swallow thickly and look away. But you can only glance at your surroundings for less than a second before Geto takes your chin between his thumb and forefinger, turning your face toward him again. It’s then that you realize that Geto isn’t staring at you, but your face as a whole. His eyes flick with small movements, dancing about as they go from eyebrow to lips, freckle to lash, examining each and every single particle that your face has to offer.

You feel a heat creep onto your cheeks. You’re not sure whether it’s because of the closeness you and him share or the fact that you can’t detect his opinions on the one thing you’ve been disclosed about for years, but either way, you feel weak in the knees; it only worsens when Geto’s thumb brushes over the entirety of your bottom lip, feeling the plushness of it on his the pad of his finger.

“Has your face always been this open…?” he murmurs softly as he studies the various angles of your face. 

You aren’t sure whether it’s a compliment or insult, either or neither. Geto’s tone always had a sort of bleakness to it, but in this very moment, you truly can’t tell what he’s thinking. 

“My glasses…” is all you manage to squeak out, fighting the urge to squirm in his grasp. Another gulp goes down your dry throat when Geto’s face contorts to an irritated confusion before he realizes his other hand holds the one thing dear to your heart. 

“Oh,” he mutters and hands them back to you. His opposing hand finally goes to release your face. “Right.”

Shaking hands go to put them back onto your face again. Sighing internally of relief of your now crystal-clear surroundings, you dust yourself off with your head once more, tucked into your chest. 

“I’m so sorry for this,” you whisper. The heat on your face has now spread to the entirety of your body, your nerves alight with the rush of adrenaline. “I-I’ll make sure this never happens again… good night.”

With that, you scurry yourself out before Geto has the chance to falter. All words to urge you to stay to either scold you or excuse you evaporate on his tongue. He can only watch in a strange silence as your figure rushes down the hall and out the doors, the click of them ringing out in his penthouse.

After moments of self-paralysis, an unknown feeling boils inside the pit of Geto’s stomach. He thinks he’s seen your face before with the familiarity of it unsettling him. The ghost of your face prances about in his mind as he slowly climbs the stairs to his sewing room, ignoring the shattered wine glass on the floor thrown by Shigemo. He instead, refills his own glass again with the nearby bottle of merlot wine and savoring the thickness of it running down his dry throat, embellishing in its warmth.

A single, large window faces the busy nighttime street and Geto walks and stills near it, watching carefully as the speck of your figure on the street below calls for a cab. He eyes how you turn towards the building one more time, doing your usual adjustment of your glasses (it’s a habit you often do in times of nervousness, he’s picked up) before you shuffle yourself into a cab that speeds off into the night.

Geto lets out an annoyed click of his tongue. Something about your face seems haunting and he doesn’t enjoy it. The last thing that he needed for today was even more plaguing thoughts in his head after the loss of his muse not even just ten minutes ago, but now with your face staining the back of his head, his jaw grits in irritation. In a poor attempt to take his mind off the excursion of today and the future, he shuffles about his many sketchbooks to look for any designs he could pluck out for his latest collection. 

It’s an hour in, two glasses of wine later, and somehow, he still hasn’t found a single piece to begin working on that fits into his theme. Miraculously, through the vast array of what is thought to be thousands of sketches, Geto hasn’t found one that stood out to him until he gets to the last sketchbook. It’s an early one—he thinks it dates back to his early college days, when he was just beginning to peek into the world of fashion. A pang of nostalgia hits him all of a sudden when he flips to a specific page that was the start of his history.

It’s the very design that had the attention of many designers. The sketch featured a gold and red embellished outfit, a sheen of glittering flickers adorning it. The shirt features a mosaic of gold and small flecks of color here and there, imitating the many church mosaics he’d often admired as a child. The skirt and collar of the shirt were the same shade of blood red, crimson gems bespeckling them. 

It’s not the outfit, however, that makes his eyes harden. Why would it? He’s seen it many times before. It’s been brought up over and over again—in interviews, in magazines. It’s one of the staples that made Geto the pillar that he is. He knows every detail of it, much like his other designs, so it isn’t the design of the outfit that made him appalled. It’s instead, the person that’s wearing it. 

Because somehow, the eerie sketch of the model’s face that he had drawn years ago…

… somehow replicates your own face perfectly.

a/n: first jjk fic in forever! wowie it's been much too long... also if u need a refresher on who shigemo is, he's the guy with the ponytail that nanami pulled kekeke

10.2k is hefty i know but i couldn't help myself my bad lolol T_T currently just a test run of what i hope to be is a series that some may be interested in because clearly this barely scratches the surface of what i want to embed haha so please let me know how you like it so far :))

continuing, i hope you enjoyed and thank you for taking time out of your day to enjoy my craft, whether it be your first time or your hundredth! once more, likes/comments/reblogs are always noticed and are always appreciated (´｡• ᵕ •｡`) ♡ !!!

[bloop-bl00p]

Rewriting Sir Pentious justice for the snake boie

Doesn’t anyone find it weird how we’re gonna have the backstory of everyone in later seasons?

Not only do they hardly follow the redemption aspects but they also give us little to nothing about the characters. I can buy that Heaven is corrupt and/or unfair but rather than having Adam throwing curse words and profanities every five seconds, why not show it in elements of the main cast backstory?

Reveal that they were essentially in unjust situations where they had no other choice but sins to survive, the type of stories that’ll make the audience think “Is Heaven fair in its judgment?” then you have the reveal that the system is corrupted. It feels like common sense to me.

Anyway, Sir Pentious wasn’t that much of an asshole in my rewrite, we understand why he acted the way he did but he still fucked up.

Madhav Karmakar was born in 1858. He was an Indian migrant in England who wanted to follow a partnership in engineering. Studying hard and else he worked ten times harder than the other students due to prejudice regarding his origin.

He made his way into a prestigious university and went out with his diploma ready to show off his skill but generally still faced racial discrimination. Throughout his life, Madhav had to do everything in his power to completely suppress anything that tied him to his country, fully adopting British mannerisms and culture, suppressing his accent, and else. At 17, he became an apprentice and started studying Mechanical Engineering, ending officially his studies at 24.

His hardship allowed him to work alongside others to develop steam machines and various ways of transportation. Despite having clearly mastered, and even ameliorated his domain, Madhav still had fewer opportunities compared to his colleagues and was paid less than the other regardless of the amount of work he put in.

What was first jealousy due to the unfairness of his situation quickly became Envy directed at his white counterparts. He started slowly destroying the reputation of his associates mostly by secretly sabotaging their work in various manners, introducing faulty designs, tampering with documentation, sabotaging equipment and tools, and anything really just to make himself feel better.

It lasted for years until one of his sabotages cost him his life. In 1888 at 30 years old, he caused one structure to collapse and the debris fell on him breaking his legs, he died screaming for help under the remains and suffocated because of the dust.

A few years following his arrival in Hell, he used his ingenuity to create steampunk-style machines in order to conquer territory. Problems, most of the lands were already owned by powerful Overlords. Madhav overestimated his inventions a lot so he got his nonexistent ass beaten all the time. He even gained the nickname Sir Pretentious though he still tries and insists on being called by his real surname (nobody does.)

The dude persisted, gaining the reputation of the village fool. Surprisingly for everyone he finally managed to get his hand on a very small portion of a territory… only for it to be snatched away by a punk rookie a week later. It would be easy for any Overlord to step up but they have their own business to take care of and some find it funny to see those two quarrel all the time.

Bit of a fun fact:

→ If I had to redesign him, he’d be fit with a large figure, we’re talking of the man who built this alone…

.. I doubt the egg boys can lift things too heavy considering they are fragile. So yeah, Madhav isn’t a twink.

→ The egg boys aren’t literal eggs just small mechanical robots he built to be his minions, if they were to break they’ll be gears everywhere but he could still rebuild them later. He wishes he could make them a bit smarter.

→ Snakes are very often associated with lies and manipulation and everything related to it. That’s what Madhav has been as a human, an envious liar. But, snakes can also symbolize renewal and rebirth in other cultures, and since he’s gonna be the first redeemed it kinda fits. I don’t know if Viv knew this but shout out to her if she did.

→ Keeping the romance with Cherry, I can appreciate a really good Enemy to Lover but the way it was framed feels like Cherry only got interested when she learned he had two dick, which feels icky and disingenuous.

So, I thought of slowly making their relationship more of a “Are they fighting or flirting” type of thing. That and having Cherry make comments between their fight like “You’re getting better at this!” which flatters Madhav because he never really had recognition for his fighting skills or invention.

He’s still a bit stuck in the old-timey way of courtship, and considering those things could last 3 to 4 years, with him you can expect the slowest slow burn possible. Anyway, he still respects lots of British traditions, being a regular correspondent and sending letters and gifts. I can see him asking to go on a walk or organize Rendez-vous to learn more about Bomb when his rivalry gets more friendly.

→ His obsession with fighting Alastor comes from the fact that he didn't manage to get up the stairs as quickly as the deer did. So he’s envious and seeks to beat Alastor in a battle to prove he’s the superior one, but he loses every time. His last chance is to side with the Vees, but Vox doesn't even bat an eye when he is near. So just imagine how ecstatic he was when Vox proposed to him to be a spy. While the first weeks were fine, he found himself getting attached to the staff more and more. It was a genuine environment where few people actually recognized him as the brilliant engineer he was (I thought he could actually help with the hotel construction since the building is old and all) and they actually called him by his name.

Not siding with Vox will be the first step to his redemption, renouncing to act of his envious feelings and focusing on what he already had rather than seeking to destroy those above him.

→ His lisp gets worse when he’s lying, he obliviously maintains a whole evil British persona in his quest for respect so as he slowly starts to get genius he’ll slowly start to speak with more ease.

→ Regarding how he’ll appear once in Heaven, he’ll be a human. I find it strange that you don't get to get your human appearance once saved. Viv said it herself, the reason why sinners look like that is because their appearance is in correlation with their sins, life, and the ways they die. It’s a way to mock them.

If this dude or girl gets redeemed, they’ll stay on a couch and that’s just sad, imagine you die go to Hell redeem yourself and you're still a furniture. Anyway, Madhav will get his human form back but with hints of his demonic form.

Kinda like Lovesart23 you should go see her videos and rewrite.

[imagopirateversion]

It’s a Pirate Life for Me!

Why I am an adult who still believes in the pirate philosophy and is not willing to change.

An essay by: a person who really hopes future employers will never find this, but will still put their name at the end of it.

Painting credits: Pirate Boarding, Andrey Serebryakov

Can One Still Call Themselves A Pirate in the Twenty-First Century?

There are two answers to that question, and both of them are "yes".

Pirates do actually exist today: there were around 120 incidents of maritime piracy and armed robbery against ships reported in 2023 and around 115 in 2022 (source x). So yes, one can define themselves a pirate in the twenty-first century in a very literal sense; which is not what I'm trying to do here, of course.

While the world has changed and piracy has (almost) ceased to exist, thanks to stories, legends and media, the idea of piracy has become completely detached from the practice. This has led to a concept of "piracy" that has very little to do with sailing, stealing, and killing, and a lot more to do with what most things become over time: philosophy.

What no longer exists in practice in our era (and sometimes what never existed at all) has become a way of living: think about cowboys, goths, hippies, punks and so on. All these things are much more than aesthetics: each one has its own vision, its own practices, its own style, its own way of living; in other words, its own philosophy.

This text is about pirate philosophy and its origins.

First Things First: Why Did People Become Pirates?

Piracy did not appear out of nowhere in 1600; it's ancient and we have proofs of it existing as a practice since ancient Egypt (read more here). We automatically think of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries when we talk about piracy because that period is known as the Golden Age of Piracy. Precisely between 1650 and 1730, there were thousands of active pirates, some of them infamously notorious, as Henry Morgan, Captain Kidd, Calico Jack, Bartholomew Roberts and, of course, Blackbeard himself. But why did that happen? Well, the answer is complex but can be easily summed up in a single word: money. The world was changing, and as Lord Cutler Beckett explains so brilliantly in Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Man's Chest: currency was becoming the currency of the country, especially in England. Ruthless landowners forced small farmers to leave their lands, while smaller tradesmen were challenged by larger businesses. Everyone wanted more, and those who couldn't adapt to the new world's rules became unemployed and were forced to move to urban areas to look for work or poor relief. The cities became overpopulated and soon there weren't funds left: distressed people had no hope of making a better life (source x). For this people, piracy was nothing more than a way out: it was either submit to the new society and starve to death, or rebel and survive. What would you have done?

What Kind of People Became Pirates?

Piracy soon became the best choice for many people. Not only for unemployed men who couldn't find a better way to survive, but also for those who, for various reasons, couldn't fit in. people who couldn't conform to societal norms weren't just discriminated against or isolated, they were often killed. That's why, even though piracy wasn't an easy life at all, many people preferred it. So, who were the pirates?

Sailors usually didn't make enough money to survive, and the discipline was extremely strict. Many of them ended up starving, getting sick, and dying. It's not surprising that many chose to become criminals and sail as pirates (source x).

Teenagers, often orphans with no money or future. Young men might have to endure seven-year apprenticeships before they could make an independent living, while piracy offered them a way to earn money quickly (source x).

Rebellious against the oppressive conditions imposed by their governments, specially from the Navy.

People discriminated because of their race. Black people in particular often had no social opportunities all, but could find acceptance within pirate crews, where camaraderie transcended racial or ethnic differences.

People with a religious belief that was considered heretical or nonconformist by the mainstream society could often find themselves persecuted. Pirate crews comprised members from diverse religious backgrounds and were generally more tolerant of religious differences.

People with a criminal background, who were offered an opportunity to start anew and be part of a community, two things that the civilized society couldn't give them.

Queer people, particularly homosexual men. Homosexuality was a crime at the time, often viewed as negatively as piracy, if not worse. Piracy was a male-dominated world; although for a long time media tried to portray pirates as "turning" gay due to the absence of women among them, the truth is that many gay men were pirates because they were gay. Homosexuality was so common among pirates that they had something very similar to same-sex marriage. It was called "matelotage": a legal civil union that bound two sailors together in an informal partnership, uniting one's fortune and future to the other's, and was respected by ship captains and pirate crews (source x).

Women. The majority of pirates were men, but not all of them. In a world that was not at all kind to young girls and women in general, it was not uncommon for them to disguise themselves as men or marry a pirate in order to become one. There have been notorious women pirates, some of them captains, such as Zheng Yi Sao or Huang Bamei (source x).

In short, outcasts. Individuals rejected by society, unable to find their place, and unwilling to conform to strict societal rules.

The Adventurers

There were a few people, a minority of course, who willingly chose piracy even though they had a normal, conforming, and even wealthy life. It's the case of Stede Bonnet, The Gentleman Pirate; he was born into a wealthy English family and inherited the family estate after his father's death in 1694. Despite his lack of sailing experience, Bonnet decided he should turn to piracy in the spring of 1717. He bought a sailing vessel, the Revenge, and travelled with his paid crew, capturing other vessels and burning other Barbadian ships. His story, apart from giving us one of the best pirate stories in the history of media, is significant because it provides evidence that piracy wasn't just about necessity; it was about identity. Piracy had become a way of life long before it was romanticized by the media.

The Pirate Life

What was it about pirate life that was so tempting for so many people? Life on a ship wasn't easy at all; the work was tough, the food was poor, and anyone could die at any moment, whether due to illness, sinking, or murder. Nevertheless, there was something that made it all worthwhile: freedom. People who have had no possibilities nor future in society found in piracy the opportunity to live by their own rules. Civilization's norms had no reason to exist in an uncivilized society; no master telling you what to do, no morality, no societal standards, no need to impress or perform. If you wanted something, you simply had to find a way to get it. That meant you could possibly starve to death, but it also meant that you had a chance of getting everything you had ever desired, and eating and drinking until you died, and in the civilized society you didn't have that chance. You could choose to sail and never touch land again; you could choose to marry or not to marry, to have a family or not to have one, to sleep with whomever you wanted to, to practice your religion. You could change your name and be who you wanted to be. Pirate life was the realization of that question most of us have asked ourselves at least once: 'What if I disappear tomorrow and start all over again somewhere else?'.

Piracy in the Modern World

In our eastern, civilized, technological, capitalist society, we don't need to be part of a crew and sail to be pirates. Piracy as a practice was defeated thanks to pirate hunting in the eighteenth century, but you can't kill an idea, can you? Ideas not only persist, they evolve and adapt to the changes they're forced to face. When we say "pirate" in today's world, we mean a lot of different things:

Sea Pirate: a person who attacks and robs ships at sea;

Software Pirate: a person who appropriates or reproduces the work of another for profit without permission, usually in contravention of patent or copyright;

In Italy, we have a way to describe people who ignore the Traffic Laws, 'pirata della strada', literally 'pirate of the street';

In sexual slang, the word 'pirate' is used to define someone who sleeps around, who constantly looks for casual sex.

The term 'ass pirate' has been used as a slur to describe homosexual men.

In short, the term in today's society is used to describe someone who breaks the rules, whether they are actual laws or societal standards.

If we consider everything piracy represents as a concept, as an idea, in modern society, and put it together, we can sum it up in three words:

Freedom, Anarchy, Resistance.

Freedom

'Freedom' is such an abstract concept it is almost impossible to define. It's widely discussed in philosophy, particularly the question: is it possible to be truly free? As soon as we built a society, in order to gain benefits, we had to partially sacrifice our freedom. We can't freely steal from our neighbors, but in doing so, we ensure our neighbors won't steal from us (at least, we hope). It's a simple concept. However, there's a line beyond which the benefits we gain aren't worth the sacrifices we make to obtain them. This has occurred repeatedly throughout history; it happened in the Golden Age of Piracy, and it was the reason why most of people chose to abandon civilization and sail as pirates, and it continues to happen every day. Whenever a social construct, or sometimes even a law, prevents you from simply existing as a person; whenever your future is dictated by your social status; whenever you're denied free time, enjoyment, rest, and happiness because you have to work ten hours a day just to be paid the minimum wage, if you're lucky enough to live in a country that has one. That isn't a freedom you willingly gave away to have a benefit. It's a freedom someone took from you before you were even born, before you could think and understand that just because everyone acts like it's the normal way of living, it doesn't mean it has to be that way.

Anarchy

It is true that, at least concerning crews, pirate society had a sort of hierarchy, in which the Captain of the ship was at the top. However, it is also true that this hierarchy could collapse at any given moment, considering the possibility of a mutiny, and that, in general, pirate society was anarchic. There has been research on the functioning of pirate society, particularly regarding its potential application in a hypothetical modern society where the value of human life and individual needs are more considered than they were during that era. Most of the work in that sense has been done by Peter Lamborn Wilson in his 1995 book 'Pirate Utopias: Moorish Corsairs & European Renegadoes'. He provides a definition of what he calls 'Pirate Utopias', that are described as "Early forms of autonomous proto-anarchist societies in that they operated beyond the reach of governments and embraced unrestricted freedom" (source x). I highly recommend reading his work and all the other research that followed it if you want to go into detail, because that's not what I'm going to do here (for now).

That being said, this is my personal take on the matter:

In our days, the discussion about Anarchy as a political belief is often ridiculed and reduced to a mere "if there were no rules, people would kill each other". That statement is true; people would. What is usually misunderstood and not taken into consideration is that people who profess to believe in Anarchy do not mean we should abolish every existing law overnight and see what happens. With 'Anarchy,' we mean a hypothetical society in which individuals are free to do as they please, and they willingly choose not to kill, steal, and hurt others because they have no interest in doing so. This hypothetical society is, of course, unachievable; it's what is called a utopia.

Most political beliefs are based on utopias (or dystopias, depending on your vision of them), because a society that strictly adheres to a pure political system is impossible to achieve. There cannot be a perfect socialist society, nor a perfect communist one, nor a perfect capitalist one, and of course, there cannot be a perfect anarchist society. What we can do, though, is aspire to one—or, to use a naval metaphor, we can set the course towards it. We can make decisions, take actions, and build societies around a specific vision.

The western society, for example, tends to a capitalistic system; in brief, money is what our society revolves around. The more money you possess, the more power you wield; your ultimate goal in life must be to gain money so that you can afford basic necessities: food, housing, healthcare and so on. Everything is privatized, leading to the rich getting richer and the poor getting poorer, being exploited by people whose only purpose is to become even more rich. Consequently, you are forced to wake up every morning at 6 am to work ten-hour shifts for minimum wage. Don't like it? You're free not to live in the capitalist society. You'll probably starve to death, end up living on the street, be marginalized, isolated, persecuted, but still. You're "free" to do it. Of course, this is not a "perfect" capitalist society, it can't be; not until Democracy exists, not until Resistance exists. Still, our society tends towards it.

'Anarchy' doesn't mean we should live in a society with no rules; it simply means we should strive towards it and build a society that is as similar as possible to that utopia, prioritizing the freedom of the individual, but without causing collapse.

Resistance

Most pirates were hardly educated enough to even understand all of that as a concept, of course. They didn't fight for a political idea, most of them fought to survive. Even though it wasn't a utopian society, they still had a shared belief: dissent. Being an outcast means to be disillusioned in how 'mainstream' society works, and we know most of them were, considering their social background. Piracy was, in its own way, a movement of resistance.

Times have changed, and we don't have to engage in naval battles to resist. As society evolved, resistance as a practice evolved with it, and hence Western society has become less and less violent, as have the harmless but powerful acts of resistance.

Every time you protest, you are resisting. Every time you talk back, you expose a normalized injustice, you rebel towards an unfair authority, you say 'no', you go against what's expected from you, you are unapologetically yourself, you refuse to adapt, you decide to ignore or bypass a senseless law, you are resisting. Every time you prioritize your free time over money, you challenge beauty standards, you don't accept a 'that's how it was always done' as a justification. Even when you have fun harder than how you're supposed to, when you rejoice louder than how's considered appropriate, every time you dance like no one is watching you, you are, somehow, resisting.

Piracy in Media

Much of our perception of things we haven't directly experienced is filtered and conditioned by media. Even when we study historical periods like the Medieval Age or the Roman Empire, a part of our understanding will always be influenced by the media we've consumed about them. This is because media is often how we were introduced to these subjects: you can get very passionate about Indiana Jones, and so get interested in studying the pyramids and ancient Egypt, only to find out pyramids are nothing like it was portrayed in the movies. Nevertheless, you got interested in studying them in the first place because of Indiana Jones, so as much as you understand and accept that that isn't the truth behind ancient Egypt, you can also accept that Indiana Jones is part of your vision of it, and that cannot change. I know Pirates of the Caribbean isn't historically accurate, as much as Our Flag Means Death and Monkey Island aren't; still, I cannot deny that they have a role in creating a general vision of Pirate Philosophy in the modern world.

There are, in my opinion, three main aspects that come out from the combination of what we know about Piracy as a historical reality and as it's portrayed by media, and those are Hedonism, Nomadism and Camaraderie.

Hedonism

Hedonism is defined as 'the prioritization of pleasure in one's lifestyle, actions, or thoughts'. It's a recurring theme in the portrayal of pirate society; from songs, to movies where Tortuga is depicted as a place where people drink, eat, have sex and fight as they please, to legends that speak of treasures to be found so one can live a life of excess.

The reason for this is related to what we already know about the history of pirates, particularly the society they escaped from. The society of the seventeenth century was extremely strict, both morally and legislatively. Sex outside of marriage was out of the question, and many things that we consider normal today were seen as affronts to decency, often punishable. To be considered a respectable man or woman, one had to follow certain rules. Additionally, many pirates came from backgrounds of extreme poverty, making them prone to indulging in every kind of pleasure when they could.

Hedonism isn't just a perpetual search for pleasure; it's actually an ethical philosophy that is grounded in pleasure (defined as the avoidance of pain as much as possible) as the only intrinsic value and therefore the only reasonable expression of ethical good. This philosophy of life can be easily connected to the anarchist society that we described earlier; a society that doesn't have rules and in which you don't have a 'place' or need to 'contribute,' since your only purpose as an individual is to pursue pleasure.

I personally believe in Hedonism as an ethical philosophy, particularly Psychological Hedonism, as much as my research of pleasure doesn't prevail on someone else's.

Nomadism

One of the things that fascinated me the most about the Pirate Life as portrayed in media, was the idea of embarking on a journey that would never end. Our society is a stationary one, and I actually think there's nothing wrong with that. My perspective on this matter has nothing to do with morality, ideology, or politics. Being stationary is good; the human species would have never evolved if it didn't stop and build the world as we know it. This is simply a personal preference and stems from my absolute intolerance and repulsion at the idea of being born and dying in the same place. I've always yearned to explore, to see as much of the world as I could. The concept of 'borders' has always bothered me; I firmly believe in cultural exchanges and in learning about how other human beings live in different parts of the world. Of course, I acknowledge that without nations, traditions, and populations that are local and bound to their territories, there wouldn't even be cultures to discover or different societies to explore. So, this is about me, not a hypothetical, utopian society. I'm the one who always wanted to travel without ever stopping; I've never felt like I belonged in any one place or that there's a good enough reason to settle in a single nation and miss out on all that there is to see out there.

Camaraderie

Pirates encompassed men and women with all different kinds of backgrounds, nationalities, beliefs, ideologies and identities. While we speak in absolutes, in a society with no moral or legislative boundaries, factors such as who you were, where you came from, who you slept with, or what you believed in simply didn't matter. You were a pirate, and that was enough.

The official definition of camaraderie is:

"A feeling of friendliness towards people that you work or share an experience with".

In this case, we could even say "towards people that you share a lifestyle with". Being realistic, in a historically accurate pirate society, it's plausible that hate towards differences and minorities still existed, considering the strict and mentally bigoted society most pirates came from. However, we're talking about individuals who chose to leave that society, probably because of its strict and mentally bigoted nature. It's reasonable to assert that this particular kind of hate was at least less prevalent in the pirate society than outside of it.

Piracy in media undoubtedly plays a significant role in romanticizing the sense of brotherhood and companionship felt among pirates; we saw Pirate Codes, Brethren Courts, battles in the name of a common ideal, epic friendships and romances, songs that speak of a union strong enough to beat death itself and slogan such as "Long Live Piracy!".

What attracts me the most about it is that camaraderie as a concept exists in basically all societies or communities with a shared aim or belief. However, there are always rules that need to be followed, and the risk of being excluded and losing the privilege of deserving such camaraderie is always present. The idea of fidelity toward one's society, community, or even nation is essential for its survival, ensuring that those in power maintain control over their adherents, citizens, or believers. The pirate society is the only one I've stumbled across that doesn't need it. The feeling of brotherhood within these people doesn't need any kind of loyalty, proper rules or the fear of losing privileges to make sure that the community keeps existing. That's because the pirate society is made up of people who have already betrayed, renounced, and lost all of their privileges to be there. All they have is that sense of brotherhood and friendship. They exist in a reality in which none of them belongs anywhere and that, somehow, becomes a sense of belonging; one that doesn't need to be continuously shown or respected, simply because it's the only thing that keeps them there.

I believe that is the only reality in which camaraderie and freedom can coexist in a society, and I think it's one of the most beautiful and powerful concepts I've ever seen portrayed.

Conclusions

We finally arrived at the end of this... yeah, let's call it 'essay'. It was more than two weeks ago when I wrote the first word. It was meant to be brief and simply a way to put in words an intimate belief. I wasn't sure if I wanted to post it, mostly because I rarely share such deep thoughts with people around me; though, I'm trying to change that. As all human beings I strive to find belonging and as a true pirate, I never found anywhere to do so. So, to find but one person who reads this until the end and finds themselves to agree with my view, it would make me immeasurably happy.

Thank you if you made it this far, even if you don't agree with a single word I've written, because you dedicated part of your time to me, and I appreciate it.

If you find syntactic errors, please consider that english isn't my first language and also that grammar is a made up concept anyway.

Don't forget to be free, to resist, to pursue pleasure as much as you can, to explore and to show camaraderie not because you have to, but for the sake of it.

Fair winds t' ye!

Imago

[aparticularbandit]

imagine your favorite fashion guru on tiktok/instagram/youtube. very good about giving all the tips, about explaining things in a way that you can follow. shows cool ways to do make-up, how to sew missing buttons or replace zippers, to add patches to punk jackets, even hair dye tips - and the best brands for your buck! and very good about stories during the whole thing; you never get bored!

then you hear about something really bad happening in her country, and the videos stop for a while. you miss her, of course, but you get it. you wouldn't upload under the circumstances either. of course, you and a bunch of her other followers leave a lot of positive comments on her last video - the one that explains why she might not be updating for a while.

months pass. every now and again you check on her channel. you're subscribed, so you'd get an email for a new video, but. just in case, you know? and sometimes you go through the old videos. they're just so comforting. you wonder how she's doing. you hope she's doing okay.

one day, you get the email that she's been active again! you automatically check it out. looks like she and a bunch of her friends from school have decided to take shelter in an abandoned school building. they've completely locked themselves in, but she assures you that everyone is going to be just fine! it's just kind of boring in there and everything. but the headmaster has given her permission to do videos again; he doesn't think it's a threat at all!

so now you get a lot of videos. daily content. not just your guru giving her normal tips and tricks, but more real life stuff. she brings in some of her friends, and they all seem really sweet. they livestream video games every now and again, and sometimes she ropes them into doing jackbox stuff so even the viewers can get involved! it's entirely different, but you're addicted. especially when she has a set time every day for her streams and then others around that! and of course, it's so great to leave comments to make everyone feel better, what with everything they're going through.

sometimes, she cries on camera. it's really, really rough. but she thanks you - all of her viewers - for being there for her through everything. it's so nice of all of you. she'd thought you would leave after everything or that the abrupt change of content would cause her to lose viewers. then she says that, you know, given everything, viewer count's not so important to her anymore. she just wants you to know that she's still here, she's still alive, and that they're all going to try and do their best to survive together.

it feels like everyone you know is following her now, tuned into her life, the lives of her friends, their struggles. it's a weird sort of thing; you all have your favorites, but you don't really hate anyone either because...those are real people on the screen. you love all of them. but you love your girl the best. she was the first. of course, you love her.

one day, the live stream starts, and it's...different.

there's a bear? and something about murder? and none of your comments are getting through to anyone anymore. and it's just the bear playing moderator? and the headmaster is...gone? and so is one of the students?

only you look closer - you know what your girl looks like, you know - and that's...that's her sister dressed up as her, you're sure of it. which means your girl is missing.

something's...something's wrong. it's weird. you don't like it, but you can't stop following it. because...well.

there's a bunch of theories. maybe it's like when markiplier did one of his movies or whatever. maybe they were just so bored that they decided to do a movie series or something like that?

and then you see one of the students murder another one on screen.

and then the bear kills your girl's sister.

and you can't look away.

(junko enoshima trends on twitter for over a month, even through the other murders.)

[fafayayarhen]

Any Austria headcanons?

shaking

vibrating

tumbling over

hi. yes. so. enjoy my ramblings of specific Austria | Roderich headcanons from me because my credentials include 5 - 6 years of RP experience writing, researching, writing, musing him

some canon points i took and expanded upon with prevalent historical elements that does fit what i see from the series, certain elaborations that comes from further delve into the unique entanglement of the Habsburg influence upon their claim to the imperial fief of the Holy Roman Empire, the Austrian Duchy

Austria being a far more rowdy, feral, unrestrained youth when the Austrian Duchy absolutely flourished during the Babenberg rule by the successive lead of dukes Leopold. (Yes, dukes. All of them were named Leopold and distinguished only by the numerical order.) During Leopold III, Leopold the Illustrious reign, he was a bit of a punk that not only successfully expanded the duchy with more towns and cities, he joined the third crusade and took command of the German battalion when the previous commander died (Duke Frederick of Swabia). This is the origins of the legend where Austria's flag was created, the signature triband of red, white, red. The Duke's bloodstained uniform when he removed his belt revealed the untouched hidden stripe of white and he went with that - given the track record of these dukes and their prosperous deeds in battle, Roderich would've been that young man who eagerly joined his dukes in each and every conflict, fighting alongside them, and that bit with the bloodstained uniform would've been applied to Roderich as well.

He was a country bumpkin because of this. Had been one since he first came to be, which honestly in my years of writing him is difficult to pinpoint exactly which year given the interesting track records that offers Roman roots (the Noricum province in the then Roman empire), or the first documented use of "Marcha Orientalis" meaning the eastern march, first established by the Bavarian following the battle of Lechfeld in 955 that drove out the rest of the Magyars and fortifying the eastern front once the stronghold is built and fortified. Often I go with this latter interpretation whilst also making good of applying the possible Roman lineage given Noricum was where the land of the east would be. He was just a little country boy Bavaria found after the battle and was like ay yO I GOT A KID.

Bavaria would've spoiled the kid. Cutie. Little march. Sure it's concerning he can already wield a sword but hey you gotta do what you can do to survive! Very apt in swordsmanship and I honestly see his preferred blade of choice is the curved style of a saber, that in turn encompasses his then more outlandish nature - because in sword fighting, saber attacks are far more aggressive despite the refined, graceful look to it. Bavaria would've taught Austria all there is when it comes to fighting when the little march was growing and maturing.

Austria physically matured fast. Which lends itself to the state of his mentality as an empire being pretty fucked because he didn't get to be a child for too long, given how quickly he rose and was refined into this eminent symbol, representative, personification of this imperial fief. During his time as margraviate, he would've already looked like a 10 - 11 y/o pretty soon, then when the later Babenberg generations manage to obtain the Privilegium Minus elevating their territory into a dukedom, he would've had the appearance of a 15 - 16 y/o boy. Because this was a crucial period entering the 1200s onwards, when the succession claim for the duchy became a widely contested issue after the Babenberg line went extinct.

The Bohemian kingdom snatched it pretty quickly with Austrian nobilities actually being in favour for them to rule the duchy, but there was an issue. As imperial fief, the dietary court ruled by the prince electors was the one who called the shots of who'll get to rule the fief next. King Ottokar disregarded this and claimed the duchy for himself and he would've spoiled the Austrian duchy rotten because guess what. Ottokar was incredibly wealthy. I find it absolutely hilarious it was thanks to this man Roderich became... the pampered gemstone he is. To really contextualize how rich Ottokar was, not only was his moniker the Golden King, his earnings was ten times more than the imperial revenue itself that they do not. Want. Ottokar. As emperor. Roderich didn't mind, the former country bumpkin went from a fighter to being throw into this new lavish life where he gets to be comfortable and in prettier clothes, and introduced to Bohemian culture, way of religion, made friends with Bohemia, of course he'd be placated the same way the Austrian nobilities welcomed Ottokar!

Only for his rival, king Rudolf of Habsburg with ambitions to become emperor absolutely get in his way. It was a mess and the then still immature, teenage duchy didn't quite understand the perilous struggle over something he thought was a simple territorial claim and would later learn of the significance when Ottokar was defeated, died in battle, and was finally claimed into Habsburg possession. But it's important to note that Rudolf didn't succeed as emperor. God bless. He was a menace and Roderich would've more than kicked and screamed and tried to bite Rudolf's ear off because guess what. Rudolf was less richer than Ottokar. At least five shillings in bad coin poorer that the country bumpkin having tasted wealth looked at the new ruling figure over his land with disdain because where was the splendour? Where is his comfort?

I may get booed for this but I honestly envisioned he didn't need eyewear until after the dissolution of the empire. Listen to me, he was in good health and perfect physical condition as a rapidly growing fief, he was a good boy who ate his meals, went hunting, practiced his swordsmanship, kept fit, that any and all semblance of incapacitation wouldn't be until after the end that signifies the loss of status and power. The worsening vision thus making him require the glasses on a daily, the frailer physicality simply because in the present day he is not needed to fight, to fend, to exhaust himself tirelessly to grow as a power he no longer was, hence his more laidback habits, hobbies, and being winded easily. And there's nothing wrong with that, you know? He said he wanted to live a good, modest life from here on out and he got that. He's had his run.

Back to more history stuff, remember the bit about his country bumpkin identity? The Spanish Court Ceremonials beat every ounce of it from him. Because one, it was infamously a strict set of conduct by the Spanish constituents in court. And secondly, following the creation of the Spanish Habsburg branch when the succession of marriages into the Spanish monarchy obtaining the crowns of Castile and Aragorn through Maximilian's descendants, Philips and Charles, the Austrians eagerly adopted the customs of their Spanish in laws to foster a harmonious relationship between each other, and in turn Roderich learned the etiquette to a T that perfectly shaped him into the elegant, composed, refined imperium representative he was, finally the revered gemstone befitting the surname he wears; Edelstein. In part, acclimatizing to the Spanish identity was an attempt to better cement his and his first husband, Spain, matrimonial arrangement.

This is completely self indulgent on my part because I love the domino effect and exploring Austria's | Roderich's dynamic with the significant rulers of the dynasty. Maximilian would've been behind the machinations of Roderich's eventual marriage to Antonio. This reflects how his will to bring Spanish inheritance into Habsburg's possessions was achieved when Philip married Joana of Castile, and their heir, Charles, the next Holy Roman Emperor; legitimized the claim over much of the New Worlds and the Holy Roman Empire ... massive wealth and treasure reserves. I imagined the conversation between Maximilian quizzing Roderich on how to better secure their chances of success, thus in turn being one of the rulers that taught the Austrian better when it comes to these political schemes which becomes his weapon later on, telling Roderich to get married. Roderich would have stared and responded, "What?"

Speaking of marriages and the Habsburg being notorious for abusing the ever living daylights out of this strategy? "O'happy Austria, you marry," that saying? The full quote is, "Bella gerant alii, tu felix Austria nube. Nam quae Mars aliis, dat tibi ragna Venus." Let others wage war, but thou, O'happy Austria, marry. For those kingdoms which Mars gives to others, Venus gives to thee. Coined by Matthias Corvinus, the then Hungarian king in the 1400s. And when did Maximilian reigned? 1459 - 1519. The king of the Romans, the most celebrated warlord with a pension for fishing (I kid you not) masterminded some couple of marriages including his own to Mary of Burgundy which brought the possessions of the Low Countries soon into his and the empire's ownership, would have been the instrumental force imparting the wisdom of marriage being the solution to every problem unto Roderich. Young, impressionable Roderich thought, you know what? He's right. Poor Austria didn't think he'd be delivered on the altar is all.

Austria is a polyglot. One, not only are languages and the arts were some of the core subjects for the monarchs, two, Roderich would have more than enough time on his hands to literally retain the fluency of multiple languages. Guess what, another historical tidbit and whom the princess would be inspired by; Emperor Charles. The man could speak an array from French, Dutch, Spanish, even Basque, and Portuguese, and having this disposition to outperform himself each time because Roderich was entangled with that drive to succeed through any and every means, this skill is not only handy but gives him a reason to flex that he can speak Latin still even if rusty from the un-use, Castilian Spanish, Italian, Hungarian, Czech, Dutch, Portuguese, French, the High German in use today, and bit of Polish. Something about it gives him an advantage that if he can find anything, everything to impose himself above a person, Roderich would absolutely refine it.

He is fond of horses. He is absolutely fond of, and would own one of the original dynasty of the Lipizzaner breed. Let him have his immortal pet. Please. Horseback riding is another favourite activity of his in the past, he'd practice it still in present but not at the same capacity and intensity he once did. So a little about the Lipizanner and why they're special - a product of the Habsburgs. They wanted an agile. faster horse and the cross breeding with Spanish breeds resulted in the end product called a Lipizzan, and where it was first conceived was in a stud farm at Lipica (present day Slovenia) established by a Habsburg monarch. I forgot the dude's name but he would've been thrilled unveiling this creation to Roderich, and was gifted one. And if you're wondering, that's right, these same horses are the specially preserved breed in use for dressage at the Spanish Riding School in Vienna. Yet another pride and labour of love of the Habsburgs. And in turn, Roderich.

Austria | Roderich strikes me as the type who'd own two large dog breeds. A German shepherd and Dobermann. Something about this pretty looking man and the scariest dogs guarding him gives such immaculate vibes, and frankly the dogs are required to stave off unwanted attention and bite anyone untowards.

Multiple residences owned throughout the nine federal states of Austria. One, for ease of travelling for work purposes so he'd have a cozy place to stay in and two, it's such a thing that since the end of his major power days, becoming closer to and working alongside his people contributes to his growth and goal of living an honest life for himself that he gets to be an authentic person doing what he believes is the best for his people. As opposed to during his time as an empire, he was too high up and never saw for himself the subjects he ruled when he was the emblem of hegemony.

TBC. Because it's midnight and I am passing out. But. Just.

Yeah

[call-sign-shark]

In the Heat of the Night || Modern!Arthur Shelby x Reader

Summary: As if blazing summer nights weren’t already annoying enough, you’re here to make Arthur’s insomnia even worse… 

He's a former soldier and a drug addict trying to get better. You are an unhinged punk girl living in the streets. You weren't supposed to meet... And now Arthur's fate and yours are forever entangled. Check the Masterlist here if you wanna read more about AU Loose Cannon, Or how a blue-haired rebel wrecked a soldier’s life and stole his heart.

Words: 2.8K

TW: Quick allusions to sexual abuse

Notes: Each part is individual and can be read as one-shots in no particular order.

A growl reached your lips as you rolled on your side, for the sensation of the sofa’s leather sticking to your sweat-covered skin was deeply irritating. Prior to coming to this country, you had been told that summers in the United Kingdom were usually not that warm. Somehow, you believed in the ever-lasting cliché of the UK always being under clouds and rain. Yet,  here you were, soaked up despite wearing nothing but your underwear. No matter how the windows were open and how many times you gulped cold water like some kind of thirsty girl lost in the Sahara desert, the hot air still felt thick and suffocating. 

You’ve been trying to fall asleep for hours now, but the temperature was preventing you from doing so and nothing seemed to work to overcome it. Besides, the huge malinois that was literally sleeping on you did not help in cooling down. When Arthur offered to take you home he had warned you about sharing the sofa with his dog, Hannibal, so you were more or less expecting him to sleep somewhere at the end of the couch,  What you did not expect though was that the dog would use you like some kind of pillow. Bringing your hands to your face, fingers clenched on your own skin, you kept yourself from screaming in frustration.  Moreover, the maddening sound of the living room clock was seriously rattling your nerves. No — it was definitely too much to handle. Gently dragging yourself from under the malinois without waking him up, you decided to walk to the bathroom to sprinkle cold water all over your neck and arms in the hope it would cool you down. You discreetly made your way through the corridor, your bare feet ghosting the floor as you moved in darkness like a swift shadow. Suddenly, an odd sound caught your attention and made you stop. It was coming from Arthur’s bedroom, whose door had been left ajar.  Even if curiosity killed the cat, you could not help but slipped your blue-haired head into his bedroom to check what was the cause of this mysterious background noise.  Suddenly your eyes widened, for you witnessed something you hope you’d have never witnessed.

“YOU FUCKING BASTARD!”

Your voice roared so loudly in the room that Arthur sat up straight on the mattress in one movement, panic visible on his face and right hand ready to reach for his gun. The soldier’s piercing blue eyes had to scan you for a little while before his traumatized mind understood you were not an enemy coming to kill him, “Here we go…” Arthur’s shoulders relaxed. “What’s the matter now?! Can’t even sleep at night!”

“Are you fucking kidding me?!” You screamed right away, storming into the bedroom. You were so infuriated that your skin heated up even more but you could not care less: what you had just seen deserved some immediate explanations, “You had a fan the whole time and you did not even tell me,” You said with the most outraged tone you could do, “Worst, you kept it for yourself and left me to die in the living room! You’re one fucking selfish motherfucker!” 

“Oi! Do I look like fookin’ Mother Theresa?! I  gave you a roof over your head and food on your plate! Can’t you survive without a fan? Now get yer ass out of my room, you damn crazy bitch!” He surprisingly yelled louder than you, his husky voice making the whole house shake. Still, you did not follow his order. When he saw that you weren’t moving, Arthur grabbed a pillow and threw it at your face with a perfect sniper aim, “And don’t you enter the room without knocking! Could have been jerking off and seeing your stupid face at that moment would have been a real turn-off!” The soldier grunted, just wanting to go back to sleep.

“The fuck did you just do? Are you crazy? You wanna die?” Your voice had become suddenly quieter when you emphasized each word of your sentence, right after that awful affront. In truth, you did not let him have the time to answer your question nor to insult you for you jumped on the bed as quickly as a jungle cat and immediately start to mercilessly beat him with another pillow, “THE FUCK DID YOU DO??” You repeated, giving in to your destructive rage — well, not that really destructive considering that your weapon was a soft and squishy pillow but still you did try to look convincing.

“FOOK!” Arthur’s hoarse voice exclaimed, more irritated than anything, “Stop it! Stop hitting me or you’ll regret it!” He tried to warn you but it had no effect — you were still trying to murder him through a great deal of pillow smacks. Little you know, handling your small and little body was something he could do with closed eyes. After all, he had beaten the shit out of a trained elite soldier, so a little psychotic Smurfette won’t impress him. But you were blinded by your rage, hence you did not take into account the fact he was part of the elite forces of Special Air Service. Nor did you notice the smooth way he positioned himself to, all of sudden, turn you around and overpower you without the slightest effort.  A little scream escaped from your lips as he dominated you. When you realized what had just happened it was already too late: you were firmly pinned to the bed, Arthur’s hands holding your wrists above your head and his body weight keeping you still, “What are ye gonna do now eh, little one?” He snarled, teeth bared and fury blazing in his sharp blue eyes. Now you were fucked. Your enraged pout suddenly turned into a shocked expression.

“Let me go!! Let me go!!” You screeched, wriggling like a snake under him to set yourself free but you knew it was vein.

Arthur’s lips stretched in a sadistic smile as he saw you struggling under his grip, “Did not expect you to be that weak eh?” He taunted, enjoying the moment and having fun now that the table had turned. Maybe it was time to teach you a little lesson? He brought his face closer to yours, his cold eyes diving into your irises and his scorching breath fanning over your face, “You know I could do everything I want with you now that you’re trapped in me bed? I could snatch your throat with my bare teeth… What do ye think, me cute little prey?” 

“Arthur, let me go!” The beating of your heart was now chaotic. It pounded so hard in your chest that you felt it was about to burst your ribcage. You started to quiver, feeling trapped. After all, you were so tiny compared to him…

“Want me to eat you alive?”  He purred in your ear, grinning like a hungry wolf. His husky voice sent tremors down your spine.  

And suddenly, it was not anger that was burning in your eyes anymore… It was terror. Genuine terror that coursed through your veins and petrified your whole body, just like a doe in front of a car’s headlights. You felt his bruising grip painfully tightening around your wrists.

 “Please… Stop…” You managed to beg, despite the almost choking lump in your throat.  It was all it took for Arthur to grasp the desperate tone of your voice and stop teasing you the moment he understood he had taken it too far.

“Shit!” He cursed, freeing your wrists and moving from the top of you to sit on the bed, “I’m fookin’ sorry, stinky rat. I was just playin’ ye know?” Slightly panicked at the sight of tears in your eyes, Arthur gently pressed his hand on your shoulder and helped you sit next to him. Still, you remained silent, requiring a little while to calm the creeping anxiety that had started to draw you into a pit filled with venomous bad memories. “I was just playing, really. I would never hurt ye…” Arthur’s gravel voice broke the silence, coated with the softest tone you had ever heard. Now he was starting to get really worried — he would have preferred  you to curse at  him, scream or even kick him rather than face your freezing silence, “Please, don’t be scared of me.” Something broke in his voice. Arthur wanted so hard to hug you but he didn’t want to scare you more, “I would never …”

“I know.” You cut him. Gently coming back to your senses, you looked at him and soon notice the gleam of fear that was glowing in his steel irises. A little sigh escaped from your still quivering lips,  “Tsss calm down, I wasn’t scared. I was just messing with you, fucker.” You mumbled, hoping he would believe it because, on the one hand, you did not want him to feel bad, and on the other hand you hated to display any sign of witness in front of someone. Especially a man. But unfortunately for you, Arthur was more than attentive to little details. And the way you had looked at him had betrayed your true emotions. Nevertheless, he did not want to hurt you more so he did not make any comment about it and just kept observing you to ensure you were feeling better, “Maybe you can do something to apologize like… I don’t know, giving me the fan?”

“Get fucked.” He straight off replied. As well as he wanted to make amend for the little fright he had just given you, giving up on the fan was out of question. Moreover, Arthur always tended to have a high body temperature, which rendered summer nights even more insufferable. 

“OH COME ON! Gimme the fan now!” You insisted.

“My ass yeah, you ain’t taking the fan out of me bedroom or I swear to God I’ll handcuff you to the radiator.” He threatened you, definitely breaking the brief moment of softness between the two of you. The fan was the house’s treasure and he wasn’t willing to let it go for the life of his.

“Fine, you’ve left me no choice.” You concluded. To be true you did not want to use this solution but you really had no other options left. Hereby,  you lay down on the bed and closed your eyes under Arthur’s confused gaze. Perplexed by such a weird move, he scratched his chin wondering what the hell you were doing.

“Eh?” He asked.

“I’ll sleep here then.” 

“What?!” Arthur almost choked at such unexpected news, “No yer not. Absolutely fookin no.” 

Confronted by the refusal, you raised your gaze toward him and bit your lower lip, crocodile tears suddenly filling your beautiful eyes like you had learned when cops sometimes caught you in the midst of a little mischief, “First you keep the fan. Then you hurt me. What did I do to deserve all of this? Do you really hate me that much, Arthur Shelby?” You lamented with the most heartbreaking pout he had ever seen in his entire life… And that was how guilt started to kick in. It was true he had scared you so, maybe, maybe, he could accept your request? Besides, he could not resist your puppy eyes.

“Fine! Just for tonight.” He said, defeated.

“YES!” You joyfully exclaimed in an almost frightening mood swing. You rolled on your other side to turn your back to him and closed your eyelids. All you heard was Arthur’s long sigh. At least you were shutting your mouth and he could go back to sleep without giving up on the fan.

Silence had fallen in the bedroom for a while when Arthur woke up soaked up in his sweat and almost suffocating from the heat. He sat on the mattress, slicking his hair back, and understood the reason why the room was suddenly so hot: you had moved the fan during his sleep in a way that all the fresh air blew in your direction. Rolling his eyes, he fixed the situation by moving it to his side, “Better,” He grunted. He lay back on the bed. The thing was that the soldier had barely closed his eyes when he heard you moving the fan again.

“Are you bloody serious?” The gravel in Arthur voice made you jump, for you did not expect him to be awake, “If you move that bloody fan one more time...” He left his sentence hanging for more dramatic effect.

“But you’ve got all the fresh air!” You exclaimed, your tone adorably hoarser with sleep.

“Sounds like your problem.”

“Arthur, the fan’s small. I can’t feel the fucking air because you take everything.”

Another loud sigh. At first, he wanted to retort something but he was definitely not in the mood to argue with you anymore. Plus, he knew you would not have it. If he wanted to have some peace, Arthur needed a find a good idea right now — And he did find one, “You’ll be the death of me... ” He simply said. You were about to ask him what he meant by that when, all of sudden, Arthur’s long arms wrapped around your body and pulled you against him in a way you could both enjoy the fan’s fresh air. 

Your beings snapped together and your blood immediately boiled in your veins as his hips crashed against your bum, perfectly hugging your shape. An uncontrollable and feverish exhale escaped from your mouth at the sudden sensations as if someone had just lit a fire in your core.  Your thoughts started to bump into each other in your skull — should you punch him or should you sink deeper in this sweet, oh-so-sweet, and comfortable embrace?  You stopped breathing, focusing on every little sensation.

His chest against your naked back.

His breath caressing your neck.

His legs entangled with yours…

In less than five seconds, your whole body relaxed as if you had always meant to be there. Maybe that was why you instinctively snuggled a bit more against the soldier, whose musky scents and powerful grip made you feel safe. For the first time in your life, you allowed yourself to believe you were shielded from everything… Because contrary to everyone else on this damn planet, you trust Arthur with all your soul. You finally closed your eyelids, soothed by the fresh air and by Arthur’s presence all around you.  Admittedly his skin was warm and you were both covered with a thin layer of sweat, but it was far from unpleasant. Quite the contrary, you low-key wished to stay in his arms forever and surprised yourself by thinking you wouldn’t be angry if he touched you a little more… But you’d rather die than confess it.

“And I don’t hate ye.”  He whispered.

“Yeah. I guess I don’t either… But I prolly will if you tell anyone I’m the little spoon.” 

He could not help but chuckle, “Alright, love.” The way he called you “love” made you feel fuzzy, “But yer definitely a cute little spoon.”

“Oh shut up, Arthur.”

No words were spoken after that because words weren’t needed anymore. Arthur buried his nose in your wild blue hair and enjoyed the peculiar fragrances of your sweet perfume, fragrances that were almost getting him high… It struck him all of a sudden: he did not feel the need to snort coke anymore tonight.

It did not take long for you to fall asleep, all comfy and safe in the soldier's arms. In truth, you had not been scared of Arthur but rather of the man you had seen instead of him when he had been pinning you to the bed:  Jack Nelson.

But if you slept well, it had not been Arthur’s case despite the fresh air of the fan and the comforting silence of his bedroom. And for once, it was not his PTSD nor the thought of Linda or his drug cravings that kept him awake: it was you. Only you. The sensations brought by your two bodies perfectly interlocking together drove him to the edge of madness, for far too many sensations stimulated him. The frictions caused by your slightest movement stirred surges of electricity through his core and made his blood boil in his veins. Also, what about that lovely face you had when you were sleeping? Arthur sighed in your neck, causing you to shiver in your sleep. He was well aware that tomorrow morning you’ll both start to fight again, insulting each other and fighting over trivial things, but in the meantime he just wanted you to wake up and, by an unexplained miracle, kiss him with passion, then pull him under the bedsheet for a more intimate way of knowing each other.  He swallowed the knot in his throat, trying to get the image of his hands exploring your gorgeous body out of his mind. Yeah, he just wanted you to love each other until the sun rose.  But you didn’t wake up and that was fine with him, for he was already glad to have you in his arms, all quiet and peaceful, despite the torture it was. 

Just one night, he told himself. He had to keep it together just for one night and then, you’ll be back on the sofa. 

Won't you?

♠️ Any comment, review, reblog, or constructive criticism is welcome. Your reactions really motivate me and keep me alive, so please don't be shy. English is not my first language.

♠️ Tag list: @cljordan-imperium @1nterstellarcha0s @raincoffeeandfandoms @babaohhhriley

[podcastjam]

Project Spotlight #3: Eart(h) FM

The year is 2072, and we're talking about the solarpunk sci-fi pilot Eart FM with team member Ari!

Tell us a bit about yourself and your teammates!

Hi, I’m Clover! I’m a writer, voice actor, and audio engineer. I’m helping edit Eart FM, and potentially voice act in it. I’m working on a few podcasts, but none of them have released yet. My first and favorite podcast is Wolf 359. I technically have a tumblr account, but I don’t use it, so you can find me lurking on various podcast discords, mainly the official WOE.BEGONE discord.

@lotsadeer: My name is Izze Sykes, I'm an illustrator, writer, podcaster, game designer, voice actor, and wearer of many hats. I'll be doing the cover art for this podcast! The first podcast I ever listened to was Welcome to Night Vale, don't ask me my favourite podcast that's like asking me to choose children, and I'm involved in a few podcasts at the moment! Hope's Hearth, an actual play podcast; Abbey Archives, a Redwall reread podcast; SCP Research Archives, an SCP article podcast; Colchis, a sci-fi audio drama; and Cauterized, a horror audio drama. Plus a few podcasts that are in the works. I like podcasts.

@aclickbaittitle: Hello, I am Ari! I like to say I am a storyteller. I am the organizer (?) for Eart FM and I also plan to sound-design and write.  Like a lot of people I got into audio drama through Welcome to Nightvale and then it was history. My most recent project is a little short-fiction podcast called “Broken Hearted: The Friendship monologues”.

Hello, I'm Laurel. I'm a writer, digital artists, and self proclaimed voice actor. I will be voicing the role of "The Host" in Eart(h) FM! I have not participated in any projects publicly but I have be doing voice work for fun with friends and a bit on my joint youtube channel. My favorite podcast is definitely Penumbra Podcast, my younger brother showed it to me and I was hooked instantly. I don't use my tumblr anymore but you can find me on discord @ cyanosiis!

@timberfins/@elijahharpermusic: I'm Eli, or Timber, and I'm providing music! The first podcast I remember falling in love with was Welcome To Night Vale, but my current favourite is probably Within The Wires (unless we're also including non-fiction, where it's competing with Lingthusiasm). I sing with the Anguilliform Chorus in Eeler's Choice, and you'll also hear me in two Law of Names productions: Season 4 of Breathing Space and the upcoming Waterlogged.

Hey guys, my name is Johnny Fuent, I am a MBA student trying to survive in this trying world. I am a huge nerd, and love to travel. I have been to over 14 different countries and plan to expand that number. I also host my own podcast as well. My first podcast that I listened to was Campfire Radio Theater, and my favorite podcast is Midnight burger. Currently I am a writer for the podjam and happy to be here.

What's your podcast about?

Solar-punk sci-fi with anti space-colonialism sentiments. It is the year 2072, the poles have melted and humanity has taken for the stars, except for the HOST, . To cope with being the only human on earth, they’ve decided to create a Radio Show where they broadcast music from various times and places of the world. One day someone finally calls to the radio station an ECOLOGIST, living on the skirt of the iztaccihuatl bearing news that the earth is healing. Together they embark on a quest for other humans that still live on planet earth, finding various communities and people, and begin to help the earth one day heal.

What are you most excited about in this event?

To collaborate with other creators in order to tell a story that is very dear to my heart.

Any advice for other participants, or those on the fence about joining?

Consult it with the pillow, but if come morning you discover that is just the nerves and impostor syndrome keeping you from participating, take that leap. At the end of the day, we are all just a bunch of people trying to tell stories the same as you.

This team is still looking for new members, adding: "We are currently looking for the ecologist voice actor. We are specifically looking for a chicane / mexican-american voice actor since we are writing the ecologist with an experience specific to said identity (don’t worry, you don’t need to know spanish or anything, as long as you have a connection with the ethnicity or identity, you are welcome to join!)"

If you're interested in joining their project, you can find their casting call here, or you can reach out in the Podcast Book Club Discord server. If you want to know more about the jam first, be sure to check out this post as well!

[kaylinalexanderbooks]

OC Facts

Thanks @mysticstarlightduck here, and @somethingclevermahogony here!

Rules: share facts about your OCs!

Lexi Morgan

Has haphephobia (fear of touch)

Has only had her birthday fall on a school day twice

Met Ash in third grade

Knows all of her friends and acquaintances' birthdays and schedules

Must color code everything

Likes country and classical music

Really likes saying fancy vocabulary words

Hates olives

Favorite colors are yellow, magenta, and teal

Likes gardening and riding her bike

Plays the violin and is in a theater class

Follows elementary school friends on social media

More Lexi: OC in three, OC in fifteen, Picrew, bag, origin, bingo, unusual associations, interview, questionnaire one, questionnaire two, two truths and a lie

Maddie Morgan

Has a lot of unopened LEGO sets she is slowly working through

Almost exclusively wears overalls

Likes her hair super long

Loves science, math, and gym

Hates lettuce

Is in choir

Likes bright and pastel colors

Likes rock music

Joins robotics club

Most people like her but she isn't sure why

Gets bored easily and tends to roughhouse

Loves video games especially if you can press buttons

Her favorite animal is the tiger

More Maddie: OC in three, OC in fifteen, Picrew, interview, two truths and a lie, questionnaire one, bingo, questionnaire two, bag, origin

Ash Hathaway

Likes her hair short

Lives with her mom, dad, stepmom, sister, and half-brother

Her taste in food is either very bland or outrageous

Tucks her shirt in and likes high-waisted pants

Wears combat boots

Despite being a telepathic empath, cannot control emotions

Wears multiple rings across each finger

Has a dark sense of humor

Wears a belt that she hasn't bothered to replace in a while

Likes board games

Is decent at aiming

Likes punk music

Hates honey

Likes science

More Ash: OC in three, interview, Picrew, origin, two truths and a lie, bag, bingo, questionnaire one, questionnaire two

Gwen Amante

Loves books

Has four younger siblings (and soon a fifth)

Enjoys psychology and personality tests

Loves knit sweaters and boy's pants (for pockets)

Doesn't mind the outdoors and appreciates nature (reading in nature is heaven)

Trilingual (English, Mexican, Italian)

Doesn't like seafood

Prefers calm, dull colors

Plays the drums in a school and after school band

Loves learning about people

Guilty pleasure is a blend of coffee and tea

Is a surviving twin

Loves alternative rock

More Gwen: OC in three, OC in fifteen, Picrew, questionnaire one, questionnaire two, origin, kiss, two truths and a lie, interview

Tagging @mk-writes-stuff @melpomene-grey @dyrewrites @talesofsorrowandofruin @rickie-the-storyteller

+ ANYONE ELSE

TSP intro

TSP tag list (ask to be +/-): @thepeculiarbird @illarian-rambling @televisionjester @finchwrites

@nebula--nix @literarynecromancy @honeybewrites @the-golden-comet

[qqueenofhades]

I hate to rain on today’s much needed joy parade, but do you think the USA is headed for civil war in the near future? It’s increasingly feeling like 2024 is going to be a make or break year and with division at an all time high it feels like there’s going to be complete chaos in the streets even if we avoid crisis at the polls. Like, even though I’m in a “safe state” (for now) I’m seriously considering strategies of fleeing the country, just in case. Don’t know what I’m asking for, help? Reassurance maybe? Advice?

I think my answer to that is... yes but also no, and no but also yes, and yes but also no. Which I realize is not entirely helpful and not as clear as anyone would like, but let me try to explain:

The far-right has always been militant, violent, and prone to apocalyptic and fascist rhetoric. This isn't a new thing in American history, and it's come to the fore at moments of particular stress and division. Trump's presidency obviously gave much-unwanted oxygen to them, right when people were starting to claim that Obama's election meant that America was in a "post-racial era" (LOL), but they themselves are not new. We had the Civil War itself, we had the lynchings and racial terror and Jim Crow/Ku Klux Klan era, we had the Bund (the American Nazis) holding huge public gatherings in the run-up to WWII and enjoying substantial domestic support, etc etc etc. This is all scary and unsettling, and most of us don't have a personal memory of dealing with it before, because we're not old enough. But that doesn't mean it hasn't happened before, and that we haven't survived it.

Let's take yesterday, for instance. Trump spent all week promising fire and death and vengeance and playing literal videos of January 6th at his campaign rally in Waco, Texas (famed as the site of the Waco Siege of 1994; look it up). He insisted his supporters would rain vengeance on anyone who dared to arrest him and otherwise threatened mass-scale disturbances and the other tools of public violence that fascists use to enforce their will. And what happened? It's 12+ hours since the first indictment went through (30 counts of business/document fraud, which is not a piddling charge) and we've had bupkis. We've had a lot of Republican politicians tweeting their performative hypocritical outrage, yes, but we haven't suddenly had the country explode in fire and flame either. I'm sure there have been localized protests, but I haven't heard about major anything. And one set of indictments has gone through, others will be empowered to follow. In a way, I think it's a good thing that non-political crimes went first? Yes, the Republicans are screaming about a political witch hunt because that's literally the only thing they can do, but starting by nabbing Trump for relatively low-level (but still extensive) business fraud and then moving onto the treason sets a pattern and makes it easier to comprehend.

The thing is: Nazis, at heart, are cowards. They like to paint themselves as bold and valiant soldiers fighting for the Right Way of Life, but it's all fantasy, delusion, and cosplay. They were empowered to do January 6th because Trump was literally the sitting president and told them to do it, but that's no longer the case, and they're shit scared of facing anyone who might enforce real consequences on them. (Once again, if you take nothing else from following me: Nazis are punk-ass fucking pissant cowards who think they're tough and are in fact a bunch of asshole morons, the end.) The mantra of "Make Racists Afraid Again" is working, to an extent. Yes, we have hellholes like Missouri, Florida, Texas, and Tennessee where the state GOP is working as hard as they can to enforce the worst and most regressive laws imaginable, but that's still not universal. As I also say a lot, the reason Republicans attack, discredit, and outlaw voting so much is because they can never win a fair election on the merits. Their ideas suck, and on some level they know that. They just care about being cruel, fascist, and stupid, and while that's certainly a troubling and significant minority in America, it's not as big as anyone thinks.

Almost 60% of Americans think both that "woke" is a good thing and the cases against Trump should permanently disqualify him from holding any office again. Yet again: the GOP is in the minority, and that's why they use so many dirty tricks to establish and enforce their power. Also, I can guarantee you that not one of the keyboard warriors fulminating about how The Democrat Party Is Being So Mean To President Trump is ever going to actually go out and start an actual civil war. They have established interests, money, benefits from the system, and they don't want to overturn that. They want the masses angry and stupid, yes, but they want them angry and stupid in support of keeping discriminatory structures and systems in place. That can't work if there are no systems at all. Yes, we will still have white supremacists and fascists committing ongoing individual acts of violence, i.e. school shootings, and it's hard to argue that this doesn't constitute a civil war of some sort, or at least ongoing stochastic terrorism. But while you have people like Marge Two Names Greene out there blabbing about a National Divorce, I can guarantee you that if it ever came to actually DOING it, Marge and Brave Brave Sir Kevin would be nowhere to be found. Again: they want to derive power and money from the operation of an unfair system, not the end of that system. It sucks, but still.

Honestly, I want the Dominion lawsuit to keep going on, and dragging all of Fox News' hypocrisy, deception, and disinformation into the public eye. Fox is the biggest cancer on this country, as is the case with Rupert Murdoch's global disinformation empire overall (when, WHEN will HE fucking die, if we're talking death lottery wishlists?) But the lawsuit and its subsequent publicity has had an effect: a small but significant number of Fox viewers (26%) realized the network was lying to them, and 13% said that they no longer believed the 2020 election was stolen after reading about the Fox efforts to lie about it and then cover up their lies. So while the right-wing media bubble is huge and terrible, it's also not impenetrable, and taking Fox down/substantially discrediting it would have a major effect on the pay-for-play misinformation media sphere.

This is getting long, so let me try to sum up: the far-right advocating separatist fantasies of violence/war/fascist domination is not new, and has been a thing in American history for as long as there has been America. But at least in the current moment, it is not the majority, it is not widely popular, it will never be embraced by ordinary mainstream Americans and not just the insane cultists, its so-called devoted soldiers yell on Twitter and cable news and will never once be spotted actually fighting for it, and it's the cynical last gasp of a hate movement that is seeing its institutional and generational hold on America (and the world) finally on the brink of permanently shifting. So of course it's trying to make itself look as big and scary as possible, like any wounded animal, but it's on the back foot, and we have a chance to really kill it. Not permanently or forever, since that's the nature of human history, but at least for now and buy us some more time, and despite everything, I remain cautiously optimistic about our likelihood of doing so. I know it's scary, I know it's awful, I know it feels overwhelming, but it is still not winning, and it won't. As long as we do our part.

Hugs. Hang in there.

[peachjagiya]

https://www.tumblr.com/peachjagiya/749323195345256448/hypothetically-if-taekook-are-not-at-all-involved

Don’t shoot me but i honestly feel like those tshirts were a coincidence. We know that all the bts members have alot of similar clothes maybe because they shop from the same places or because of stylists plus they are in the same band so i have honestly never seen why those tshirts were such a big deal deal. Plus i have never wanted to acknowledge that as much because we also have an instance where Jk and JM wore the same custom rings on the same day to the same event on the same ring finger. (D’festa) Plus when Jk performed at Jimmy fallon, he had on a dior ring. So i feel like when we start giving too much meaning to stuff like similar clothes and jewelry, we get disappointed because imagine us waking up tomorrow and seeing other members with the exact same kappa sweetheart tshirt? Also, i really don’t believe taekook are out there trying to give us clues about their relationship.

I totally agree. Usually.

They have same stylists, definitely get gifted a lot of stuff, etc. Jewellery especially is likely to match because stylists bring trays of same brand jewellery for them to choose from.

Plus some of the analysis of "matching" rings is comically bad.

The D'festa rings were confirmed to be the same by the actual jewellery designer on Instagram which suggests gifting to me. According to the website, they're from one of the lines that isn't custom. They specify custom for other items where Hangul characters or names are involved. Again, easily could be gifted which also could explain ring fingers. Sizing unconfirmed, etc.

Ring finger on left hand is unremarkable to me for an official schedule and they've been styled together.

So yeah, I can think of many reasons they'd match.

Sweetheart tees feel a bit different. They were from ERL. JK wore ERL in his punk outfit for Vogue and Namjoon has worn one but it's not a brand that regularly appears like Maison Margiela, Fear of God or Acne Studios, for example.

But let's assume JK was styled that way for Seven. Very likely. It's still less likely Tae was styled for Bruno Mars, a private outing.

Combined with the idea JK was supposed to go, it just feels like the coincidence is a bit too coincidental to be coincidence.

If I wake up tomorrow and I find out Jimin was wearing the Sweetheart shirt on same day in a different country, I would survive. It's not the foundation of my Taekook house.

But it doesn't seem like coincidence to me.

Thanks anon 💜

[safety-pin-punk]

Hi!

I’m sort of still getting into punk and learning about everything. You’re blog has been really helpful with resources and everything. Plus your cool.

Okayyy, now my question. I’m a junior in high school and I want to go to college. Pursue further education and all of that stuff. Learn more about the world and critical thinking. But I don’t want to pay a ton of money to a bunch of old ivy dudes.

What’s the right direction to go in for this? Is college a good option if I want to learn? What schools are good places? Where do I learn more about this stuff?

Sorry if this is a lot. Thank you though!

Hey! Thank you for your kindness!!

First off, Im going to stress that you are a junior and you have PLENTY of time to think about this. So dont stress too much right now.

Secondly, I want to preface this with the simple fact of college isnt for everyone. There are SO many ways to survive and thrive in life without it. And thats okay, good even! That being said, this post is just gonna be me talking about college. Under the cut of course

OKAY! So, is college a good option if you want to learn? My answer is yes! I learned a lot at college, both inside and outside my classes. I learned a lot of life lessons, I met people from all over the country (and a few international students). And I learned how to challenge my own beliefs and try to see things from perspectives that I didnt even know could exist prior to college.

But Im sure you were referring to the educational aspect. And truth be told, this heavily depends on both your school and you. Some examples: My school had a phenomenal chemistry program. You couldnt walk out of that program without having learned things if you made it through. But my school also had a very poor fine arts program. And to be quite blunt, I often wondered why any art student chose to stay. But going even further, it depends a lot on the individual as well. I was admittedly not the best student. I wasnt that interested in lab or research compared to some of my classmates, nor did I apply myself as much. And the difference is clear to see when others could rattle off different solvents and what reactions would occur from memory and I would be sitting there dumbfounded.

Next question, what schools are good places? Again, that fully depends on what you want to go to school for. But I’ll tell you what I did and how I chose my school. When I was a junior in high school, I found a list of every 4 year university in my state (I knew I wanted to stay in state, but you can do this for wherever you want to go). I then went through and gave each school a ranking out of 5 (based on vibes, chemistry program, education program, cost, and surrounding area). Once I had it narrowed down to only a few schools, those were the ones I toured. And I chose where to send applications from there.

Though, I cant stress enough how beneficial community college can be. A lot of people get all their gen eds out of the way either before they enroll in a university or over summers. Doing this will save you money and time. Literally not a single person on a university campus would look down on you for this. If anything, they will praise you for being smart. I took a few classes over the summers between semesters just to get them out of the way (and also avoid certain professors).

Where to learn more? Google. Google schools near you. Google schools where you want to go. Google schools ranked nationally in xyz. Google affordable universities. Google universities that have good financial aid programs. Just google so many things. From there, spend time exploring university websites. Read about their community and their academic programs. See if they have virtual tours uploaded. Check out their student activity board social medias to see what it would be like to be there as a student. Sign up for tours. Do an overnight visit if you can!! Or even, just walk around the campus without a tour guide

Best of luck to you on your academic journey! Hope I was a little helpful here

[isleofdarkness]

What is something you haven’t said about auradon or the isle yet that makes you incredibly angry or upset?

The fact that it's based on real life. All of it is.

Disclaimer- I am an anarcho-socialist hope punk and we are getting political under the cut.

Auradon is how I see America in both present and future. A violent capitalist hellscape built on innocent bones with a happy prison finger where new ideas are scorned, people are forced to conform, human rights are denied, childhood is rapidly disappearing, the media is controlled, and laws only apply to minorities and people without money. Auradon is how I see America. And it infuriates me that people will see a society mirroring this country and condemn it, but continue to insist that the real America is the greatest country on Earth.

The Isle is... well, that's complicated. It's my belief that humans are inherently good. In a way, the Isle kids represent what I think society should be- banding together, helping each other, sharing resources so that everyone can survive the bad times, united against a common enemy despite their differences, coming together to work towards the survival of everyone, not just privileged groups. No gods, no masters, just leaders elected by the actual public who work in the best interest of everyone, who don't rate the value of human lives. Acceptance even when there's a difference in gender, race, sexuality, religion, ethnicity, ability, age, status, class, whatever. Banding together to fight for those who can't fight for themselves, even when those who can't fight can't provide something in return. A society where people deserve to live, where the taking of human life is never a decision made flippantly. Resources are shared, needs are met, and people are protected simply because they are human beings and deserve to live. A society where medical care is free, where shelter is free. A place where laws are created to prevent, lessen, or end the suffering of people and animals, not to create it. Where trials are based on the facts and not politics and bigotry, and the sentence is based on the same thing. Where mental health carries no stigma, where a diagnosis of ASPD or NPD won't be used to discredit everything you say. Where disabled lives, children's lives, black and brown lives- where all lives are truly valued as they are. Where all languages, cultures, and traditions are preserved, not erased. I'm rambling. The Isle kids are everything I believe in, everything I think we could be. And yeah, their lives are shit, but that's because of the people pushing ideas that are the exact opposite of what the Isle kids value. If they weren't being constantly brutally sabotaged, the Isle kids' society even in that tiny island would flourish because they work together and care about everyone.

What makes me angry is that I'm writing Hunger Games, and I know exactly how society would react if this were an actual book- they'd support the Isle and hate Auradon. But then, in real life, they would support every policy that I would write in Auradon, and they would sneer at everything the Isle kids stand for.

And that pisses me off.

[rametarin]

Not excited about Harris

However, Trump cannot be president. Anything other than, "Russia must lose and be defeated" is unacceptable in a president.

Putin and Russia at large is not your guy. And the fact he invaded Ukraine just proves it. You don't just accidentally invade like this, seize a tenth or more of a country (talking about 2014) and then "oops I'm accidentally a whole capital city/government."

And the irony is, in decades passed, the republicans would've been very hawkish about this. But, because ideological opposition chose to try and undercut both their emphasis on opposite sex marriage and the cultural institution of a consistent marital buddy system, which the conservatives feel very strongly about, not only telling them they're wrong but enshrining in federal laws contradictions to things they find self-evident and true, they went into cloud cuckooland and just became this.

Were it just the 80s or 90s still and the surviving crowd that was living and relatively young to middle aged then, you would've not only seen oodles of funding and goodies for Ukraine, but droves of Jane Doe motherfuckers piling into boats as volunteers just to shoot Putin's regime to death.

Instead we get the most obnoxious punk queer fringe antagonizing the population of Grandparents with Strong Opinions(tm), and this slow walk of a national conversation on the basis of trans rights for this scenic farce.

Those specific republicans (because it's not the entire population of the ideological base) are so indignant and furious about more or less losing that cultural argument on a legal level, that they saw Russia as a possible alternative and port in the storm. And it didn't have to be this way. The most obnoxious elements of the far-left made it far worse than it had to be, and there's no sign of it stopping anytime soon. And they don't care to what extremes the conservatives go in their indignity; all the better, they imagine, as it defeats their own position.

And then shit like this happens, and boy it sure would've been nice if a bunch of angry, passionate nativists and patriots were sober again and willing to vote to fund resistance in Ukraine against a tyrant, rather than being put into such a defeatist state at home they see this aging Slavic poor man's Ivan the Terrible as a potential savior.

And the biggest irony is, the ideological hard-left doing that was itself sponsored by Russia. And likely, still is. It's just a strain of financial sponsorship that has been present since Soviet times, in education and public institutions where unions are strongest. Encouraging the left to try to institute things that would sow discord and dissent and bolshevize the enemies of Russia. And for better or worse, gay and then trans rights certainly does that.

In being so cavalier and radical about LGBT rights at the time they did, they instituted a hyperallergenic response to it from the traditionalists on the right, which has wrecked utter havoc for domestic peace.

And the worst part is, while the left can somehow see every connection between right wing commentators financially, real or imagined and taken for granted because, "you know the right-wing Nazis are all working together!", they deny Russian Nationals do the same shit with the far left. When they have, have always, and continue to maintain those sponsorred saboteur and cultural antagonists among the left wing. They just cannot imagine they, also, are being used.

It doesn't help that the republicans just point at that and yell, "SOROS!", no. Oh my god, shut up.

But alright. I've gone decades of my life knowing the Russian connection to western academia and social movements was wagging the dog. If what it takes is the brief period in time in which they managed to finally find some purchase in the republican imagination to see the infection in their enemy to finally see it in themselves, so be it. It's progress, albeit, at a cost.

[cryptidkeepp]

(maxence danet fauvel) [THE LOST SOUL]. Please welcome [REMINGTON ‘REMI’ DUMAS (HE/THEY)] to Huntsville, WV. They are an [27]-year-old [VISITOR] who lives in [THE COMMUNE]. You may see them around working as a [STOCK WORKER AT 7-ELEVEN]. Poor unfortunate soul. We’ll see if they survive.

GENERAL.

full name: remington alexandre jean dumas

nicknames: remi, rem, du hast

title: the lost soul

hunter / gatherer: neither

birthplace: lyon, france

gender / pronouns: demiboy, he/they

age / birthday: 27, july 7th

orientations: pansexual, panromantic

occupation: former musician, stock worker at 7-eleven

location: commune, visitor

status: chem testing

family: margot dumas ( mother, unknown ), jules dumas ( father, unknown ), guy dumas ( uncle ), james anderson ( uncle )

strengths: creative, independent, adaptable, charismatic, driven

weaknesses: moody, pessimistic, gullible, rebellious, impulsive

character inspo: jane margolis (breaking bad), rue bennett (euphoria), nick miller (new girl), jason mendoza (the good place), natalie (yellowjackets), darlene (mr. robot), philip j. fry (futurama), satine (moulin rouge!), greg hirsch (succession)

BIOGRAPHY.

tw: abandonment, mental illness

born in france to parents who were never meant to be parents. they were involved in shady things, theft for certain but besides that remington never got a real answer about it. what he did know is that at the age of six they dropped him off with his father's brother and his partner in los angeles.

despite remi being thrust into their lives without warning, their uncles never cast them out but they weren't always the most attentive guardians but they did the best they could. they also encouraged remington to explore the arts and chase their dreams, which is what turned them toward music and enhanced their passion for it. from the age of nine they spent everyday practicing guitar, sometimes for hours at a time.

music was their lifeblood. which in school they often felt like a loner and an outcast, they didn’t keep friends for long or make friends at all in some cases which further contributed to their abandonment and trust issues. they would go through long bouts of depression, getting highs and lows at random. it made it hard to build any sort of confidence. he tried to tell himself it didn't matter. and eventually it didn't, eventually he joined a band and actually managed to make it through high school.

being in los angeles allowed him a lot more opportunities than he would have had in the rest of the world. he joined the punk rock band thrift store lingerie not long before he graduated and they rose to mediocre fame within a few years. enough to score a recording contract and get set up with a smaller label.

they began touring the country, made a few videos and albums. they were no sex pistols, but they did alright and remi was having the time of their life traveling, playing shows, partying, and meeting fans. it was like a dream come true and the band was like family to him. but as their track record went with family, the band split after their final tour date in new york city in the fall of 2023.

that shifted everything for remi and he became lost, floating down the east coast spending his money instead of going back home to figure out what to do next. he was on the way to florida for some big new years bash with a group of people he met in vermont and somehow they ended up in west virginia. one wrong turn and they were in huntsville. within the first week the group they came with was gone, rebellious thinking the warnings were lies.

remi settled at the commune but he still is having a hard time adjusting to this new life. he just feels lost and scared and doesn't know how to handle everything. hopefully he can find a way to adapt or they don't know how they're going to survive.

QUICK CONNECTIONS.

friends

someone to help them adapt

bands they toured with

fans

other musicians

a therapist type

partner in crime

HEADCANONS.

very likely has bipolar disorder, but doesn't know that

still has a couple guitars with them, also knows how to play the piano and violin.

can speak french, spanish, italian, and english.

more to come!

[reilleclan-blog]

I genuinely think these "punk anarchists" of tumblr could be putting their energy into something more productive than telling ppl they aren't "punk" enough if they don't vote for Kamala or vote at all.

I just feel like the whole "reblog if u agree" bs is bs, also just cause u got a couple likes and reblogs does not mean ur 100% right. I don't completely disagree with them b/c I get what they were saying in their posts but personally I'd rather tackle why our only two options is picking between .. the ones we have . Also if I'm not mistaken weren't Liberals given shit for trying to force ppl to vote for Biden but now that Biden stepped down everyone is 100% Kamala?

I guess I'm too "apathetic" I barely want to be here and BARELY can work 4hrs a day sorry . Idk I understand but also it feels silly all of this is silly.

Also I wasn't planning to post on here b/c it doesn't matter if I post or not the mental illness is still very much here . But this pissed me off. Again yes I get what they are saying but also it's so "simple minded" to revoke ur "punk card" I guess they speak for all punks cause they got 1k ppl liking their posts?

At this point it's about surviving right now and most ppl are struggling at it, I wouldn't hold it against someone if they decided not to vote , this country's asshatery id rather look away too, I'd rather not talk at all i don't want to know anymore

[dustedmagazine]

Listed: Verity Den

Verity Den plays a soft-focus, trance-state shoegaze with glimmers of Zelienople, Bark Psychosis and Movietone. The band, out of North Carolina, is comprised of Casey Proctor, Trevor Reece and Mike Wallace, all three of the DIY veterans who formed the band in early 2023. Reviewing their 2024 self-title debut, Jennifer Kelly wrote, “Though their album is enjoyable as rock, it is very clearly not just that; it pools and looms and gently probes improvisatory effected guitar zones that sit pretty far from conventional song structures.”

Casey Proctor “Chant Arabe” (Anonymous) from Suzuki — Piano School: Volume 1

I started taking Suzuki Method piano lessons when I was five years old, and “Chant Arabe” was one of the pieces in Volume 1. During my first recital, my teacher exclaimed how I connected with that piece more than the others, saying that some people can emote ominous (minor-key) music more effectively. It was an early realization that I might be one of those people, and I still enjoy listening to and writing with those tonalities.

Mahavishnu Orchestra — “Meeting of the Spirits”

Every Sunday morning for a solid five-year period when I was a kid (like 7-11), my dad would blast “Meeting of the Spirits” while making breakfast. Undoubtedly, I was influenced by all the music he listened to, but that song in particular is probably the reason I went on to listen to other prog bands from the 1970s and later bands like Meshuggah and Animals as Leaders. We weren’t a religious family but during that era we were attendants at the church of prog rock.

Young Marble Giants — Colossal Youth

The first time I heard a Young Marble Giants song it was Hole covering “Credit in the Straight World.” I didn’t “discover” that it was a YMG song until later and then finally listened to the entirety of Colossal Youth. Front to back it’s a perfect album. It has minimal instrumentation, but it’s completely engaged and never boring. Alison Statton’s lyrics are nuanced and poetic but very punk. I don’t know how to make music that sounds like that, and I haven’t heard anyone else do it.

Mikhail Kalatozov — Letter Never Sent (1959)

Letter Never Sent is my favorite film. Beyond it being one of the most beautifully shot films I’ve ever seen (Sergey Urusevsky is the cinematographer and it’s in black and white), the subject matter feels like it’s personally tailored to me in a few ways. It’s about a group of government-funded geologists who are sent to Siberia to find diamonds. Their expedition is interrupted by a forest fire that cuts off communication with rescue crews and disorients them into a survival situation. Much less dramatically… I worked for the US Forest Service for 12 years, building and maintaining trails in the front and back country, almost majored in Geology and was a certified wildland firefighter for a few years. Also, honorable mention, from the same director… Salt for Svanetia (1930) is fantastic cinema and one of the earliest ethnographic films ever made.

Trevor Reece Roedelius — Wenn Der Südwind Weht

Right before the pandemic, I wasn't playing much “rock” guitar or listening to most of my long-time go-to-records. Leaning more towards experimental, drone and synth-based music. A friend put this Roedelius record on my radar around that time and it inspired me to record some questionable but exciting stuff at home. A classic record and always there to help.

Alex Chilton — Like Flies On Sherbert

Alex Chilton & his weird friends making a mess in the studio.

Bill Daniel — Who Is Bozo Texino? (2005)

I first saw this film during a screening tour through the south around 2006. I was somewhat new to town, wandering around and only cared about making art. Highlighting old outsiders making their mark and telling stories through a grainy film collage felt new but familiar. The ethos of this film is one that I still relate to today.

Mike Wallace Allen Toussaint — “Southern Nights”

A totally transporting song, Toussaint showers you in layers of piano and keys, the percussion chirps along like crickets at night and that perfect, unhurried hook. It really captures a certain kind of feeling, that particular humidity, the sun going down over the field. It's strange though because I didn’t hear this song until I was probably 25 or something, so I didn't have a memory of listening to it as a kid or something, but like a lot of songs, it became like a lens to look back on that, maybe memories I wish were there in some way. I guess it taps this strange kind of nostalgia whose origin is hard to locate and also comes with its own load of complications. That’s a part of the Southern experience, too, in a way that's unique to this part of the country. Memory and history are omnipresent, written and rewritten. I don't even hate the Glen Campbell version of this song. That’s its own type of “Southern Night.” Sometimes it's like that. I didn’t always embrace being from the South, but nowadays I’m into it and I know that when I’m living somewhere else someday, I will finally get to have that feeling of honestly missing a place and wishing I was back home for just a night.

Grouper — “Alien Observer”

This is the first Grouper song I heard and I remember feeling just stunned by it. It has this depth of interiority and a meditative cycle that’s like breathing. I think this song really struck me because I encountered Liz Harris/Grouper at a transitional period. After the end of a long relationship, I was living for a little bit with several people in a house in Greensboro, NC called Hellraiser Haus, named because some scenes from Hellraiser 3: Hell on Earth were supposedly filmed at the church across the street. It was a show house and the people I lived with were great, but I was kind of struggling with what was next and who I was in the wake of everything kind of disintegrating. There was something so bleak and comforting in this song, I really did kind of feel like an alien, observing myself, kind of detached. A few years later I saw her play kind of a large theater in Raleigh for this festival Hopscotch, and waking up several minutes after she had finished, kind of disoriented and crunched up in the seat and thinking I just saw one of the best shows of my life.

Wong Kar-wai — In the Mood For Love (2000)

What more can be said about this movie that hasn't already? Wong Kar-wai is a master, and a really singular stylist. I never tire of watching this one, but I rarely put it on, it's just really worth savoring. It's also one where one’s feelings may change over time in relation to the basic plot points. Maybe you recognize yourself at different points or scenes than you did before, or see a new detail in a gesture or glance, like every moment’s a prism and would mean something different if it was just slightly turned. Being in a state of longing can really feel awful, but there can also be a kind of solace in there. Even once it's over, you can return to it sometimes, to remember. I mean just see it; this isn’t making any sense anymore!