#also falses hair color is weird on this one : ( it looked fine on the art program

[ollyolyoxenfree]

maybe pearl (gilded helianthia) and false (cogsmeade) for the swap?

this one was actually surprisingly challenging!!

send an ask requesting two emperors and a season, and ill swap them !!!

[chilumi-shipper]

Ready to Let Go

Xiao x Adeptus!Fem!Reader (x Zhongli)

Summary: Zhongli loves you, Xiao loves you, You love Xiao. Seems as though, in the eyes of everybody else, Zhongli was gonna be a problem within your relationship with your fellow adeptus. He would never do that though, not to you, not to Xiao. For the first time, the vigilant yaksha seems happy, and you seem more carefree the moment you two are starting to get close to one another. Zhongli would never trade your happiness for the sake of his own, and that's why, he's ready to let go.

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

The God of War, flaunting over one of his very own dearest adeptus, if Guizhong saw him right now, she would've laughed at how much he jumped and flaunted over you whenever you were in his presence.

But love is complicated, he could say he loves you with a burning passion, yet it can never change the fact that you had fell for another, no matter how much Zhongli might push through, you will choose to be embraced within the arms of your true beloved, Xiao.

Neither you nor him ever said anything to confirm the nature of your relationship, but Zhongli felt it, the connection between you and the adeptus was so much more than just two people who used to work along side each other. You and Xiao, he's known both of you for millennias, you're not really the greatest with expressing emotions.

Zhongli was never one to fight reality, in fact he accepted it with open arms, having no care for the pain it might bring.

But just this once, he let's himself drift to a false hope, perhaps you only see Xiao as a friend, that in actuality you tell him the feelings that you're too scared to say to your Archon. But every time Zhongli dreamt like that, he can't help but see Xiao, sadness clouding over him, it slaps the brown-haired man in the face.

He can't do that to Xiao. The poor boy, tormented his entire life, but today, he may very well be bearing a smile on his face, with you around him, with you loving him.

He was sitting between you two, in a table in Wangshu Inn's restaurant area, the light atmosphere was calming.

It was supposed to be a nice get together, yet Zhongli felt irritated. The way your gaze lingers past him and onto the person of your interest as you spoke about how you tried cooking mortal food recently. How you seem to take into account every expression and response Xiao would give, but pay no mind to Zhongli at all.

You weren't being rude and ignoring him the whole time, in fact, you make eye contact with him from time to time, to see if he's understanding you. But Zhongli felt peeved, why couldn't you look at him the way you looked at Xiao?

"I really like cooking actually!" You exclaimed, the cat-eyed adeptus smiling softly while listening to your rambles, his elbow resting on the table, while his chin leans on his hand. That makes Zhongli feel even worse for having such feelings for you, just looking at the small but genuine smile on Xiao's face as he admires you.

"Xiao?" You softly called out to him, clasping your hands together. The adeptus gave a hum in response. "There's this recipe I found called "Tofu Cookies with Almonds", I was hoping you could help me taste test them when I try baking for the first time?" Your voice gets quieter the more you say. Zhongli found it adorable when you get shy, yet he can't help but feel a nauseous felling eating away at his skin, you didn't invite him.

The waitress puts the food you all ordered on your table before Xiao answers. Zhongli looked into your eyes, seeing the nervousness as you anxiously wait for an answer.

"Okay."

Golden orbs then looked at Xiao, seeing he's looking away from you, his ears red from embarrassment. Yet even when he tried to hide it, the Archon can feel his giddiness from miles away.

Zhongli can't help but look back and forth, seeing your eyes light up with happiness because of Xiao's answer. "Thank you so much!" You smiled brightly, proceeding to put some food onto your plate to start eating.

In all this, Zhongli felt as though he didn't have a place. Perhaps you were overjoyed that you didn't look at the fact that you completely discarded him, but someone else noticed.

"Mora- Zhongli can join us too, he's good at taste testing food." Xiao looks at you, before looking at the taller man. "I think." Zhongli then nodded, agreeing with Xiao's statement.

He knows he shouldn't, he knows that he just let the two of you resolve your feelings together, just the two of you. Yet he can't, for once in his life, he feels that it's too hard to let go.

The two looked at you expectantly, despite you making it obvious that you wanted to spend some time with Xiao alone, Zhongli hoped that maybe, just this one occasion, you'll let him intervene with your growing relationship. It's selfish, it's pointless, but just this once.

You smiled, "Okay."

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

"Mr. Zhongliiii!" You burst in the funeral parlor, calling out to him. "You have to help me." The man got up from his seat immediately, worried.

"What happened?!" He asked in a panic.

You looked down onto the book in your hands, the man did the same, looking at a book that has a very interesting title.

'The Art of Romance: For Newbies.'

What?

Usually, if you were to come to him with a book like that in hand, he would have laughed and teased you, eager to see your embarrassed state. Yet, Zhongli felt nothing but hopelessness, you putting in so much effort for someone else, meaning he really has no chance, does he?

"I need to you to help me look for a really nice dress. Like really, really nice! Oh but not too nice, since we're baking, if I get stains on a dress, he might think I'm sloppy. Oh, but if it's too simple, he'll probably think that I don't really care. Ohhh, but I don't want to seem like I care too much--" You looked up at him, rambling on and on about what you're supposed to wear for tomorrow. "It says here that if the person thinks you're too desperate, they might think it's weird." You pointed at the book that you're holding, bring it closer to his face.

Zhongli gently grabbed your hands that are clasped around the book. "If you're worried about Mora, I already have some on me." You peaked your head from behind the book, looking at the brown-haired man's serious face.

"Him?" Zhongli completely ignores your ramblings, only focused on one thing you said. You're worrying so much about what to wear, just to make a good impression to him.

You felt your cheeks heat up as he looks at you with a frown on his face. You laughed a bit to ease the tension, scraching the nape of your neck.

"Xiao..." He's mentally prepared himself for this moment, you would come to him, ask for advice since you knew him as a very cultured man, and you would confess your love, for someone else. And yet, hearing it come from your own lips seem to crack the barriers of his heart with just one word.

Despite the tears wanting to just slip out of his golden orbs, he smiled at you. "I've always sensed your feelings towards him." His words fluster you even more, you didn't realize it was so obvious, but Zhongli was a very observant person, maybe it was just that.

"Do you wish to impress him tomorrow? That's why you're so... jumpy today?" You nodded, feeling embarrassed that you are worried about this sort of thing. Usually, only mortals are prone to these types of worries.

"Y/N, Xiao doesn't care about those trivial things. You just have to be yourself." He told you as a matter of fact.

'Besides, the Yaksha already is making it obvious that he likes you back.' Zhongli kept this thought internally.

"But what if he doessss." You whine, gripping on the book tighter. "Xiao is just so.... Xiao! So unpredictable and complicated." Sighing, you looked up at the man again. "Can you help me, please?"

Zhongli sighed, although it hurts him to help dress you up so pretty, just to send you off to another man, but he'll bite. How could he ever say no to you.

After hours of rummaging through your closet, you finally, finally find something that's actually good in your eyes, even though Zhongli assured you that everything would be fine.

The dress of your choice has Xiao's colors, white, gold, mint green. You really are some piece of work, piece of work that doesn't belong to him.

Zhongli just kept sighing as he walked back to the funeral parlor, he's conflicted, which usually doesn't happen. Is he just gonna leave you two alone for tomorrow with some lousy excuse, or... get in the way.

As he got to the entrance of Wangsheng Funeral Parlor, he saw Xiao, sitting on a bench just outside. The cat-eyed boy sensed Zhongli's presence, standing up and looking at his way immediately.

The brown-haired man walked up to him, silently asking why he's here all of a sudden, in the city, which also doesn't happen very often.

"Can you help me?"

Oh boy, here we go again.

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

"You don't have to straight up lie if you don't like her treats, you can just give polite comments, like saying you're not really a big fan of them or something." Zhongli explained once again, it was the dead of night. Xiao had asked to help with how he should talk to you, he's not very talkative and expressive, but he doesn't want to make you feel like he doesn't like you.

"But that might also hurt her feelings." The Yaksha pointed out, listening intently to the older man.

"Yes, but she will appreciate the truth rather than a pointless lie."

He just needs help expressing his feelings right.

And Zhongli seeing how you two desperately try to be the best you can for one another, it makes him smile, despite the constant heart ache. And the realization that he has no chance for you, with the evidence right in front of him, Zhongli makes his decision...

He's ready to let go.

"I'm not gonna be joining you two tommorow."

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

Alternative Ending: Ready to Hold On - Reader chooses not to choose and start a polyamory relationship.

[jjk-biased]

jungkook x reader

requested by @atulipandarose (oooh soulmate/jungkook/one shot!! it's been big missing jk hours over here)

genre: fluff, soulmate au

words: 2.5k of dumb jungkook pining

warnings: none >< cussing here and there, also my first time writing just fluff so please be kind. unedited!!!

synopsis: jungkook never loved the idea of soulmates because he liked you and he wanted only you.

masterlist | events masterlist

There it was, the panging he felt in his heart even if he wasn’t the person in pain. As his chest throbbed, it was emotional pain he supposed, the song began to play in his head. He gritted his teeth, upset to have been reminded once again of the world he lived in. 

The world had to be so stupid to believe in such nonsense. It was idiotic. They had to be so naive to rely on  this whole scam - to the point where they even revolve their lives around it. 

It isn’t true. It’s far-fetched. This whole soulmate system wasn’t reliable.

He lived in a world where the universe decided who each person’s other was. Soulmates existed. It was everywhere. And he didn’t like it one bit.

Whoever made the world like this had to be an utter idiot. Why would anyone allow something like this to take over people’s lives? This bullshit soulmate system gave people a false sense of hope that someone out of the millions and millions of people would be the only right person for you. That somehow, out of 7.5 billion people, someone would be the perfect yin to your yang. 

It shouldn’t exist. Soulmates shouldn’t exist. 

Come to think of it, how can the universe even be so sure that the person they have “destined” for him is the right one? And, honestly, who even gave the universe the right to choose for him?

Fuck the universe, Jeon Jungkook wanted to pick for himself.

He thought this whole sham was an inconvenience. Unlike almost every love-crazed and soulmate-addict person, he thought otherwise. Jungkook felt suffocated at the thought of being tied down to someone who he probably didn’t even like. He didn’t need whoever they had for him. He didn’t have to meet this so-called pre-destined love of his life to live happily.

Actually, he did. Or else he would forever be haunted by it. He’d go crazy.

People had different “soulmate indicators” -- basically something in their body that gave them a hint on whoever they were destined for. Namjoon, his writer friend, had a tattoo of his soulmate’s name on his collarbone. Jimin, the short friend, had a ring on his finger with the initials of his soulmate and would even change colors depending on the mood of his other. One part of Taehyung's hair is the same color as his soulmate’s, regardless if he tried to dye it along with his locks. 

To say the least, theirs were easy to find, to discover - much more convenient than what the universe had in store for dear Jeon Jungkook. His had to be the most vague indicator of this whole scam. 

A song.

The universe gave Jungkook one specific song that only he and his soulmate knew. Not a name, not a ring, not even a hair color. Just one fucking song. 

Jeon Jungkook didn’t want to believe in this obviously fraudulent scheme that the universe set up. Despite his woes and resentment towards the system, Jungkook couldn’t exactly ignore it. The song, somehow sung by both him and the soulmate, always played in his head whenever he or the other would feel down. Somehow, it only played when any of them were sad. Not when they’re happy. Not when they’re angry. Not when they’re bored. Only when one or the other wasn’t feeling well.

But hey, at least he knew when it would start. 

There would always be a pang in his chest before it began. It was akin to when the dog dies in the movie, or when someone relayed bad news, or when the character in a book had to leave. The weird feeling would be eased immediately as soon as the song played in their head. It would lull him to sleep, he guessed it held the same effect for whoever was on the other side, and would make him feel at home. 

But he did not like this soulmate bullshit. 

Not one bit.

Even if the song brought him great comfort. Even if it was the only thing he looked forward to when he had a bad day. Even if his soulmate’s honey-like voice blended well with his. 

Wait shit, he should be hating this nonsense. Why did he just think that his soulmate sang nicely?

Fuck it. Forget what he thought. It didn’t matter anyway. 

He had other things to think about anyway, especially how to gain the courage to ask his friend out. 

Jungkook is currently and sadly a college student, who, aside from drowning in student debt, studies fine arts. He hopes to become a renowned artist someday, and in pursuing so, had to disobey his typical Asian parents’ wish for him to be called Dr. or Atty. someday. 

Soulmate hatred aside, art had always been his passion. Despite growing into a family full of doctors, lawyers, and judges, he knew his heart belonged in fine arts. When his brother would play with the toy syringes and stethoscopes, he would be seen getting himself dirty with the washable markers. That love for coloring grew into something more, and so Jungkook decided he would become an artist in the future. 

It was always so freeing for him to dabble in the blues and greens and create whatever he visualized in his mind. The pencil in his hand could easily convey the emotions he had trouble vocalizing. All of his troubles would go away faster than you can say worldwide handsome Jin-hyung with the aid of his drawing tablet. Everything about art just intrigued him. Art was easy. Art was comforting. 

Art is where he felt free.

It wasn’t suffocating. Unlike his family that wanted him to be someone he couldn’t become and this soulmate shit that wanted to cuff him down to one specific person he doubts would even go well with him. 

He wanted the soulmate system gone. For reasons that seemed justified to him and only him. 

He could live without the incessant nagging of his very traditional family who wanted to sped things up. Jungkook would finally stop seeing some of his soulmate-less acquaintances miserable. He could finally go on with his sad day without the song that would automatically play in his head. 

Wait… that last thought made him feel sad. Perhaps he would miss the song after all. 

Anyway, and above all, he could finally court his cute friend without having to worry of the soulmate shabang. 

Jungkook didn’t want whoever the universe paired him with. He wanted his cute seatmate and friend, Y/N Y/L/N.

Y/N Y/L/N. Your name was perfect. 

The way your name rolled off his tongue felt just right. The way your nose would scrunch as you focused on sketching the naked dude who had to pose in front of everyone. The way you would tilt your head when the professor never made sense with his discussions. 

Everything about you was just so… perfect. 

You were kind-hearted, considerate, and intelligent. Your humor was unmatched and you were very enthusiastic when you conversed with Jungkook. From a small crush, his liking towards you grew into something he couldn’t exactly ignore. He liked you more than he liked to listen to the duet in his head.  

Okay… scratch that. Maybe he did like his significant other’s singing voice. It eased his worries after a troublesome day. Admittedly, he had found comfort in it.

If only the universe allowed him to converse with whoever was on the other side, then maybe he didn’t have to loathe this system so much. He could’ve gotten a friend out of it, not a soulmate… but a friend. 

Somehow, his thoughts wandered back to you. God, imagine if you were his soulmate. Jungkook would be more than happy if that happened. But he didn’t need the universe to act on his feelings for you. Jungkook will do something… He knew he had to do something about it. He just didn’t know when. 

All of his thinking made Jungkook revert to airplane mode, so it was only then that he noticed you concernedly waving your hand in front of his face for a sign of consciousness. He found your scrunched up face painstakingly cute but holy shit… why are you so close? Please don’t be so close. Jungkook would malfunction if you decreased the space between you two even more. 

“Are you okay, kook?” You luckily stepped back once he locked eyes with you. 

 Ah… that sweet voice of yours that could rival the comforting honey-like singing in his head.

“Y-yeah! Sorry, was spacing out,” Jungkook’s words were jumbled as he noticed he was staring at you like a gaping goldfish instead of answering like a normal person. 

Your giggles rang throughout the room at his predicament. He crookedly grinned then laughed along. This must be heaven. Your happiness was always contagious and he’d often mirror the smile on your face whenever you were happy. 

You made him feel giddy as much as he did on the days he finished his artworks. You made him complete. 

But that damn soulmate thing had to ruin it. 

How he wished you were his soulmate. 

“I thought something happened to you, kook! Mr. Kang dismissed us some time ago but you were still frozen in your seat when everyone left. I was so… worried,” You chuckled, though quite red and hesitant at the end. 

Well did that instigate the butterflies in Jungkook’s tummy. 

“Concerned for me?” Jungkook teased, it was his go-to response because he couldn’t exactly flirt in straight sentences. 

Your eyebrows furrowed but the pink hue became much more evident. Jungkook didn’t even mind the kick you gave him because he made you feel a bit flustered. Success :D

“Taehyungie’s been busy, hasn’t he?” You said, trying to change the subject so everyone could forget the embarrassment.

Taehyung, the theater kid and drama major, was friends with the both of you. He had been busy for the past month because their project was to create a series of plays to showcase to the school. Their show will be on Tuesday, days away from now. 

Right! He could invite you to the play.

“He is… Hey,” You tilted your head and hummed when Jungkook’s voice sounded a bit unsure. 

“Do you wanna go with me to the play?”

The red on your face and the shy nod you did made him swell in accomplishment. He can’t wait for Tuesday to come. 

Fuck.  He should’ve waited for Tuesday to come. Now it is Tuesday and he was too nervous to even stand in a five-meter radius near you. Slapping himself to forget the momentary faltering of his confidence, he shakily waited at the foot of your doorstep with an album in his hand. 

You two bonded on music and he knew you well enough to know you’d rather have the CD of your favorite artist than some flower that would wilt after awhile. He was right. The beam on your face when he handed over the gift made him so happy that all his nerves were washed away. You always had a way to ease him, even if you weren’t aware. 

“M’lady,” He jokingly tried to replicate a british accent as he offered his arm, waiting for you. And as you always would, you took his arm along with an accent-laced, “M’lord,”

Jungkook forgot his worries for a moment and it was always because of you. 

You two sat near the stage to support Taehyung with his play. You two remembered him sharing that their play was about a soulmate-driven world with much more darker consequences. It was about the fictional hanahaki disease, he said. 

And boy did it feel so sad. Taehyung acted so well, as if he was really losing his character’s best friend onstage. Jungkook peered at you for a moment and saw your eyes glisten as Taehyung’s cries grew louder and louder. 

The story was really heartbreaking.

To the point where Jungkook felt the familiar pang on his chest and the song began to play in his head. 

How peculiar. His soulmate was sad just as Taehyung’s scene played out. Perhaps they were in the same auditorium as well. But that was impossible. His soulmate was probably watching some soap opera. 

Not that he minded. Jungkook had other things to think about, especially how to comfort you as your tears flowed down from the actors’ amazing performance. As slick as he could, he draped an arm around you and let you rest your head on his shoulder. His heart was beating faster than he could comprehend. Even more so, when you scooted closer to him.

Fuck. You were cuddling. Oh my god. Jungkook is gonna die out of happiness. 

He had to play it cool though. Jungkook ignored the warmth in his chest and face as he rubbed your arm in consolation. He was surprised you reacted well. Nothing prepared him for what happened next. 

You were humming. 

You were humming his song. 

hOLY SHIT. HOLY SHIT YOU WERE HUMMING HIS SONG. 

You… were his soulmate.

Okay universe… Unfuck you, Jungkook guessed. Apparently the universe was on his side after all… All he had to do was somehow tell you…

Jungkook, his face now an uncontrollable red, nervously turned towards you and successfully got  your undivided attention. God, he could die then and there. Gathering courage from glob knows where, he smiled and sang the first line of the song. 

Universe might have been laughing at him for suddenly changing his views. Jungkook would’ve laughed at himself if he found out the double-back on his opinion. But this was you. 

You and your cute nose scrunch, you and your adorable head tilt, you and your witty comebacks.

This was you.

Everything about you was perfect, and he couldn’t believe that the universe liked him enough to grace him with you as his soulmate. 

何故 こんなにも 涙が溢れるの

[Naze, konna ni mo namida ga afureru no]

Your eyes widened as he sang the song that felt like home to the both of you. 

ねぇ 側にいて そして笑ってよ

[Nee, soba ni ite soshite waratte yo]

You joined in on the singing and everything just made sense. None of the leaving people in the auditorium mattered at the moment. 

君のいない未来は 色のない世界

[Kimi no inai mirai wa iro no nai sekai]

Jungkook was so happy. It seemed like the world was brighter than before.

モノクロで冷たい

[Monokuro de tsumetai]

He shouldn’t have doubted the universe’s plan. Everything was better with you. 

見つめてる 暗闇さえも so beautiful

[Mitsumeteru kurayami sae mo so beautiful]

You smiled shyly as your soft honey-like voice harmonized with him. 

僕を信じてほしい

[Boku wo shinjite hoshii]

Jungkook’s smile grew wider, encasing your delicate hand in his.

まっすぐに君だけを見て

[Massugu ni kimi dake wo mite]

For once in his life, he was happy and it was better because he was happy with you.

どこにも行かないように

[Doko ni mo ikanai you ni]

You two shared a kiss that afternoon, on a Tuesday, at the university’s auditorium.

permanent taglist: @luvinseokjinnie @97faerie @amoreguk @bbyjoonies @borednia @tanumiki @taescake

[Extra]

Jungkook: Hey Taehyung! Congrats, that play was amazing

Taehyung: ...yeah… but why did you two make out when I died onstage?

You: ahahaha bye.

[kurisus]

Chapter 88-2 thoughts

I’m writing this at 6 AM because I CAN’T SLEEP WOO. As mentioned in my snaps, I first read this chapter while in a work call so I’m rereading it now to be able to focus a bit better. Buckle up, this will be long. Spoilers as always.

So Yukine was not necessarily snuggling with the wolves. He was asking them to eat him. I think in all the other bad stuff happening this chapter this detail got overlooked slightly but it’s bad!!!!

Who was the shadow we saw approaching him when he was with the wolves?? Was it trash dad after all? I think it has to be.

really don’t appreciate the Suzuha mention in THE YEAR OF OUR LORD TWO THOUSAND AND TWENTY

Yukine was such a caring brother it makes my heart hurt. Yukine in general makes my heart hurt. How did it end up happening that his mom just left him behind??

so if Fujisaki is telling the truth, we now know the context of Yukine’s death. And somehow, I think this is the most unpleasant revelation to come out of this chapter. Big statement, I know, but it explains...a lot.

Yukine was writing letters to his sister in secret for probably years, and as soon as his dad found out...well, we know the rest. I remember speculating (and a few others did too) why Yukine was barefoot and not struggling in that panel a couple chapters back that showed his final moments. So if he was already beaten enough to warrant hospitalization, that would explain why he wasn’t reacting the way he should have been.

At this point, if trash dad WAS telling the truth, I’d be fine if they didn’t show the actual scene of his death and just left it at that. Which means...we now know everything about Yukine’s time when he was alive. And of course there’s a lot we can say to fill out the gaps, but we have all the most important details. Finding out exactly how he died was the last piece in the puzzle. Aside from his full first name, that is.

Yukine yelling at trash dad to shut up and him continuing on anyway :) we really needed to know his final thoughts were “why?” :) I hate it here :)

I really hate even talking about this, this shit is FUCKED

okay so as far as trash dad is aware, Yukine’s body was still in the fridge. Meaning he had no idea that Yato went to dig it up all those months ago. Meaning Nora never breathed a word about it to him. I don’t really know how to express my feelings on this but thank you Nora. we owe you one. I have a feeling trash dad’s intent was not to give him a proper burial (since he’s all about false shows of kindness), though as to what it was, I cannot say.

I think at this point it’s pretty clear that Yato is the one who gave him a proper burial. When the panel of the empty refrigerator dropped a few months back, the fact that the body was missing struck me as just odd, and I thought maybe Yukine’s dad dug it back up for some sort of weird ritual, but judging by what we know now, that doesn’t seem likely. As soon as people started saying Yato buried him I was smacking my face like “of COURSE that’s what happened duh”

so trash dad is confirmed to drop his body in a very similar way to Hiyori, and we also confirmed that the version of him in the black robe is his spirit form. Nora mentioned his “body” a while back but now we finally got to see it. Is he a half ayakashi?? Is this just something he can do because he’s possessing Fujisaki’s body??? gah Adachitoka I want ANSWERS

Hagusa’s vessel name is just a double whammy. It’s like a horrible inversion of the fact that Yato named Kazuma Kazune. “Kazune” has the double meaning of referring to their time limit as well as being the “Kazu” Yato was already familiar with. With Hagusa, that name refers to a type of grain that looks like rice...in other words, something that appears valuable but is worthless. And now we see the vessel name is Yuuki? Adachitoka galaxy brained to punch me in the face.

SO THE REASON YUKINE DOESN’T HAVE A CELL PHONE IS BECAUSE HE DIED BEFORE THEY WERE INVENTED???? I always thought it was because he didn’t need one since Yato, Hiyori, Kazuma, and Kofuku were really the only people he needed to communicate with. but he seemed really excited to use trash dad’s. I’m in pain.

I’m thinking back to when Hiyori almost asked Yukine how he died way back in the beginning of the manga and trash dad now telling Yukine “Hiyori never wanted to know? I bet she did, since humans always want to pry into other people’s business” you shut your mouth

Speaking of Hiyori all we got of her this chapter was her looking pissed off. When she arrives to the fight I just want her to fuck shit up. She may not have her half ayakashi form but she can still snap trash dad’s neck in half.

Perhaps the reason Yukine didn’t find any news articles about himself was because “Haru” was just a nickname. I find it hard to believe that there was nothing about him going missing, especially since his dad made a fuss with putting up missing person flyers everywhere. There’s no way the police wouldn’t have gotten involved, right?

Either way it doesn’t really matter--his dad never got charged with anything even if he was a suspect, and no one else cared enough to look either.

this is so many levels of fucked

“So even now my father is still killing me” this line. THIS LINE. THIS FUCKING LINE. It’s such a succinct and excellent summary of Yukine as a character--as much as we love our son, the fact remains that he is dead. And he is dead because of his father’s abuse and society’s neglect. So no matter however much he grows and changes in the afterlife, it cannot change that his life was cut short far too soon, and everything good that happens to him is overshadowed by the fact that it’s indirectly because of his nasty father. And he got away with it. I can’t.

Before this chapter came out I speculated we’d want to strangle Yukine’s dad even more than we already did. and I was right. but holy shit this line was a kick in the gut while I’m still recovering from “that boy loved people”

Yukine loved people too....he loved people and they turned their backs on him BUT HE NEVER GAVE UP ON LOVING!!! IT JUST TOOK A DIFFERENT SHAPE. FUCK.

So Father knows someone visited the fridge. I wonder if he’s figured out that it was Hiyori yet. I just want her to snap him like a twig. it’s what he deserves.

Father also doesn’t care about Yukine, like, at all (we been knew), to the point he couldn’t even realize the only blond character in this fucking manga now has black hair. MAN. that just says a lot about him, huh.

Are we going to find out whether one of his parents was foreign?? He and Yuka are both noticeably light-haired and it hasn’t been addressed aside from Yukine’s hair color changing.

The hair color change was the only spoiler I saw before the chapter came out and it’s been haunting me ever since. I thought initially Yukine dyed his hair while trash dad was out, but now I wonder if the dark hair is his vessel form? Fujisaki summoned him before leaving, so I don’t know. He does look like his bird ayakashi form with having clawed hands as well.

I remember seeing speculation that trash dad generally tells the truth. well as of this chapter we know he’s a fucking liar. Hiyori left that flower, and I think it will end up being important in the long run when Yukine realizes that she’s the only human who truly cares about him.

Whether trash dad has been telling the truth about other things remains to be seen. We still don’t know how he got out of Yomi, if that’s really what happened to make him immortal. But this lie about the flower seems to be a white lie. He could have just said he didn’t know. If he so readily lied about this, who’s to say he hasn’t been lying about other things too, you know?

Yukine destroying the fridge would normally make me be like good for her.jpeg but since the context is him with trash dad I actually hate it

Since Yukine is now so eager to meet his dad I can’t shake the feeling that he’s dead. It would be the perfect gut-punch for him to demand why his father killed him, only to find out that he’s dead (and maybe even that YATO did it...which would only add more fuel to the fire....fuck) and never get to resolve his turmoil.

I’ve been on the fence about whether Yukine’s dad is still alive but based on this chapter I’m putting my bets on “he’s dead and Yato killed him back in the early manga because that would cause the most suffering at present and that generally seems to be the route Adachitoka takes.”

Like, yeah, if Yato did it it was to protect Yukine, but that doesn’t matter when he’s already so pissed off at Yato.

Yato only fired on trash dad because he didn’t know that it was Yukine with him. And Yukine is again thinking that Yato is trying to hurt him. This chapter is also a horrible inversion of...was it 83-2? where Yato tried to kill trash dad and Yukine stopped him? Except now this time it’s not because Yukine wants answers, it’s because he’s pissed at Yato and loyal to trash dad.

Yato was also a fool for thinking sniping trash dad from afar would work, especially when it didn’t even work the first time.

So now the thing I’ve been working up to talking about throughout these many, many words: Hagusa’s vessel form is...himself. He is the weapon. This is such a wonderful (and terrible) narrative choice I’m delighted by where it will take us physically and metaphorically, but obviously it hurts. A lot.

Yuuki being himself the weapon that trash dad fights Yato with for what may be their final showdown is such a fitting culmination to his character arc in this section of the story. (when trash dad said he would turn him into a weapon I DIDN’T REALIZE IT WAS LITERAL)

This is also a good choice art-wise because it means even more pain with seeing Yukine physically fighting Yato rather than Yato and trash dad fighting with swords or something.

So Yato met with Yuka before (it was a flashback, as many people pointed out to me after I goofed last month lmao) but whether that was earlier today or further in the past remains to be seen. I hope he told her to get out because it seems like trash dad is heading into her house while Yato and Yukine face off.

well. “face off” is maybe an exaggeration. Yato will not be able to fight Yukine at all and I’m anticipating he gets the shit kicked out of him, again, while he tries to make him see reason. bro. I hate this. I really, really hate this. This final fight is going all the ways I knew it would, but hoped it wouldn’t.

Hiyori and Nora come help please

July can’t come soon enough

I’m pretty sure this is my longest thoughts post ever. so much happened and I have so many feelings about all of it.

[theartofbeinganeldar]

The Art of Being an Eldar: Legolas x Reader Prologue

Summary: You're a fantasy-loving, LARPing human from this world, who's the black sheep of society because of your obsession for the unreal and alienation of what's real. When you're in the middle of a LARP battle with some pretty phony boars, you fall out of a tree and bust your head. You wake up, alone, and are suddenly attacked by some very pissed-off, very real wargs. Without any idea of how you got there, you got dropped into Middle-Earth, with only bits and pieces of memories of Tolkien's masterpiece, though your recollection of everything else is perfectly clear. And of all places in Middle-Earth, you got dropped into Mirkwood, with some suspicious, potentially hostile, Woodland Elves...

Chapter No.: Prologue

Key: [Y/N]=Your Name [F/N]= Friend's Name [B/N]= Bro's Name [S/N]= Sis's Name [M/N]= Mom's Name [e/c]= eye color [h/c]= hair color [s/c]= skin color

Notes: So, this is my first fanfiction on tumblr, and I'd thought I'd try it since I have very little time for DeviantArt's chaos. It's much different from my Legolas x Reader on there. I added a small loving family to make the emotions relatable-- even if you don't have siblings, or have more than what I added, it's just fanfiction! Also, I tried to make my pronouns for said reader gender-nuetral so that everybody can enjoy it! The reason your character is so wild is for the sake of not fitting in to this world, yet you're used to it, so that later points in the plot can become more... Well, you'll see. And yes, I made Elves pansexual because I don't think they'd care much about gender or age at that point. LARPing plays a big role in the prologue, because your character is really into it for personal reasons. If this isn't your cup of tea, don't drink it. I hope you like it! Feedback, likes, and reblogs are greatly appreciated!

Warnings: Fluff, angst, graphic depictions of gore and violence (Cuz of orc battles y'know?), more angst, slow burn, some light depression in the first few chapters, some amnesia about Middle-Earth because the Valar say you're not supposed to have foresight, hard-core language, feels, lots and lots of feels, mentions of NSFW content, maybe some eventual NSFW content, LGTBQ+ characters, Thranduil being a jackass at first because he's fabulous, Legolas being a hot edgy prince that nobody can handle, Kili being an innocent bean, Hobbits being smol innocent beans, except for Bilbo 'cause he's been through some tough shit, Bard being dad of the year, Thorin being one dumbass boi, awesome dragons, awesome Nazgul, awesome scenery, awesome stuff in general, Elrond isn't listened to by anybody, confused Aragorn is confused,  Denethor's a bitch as always, brace yourself for creepy as fuck Cream of Wormtongue Grima Wormtongue, Boromir lives, Gandalf. (yes these are all legit warnings don't judge me.)

Pairings/Ships: Legolas x Reader, Legolas x you, Aragorn x Arwen, Faramir x Eowyn, Thranduil x Elvenqueen, Galadriel x Celery Celeborn, Boromir x OC, Thorin x OC, Fili x OC, etc. general LoTR standard shippings plus some of my own cuz I can't stand my boys being lonely

Word Count: I try to keep my chapters short, under 2000 words.

Rating: Teen (14+) for now

You'd never been considered normal by anyone. You enjoyed LARP instead of reality. Your "job" was just staying at home and captioning videos all day every day you weren't LARPing instead of interacting with society at a normal job. Your home? A tiny studio apartment that only cost $450 a month without bills, and you did without cell phone, car, and electric for the sake of being your weird self. You hadn't been to college yet, despite the fact that everyone told you to go once your gap year was over, and it almost was. What would you even study? Acting was all that got you close to who you were, so, ok, guess that's fine, but nobody else thought of that as a career. Maybe you could write fiction-- you were good at that much.

You weren't always like this. There was a time when you were just a normal kid, living a normal life. But somewhere around ten, you started to change, and by sixteen you'd become who you were today. If the Old You could see the New You, you weren't sure if they'd think you were weird too, or if they'd stare up at you in awe.

Hopefully it was the latter, which made you feel good.

I mean, come on, were you born in the wrong timeframe or what?! That's what you thought, anyway. There's no way that this world was for you. The fact that nearly all people were heartless jackasses that enjoyed destroying the planet, the fact that everybody had to be the same or were considered freaks, prejudice and injustice were key factors of life and the rich got handed everything on a silver platter while the poor had to scavenge... Just, everything of this reality made you hate it. If only you'd been born five hundred years earlier, or, y'know, in Game of Thrones or Lord of the Rings...

You'd really liked to have been born in Middle-Earth. You had so many books about it, you knew practically everything there was to know, even the confusing shit about Faramir being in the Fall of Gondolin. You'd practically memorized Elvish, and dwarvish, and you knew the whole six movies by heart, every line. And of course, like most Lord of the Rings fans, you had a massive crush on a certain Elvish princeling who was too pretty for his own good. In fact, Legolas was who inspired you to learn archery; maybe one day you'd be as good as he was.

Despite your wishes, you were stuck in reality, however much you hated it

. Even amongst your LARP groups, you were considered outlandish.

Everybody else had normal lives outside of their games, whereas you pretended this was your life. You didn't have any job aside from the small caption jobs you did when you weren't LARPing, no social life, nothing. The only people you had was your mother, brother, sister, and your only friend, [F/N]. They accepted you and your strange fantasies, even if they thought you'd one day regret acting in a way when you could've been beginning a normal life and being productive.

So excuse you if you decided to invite them to a LARP event and let them borrow some of your costumes. It wasn't the end of the world. But your LARP group apparently didn't get that memo.

"You invited your mom?!" A royal asshole sneered, yet you took satisfaction in the fact that his knight costume looked like it was made of cardboard painted silver, whereas your sci-fi Elf getup was actual leather and cloth. His name was Jacob Brent; you'd never really liked him. He'd always had it out for you because your costumes were so much more fabulous than his. Plus you may or may not have actually known swordplay and archery and dagger throwing and martial arts... Kinda. You were still in the process of learning kickboxing.

You cocked a sky blue-- yes, sky blue-- eyebrow to your equally bright blue hairline, spiked up in a short faux hawk. This was your first sci-fi Elf, and you'd wanted to go all out. A cocky grin split its way across your face. "Yeah, so? It doesn't effect you on any level, Tin Can."

He sniggered with his cronies. "I can't believe you don't have anyone else to come with you." He mimicked rubbing his eyes like he was four. "'Oh Mommy, I need somebody to come with me!'" His whole group burst into laughter.

You surprised them by joining in, actually appluading. "Oh, wow! Wonderful, just wonderful! Hey, should I tell Mindy that I seen you feeling up Roxie behind your fort last week?" He paled, and almost everybody in his group of crappy cosplay got 'o' faces. You put your hands on your hips. "Guess what, asshole, just 'cause I'm close with my family and you're not with yours doesn't make it a crime to hang out with them. It's my life, my decision, and I enjoy spending time with them." You hefted up a disappointingly fake spear, turning to walk away. "Oh, and by the way, your paint's chippin' off."

Reason for Hating Reality Number 6, 965: Immaturity levels are almost incomprehensibly high.

Your mom glared daggers at Jacob's Immaturity Harem. She'd always been a tough gal, always sticking up for you when you got bullied when you were younger, but now that you were an adult, she had to let you kick ass yourself; you were pretty good at it. "I don't like him." She stated casually, and you chuckled.

"'Course you don't. He looks like a cheesy robot costume you'd get from Wal-Mart with a too-big crotch protector that's not impressing anyone but himself, and he has the face of a roasting pig. Too tanned, too grubby, and always with something in his mouth."

She smiled slightly. "Has he always been giving you trouble?"

You swung your gear pack off of your shoulder, letting it yank itself down to earth. "Since the day he tried kissing my ass 'cause he didn't know me." [F/N] must've overheard that last sentence, because he burst into laughter when he approached with your brother, [B/N], and your sister, [S/N]. "You talking about Jacob?"

"Sure as hell."

You'd first met [F/N] a year ago, when you'd joined extra-curricular activites for your last year of high school. He thought your personality was incredibly brave, especially in this modern world, but even still... He was just a friend, not a best friend. You'd never had that luxury outside of your tiny family. You just didn't trust him after the life you'd had.

Unfortunately, it seems they didn't like the getups. "Do I have to wear this?" [B/N] asked dramatically, slumping over. He didn't look right in the pauldrons and leather breastplate.

"It's too heavy!" [S/N] complained.

You sighed theatrically. "My piteous children, deal with thy armor, for it must be worn despite thou complaints."

[B/N] pressed his palms together and bowed down. "Screweth thou, false companion."

You mimicked his bow. "Off to hell with thee."

"Hey! You guys! It's starting!" [F/N] cried, and ran off, his pack of weapons and magic bags trembling dangerously on his back. The rest of you followed more slowly, as you explained to your family how exactly LARPing worked. Battles weren't actually bloody, magic was just colored powder, you get points for a hit, and so on and so forth. [B/N] and [S/N] got it immediately, but your poor mom, who hadn't even ever played Skyrim, had no idea how the point system and leveling up worked. You had to explain it six times over before you'd reached the massive gathering of LARPing cosplayers. [F/N] returned to you as you reached it, carrying a map. "We were in Larsgyushter Prairie last, right?"

"Duh," You shrugged, at the same time [S/N] asked with a grimace, "Luckyestire Prairie?"

[F/N] inclined his head. "Well, I made some arrangements because your family joined us. We made for Glewnburg, where we picked up their characters, and then headed into the Elder Woods."

You took the map. "Sounds fair enough."

[S/N] frowned. "What exactly were you guys doing last time?"

[F/N] blushed; he must've liked her, which made you feel proud and like pummeling him all at once. "A quest to defeat a horde of wildebors in order to get a good amount of gold."

"How much?"

"Four hundred."

Your mom seemed confused. "Is that a lot?"

"For the land of Sisgremor," You retorted, "Not much. But it's enough for us. We hunt for food, and sleep in the woods. It's summertime, so we don't have much need for shelter unless it storms, and we know where to find caves. The coin is for some new bits of armor, and some weapon upgrades and a couple of magic books for [F/N]."

"Oh," Your mom said, and you took the lead, getting into your Elven character with a huge grin on your face.

"Come, my children! We must meet the bors by midday!" You ran off, but you didn't miss the looks over half of the LARP community gave you.

~le time skip~

The one thing you didn't like about LARPing was the enemies. They weren't believable and were crappily dressed, at least in your community. They were crappy actors and their dying acts were unrealistic. Unless they were orcs that had good makeup skills and good cosplay, they weren't worth fighting, but you had an imagination to kick them up a notch.

As always, the wildebors were just some guys in black outfits decorated with needles, and wearing pig masks with an underbite bearing tusks. Your imagination knocked them to eight-feet long beasts with bloodstained tusks, wild red eyes, and porcupine-like needles that shot out of their near-impenetrable hides if provoked.

You'd only fought these beasts once. They had three separate healthbars, each a different strength: eight hundred, four hundred, and one hundred. Your spear-- the only weapon you could afford after your bow snapped (Poor prop craftsmanship.), had a damage rate of ten health per hit, thirty if you could make a three-combo move (The highest combo move allowed.).  [F/N]'s magic bombs, bolts of energy, and other magic stuff only varied from ten to fifty health damage per hit, except for his Fyrering, which was a once-a-day power that was ninety health damage, plus a three minute window of burning which took ten damage every thirty seconds.

The boars were also viscious; one hit from them took around fifty health, and at level nine, you and [F/N]'s health bars were only at two hundred and fifty, plus your armor rating of fifty and his of twenty. Your family, however, were only at level one, with a one hundred strength health bar each and armor ratings varying between ten and fifteen.

In short: that meant a hell of a lot of hits, very little openings, and there were always numbers to consider. There were six of them, and five of you. If you had your bow, this would be easy. You'd climb a tree, avoid their needles, and fire your twenty-five damage arrows relentlessly (With the thirty plus bonus from your actual bow.) while [F/N] pelted them with magic. You could take down two, maybe three that way before retreating, waiting for your strength to regenerate and your undamaged arrows to "respawn" before coming back for more battling (The arrows don't actually exist, for safety reasons. You had to wait for ten minutes before an approximated number of arrows, determined previously by the quest-giver, "reappeared" in your "inventory.").

But you had to think of a new plan. A brand new plan. You had three level one novices, two level nine intermediates, and six angry-as-hell wildebors that were level twenty. This was an impossible quest. You should never have accepted it knowing your family was coming.

You were hiding behind a huge oak, and glanced around it; for a split moment, you saw the crappy actors, but your mind quickly fixed that. Above and to your immediate right, [F/N] hid behind a mound of boulders up on a hill, and you'd positioned your family similarly. You just couldn't see them. [F/N]'s hand waving caught your attention. Frantically, he pointed above you. You whipped your head up, but saw nothing out of the ordinary. You gave him a look like WTF dude, and he rolled his eyes. He picked up a rock as an example and pointed back up into the branches, but still, you didn't see anything. He gestured again, almost forcefully, and this time, you seen it: brightnuts, a specialized kind of walnut bred specifically to explode into a bright white light on impact, with dangerous shrapnel and poisonous fumes that had one hundred and fifty health damage.

Of course, in reality, they were just blue and white beanbags hanging in nets rigged all over the branches, but you pretended they weren't.

But still, perfect.

You'd start calling out orders as soon as you started throwing them. [F/N] knew how to improvise to a plan already, but your family didn't. You propped your spear up on the tree, and started climbing, wincing when the bark scraped your palms; you were wearing what'd used to be white bridal gloves, but you'd tinkered with them to match your costume, sewing sky blue patterns into the gloves.

You personally didn't make a sound, but a couple of leaf-covered branches fell; luckily, wildebors were mostly deaf and blind, so you should make it to the top of the tree without any consequences.

You flashed [F/N] a triumphant smile when you reached the topmost branches, snatching a bag of brightnuts and holding them high above your head. He shot you a double thumbs-up, then made a wheel-like gesture to get you to move on. You stuck your tongue out at him, then readjusted yourself on the branch to get a good aim.

A few seconds of struggling against the knot, and you'd gotten the net open. With barely a minute of hesitation, you drew your arm back, and fired. Your aim was almost perfect. You hit one of the wildebors in the side, and you seen the actor as he started the most over-acted reaction you'd seen yet: a violent jump, then what sounded like a deranged "Guuuugh!" You rolled your eyes. So dramatic.

Either way, [F/N] whooped behind you. "Hit! A hit!"

Before you could give any orders whatsoever, [B/N] charged down the hill with his realistic-looking wooden battleaxe bellowing a war cry. You slumped over. "Aw, shit."

In the blink of an eye, [B/N] was officially dead but still pummeling the poor actors, your mom didn't know what to do, [F/N] didn't realize what was happening from behind his rock, and [S/N] was dodging air like a boss. You waited on the branch until the coach of the actors stood, took off his mask, and blew his whistle.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa! You with the axe! You died already! Come on everybody, regroup, come on..." Your mom and [S/N] were laughing it off with a couple of the actors, but [B/N] was having a heated argument with the rest of them, and they were starting to shove each other around; he'd always been a sore loser. The coach separated them, and [F/N] called to you from below. "Guess we failed this quest, huh?"

You shrugged. "It's all good. There are other, less dangerous quests."

He perked up. "Yeah, so hurry up and get down here! We've gotta get back to Glewnburg!"

You tossed the beanbag you'd had in your hand back into the net. "Comin'." Unfortunately for you, you were a bit of a show-off. You stood, stretching your arms out for balance, walking quickly and carefully across the bough. A loud snap that echoed through the forest silenced everyone: your sudden movements had weakened the branch down the middle, where a split was slowly cracking open.

"Oh shit." Did I have to choose the top branch?

Everything seemed to be in slow motion as you fell. Your ribs exploded with pain as you slammed into a slightly lower branch full-force. Your ankle snapped. Your arms were whipped and bruised. Your head cracked painfully across the thick, unmoveable base of one branch, and white and yellow dots burst in your vision. Your sight started to fade, as did the pain, until you met the ground with a dull thud.

I should've went to college.

~time skip~

When you woke up, the first thing you realized was, Hey, I woke up! I'm alive! which was immediately followed by, Holy fucking shit what the fucking hell did I break, then a much more painful thought of Why the fuck am I still in the goddamn forest? 

And you were. You were laying on your side, in a couple of very small but still immensely terrifying pools of drying blood, one of which came from the corner of your mouth. Your entire body throbbed painfully. Every breath you took caused sharp, white-hot pains to spiderweb across your entire torso. Your ankle was burning up, and you couldn't move it or your left arm. Your head felt like you'd been hit by a truck. A truck made of solid wood...

Why were you still in the forest? You knew your mother well enough to know that she've panicked. She'd've screamed your name and ran to you and called 911 immediately. [F/N] would've done the same. In fact, there was no reason why they wouldn't have called for a medic. You fell from the equivalent of a three-story building with poles sticking out of it.

By all accounts, you should be near death.

So why were you still in the forest, exactly where you'd fell?

With immense effort, you rolled onto your back, panting heavily and wincing against the pain. Your vision swam, and things were blurry. The trees were different; the tree where you'd fallen from was tall and branchless for most of the way up, and definitely not an oak. To boot, there weren't any nets full of beanbags, and your spear was gone. Behind you was  a cliff with an outcropping of rock that looked similar-- but not the same-- to the one [F/N] had been behind. There were roots and underbrush and bushes and walls of thorny branches surrounding you, and in between the ground was filled of orange and gold fallen leaves; up in the canopy, which hadn't been as thick before, the leaves were all dressed for Fall. You stared at it in confusion. "What the hell?" Shit. Even that hurt.

Where were you? Why weren't you in an ambulance with the sirens blaring? You were pretty positive you'd broken quite a few bones, and from that fall, you couldn't not have internal bleeding. So where were you?

You waited, but no one came. When the sky started to darken and the pain began to worsen, you were forced to move, slowly getting up, inch by inch, until you'd managed to be in a sitting position. It felt like all the blood rushed from your head and torso, making you cold in the evening chill. You hugged your right arm to your chest, really wishing you'd've worn arm cuffs or something; your short, high-collared, sleeveless, sky-blue leather jacket over a thin white crop top and a black corset-style belt really weren't meant for chilly weather.

"Hello?" You called out. Your voice carried on, but you got no return call. Blood trickled down your chin from where your lips had rebusted; you were lucky you hadn't bit your tongue off or shattered teeth. "Hey! Help!" Still, nothing. "Hey!"

After a twenty-minute bout of screaming for help, you gave up. You were confused-- so, so, confused. Where were you and why were you here? Where was your family? Where was [F/N]? Where was the coach, and those shitty actors? Hell, where was the rest of the LARP group? You'd even be relieved if Jacob appeared out of nowhere.

The moon had risen by the time you’d made it to your feet. Your ankle wasn't as bad as it was earlier; you could put some weight on it now, even if it wasn't a lot. You must've only sprained it. You tried calling for help a few more times, but only the crickets replied.

Then, they went silent.

You frowned. In books and movies, that was usually a bad sign. What'd caused them to shut up so abruptly? Not aliens, you hoped, like in Signs.

A low growl from behind you-- behind you, dammit-- made your skin crawl. A chill ran down your spine. You turned, slowly, hoping you wouldn't aggravate the wolf or coywolf or whatever it was; it wasn't either of those.

It stood on top of the small cliff, and it was at least the size of a horse. A boar-like coat, dull brown, covered its entire body, spotted in places. Its head was broad and massive, bearing an underbite of fangs and small beady eyes. Drool fell from its jaws as it snarled at you. You were half tempted to try the "Nice doggie" before you seen the rider.

Damn, it was ugly as hell. Small, malformed, with dark green skin and a crooked nose. Greasy, thin hair hung from its wrinkled scalp. Nasty claws protruded from its wart-covered fingers and dug into the horn of some kind of saddle. It sneered with an evil grin, and a mouthful of sharp teeth.

You didn't know what else to do; you took off running at full speed, ignoring the pains shooting up your leg from your sprained ankle. Branches and weeds whipped your skin, trailing blood. You glanced back once. The monster-- which you knew was an orc-- and the giant dog that you couldn't place the name of watched you for a couple of moments more before the orc gave a sharp order in a language you didn't understand, but it felt familiar. Two more of the giant dogs burst from the bushes on either side of the first, and they did give chase. Shit, were they what'd happened to your family? Some whackjob dressed as an orc riding a pitbull on steroids mauled everybody?!

You pushed yourself to run faster. Your heart pounded in your ears. Adrenaline rushed through your veins. Each step jarred your aching body, but you couldn't stop. The dogs were enjoying the chase, keeping their strides slow enough to still be on your heels, but not close enough to get you yet. A new sound-- a river, maybe-- gave you hope, and you tried to move even faster, your lungs burning from the strain.

It was a river you'd heard, but it was down a steep hill filled of arching roots and thorny bushes. You didn't have time to stop; you barreled forward, tripped, and rolled the rest of the way, hurting your body even further. By the time you reached the pebbly shore (With all of the sharp edges of the rocks jabbing into you unnecessarily.), the dogs were halfway down, the orcs riding them laughing like hyenas.

You couldn't swim, but you'd rather take your chances with the river than with the giant pitbulls. You waded in, and were immediately swept off your feet by the strong current. It dragged you under, and you were bashed into some boulders, getting cut up badly. One slammed into your hip, nearly causing you to suck in. Another rammed into your already-broken ribs, and this time, you did scream, getting a huge gulp of water. A crimson cloud engulfed you as something long and sharp burst through your calf. You were pushed up against another boulder, and you grabbed on, hauling yourself out of the water and hanging on for dear life, hacking and coughing out the water that'd filled your lungs.

The dogs had chased you up the shoreline, and the orcs carried shortbows with arrows of dark wood. A glance down and, sure as fuck, they'd hit you with one in the calf, dammit. You looked ahead of you: rapids, a slow and drawn-out death. Ahead of you, probably a very painful death, but hopefully it'd go faster than drowning while being battered to a lifeless corpse.

I should've gone to college.

You squeezed your eyes shut tight and braced yourself for the next arrow, but you were pretty much forced to open them again when you heard the sound of dogs yelping and orcs wailing. One of the dogs was dead, neck slashed open and pouring blood onto the rocks. It had landed on its rider, who struggled beneath its weight. The other dog had taken off, but its rider had an arrow jutting out of its face.

A troop of warriors, clad in forest-colored tunics of dark browns, greens, and grays had appeared in the second you'd closed your eyes. Every one of them had long, straight hair, braided away from their faces. Most had a quiver of arrows and a longbow, but some, like the one who'd killed the dog, had a curved longsword. Others still had long knives. Compared to the dark orcs, these people seemed to almost be made of light...

Oh shit.

Elves. These were Elves.You could see it clearly now, in the way they carried themselves: regal, majestic, every move perfectly balanced and smooth. Their ears were pointed, but not drastically like the ones from Zelda, and they were taller than most average men. You were in awe.

These were some damn good actors.

No, they couldn't be actors. That clicked, finally. Especially when you were able to see the one that'd killed the dog slice off the struggling orc's head cleanly and deftly before kicking it into the river. Thankfully, it didn't come near you.

Shit. These were real orcs, real giant bloodthirsty dogs, real Elves... This was all real. But how...?

You heard the sound of a bowstring being pulled taut, much closer to you. You couldn't exactly whip around in your current state, but you still moved as fast as you could. Another Elf, standing on the flat rocks halfway across the river, no less than thirty feet away. How the hell did he get there?!

After the initial shock passed, you realized there was an arrow nocked in the bow. You'd already felt one once in the last ten minutes, you didn't need to feel it again, so you stayed still. He watched you with eyes so blue you could see them from where you were. He was illuminated from the side by the moon, giving him an almost ethereal appearance. His hair was somewhere between platinum and very light blonde, and a quiver of orange-feathered arrows hung over two identical sheaths for ivory-handled long knives. His bow was almost as gorgeous as he was: dark wood engraved with golden leaf designs. His tunic was dark green, and you admired his fancy Elven belts and buckles and bracers for a second before your eyes were drawn back to his face, the profile of which was almost... Dished, in a way, like an Arabian horse's. Your eyes locked, and you felt as if you'd seen him somewhere before...

An Elf on the shoreline spoke, breaking the trance. You couldn't understand what exactly he said; you could've swore you knew some Elvish...

The Elf staring you down watched you for a minute longer, then jerked his bow toward you in gesture, shouting an order to one of his comrades. His voice sounded so familiar... It was on the tip of your brain... It was deep and soft and gentle and commanding all at once. You couldn't explain it. Two Elves followed his order, nimbly leaping from tiny rock to tiny rock to get to where he was, then past him, coming to you. Their weapons were sheathed, so you hoped they were going to help you instead of kicking you into the water or something.

Carefully, noticing how banged up you were, they grabbed you underneath of the arms and lifted you onto the flat rocks the blue-eyed Elf stood on, still ready to fire, and stepped back as you coughed up some water in a delayed reaction to nearly drowning.

When you finished, your eyes felt like they wanted to close on their own. You felt too tired, too weak, too pained... Despite that, you sat up, shivering in the chilly evening air. "Th-thank you..." With a start, you realized they might not even understand English.

"Who are you?" The blue-eyed Elf demanded. "Answer me quickly; do not think we cannot throw you back to the river."

Shit. Pressure. Suddenly you forgot your name for a split second. "I-I'm [Y/N]."

"What are you doing in these lands?"

"I was chased," You looked pointedly at the dog and orc.

The Elf watched you for a minute, judging you... He signaled. "Throw them back into the river." Suddenly, you were being dragged.

Aw, fuck. You struggled against the Elf's strong grips. "W-wait! I don't even know where I am! The last thing I knew I was playing a game with my family and I fell out of a tree! All of a sudden I'm being chased by giant dogs and being manhandled by a couple of Elvish pri--!" You were cut off by a bought of coughing that wracked your body so hard that you doubled in on yourself, pulling the Elves down with you. Your eyes widened when blood trickled out of your mouth, leaving crimson droplets on the rocks. Shit.

The blue-eyed Elf ordered something in their tongue, and the two dragging you halted on a dime. He finally decided to lower his bow a little, inspecting you. "Are there more of you?"

You shook your head; you were getting dizzy, and your vision was blacking out. "I-I don't know... I was alone when I woke up."

The Elves conversed in their own language for a few minutes, and the blue-eyed Elf finally came to the conclusion that you weren't much of a threat in your current state. He looked to the Elves on the shoreline, and gestured at one of the ones holding you, who then scooped you up bridal style, but like you were the ugliest bride he'd ever seen. "Und win'doheim!" Shouted the blue-eyed Elf, obviously the one in charge, and lead the progression back to the forest.

I should never have gotten out of bed today...

Despite the crazy situation, you managed to doze off a few times on the Elf that carried you, until a coughing fit or pain would wake you up. A fever spiked up as you crossed a bridge, and you were half out of it as you entered some kind of woody building surrounded by trees and rivers that you couldn't comprehend very well in your feverish state. You were panting and wheezing, and couldn't see straight. It all seemed so surreal, like you were viewing this from somebody else's perspective. This had to be a dream... A very vivid, very painful dream...

The last thing you remembered was Elvish chanting, golden and white lights surrounding you, and the silhouettes of the Elves. Your pain faded, and you fell into a forced sleep.

When you woke up, a breath of relief whooshed out of your lungs. It was a dream! It was all a dream! It was night, and your nighlight had gone out, but your hall light was still on. You turned over to see what time it was, but your nightstand was gone. So was your window, and shelves and desk and computer and all of your things. Your bed was different. Your relief dissipated to terror.

Fuck. It wasn't a dream.

You were in a small room. An orange-hued light came through the low doorway, and the dark walls were ridged, as if carved from the earth itself. You felt the remains of your injuries from earlier-- or days ago, you couldn't tell how much time had passed-- as throbbing remains. Your clothes were still ripped and bloodstained, and as you stood up, it felt like you were just coming off of the flu.

Wobbly, you staggered over to the doorway, hoping to find somebody that definitely wasn't an orc or Elf.

You slammed face-first into elaborately crafted iron bars.

Outside of them, fully-armored Elves patrolled on small ledges beside the spiraling rows upon rows of cells like yours. This was a dungeon.

...Well shit.

Tag List: @tesserphantom​ @thedragonghostofmordor​ @taurlel @hauntedsiriel

[ultravioletproxy]

[Sona] Hine Cross (Proxy OC)

I've finally done it. I finally finished an actual sona reference up as well as finally completing a updated digital reference of HINE! I'm so very pleased with this and how my art has progress since his original reference, all those years ago... I actually was able to get up the energy to go fully in depth with his information and soon I'll get to his backstory comic going.

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Personality/ Mental State:

Basic summary; Hine is a VERY complex character. He has many layers to his personality which I'll try my best to explain. He is a quiet person with a lot on his mind, constantly bombarded with various thoughts which makes it hard for him to keep track of all that's going on around him. Hine "Zones/ Spaces Out" occasionally and does not realize that you're talking to him, he might even not respond to you in the middle of a conversation. All of these things may come off as rude; but he really doesn't mean to be.  Later on in his timeline/ as he grows up, Hine becomes much more of an unstable person, laughing a little too loudly at things (and volume control in general), walking off in the middle of conversations, and tends to get a bit unhinged...

Hine has several mental disorders that can effect his personality:

⊗-Autism: Doesn't pick up on social cues, and it takes him a while to think of a response when in a conversion, in turn he pauses and stutters. With autism comes anxiety, if in a high strung social environment or decision, Hine may have a break down (Sitting down and grabbing his shoulders tightly), He does not let people see him break down, he will go to a private area to try and cool down before coming out into view and acting perfectly fine. This luckily, doesn't happen often as he's trying to cope with his social anxiety. During a conversation Hine may accidentally say something that he doesn't mean, like a mess up of words(Saying something unintentionally mean as he just didn't think how it would sound when spoken or combining two words together.)

⊗-Compulsive liar: He doesn't ever mean to lie, a lot of the times he feels as though a lie is safer than telling the truth and before he even knows what he's done, the person has accepted the lie as truth and he's too afraid to tell them that his response was false. This stemmed from abuse during his life at the orphanage. He currently is trying hard to pull away from this.

⊗-Minorly a Paranoid Schizophrenic: Sometime this disorder makes him feels like everything and everyone has an ulterior motive, even though the thought is completely irrational. Hine mentally beats himself up for having these kinds of thoughts as he feels like he's betraying his loved ones/ friends. The thoughts themselves tend to be of a violently disgusting nature as they try to convince him that everyone is lying. He rarely witnesses hallucinations, mostly just little shadowy things in his peripheral vision.

⊗-Hypochondriac: Do to being mixed with a Slender, and his fear of dying, he constantly feels like his body will just give out on him, or that any sickness no matter how minor will end up killing him in one way or another, he's very paranoid of random aches and pain, irrationally telling himself to accept the fact that he's just going to die.

⊗-Sociopathic Tendencies: Hine has a hard time grasping that other people are just like him and have emotions, thoughts, and a consciousness. He tries quite hard to convince himself that other people are essentially sentient like him.

⊗-Unintentionally Manipulative: When living in the orphanage Hine was treated poorly due to his lack of social abilities and therefore was mostly ignored by the caretakers and fellow children. He desperately tried to figure out ways in order to be able to get a break from the constant chores and duties that he was given since he would not participate in being social with the others. He(not exactly intentionally) developed ways to read people in order to get what he wanted, again, not in a particularly malicious manner. More of just a way of survival.

Habits/ Quirks, Likes, and Dislikes:

⊗-Quirks/ Habits: Hine has quite a few funny little habits. One being collecting, he just adores collecting various things from silverware, to plushies, to seashells, really anything he finds the least bit intriguing and holding sentimental value. He is a little bit of a pack-rat you could say. He also has a bit of a compulsion to essentially "preen" or "groom" himself. For instance; cleaning under his nails, picking fuzz off a shirt, or even idly pulling hairs. He also has a lot of trouble finishing hot drinks, particularly coffee as he tends to forget about them, they get cold, and then he's too lazy to heat them up. Hine is mostly nocturnal as bright lights make him disorientated. Another not so good habit include Stress Smoking developed from watching a certain Slender and a friend smoke and seeing how it relaxed them. He occasionally delves into cannabis (Once Mr.KittyKitty comes around) due to the many medical benefits it has, such as anxiety relief, being more talkative, painkillers, motivation, or to calm him down.

⊗-Likes: He loves long walks alone in nature, particularly next to streams/ rivers either in silence or with music. He loves listening to the wind through the pines, the birds chirping, the sound of rain hitting the underbrush, and classical music. He loves pickled foods/ the taste of vinegar, as well as eating, and cooking in general. He tends to be rather indecisive about his favorite foods as he likes way too many, although salt and vinegar chips, popcorn, pomegranates, and cherries are a few of his favorites. His favorite drinks are Earl Grey Tea and Shirley Temples. Animals he adores are Bears, Raccoons, Ferrets, Ravens, Barn Owls, Coral Snakes, and Cats. He absolutely loves to draw, he makes his own characters and story lines, he also delves into other artistic feats such as crafting, painting with water colors, and sewing. A good book/ movie in the supernatural or horror genre will keep him content for hours. He loves dark humor, and coming up with ridiculous jokes(Blaming that on L.J.), and has a penchant for spouting the most random of facts. He really loves to talk to others and tries his best to keep up with them even though he has a hard time figuring out a response a lot of the time. Lastly, he has a weird enjoyment for the smell of disinfectant chemicals and has a particularly strange fixation on tornadoes...

⊗-Dislikes: He very much dislikes crowded areas, physical interactions, cities, thunder/ loud noises. He's not too fond of overly cutsie things. He can't stand highly sweetened foods or drinks (Candy, Cakes, Chocolate); once in a while/ a craving is fine, but he'd much rather take a bite of fruit. He doesn't care for baking all that much except for making breads at which he's none too shabby at. He doesn't care for bright colors unless they're mixed with dark ones.

Relationships:

⊗-Significant Other: Is in a delightfully happy relationship with flannelRaptors's Character, Johnny.

⊗-Slenders: When he was young, Hine ran away from the orphanage, he found his way into the forest where lovely Splendorman welcomed him with open arms and tendrils. Soon after, Slenderman himself took interest in Hine and became some sort of a strange father figure to him. The other Slenders joined in with helping take care of Hine. Trender helped his practical artistic side, while Splendor helped him understand his emotions, social cues, and tame his wild mental health state, Slender was his stable rock, and Offender schooled him in street smarts and how to deal with the "real" world.

⊗-Other Creepies: As a quiet person, Hine mostly sticks to himself, however if the opportunity presents itself, he absolutely loves talking to and learning about other people's pasts, Likes, etc.

Basic Background Summary:

⊗-Past: When Hine was young his parents were murdered by a trusted family friend they’d met from the church they attended. This person in turn, kidnapped and tortured Hine for quite some time, until Hine was eventually freed. However, as a mentally scarred young boy, shipping him off to an orphanage didn't really bode too well and he eventually ran away to join the Slenders' care and eventually became a "Proxy" to Slenderman.

Basic Background Summary:

⊗-Appearance: Hine has many abilities as shown above, however there are a lot more details and catches than what's written on the reference sheet. As the acronym may explain, Hine does not have any eyes. In an accident in which Hine almost died, Slenderman gave Hine an essential blood transfusion. The Slender blood, being incredibly aggressive, took over a good chunk of Hine's DNA giving him not only Eyeless vision, but also tendrils, an extra set of blood vessels, and a whole new horrible form.

Slender Affected Abilities:

-Hine can still see, but he now has what is called "Slender Vision" which is a 360-degree sight range, meaning he can see in all directions at once, ultimately maddening when first getting used to it. This is one of the reasons why Hine is constantly distracted. The range of sight and focus can be altered however it is rather difficult to do so as he was not born with the ability. Most of the Slenders can see a good mile or so around them while Hine has a shorter, about 50 ft range. Hine, not used to his new vision, rarely turns his head to look at objects that he is focusing on, due to there not being a focal point of eyes, therefore he tends to come off even more blank and emotionless than he really is.

-Hine's tendrils are hidden beneath his skin in what are called "Ports". Hine has a total of eight "ports", 4 on each side of his back. The tendrils can painfully be pushed through his skin at will, ultimately piercing through his back. He's supposed to constantly leave them out so the holes can seal up around them (much like a piercing would), but to do that he would have to keep out of sight from all other non-slender beings, as him being half slender is a well-guarded secret. The tendrils can lengthen and split apart to form thinner smaller pieces due to their "braided nature". However, in the early stages all of Hine's slenderification, his abilities are all INCREDIBLY clumsy.

-Other attributes Hine’s gained include, but are not limited to: heightened versions of all the senses, Moderately increased strength and speed. A bit of an iron stomach (ex: can eat raw meat), and more advanced healing rates (the less severe the slower it heals).

-With all these benefits came quite a few negatives. For instance, until he gets used to it, Hine's depth perception and hand eye coordination is completely off. His two blood types sometimes mix and therefore cause him to become incredibly ill for short periods of times, his varying blood colors also result in a pale yellowish grey complexion. Hine’s body has an unnatural slimness to it; he experiences continuous, nonstop increase in height in addition to having disproportionately long and lengthened arms and legs.(He has to make his own custom clothing.) Due to these things Hine suffers from minor growing pains as well as occasional cravings for human meat/ flesh. (Inherited from the dietary nature of the Slenders)

I applaud you if you read this all! Here's a TLDR version of this massive piece:

Hine is a mentally and physically scarred orphan who grew up with all the Slenders as his family. He came close to death at some point, but Slenderman saved him by transfusing his own blood into Hine, resulting in a well-hidden secret. Hine got really cool abilities with a few pretty bad side effects and is now an official Slenderman Proxy.

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Artwork, Concepts & Character © to RoneOmbre

⊗-Terms of Service-⊗

[mysticsparklewings]

I’m Not Dead‪

I'm not laughin', You're not jokin' I'm not dead I only dress that way Out nowhere take me out there Far away and save me from my Self-destruction, hopeless for you Sing a song for California --My Chemical Romance, "Boy Division" ____ Have you heard?? Have you heard the news?? Well if not, I'm gonna tell ya: MY CHEMICAL ROMANCE IS BACK, BABY!!! :D On Halloween, we got the announcement that they will be playing a show in Los Angeles, California on December 20th. And just a few days ago we got the news that they're also going to New Zealand, Australia, and Japan which basically confirms to me they're doing so sort of tour, whether they actually call it that or not. There's still a lot we don't know for sure; whether this is just a one-time reunion tour or their official comeback tour, if we'll be getting new original music both at the shows and available for download/purchase or if they're just going to redo their existing music and covers, if it's only going to be the main four that were there at the end or if there will be some of the other members that were in and out over the years rejoining them...Where all they're going to go on this tour...the list goes on. But! The important thing, at least to me, is that they came back at all. Six years. Six years we've waited and hoped and prayed, been let down by false rumors and speculation...And now it's actually happening. I just... Hence why I had to make an art piece celebrating the occasion and as an excuse to talk about it. (I figure if I'm going to dump my opinions on the internet I might as well make some art to go with them. Sue me. ) Originally, I was planning on making something more along the lines of true fan art, as this is more pseudo fan art here, but I just couldn't settle on one good idea that I felt really comfortable pursuing. Although I am still considering doing an updated (or at least colored in) version of my Killjoys, Make Some Noise! (lineart) I did a couple of years ago...we'll see. Anyway. Since we did get the news on Halloween, it's worth noting that originally I'd been debating if I wanted to do any makeup this year at all or just slide on a mask since my only plans were going to Krispy Kreme, who was offering a free donut if you showed up in costume. But after the news broke, my decision was made for me. I had to. MCR isn't strictly associated with skeletons/skulls, as has become my preferred Halloween costume, but The Black Parade, their second album, does have a little skeleton as the leader of the marching band, and the band members did wear skeleton/skull inspired makeup during that time. Admittedly this year's makeup wasn't nearly as involved or elaborate as what I've done in years' past, but it beats last year's absolutely nothing. I ended up taking a few pictures to preserve the look, as I always do even though I rarely take photos of myself, and I would decide to draw one of them where I was trying to do this face that Gerard (the frontman and lead singer of the band) has made on a several occasions; this wide-eyed intense stare. Partly because this, I'm sure, is very close to my actual face when I heard the news that they're back, the makeup was inspired by them anyway, and also because it pairs very well with one of my favorite lines from my favorite song by them. Said line being, obviously, "I'm not dead I only dress that way," from Boy Division, as cited at the top of the description. If I'm being completely truthful, I can't even really put my finger on what it is about Boy Division specifically that makes it my favorite, as I've yet to hear an MCR song I truly do not like, but I think there's something in the lyrics of the full song that just sells it for me in combination with the high-energy music. But whatever the case, it is my favorite nonetheless. Beyond that though, it's really hard to place the rest of them in any coherent order because, at least to my ears, they're all really great. Anyway. So I went about drawing my face, erring slightly more on the realistic side than usually (but obviously not too much) in hopes of capturing the facial expression. Which, it's pretty good, but I do think it could've been a little better. I think my biggest problem was getting the eyebrows a mouth right, and I'm still not sure they're quite there since my real eyebrows are pretty translucent and the mouth was hard to balance between looking logical and more neutral than sad/angry. And I think maybe the proper expression was a little more apparent in the sketch, but it's pretty normal to lose some feeling between the sketch and the final product so that I won't discount too much. After that, I had to take a break from the drawing to think about how to color it in any style it and everything. I ended up transferring the sketch to Mixed Media paper after deciding I wanted to use alcohol markers as a base but not knowing if I'd need to adjust it with colored pencil and/or other mediums on top or not, and I did the lines with my Faber Castell Polychromos once I felt like just black lines would be too harsh and thinking colored lines would be better. Plus, the Polychromos are very non-reactive to water, so if I really wanted to I could add watercolor or something water-activated without having to worry about the lines getting messed up. I did not consider how the Polychromos would react to the alcohol markers, but other than one or two spots where the top layer of pencil kinda dissolved after some heavy layering (which was easily fixed by just going back over the lines in that area again really quickly), fortunately, it worked out okay. Although sweet sparkles I swear it took at least twice as long to actually do the lines as opposed to normal between having to apply enough pressure to get the right amount of color down and working on the differences inline weight.   Anyway. I was a little worried about some of the shading/effects I'd be doing with the markers, but I think I did alright with it. This mixed media paper (Strathmore 400 series for anyone who cares) is nice and thick, so I had plenty of room to layer up and blend as I needed to get the look I was going for. This came in especially handy around the eyes and on the nose when I told myself to at least try and get the colors like the photo before cheesing it and just using straight (or nearly) black. The only area that I think came out a little rough is really the skin, mainly the forehead. But that has more to do with 1. There isn't much contrast on the face in the photo so I didn't want to take it too far in the drawing and 2. I think I may have started slightly too dark for skin this pale. I realize that's a weird thing to say, but when you're pale as a ghost like I am, you'd be surprised how easy that is to do. And to be fair, I probably could've tried to adjust that with colored pencils, and my original plan was to add some white pencil on top in the areas of the face where a highlight would naturally hit (forehead, bridge of the nose, cheekbones, etc.)  But by the time I got done with the markers, I honestly felt like it was nice enough without any additional pencil that I thought it might be best to just leave it alone. Since I still have the original drawing, my thoughts may change on that and I could update this eventually, but for now, my decision stands. On the other hand, I was actually pretty pleased with how the hair turned out once it was colored. That is until I scanned it in. I don't know why, but the darkest shadows in the hair were too dark and too bluish on the scan, despite everything else looking fairly color-accurate. I fiddled with the scanner settings for a few minutes to try and fix it, but it became quickly apparent there wasn't much to be done about it at the level. Which meant I had to try making the adjustments in Photoshop. Now, I've done my fair share of scan-fixing, photo editing, and just color adjustments on digital art, but for the life of me I could not get things to work the way I wanted them to here. It became to the point I'm starting to suspect if the actual true-to-life shades of purple of the drawing are just really hard or even impossible for computers to capture and/or create accurately. Fluorescent colors fall in that category, surely they're not the only ones. In the end, after more time than I bothered to document messing around with settings and adjustments, and firmly decided I was not going to essentially manually re-color/shade the hair digitally, I tried the only other thing I could think to do. I took the hair, as I had been for all my adjustments since the rest of the colors were fine, on a separate layer and took all the saturation out so I was left with just the gray values. And I noted while I was at that point that it didn't seem to be an issue of the contrast between the shadows and the rest of the hair. The transition looked perfectly acceptable in grayscale. Then, I added a color layer on top of that one, clipped it to only show up on the hair, and changed it to an "overlay" layer so that I would get the values from the gray layer, but colored purple. It did take a couple of tries to get the right shade of purple for the color layer, and I'm sure it's still not 100% accurate to the IRL drawing, but it's a heck of a lot closer than it was. And this gets even weirder when you consider that just a few days before I made this drawing, I made a different one for a friend where I used the exact same marker colors for the hair, blended in almost exactly the same manner, on the same paper, and it didn't have this problem when I scanned that one in. I have never in my life. Anyway. The accessories actually didn't give me much trouble in drawing or coloring. Admittedly, I did tone down how many feathers and stuff are actually on the tiny hat for my own sanity's sake, and while I did my best with the lace on the choker, I don't have a ton of practice with drawing lace like this so I'm sure it could be improved. Although I did decide to color both of those areas (what I didn't draw/fill in with the pencils at the line stage) with a super dark blue-violet instead of a gray or straight black for the purpose of not totally hiding the linework I'd put in and to make it just slightly more dynamic. Which I think was a good call as it seems to tie in pretty nicely with the grayish tones on the face. Other than that though, I did try to stay fairly accurate with my color choices, and I think I did pretty well with that, all things considered. (Despite having a much larger selection than I did just a few months ago, I do still need a wider selection of alcohol markers in some areas just for the sake of color accuracy and smooth transitions.) Once my face was done, then came the text. I searched for a while, hoping to find an MCR appropriate font that I could hopefully add by hand, but my search came up empty. I did find one I really liked the look of though, called "Miserable." So I scanned the drawing in and after the aforementioned hair struggles, I got to play with the placement and structure of the words. I knew I kinda wanted something that just has that "I'm a logo/t-shirt emblem" kind of feel, and in the end, I think I got that. But I do think I could've planned out the drawing itself a little bit better in terms of the space left to fit the words into. I really didn't do myself a lot of favors on that one.   It has its problems, but I'm still really actually kind of proud of how this turned out...and that's really all I have to say about it. Eh, maybe I'm just really happy because I know why I made it in the first place. Now if MCR can just come within 1-2 hours of my location so I can actually go see them...please... ____ Artwork © me, MysticSparkleWings ____ Where to find me & my artwork: My Website | Commission Info + Prices | Ko-Fi | dA Print Shop | RedBubble |   Twitter | Tumblr | Instagram

[sunevial]

The Followers: The Old Priestess

Installment number five of my DMP fanfiction, set in @internetremix‘s universe. the Murder God belongs to @miss-goggles. Enjoy!

“Aww man, I really liked this dress,” the woman said, inspecting the bloody bullet wound in her stomach with mild fascination and a heaping pile of annoyance, mindlessly brushing a bit of her chestnut colored hair behind one of her ears. “I mean, come on, it fits well, it’s super soft, it has pockets, and now there’s a big ol hole in it. Don’t get me wrong, I can fix it, but man is this gonna be a pain in the butt.”

She got nothing from the man at the other end of the alleyway; he was too busy shaking like a newborn baby bird to even aim the handgun properly, much less give any sort of verbal response beyond a squeak or two. Taking off her glasses, the woman polished the dirty lenses with a small corner of the dress that wasn’t currently bloodspattered. It had been a pretty good day up to this point between visiting the art museum and stopping at a food truck parked somewhere within the sprawling expanses of the local park. But this? Well, this would just be the icing on the cake. “What, you’re not gonna say anything? You sure talked a lot when you were pointing that thing at me and demanding everything I have in my purse, which by the way, really isn’t very much,” she continued, slipping the frames over her eyes and watching the world come into focus. Ah, much better. “There’s nothing to be worried about, sweetie, I just want to-”

The man bolted, dropping the gun and sprinting for the open city streets. He got maybe three steps before tripping over a rock that had definitely not been there a second ago, hitting the rough concrete and skidding into the building towering over the alley.

Wispy tendrils shot out from the bricks and wrapped around his arms and legs, pinning him against the wall. With a small giggle, the woman reached out into the shadows and pulled them in around her body, enveloping herself in a large swirling spiral of darkness. Barely a second had passed before she clenched her open palm into a fist and broke the spell, shattering the magic and letting the shadows fade into the last shreds of daylight. The tattered dress and sensible sneakers were gone; a knit sweater cape now fell over her shoulders, gracefully caressing a floral skirt around her hips. Her legs were covered in dark tights and ankle wedges were strapped to her feet, giving her a couple extra inches that had not been there before. A small knife rested in one of her gloved hands.

“You know, I don’t think I ever introduced myself,” she said with a wicked smile, slowly walking towards the man. “’I’m the Old Priestess. A pleasure to meet you.” His eyes were wider than dish plates, the gleaming metal on the knife reflecting in his irises. He frantically pulled at the wispy restraints and opened his mouth to scream only to find he could not speak at all. She could feel his fear, smelled it on his skin heard it in his struggle to break free. To live. It was admirable. And futile.

In one motion, she swung the knife and plunged it into his heart.

“Wow, that was a lot of really unnecessary drama and flair for what ended up being your average everyday stabbing,” a voice said in deadpan, accompanied by a very deliberate slow clap. A woman with short blonde hair stood just a few feet away, leaning her back up against the adjoining building. “I really should go back to giving out my ‘Most Unneeded Theatrics Award’ because congratulations, Old Priestess, you just won it for the next three centuries.”

The woman chuckled, dropping the bloodspattered knife into her shadow and watching it fall into nothingness. “Oh come on, you know you liked it too. You love the really over-dramatic stuff when I’m playing,” she said, clicking her wedge heels against the ground and jumping to Her side. “And you know, as much as I love the really cool weapons and the claws and, well, running everything, you know, sometimes I really miss the simple stuff.”

“Fine, fine, you’re right, the over the top acting does add a lot to the stories, as weird as you are for actually volunteering to be a player, but hey, whatever floats your boat. And as much as I hate saying it, I do owe you for being the game master while I was away,” the other woman grumbled, her voice trailing into near whispers and her pointed ears slightly twitching. “And I guess you did a pretty good job too.”

“Aw, don’t worry about it, Captain,” the woman said, laying an arm over Her shoulders. “I mean, we’ve known each other for pretty close to forever. What’s a favor between buddies?”

“That’s cute you still think we’re friends,” the other woman said with an eye roll and a smirk, shoving off the arm and walking into the city streets. She followed close behind, watching as the people unconsciously passed around them as if they didn’t exist at all. There were fewer people out and about than she originally thought. “I don’t need to assume you got the message.”

“Heard it loud and clear,” she replied. “But I was assuming the other Followers would be the one to, you know, round us all up. I thought you were still getting everything together, preparing stuff, you know, doing special god things.”

“I meant the other one. You know, about finding his replacement.”

“Oh yeah!” the woman exclaimed, tapping a finger against her chin. “Right, yes, that thing, that is a very important thing that exists.”

“You forgot to do it, didn’t you?”

“Actually, no, I did do it, and I did find someone,” the woman said with a smile, grabbing a bit of shadows and absentmindedly molding it between her fingers. “I didn’t think anyone could possibly replace him, but I’m feeling pretty good about this one. Now, keep in mind, he’s a little on the young side and I don’t know if he’s completely on board yet, but I think we can win him over.”

“Well, this is probably a terrible idea, but I’ll trust you on this,” the blonde said, lazily inspecting the streetlights. “So, where is this new victi- I mean…potential candidate?”

“Oh, at the old church on Mayweather,” the woman said, opening her hands to show a small cathedral. It seemed to tug at the remaining daylight, sucking it deep within the false image while also faintly glowing in the dimming light. “I think I left him in the cemetery? That or the gardens. Or maybe the music room?”

“So somewhere within fifty miles of the church, got it, no problem at all,” the blonde grumbled, pinching her eyebrows together. “Well, I guess I should probably go talk to him or something, give him the whole spiel, try and convince him to join or die, excetera excetera…”

The woman gave a small sheepish grin and looked up into the heavens, watching the stars slowly dot the still barely lit sky. They had stopped under a streetlight, as if they were waiting for a bus that would never come. “How...is...he doing?”

“Oh honey, you don’t need to worry about him. He doesn’t matter anymore, you know this. You know what he did.” the other said sympathetically, lightly patting her on the cheek. Except Her touch was harsh and there was light shining within Her eyes, a haunting light yellow. She bared her fangs in a scowl. “Or do I need to remind you that he turned on us all, wounded my poor blood dragon, and tried one by one to send the five of you to your deaths?” She was shaking now, all six eyes wide and red and Her voice echoing through the streets. “Do I need to remind you what he DID TO ME?”

“Captain, it’s okay. I remember that day better than anyone” the woman said, placing a hand on the other woman’s shoulder. A small chill ran down her back as the memories of that awful day cropped up at the edges of her mind, the utter stillness of being trapped and helpless in a prison of her own making, only being able to watch in horror and fear as the battle raged overhead. “It’s okay. It’s over. It’s done. He’s gone now. We’re here. We’re safe.”

“Right,” the Murder God said with shaky breaths, light fading from her eyes. She took in a deep breath and let it out, the four eyes on her cheeks slowly fading away until all that remained were two symmetrical lines. “Right. Exactly. He’s a traitor. He doesn’t matter and he never did. It’s fine. Everything is fine.”

“Maybe you should go and see our new friend,” the woman suggested, offering Her the small cathedral sculpture. “I’ll just wait here for the others.”

“You know, that right there sounds like a good idea,” She muttered, moving all but a single hand out of the light. She paused and cupped a hand over the statue. “Thanks…old friend.”

“Anytime, Captain,” the woman said with a smile as the other woman vanished, disappearing into the night as if she hadn’t been there just now and had never been there anytime before. The little sculpture was nowhere to be found. The woman sighed, leaning her back against the lamppost and crossing her arms. The wind danced past her, picking up the cape and threatening to fly off into the night. She simply hugged the fabric closer to her body and waited. Waited for them to come to her.

“My lady, I wasn’t expecting to see you out here,” a welcome voice said, stepping into the light and giving her a friendly smile. In the shadows beyond, three more silhouettes stood and waited. She returned the gesture, holding out one of her hands. He delicately took one and kissed the top of her still gloved hand.

“And I wasn’t expecting you to be here so soon,” she replied, throwing her arms around him and pulling the others into the light. Laughter and greetings rang through the streets as hugs and long overdue pleasantries were exchanged, oblivious to the rest of the world and the rest of the world equally ignorant of them. With open ears and ernest stories on their lips, they talked as a moonless night hovered above and five stars no one could remember appeared over the sprawling metropolitan area. The woman grinned.

Oh how good it was to be back.

[kheprrison-arts]

Existence of God (Part Three)

A/N: I’m glad I finished Crimson’s art last night because I didn’t expect to finish this today. I’m also depressed that this chapter ended shorter than the other two.

Summary: After encountering the “undead dragon” Platinum And Maiatan attempt to fix what’s right.

I growled, sinking my nails into the red dirt, staining the metal of my right hand. I breathed out, turning my head back upwards to look back at this beast who was quickly occupied by Amair as he crouched by the fountain and shot a couple bullets into its rotten scales.

The beast hissed and lifted on its hind legs, taking in a deep breath and outstretching its tattered wings. I grunted and summoned my blade again, the electricity coursing through my veins as I quickly stood and threw my hand out, launching the blade towards the dragon.

It let out a bubbly and hoarse whine, the force of my blade connecting to its temple and sending out a series of sparks. It lowered to lean to one side on its right arm farthest from me before turning its long neck to face me, leering at me with its bloody eyes. The glowing of its eyes gave the green tint of its skin a muddy and dirty look, making it even more gross looking than it already was.

I crouched down slowly as its body turned towards me, stalking in my direction. Any moment it’ll pounce on me, and I’d be dead. I saw Amair back up and get a new weapon ready, piecing together another one of his guns. I hadn’t realized he had a new set, it’s probably why he traveled with a small gun because it was part of the whole set. I started to hope that this would increase the damage he made on the dragon, although I knew he’d have to stand back more and be careful. Maiatan had disappeared behind the fountain. I knew she was waiting for the right time, maybe this dragon would forget about her.

I readied myself as I saw the back of its throat light up a bright yellow and orange as it inhaled deeply. I leaped to the side, out of the way of the fire that was blasted in my direction. Growling, I threw another sword at it, summoning it in my hand again. It hit the side of its face, the same spot as earlier, causing a small explosion of sparks again.

The blade stopped its fire for a minute before it froze, letting out a groggily whine as it seized in place, fire now spilling from its mouth.

“Maia!” I shouted, and shortly I heard her war cry as she jumped off the centerpiece and landed on the back of the dragon. It cried out, breaking out of its frozen state and attempting to throw her off. It was quite ridiculous, but I stepped back just in case it tried to trample us as it continued to flail and jump and whatnot.

Amair ran over to me, crouching with his new toy beside me. A dark metal rifle, the holes in the metal where the pieces didn’t quite connect were glowing an ominous red-orange. I’m sure that was just because of some weird aesthetic of his.

He glanced over at me before looking back through his scope and taking a shot at the dragon when it faced us, shooting it in its mouth. I winced slightly, sympathizing its pain when the bullet exploded in a flash of fire and smoke, knocking the dragon out. It fell with a loud thud, the colorful liquid dripping from its throat and mouth lighting aflame slightly as it spread.

Maiatan climbed off, a frown pulling on her lips when she made eye contact with Amair. “You know I could’ve had that?” She asked, walking over to us, her battle axe strapped on her back again.

“Yeah,” Amair shrugged, “but thanks to me we can tie it up and hope for the best.”

“It’s not just the dragon, Amair, remember?” I asked. “We need to get Laliya, too.”

“Oh,” he stood, dusting off his pants and leaving his gun on the gravel to collect dust. “Right.”

“You bastard!” I looked over my shoulder at the shout, freezing when I saw Alpha’s father, Crimson, pushing Laliya over to us, her hands tied behind her back. “Let me go!” She screamed, struggling in Crimson’s grip on her wrists. He only held a stone cold face, his white eyes glaring into the back of her head. He stopped and pushed her, she tripped and fell on the ground, squirming to sit up as she continued to shout. “You can’t treat me like this! I’m the leader of Ragnor, Goddess of Death! I’ll have you skinned alive with my own bare hands!”

“I’d like to see you try,” Crimson frowned more, moving his hand to comb his fingers through his long, pure white hair.

I walked over to the two, Maiatan and Amair staying behind to keep an eye on Laliya’s dragon. Assuming this was it. I jumped back slightly, my face contorting from disgust when Laliya spat at my feet. I noticed immediately that she wore scars, bruises, and claw marks all over her body and I started to wonder what Crimson had done to her. But knowing him, I wouldn’t want to know.

“You’re a false god, Laliya,” I spoke, looking down on her. I just hoped Selenite wasn’t right when he said she killed gods to receive her title. “That’s a violation that deserves punishment.”

Crimson huffed, blowing white ash through his nose. I didn’t question it too much.

“We got the dragon, you got Laliya?” I asked, not turning to him because I didn’t want to see the twisted look on his face when he answered.

“Sure,” he chuckled, before stopping. “Actually if you need to dispose of the dragon I think Alphias can take care of that.”

“We’ll call you if it’s needed.”

He nodded and bent down to grab Laliya’s shoulder, then suddenly disappearing in a puff of white and black smoke and ashes.

I let out my breath, having held it knowing when he’d teleport. That shit always messes with my lungs, as most fire would.

“What’s going on?” I asked, walking up to Maiatan and Amair. Maia had been crouching by the dragon’s head as it slowly breathed, watching her. I begun to worry for her safety, but seeing Amair tie its legs and wings I felt she should be fine. I was still wary, though.

“I think Maia’s talking to it,” Amair spoke quietly, standing up to stand beside me.

“Why?”

Maia lifted her head, she had been leaning her forehead against the dragon’s. She still had her hands on its head, under its eyes. “He was tricked to side with Laliya. He’s a Deity Dragon who made a pact with her.”

“how did that happen?” I frowned.

“He has apparently died at one point but she kept bringing him back,” she explained, “he’s been in pain since before the war. And the only way to relieve his pain is to cause destruction. I think it numbs his system when he’s the one inflicting it.”

“It’s what happens when a Deity Dragon makes a pact with a mortal,” Amair said and I nodded in agreement. There’s always some sort of consequence when a mortal creates a pact with a dragon, especially a dragon that was born with divine blood.

Both will be punished in some way; the dragon for falling in a mortal’s lies and a mortal for distorting the truth and disrupting our code.

I hummed lowly before telling Maia, “Get him out of her grasps somehow. I’m heading home.”

“I’ll stay here,” Amair nodded and looked over to Maia.

“Don’t worry about it,” she said, “go home I’ll be fine.”

“Come on,” I said quietly, beginning to make my way back to the road we were on earlier. I hoped the others were still there or at least found a safe place.

“Platinum!” I turned around, Selenite already jogging towards me. He wrapped his arms around my neck and rested his head on my chest. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

“Where’s Maia?” Dairien asked.

“She’s staying with the dragon,” Amair answered, “I just hope she’ll be safe.”

“We better stay here then,” Dairien spoke, his voice almost frantic.

“She’ll be fine,” I frowned, “she’ll return to us when she’s finished. She can take care of herself.”

Dairien reluctantly nodded. I understood his fear of losing Maiatan. I just wished I could reassure him more that she will be safe and she knows what she’s doing. There’s no need to worry over her. She’s strong and independent.

“Ravvan,” I said, turning to face Ravvan who had crouched down to rest. I’m guessing. “You ready?” I asked when she turned her head to me, flipping her dark hair out of her eyes.

Ravvan nodded, standing up.

“Platinum,” Maiatan knocked on my bedroom door lightly. I turned to see her in her purple turtleneck and blue skinny jeans, her pastel pink hair tied up in a bun.

“Yes?” I asked, setting down my notebook on the nightstand. She sat down beside me, placing her pale hands on her lap, her ears folded back. I never understood why she was so tense around me all the time.

“I was able to release the Faral.”

“That’s what that was?”

“Yes. I’m sure that’s why he was a divine beast,” she explained, “and why I wasn’t able to put him out of his misery. He asked I kill him, but I couldn’t. Not because I hate killing…” she paused with a deep frown, her ears pointing back. “I don’t think he can ever die anymore. I feel like it’s some curse.”

“I mean he is a divine beast,” I said, cocking my head to the side slightly.

“But that doesn’t make sense!” She lifted her head to stare at me, her brows furrowed, “What about your grandfather’s dragon? Didn’t she die?”

“I…” my frown deepened, “yeah she was slain.”

“Exactly. Why can’t he die then?”

“He might’ve only been able to die if he made pact with another god.” I sighed deeply, looking down at my lap. “We’d actually have to hunt down the god of death for that.”

“I mean… maybe,” she shrugged and stood. “I’ll leave that to you.”

I looked up with a glare, the door to my room already closed with a small click.

“Can you really not think of one?” I asked, sitting at the dining table. Alpha had finally come back home, and I was able to get him on the phone to tell him to come over.

“No,” he frowned, looking over at Lance beside him who only shook his head. “I don’t know anyone who would either.”

“What about your dad?” Selenite asked, taking a seat next to me.

“I…” Alpha paused. “What do you mean?”

“Can’t your dad pass Alphias onto you since you were technically born to replace him?”

“I… I guess?” Alpha blinked.

I crossed my arms over the table. “Is that possible?”

“I’m sure,” Selenite looked up at me, “I’m pretty sure it is. I think it’s just like passing on your title to a heir; like a heir to the throne. If Alpha takes his father’s place, he might be able to take responsibility over Alphias as well.”

I thought about it for a second. I’m sure it’s possible, it’s just unheard of. At least I think so. Only a few gods when I was younger had a dragon by their side, let alone a divine beast. I didn’t realize it was a possibility to pass on divine beasts as I thought they were bound to you mentally, emotionally, and most likely spiritually.

Although I’ve never had a dragon by my side, so I wouldn’t know truly how that’d work or feel.

“I can call him,” Alpha shrugged, leaning over to take his phone from his pocket. Lance quietly watched him as he dialed Crimson.

“I’m sure it’ll be fine,” Selenite whispered to me. I watched Lance as he stared at the table with his lime eyes. His dark red hair had grown out a ton since the last time I saw him.

“Thank you, Father,” Alpha said quietly, “are you sure it’ll work?” He sat in silence for a moment. “Oh okay. I hope. Thank you so much, Father.” He set his phone down and looked at me. “My father said it could work and he could help. I just hope he’s right.” He crossed his arms and lowered his head to stare at the table.

“When will we do this?” I asked.

“Tomorrow. I’d have to tell Maia and see what she thinks,” Alpha said, “we might be able to get this to work if we do the right ritual. My father couldn’t remember what ritual it is, but it’s in one of his books.”

“Good. We’ll see you two then, yeah?”

Lance nodded with a hum.

“It’s good to see you again, Sir,” I said, standing still like a statue under the white eyes of Crimson, his straight white hair glowing against the darkness of the night.

He nodded, standing tall as always. We weren’t going to travel back to Ragnor. Why would we? We don’t exactly need to do we? Hopefully not, since Maiatan has been the only one able to bond with the dragon well enough for him to listen to her enough and trust her.

“Father,” Alpha bowed his head to Crimson, receiving a short nod of confirmation. “I thank you for allowing this.”

Crimson didn’t say much, just a nod was all Alpha had gotten but I guess it was enough. Crimson is a hard person to work with.

I let out my breath after hearing the beating of the dragon’s large wings fill my ears. I could already feel the draft it sent towards us. The ground was overcast by a large shadow before beginning to shake as the beast landed on its hind legs, picking up dirt and dust. He folded his tattered wings to his sides and lowered the front of his body, holding himself on his hands. Maiatan jumped off from his back, patting his neck. The way she looked at him I knew the two spoke to each other mentally. She looked to Crimson and said, “Have you two started yet?”

Alpha shook his head. “No,” Crimson answered, “I had just arrived.”

Maiatan bowed her head, “It’s a pleasure to see you again, Crimson.” Crimson bowed his head slightly as well, some of his hair falling in front of his face. He took his hand and combed his hair back out of his line of sight.

Crimson turned to Alpha. “Ready?” He asked. Alpha nodded and stood straight while Crimson turned his body to him and held out his left hand. Alpha did the same, their fingertips and palms together. I could tell Alpha was nervous. //Zoe lai sae fahil no’u. Nor eio nei tut zoe lau vei cele zoe arriev á no’lou artben.// Crimson began, //nui choe moralis ne pais no’u nuih; nuih mentai eio pais no’u nor zoe ether mentai-lie. Neihn artben neihn moralis mal ce sepél. Nor eio nei cele zoe ri’occei á artben eio moralis arriev tonei eio leiv á urn. //

//Zoe lai, nei accet zoe carcue offe no nei,//Alpha responded. I wasn’t as surprised he knew the ancient language so fluently if he weren’t related to Crimson. I’m sure all of Crimson’s children (or at least the ones he knows) are fluent in Ien-Kout. //Eio nei taai zoe carcue eio taai n’air sa’il eio constri nei stroe’io warh á vai arten. Nei protet n’air á loe eio’hai á protet nei á nul eio stat..//

Maiatan kept her hand on the dragon’s neck even when I stepped closer to her. I was surprised Lance hadn’t arrived, he must be out on a hunt with Amair whereas Selenite stayed home because he didn’t realize how late we’d be out. He may be a god now, but he’s still vulnerable to a mortal’s habits. But as long as he’s well rested I won’t mind.

Crimson and Alpha took their hands back, both observing them. I noticed the blackness on Alpha’s hand had extended down almost past to his elbow. I always wondered how that had appeared at first and what it was made of since it almost looked like it had a mind of its own. But at least now I know what it’s for. I’m positive that Alphias, the Divine Beast, has a similar trait in one of his arms as most Divine Beasts share characteristics with their master.

“Thank you, Father,” Alpha said, bowing his head.

Crimson hummed, walking past Alpha and towards the dragon beside us. //Zoe á peu á mes nor, ria Faral,// He said, placing his palm gently on the dragon’s rotted snout. The dragon huffed, blowing smoke from his nostrils as he stared at Crimson with his bright red eyes.

He then spoke again, this time in a language I wasn’t familiar with. Although the language seemed to pain my ears I still continued to listen and watch with wonder. The pain in my skull continued the more he spoke and when I became numb to the pain it would come back much harder. I’ve always wondered what satanic sorcery Crimson was up to and now I guess I got my answer.

Crimson fell silent, his eyes boring into the dragon’s. I felt that since the dragon couldn’t verbally speak well that he would be speaking through thoughts. I began to wonder what his voice sounded like.

The dragon hummed, his eyes turning white. He bowed his head when Crimson removed his hand. He stood still for a moment, I knew from the way he looked at the dragon that he still spoke to him.

The dragon huffed and Crimson turned to alpha with a nod. Maiatan and I backed off, knowing we just got confirmation that the rotting dragon is fine with his end. Hopefully it will be quick and painless… if this works. Crimson walked off as well, standing beside me while Alpha stayed away from us. I’m sure it was to make sure he didn’t hurt anyone, but I’m also pretty sure that Crimson could protect us from a beast like Alphias.

Alpha said nothing, but the ringing in my ears and the tightening of my chest told me he summoned the beast with the ancient language. Is that what Crimson had used? How could he speak such a complex language so easily? I thought it was just a thought process and not an actual verbal noise.

I watched as under the rotting dragon appeared a large summoning-like circle and knew for a fact that, from the size of the circle, this beast would be large. I just wasn’t prepared for the size as much as I thought I was and I knew that neither was the dragon in the death trap. Because there was just him, then suddenly Alphias came up through the summon circle like a creature jumping out of the water. His mouth wide open had caught the smaller dragon and he closed it, crushing the smaller beast in his strong jaws.

[hollywoodx4]

Sticking With the Schuylers (49)

It’s here, I finished! Thanks for your patience, this one is an emotional burden, and honestly took a lot of time. But hello to all of  the new readers! I’ve been watching the notifications (thanks for liking, by the way) so thankful that you guys have given this long ass story a chance. This series is my entire heart, so thank you. I appreciate every like, comment...everything. 

1  2  3  4   5   6   7   8   9   10   1112   I  13  14   15   16   17   18A  18B   18C  I 19   20   21   22   23   24   25  26   27  28   29   I  30  31  32 33 34  35  36  37 38  39 40  41  42 I 43  44  B  45 46  47 48

Tagging: @linsnavi  @workworkbae​ @adothoe @oosnavi​

Warnings: This story is pretty heavy on mentions of both physical and emotional abuse.

“Schuyler Liar? A look into the life, love, and lies of America’s middle daughter.”

Social media was buzzing with a flurry of mixed emotions when James Reynolds, political hopeful, admitted the rekindling of his relationship with Elizabeth Schuyler. The two had called it quits in March based on terms James “couldn’t and still can’t understand.” In September, in flooded news of a new romance for the middle Schuyler. And in November, those rumors were confirmed. From there, Shuyler’s social media has been dotted with photos of herself and Alexander Hamilton, a fellow student at Columbia University. But even these photos, beautifully presented have raised a lot of speculation. The main question? Is Elizabeth Schuyler really dating this poise-less immigrant? Sources have been back and forth on this argument from the day Eliza herself confirmed it. And Mystery Man? His private Instagram has recently been made public, his follower count raising by the thousands.

               But is this all just a publicity stunt? Reynolds says yes. According to an anonymous source, the two have started dating again. And Hamilton? A front. But other sources say that these allegations are also false. And at the center of it all? A red-handed Schuyler, caught in the act of serial dating. All three parties refused to comment on these accusations, Reynolds offering only “If it’s true, if she’s dating someone else, I don’t know what I’ll do. That would break me, I think.”

               What do you think? We think that someone has some major explaining to do.

___

               Madness is a murky pond; stagnant and still, a breeding ground for new life that isn’t quite wanted. The lurking of bacteria within that pond presents itself as a tightened stomach, nerves that roll and flip and eat at the soul. It’s the disguise of something simple that sparks the nerves, paranoia consuming the murky waters until they bubble over with the addition of new rainfall. But this is rain that falls heavy, with gale-force winds and storms that shake the land around her. This madness is a pond wracked by fallen branches. It’s a rain that will not cleanse.

               Eliza spends a majority of her time in a state of busyness; the winter has brought along a lot of busywork she isn’t prepared for. The holiday season, and then Alex’s birthday, had come and gone so quickly that her course work piled up. Now, she sits on it-or, within the depths of it. With a full backburner of work, Eliza finds herself in a state of uncommon disarray; her hair in a messy bun, the canvas bag she uses to tote things back and forth now cluttered with a collection of her week’s discarded items. Empty gum wrappers crinkle as she gets out a book, the floor receiving a coating of glitter from an art project she’d lead in an Early Childhood class. Among these things, charcoals and pens that have lost half their volume, shortened by a newfound flaring of emotions she’s unable to convey through any other means.

               Then, the white journal that Lisa had given her. She’d been asked to use it frequently, with assignments and with the use of another outlet. It’s supposed to help, to clear her mind and give her something to keep herself busy, and grounded to reality. So far, her work had spanned from a quote written in neat handwriting over the front cover (which she’d spent far longer on than necessary) to the first page, which she’d covered in Polaroid photos and similarly picturesque captions. Everything reads sweet, docile. She uses pastel pens and watercolor paints in this book, which she’d presented proudly to Lisa the next session.

               “It looks very well put-together.” She’d turned the journal over in her magenta manicured hands, considering it with a nod and half of a smile before returning it to Eliza’s waiting hands. “Soon, we’ll work on pulling you away from that.”

               Lisa does a lot of half-smiling in the weeks that pass; Eliza’s journal does not get filled, nor does what has been put inside encompass a stitch of her therapist’s expectations. Each week she presents it like a master chef showing off his greatest dish, and each week Lisa nods. She takes notes. She fills up the legal pad she’d opened when they’d first started working together and immediately opens a new one. Her hand can’t seem to stop during their sessions, where Eliza fills Lisa in on her week in broken up fragments, bits and pieces she tosses in to fill the awkward silence.

               “Are you ready to talk about the journaling?”

               Eliza shakes her head.

               “I’m working on it.”

                 Thursday morning has Alexander practically bursting through the door of Starbucks, scanning the tables and couches until he finds her in the back, scribbling in a white book in an enclosed area of the room. He ducks past a line that swivels out the door, grabbing the espresso-laden drink John had made ahead before sinking into the seat across from his girlfriend.

               Eliza doesn’t look up. Her eyes are glued to her book, her hand frozen in time. He clears his throat. She takes in a soft breath, just enough of a clue for Alexander to know that she hasn’t died right there on the unsteady corner table. He presses, saying her name again in a soft and gentle sort of tone before her head snaps up from her work. Eliza’s hands are shaking when she brushes the loose strands of hair from her face, combing it between her fingers before her long, dark locks fall over one shoulder. She tips her head in the opposite direction, leaning over the table for a kiss.

               “How’s work?”

               “Good, I wish I could go in and finish filing those papers though.”

“Does your boss have another stupid, weird task for you to do today? Dusting the ceilings of his office, getting his mail from the P.O box?”  Alex turns his head slightly, subconsciously.

“Liza, it’s Thursday…I have off. We always meet here on Thursdays because of that, before my 7 a.m?”

“You’re right,” She shakes her head. “This whole change of schedule thing is really killing me, I only knew what day it was when I had to say it during morning lesson.”

“I’m sorry I couldn’t stay over last night; our whole electric bill problem? Insane. They had to take the phone from me. Apparently I’m not as calm under pressure as Laff is.”

“You? Stressed? Never.”

She laughs, then, tucks her hair behind her ear again. There’s a crack; somewhere, within the smile that’s not quite hers and the shaking hands that bring a hot cup to peach colored lips. She’s not present in the writing upon it-Soy caramel latte, espresso- that’s not quite right, or in the way that her feet swing slightly under the table. He reaches over to take one of her hands, hold it in his.

“Eliza,” He can only say her name at first, stuck between her eyes and the half of her smile with a gentle sort of unease, one that hits him with only the smallest wave of rolling-stomach nerves. “Are you alright?”

One hand squeezes his. The other cups his face, thumb rolling off of freshly trimmed stubble that bristles as she touches it. She brings her lips to his cheek, lets them linger before releasing herself. There is just enough space between her lip and his cheek for air to pass through, and she speaks to him in a reserved, dulcet sort of tone before kissing him one last time.

“I’m fine.”

His nerves had always been overactive anyway.

                  Emptiness would have been a better companion than this-hell, it had been for a very long time. The more time she spends with Lisa, and on her work, the more she feels the progression of the inevitable collapse. She had been warned. Multiple times, Lisa had taken stock of their conversations and attempted to bring up the change in emotions that would come with the sudden release of what she’d been repressing. Eliza had brushed it off, told Alex and Angelica and Peggy to ignore the words. She’s always been the face of positivity. In a storm, she’s that first heart-stopping breakthrough of a lighthouse’s illuminating guidance.

               She doesn’t feel much like a lighthouse anymore.

               With each passing day; with the conversation crawling deeper, and the darkness cracking through its long-housed hiding place, Eliza feels like she’d like to hide as well. So she does. She fills her schedule with meaningless tasks, highlighted and underlined as if their significance is related to anything but her gradually fraying mental state. There is suddenly too much, yet not enough. Not enough work, not enough of a responsibility outside of herself to maintain. But this state of being is different, trapped between the living and the successful and those just barely scraping by. On any given day these feelings create a dissonance that wracks Eliza’s body with sickness and sucks away the hope. The confidence of success; of receiving a good grade, or reading a positive article written about her (finally, because these are now dwindling), makes her heart soar. But in that same note, that same day, the churning storm that hovers over her soul continues its darkness, takes that lightness and positivity away in one greedy draining of shining water from her shoreline.

               “I need you to think about this for a moment, Eliza.”

               She runs a lot; three miles, then five, and suddenly her feet are pounding against concrete and her heart against her chest and the ten mile mark rolls around and finally, finally, she can’t feel a single thing except the exhaustion that weighs on her bones and the sweat that drips down her nose. It cakes her face in moisture that blends itself with the salt-ridden drops that come from her eyes, osmosis implementing a perfect disguise. There’s a track her feet beat along the pavement; the heat of her frustration could melt the perfection of that shoveled, blackened tar, create craters of catharsis that don’t quite reach high enough into her mind to ebb her issues completely. There aren’t enough hours in the snow-ridden days, aren’t enough degrees on the thermometer to cure everything. She runs anyway. She runs until her cheeks are bitten red with cold, until the snow has penetrated black sneakers and wool-thick socks.

               It feels amazing in the moment. In the moment, with the span of a sparsely populated Central Park is lain out in front of her, Eliza is able  to clear everything else away. There is nothing but the bitter air and her hot breath, rhythmic and visible against the continually grey sky. At first, it’s as if every blog she’d been combing through held a truth comparable to her own; running truly is the best therapy, the curative she’d been looking for all along. It’s a stronger prescription than a silly white journal, or even the sketchbook under her mattress. For Eliza, running is the best therapy until her feet no longer hit the pavement.

               Everything shatters when she enters her apartment again, strips off her sweat-ridden clothes and lets her body adjust to one simultaneous temperature. Without the biting wind or the surroundings of the busy city to distract her, the perfect solution she’d read and prescribed herself to so intensely becomes nothing but an illusion. There is no change in her soul, which is riddled with a hot-breath-in-February swirling, a smoke-and-mirrors game just teasingly perfect enough to hold an addictive property. When she’s home, when her feet are given their long begged-for respite, Eliza wants nothing more than to beat them up again. A shockwave of pain begins to pound up her leg, to knees that pinch and pop in protest. Her soul begs her to continue anyway, to carry on this bodily abuse if only for the temporary relief of her soul.

…

               “I have something to tell you.” Eliza’s soft hum is her response, and she stirs the pot on the stove in concentration. The strain in Angelica’s voice is evident, yet hidden. The wood flooring knocks beneath what Eliza envisions as her sister shifting her weight from foot to foot, focused-or hesitating. She guesses the latter when Angelica lets out a long, drawn-out sigh.

               “You know I love you more than anything else.”

               “Yeah…”

               “And I’ll always be here for you, no matter what,”

               “Did John propose? Because I know you weren’t into that idea but if he did,” She can feel the roll of Angelica’s eyes before she sees it, stops herself mid-sentence and turns back to her work. There is an air about the room, an air between them that Eliza cannot decipher. It is not the golden, shimmering playfulness they’d had as kids, or when Peggy is with them and they’re hit with the freedom to spend the day together. It isn’t the air of purple guidance, a soothing lavender brushing against her porcelain skin when Eliza wasn’t sure if she was going to get into Columbia. It isn’t even the placid sort of mocha, comfort and a coffee shop warmth in just being together. This is something new altogether, a flickering orange that stops and starts itself as Angelica moves herself to stand next to Eliza at the counter. It moves up and down that orange spectrum just slightly as Angelica fidgets; taps her foot, puts a hand on the knob of the stove. It’s in her breathing, slightly irregular, and the press of her darker hand against her middle sister’s.

               “Back in September, I applied for an intensive study abroad program in England. It would mean that I could get my double major completely done instead of having to come back to Columbia next year. I could be in a law firm at the start of next year. I could be heading protests, working with the Association for Women’s Rights in Development. Do you know how many job opportunities are right in this city, how many lives I could change?”

               “So you applied.”

               “I got in.” She nearly whispers the words, as if they are a secret so precious that she must keep them close to her chest. She breathes in, a great upheaval of emotions, before a wide and exuberant grin shift her mature, more collected features. It is a resounding firework of bliss and unfiltered pride that buries itself into Eliza’s stomach, and she begs her own lips to turn up in a congratulations she can barely manage.

               “I’m so happy for you,” this is honest. Her mind repeats the words, holds on to them as her older sister runs through the details with a fine-toothed comb, explaining the process of application and sorting through the emotions that had been running through her head.

               “When I got that letter, I just-I didn’t want to tell you. I didn’t know what to do. It’s been a crazy month going back and forth, and John wasn’t happy with me for a really long time. But this is so important to him, and Peggy agreed that it wasn’t fair that you didn’t know, and,”

               “Wait, Peggy knows?”

               “Yeah…yeah, I told her when the letter came in, back when I told mom and dad and they were being crabby about my going across the country with John, as if we haven’t been dating our entire lives.”

               “Oh.” It’s all she can muster. She turns back to the stove, where the soup has begun to bubble up rapidly from the lack of attention she has paid it. Eliza turns the burner down, focuses the turn of her stomach and the prickling of tensed nerves on the stirring of the liquids in the pot.  She pictures her oldest sister, her source of guidance, spending a semester away from her in England. The grin that had encompassed her face, the one that had seemed so different on her typically composed features that would be a common occurrence at Oxford. John had always wanted this, Angelica had pretended not to. Eliza feels the tears before they come, attempts to blink them away.

               It seems silly to cry over something as simple as this; Angelica deserves this happiness, this time apart from the chaos that is erupting. And Eliza is nothing but willing to give it all to her. If it had been her choice, if Angelica had come to her first, she would have sent her on that plane instantly. No matter what. There is a piece of her that realizes that. Angelica moves to hold her, to turn off the burner and wrap her in her arms.

When they were younger, when Eliza was scared or hurt or unable to sleep, she’d crawl under the duvet in Angelica’s room. Her older sister would brush her fingers through her silky hair, press their faces close together and hum words of encouragement through the light innocence of a child’s voice speaking a mother’s words. This feels no different; her tears, although they are few from what she can feel, soak through the shoulder of Angelica’s soft purple work blouse. The material is butter in Eliza’s hands, where she keeps them wrapped tight around her sister’s waist. She longs for the darkened silence of her childhood bedroom, where Angelica had been able to keep her safe from everything with just her words. And then, her weakness snaps with the resistance of a rubber band. Heat encompasses the muscles that had relaxed and numbed with sadness. She pushes herself from Angelica’s embrace, her eyes engulfed with the clouds of a storm.

“Why am I the last person you told?”

“Betsy,”

“No, really. Why? Because it’s not like I’m the last place you’ve visited in a day. You got accepted last month. You’ve been hiding this from me for that long. And not everyone, just me.”

“Eliza, you know it’s harder with you. You’re…it’s different. I can’t just up and leave you, I’ve put a lot of thought into this.”

“Why, because I’m fragile? Because I’m broken? I’m not a child anymore, Angelica. I’m doing perfectly fine, and you would know that if you spent more time talking to me than at me. I’m not just some project you can throw yourself into because you’re looking for someone to fix. I’m fine, and I’m tired of being treated like I’m not.”

Angelica, wounded from the verbal bullets her red-eyed sister had aimed her way, takes a step back. She gathers her coat, laces her boots, and stands by the door without a single word. She shakes her head, multiple times, as if the motion is settling the jumbled mass of thoughts and emotions that have clouded her usual judgement. The calm, collected state is gone from her mind, replaced with a form of despair as she looks upon her sister’s cracked frame, which is held together by arms that hug herself tight.

“I’ll call you later.” Angelica’s voice is soft, cracking as she closes the apartment door behind her. And when she does call, over and over, Eliza does not answer.

…

               “Breakthroughs don’t just happen with the bare minimum of work. If you choose to ignore this, the loneliness? It’ll only get worse.”

               …

               Monday brings a missed class, Wednesday a canceled date night. By the time Friday rolls around, Eliza claims sickness and burrows herself in a pile of blankets and tea. She attempts to read, but the words on the page dance and rearrange themselves into situations she remembers only in the faint hours of the night, when there is nothing else to distract her. She watches reality television that holds none of her interest, watching beautifully made-up girls try on wedding dresses and fight with their bridal parties over the pros and cons. First there is a low, one that picks at her brain and forces her to place her head upon these bodies, imagine herself in such a state of bliss. But each time she gets close enough to feeling the light that would allow, it disappears.

               The effects of her current state of emotion are instantaneous, and frightening. Eliza lingers in a limbo between them all with no control, begging her brain for release from the heinous behavior she no longer has the will to contain. She will not answer Angelica’s phone calls. She considers skipping brunch. The thought of socialization hangs heavily, exhaustingly over her head. And when she attempts to write in her white journal, it only intensifies.

               She begins with something simple; his name. She writes it over and over, until her hand has memorized the pattern she had known so well. She presses hard with her pen, then soft. She uses writing delicate as spring, with curly letters and hearts, and next to it places the stark contrast of capital letters and roughly pressed ink. She researches, looks up the origin of his name and laughs when it tells her the meaning ‘to overthrow.’ She’s sure the truth is just a coincidence, that the action of taking over her mind isn’t caused by some stupid website on the internet with little historical citation. Her mind must be playing tricks to consider the fact that this one word is exactly what is happening. But then, Reynolds; a powerful ruler.

               She gives up on her little white journal.

               She shuts herself further into her burrow.

               It is a reluctant Sunday brunch, one which she barely remembers through the closed pieces of her mind and the pushing of her fork over another beautifully done vegetarian dish. Her father prods her, reminds her of the chef’s kindness in remembering her dietary choices after all of these years. It is Peggy who drowns the potatoes and tofu in Sriracha and blocks her nose, playfully mocks her sister’s choice over steak and chicken. Eliza holds herself well enough to bring some of the shining light into the photographs they’re asked to take.

               She falls asleep almost instantly when she gets back to her apartment.

               There isn’t enough time in the day to sleep anymore, not when her dreams are restless, filled with dark hands that press themselves too tight, suffocate her until she wakes in choking agony.

…

               “It is not your fault. You did not choose for this to happen.”

               On Monday, after a full week and a half without seeing Eliza, Alexander picks at the spare key dangling from his keyring. He holds it during class, lets it make indents in his palm until he is sure they will be permanent. Her name rings through his mind for the entirety of the day, until he feels a strong and bubbling nausea rise to his throat.

               He excuses himself from his class half an hour early. He makes it to her apartment in record time.

               She isn’t anywhere to be found, and at first he is thankful; maybe she’s in class, or with Angelica. Maybe she’d decided to take the unseasonably warm day to roam the city instead. But the slight differences within his once home are evident, calling him to search further than the kitchen. There are dishes in the sink, a dishwasher full of dirty ones that hadn’t been run yet. There aren’t any blankets on the couch, but a line of teacups take over the coffee table. The floor crunches with a layer of salty outdoor debris, its origin made clear by the shoes that litter every corner except the empty basket they are supposed to be in. Every blanket in the apartment; the one that used to be on the couch, and the armchair, and even one of his own fleece touristy blanket-they’re all discarded on her bed, crafted into a cocoon worn and wrinkled with use. Laundry litters the floor there, too, as if everything she had said to him about discarding his clothes in the bathroom had been a joke.

               The bathroom-when he approaches the door, there is a light shining through its narrow crack. There is no sound; not from the outside, and not after his entrance is announced with the creak of its hinges. He notices her instantly, the way she sits in the middle of the tiled flooring. She is surrounded by papers, papers covered in blacks and blues that have transferred to her arm. From the tips of her fingers to her elbow she is covered in paint, the substance drying and caking itself, consuming. Her head is bent, legs spread as her body stretches over another recently blank canvas. She paints this one a brilliantly crafted grayscale, one that begins with a single speck of white in the center. From there it is a spiral, a blend of darkness that leads to complete black, darker than night and lining the canvas. It traps the brilliance of the white inside of its spiral, keeps it prisoner within itself. Eliza’s brush moves with delicate, shaking strokes as she perfects the lines  , concentrates and hides behind the thin veil of the unruly waves of her hair.

               He is silent. For a moment, he watches her focus, although he is sure by the slow and unnatural rhythm of her breathing that her focus is drawn to something other than acrylic paints and the storm cloud of paints that decorate her arms. Her silence is broken by a minute sound, a sniff that barely reaches the motion of her body. It is enough; enough to bring him next to her on the floor, the bitter cold of the tile seeping through his jeans. Alexander’s voice is just above a whisper when he holds his hand out, asks if he can use the warmth of his touch to break through the numb, unresponsive state she had holed herself up in.

               When his warmth reaches her back, when his hand rubs small circles and his voice takes the place of the stagnant silence she had been living in for a week, her head falls to the floor. His heart, which had all but stopped upon seeing her so still and silent, cracks and throbs as Eliza’s body shakes. She presses one hand to the floor, hitting the brilliance of her painting without noticing, and uses the last ounce of her strength to pull herself into his lap. One cheek presses into his jeans, which are just beginning to lose the chill of the outside air. He uses both hands to support her now, one on her back and the other in her hair, on her waist. He presses her as close to him as he can, feels the feeble weight of her body lose the last ounce of its strength.

               He does not say anything.

               He doesn’t have to.

               For that singular moment, Eliza presses play on her life.

               Alexander transfers her to her bed, presses a kiss to her forehead and promises to return. He cleans the teacups, washes the dishes and starts the dishwasher. He folds the laundry stuck stagnant in the dryer. He cleans the paintbrushes in the sink, watches the water go from clear to murky black and back again. By the time is done, and he pulls the covers back from her bed, Eliza is asleep in the deconstructed cocoon. Alexander lays beside her, and draws her closer.

               Eliza, for the first time in a week and a half, sleeps through the night.

               “Breakthroughs don’t happen in a night. They take patience, time…they take a hell of a lot of work. But if that work is put in, if pain is felt for just a moment, your life could change.

               Take this journal; I need you to remember, Eliza. I need you to feel.”

[chickenfetus]

all moongan

thank you for asking falen tbh i love u sm and i love doing these 

omg is this ask for this ask meme i literally almost posted this along with the wrong ask fml

1: when you have cereal, do you have more milk than cereal or more cereal than milk?

more cereal than mik because.. i dont eat cereal with milk……… i love the crunch

2: do you like the feeling of cold air on your cheeks on a wintery day?

as someone who lives in a tropical country is that what its called idk we dont have seasons and it never gets lower than 25 degrees so yes that would be ideal

3: what random objects do you use to bookmark your books?

hrmmmmm… i just remember the page number?? or try to lmao if i dont remember i just skim through the pages and try to recognise where i left off

4: how do you take your coffee/tea?

with at least 2 packets of sugar tbh…. i dont drink coffee

5: are you self-conscious of your smile?

omg story time i went 2 get my braces removed and the dentist wanted to take pics so he was like “smile with your teeth!” and i was like ok! but then he kept saying i wasnt doing it right lmao… guess whos never smiled b4… (me) so he told me 2 practice my smile lol i didnt answer the qn but ya,,, i am probably

6: do you keep plants?

i used 2 be very against plants… now theyre okay i guess i dont rly keep any

7: do you name your plants?

refer 2 6

8: what artistic medium do you use to express your feelings?

art??? i havent drawn in awhile

9: do you like singing/humming to yourself?

no LOL

10: do you sleep on your back, side, or stomach?

on my side!!!! i cant sleep on my back bc i gotta hug smth.. and my stomach is out of the qn

11: what’s an inner joke you have with your friends?

🅱️… and .. same brainwaves…. poor mans ____…. this is all from the shady hq im so sorry my other pals

12: what’s your favorite planet?

the moon for no real reason

13: what’s something that made you smile today?

hMMm, watching astro and mx perform??? and just being shady with bell lmao

14: if you were to live with your best friend in an old flat in a big city, what would it look like?

this… question,,,..so im thinking of a bright place with white walls and translucent curtains so the light call fill the (living) room perfectly and everythings really ??? sunny and shit idk its warm… the floor’s made of (fake?) wood and theres a small kitchen bc i cant cook and idk if my friend would be able to lol.. theres 2 bed rooms both are painfully small but it works.. theres one other room with a closet for clothes… the bathroom is just a shower, sink and toilet… theres no washing machine rip and ?? thats about it poor mens life

i watchd the like we used mv again and i realized ...... that is literally where i got this imagery from thanks the rose i love a relatable band

15: go google a weird space fact and tell us what it is!

heres a fact (?) from me first: it rains diamonds on one planet ?? mecury maybe?? mars??? whomst.. this isnt even a fact its ,me trying to recall shit

ok real fact: There are thousands of other planets out there. sorry lads this website doesnt wanna have fun

16: what’s your favorite pasta dish?

is spaghetti bolognese a pasta dish

17: what color do you really want to dye your hair?

im chill with my current hair colour??? bc its brown sometimes idk shitty hair

18: tell us about something dumb/funny you did that has since gone down in history between you and your friends and is always brought up.

i asked my irl friends (group name: panic support group) and this is what they said

K: everything

E: when u were one hour late (i dont remember this happening but i do know im always late but never for an hour past me wyd)

19: do you keep a journal? what do you write/draw/ in it?

goDD i dont but i sure want to

20: what’s your favorite eye color?

this is strange but every eye colour is my favourite although ppl with two or more colours in their eyes are so cool

21: talk about your favorite bag, the one that’s been to hell and back with you and that you love to pieces.

its just my school bag lmao i got it 4 years ago and i take it everywhere even if the event is “small” and they ask us to bring “smaller bags” ill bring my big ass school bag anyway it looks like this (i dont have to but linking stuff is so fun)

22: are you a morning person?

technically.???its the holidays but i still manage to get up before 10 (most of the time) and … even if i have like 5 hours of sleep i manage to feel awake really easily????

23: what’s your favorite thing to do on lazy days where you have 0 obligations?

tf i just use my phone lmao this is what ive been doing for like a month now… i could watch every vlive i havent watched yet, i could make video compilations i could practice my art but… even though im out of school im still procrastinating.. legends only

24: is there someone out there you would trust with every single one of your secrets?

mmmm falens the closest to that

25: what’s the weirdest place you’ve ever broken into?

my classroom

26: what are the shoes you’ve had for forever and wear with every single outfit?

white converse??  i have 2 get new ones every like 2 years since theyre also my school shoes and break easily….. other than those i have my blueblack converse too (i dont wear them as much so theyre still in one piece)

27: what’s your favorite bubblegum flavor?

i dont eat bubblegum bc im always afraid ill swallow it and die and im p sure its illegal here

28: sunrise or sunset?

sunset but i dont look outside enough for either

29: what’s something really cute that one of your friends does and is totally endearing?

hm……… with jen its when she sends me asks on anon despite it being super obvious like im not a Fan when my friends send me asks on anon bc sometimes i cant tell and i get a sense of false hope but w/ jen its okay but i know its her

with bell its when they reply to my keyboard smashes with their own keyboard smashes lmao and when they just??//?? say smth cute abt their faves (lately its been sanha thank u sh)

30: think of it: have you ever been truly scared?

ya lmao when i have 2 sleep alone and its completely dark i have half a mind 2 believe some random supernatural being is out for me

31: what is your opinion of socks? do you like wearing weird socks? do you sleep with socks? do you confine yourself to white sock hell? really, just talk about socks.

hmM. socks are great i always wear them bc i wear shoes almost every time i go outside… i dont have any weird socks bc im Boring but i have 3 pkmn songs and 1 gudetama socks/.. bUT I DID buy my friend those socks with individual toe pockets… it was so funny when my other friend saw it she choked on her drink and almost spat it out. we laughed so hard we hit our heads against each other i love friendship.. i have 2 wear white socks for sch bc… aesthetic? god if i know lmao….. i only ever wear ankle socks bc….. socks any higher than that? cancelled.

32: tell us a story of something that happened to you after 3AM when you were with friends.

listen ive never stayed up later than like 1am ok maybe 2am??? but i was working on like a project that was due the next day for school with my groupmates (friends) so does that count lmao

33: what’s your fave pastry?

bread………. sugar donuts…….. i am Aware that thats not how u spell it but wtv

34: tell us about the stuffed animal you kept as a kid. what is it called? what does it look like? do you still keep it?

why does this ask so many qns in 1 qn……. i had a cat?? it had pink stripes and it didnt have a name bc i dont name my stuff… even my pokemon.. and yeah i still have it except its in a big dusty bag where all my other toys are kept

35: do you like stationary and pretty pens and so on? do you use them often?

i kinda have to use stationary for school so ya.. p often is correct… pretty pens??? i dont rly see the point whoopS!!! in exams u can only use black or blue so

36: which band’s sound would fit your mood right now?

im listening 2 day6 so like day6

37: do you like keeping your room messy or clean?

my room isnt even my room i just go there to sleep .. the place im always at is like a study area except its open?? so everyone can see me lol and . its not messy?? if u look at it from far but the shit on the desk and shelves are so fucking messy god i need to pack those

38: tell us about your pet peeves!

aLRIGHT LADS welcome 2 megans ted talk

(skip this if ur not fond of drama)

so something (refer to the song he said suits myday) happened with jae recently and ive seen fans trying to defend him by @ing him and saying that they love him which is fine - great even! but what i dont approve is how everyone’s basically forgotten about the whole matter because they had concerts so instead of @-ing him and asking him to explain himself, they tell him what a great concert it was which is also great bc their concerts are honestly amazing. basically my pet peeve is when ppl dismiss the problematic action of some people just bc they like them.

another thing is that there were some fans who started guilting others for wanting to drop day6 completely because of what jae did and in my opinion i think it is totally cool to want to drop a group if they did smth bad like??? its ur life???? u can choose who you want to like. what is not cool is pulling out all the good things the person has ever done in their entire life and try to remind others about the positive sides of the person. yes. they’re an encouraging person, etc. but that does not cancel out the bad things they’ve done until they explain/apologise. what is infuriating is just the manner some people took it?? they literally went ahead and tweeted shit like “would your parents drop you if you did smth wrong?” and “you’re seriously gonna drop someone whos been nothing been nice because of one incident?” yes. people will and you dont have any fucking right to stop them? so dont go pulling out receipts.

another thing. its also okay to want to stan the whole group even if someone has done smth problematic. like? to me youre cool if youre able to see and acknowledge the bad shit someone has done and still stand by their side while educating them at the same time its nice to have faith in your idols. however, i wont say much when your idols dont respond and/or respond in a way that shows absolutely no remorse. its cool if you want to support them too, despite that.

tldr; dont fucking excuse someone’s behaviour/action just because youre so far up their fucking ass. dont pull out shit from before either, be it good or bad. and lastly, its okay to want to drop/continue supporting them, its your life.

i just wanted to talk about this tbh,, it was nice to see a few mydays trying to urge jae to explain the whole situation but seeing as he still hasnt and couldve it really irks me :-/

okay update its been a day and i havent really thought about this but im kinda conflicted now bc jae still hasnt talked about the song and im probably just making a big deal out of smth that will never happen again but it really doesnt sit right with me knowing that jae recommended that song to his fans and said it suited mydays?? bc looking at the lyrics... i SURE hope not... idk i have neither forgiven or forgotten but he’s okay now.? i cant stay mad at someone for that long anyway ill never forgive him 4 it though lmao petty ppl only

another thing... jae’s still an amazing person to me with all the encouraging words he says to mydays but this one incident is just soOOOOO hrm and i did go off tangent with the question as usual lol

39: what color do you wear the most?

i wear a lot of colours tbh??? but bc its rly hot out ive just been wearing the same shirt every time i leave the house and its black so

40: think of a piece of jewelry you own: what’s it’s story? does it have any meaning to you?

i dont wear jewelry rip

41: what’s the last book you remember really, really loving?

challenger deep

42: do you have a favorite coffee shop? describe it!

hm,, ive only ever visited this coffee shop like more than once bc the girl i used 2 like showed it to me b4 like 2 years ago and it was nice i liked their mocha frappe and its cozy i guess??? sometimes i go there with friends to study/just eat but i havent gone in awhile.., its two stories and it has an open air sitting area too i prefer sitting inside bc the sun is a big no thanks.. the ceiling is kind of like?? going downward?? like the kind iin attics???? idk man it was nice

43: who was the last person you gazed at the stars with?

u cant see shit here sorry

44: when was the last time you remember feeling completely serene and at peace with everything?

cant relate

45: do you trust your instincts a lot?

yea?? sometimes i just gotta bc my brain wont shut the fuck up

46: tell us the worst pun you can think of.

suddenly all of the puns i know have left my mind thanks @ me

47: what food do you think should be banned from the universe?

vegetables

48: what was your biggest fear as a kid? is it the same today?

the dark and whats basically in it???? like ghosts zombies and shit u kno the scary shit

49: do you like buying CDs and records? what was the last one you bought?

i like buying albums?? theres a CD in those so it counts lmao i bought sunrise by day6

50: what’s an odd thing you collect?

boxes??? like containers????

51: think of a person. what song do you associate with them?

boxy and letting go by day6

52: what are your favorite memes of the year so far?

YOU KNOW I HAD TO DO IT TO THEM and oh worm

53: have you ever watched the rocky horror picture show? heathers? beetlejuice? pulp fiction? what do you think of them?

me: rocky.. ?????? from astro.. /?? no ive never heard of any of those and i saw the word horror so u wont hear abt those from me any time soon

54: who’s the last person you saw with a true look of sadness on their face?

i literally havent been outside for 2 days

55: what’s the most dramatic thing you’ve ever done to prove a point?

be petty aka yesterday i changed my twitter icon from jae 2 brian bc jae’s being a child rn so hes out

56: what are some things you find endearing in people?

when they ramble abt smth they like thanksk buds

57: go listen to bohemian rhapsody. how did it make you feel? did you dramatically reenact the lyrics?

is this the song from p!atd i have it in my playlist lmao oh i fucing hate this song i always skip it im not listening

58: who’s the wine mom and who’s the vodka aunt in your group of friends? why?

idk what either of those are but bell and boxy

59: what’s your favorite myth?

idk any

60: do you like poetry? what are some of your faves?

anything that eunwoo has ever written

61: what’s the stupidest gift you’ve ever given? the stupidest one you’ve ever received?

ive given eggs for karissa’s birthday b4 and i got a kermit its not stupid tho its just the closest thign i could think of

62: do you drink juice in the morning? which kind?

i drink water juice everyday every minute every hour

63: are you fussy about your books and music? do you keep them meticulously organized or kinda leave them be?

my books are all in shelves lads i just  heard the fucking keys rattle im not doing this shit im logging off night

ok day 3 and im back like i said previously my books are on shelves i tried rearranging them by series b4 but my housekeeper rearrnaged them randomly the next day so i gave up

i make playlists for songs that i like, really like (i still skip them sometimes rip) and songs that my friend recommends me i have a seperate playlist for the songs i like in japanese 2

64: what color is the sky where you are right now?

light blue?? like its actually p white bc its cloudy

65: is there anyone you haven’t seen in a long time who you’d love to hang out with?

m not rly

66: what would your ideal flower crown look like?

just. leaves maybe??

67: how do gloomy days where the sky is dark and the world is misty make you feel?

Horror Movie

68: what’s winter like where you live?

oh winter is fucking fantastic it never gets colder than 25 degrees celsius here and if it does rain it lasts for like 10 minutes

69: what are your favorite board games?

i used to rly like snake and ladders and monopoly :-o

70: have you ever used a ouija board?

im not ready for that kinda death

71: what’s your favorite kind of tea?

english breakfast or earl gray??? those r like the standard right

72: are you a person who needs to note everything down or else you’ll forget it?

ya but i never do bc i either forget to or am just 2 lazy

73: what are some of your worst habits?

being lazy + procrastinating :-D

74: describe a good friend of yours without using their name or gendered pronouns.

okie :-o ..

they’re great ok ive talked abt them like 10 times in the span of 2 months but whatever folks

they’re super nice, kind and just all of the positive adjectives out there in the dictionary ...... they’ve helped me multiple times and they’re always there 2 lend me a listening ear (or in our case, eye lmao) idk??? im just super comfortable around them always and im honestly so thankful we became mutuals (and subsequently friends) last year!!!! i cant say a lot bc ill just get v repetitive but overall they’re an awesome friend and im glad we still communicate daily via twitter and sometimes our skype sessions even if they’re kinda awkward bc i never know when 2 talk bc im scared ill speak and theyll say smth and itll turn into a MESS which actually happened lmao  

im looking forward to the day our skype sessions become super smooth and easy going!!!

75: tell us about your pets!

i have none but id die for boxys cats

76: is there anything you should be doing right now but aren’t?

well yeah always tbh but its not smth i have to do but more like want to do im just 2 lazy to get around doing it

77: pink or yellow lemonade?

?? i almost said lemons arent pink but i Remembered...... yellow lemonade

78: are you in the minion hateclub or fanclub?

i feel like this is an Attack? okay LISTEN so story time again.

on the flight back from japan i watched the alien covenant and i couldnt even get past the scene where the baby alien was gonna kill the poor guy who ended up being locked up with the infected dude as soon as i saw the blood and the alien emerge from the guy’s back i bolted lmao

so to calm myself down nd block that memory from my mind i went ahead and watched despicable me 3.. which HONESTLY im the worst critic ever but in my humble opinion.... the movie was good????????? idk i didnt watch minions the movie though i got lazy again whooopS!

anwyay i sidetracked but im neutral im not a fan but i wouldnt go out of my way to call minions annoying?? bc they really arent? i feel like its only seen that way bc of how people make posts abt how annoying minions are even tho.. they arent??

79: what’s one of the cutest things someone has ever done for you?

my memory hates me so every specific thing my friends have ever done for me has left my mind but .

the cutest thing? everything my friends do for me

80: what color are your bedroom walls? did you choose that color? if so, why?

theyre yellow and no i didnt theyve been there ever since i could remember

81: describe one of your friend’s eyes using the most abstract imagery you can think of.

lava cake

82: are/were you good in school?

yeah i was good in school for like the first three years and this year i just flopped so badly lmao and its my important year too oh well my exams r over and i still dont have a backup plan in mind

83: what’s some of your favorite album art?

all of dance gavin dance’s albums have awesome art

84: are you planning on getting tattoos? which ones?

back when i was really into 5sos i thought of getting a tally since that was their logo at that time but now no not really unless i decide to get lance’s face tattooed onto my forehead on impulse

85: do you read comics? what are your faves?

im keeping up with hq, bnha and tg manga!!!!

86: do you like concept albums? which ones?

idk what those r but sure

87: what are some movies you think everyone should watch at least once in their lives?

big hero 6

88: are there any artistic movements you particularly enjoy?

who wrote this whats up with these questions

i googled and.. not really?? they all look nice

89: are you close to your parents?

close enough to stand being in the same room as them but not close enough to want to initiate conversations

90: talk about your one of you favorite cities.

tokyo was really cool (literally) and if i ever go again id love to go with friends so we can explore more??

91: where do you plan on traveling this year?

japan was supposed to be the only plan for this year but my grandad passed away so i had to go to malaysia multiple times earlier this year ik this wasnt the qn but ive already went to the planned destination tm so

92: are you a person who drowns their pasta in cheese or a person who barely sprinkles a pinch?

BARELY SPRINKLES A PINCH im anti cheese

93: what’s the hairstyle you wear the most?

um. like?? i tie the sides of my hair that cover my face back??? bc i dont like hair in my face

94: who was the last person you know to have a birthday?

bell

95: what are your plans for this weekend?

hopefully something useful

96: do you install your computer updates really quickly or do you procrastinate on them a lot?

i also click remind me tomorrow lmao

97: myer briggs type, zodiac sign, and hogwarts house?

infp-t, capricorn, hufflepuff (same as falen nd jen yay)

98: when’s the last time you went hiking? did you enjoy it?

uh ive never been hiking and i dont plan on it sorry body

99: list some five (or id never shut up) songs that resonate to your soul whenever you hear them.

currently......

when you love someone - day6

like we used to - the rose

crazy sexy cool - astro

death of a strawberry - dance gavin dance

if it means a lot to you - a day to remember

idk if these actually “resonate to my soul” they just sound nice

100: if you were presented with two buttons, one that allows you to go 5 years into the past, the other 5 years into the future, which one would you press? why?

oh worm.. i wouldnt miind either???

i know i have 2 choose but like

if i go back into the past i could be less annoying?? but the past has actually helped me be the way i am today and i think im learning to be a better person?? im definitely way better than how i was previously 5 years ago and im just grateful i was able to learn from my mistakes???

so i wouldnt go back to the past.

if its in the future i can see how ill end up and if its not good i might end up being able to change myself so i dont get my “bad end”..???? maybe or i can just see what happens in the future and i can look forward to it

itll also give me a chnace to have the most fun while i can if its not too nice

so my decision is to go to the future

thank you so much for asking falen god this got so long lmao

[fiercyy]

Que Pasa Culata de Azucar?

Summary: Jake learns Spanish and does not immediately tell Amy. "Congratulations. It only took you 10 years to learn the language your partner speaks."

Thank you @cats-sarcasm-and-fandoms for the translations!

Amy is the kind of girl who went to college despite knowing she would be pursuing a career in law enforcement. She loved to learn; so, not only did she graduate summa cum laude but she double majored in Art History and Classics. On top of English, Spanish and a smattering of textbook-perfect french, Amy could read and write in greek, latin and hebrew.

It was sort of embarrassing.

Yesterday, he couldn’t figure how to fix the remote for his television so he ended up watching the Young and the Restless for four hours on his day off.

Amy and Jake put forth equal amounts of effort in very different ways, towards very different things. Besides their work itself.

Amy absorbs information like a sponge before wringing it out into the appropriate, color coded and labelled buckets in her head. She remembers literally everything ever and is thus great at crosswords and jeopardy.

Jake absorbs what’s immediately useful and discards the rest.

Every aspect of Amy’s life, besides self-care and emotions, is all-gung-ho all the time.

Jake puts his effort into jokes, into making his life full of zest, n’stuff. He will go to heretofore unheard of lengths for the sheer enjoyment of making others laugh.

Jake would never say this about himself, because he operates based on the idea that he flies by the seat of his pants at all times, and stumbles into everything based on a combination of sheer dumb luck and awesomeness of self.

On a Wednesday, for the first time, (well, not the first time. He probably put some effort into studying for the detectives exam or something. Or passing high school math. There’s got to have been something right?) Jake decides that he should take a page out of his weirdo wife’s book.

Much later, far off down the line he’ll say it was frustration that drove him to this point. That he was tired of sitting alone in a sea of confusion when they visit her family. That his sheer inability to follow the stories of her guilty pleasure telenovella was so insurmountably annoying that he just had to act.

Really it was just a series of amazing, wonderful, Amy-Santiago-Specialty presents. First it’s Hannukah, Then christmas, then his birthday, then Valentines and NO ONE is as pro as his wife at blowing his damn mind, four subsequent gift-giving holidays in a row. He cried at his birthday surprise. Tell no one.

Six months later …

Amy bites her lip and frantically looks around the precinct, ensuring the absence of prying eyes. She very suavely and inconspicuously gets up from her desk and strolls over to Rosa’s area.

“What .” It is not a question, but an icy hiss.

When Amy, who isnt usually cowed that easily, doesn’t speak up, Rosa looks up at her through narrow, calculating eyes. She must see something in her expression because she lets out an immense sigh and turns in her swivel chair. “What do you need?”

Amy opens her mouth.

And closes it.

Opens.

Closes.

Opens.

Rosa’s fingers under her chin bring her teeth together with a snap.

“Forget it,” she says nervously, “I’m being stupid. So stupid.”

“Probably!” Gina, who is across the room and not a part of this conversation, chimes in.

“Forget I said anything.” Amy makes to leave, face contorted in a painful wince. Rosa stares into her soul. Oh look at that. She’s grown roots. “Fine,” she sighs, “I need you to come help me stakeout a house.”

Rosa looks skeptical. “It’s a saturday.”

“Yes. Yes it is.”

“Where is this place?”

“East 47th and Claremont.”

“And you’re being weird about this because…”

Amy leans closer and whispers. “I think… I think Jake’s cheating on me.”

“HA!” Gina shouts loudly from where she has suddenly appeared right beside her ear. “That boy couldn’t, wouldn’t and probably shouldn’t be trolling for booty. He’s getting old, it’s kind of sad.”

“You’re the same age.”

“I am an ageless being made of pure light, descended from the heavens to grace you mere mortals with my presence.” She glances at her manicure, “So what are we waiting for? Are we going out on this stakeout or not?”

“No,” says Rosa flatly.

“Whyyyyyy,” Gina whines.

“Because Jake is not cheating on Amy. This is stupid.”

“But what if he is,” Amy pleads with her, “He’s been being weird. And he goes out every saturday. He says he has a pickup game with academy buddies. He doesn’t have academy buddies. ”

“That’s true,” Gina injects.

“You’re not helping,” spits Rosa, “Don’t legitimize her craziness.”

“Well, he’s also been hitting the gym more, but that’s none of my business.”

“Gina!”

“Please Rosa?” Amy’s eyes shine and her lips puff up in a pout, but what gets Rosa is the furrow of her brow and the very real worry she sees in her face.

“For the record, this is dumb.”

Gina and Amy take this as concession.

Rosa drives, Gina rides shotgun and Amy sits in the back. Together they watch the utilitarian brownstone. After an hour of inactivity the door opens and Jake bounds down the steps. He stops at the bottom and turns to wave at the woman in the doorway.

She can’t be more than 25. Her hair is long and black, bangs curl against her caramel cheek. It dimples when she smiles.

“ Goddamnit!” Amy shouts and slumps forward, head between her knees.

“Man. That boy has a type.”

“This is just great.”

“I will kill him for you,” offers Rosa.

“It doesn’t have to mean that right?” Amy seems to have chickened out of her own paranoia. “He could be here for any reason.”

“Sure he could,” says Gina, awkwardly patting her head. Amy lets out a breath and calms at the gesture. “But let’s be honest, probably not.”

Rosa hits her in the stomach.

“ Ow,” she grits pointedly.

“Come on, let’s head back to the precinct.”

Rosa does her very best to calm Amy down. (“Calm down,” she says.) And she doesn’t tell her this, but she runs the address through the database.

That night, Jake snuggles into her back and snuffles her hair. His warm hand caresses her arm and she feels so good, so safe. It makes her wonder how she could ever doubt him, when they fit together like this. He rubs his stubbly chin against her neck and settles in for the night.

And Amy just can’t let it go.

“Are we okay?” she asks breathlessly.

Jake is silent for a moment before he snorts. “Well, I should hope we’re better than okay at this point. We’ve been practicing for like four years.”

Amy turns in his embrace so they’re chest to chest. She’s so close that his eyes merge into one blurry one. He looks like a cyclops. She shakes her head free of the distraction. “I’m serious. Are we okay? Are you happy?”

Jake is taken aback and sounds afraid when he answers. “Why do you ask?”

She’s about to bring up her fears and feelings, she really is about to tell him the truth. But she imagines his reaction when she tells him she followed him. She imagines what he would say.

She chickens out.

The truth is, Amy is too scared to know. The truth is that Amy is so incandescently happy with her life that she’s willing to lie to herself a little. Maybe a lot. That frightens her, but not as much as the prospect of losing him to some young hot latina because seriously Jake? You are so transparent.

“I’m just… checking in. You know, like an audit. A relationship audit.”

“Why am I attracted to you again?” Her face burns and her gaze falls to his chest. Her shoulders curl inwards of their own volition. “Hey, I’m kidding. It’s just a bit I do,” Jake shucks her under the chin. “Hi, nice to meet you. My name is Jake Santiago, we’ll be married two years in September.”

“Sorry,” she sighs and leans up to rest her forehead against his. “Just been stuck in my head all day.”

“I think it’s sexy that you want to do a relationship audit. Should I whip out the spreadsheet pad? Will there be a physical evaluation of my assets?”

Amy laughs, “Oh definitely. I plan on being very thorough.”

“Santiago-style. I love it.”

“I love you,” she says with a bittersweet note to her voice.

“I bet I love you more.”

“False. But still, I don’t that’s something that I want to gamble on.”

Amy presses her lips against his and holds him tight. She slings her leg over his waist and rolls them over so that she’s on top, gently massaging his chest. “I love you Jake.”

“I love you too, Ames,” and he looks at her with wonderment and pride, the same way he has every day they’ve been together. It’s an expression that spreads warmth from her fingers to her toes and the thought of Jake with another woman flies out of her head. You can’t fake love like that. “You make me happier than I ever thought I could be. For the record.”

“For the record: same.”

It’s an hour and a half before Amy is asleep beside him, breathing evenly with her hands curled under her chin. Very carefully, Jake gets out of bed and sneaks out the bedroom floor and tiptoes into the living room where he left his satchel. He takes out his phone and earbuds then tiptoes back. He very carefully lower himself into bed and curls back up with his wife, who hasn’t budged an inch.

“Te equivocas de medio a medio, you are completely wrong. ”

He silently mouths along.

“ Claro hombre, eso es de cajón. Of course, that is obvious.”

The lease was under the name Marcia Rodgriguez, a 63-year-old mexican woman. It took some doing, but Rosa eventually found an ad that Marcia placed. She tutors Spanish as a second language.

Meanwhile, Jake is having trouble keeping it together. He’s been planning it for months. On their anniversary he’ll take her to the place where she proposed, get down on one knee and propose to her again in Spanish. Small consolation for her beating him to the punch in the first place but whatever. He knows it’ll make her happy. It’s the gift to trump all gifts, even those of the Santiago variety.

He would deny this, but he full on gushes to Boyle about it.

Who in turn, flings proportionate reaction to the wind and lifts Jake in the air, spinning him around. This is when Rosa walks into the bullpen. She turns around and walks right back out. Boyle, embarrassed, sets him down with a sheepish smile. A long pause then-

“Could you do that again? I felt like an eagle. It was magical.”

Amy is quickly losing patience with her mother. She holds her phone away from her for a moment so she can take a deep breath.

"Mama, es mi hermano. Sé que es un idiota, pero ¿qué es lo que quieres que haga?” Mama, he’s my brother. I know he’s an idiot, but what do you want me to do about it?

"Él y Mia lo resolverán solos, yo- no Mamá, sí, ¡escúchame! El domingo no puedo. Si pudiera tomarme el día libre lo haría-" He and Mia will work it out on their own, I- no Mama, yes, listen! Sunday doesn’t work. If I could get the day off I would-

She says it all in a very normal voice. If he still couldn’t speak Spanish he would never know anything was wrong. Amy does that sometimes.  Growing up in a full house meant keeping problems to yourself. It’s something they work on, but this is a family thing, and despite being a part of it, he doubts she’ll bring it up with him. Or ask for a day off for herself.

When Amy’s in the bathroom he phones the Sarge. “Hey, could you put me on the schedule this Sunday instead of Amy? ...Yeah, I know, but I used to do doubles all the time... Once won’t hurt.”

Mateo comes to visit a week before their anniversary. Amy invites him back to their apartment and Jake makes himself scarce for a while. Amy and Mateo were always very close and he moved to Chicago three years ago. It was rough for her at first, he’s glad she has this time with him.

What he didn’t used to be glad about was how Mateo had this annoying habit of talking to Amy in Spanish whenever Jake was around.

Mateo had been the hardest of the Santiago siblings to win over, besides Amy herself. He was closest to Amy in age, only 10 months older. They were in the same grade through all of school. They were inseparable until being accepted into different colleges.

He doesn’t like Jake much. To this day, almost two years into his marriage, Jake still doesn’t know why. He knows it bothers Amy, but he can’t do anything about it.

Well, he couldn’t until now.

Spanish drifts from the living room into the kitchen.

“Siempre hace cosas tontas para llamar tu atención.” He’s always doing stupid things to get your attention. “¿No te cansas de sus estupideces?” You never get tired of his nonsense?

Mateo is sitting on their floral couch, across from Amy on the armchair. He’s spread as wide as he can, taking up the whole thing.

“No, me canso de él dejando su basura por todas partes. Muy doméstico. No es gran cosa.” No, I get tired of him leaving his crap everywhere. Very domestic. No big deal.

This is the moment he chooses to walk further into the room. Alerting them to his presence. The conversation doesn’t end, the thread continued as if he were invisible. He takes a seat beside his wife on the arm of her chair and smiles benignly, feigning misunderstanding.

Mateo has no compunctions about continuing to talk about him as if he’s not there. “Todavía no lo entiendo. Él es tan... Extrovertido y tú eres tan... Reservada.” Still don’t get it. He’s so… out there and you’re so… reserved.

Jake is sort of offended on Amy’s behalf. She glances at him with a furrowed brow, so that even if he didn't understand what was being said, he’d know it was about him. He shrugs.

“Me gusta que sea tan abierto, me hace mejor que él me ayude a relajarme. Él me hace ser mejor.” I kind of like that he’s so open, it makes me better that he helps me loosen up. He makes me better.  

Jake has to fight down a blush.

“Estás bien como estás.” You’re fine as you are.

For the first time in the conversation, he concurs with Mateo.

“Sí, nunca se lo diría, pero cada vez que hace que nos desviemos, es siempre lo mejor. Probablemente la única aventura que he tenido en mi vida." Yeah, but I would never tell him so, but whenever he gets us sidetracked, it’s always the best. Probably the only adventure of my life. “Pero si se lo dices te mato.” But if you tell him though, I’ll kill you.

Jake is suddenly feeling overwhelmed. It’s not that Amy doesn’t say nice things to him, it’s just different when it’s not said for his benefit. In this moment (in all moments) he’s so glad that she chose him, so thankful that she’s in his life. He tries not to blush and fails, but that’s okay. Amy takes his hand and squeezes it.

“So. Who’s ready for food?” he interrupts.

Later, Amy comes out of the shower to find him organizing the previously ordered mess in which he lives his life. She stands in the doorway of the bedroom, clutching her towel to her chest, just watching.

He looks up from the sock drawer, feeling sheepish. The clean laundry had been piled in the corner of the room for three days. What he finds it not a teasing wife but a woman staring into the depths of his soul with dark eyes trained on his hands. Hands which he prides himself on because of their dexterity. Her plump lips part in an o and she blinks slowly. He can see a pink tongue running over white teeth and is struck dumb by it.

“I-I- uh, I’m organizing them by dressiness and color.”

Amy’s towel drops to the floor and she’s on him in an instant. Tackling him down onto the bed. “That is so hot.”

“Are you gonna just leave your towel on the floor?”

“Oh my god.”

“I have acquired a superpower,” says Jake to Charles in the breakroom. “She talks about her problems, I fix them, awesome sex. It’s a win win all around!”

“I dunno Jakey, this seems like a bit of an invasion of her privacy.”

“She’s talking right in front of me. And did I mention how good this sex was because-???”

“So basically you’re trying to justify lying to her.” Jake jumps three feet in the air. “Also, congratulations, it took you 10 years to finally learn the language your wife speaks. Good going, Jake.”

“When did you get here?” he shouts at Rosa. “It’s not lying. I’m using my powers for good. She never would have told me her brother was having marital problems and she never would have asked Holt for the day off to be with her family. Plus, this morning she was on her phone with her mom and said ‘Me gustaría que no oliera a huevos después de perseguir delincuentes’ which means I wish he didn’t smell like eggs after we chased perps. So I put on deodorant!”

“...” Rosa appears unimpressed.

“Come on, I’m telling her soon. Anniversary surprise!”

“Tell her now.”

“No.”

“Tell her.”

“You can’t make me!”

She shoots him a look.

“Okay, maybe you can. But please don’t.”

The death glare she shoots him as she leaves the room makes him question whether she will honor his request.

It doesn’t take long. He’s sitting with Amy, picking at her Pho when Rosa joins them. “Tu esposo es tonto y cree que eres una maniática controladora.” Your husband is an idiot and thinks you're a control freak.

“I am not! And that’s not even true!”

“How did you understand that?”

“Yes Jake,” says Rosa pleasantly. “Is it because you are a super genius and therefore comprehend all languages?”

Amy stares at her husband with suspicious eyes, “No, that’s not it.”

Amy doesn’t speak to him the rest of the day. They sit across from each other in uncomfortable silence where she works and pretends not to feel his stare searing into her face.

He knows he’s in big trouble.

At five o’clock on the dot he gets up from his desk, yanks Amy from her seat and drags her into the evidence lockup shouting, “We’re off the clock dweebs!” over his shoulder.

In the space where they kissed properly as themselves for the first time, where they got together, where they said goodbye before she went undercover, where they killed a man with their hot sexy makeout skills, Jake takes his wife’s hands and drops to one knee. “I’m sorry,” he says. “It was supposed to be a surprise.”

“¿Quieres casarte conmigo...de nuevo?” Will you marry me...again? Then he laughs and looks around the room. “Debes decir que sí.” You have to say yes.

"Of course!" she flings her arms around him and presses her face into his chest. "I though you were cheating on me, you asshole!"

"Wait what?!"

“Nothing, never mind. Te amo, cariño,” I love you Sweetheart, Amy replies, a little tearfully.

“Yooooo I’d totally forgotten about that. This opens up a whole new arena of obnoxiously cute nicknames, sugarbutt! Or should I say culata de azúcar? Doesn’t roll off the tongue the same.”

[mfmagazine]

The Color Turning

Article by Malena Jones

The Color Turning --- Five southern California guys who are true artists paving the way through new musical territory. They take their listeners on a journey through thick forests of harmony into a land of sweet emotion. I sat down with these talented music makers at a Thai restaurant on Sunset Boulevard to try and learn more about this red - hot band that is turning other LA bands green with envy. How would you guys describe your sound? Steve: I don’t even know what the name of the genre would be, but there are at least 10 or 12 bands that we all know that kind of have something to do with each other just by the way that they sound or feel, and we all draw inspiration from that. Sean: My dad called us romantic rock. [laughs] That’s like the biggest challenge when people ask you to describe your sound. Traveling through Texas you'd hear things like…"y’all emo?” I think that the sound of your band compared to other bands is thicker, melodically and also harmonically. At what point do you say, “this is too much, there are too many things going on.” At what point does it turn from music into noise? Steve: I think we’ve been focusing on that. When we all come together as a band we’re way more conscious of what’s necessary. With the Antidote EP and in these three new songs we have recorded with Alex (Newport) it’s been a conscious effort to really clean up the instrumentation and arrangements. So, you all write the music together. When you are writing, what do you pull influence from? Do you pull it from literature, or art? What kinds of art, or other bands? David: Well, musically I get a lot from Film Music and things like that. I look for people who concentrate a lot of their effort on melodies in music and not just chord progressions that they can sing over later. What about lyrically? David: I have to say, I kind of nicked some Ernest Hemingway in "The Middle Will Catch us All" on our new EP. There were a couple of lines that we took. Steve: I really enjoy Blake Schwarzenbach’s lyrics…Bob Dylan. What do you listen for in other’s music? Sean: I usually try to listen for the stuff that isn’t regularly heard, like taking, for instance, the Radiohead album "Ok Computer" the song "Airbag" panning left, panning right, you hear interesting things, and that excites me…that motivates me. I really like listening to stuff like that and sounds that aren’t picked up on the first listen. Sounds I can’t identify, you know, undertones – strings, voices. Anything like that makes me interested. How do you feel about art music? For example when people are writing to write a hit, you can tell, but when people write just for themselves, like Interpol, and they don’t care about what other people think of the band, it comes out different, organic if you will. David: We've had this conversation between just us in the band, and we all know you know when it’s contrived. You know when it’s coming out fake and phony, and you know when you’re aiming for something false. It’s kind of a fine line, because as an artist I think all of us would love to write “OK Computer” over and over or any Sigur Ros album. It’s catchy because it’s brilliant, and not because it’s necessarily a standard chord progression or lyric that everyone uses. But, there’s the side of you that has to be slightly business minded, by that i mean that you can't expect to write completely unlistenable music and expect to keep your job. So it’s a fine line and at the end of the day you decide if you want to listen to that side of you. So it’s kind of a balance for you then? Steve: I know for me, and the band, the less we think about what we’re doing, the better off we are. How do you feel about indie bands getting so much publicity? Like Sigur Ros just played at the Hollywood Bowl. David: or Arcade Fire is on the radio Steve: It seems like a lot more independent bands are becoming more easily accessible – kind of like how skateboarding is now. It sounds like a weird comparison, but I have a lot of friends who are still in that industry and work in skate shops and stuff, and they literally just have skateboards in there because they’re a skate shop. They don’t make any money off of them; they don’t sell skateboards any more. Even though you would think, “Well, where do they make all their money?” -- they sell tons of clothes, and so everyone looks like they skate, but no one really buys the equipment, and no one really skates. It’s more like they just kind of bought into an image. I think when you get to a certain level, you’re selling an image, and I think that’s kind of sad, but it’s just the way it is. The art itself is sort of pushed to the wayside. David: Also, we hear a lot more what we consider indie music on the radio, and in commercials and stuff, and it’s a lot more since we’re getting older. Some of us who listen to this music and are fans of these underground bands, we’re getting jobs in industries where we can make those choices. Like programming directors or people working at ad agencies, they grew up on the Descendants, and then they put it in an ad, and you’re like “whoa, the Descendants is in a commercial,” and it’s not really as much as you might think that “it’s becoming mainstream”, it’s more like “people are growing up and getting jobs”. As far as musical training goes, have you all come from playing in middle school, high school, or did you just start playing? Jason: I played music since the fourth grade. I started on clarinet, and then I went to bass. I wanted to rock, but I didn’t want to take the time to learn chords on a guitar, so I got a bass guitar, because it’s only one finger at a time, and I slowly perfected that. Sean: I was raised by my long-haired dad who was in a 60’s prog rock band…named Quadrine...yeah. [laughs] My dad played piano and stuff. Steve: Sean's dad taught him the chords “C, D, & G,”. My dad played in coffee shops as a teenager. He had side burns and finger picked a lot. When I was about 15 I found his guitar. The rest is history [laughs]. Garrett: I have two older brothers and they both had bands that practiced at our house in the garage, and I would always sneak in and play the drums, and that’s how I learned. David: my aunt just had a guitar lying around, and I watched my brother learn how to play Lisa Loeb’s “Stay” and I thought it was the coolest thing I'd ever seen. What are your plans? What is the direction you would like to head as band? David: Musically I want to be in a playing situation where I am not afraid to have a larger stage set up – have more instruments at my disposal. I think we all feel that way, I mean right now our stage set up is pretty ambitious. Also, I don’t want to have to worry about how we’re going to get to a show…, just worry about music. What do you have to offer your fans that other bands don’t have? Steve: "Sweet Emotion." [laughs] I mean it, in a round about way, that’s it. David: People always say that they kind of lose themselves at our shows, and that’s a huge compliment. Jason: I like how people can use our songs for so many personal things. It’s specific enough to where you know the specific stories of what our songs are about, but it’s general enough to where you can apply your own life to it. I think your music is experience oriented; instead of song, song, song… I almost lose sense of time. It’s about relating to people. You don’t know who will be listening to your music, but somehow you are able to relate to everyone who listens to it. David: I think you hit it on the head. This is exactly what concerns us about pop music. The reason we don’t enjoy writing it as much is because when you write something obvious, it doesn’t tell the listener anything they don’t already know, it just feeds into what they hear over and over every day. It’s like Sean was saying, he looks for the abstract stuff, and the things you don’t always hear, and that’s kind of what drives us in the way that we live our lives. We don’t’ just sit around and do the easy thing or always take the easiest path. I like to think we’re all kind of artists on our own without music, or at least think that way. We all have artistic personalities -shooting for something better; shooting for the fact that life is a lot bigger than just what Britney Spears sings about. Steve: To me, the most beautiful songs and what our songs capture are the reasons I love playing in this band and because there are different levels to it -you can look into it as deep as you want. If I’m not inspired by a band at some level, I’m not really into it. David: Music or otherwise, we all look for stuff that moves us in some way.

[atypical60]

Yes I did!  And I’m gonna tell you all about that stuff I got!!

Yes I did.  But I paid mostly with cash!

I got another eyeshadow duo.  This one I purposely bought because I decided that I would make myself a “makeup bag” for work. (Which, by the way as I write this, I have not done) Now—I normally don’t do touch ups during the day but because I’m at the computer all day my eye makeup can sometimes get a bit wonky because I’ll rub my eyes without thinking.

I’m really hung up on the MAC eyeshadow refills. I need to stop this obsession!

It could be a good idea to perhaps do a bit of an eye touch up if I run errands after work. Know what I mean?

Anyway, I ordered Patina, a slightly shimmery neutral and, naturally, Quarry—my go-to shadow shade.

Patina on the right. It goes on so lightly that it looks like your eyes are shaded. And Quarry on the left is more of a taupe than the lavander hue the photo took on!

But I was really excited about the lip pencil that I ordered.  Half Red by Mac.  One of my favorite YouTube Beauty Gurus, Aly Art, loves this and her lips always look so beautiful so I decided to try it.

Half Red in the box….

Let me tell you something. I’m thrilled that I did.  I feel as though the purchase was an epiphany.  I don’t like a lipstick that feels “heavy” and some matte lipsticks have a texture that makes them feel dry and heavy on the mouth.  And I want staying power because during the day, I do not want to be constantly applying lip gloss or lipstick.  And if you use a lipstick/gloss that’s a bit on the more “colorful” side and not a neutral, as the color wears off it looks a bit “off”.

The one concern, though was that a pencil needs to be sharpened.  And my luck with pencil sharpeners isn’t exactly great.  Regardless, I still bit the bullet and bought it.

Half Red is a truly neutral type of red. It just blends into the natural lip so well!

And I couldn’t be any happier.  This goes on the lips so nicely.  I did prep by exfoliating my lips and adding a bit of concealer to tone down the natural pigmentation in my lips.  Then—I went to town!

Me, wearing Half Red to the office this week.  What the heck. I’m changing this to A+ anyway!

Overall, I have to give this an A.  I think as I get more used to wearing this, it will reach A+ status. But I’m relatively new to using a lip pencil as lipstick so we’ll see.

Mascara.  Yes. I did.  I bought another mascara. I couldn’t help it. I’ve been fondly reminiscing about the Bourgeois mascara that Oona and I loved back during her Irish Dance days.  The mascara was two-fold.  A white primer at one end and mascara at the other.  It was great.  Made the lashes long and lush and there was not one con about the product.

False advertising on the package.  My lashes did NOT look like the lashes on the package–but this does a very decent job with making the lashes look lovely!

When I saw this Voluminous Super Star mascara from L’Oréal, I dug deep into my wallet and made the buy.  I’ll say, this isn’t bad. It isn’t bad at all.  It isn’t perfect either.  The primer is good is coats the lashes evenly but, there isn’t a lot of actual product in the tube. That’s annoying to me.  I can imagine that the mascara end of the tube will outlast the primer.  The mascara isn’t bad either.  The wand is a good one because there’s decent separation and the bristles are a great size. Not too thick and not too thin. It reminds me of the old “The Falsies” by Maybelline wand before Maybelline changed the formula and packaging that now basically stink.

Primer on the left, mascara on the right.  The wands are very good ones.  My issue is that L’Oreal is stingy on the primer!

My only complaint about the mascara is that I wish it made the lashes a bit thicker.  It gives a nice length but I like a slightly clumpy look. and there wasn’t a good amount of lash primer!

Just in case you get confused, the primer is number 1 and the mascara number 2!

Overall, this gets a B+ to an A- simply because the primer end of the tube is stingy.

Eyelash Curler.  I had an eyelash curler that came with a little replacement rubber.  I had that little replacement rubber for about two years. And when I needed to replace the rubber that was in my eyelash curler—the replacement disappeared.  God knows where it went—it most likely either ended up where the odd socks from the dryer go or Chippy ate it.  And I never bothered to replace the eyelash curler or buy replacement rubbers.

So, while at Dollar Tree last Sunday, I spotted an eyelash curler and figured all they are worth is a buck anyway.  And I’ll be honest.  Don’t waste the buck on a dollar eyelash curler.  The size is weird—because it doesn’t “grab” the lashes the way the other lash curlers do.  But—for a buck, it’s worth it to keep in my travel case.  If you are at Dollar Tree or any other Dollar store, pass on this. Please.

This eyelash curler isn’t worth the dolla spent. In fact, notice that on my hand is a paper towel. That’s because I accidently stabbed my finger with the scissor that I opened the packaging with and bled for a half hour!  Ok–15 minutes.  Alright already–a good three minutes!

I also picked up a two-part cosmetic case.  This is actually a very good thing for me.  My lip products can go in the smaller case. I’m a lipstick/gloss slob and the glop gets everywhere.  By putting them in a separate case helps to keep things clean!

For a buck, I should have picked up a couple more of these to throw into various tote bags. I’m not big on expensive makeup/cosmetic bags because within six months (ok–make that a month for me) they get filthy inside.  These work for me. And I’ve yet to fill them with cosmetics..

I did pick up and placed in the larger bag this little mirror/brush combo.  I can use the brush for my wigs because the bristles are plastic and synthetic-wig friendly!

Who can pass up a pair of dollar flip flops?  Not I!!!  One pair can be kept in the car and one at the office for those days when the heels start to bother my dawgs!  A very handy item of footwear, I must say!

The flip flops with the anchors are right up my alley.  The white ones are July Fourth specials!

Now. Since we were at the beach on Saturday, and I got a bit of sun on my face, I decided to rummage through my old makeup case to see if there was any face tanning product that I could use as foundation.  I came across a sample of Tarte’s Brazilliance.  I don’t even know if it’s a face product because the printing on the sample tube was too small but I put it on my face anyway.

Well..the tube states this is a self-tanner but it washed right off at the end of the day!

Here’s how it  rolled!

The Tarte Brazilliance is a gel.  And it’s dark. Real dark. But when you apply it to your face, it blends.  And it blends so well that it ends up giving just a hint of color. This is a great product to use after you’ve gotten a decent color on your face from the sun or if you tan easily.  It isn’t hydrating nor is it dry-it just is what it is.  If I had a great tan, I would purchase this as an extra.  But due to the fact that I just turn red, I need something that’ll make me look slightly tanner… For those who tan easily and want a bit extra, I give this an A. For those like me who get red. It’s a B because despite the dark color of the gel, it could go on a bit darker.

This is how Brazilliance looks straight outta the tube. It’s dark!

But here’s how it looked on my face. Not bad but could be darker!

Albolene.  OK. Last night we went out to celebrate Bonaparte’s birthday (I’ll be writing a post later this week), when we arrived home and I went to remove my makeup, I realized that there was nothing left in the jar of Albolene that I have.  It didn’t surprise me either; in fact, I was pissed at myself for not searching enough for it.  I went to Walmart during the week but there was none to be had.  I did something so awful.  I ended up going to bed with my makeup on.

This was the empty jar last night.  I use a ton of this due to the amount of mascara that I plop on my lashes. For me to go to bed without removing my makeup is atrocious–but I did!

It all came out in the shower this morning!  So, earlier this afternoon I drove to Rite-Aid because I know the store sells it.  After searching through the shelves for five long minutes, I spotted it on the bottom shelf.  It pained me to shell out $13 bucks for it—I could have ordered it cheaper from Amazon but I needed it NOW!   After I write this post I’m heading to my Amazon store and ordering a backup.  This is, hands down, the best makeup remover ever and I’ve been using it for years and years and years.  It’s an A+++++ product!!

It just about killed me to spend over $13 (with tax) on this but I needed it so badly.  This is lard for the face. It moisturizes and cleanses and is THE BEST MAKEUP REMOVER OF ALL TIME!!!!!!!!  I’m heading over to Amazon to price check after I write this post! Meet me at my store!

Last of all, I ordered another duplicate Goyard-inspired tote from Amazon.  Amazon sent me a rewards card and I used it to order the tote.  And a sincere thank you to all who have ordered from my Amazon store because I would not have received the card if it were not for you.  Seriously.  I’m filled with gratitude because, as you know, Like to Know It refused me four times but Amazon has taken me on and I’m thrilled.  I’ve started to monetize which inspires me—so again.  Thank you!!!

My “replica” tote.  My sister paid over a hundred bucks for this on the streets of NYC and my niece has the real thing.  Not much of a difference at all!!

Anyway, this tote is an all-around great item.  My step daughter ordered one and loves it. I think she uses it as a beach tote.  It’s totes ma goats!!

The humidity has crept up and I don’t care because I can just plop a wig on my head!  I’m telling you, the beauty of wigs is that you don’t get a bad hair day in the summer! I received my third Violet this past week in the mail. I paid a deep discount on Wigoutlet.com.  I freaking love this wig by Estetica Designs!

Violet’s looking mighty fine, she is!!!  

More items have been added to my idea list:  Let’s Make Up.  Have a looksee and I filmed a Sunday Chat video on my YouTube channel this morning.

Please enjoy my little chat and let me know what you think of the cosmetics packaging that I rant about!

I Got Some New “Stuff” Yes I did!  And I'm gonna tell you all about that stuff I got!! Yes I did. 

[nofomoartworld]

Hyperallergic: Mourning eBay’s Days as the Internet’s Kitschiest, Most Surreal Mall

Screenshot via eBay

Artists, bohemians, obsessive collectors, and idlers have long frequented bazaars, curio shops, yard sales, and other offbeat emporia in search of the Marvelous, as the Surrealists called it, hidden in the everyday.

In the late 1920s, cultural critic Walter Benjamin had the arcades of Paris — glass-roofed pedestrian passageways lined with shops, which sliced through city blocks. Turn-of-the-century forerunners of the department store, the arcades were slipping into decrepitude by Benjamin’s day; T.J. Clark, the art historian, memorably described them as “dusty covered shopping streets with greenhouse roofs, most of them built in the 1820s, which still dreamed on in the Jazz Age, cluttered with stores specializing in trusses and life-size dolls and used false teeth.” Regarding the arcades with a Freudian as well as a Frankfurt Marxist eye, Benjamin saw in their battered mannequins and rickety zoetrope theaters the urban unconscious laid bare. “Dada was the mother of Surrealism,” he wrote in his unfinished magnum opus, The Arcades Project. “Its father was the arcade.”

Truth be told, the Surrealists preferred “Les Puces,” as the flea markets on the outskirts of Paris were called. Andre Breton, the group’s self-appointed leader, wrote in his novel Nadja that the market at Saint-Ouen was “an almost forbidden world of sudden parallels” and “petrifying coincidences,” where unexpected encounters with dreamlike objects lurked around every corner.

EBay, the first e-commerce site, was until recently the web’s kitschier, crummier answer to Benjamin’s arcades or Breton’s Saint-Ouen. In its early years, its hit-or-miss search engine was conducive to close encounters of the absurd kind. Stumbling around the site, you’d find yourself in some obscure corner, staring in slack-jawed amazement at William Shatner’s kidney stone (auctioned off in 2006 for $25,000) or a Lilliputian suit of armor handcrafted to guinea-pig proportions, guaranteed to keep the dauntless rodent “protected and secure in all situations.” Unlike its sleeker competitor, Amazon, whose algorithms ensure you only see things like those you’ve already seen, eBay seemed, for a while, to facilitate chance meetings with the offbeat and the downright bizarre.

Screenshot via eBay

Screenshot via eBay

Lists of the most curious, absurd, abject, and grotesque eBay auctions have taken their place in the folklore of consumer culture: the grilled cheese sandwich miraculously emblazoned with an apparition of the Virgin Mary, which sold for $28,000; four golf balls (not just any golf balls; they’d been surgically removed from the belly of a python, who’d mistaken them for hen’s eggs); your advertising slogan tattooed, for $10,000, on some cash-strapped woman’s forehead; a corn flake shaped like the state of Illinois; a Dorito shaped like the pope’s miter; the meaning of life, on offer from a seller who claimed to have “discovered the reason for our existence” and was “happy to share this information with the highest bidder” (which he did, for the dispiritingly small sum of $3.26).

These days, eBay’s corporate overseers are dedicated to remaking public perceptions of the site. “The business is very different than I think people historically thought of it,” said Devin Wenig the company’s CEO, in a 2014 interview. “Over 70% of what we sell is new, fixed-price; the distinct minority are auctions, the distinct minority are consumer-sold used goods. EBay is the world’s largest mall. We are in essence an enormous mall that holds 25 million sellers, reaching 145 million consumers every month.”

Screenshot via eBay

All true, no doubt. Still, the metaphor falls short of most users’ experience of wandering around the site. If eBay is a metastasizing megamall, it’s one where slick, name-brand storefronts sit cheek-by-jowl with halfhearted garage sales, “junk drawer lots” of worthless oddments, and the sort of Weird Stuff, Really Weird Stuff, and Totally Bizarre Stuff (actual eBay categories) that wouldn’t be out of place in a wunderkammer curated by John Waters. Shatner’s kidney stone (and Justin Bieber’s hair clippings, and Justin Timberlake’s half-eaten French toast, both of which have also been auctioned off) are not-so-distant cousins of the religious relics given pride of place in Baroque curiosity cabinets. Likewise, the perennially popular category, Things That Look Like Other Things — the corn flakes, Doritos, and other humble objects that, if you squint hard enough, seem to resemble famous people, places, or things — have their parallel in the “figured stones” treasured by premodern collectors of curiosa, surreal minerals “in which cats, dogs, fish, and humans were ‘sculpted by nature,’” as the historians of science Lorraine Daston and Katharine Park write in Wonders and the Order of Nature.

While the look and feel of its archrival Amazon is all efficiency and buttoned-down professionalism, eBay, with its sleeve-tugging sellers and fannish communities of obsessive collectors, retains a flea-market raffishness. Some of its shadier sellers — traffickers in animal specimens of dubious legality, dealers in fine-art “originals” of questionable authenticity — have a whiff of the carnival midway about them, if not the black market. Robert Hughes’s characterization of Les Puces in The Shock of the New fits eBay to a T: “It was like the unconscious mind of Capitalism itself: it contained the rejected or repressed surplus of objects, the losers, the outcast thoughts.”

Screenshot via eBay

Screenshot via eBay

EBay may be “the world’s largest mall,” but it’s one where a click of the search button can take you to what feels like a trailer-park version of a Moroccan souk or one of those last-chance moving sales where a house disgorges the lives of its inhabitants onto the front lawn. Auctions of “consumer-sold used goods” may account for a “distinct minority” of the site’s listings, but they’re still a presence, hawking their wares in typo-ridden, semiliterate come-ons, luridly tricked out in a variety of eye-jangling colors and typefaces. Wenig envisions eBay reborn as a virtual-reality department store in which “shoppers browse merchandise via augmented reality, a flavor of VR that lays computer graphics over the real world.” He hopes to harness AI to intuit what you want to buy before even you know you want to buy it.

In a world where algorithms guard against experiences that don’t fit our past preferences, some of us yearn for the delights of getting lost. Disorientation is the equivalent, in space and time, of the visual defamiliarization that was the 20th-century avant-garde’s job description. Yet the code behind our online lives is designed to thwart disorientation. On Amazon, helpful suggestions swarm like gnats on every page, lists of “featured recommendations inspired by your browsing history” and items “customers who bought this item also bought.” But what about those of us who can’t be defined by our browsing histories because we rejoice in the wrong turn that takes us outside our comfort zones? Even more confoundingly, what about those of us who aren’t here to fill our shopping carts but rather to drift, to idle, to consume only images? The flâneur regards the world with a camera eye, as Susan Sontag notes in On Photography: “The voyeuristic stroller … discovers the city as a landscape of voluptuous extremes. Adept of the joys of watching, connoisseur of empathy, he finds the world ‘picturesque.’”

Screenshot via eBay

Screenshot via eBay

Of course, the cyberflâneur I’m eulogizing has been dead and buried for a while now. Evgeny Morozov, a critical observer of digital culture, performed last rites for the type in a 2012 New York Times essay, attributing the species’ extinction, as I have, to the commodification of our online lives and the ever-smarter algorithms that shape our experience of the web. “Transcending its original playful identity, [the internet is] no longer a place for strolling — it’s a place for getting things done,” Morozov wrote. “Hardly anyone ‘surfs’ the Web anymore. The popularity of the ‘app paradigm,’ whereby dedicated mobile and tablet applications help us accomplish what we want without ever opening the browser or visiting the rest of the Internet, has made cyberflânerie less likely.”

The terminus of this trajectory is the technology blogger Robert Scoble’s ghastly vision of the web as one-stop shopping for couch potatoes — “The new world is you just open up Facebook and everything you care about will be streaming down the screen” — which, as Morozov notes, is the exact opposite of flânerie. “The whole point of the flâneur’s wanderings,” he emphasizes, “is that he does not know what he cares about.”

All that said, the passing of the old eBay — for some of us a cheesier, Tron-like update of Benjamin’s arcades — is worth noting, I think. It’s the last nail in the cyberflâneur’s coffin. Ironically, it was the arcade itself that foretold the flâneur’s passing. The bustling outdoor marketplace tamed and sealed in a vitrine, it paved the way for the department store, which would put “even flânerie to use for commodity circulation,” as Benjamin wrote in Reflections, in Marxist Jeremiah mode. “The department store is the flâneur’s last practical joke.” To Benjamin’s jaundiced eye, the arcade marked the historical shift from a culture of production to a culture of consumption.

Screenshot via eBay

Meanwhile, back in downwardly mobile working-class America, the smell of economic desperation wafts off all those eBay listings for yard sale detritus and swap meet “collectibles.” This is the America of the padlocked factory and the moribund Main Street. It’s hard to have a consumer culture when you’re all out of consumers. Behind the site’s newly renovated front page, past the established merchants selling “new, fixed-price” goods, the hand-me-down myths of postwar America — middle-class dreams of job security and a decent wage, the virtues of conspicuous consumption and the disposable lifestyle, the equation of net worth with self-worth — are on the block at Buy It Now prices.

Perversely, Benjamin’s flâneur may be reborn in the dead malls that dot the Rust Belt desolation between the coasts. Across the country, zombie malls totter on, their escalators running, their Muzak humming, their anchor stores gone, nobody home but a few forlorn tenants clinging to life. Increasingly, as online “everything stores” like Amazon and eBay kill off brick-and-mortar retail and the service jobs it generates, the ghost mall is becoming a distinguishing feature of the heartland. Pioneered in the mid-1950s by Victor Gruen, an Austrian-born architect who dreamed of importing the community vibe of the European arcade to America’s suburbs, the shopping mall’s final role is that of tombstone of runaway consumption, cenotaph to sprawl.

In Autopsy of America, an essay in guerrilla photojournalism, Seph Lawless documents this phenomenon. Prowling abandoned malls slowly being reclaimed by weeds and vermin, he captures images of trash-strewn food courts, frozen escalators, and mannequins seen through dust-streaked windows, their jaunty poses mocking the runaway consumption postwar America was built on.

Here, in the haunted arcades of Trumpland, urban explorers are the new flâneurs.

The post Mourning eBay’s Days as the Internet’s Kitschiest, Most Surreal Mall appeared first on Hyperallergic.

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