#a large chunk were recurring

[piratebay]

is it weird that i miss having dreams. i mean i think like 2/3 of them were recurring nightmares but tbh i could go for a nightmare right now.

[pjsk-headcanons]

-post-mizu5/pre-ena5 hcs-

(focuses: vbs and niigo)

(a bit of a warning here: this one covers some pretty upsetting topics, especially during the niigo parts. like it gets ROUGH, especially with ena's part in the niigo section)

(this also serves as an expansion on some of the shinosibs hcs too)

(oh and one last thing, i want to make note of the timeline here. i'd like to believe there's around a 3-4 week gap (i'd say at most 1.5 months) between mizu5 and ena5 in story also i think that akito5 happened before mizu5, mostly since that does not fuck up my chronologies and works with the canon. i'm also focusing on vbs first)

-vbs-

(note: i like to believe that akito5 happened before mizu5. i should also note that the impact on vbs is more indirect and connected to an and especially akito)

an was particularly worried, having not heard from or seen mizuki whatsoever after the festival. (of course, mizuki frequently skipped school, so it wasn't as if not seeing her was a rare occurence, but being completely ghosted by her was extremely abnormal)

she ended up asking ena about mizuki relatively early on in this timeframe (mizuki would always talk about ena, so she knew the two had to be close), the look of unadulterated dread plastered upon ena's face for a moment before dodging the question all together horrified her. (she would not bring it up again after)

akito also started to become visibly worried and anxious. (he would end up frequently checking his phone, what if something happened to ena, what if she-) (it did surprise him though when he found a text from mizuki that one time, stating "happy birthday lil bro") (he did end up telling ena about it, he swears there was a glimmer of something in her eyes as he showed her the text, before immediately being told to fuck off) (she would start asking him about mizuki after that. as much as it annoyed him being pestered about mizuki, having that daily confirmation that his sister was somewhat okay (or atleast in the state to be able to ask about mizuki) meant the world to him)

toya and kohane were left in the dark about it all, but they were left almost helpless. (a large chunk of the time, the two were stuck idling)

at the worst points, akito would be frequently falling asleep at weekend garage and crase cafe or pacing around anxiously unable to focus on practicing, or would push himself so hard that he would end up collapsing afterwards. (and when asked about what was wrong, he would only give cryptic answers. he would seldom blame his sister, and when he did, there would be a certain pained look in his eyes) (even the vocaloids started to worry about him, especially after he passed out in the sekai after overexerting himself)

an was in a similar situation, either pushing herself too hard or anxiously pacing, but to nowhere as bad of an extent as akito.

-niigo-

//this section has a multitude of tws, especially for self-harm and references to a suicide attempt. nothing super explicit though.

between the events of mizu5 and the end of ena5, ena spiralled hard (might remember this from my shinosibs set of hcs) but the extent of which i haven't fully mentioned:

(there will be repeats of the things from the shinosibs.)

(it should also be noted that ena really hasn't fully recovered post-ena5, but god she is doing far better afterwards)

meeting with niigo would end much quicker. ena usually would barely speak, often getting lost in thought or leaving herself muted.

her art's color palettes shifted to focusing on more intense reds or pinks. (the pinker pieces would always be the more concerning ones)

these paintings tend to had more concerning themes too, usually focusing on death and abandonment. (usual recurring motifs were blood and wilted flowers. another was a very particular horrified expression)

extremely frequent nightmares and night terrors. (this and the lost sleep from worrying over mizuki would only worsen things) (she would tend to accidentally wake up akito, either because of her running to the bathroom to puke or splash water on her face or because she would breakdown into sobs) (she would never admit how often akito would end up consoling her)

and the incident (as the two would put it whenever mentioning it, downplaying it to avoid addressing it properly, because both of them knew that neither one of them are ready for that conversation) was a particularly bad night. akito always fears the fact that if he had gotten there any later, if he might've been too late. he could never get that visage of the sickly red propagating through the water in the tub, or the hollow yet horrified stare ena had upon seeing akito, it all remains etched into his mind. (in the moment, he would lie to himself, swearing that this situation was the result of some sort of freak accident, that she didn't actually intend to dissappear, it was a lie that didn't hold up long.)

neither one of them would ever tell a soul about what happened.

//tw end

mafuyu and kanade on the other hand were more blindsided by the situation.

when asked about it a week after, ena would tell them that "she fucked up and ruined everything"

mafuyu and kanade are similarly freaked out about it. (and the fact that ena refuses to tell them anything whatsoever about what transpired only worsens that anxiety)

kanade would become more and more guilty over it (even though mafuyu would try to reassure her that it wasn't her fault, and that no, she couldn't have done anything to prevent this from happening, but even then it hung over her head)

mafuyu would feel even more guilty for what they said to mizuki in the sekai. (they really never forgave themself for it. and to see it be practically proven right, with her vanishing without any info about if she was okay or not...)

niigo would be ground to a near-complete halt (of course they could work on expanding their backlog a bit, but without mizuki, the videos would not be anywhere near to quality that niigo kept and would have far less reach)

(-a quick aside-)

i am a bit sorry for this one, because this one is a definitely a bit of a rough one.

i did not expect the love and support for my headcanons!

i should note some things: i am a huge fan of hurt/comfort and angst

i've been debating writing a shinosibs angst fic among a few other things.

-la manchaland anon

‎

[sherlockhomies-42]

Chapter 3

Lady come down

Meanwhile at the Hazbin Hotel

The princess sat at her desk looking over her plans for the hotel, employee forms and other miscellaneous paper works that were strewn across the desk, she heard small footsteps and knew who it was as the door handle turned;

She flicked her eyes up and gave a hasty 'Hi Vaggie' and a kiss on her cheek before she looked right back at her paperwork continuing to pick at her fingernails in nervousness whilst staring over the plans for the new hotel, and ideas for guest roll in.

Vaggie looked at her girlfriend with empathy and put a hand on her should to soothe her panicked feelings;

"Charlie, please stop worrying. You'll see we inspired demons across this ring to fight back for their afterlife, and now we really have a reason to fight for it." She says softly as she gestures to the newly installed painting of Sir.Pentious, clad in is armour looking quite noble.

Charlie looks at the painting feeling a new determination flow thru her veins as she thinks of his sacrifice and his love he never got to truly pursue...there in that moment Charlie felt inspired again.

She looks to her love and smiles " Thank you honey, I know we can do this. It's not just for him, it's for everyone who truly believes they have a chance to do better."

They two women embrace and Charlie allows her eyes to drift shut for just a moment to soak in the relaxing feeling.

But all in a moment she feels something, like a string lightly being tugged in the center of her chest that causes her to pull back from the embrace in confusion, which allows her eyes to settle on the small duck bobble head on her desk,

A gift from her father, after the rebuild of her hotel, a small step forward in opening up between them, Charlie had placed the duck right on her desk next to her coffee cup 'To look at and feel inspired by my Dad's belief in me everyday!'

Of course that belief was hard to keep up with as the constant taunting threats from Heaven, not to mention the other sins and the overlords but other than that nothing specific felt wrong;

Until she notices the ducks head bobbling a little, then a lot and then it seemed all at once the very foundation of the hotel was being shaken to it's core.

As expected the chaos from Heaven spread down thru the rings of Hell as well,

Of course at first it was no cause for alarm,

Hellquakes are a recurring thing and they don't normally last longer than a few minutes at a time, but the panic began when the rumbling got more aggressive and unstable, as if the very foundations of the ring they existed on was being thrown out of balance.

Down in the lobby, the patrons of the hotel were lounging around before the shaking threw them all into a panic.

Charlie and Vaggie appeared from around the top of the staircase, Vaggie swiftly helping the others in the hotel stabilize themselves and all looking on as with a wave of her hand, Charlie cast a large golden bubble (similar to the one Alastor had used to protect the hotel from the Angels initial invasion) with this one in mind not for defense but keeping the hotels structure as stable as possible.

Unknowing that by using such a large power output, She had basically set herself up as a homing beacon.

They all marched to the front doors which were thrown open by the shaking and hard winds blowing which caused small chunks of random debris to come off of the hotels gutters but otherwise the structure was kept intact.

As the winds outside the hotel whipped up harder and harder, Vaggie looked to Charlie in concern. Before she could even open her mouth, Charlie shrugged her shoulder as and shook her head; indicating a clear 'I have no clue what's happening'

The horror clicked in oddly enough when everything went silent, completely soundless like a void in space.

And then a small streak came across the sky, small enough that if you weren't paying attention to it at first you would miss it against the red sky and pentagram, but then it began to stretch out, spidering across the sky almost like a crack in a window. But it wasn't anything shattering yet, It seemed to be a shadow, swooping around the circle of Pride seeming to be looking for something, as it continued to circle it became bigger and bigger, and even Bigger until she realized in horror this... Whatever this was is larger then any demon she's ever seen, even when Alastor grew to a large size to defend the hotel, he never got that large.

She became even more alarmed when she noticed no one was moving at all, it was completely still, civilians on the sidewalk frozen in place in fear, people inside looking thru windows all the same, she looked away only for a moment to gauge the reactions of her friends and lover, only to see the same terror on their faces. (While also noting that Alastor was not present amongst those who had come outside at the commotion...very strange)

She looked back up in determination and was frozen in horror herself upon seeing the entity had stopped moving completely and was transfixed on her location thru the edge of the barrier of hell. Only the lape white outline of eyes and a menacing crescent shaped smile almost reminiscent of the exterminator mask but not the same at the same time. Her spine has a chill shoot down as she realizes the thing is Looking at her with it's hands pressed up against the 'edge' like it's pushing against glass.

Then, it raised it's clawed hand and tapped on the space Infront of it, it's finger making a small thump against the surface,

It then did it again, and again getting increasingly harder with every jab of the claw when suddenly, it began to fissure, then crack, then all at once a hole shattered into the Pride ring. As the denizen's of Hell looked on in terror, a collosal point came thru, and then another and another and another until there were four of them. Then it clicked; that is a HAND.

The first yelp of terror set chaos motion as denizen's left and right began to scream in terror and run in any direction the could looking for somewhere to hide the clawed hand seemed to grasp the edge of the shatter and stretch it open farther for a second hand to emerge from the inky blackness.

A shrouded face came into view which caused more panic as it began to push thru the barrier and into the Pride ring.

A face

Then it's neck,

It's claws grasped the edges of the hole to pull it's body and legs thru, landing with an earth shattering thud on the ground of pride. It's whole body in an inky mist of what looked like stardust against a black sky, like ever sunrise and sunset the universe has ever seen floating around it's from, making it difficult to actually see the things form clearly.

POV switch

(Just like real quick)

-Deaths pov-

'It's like watching glass fissure and get ready to shatter'

She thought whilst poking and prodding at the barrier between her and the Pride ring of hell.

She hummed in slight annoyance

'A little harder to pierce than I remember but then again I have been asleep for awhile, might just be rusty'

Then the glass like barrier gave way under her claws as she zeroed in on the power output she was feeling; 'Not angelic but definitely more pure than anyone else down here, No question that's his kid I'd recognize that power anywhere'

She pushed one, then both hands thru the hole she had made, making it wider so she could slip thru without causing too much damage;

'Barriers are a bitch to repair, might as well make it easy on myself'

She lands on the ground, wincing at the shaking and shuddering she feels now calming down as the environment adjusts to her presence after a millenia of sleep. She truns and drawks her hand up against the hole she had created and slowly the hole began to seemingly drip and reform itself like sculpting gkass and making it shiny again. soon enough the hols had closed and the entity sighed at the energy it took to do so but know in the logn run it was better to seal the hole now than let.... something ELSE creep in behind her.

Which reminds her of her task and she refocuses on locating Hell's Princess.

Which was laughably easy as she saw the golden bubble shimmer from outside the barrier and could feel the power output, so familiar and yet all together different from her Father, seemingly more, Vibrant, and alive like how she remembers Lucifers magic to be.

It's then that she looks down and realizes the panic and pandemonium she's caused, and of course, once again trys to calm the terrified little sinner souls. Unintentionally booming while still at a colossal size;

"Where is Charlotte Morningstar?"

[emeryleewho]

Just out of curiosity, why did you decide to write A Flair of Fate as a comic, rather than prose?

Hi!

So this is actually a really complicated answer, but I'm gonna try to break it down into the key points.

A Flair of Fate is largely in conversation with shounen anime, so I wanted it to be in a medium that would allow it to embody the tropes it deploys, but also where it could be in open conversation with similar stories.

Prose is a really limited medium in a couple of different ways. It's hard to have really large casts in prose novels because it's hard for people to remember all of the characters when all you have is a name to remember them by, and bc prose typically follows a limited number of POVs, you can only keep up with so many characters in their own time, plus you're limited to only seeing that which your POV characters see/know. In a Flair of Fate, this would be a major issue because Javi is a REALLY unreliable narrator. [Mild spoilers to follow], BUT a recurring theme in this comic is normalizing things that are NOT normal. One example is here in the prologue:

This is just an establishing shot of Javi's best friend's house, but there are all these security cameras everywhere. They live in a dystopian police state, where there's hyper-vigilance, but that's normal to them, so if we were navigating all of this through Javi's head, it would be a lot harder to drop these details that he genuinely doesn't notice. Visually, I can establish these subtle cues throughout as the story builds, which is really important because this story has A LOT to explore that Javi is oblivious to at the beginning LOL.

3. The story is long form, kind of like old TV used to be, in that it's one long story that can be divided into arcs or seasons, but the big villain is consistent until we finally confront them at the end. In prose novels, each book is supposed to be able to stand [mostly] on it's own, with a full plot arc per installment, and that would absolutely not work for this story!

4. The fluidity of an illustrated medium detaches readers from a tendency to take things too seriously or too literally. It adds a sort of inherent humor that allows stories like, say, Avatar the Last Airbender, which deals with war and genocide, to still be incredibly light-hearted and funny most of the time. This was super pivotal for this story too because it does have some really dark moments and some very heavy plotlines. It's a dystopian, anticapitalist story at it's core, BUT most of it is a sort of slap-stick humor/friendship/romance story about all the shenanigans that go down in this superhero sports league, so being able to manipulate the tone of a scene through the artwork makes a HUGE difference!

Ex:

5. And the last big reason is because I have ADHD and reading prose sometimes can feel kind of insurmountable, but the bite-size, visual heavy chunks of webcomic format gives my brain the happy hum feeling, so when I decided that I wanted to tell as story that would embody everything *I* the fanboi would want in a story, I realized it only made sense to let it be a webcomic!

Anyway, thanks for asking! Sorry this was the longest response ever LOL

[demigodsanswer]

Twice Upon a Pointe: 4/13

Chapter Four: Awakening

Content warning: the next three chapters are going to get into Annabeth's relationship with Luke. There will be moments of bullying, verbal abuse, and revenge porn in this chapter.

Percy slipped into his tights and doublet before slicking his wild hair down with enough gel to make sure it held throughout the ballet. He jumped up and down a few times to keep his legs warm. He shook out his hands, as if he could fling his nerves from his fingertips. 

Their dress rehearsal started in a few minutes, but he had plenty of time; he didn’t go on until act two. Still, he wanted to feel ready – to be in his costume, hair, and makeup before anything started. It was safer for him that way. Sometimes his ADHD made it so that large chunks of time just disappeared from him, and if that happened during a show or a rehearsal, he could be caught, literally, with his tights down. Despite this being a recurring stress-nightmare every time he approached a show, it had never happened. Still, he liked to be ready.

He left his dressing room and began to wander backstage, telling passing dancers merde, the French word for “shit” and their company equivalent of “break a leg.” “Good luck” was bad luck. Shit was good. 

He didn’t realize how much he wanted to see Annabeth until he ran into her. She was fully costumed-up too – pink, rose-adorned tutu, shoes on, hair back, her stage makeup insane up close but probably perfect from the seats. She was just doing some basic plies and tendus, using a stray folding chair as a barre.

She smiled when she saw Percy, stopping her movements. “Well, look at you, Prince Charming,” she said, smiling at his costume. 

It was the first time either of them had seen each other in these. Percy knew what the Aurora costume looked like (the company had used the same design for decades), but it looked like it was suited for her, like she was the only one who had ever, would ever, or should ever wear it. The tutu and leotard were a light pink color, with roses embroidered on the tutu, which held its shape with layers of perfectly constructed tulle that, even though it was a pancake tutu, gave the illusion of a beautiful classic ball gown. The top was the same color, with more little roses snaking their way up the straps. The costume didn’t have sleeves, but she did have little ruffles around her upper arms. And for the full princess effect, of course, she had a tiny, rhinestone crown that would glitter fantastically in the spotlight. She looked beautiful.  

“You look great,” he said.

She smiled. “You look pretty handsome yourself.”

“Well,” he said, crossing his arms and putting on an ironically cocky attitude, “who isn’t into a man in eyeliner and tights?”

Annabeth smirked. “I think it’s a great look that more men should embrace.”

He’d never actually seen her up close before a performance before. The closest they’d come was before Diamonds, but they entered from different parts of the stage. Really, he only saw her at company warm-up and then in passing. Now though, he could see what had brought her this far. Her face was beautiful, open, all the things it usually was. But she was also determined, focused. Not a stitch of worry anywhere. She wasn’t even really smiling. Everything was focused. 

He was going to say something back to her, when the stage manager announced there were only two minutes until they started. 

“You’re gonna kill it,” Percy said.

“Are you going to watch act one?”

He nodded. “At least your part. I might skip the fairies.”

She took a strong deep breath deep breath, before stepping up on pointe. Percy looked at her, confused by what she was doing. They were the same height when she was on pointe (it was one of the reasons they made a good duo). She looked him in the eyes, and for a moment, Percy thought she was going to kiss him, but she just leaned in and hugged him, resting her chin over his shoulder so she didn’t mess up her makeup before the show had even started. He hugged her back, wrapping his arms around her to keep her close to him and to help her keep her balance. 

She pulled away after a few moments, smiling at him, and fluffing down her tutu. “I’ll see you at intermission. My chair and I are going to try and stay warm in the wings.”

Percy nodded. “ Merde .” He said as she walked off towards the stage. “ Merde,” he heard her call back. 

~

As the overture started, Percy headed back to his dressing room for his pre-show ritual of freaking out. His entire body buzzed with excitement about the idea of finally having the show up on the stage, but with terror at the possibility that he could fuck everything up.

It was only a rehearsal, technically, but it wasn’t the time for making mistakes. It was to get adjusted to the stage, not to fall flat on your face.

He headed past the stage door on his way to his dressing room but paused when he saw two familiar faces arguing in the doorway.

“Please, I just want to see her.”

Percy’s breath caught when he saw Luke, standing half inside and half outside of the theater, well-dressed and clean cut as always, fighting with Beckendorf, who, despite being on crutches, was holding his own against the other man.

“I don’t think she wants to see you,” Beckendorf told him. “Leave her alone.” He reached for the door, and tried to close it, but Luke put his hands out, stopping his efforts.

Luke’s face turned dark, no longer politely pleading to see his ex-fiancé. “Oh please. You think I can’t get past a cripple?” 

Percy knew Beckendorf – he was a calm, level-headed man, but he could get angry and protective of people he cared about. The last thing Percy wanted was for the two of them to start really fighting backstage.

He walked up to the two of them, putting himself between them, forcing Luke further out of the theater. “What’s going on?”

“This asshole,” Beckendorf said, pointing at Luke with one of his crutches, “was trying to sneak in and cause trouble.”

“I’m not causing any trouble. I just want to see Annabeth,” Luke protested. He looked at Percy, trying to seem innocent, but Percy trusted Beckendorf’s opinion on Luke. Before Percy could say anything, Beckendorf shot back.

“You think that won’t cause any trouble?” Beckendorf said. He kept his volume down, but the anger in his voice made it sound like a yell.

“She’s got a job to do,” Percy added, looking at Luke. “She doesn’t need you getting in the way.”

Luke laughed at him. “What are you? The prince? You think that means something?”

“Yeah,” Percy said. “Means I’m good enough to still have a job with City Ballet.” 

Luke tried to push his way in, but Beckendorf pushed the end of his crutch into Luke’s stomach as a warning. 

“Alright Tiny Tim,” Luke said backing up. He turned his gaze back on Percy. There was an eerie coldness to it, something that he’d never seen from Luke before. He’d never liked the guy, but this was new, lower. His skin itched at the thought of Annabeth living under that gaze for so long. 

“I’ve been in class with you,” Luke said to him, that gaze still on him. “If you’re the principal here, it’s only because Annabeth wanted a partner who she knew wouldn’t upstage her.” 

He looks like Gabe , Percy realized. Luke might have been thin, washed, and handsome, but his tone, the look on his face, like nothing would make him happier than seeing you hurt, was a look Percy has become well acquainted with in the decade he lived with Gabe.  

Percy wanted to hit him, to ruin his perfect smug stupid face, but he held back. He thought about telling Luke that no dancer, not him, not Beckendorf, and certainly not Luke, could ever upstage Annabeth, that she was fantastic all on her own and better off without him. 

Luke could read his affection on her like it was written across his forehead. 

“I saw you two dance ‘Diamonds’ together last year,” Luke continued. “I saw the way you look at her. It was pathetic, how bad you wanted her.” Percy’s blood started to boil. He balled his fists; Luke didn’t seem to notice, he just kept talking. “Has she finally let you fuck her?” Percy's face got hot. “Have you noticed the way she’ll pull on your hair when she --” Percy snarled and got ready to hit him, but now it was Beckendorf’s turn to hold him back.

“That’s enough,” Beckendorf said. Percy felt himself settle back into his body, the impulse to hit Luke disappearing, even if his anger didn’t. 

“Annabeth is not your fiancé anymore, and you have no business being here,” Beckendorf told him, “or sharing details like that. I thought you’d learned that by now at least.” Percy didn’t ask Beck what he meant. 

Luke frowned. Percy thought he might just force his way into the building. Instead he just took a step back. “Fine. Who’d want to watch this shitty production anyway? With two totally talentless leads, I’m sure it’s going to be just one disaster after another.”

 He turned around and headed away from the theater. Percy wanted to chase him out and get him back for what he’d said. But he couldn’t do anything that would cost him his job or get him arrested, so he held back, staying in the theater, fuming with rage.

“None of what he said was true,” Beckendorf said, resting a hand on Percy's shoulder. “You’re a great dancer, and you earned your role.”

Percy brushed his hand off his shoulder. “I only got it because you’re injured.”

Beckendorf shrugged. “You always had your own cast. And you beat out all the principals and other soloists when they needed to replace me.” He said. “You know Annabeth has no say over the casting. Doesn’t matter who she’d want to dance it with. Chiron picked you.”

He’s the one, he has to be, Percy remembered her saying. He’d been so happy when he realized she’d been fighting for him to play the part. But now …  Annabeth wanted a partner she knew wouldn’t upstage her, Luke’s voice rang in his head. 

He got to the wings of the stage as the prologue was completing. He saw Annabeth, standing in position, ready for her entrance. He didn’t go up to her. He couldn’t. He knew she’d know something was wrong right away. 

He hung back in the shadows, trying to calm down, as he watched act one. She looked happy and perfect as she flew across the stage. 

He watched her dance as Luke’s words about her echoed in his head again. A partner who wouldn’t upstage here. Sure , he thought, that’s what I am . But soon, Luke’s voice started to fade, as he got lost watching the Rose Adagio. His thoughts took on a different tune. I’m not supposed to upstage her. The men rarely are meant to upstage the women. I’m here to support her. He had a different job than Annabeth. Luke’s problem had always been that he wasn’t very good at just supporting the ballet or his partner. Percy refused to be like that. 

She wanted a partner who wouldn’t upstage her. He watched her spin beautifully. 

He’s the one, he has to be. That was his friend up there, he realized. She wasn’t just some coworker, or even just an artist. Annabeth was his friend, and a good one at that. As he watched her accept roses from her four princes, he smiled. She would never do something like that, he decided. It wasn’t fair to her to believe the terrible things Luke said about her. She might have had a say in picking Percy, but it wasn’t because she had bad intentions. She was good. A good dancer, sure, but also just a good person. 

He kept watching her, and kept smiling. And fuck, he thought, she’s so beautiful. 

 It was pathetic, how bad you wanted her. Percy shook his head, trying to get rid of Luke’s voice again. What an asshole, Percy thought. And so what if it was true? He did want her, and he did feel a little pathetic sometimes, laying awake at night thinking about her, dreaming of her. But he didn’t want to just sleep with her. And he certainly didn’t want to be cruel to her, or hurt her, which is more than he could say for Luke. 

Percy watched as Aurora took the spindle from Carabosse, pricked her finger, and fell into her magical deep sleep. Travis, one of her four princes, caught her, and lowered her to the ground as she ‘fell.’ Percy laughed as he watched Annabeth gracefully and subtly lay a limp hand on her tutu to hold it down as she was lowered onto her back.

With two totally talentless leads, I’m sure it’s going to be just one disaster after another. Luke’s voice reminded him. It was one thing to call him talentless. But Annabeth? It was laughable. If she was talentless, there wasn’t a dancer in the world who could hope to impress him. Except maybe himself. 

Percy’s heart rate picked up with anticipation as the curtain fell, signaling the end of act one. He went on soon; they just had intermission. Do your job, he told himself. That’s all you have to do. 

“You are going to be great,” Beckendorf said, coming up behind him. “You two are great partners.”

Annabeth made her way off the stage and back towards him and Beckendorf, smiling wide.

He couldn’t tell her about Luke. At least, not right now. She didn’t need any distractions.

“Annabeth,” Beckendorf said, “perfect as always.”

She smiled and rolled her eyes as she started to rattle off all the steps, she had to quickly adjust to keep from losing her balance and the turns she overshot or landed out of time with the music. Percy barely listened though. It was pathetic, how bad you wanted her.

He watched her head back to her dressing room to get into her act two costume and change her shoes, wondering how an asshole like Luke had ever had the privilege of dating her.

~ 

The vision sequence went well; there were no major catastrophes, which was all they could really hope for. Percy rode out of the scene on the Lilac Fairy’s gondola, as the scene changed to Aurora’s room. Annabeth, back in her act one costume, was brought out on her bed, surrounded by her sleeping court. Scrims covered in branches and cobwebs fell, making the stage dark. Percy entered again, staring in awe at Annabeth, before going to Piper. What should I do, she’s asleep? He mimed to her. Kiss her. Piper mimed back. Percy blew a kiss to the audience, a way of saying: Of course! I’ll kiss her! Before making his way to her bed.

The kisses were always gentle pecks, just enough of a press of the lips for the kiss to read to the audience as real. And the almost-nearly-dead Aurora wasn’t supposed to kiss back. But when Percy leaned over and kissed her, he could have sworn she began to kiss back, just for a second it felt like her lips moved to meet his. It was so fleeting, he worried he might have imagined it.

Maybe he had imagined it. Or maybe it was an acting choice; it was a sign that Aurora had come back to life, and that she remembered him.

Percy didn’t have time to dwell on this kiss, though. The scrims began to lift, the lights came back to the stage, and Annabeth rose from the bed. The Lilac Fairy reintroduced them, and act two ended.

~ 

Percy stood backstage, sharing one last quiet moment with Annabeth, now changed into her white wedding tutu, before entering for the wedding scene. He had a few minutes to make it to the other side of the stage where he would enter, but he couldn’t dally for too long.

“Back where we started,” she said, smiling. He couldn’t help it, he smiled back. Percy looked at her. She had changed into her final tutu – a stunning white beaded costume. His costume was similar – all white from head to toe, but less sparkly. They were about to do the wedding pas de deux, the first dance they had done together for this ballet. But in their white costumes, they almost looked like diamonds. 

Like “Diamonds”, Percy realized. At the dress rehearsal for Jewels, Annabeth had fallen and fractured her foot. But even before that, she’d seemed off -- her balance wobbly, her breathing harder and heavier than usual. When she’d landed on the stage, Luke just stared at her, not moving an inch to help her. Luke, he thought spitefully. 

They had both left the company shortly after that. Percy wasn’t a religious man, but, as he looked at Annabeth, who, even in the darkness of the wings, was positively radiant, he sent up a prayer to any god that might listen, begging them to keep her on stage and uninjured the whole time.

He decided not to mention their last dress rehearsal together. 

 “How are your legs?” He asked.

She sighed. “Oh, about ready to fall off, but I think I can get through one last dance.”

Percy took her hand and squeezed it. “You’ll be great,” he said.

She squeezed back. “So will you.” It sounded like she really meant it, like she believed in him. Percy tried his best to trust her, but his confidence wavered as he walked off to his position.

He took a deep breath. It didn’t matter what he felt right now, he thought as they entered the stage, he had to be confident in this moment, or else Annabeth would literally fall on her face.

Partnering with a woman in a tutu was a challenge, because it was hard to see her legs. Percy just had to try and sense where her balance was as he pressed her into the air before setting her back down on her toes. He had gotten a good sense of her balance back when they had done “Diamonds,” and he had become even more familiar in the last few weeks. 

All thoughts of Luke left his head as the music began. All thoughts of anything that weren’t dance left his head. Every anxiety, doubt, or fear fled at the first moment his foot touched the stage. All that mattered was that he and Annabeth danced together. Not as Percy and Annabeth, but as Aurora and the Prince. Artistry, technique, and passion mattered right now, not some asshole ex-fiancé. There was no one else in the world. 

By the time they got to the first fish dives, Percy’s confidence was unshakable. They had spent time in rehearsal practicing these until Percy could do them one handed. Chiron insisted he do them one-handed, because Beckendorf always had. Percy didn’t think that was fair; Beckendorf was the best in the business. Percy was just in the business. But after weeks of rehearsal, they felt natural. He trusted Annabeth and she trusted him.

Annabeth would pirouette with Percy’s hand on her side. As she finished her last turn, he held onto her tight, lifting her up as she sent her face down forward and her legs up and back. They paused like that for a moment, before he lifted her back up for the second and third dive. They had to trust each other completely in these dives. 

And they did. 

They worked in perfect harmony, hitting every dive on the music. When Percy lifted her out of the last dive, they had a moment where they stared at each other, communicating to the audience that they were completely in love. Annabeth smiled wide at him, her face full of joy to communicate not just that Aurora loved her prince, but that she knew they were doing well. Or maybe, it was just joy at the fact that the ballet was almost over -- relief at knowing she’d be able to rest soon. It didn’t matter. She was happy and not flat on her face on the stage. That was all Percy wanted.

He couldn’t wait to get home and tell Estelle “I didn’t drop her.” 

They finished the dance with the final fish dive. This time, Percy had to lift his hand off her waist, as she held herself up by wrapping one leg around his torso and squeezing every muscle in her leg and core as hard as she could. It was an amazing move to see from the audience, and Percy knew they had nailed it. He lifted her up, back onto her feet, as they went into their solos and the coda.

~ 

When the ballet ended, Percy had a moment backstage to catch his breath and dab some sweat off his forehead before running back out for the bows. After bowing to an audience of Chiron, a few company members, and a few ballet masters, he stepped to the side of the stage and watched as Annabeth entered for her final bow.

When he saw her, he felt his chest tighten with anxiety. The ballet had taken his mind off of Luke for long enough, but there wasn’t any avoiding it anymore. He had to tell her that he had come by to see her.

The memory of the conversation brought back doubts about his own abilities; sure, the rehearsal wasn’t perfect, and performances weren’t really ever perfect either, but he felt like he had done a good job. Well, except for the one set of turns during act two, and the quick choreography adjustment during his solo. Not to mention his near stumble during act three. He started quickly running through every minor mistake he had made, sure that Chiron would rip into him during notes. He looked at Annabeth again. She had been nearly perfect – as perfect as a dancer could be. 

Two talentless dancers. Percy felt a familiar rage bubbling inside him; it was the same feeling he used to feel around his stepfather or class bullies, like he wanted to pick a fight, to yell at someone, to get even, to prove himself. He took a deep breath, trying to calm those feelings, but his efforts barely succeeded.

“And curtain!” Chiron yelled from the audience, in place of taking the effort to actually lower the curtain a final time. “Good job everyone. Principal and solo roles, be back on stage in half an hour for notes. Corps, expect your notes in an email later.”

Everyone nodded at the instructions and headed off the stage.

Percy headed off, but he felt someone grab his hand. “Percy, wait up,” he heard Annabeth say.

He turned around to face her, and her smile fell. “Are you okay?” She asked.

“Can I talk to you?”

She nodded and led him to her dressing room. Once they were inside, she closed the door, sitting in her vanity stool to take off her pointe shoes.

“What’s up?” She asked.

Percy took a deep breath, running his hand through his hair, which took some effort considering how slicked back it was for the performance.

“Luke was here earlier,” Percy said.

Annabeth sat up straight, leaving one shoe still on. “Oh.”

Her face was expressionless, like she was waiting for Percy to continue before she let her guard down.

“Beckendorf stopped him at the stage door. He – Luke – wanted to see you,” Percy continued. “Beck didn’t let him in.”

Annabeth nodded, bending down to take her other shoe off as she asked: “Did you talk to him?”

“A little, yeah,” Percy said. Annabeth looked up, her dead pointe shoes in her hand. She looked right through him; her gray eyes were emphasized by the exaggerated stage makeup. Her mouth was set in a straight line, like she knew he wanted to say more, and she wouldn’t say anything herself until he did.

“I, uh, just figured I’d let you know that he came by. It was before the rehearsal, so I thought it would be distracting to tell you then.”

Annabeth nodded slowly. “You were right to wait to tell me.” Percy let out a breath. “Did he say why he …?” She trailed off.

“Just said he wanted to see you,” Percy told her. “I joined later in the conversation. Beckendorf might know more.”

She nodded again. “I’ll talk to Back about it.” She paused. “Thanks for not letting him in.”

Percy nodded. The room felt tense, like he couldn’t say anything else, but he couldn’t leave. Annabeth stayed sitting, and Percy stayed standing on the other side of the room. 

“Do you still talk to him at all?” Percy asked. 

“No, we haven’t really spoken since …” she trailed off as Percy nodded in acknowledgement.  “Did he, um … did he say anything else about me?” Her voice was tense with anxiety. Percy remembered the way Luke spoke to him as he looked at Annabeth, her face expressionless and starting forward at the wall of her dressing room. Percy didn’t know if she was trying to control rage or fear.

“ He talked some shit about the show,” he started. 

She looked at him, curious. “What did he say?”

Percy shrugged. “Just some shit about how bad the production was going to be because … “ he paused for a moment and redirected, “because I’m a weak dancer.” She didn’t need to know the rest. 

Annabeth stood up, indignant. “Don’t listen to him,” she said, walking over to him. She shook her head and stared at his chest as she spoke to him, like she couldn’t look him in the eye if she tried. “This is what he does, he wants you to feel small, and weak, and like you’re nothing. Just don’t …” paused for a second, before finally meeting his gaze. “Don’t listen to him. You’re a fantastic dancer, Percy.”

Percy nodded. He let the words settle in his mind, trying hard to really believe her. 

“He also tried to …” Percy wasn’t quite sure how to continue. He replayed the memory. Has she finally let you fuck her? Have you noticed the way she’ll pull on your hair when she --. Annabeth was looking at him, worry in her eyes. “He tried to tell me … intimate details about you.” 

“Did he show you anything?” She asked quickly. 

“No,” Percy responded just as fast. “No, he just started to talk about you … pulling hair, but he didn’t get farther than that before we cut him off.” 

She was staring at his chest again, not looking up at him, but he could see the tops of her ears were red. He wants you to feel small, and weak, and like you’re nothing. Percy had a feeling she hadn’t just been talking about him. He wanted to find Luke again and hurt him, make him bleed, make him apologize , but he took a few deep breaths, trying to rid himself of his anger. It wouldn’t help Annabeth. 

“Are you okay?” Percy asked.

She looked up at him, her eyes brimming with tears. “No,” she admitted after a moment. “But I will be.” She stepped away from him and started to dab her eyes with a tissue. “I’m just glad that if anyone had to find him, it was you and Beck. I mean, I’m sorry that he tried to hurt you too, but,” she rested a hand on his face, “you are a great friend. Thank you for protecting me and what little dignity I still have.” 

She moved her hand, and Percy mourned the loss of her touch. “I’m grateful to be your friend,” he said honestly. “And you’ve got plenty of dignity.” 

Annabeth just smiled softly.

“Do you want someone to stay with you tonight, since he’s in town?” Percy asked, hoping that someone might be him. 

“Still offering to protect me?” She asked. It sounded like she was trying to joke, but it fell flat and serious. Percy nodded, earnest. “Charming.” 

He wanted to hug her, but she had her makeup on still, and his act three costume was pure white. He wanted to kiss her but kissing a woman after talking about her ex-fiancé seemed like the wrong time.

But she was still looking at him. Her confusion and sadness blended with the confidence and pride he loved about her. She licked her lips just a bit, and there was suddenly a new tension in the room. Kissing her first would be a bad decision, he decided, but if she kissed first …

“Annabeth,” Piper said, knocking at the door of the dressing room. “I need to get changed, open the door.”

The spell was broken. Annabeth took a step away from him. "Just a second," she called to her. “I have to get changed,” she said to Percy, looking down at her white tutu.

Percy nodded. “I’ll see you downstairs.”

He stepped out of her dressing room, and saw Piper waiting for Annabeth in the hall. She was scrolling on her phone, so Percy tried to sneak past her, but the sound of the dressing room door closing caught her attention.

She gave Percy a sly smile when she saw him, and Percy felt his ears get red. “Oh, okay.” Piper said.

“Piper, please don’t – nothing happened –” he stammered.

She put up her hands. “I won’t tell anyone. Scouts honor,” she promised. “But time these things a little better. People will notice if you’re both late.”

Percy nodded, figuring that was the best he was going to get.

~

Percy was glad to see Annabeth smiling and laughing when she walked in, shoulder to shoulder with Piper. The two were whispering something back and forth like school girls.  Piper caught Percy’s glance and wiggled her eyebrows at him. From the other side of the stage, she took out her phone and typed something. A minute later, Percy got a text message: 

PIPER: We NEED to hang out with Annabeth more she’s great 

Percy typed back: I know 

He saw Piper angle her phone towards Annabeth, letting her read the exchange. Annbeth looked up, a teasing smile on her face as she winked at him. Whatever fear Luke had put in her was gone for now. Percy smiled and winked right back.  

When notes were over,  Percy offered to walk her to the subway when they were done, but she shook her head. “Thanks, but I’m going to call an Uber. My legs are so tired I don’t think I could make it up the stairs.”

Percy laughed. “That’s fair.”

She stopped when they got to the curb. She turned towards him, placing a gentle hand on his arm. “Seriously, Percy, don’t dwell on what Luke said,” she was looking him in the eyes this time. “You’re really fantastic.”

He smiled. “So are you,” he said. “When you’re on stage, no one can take their eyes off of you.”

She shrugged and brushed him off. “That’s just because I’ve got the crown and big tutu.”

“No, it’s not,” he told her. “You’re always welcome at my place, if you don’t want to be home in case Luke comes knocking.” 

She thought about it for a moment before shaking her head. “I can handle him.”

“You sure?” 

“I’ve got a baseball bat in my closet.”

She smiled and adjusted her dance bag. She looked like she was about to say something else, but her Uber pulled up. “Well, enjoy your few days off,” she said. “I’ll see you at the show.” She smiled and waved goodbye as she got in the car.

“Get home safe,” he said to her.

He didn’t wait for the car to leave this time; instead, once the car door closed, he turned and headed towards the subway, his legs aching with each step.

~

His infinitely kind mother had a bucket of ice ready for him when he got home. He sat on his bed, ice packs on his quads and his feet in the buckets, his back flat against the mattress. He took a few relaxing breaths, running through the high parts of the rehearsals – the solos he had done well, the compliments Annabeth and Chiron had given him. He also took stock of some of his corrections, noting some things he might work on in the couple of days before the show. He tried to keep Luke’s voice out of his head as much as he could as he ran through the notes, trying to focus on Annabeth. You’re really fantastic, she had said to him.

He checked Instagram and Twitter, liking a few photos company members had posted of themselves in their costumes. Annabeth had posted photos of her in her pink act one costume, and Piper had put videos of her and Annabeth goofing off in the dressing room before the show on her close friends' story. 

When he ran out of social media to scroll through, he opened his email, hoping there wasn’t anything that needed his immediate attention.

He had a new email from an address he didn’t recognize. There wasn’t a subject or a body. Percy thought about deleting it right away, figuring it was spam or a virus, but the attachments caught his focus.

Annabeth 18 the first one of them read. There were at least six other attachments, all with her name on them.

Their company photographer sometimes sent production photos over. He was there today, taking pictures of the run. He clicked the first attachment. 

He sat up straight when the photo loaded: it was Annabeth for sure, but she was much younger, topless and staring up at the camera from a spot on an unmade bed. He put the phone down next to him, unable and unwilling to look. It wasn’t the eighteenth photo in a collection, he realized. It was her age in the picture. Whoever had taken this did it in a moment of intimacy. Someone had pictures of a barely legal Annabeth, and they were sharing them with strangers.

You think I didn’t notice, Luke asked in his head, you want it, have it. Percy shook with range and anger. It couldn’t be Luke, he thought. They weren’t together yet. But who else could it be? Who else would do that? He looked at the email again, the photo closed this time. The email was a suspicious string of numbers. The other photos all had ages, ranging from eighteen to twenty-one

Percy’s hands shook as he closed the email. He’d let Annabeh decide what to do with the pictures, but he hoped she didn’t need to save it. He didn’t want these in his email for a minute longer than they needed to be. 

He found Annabeth in his contacts as quickly as his shaking hands would let him. 

He waited for her to pick up, worried that she might already be asleep, but she answered after a few rings.

“I know you’re a gentleman, but you don’t need to call me to make sure I got home okay,” she teased.

“Sorry, I didn’t … I mean, that’s not why …” he couldn’t put his words in order. He hadn’t thought about what he would say to her.

“Is everything okay?” She asked.

“Did you just send me an email?” He asked her. Maybe it was her. Maybe this was some strange twisted foreplay. 

“No,” she said. His heart sank with a terrible knowledge. “Why?” She suddenly sounded nervous, the playful tone gone from her voice, like she knew what he was going to say before he said it.

“Because I think someone just sent me something you wouldn’t want me to see.” 

[dawnslight-aegis]

24. bar

(guest starring @aster-skies's yrja~)

Kaede sat at a table in a quiet corner of the second floor of the Bobbing Cork, a large sack of gil in front of her, as well as several weapons, a few loose gemstones, some rare alchemical reagents, and a ledger. How she had ended up being the one to divvy up the spoils from two separate adventuring forays, she did not quite know. It would have been simpler to take it to Tataru, and let the Scions’ coincounter do the work, but it was rare indeed these days to have the luxury of a job that wasn’t associated with the Scions – and their finders’ fee. She didn’t begrudge the organization their cut, but it was nice to do some honest adventuring again. Besides, after that nonsense with Leviathan, she was more than happy to keep her distance from Mor Dhona for a while. Fighting primals was one thing, getting skewered by a chunk of ship railing and almost bleeding out was entirely another.

By all accounts, Marz’s group’s cleansing of Amdapor had been considerably less entertaining – and more disgusting – than Kaede’s own visit to Halatali, but both had been lucrative in their own ways. Though she had to say, gladitorial prize money was a good deal easier to portion out than random artifacts and bits that might or might not have value to the right person.

The soft scrape of wood on wood drew her attention back up, to find the other side of her table occupied by a tall, elegant viera woman, her white hair drawn back into a ponytail and a tankard of mead in each hand.

Yrja Eruyt was likely the only person in the bar to draw more attention than Kaede herself – and so a strange sort of kinship had sprung up between them, shortly after meeting a few moons previous. Precious few people Kaede had met understood what it was like to be so completely surrounded by people so much different than oneself. Add in the mess that was the Echo, and, well – Kaede was certain that the only thing separating the two of them into “adventurer” and “Warrior of Light” was Kaede’s own tendency to let herself get drawn into other people’s problems, tied down with duty and responsibility. Yrja did not seem to have that problem, coming and going as she pleased. Sometimes Kaede envied her freedom.

…It certainly didn’t hurt that she was gorgeous, either, not to mention deadly with a bow.

She accepted the mug of mead the other woman handed her with a smile. “Have they entirely destroyed the bar yet, or are they simply well on their way?”

“Last I saw, my brother and his miqo’te friend were very loudly arguing about which of them could more successfully seduce Admiral Bloefhiswyn,” Yrja murmured with a smile over the lip of her tankard, and Kaede rolled her eyes.

“Of course they are. At least it’s not Kan-E-Senna, I think that might actually get us arrested,” Kaede muttered under breath, shaking her head. “And Marz?”

“Fleecing some men in Triple Triad, I believe. Though, to her credit, they had been quite crass to the waitress.”

Sighing, Kaede rubbed her forehead. Right on cue, shouting began emanating from the first floor, followed by a string of doman swearing.

Both women glanced over the railing to see the xaela with her hands propped on her hips, staring down several angry wildwood men as a small keeper of the moon girl nervously clutched her drink tray and looked back and forth between the groups. Yrja crossed her legs and tipped her head in a graceful gesture. “I believe that means you owe me five gil?”

Sliding one coin from her own pile to the viera’s, Kaede rose and began packing up hers and Marz’s share. Doubtless it would be needed to pay for repairs. Or bail. “I’m beginning to regret this recurring bet. Yrys always manages to wait until someone else causes trouble to jump in. And that someone… is usually Marz.”

The sound of splintering wood heralded the devolving of the situation into an all-out brawl. Another look down revealed a howling elezen man on the ground, Marz’s foot on the back of his wrist, a knife a few ilms away from his hand, a broken chair still held loosely by a red-haired viera man, and several bar patrons fleeing the scene entirely.

“How many bars is this?” Kaede asked as she slung her bag over her shoulder and tossed two pouches to Yrja.

“That they’ve started trouble in, or been banned from?”

“Is the number different?”

Tipping her head in consideration, Yrja chuckled quietly. “I suppose it isn’t. Shall we reconvene at the Seventh Heaven?”

Considering its status as a front for the Scions’ headquarters, sooner or later that would be the only tavern where certain members of their party were allowed to drink together, apparently, and Kaede sighed. “Sure. I heard there were a few leads on other jobs there, anyway. Turns out some of us might need the extra gil.”

“So it would seem,” Yrja replied, and together they descended into the chaos to retrieve their respective responsibilities.

[haunted-hijinxer]

Now for the follow up question, what was the worst ending you had planned for Cthulu AU Season 2?

Hahaha, oh boy…! For a lot of these most of the ‘worst’ endings I’ve considered are the ones baked into the scenario, though occasionally the specifics of the group or additions I’ve made can add to them.

I've got some from the book and some specific to our playthrough under the cut!

For Tell Me, Have You Seen the Yellow Sign, the big one (aside from just being killed by the various antagonists) is failing to stop Fowler’s full ascension as an Avatar of the Yellow King, and the dreams of everyone who has seen the sign being plagued with increasingly mind-rending visions of Carcosa for, as the scenario puts it in its final words, “as long as their sanity holds out. Soon they too will be faithful subjects of the Yellow King, devoted to spreading his Yellow Sign so that others may rejoice in his reign.” If Henry hadn’t tried to confront the sign head on and learned he could cleanse it, even with Joey miraculously never having seen the sign, this could have ended with all the other boys slowly going utterly insane... with Joey unable to stop it. 

Another recurring bad-ending threat was various investigators getting kidnapped as Peter did and being lost forever in dread Carcosa. This could also happen if they interfered in the wrong way with the summoning ritual at the lake, or if things went sideways at the party. Once the threat of the party was over, anyone lost there would have been stranded in that maddening realm, just as Fowler was. 

Speaking of bad things I had planned, I had strongly expected that once Peter was gone, there would be no chance to save him until the actual party, at which point he would have been much worse off sanity-wise and could have even been an obstacle, or a lure to tempt Jack into danger at the party. That would have been fun, but I have to say, I’m still delighted over the perfect storm of Mochi and Boo completely rewriting how all that went down!!

Okay, what other horrible fates had I considered… OH

A big one was that Prophet got scarily close to sacrificing someone!! When the group was all working together in the finale, everyone was mostly voicing how glad they were Prophet was cooperating to help them stop Fowler, and the plan was that Prophet who had been blessed with knowledge of the ritual would be the one to purify the stone. But if he had done it, that sure would have left Prophet with the freshly restored eldritch relic able to choose the next host of his Lord right there in his hand… if he’d cut someone with the restored stone, there weren’t any convenient time loops going on this time to bail them out, and if any of the players had contingency plans for this, I sure didn’t know about them, haha! 

Joey ended up having an insanity lead to him trying to bind the stone to himself instead to remove the influence of the Yellow King, though this was at the cost of large chunks of his POW and CON. If Henry hadn’t had gold blood power left to soak some of the strain on Joey, it’s possible Joey could have completely crippled or even killed himself in the attempt.  On the flip side, if Henry had tried to push into giving much more than he did, he could have given himself sufficient blood loss to have risked death as well.

BUT EVEN THEN, this left Joey and Henry badly drained by the time Prophet showed up. Prophet had a fairly difficult check to retrieve the stone from Joey-Lurker’s then-goopy form, but boy, what a time that would have been for Prophet to roll an extreme success! He would have had a few moments with the restored stone, and no one else there but Henry and Joey, prime sacrifices, helpless before him. 

Another fun one was when Prophet told Fowler he served a higher power…and it was then Fowler understood exactly why Prophet had been resisting the sign, and tried to forcefully realign the ink in Prophet to the Yellow King. If Prophet hadn’t made his rolls to resist, he would have spent the rest of his ink dose as Fowler’s loyal aide, full of maddening music to share as the Prophet of the Yellow King. If Fowler had found the opportunity to grant his new minion a suitably powerful Yellow Sign of his own, he might even have stayed that way indefinitely…a fate Sammy and Prophet might both have considered worse than death.

Just lots of fun options in good ol' Call of Cthulhu!!

[words-after-midnight]

I have a question which might sound quite idiotic but: has the poem "You Are Jeff" by Richard Siken been an influence on your story? Perhaps I am totally wrong but the theme of obsessive devotion to the point where one almost loses their sense of self from the poem reminded me a lot of the few things I have just seen from you.

Not an idiotic question at all. I actually had a similar thought when I read it - years after the draft of the story was completed. My Jeff, therefore, wasn't inspired by the poem, but he could have been. The first twin at the beginning of the poem could even be describing him (emphasis mine):

Both motorbikes are shiny red and both boys

have perfect teeth, dark hair, soft hands. The one in front will want to

take you apart, and slowly. His deft and stubby fingers searching every

shank and lock for weaknesses. You could love this boy with all your heart.

(Except my Jeff is a curly blonde and would be highly offended if his fingers were described as "stubby.")

I was also blown away in the section where Siken refers to "you" as "Jefferson," because that's also my Jeff's full name, and not the substantially more common Jeffrey.

So not an inspiration, but an incredibly cool coincidence. I do love the common theme. Certainly Gabriel - who had a poor and unstable sense of self to begin with - lost his sense of self in his toxic and misguided devotion to Jeff, and spends a large chunk of the story trying to build an identity for himself that doesn't revolve around his perceived role in Jeff's life. I think the real tragedy of the story is not so much in the fact that Jeff never loved Gabriel (he did, in part, "invent the monsters under the bed," but because Gabriel's emotions were a favorite game to him for a time, rather than out of any desire of his own for closeness), but the fact that Gabriel suffered and sacrificed so much for someone he never really knew or loved beyond his own misguided ideas of who Jeff was or should be.

Side note: The concept of the "monsters under the bed" is actually present and recurring in the story, funnily enough, only it has a very different meaning.

Thank you for giving me an excuse to revisit this poem!

[quill-of-thoth]

Letters from Watson: The Man with the Twisted Lip

Part 3: The Fun Bits

Holmes, who has already come to conclusions only to have them overturned, makes a pillow fort. Looking at my workspace while writing this.... uh, no comment.

Once again Holmes is waking Watson up early but at least this time he didn't loom, okay?

I believe Bradstreet is a recurring inspector. Not so much as Lestrade, but if I recall correctly he turns up again.

Nowadays we use "Tinker" to refer to the act of messing about with machinery, and I was aware that it referred to a tin-smith as well, but here it is probably being used as a slur against Irish Travelers or Romani people. (The two groups were both discriminated against heavily at the time.)

Red hair also had weird associations. In addition to today's stereotypes about redheads having a temper, or having a lot of sex, there's historically been associations with witchcraft, with Judaism whenever antisemitism reached a fever pitch, and also with the Irish. Poor and non-protestant Irish people were also discriminated against at this time.

As for facial scarring, I hardly need to go into why someone with a large facial scar would have social and financial trouble in Victorian England, where your health and beauty were socially considered to be a reflection of your inner virtue, or lack thereof.

Holmes can get heavy duty, presumably realistic stage makeup off with just water and a sponge? Why the heck did I ever use makeup wipes or cold cream to get my stage makeup off?

"You would have done better to have trusted your wife" is the moral of a decent chunk of these stories.

St Clair's income from begging is ludicrous, but I'll save that for the wrap-up.

[thehungergamesbreakdown]

Peeta Mallark, The Best Boy

Peeta Mallark really is the best character in the entire series. No, I'm serious - Katniss told me herself. Peeta takes a while to get into the story. I mean a while as in the first twenty-five pages but between meeting Gale and Prim and everyone at the Hob and Madge, Peeta takes a while! His first moment on the page is him being reaped right after Katniss' sister, Prim. Katniss's first thought? "Oh, No." (Collins, 25).

Peeta's description comes shortly after this, "Medium height, stocky build, ashy blond hair that falls in waves over his forehead. The shock of the moment is registering on his face, you can see his struggle to remain emotionless, but his blue eyes show the alarm I've seen so often in prey." (Collins, 25-26). Peeta is from the merchant class of District Twelve, his father owns the Baker. It's also revealed that he has two brothers but nether volunteers.

Katniss quickly reveals why she had such a reaction to Peeta's reaping, Right after her father died when the money had dried up, Katniss's entire family was on the brink of survival. Katniss was 11 years old in the pouring rain, going from house to house trying to sell baby clothes. She ended up going through the bins but she found nothing. The bakery's wife yells at her when she sees her and Katniss backs off. The scene goes as follows. "The realization that I'd have nothing to take home finally suck in. My knees buckled and I slid down the tree trunk to its roots. I was too much. I was too sick and weak and tired, oh, so tired. Let them call the Peaccekeeprs and take us to the community home, I thought. Or better yet, let me die right here in the rain.

There was a clatter in the bakery and I heard the woman screaming again and the sound of a blow, and I vaguely wondered what was going on. Feet sloshed toward me through the mud and I thought, It's here. She's coming to drive me away with a stick. But it wasn't here. It was the boy. In his arms, he carried two large loaves of bread that must have fallen into the fire because the crusts were scorched black.

His mother was yelling, "Feed it to the pig, you stupid creature! Why not? No one decent will buy burnt bread!"

He began to tear off chunks from the burned parts and toss them in the trough, and the front bell runa dn the mother disappeared to help a customer.

The boy never even glanced my way, but I was watching him. Because of the bread, because of that read weal that stood out on his cheekbones. What had she hit him with? My parents never hit us. I couldn't even imagine it. The boy took one look back at the bakery as if checking that the coast was clear, then his attention back on the pig, he threw a loaf of bread in my direction. The second quickly followed, and he sloshed back to the bakery, closing the kitchen door tightly behind him.

I stared at the loaves in disbelief. They were fine, perfect really, except for the burned areas. Did he mean for me to have them? He must have. Because they were at my feet. Before anyone could witness what had happened I shoved the loaves up my shirt, wrapped the hunting jacket tightly about me, and walked swiftly away." (Collins, 38 - 39).

Katniss tells us in the next passage that the loaves get them to the start of spring where Dandelions start to bloom and Katniss realizes she can figure out how to feed her family. She considers this to be a debt to Peeta, the boy with the bread.

It's a recurring thought of hers in the arena that she constantly has another thing to owe Peeta and that she is never going to be able to repay this debt and finally be able to be okay if she has to kill him. Plot twist, she never really is okay with the idea of killing Peeta, even when the two victor thing is revoked. Then she hates the idea of him killing himself and that's when she brings up the berries.

Peeta might be considered to be "one of Katniss' love interests" but Peeta is so much better than that. Peeta is more than half the reason Katniss survived the first game because if Katniss is the head, logical and survival-driven, then Peeta is the heart of their team, the charmer and emotional know-it-all - skills Katniss struggles with.

For most of the book, Katniss has no idea what Peeta's deal is. She has this recurring thought that he is constantly trying to trick her or even backstab her in one way or another but she's always wrong. It's kind of amusing to watch on your second reread.

In the next post, I'll talk examine the myth, the man the legend himself - Haymitch.

[rumoursfromines]

Sylvia Plath, born 1932, was an American poet, novelist, and diarist. She was extremely prolific writer and throughout her short life produced over 400 poems, a novel, several short stories, and many journals and letters. A lot of her work, especially her more famous works, deal with mental illness and what it was like to be an ambitious woman in an age where women couldn't even have their own credit cards.

Her biographical background, I think, is one of the things that make her relatable to modern audiences. Sylvia Plath had a complicated childhood. She lost her father at eight years old to illness and was raised by a chronically ill single mother who struggled financially. This pushed Plath to outperform all of her classmates and to start earning her own money by sending her poetry out to magazines from a young age. At the same time she lived a very fulfilled social life with plenty of friends and dates. She was also very upfront about not wanting to be reduced to a mother and housewife in her future, defying expectations for women in her day and age.

By all accounts, Sylvia Plath was an extremely interesting writer. However, with such a large selection of texts to choose from, it can be difficult to pick a place to start. Which is why I've decided to compile all of my Plath knowledge into this (hopefully somewhat complete) post. Below the cut you will find brief summaries of her important works sorted into different categories. Happy reading :)

Disclaimer: I've seen many people on social media be taken aback by some of the themes in Plath's work, especially the racism and the holocaust imagery present throughout her work. I feel like for some people this might be useful to know before they start to read. Plath was a white American writing in the 1950s, so common social attitudes will be reflected in her work. It's important not to internalise her own bigotry as you read. Keeping this in mind, I still think her work is worth your time and attention.

the basics:

Ariel is probably Plath's most famous poetry collection. It centers around the themes of gender, death, and rebirth. The first edition of this collection was published posthumously and edited by Plath's husband. The collection was restored to the order Plath originally intended poems to be in in 2005 and published with a preface written by Plath's daughter, Frieda Hughes.

The Bell Jar is Sylvia Plath's only published novel. It is a semi-autobiographical account of her 1953 New York internship with Mademoiselle, a lady's magazine. The main character, Esther Greenwood, is meant to be having the time of her life working for a fashion magazine in New York until things get too much for Esther to handle. A large chunk of the novel is dedicated to Esther's complicated recovery from depression.

the niche:

Three Women is both a poem and a radio play. It tells the stories of three women in a maternity ward, all handling their motherhood differently. It is included in the poetry collection Winter Trees.

The Colossus is the only poetry collection Plath published in her lifetime (so automatically the only one where she had full artistic control over the content of the book). The poems here discuss topics such as about death, trauma, belonging, and womanhood.

Crossing The Water is a poetry collection that was published posthumously, along with Winter Trees, by Plath's husband Ted Hughes. These collections contain the poetry Plath wrote in her last creative spurt before her death. CTW centers around the themes of womanhood, depression, and endings (do you sense a recurring theme?), whereas WT deals with family dynamics and motherhood.

the extra reading:

The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath edited by Karen V. Kukil were published in the year 2000 and provide insight into Plath's inner life and context for a lot of her work, since much of it was inspired by events, be they important or insignificant, of her life. These journals range from 1953 up until 1959. The time between the last surviving journal until her death is covered by fragments, as Plath's very last journal was destroyed.

Red Comet by Heather Clark might be the single most detailed biography of Sylvia Plath on the market right now. It covers everything from her ancestors' immigration to the state, her parents' experiences in school, and the aftermath of Plath's death. It is definitely not a casual read (1000+ pages) but definitely worth it if you find yourself fascinated by Plath's work.

Pain, Parties, Work by Elizabeth Winder is a partial biography of Plath's time spent interning for Mademoiselle 1953. It paints an interesting picture of the writer, portraying her as a motivated young woman with a fulfilled social life who struggled with her mental health nonetheless. It's much shorter than Red Comet (<300 pages) and provides interesting an background for The Bell Jar.

Obviously there will always be more things by and about Sylvia Plath to read. Her letters, for example, have been released in two different editions: a two volume collection of the letters written throughout her life and another collection of letters written from England to America, edited by Plath's own mother, Aurelia Plath. I hope my little selection can help you find your way around Plath's bibliography. Happy reading :)

[ranboo5]

sorry this ended up being so long and its a little over the place

i thought they really nailed the atmosphere from episode 1 and i was srly impressed w the set design and the pretty seamless transition between live bits and prerecorded bits (felt a bit like a pre-rendered cutscene in a viddy game) and the general gamey aspects of the audience participation. my first first first impression of the entire thing was i was reminded of like you know those kids shows that are live action and theres an grownup guy whos host and theyre walking around in weird surreal rooms that arent real rooms but just a set? do you get what i mean.

i get that whole point was like well the "show" is show and its meant to be off and have this like vibe of shallow entertainment but its like when the large chunks of the actual series is That it wasnt always super interesting to watch unless there was something else going on? but like conceptually i really liked all the different segments of the "show". theres almost an aspect to them where in some of them the entertainment comes out of like almost degrading and dehumanizing the participants? could be wrong. anyway no matter how entertaining i found those bits, having 2/3 of the series be That does make really good buildup for ep3 i dont think i wouldve enjoyed ep3 alone without having seen ep1 and ep2. like them just walking around on these like sets they had been in prior but now theyre empty and dark. and the sets on their own were already a bit freaky and ominious but with all the silliness on top you sort of buy it, but now theyre empty like FUCK. seeing the ep 1 set from that perspectove for example fucked w me. i rly like ep3.

i liked the little nod to jerma dollhouse. and i love how they make audience participation feel increasingly more sinister during the course of the series . i mean it was already sinister in jerma dollhouse because jerma dollhouse is a riff on sims and SIMS is sinister because you get to play god with little guys and thats on paper a little fucked up. i guess the audience has way less power in genloss but theyre sort of complicit in everything and almost contributing to the spectacle just by virtue of being there and watching? idk. thinking of ranboo yelling stop watching into charlies stream and throwing the camera into the floor. maybe thats the point

i havent thought tooo hard about but but i think the overall recurring theme feels slightly on the nose like the part where ranboo walks into the food court and its just this row of streamers it feels like just slightly a little bit corny. but then on the other hand id rather have that than like it being so ambiguous that the casual viewer would not Get it do you get what i mean.

umm i think my biggest consistent negative thing was the improv between characters felt a little chaotic and overwhelming and it seemed like some participants werent really responding to each other as much as just Saying things. and i think given the many different kinds of Situations and Predicaments they were in i was a bit disappointed that there wasnt as much good like not banter but back and forth as i wouldve hoped. and then i liked even less when there were too many streamers in one scene at once it was very overwhelming and chaotic and it seemed like everyone was just fighting for screentime (maybe this is not true but this is the impression i got). im fine w the acting tho i think it was suited for the story they wanted to tell. as always blown away by ranboos profiecience at playing a miserable sopping guy at the end.

the standout star of the series was the visuals goddd the sets and the cinematography and the way they utilize the entire space so well.like every single hallway and door . and like idk what to call them the like Guys with the masks just pouring out of these corners is so freaky and then the Wire tv creechers are so and its so actually i have one thing visualswise that i thought abt that stuck with me with like again idk if they have a name but the guys with the masks in general. ESPECIALLY that moment in the end when ranboo presses that red button and they all just kind of stop and shut down and just stand there eerily . VISUALLY it reminds me so much of magrittes golconda and i just keep thinking about it. like the way theyre all spaced and just standing it almost feels intentional maybe not referencing that work specifically but def trying to evoke a similar feeling. do you see the vision

idk. Thats my thoughts.i have not been super into the whole arg aspect and the binary code and wingdings and i have not dived super deep into like the hashtag LORE these r just my own observations and thoughtse. yayy

THIS IS AWESOME TBH.... I DIDN'T MAKE THE MAGRITTE CONNECTUION BUT YUOU'RE SO RIGHT AND IT WORKS SAUR FUCKING WELL LIKE WHAT IF I EXPLODE

I think I had a lot of patience for the show:tm: stuff because I was paying (probably too much/reading Into It) attention to the moments of like . Shaky camerawork or weird handling of confessionals. That whole energy that Showfall is not an actual media company but something playing at being a media company. IS SO

[saule-comme-larbre]

I spent the week sewing a thing (well, I didn’t spend the week actually sewing, but like, the stuff and tools were out and I worked on it almost everyday)

Due to my ADHD and chronic fatigue I spent a very large chunk of time not doing anything in between the times spent on it. I know this is quite common but it’s so frustrating. I almost didn’t do any house work and as a result I have quite a lot to catch up. I needed this time doing something I wanted to do, really taking the time for myself, but it’s always borrowed (with interest) and I also need the space to be tidy to feel good. It’s an impossible choice. I can’t be done with house work, never ever, there’s always something to do. Even if I allow messiness which is absolutely inevitable anyway.

I feel trapped, again. It’s a recurring state, always for the same reasons and with the same conclusions.

I could have a short allotted time to craft each week but it either feels like too little to reach Focus, or it takes over my entire active time (which is short, because of the fatigue).

I don’t know how to balance things. Maybe I should just admit to myself that I don’t have the energy to craft at all, and stop hoarding materials and tools, and use the space another way. Find joy another way. It feels like tearing myself in pieces though.

[sherlockhomies-42]

Uhhh heyyyyyyy, so like it's been like 2 weeks..... How y'all doin?

My bad I got writers block and couldn't think of anything to write for chapter 3 but it think this is pretty good u guys lemme knowwwww❤️💓❤️💓

Anyway, next stop, ❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥Hell❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥

Chapter 3

Lady come down

Meanwhile at the Hazbin Hotel

The princess sat at her desk looking over her plans for the hotel, employee forms and other miscellaneous paper works that were strewn across the desk, she heard small footsteps and knew who it was as the door handle turned;

She flicked her eyes up and gave a hasty 'Hi Vaggie' and a kiss on her cheek before she looked right back at her paperwork continuing to pick at her fingernails in nervousness whilst staring over the plans for the new hotel, and ideas for guest roll in.

Vaggie looked at her girlfriend with empathy and put a hand on her should to soothe her panicked feelings;

"Charlie, please stop worrying. You'll see we inspired demons across this ring to fight back for their afterlife, and now we really have a reason to fight for it." She says softly as she gestures to the newly installed painting of Sir.Pentious, clad in is armour looking quite noble.

Charlie looks at the painting feeling a new determination flow thru her veins as she thinks of his sacrifice and his love he never got to truly pursue...there in that moment Charlie felt inspired again.

She looks to her love and smiles " Thank you honey, I know we can do this. It's not just for him, it's for everyone who truly believes they have a chance to do better."

They two women embrace and Charlie allows her eyes to drift shut for just a moment to soak in the relaxing feeling.

But all in a moment she feels something, like a string lightly being tugged in the center of her chest that causes her to pull back from the embrace in confusion, which allows her eyes to settle on the small duck bobble head on her desk,

A gift from her father, after the rebuild of her hotel, a small step forward in opening up between them, Charlie had placed the duck right on her desk next to her coffee cup 'to look at and feel inspired by my dad's belief in me everyday!'

Of course that belief was hard to keep up with as the constant taunting threats from Heaven, not to mention the other sins and the overlords but other than that nothing specific felt wrong;

Until she notices the ducks head bobbling a little, then a lot and then it seemed all at once the very foundation of the hotel was being shaken to it's core.

As expected the chaos from Heaven spread down thru the rings of Hell as well,

Of course at first it was no cause for alarm,

Hellquakes are a recurring thing and they don't normally last longer than a few minutes at a time, but the panic began when the rumbling got more aggressive and unstable, as if the very foundations of the ring they existed on was being thrown out of balance.

Down in the lobby, the patrons of the hotel were lounging around before the shaking threw them all into a panic.

Charlie and Vaggie appeared from around the top of the staircase, Vaggie swiftly helping the others in the hotel stabilize themselves and all looking on as with a wave of her hand, Charlie cast a large golden bubble (similar to the one Alastor had used to protect the hotel from the Angels initial invasion) with this one in mind not for defense but keeping the hotels structure as stable as possible.

Unknowing that by using such a large power output, She had basically set herself up as a homing beacon.

They all marched to the front doors which were thrown open by the shaking and hard winds blowing which caused small chunks of random debris to come off of the hotels gutters but otherwise the structure was kept intact.

As the winds outside the hotel whipped up harder and harder, Vaggie looked to Charlie in concern. Before she could even open her mouth, Charlie shrugged her shoulder as and shook her head; indicating a clear 'I have no clue what's happening'

The horror clicked in oddly enough when everything went silent, completely soundless like a void in space.

And then a small streak came across the sky, small enough that if you weren't paying attention to it at first you would miss it against the red sky and pentagram, but then it began to stretch out, spidering across the sky almost like a crack in a window. But it wasn't anything shattering yet, It seemed to be a shadow, swooping around the circle of Pride seeming to be looking for something, as it continued to circle it became bigger and bigger, and even Bigger until she realized in horror this... Whatever this was is larger then any demon she's ever seen, even when Alastor grew to a large size to defend the hotel, he never got that large.

She became even more alarmed when she noticed none was moving at all, it was completely still, civilians on the sidewalk frozen in place in fear, people inside looking thru windows all the same, she looked away only for a moment to gauge the reactions of her friends and lover, only to see the same terror on their faces. (While also noting that Alastor was not present amongst those who had come outside at the commotion...very strange)

She looked back up in determination and was frozen in horror herself upon seeing the entity had stopped moving completely and was transfixed on her location thru the edge of the barrier of hell. Looking at her with it's hands pressed up against the 'edge' like it's hand were pushing against glass.

Then, it raised it's clawed hand and tapped on the space Infront of it, it's finger making a small thump against the surface,

It then did it again, and again getting increasingly harder with every jab of the claw when suddenly, it began to fissure, then crack, then all at once a hole shattered into the Pride ring. As the denizen's of Hell looked on in terror, a collosal point came thru, and then another and another and another until there were four of them. Then it clicked; that is a HAND.

The first yelp of terror set chaos motion as denizen's left and right began to scream in terror and run in any direction the could looking for somewhere to hide the clawed hand seemed to grasp the edge of the shatter and stretch it open farther for a second hand to emerge from the inky blackness.

A shrouded face came into view which caused more panic as it began to push thru the barrier and into the Pride ring.

A face

Then it's neck,

It's claws grasped the edges of the portal to pull it's body and legs thru, landing with an earth shattering thud on the ground of pride. It's whole body in an inky mist of what looked like stardust against a black sky, like ever sunrise and sunset the universe has ever seen floating around it's from, making it difficult to actually see the things form clearly.

POV switch

(Just like real quick)

-Deaths pov-

It's like watching glass fissure and get ready to shatter

She thought whilst poking and prodding at the barrier between her and the Pride ring of hell.

A little harder to pierce than I remember but then again I have been asleep for awhile, might just be rusty

Then the glass like barrier gave way under her claws as she zeroed in on the power output she was feeling; 'Not angelic but definitely more pure than anyone else down here, No question that's his kid I'd recognize that power anywhere'

She pushed one, then both hands thru the hole she had made, making it wider so she could slip thru without causing too much damage;

'Barriers are a bitch to repair, might as well make it easy on myself'

She lands on the ground, wincing at the shaking and shuddering she feels now calming down as the environment adjusts to her presence after a millenia of sleep. She truns and drawks her hand up against the hole she had created and slowly the hole began to seemingly drip and reform itself like sculpting gkass and making it shiny again. soon enough the hols had closed and the entity sighed at the energy it took to do so but know in the logn run it was better to seal the hole now than let.... seomething ELSE creep in behind her.

Which reminds her of her task and she refocuses on locting Hells princess.

Which was laughably easy as she saw the golden bubble shimmer from outside the barrier and could feel the power output, so familiar and yet all together different from her Father, seemingly more, vibrant, and alive then how she remembers Lucifers magic to be.

It's then that she looks down an realizes the paint and pandemonium she's caused, and of course, panics and trust to call the terrified little sinner souls. Unintentionally booming while still at a colossal size;

"Where is Charlotte Morningstar?"

(If y'all want to spit ideas for chapter 4's first meeting and interaction I'm open lemme know guys) ☺️☺️

[moonygrim]

To Dora Milaje or not to Dora Milaje?

I just need a minute to vent.

So just a quick question: Why is hair so important?

Like how and why did the topic of hair become such an important one?

So just a quick backstory, I'm a black woman and a big fat tomboy. Like growing up I was such a tomboy that most of my relatives thought that I was a lesbian (not that the two have any real correlation but I'm just trying to paint a picture here). So for a majority of my childhood and teen years I almost always had a boyish way about me from the way I dressed to the way I acted to even the way my parents treated me. So for most of my childhood and a large chunk of my teen years I almost always had short hair now this wasn't actully my choice but rather my mother's (she read an article once that stated that getting your children's hair relaxed or done in anyway made them more prone to sexual desires from an early age whether or not this is actually true is really a story for another day). So for most of my childhood and even my teen years my mom always kept my hair (and that of my siblings) either extremely short or we were just bald. While this did bother me a lot growing up because of the teasing I would often get at school for being a girl with no hair I don't really remember it upsetting me a great deal other than the obvious case of hair envy I would usually battle with every now and again. Any ways so when I was around 16 my mom finally let me start really getting my hair done properly, while she had let me get it relaxed before then, my inexperience with taking care of hair properly along with my lack of desire and patience to do so meant I reverted back to having short natural hair soon after getting my hair relaxed for the first time, but at 16 everything was so different. For starters I was nearing the end of my high school career and the boy I liked (who I suspected liked me) had gone and got himself a girlfriend and I was big mad about it. This along with my desire to feel more feminine made me start getting my hair done. and while at first it was fun to actually get to do something different with my hair for the first time ever, a large part of me loathed everything about the experience. Everything from the never-ending manipulation of my hair, to the long hours it took to achieve certain hairstyles and the seemingly never ending rules there were about hair care and maintenance that (given my history with doing my hair) I had never truly dealt with. So by the time I entered university I was exhausted with hair and just wanted it all gone. So started my recurring short hair journey which lasted up until I moved to South Korea earlier this year, a moment which I truly believe sparked my descent into pure hair madness and loathing.

Since moving to a country which has very different standards of beauty to my own, I've really had a hard time adjusting. Besides the ridiculous standards placed on women here, the fact that I am a black woman has really made things even more difficult. While I'm not really one to ever feel like my race makes it impossible for me to do things I will admit that sometimes I do feel like I have to really put in the work to just exist peacefully as a black woman. So because I'm not really in my mood to explain my whole life story I will just sum things up to the fact that I'm having a really hard time trying to be a more feminine version of myself that I am not and (in all honesty) I have never truly been.

Now while I have always been a person who prides themselves on originality and the basic human right to be different, it must also be stated for the records that I am also highly introverted, not confrontational, a little awkward and I truly hate misunderstandings with all my being. So living in a country where a lot of people don't really look like me and are henceforth very curious about black people and our way of life is a little tiring, especially when it comes to the topic of HAIR!!

So as I said before, in Korea (just like everywhere else) there are certain (ridiculous) expectations that are placed on women in terms of how they should look and act and this of course also applies to hair. So in this country, unlike in Africa, bald women are not a thing. and to be honest even really short hair is not all that popular (well that's just counting the area that I live in of course). So me rocking up with short hair or even (dare I say it) no hair would obviously be quite startling and would obviously lead to a never ending stream of questions and me having to explain myself and the fact that having no hair or short hair even if you are a woman is very common where I'm from (cue me using the Dora Milaje from Black Panther as a support base for my argument).

And while I was honestly prepared to have to explain myself and speak for all black people when I first moved here, I think I may have well and truly underestimated just how exhausting that can become after awhile having only had to do this a handful of times in my life because I'm an African who lived in Africa surrounded by other Africans just like me all my life. Plus considering my personality, this has become a bit of a problem for me particularly with the topic of hair and pre-existing notions of beauty and femininity.

Well that's my vent. Thank you for reading.

And to end things off on a beautifully sour note, to whoever made the idea of hair what it is today, along with the originator of the concept of femininity (and what it means) just know you are the monster(s) in all of my nightmares.

[petal-monster]

You can also read this article over on >> Neocities <<

---

With the surprise release of a remaster for the switch, there's been a resurgence of interest in Retro Studio’s Metroid Prime, the first 3D entry in the Metroid series. Prime is the first and best received game in a trilogy of first person adventures. Its immediate sequel, Metroid Prime 2: Echoes, is conversely regarded as a kind of black sheep. Echoes is unfairly maligned for a handful of design choices that distinguish it from the original Prime. These decisions make the game more hostile—and more interesting.

The core gameplay loop of Metroid games is straightforward: while you try to progress through a science-fiction world, you periodically come up against obstacles that are presently insurmountable. These are sometimes arbitrary (e.g. a locked and coloured door), and other times a little more diegetically interesting (e.g. a magnetic rail), but the basic idea is always the same: you must go out and find an appropriate upgrade to Samus' arsenal, which functions as a "key" to these "locks" impeding your progress. Consider a recurring example: hazardous environments. In most Metroid games, there is an area your character cannot traverse without suffering continuous damage. This acts as a form of environmental gating. You cannot get through this area without dying, and so must leave in search of an upgrade which will allow you to travel through without consequence.

In its adaptation of this convention, Echoes distinguishes itself from other Metroid games. Prime 2 is set on Aether, an alien world that has been dimensionally split through the impact of a radioactive comet. Large chunks of the planet now exist in a parallel universe, and the sentient race who inhabit Aether (the ‘Luminoth’) have been locked in constant war with this alternate universe's monstrous inhabitants, who invade the primary planet's surface through interdimensional portals. By the time protagonist Samus Aran arrives on Aether, this conflict has been raging for fifty years, and the Luminoth have been driven to near extinction. In order to save the Luminoth—and herself—Samus must venture through the enemy’s interdimensional gateways and into Dark Aether.

Players familiar with Metroid’s conventions will understand the function of Dark Aether immediately. Its atmosphere is toxic, which makes any attempt at progression without protection apparently suicidal. Unlike most such environments, though, the player must venture onwards anyway. As the player proceeds through the perilous otherworld they discover remnants of the Luminoth's own attempts to explore their enemies territory: ‘light crystals’ are scattered about the land, that once activated create small pockets of protection from the poisonous atmosphere. These crystals are small and spread out: the player is forced to dash from one bubble of safety to the next, their health ticking down whenever they are unshielded. This is not the only threat in Dark Aether. The tenebrous creatures that inhabit this terrible world try to stop Samus at every turn, forcing the player into combat with fluid-like enemies who can navigate the environment with overwhelming spatial freedom. Even if you were unconstrained by the boundaries of protective light, these creatures would still outclass you.The whole experience is tense and uncomfortable, and feels distinctly disempowering—an unusual emotion, for the franchise.

This is, of course, a temporary state of affairs. At the climax of the first major segment in Dark Aether the player defeats a boss monster and finds a suit upgrade that allows them to freely manoeuvre through the shadow realm. At least, that's what you are meant to assume. The Dark Suit (as it is called) is not actually a complete barrier. It provides some protection, but that just means the toxic atmosphere eats at you just a little bit slower. To make matters worse, from this point on light crystals are spread out much thinner, and soon the player is compelled to fight shockingly difficult mini-bosses in arenas that don't have any safe zones at all—battles where time is as much an enemy as the boss itself.

Dark Aether is, above all else, oppressive. Everything about it is uncomfortable. It looks poisonous and sounds even worse: strange noises drone against the music while Samus's suit sizzles in contact with the atmosphere. Its inhabitants are corrupted variations on wildlife from the planet proper, or else, utterly unique shape-shifting creatures of darkness. Its air and water eat at you constantly and unavoidably. Brief solace from the corrosive environment is found only around forgotten relics: ruins from a war of extinction. Ruins that did not, and could not, protect their creators—a fact you're keenly reminded of each time you come across a Luminoth corpse, or face off against their war machines, long since corrupted by the world they were built to destroy.

Metroid games have always used the harsh environments of their alien worlds as a way to gate player progress, but Metroid Prime 2 takes this bare mechanic and turns it into a narrative device, using it as a kind of characterization. Dark Aether isn't just another lava filled cavern: it is not just inhospitable, but rather actively, volitionally hostile. One feels as if the world itself has agency—as if it hates you as much as it seems to hate everything else under the light. Dark Aether was born of a cataclysm, and has spent every waking moment since trying to consume its mother-world. It will eat you too, if you let it.