#and just go back to being unknowing of world politics

[mundifinis]

in a complaining about andor mood like it was good but also the general reactions to it....... like everytime the empire was doing some evil facist shit, there were some fans that were like the *insert abby lee miller voice* "oh... my god 😳" and acting like it was something new and never before seen stuff when like this stuff exists like as we speak. like an example is i noticed many americans acting shocked about the prison labor stuff but like if you researched.... THIS STUFF IS STILL GOING ON IN OUR COUNTRY (as well as many others!!!!!!!!!!!) and it's like such a privileged view to just live in your bubble and not have to acknowledge the fact that this doesn't exist in just star wars and like idk it's like they needed andor to show what fascism looks like

[sweetlywriting]

If possible can you do an angst with floyd leech where you're dating him and he used to call you 'shrimpy' until prefect comes and he starts calling them shrimpy while losing interest in you and eventually ends things with you.

You can do whatever ending but ive just had this in my mind for soooo long😭😭😭😭

If you cant do it then its totally ok!!

Washed away

Floyd Leech x Reader (Fluff to Angst)

A/N-Tysm for this request!! I loved this idea so much let me know if you have more! I had a lot of fun writing it and I hope it’s okay that I started it off fluffy I feel it makes the angst hit harder 😭

You were dazing off in history class, when suddenly professor Trein asks you a question about Savannaclaws next ruler. Seeing your sheepish look he sighs moves on to ask a different student. Happy the embarrassment was only a second you lean back in your chair with a sigh, only to be met with a whisper in your ear.

“It was Cheka Kingscholar, shrimpy”

You whip around to see the Leech brothers behind you, infamously tall and terrifying. Though from the coy taunting voice you could tell it was Floyd. The embarrassment began to trickle back in again as you heard snickers over the nickname. You huffed and stared at the clock on the wall, willing the class to finally be over. Eventually it was, though Floyd’s name calling did not. In lunchtime, the halls, the classes you shared it was never ‘y/n’ just ‘shrimpy’, and it never failed to infuriate you.

One day, after lots of frustration and the desperate thought that he’d be calling you shrimpy til senior year, you finally spooned up the courage to catch up with him after class and ask why he had assigned the odd nickname.

“I just think shrimp are cute” He said shrugging one shoulder and giving you a grin, as though it was the most casual thing in the world.

You felt embarrassed again . . . but maybe for different reasons this time.

“You should come to the maestro lounge sometime, I’ll give you a special deal on shrimp” He said throwing you a wink and flashing you his sharp toothed smile before walking off.

Huh’ you mused ‘maybe I will.’

***

You hummed softly next to your boyfriend as he continued to snore, leaning on your shoulder in his seat. The entrance ceremony was long and Crowley certainly seemed to like the sound of his own droning voice. Being second years the formalities were very much familiar and very much boring to you. Only the occasional game of ‘who can bother Jade the most’, watching the hyper first years scramble around, and seeing Floyd in the classic Octanville robes made the ceremony bearable for the first couple hours. As you started to consider also sleeping in your seat with Floyd an odd gray and blue ball of fur zipped past you with various students chasing after it.

I wonder what’s going on “ you mused lazily, unknowing that this was the beginning of realationships unravel. Your interest started to perk at the scene of dorm wardens joining the chase. Floyd opened his eyes and tilted his head curiously at the sight of the person holding the little gray creature.

“Who do you think that is shrimpy?”

***

With the start of classes and busy beginning of Nightraven college you quickly forgot about the ceremony, and person they called the ‘prefect’ who was rumored to be magicless. Though Floyd seemed to know them well. It truly didn’t bother you at first, you were glad he was making more friends, but it seemed the closer Floyd got to the prefect, the farther he fled from you.

“This is a partner project. I expect a quality presentation on how Scarbia’s climate contributes to its cultural and political systems” Professor Trein announced to the class. Well at least it was a partner project so you could work with-

“Let’s be partners shrimpy”

You froze. It was Floyd’s voice, but it wasn’t directed towards you. He was looking up from his seat behind you smiling at the prefect as they laughed and agreed. You swallowed and swiftly turned back to your own seat, staring at your desk and trying to blink back tears. He didn’t even look at you. and shrimpy was your name!

You flinched feeling a gloved hand from behind on your shoulder, and turned ready to give Floyd a piece of your mind-only to see Jade.

“We can work together y/n” He said a mixture of apology and concern on his face.

“Alright.” You muttered turning back away, not wanting the pity but appreciating the gesture.

***

‘Meet me at the maestro’

It had been so long since Floyd had actually asked to go on a date with you and you were beyond thrilled. Obviously the whole situation with the prefect had been a misunderstanding and he was finally taking the initiative to make it up to you! You dressed well, choosing his favorite colors of turquoise and purple with extravagant pearl and shell accessories while reminiscing on your first date the maestro lounge. Back then he had reserved the entire place for you two, wanted you to try everything, and constantly made you laugh. You held close to that memory as a place of hope, and were ecstatic it was finally paying off.

You slipped out of your dorm as the clock struck twelve and quietly snuck into the lounge.

An uneasy feeling settled in your stomach as you entered, the whole place was dark with all the tables and chairs pushed to the side. ‘Maybe not a dinner date?’ You thought, pulling out two chairs and deciding to wait for him.

After what felt like forever you could finally make out a tall silhouette walking over to you-but flinching back seeing your fancy attire. He didn’t lean over you the way he used too, constantly craning his neck to look at what you were doing, or playfully poke at your hair or nip at your ear. He brooded in his chair, leaning back with an uncomfortable expression and his hands both firmly stuck in his pockets.

Only the two of you and the gentle sound of water remained.

“I’m always going to care about you y/n, but I don’t . . . feel for you anymore” He said this simply. The same simple way he would say ‘I love you’ ‘let me do it for you’ ‘this reminded me of you’. The same simple way he’d gently tug at your hair to get your attention, he’d squeeze your hand tightly in crowds as if afraid to let go, and carefully he held your heart in his hands.

His love and indifference looked so similar but felt so different. You wanted to vomit.

Eventually you did. But not before the crying. Heaving sobs filled the silent room as you brought your knees up to bury your face in. He tried to reach you, saying some words that sounded like apologies but quickly left as you vehemently yelled for him to go.

You felt footsteps and were ready to yell at Floyd to leave again but were surprised to see Jade carrying a box of tissues and a folder.

“I told him not to do that here.” He grimaced seeing your face and pushed the box of tissues towards you.

“I just wanted to let you know I finished the presentation, and I put your lines in that folder, I didn’t want you to worry about the project on top of er-this” Jade said warily, as he began to walk back out wanting to give you space.

“Was it because of the prefect?” Your voice was quiet and strained but impossible to not hear in the still room.

Jade didn’t turn around but nodded, sealing your fate as a new round of your sobs mixed with the fading sound of footsteps. 

[laikawho]

back to the kitty (cause she's kinda pretty)

oneshot, f!reader x suna

smut, getting together, suna being an unashamed pervert, halloween parties/costumes, resolved sexual tension, post-timeskip

-

Suna Rintarou is pretty sure he’s died, and gone to hell.

Yes, hell.

Because really, what could you call this, other than torment. Plus his palms are sweaty, and he’s hot and, really, just uncomfortable.

The moment you walked through the door of Atsumu’s apartment, black, skintight, latex mini-dress hugging your curves in all the right places, he’s been absolutely suffering. He thinks this is a sorry excuse for a Halloween costume, really. All sex appeal, and no creativity.

(He’d never admit the sex appeal part out loud though. Not even if you paid him. Really.)

Atsumu had taken one look at you when you entered the room, and immediately had to double take. “That’s what yer wearing to the party?” He had inquired, an innocent look on his face.

Suna hadn’t done a double take only because he hadn’t looked away yet.

“Yeah, is that a problem?” You had sniped back, plopping yourself down onto the couch next to Suna, still processing exactly what was happening. He couldn’t come up with any snarky comments because it was taking approximately 93.4% of his brainpower to keep his gaze from your thighs, which had been further exposed by your dress riding up as you sat down. As if your thigh-high stockings weren’t already drawing enough attention to the sliver of skin that was showing.

You’re a woman on a mission tonight, apparently. And he’s pretty sure he’s going to be collateral damage in pursuit of whatever man or woman you’re hoping to get laid by at this party.

“Not a problem, no,” Atsumu replies, evenly. “Just, ya know, feels like there are less horny ways to dress up as a cat.”

A smirk flits across your lips at his words. “What, you don’t like it?”

Atsumu puts his hands up in acquiescence. “I didn’t say that.”

“Quit hasslin’ her.” Osamu calls from the kitchen.

“Who said I’m hasslin’ her!” Atsumu says, mock outrage on his features.

Suna did have to agree with Atsumu on this one. There were less horny ways to dress up as a cat. You had the ears, and you had the tail, and some generic ‘cat’ makeup, but he was pretty sure that skintight latex was not an intrinsic, necessary part of the costume.

You’d taken some creative liberties, that’s for sure. And he simultaneously hates them and can’t look away.

He’d always known you were kind of attractive. It’s not like you’d never dated anyone, or even come up when he and the twins got drunk and played fuck marry kill. But if you’d asked him if you were hot, pretty, or cute, he would have said you solidly fell in the ‘cute’ category. You were sweet, caring, easy to talk to, and definitely the ‘take home to your mother’ type. The girl next door, someone approachable and kind, one of his closest friends, who could keep up with his and the twins' antics, not someone so drop-dead-gorgeous that he was still struggling to formulate a sentence.

And yet. Here he is.

“So who’re ya trying to seduce tonight with that getup?” Atsumu doesn’t mince words, and gets straight to the question that’s simmering under the surface for everyone in the room, even if Osamu is too polite to ask, and Suna is still too dumbstruck to formulate a sentence.

But also, he kind of doesn’t want to hear the answer, for some unknowable reason.

You shrug, idly. A bizarre feeling of relief washes over him. What does he really care, though?

“No way, yer not wearing that,” Atsumu gestures ambiguously towards you. “and not on a mission to get laid.”

“Maybe I just felt like it?” You say, inspecting your nails like they’re the most interesting thing in the world. They’re painted black, Suna notices, just like the rest of your goddamn accursed outfit. A glimpse of your tiny, delicate, hands, dark nails wrapped around his cock flashes through his mind. He blinks, and pushes it to the absolute back of his mind, to stay forever in the recesses of his psyche, under lock and key.

“You’ve been awfully quiet here, Sunarin.” Osamu says, walking into the living room, with a fragrant plate of pumpkin spice baked goods in hand.

Suddenly, three sets of eyes are on him, and he fidgets under their gaze. He’s really fucking glad he had a pillow on his lap when you came in, or this might be more embarrassing than it already is.

“I dunno, she can wear what she wants.” He waves the accusation off, trying to convey a sense of nonchalance, like he’s not struggling to get the words out without making a fool of himself.

“How charitable of ya, Sunarin.” Atsumu snarks. “Feminist icon, Suna Rintarou, says women can wear what they want.”

“I’m so grateful for your approval, Rin.” You say, placing a hand on his thigh, and leaning towards him. He fights to keep his eyes on your face and away from the fucking cut-out window in your dress that provides him a perfect view of your cleavage.

He hates this Halloween costume.

“I liked the Waluigi one from last year better, though.” He says under his breath, before taking a sip of his beer.

“You asshole!” You laugh. “Do you know how much fucking lubricant and time this took to get into?”

He chokes on his beer.

“Anyways, let me do something regarding your costume, you can’t go to a Halloween party dressed like that.” You sigh, and stand, leaning over to the coffee table to rummage in your purse. He averts his gaze to avoid staring at your ass. He should really be commended for his restraint.

“Got it!” You chirp, standing up triumphantly.

“What?” Suna says dryly. “You know I hate costumes.”

“This is simple, really.” You assure him, what looks like a pen in your hand.

He rolls his eyes, and leans back into the couch, having accepted his fate. “Whatever.”

“Wonderful, now just sit still!” You say, moving the pillow in his lap aside before you climb on top of him, legs straddling both sides of his thighs.

He freezes as you lean in, eyeliner pen nearing his face, your proximity far too close for how turned on he is right now. He looks at the ceiling to avoid looking at any part of you, because absolutely nothing is safe right now.

He feels the wet smear of the eyeliner pen on his forehead, and to keep his thoughts pure, he’s counting every digit of pi he can remember right now, and then starting over, and over. Because he can really only remember 3.14159, if he’s being honest.

“There, all done!” You say, leaning back. You’re still straddling him. He wants to die.

“What’d you do?” Atsumu asks.

You grab Suna’s chin, and gently orient him to look at the twins, before digging around in your purse for a compact mirror and handing it to him.

There’s a flush on his face when he looks in the mirror, and he’s so focused on the way his pupils are absolutely blown out and the tips of his ears are bright red, that he only really notices what you had done when you cheerily announce his costume to the group.

“He’s Kenjaku!”

-

The party has been going on for approximately one hour, and he already wants to leave.

To be honest, he wants to leave and take you with him, not for any weird reasons, really, but because he hates the way that a good number of people in the room are looking at you, unabashedly checking you out.

Not like he would ever do that. Definitely not.

You’re mostly hanging out with the other Inarizaki graduates, but at any party hosted by the Miya twins, there’s bound to be a good number of strangers, because they seem to somehow know the entirety of Osaka, and the V-League, so they have a list of invitees that would wrap around the block if everyone decided to show up.

There’s a good number of familiar faces, fellow volleyball players and Inarizaki alumni. But there’s plenty of people Suna has never met before who have been watching you, eyes raking across the dress that clings to your figure, gawking at the way you keep adjusting your stockings with a noisy thwack as you snap them in place against the plush skin of your thighs. He scans the room, and can’t find you, and part of him feels slightly ill at the thought of you having disappeared off with whoever you had been, in Atsumu’s words, trying to seduce tonight.

He’s in his own personal hell that he didn’t even know existed until today.

Maybe it’s because he’s kind of an asshole. He certainly didn’t do enough good deeds, accumulate enough good karma to be going to heaven. Maybe it’s a weird form of punishment from the divine to be forced to grapple with the insane sex appeal of one of your best friends from high school, who you’ve slept with (literally) a dozen times or more, who you constantly teased (it was all in good fun, really) for never having dated any boys.

Because he’s never, ever, looked at you like this, and he’s not sure he’ll ever be able to look at you again without remembering how you look tonight.

Suna drags the heel of his palm across his face, smearing the makeup you’d put on him earlier. He sighs, staring at the smudge of black eyeliner on his hand.

He stands, placing his drink on a table next to Osamu, before calling over his shoulder. “I’m gonna wash this off, I messed it up anyways.”

Osamu nods in acknowledgement, too focused on his current game of beer pong to really be paying much attention.

Suna walks through the halls of the apartment, which is somehow harder in the dark, despite the fact he’s been here plenty of times.

He finally finds them when he reaches the end of a hall and sees a giant, haphazardly scrawled sign on a door that says “BATHROOM HERE!!!!!!!!!! NOT THE CLOSET PLEASE DON’T PEE IN THE CLOSET” and an arrow and big ‘X’ pointing to what Suna assumes is the aforementioned closet. He snorts.

He tries to open the door to the bathroom, but it’s locked, so he slumps against the wall, and pulls his phone out of his pocket, scrolling through Instagram to pass the time. Half the photos in his timeline are from this party. He snorts at a blurry photo of Atsumu on someone’s story, forced, due to a loss in beer pong, to put on one of those bunny hats that you squeeze to make the ears flop up and down. He taps to like it.

There’s a photo from you next, clearly taken pre-party, and pre-when you had shown up at Atsumu’s apartment, in your own bedroom, standing in front of your mirror. Half your face is hidden by your phone, but he can still see the sly smirk that’s gracing your features as you snapped the photo. The outfit really doesn’t leave a whole lot to the imagination, and, given the opportunity to openly gawk without anyone noticing, he does so, scanning down your body, over the curve of your hips, down your legs that look even longer than normal thanks to whatever heeled boots you’re wearing. He swipes to see the next photo in the post.

It’s worse.

This one is taken from behind, in the same mirror, and is basically an ass pic. It’s not even subtle. He swears he can almost see the curve of your butt, just barely covered by the skintight latex, a silver of your thighs framed on either end by the material.

He pauses. He considers. He looks around, confirming he’s alone.

He screenshots it.

He’s already damned to eternal suffering apparently, so what more torture can really be levied upon him for jacking off to your photo later?

It’s not his proudest moment, he’ll admit that. But he’s never claimed to not be a pervert, so.

The rattling of the door snaps him out of his thoughts, and he quickly straightens up and shoves his phone into his pocket, unwilling to be seen thirsting after one of his most longtime friends in public. He would absolutely never live that down.

The doorknob twists, and he’s about to step to the side to avoid being smacked by the door when it opens, when, of all people, your head pokes out from behind the door. You glance around the hallway, palpable relief washing over your face when you see who’s standing outside.

Suna, not for the first time tonight, wishes he could melt into the ground entirely.

“Hey, am I glad to see you!” You exclaim, dragging him by the collar into the bathroom, shoving him against the opposite wall, and shutting the door behind you. The lock clicks shut. He feels his face heat up.

“Uh, why, exactly?” His voice is hoarse, even to himself.

You turn around, revealing your completely exposed back. “I can’t get my dress zipped up, can you help me?”

Definitely in hell. Definitely in hell. Definitely in hell. Complete with the raging fire and all, if the way his face is heating up is anything to go by.

“Rin?” You ask, tilting your head as you look over your shoulder, wondering why he hasn’t helped you yet.

He bites his lip so hard he can taste the metallic tang of blood. He takes your zipper in one hand, and places the other on your hip to hold the dress in place while he tries to work the zipper up the back.

“So, who were you trying to seduce tonight?” He says, voice cracking as the words come out before his brain can stop him.

“Hm.” You press a finger to your lips, like you’re considering your answer. A mischievous look crosses your face as you look at him in the mirror. “Do you really wanna know?”

He doesn’t, honestly. This is truly none of his business.

“Yeah, I do.”

Why the fuck did he say that?

Whoever you dressed like that for is outside, and he’s here, apparently so friend-zoned that you can ask him to fucking zip up your skimpy dress in the bathroom without even considering the implications of dragging him into the room and locking the door behind him. He’s simultaneously glad that you trust him to not make any weird moves in such an intimate situation, and wishing you had realized the implications of what you had done, and had done it intentionally.

He’s also realizing that you’re not wearing a bra as he manages to work the zipper up over the skin of your upper back.

He’s just going to go home after this, honest to god. He’s pretty sure his brain is absolutely fried from the amount of mental willpower it’s taking to relegate the image of you bent over the sink, dress shoved up around your hips, taking his cock from behind, to the depths of his awareness.

“Would you believe me if I said it was for you?”

He finishes zipping up the dress with a jerky movement as the words leave your mouth. He’s hallucinating now, right? Or like, whatever an auditory hallucination is, right? Is there a word for that?

You spin on your heel, turning to face him, with a pout on your face.

He blinks, and scrunches his nose in irritation. “Very funny.”

You frown in return. “Funny? That’s kinda mean to say, isn’t it?”

“Isn’t it more mean to make a joke like that?” Suna mutters, moving towards the door.

You shift to block him. “I’m not joking, idiot.”

Suna meets your gaze.

You stare back, huffing in exasperation as you cross your arms over your chest in a way that pushes your tits up and makes your cleavage even more eye-catching than it already was. You have to be doing that on purpose.

The two of you stand in silence.

“You’re being serious?” His mouth feels like it’s full of gravel.

“Why would I say it if I wasn’t serious? Why the hell would I go through the pain of dressing like this,” You gesture at your outfit. “If I wasn’t trying to seduce someone?”

Suna blinks owlishly. “I don’t know, don’t girls always talk about how they don’t dress for men?”

“I mean, yes, but also, sometimes I might want to!” You say, indignantly.

Suna arches a brow at this. “Why didn’t you answer Atsumu when he asked you earlier?”

You gawk at him. “You’re kidding, right? You seriously wanted me to say, in front of all of you, that the reason I dressed like this was because I wanted to get in your pants?”

“Maybe?” He supplies, helpfully.

You shake your head in annoyance. “You’re intolerable.”

“It worked, by the way.”

You let out a yelp when he surges forward to press you against the door, grabbing your thighs and hitching them up around his waist. Your dress is fully hiked up around your hips at this point, revealing lacy black underwear, and he lets out a groan at the sight.

“Why now?” He breathes between pressing open mouthed kisses to your throat.

“I dunno, it felt like there was never gonna be a good time to make a move. So I just did.”

“You should have done it sooner.” He rasps, groping at the round of your ass.

“Are you gonna make me do everything?” You taunt, rolling your hips against him.

He lets out a strangled noise at the friction of your barely clothed cunt against his cock. He’s pretty sure he’s not going to last long.

“What, can't even manage a retort?” You tease, nipping at the skin of his collarbone. “I guess even Suna Rintarou can be fucked into compliance.”

“You’re real mouthy, aren’t you?” He pants, face flushed, as he grips your thighs and ruts his hips up into you. “I thought for sure you’d be more submissive, who’s all blushing and sweet in bed.”

“So you’ve thought about what I’d be like in bed?” You coo. “What a pervert.”

“I never denied that, thanks.” Suna pauses his movements to slide his hand up your dress, hooking a finger around the waistband of your panties, and tugging them down your legs, leaving them tangled around your thighs. “I really need to fuck you in this dress, like right now.”

“Aw, really? You’re that worked up?” You tease.

“Yes.” He’s setting you down, turning you towards the mirror, and bending you over the sink. You hear the clink of his belt being unbuckled, and the zip of his jeans, and then you hear his breath hitch. “Wait. Fuck.”

You freeze, peering over your shoulder, where he’s standing, cock in hand, tip dripping with precum, angry and red.

“What?”

He bites at his lip. “I don’t have a condom.”

You visibly relax. “I’m on birth control.” He opens his mouth to protest, but you cut him off. “If you’re clean, it’s fine. I get tested regularly.”

“Are you sure?” He asks, tone uncharacteristically tentative.

“As long as you’re comfortable with it, yes.” You reply. “I really, really want you to fuck me right now.”

Something you can’t quite identify flits across his face. Seconds later you’re gasping, his cock stretching you out in a mix of pain and pleasure as he slides inside you.

“God, you’re so fucking tight, baby,” He hisses as he fully sheaths himself in you. From this angle, he can see exactly how your pussy is taking him in, and the image is nearly enough to make him cum on sight.

He takes a shaky breath, and taps your shoulder, stilling within you. “Is it okay? Does it hurt?”

“No, it’s fine,” You breathe out. “Just fuck me, okay?”

He’s really not going to last long, at all. The sight of you bent over the sink, breasts heaving as you pant, he almost wants to pull out and make you jack him off until he coats your pretty tits in his cum.

But you asked him to fuck you, so he’ll oblige. He starts to move, and the feeling of your hot, wet heat around his cock makes him nearly black out. Your cunt is gripping his dick tighter than he thought was possible, and with each thrust into you, you let out little whimpers and squeaks that go straight to his cock.

He reaches down and around with one hand to grope your breast, and you shudder when his thumb runs over your nipple through the latex. He gives them a pinch, and you let out a breathy moan when he slams his hips into you, shoving his cock deeper than before.

“Can’t believe you’re letting me fuck you raw.” He whispers in your ear, grinning as he leans forward, grip on your hip so tight you’re pretty sure it’s going to bruise.

“You can just say thank you, you know.” You retort breathily, trying so hard to act like your composure isn’t being shattered over and over again, each time his cock drags against your walls when he pulls out, just to shove himself back into your sopping cunt.

“Thank you, sweetheart.” He says, sweet and sing-song in your ear, and you flush, eyes going wide at his uncharacteristic obedience. “You make me feel so good, you’re taking me so well.”

Suna feels you clench around him and watches as your face contorts in pleasure as he fucks into you. He feels like a teenage virgin again with how worked up he is, and how quickly he can feel his release coming on as he picks up the pace, relentlessly thrusting in and out of you. He can’t stop staring at the unreal view he has right now, the angle he’s fucking you from accentuating the way your hips taper into your delicate waist, and the puffy lips of your pussy gripping his cock. He’d been fighting thoughts of you speared on his cock all night, and now it’s real, in front of him.

He should have been doing this so much sooner.

It’s becoming too much, the chorus of your whimpers and breathy moans turning him on further, and he’s starting to lose his rhythm, movements becoming jerky and irregular. “I’m about to cum, where do you want me to-”

“Inside, inside, please cum inside me.” You pant.

Your words make something snap inside of him, and he’s gone.

Ropes of hot, white cum spurt out and coat your insides, and he feels like he’s experiencing euphoria for the first time, cumming harder than he’s ever cum before. You’re looking extremely pleased with yourself as he fucks into you, riding out his orgasm, letting out a strangled moan as he does so, fingers digging into your hips.

The pleasure is fading now, replaced with sensitivity, and he winces as he gently removes his now softening cock from you, turning to grab tissues to clean both himself and you up, though his gaze snags on the sight of his cum leaking out of your cunt, and he feels his dick twitch, as if he hadn’t orgasmed just ten seconds ago.

Setting aside his hyperactive sex drive for the time being, he kneels behind you, gently wiping up the arousal, sweat, and cum on your thighs and pussy. When he’s done with you, he turns to clean himself up, and tosses the tissues in the trash, though he knows he’s gonna get so much shit from Atsumu for fucking their friend in his bathroom.

Suna blinks awkwardly at you as you shimmy your panties up your legs, and smooth your dress down over your thighs, trying to undo the dishevelment that had occurred at his hands. He shuffles on his feet. “I, uh, promise I’ll return the favor.”

You shoot him an innocent look. “How long is that offer good for?”

A smirk tugs at the edges of his lips. “As long as you want it to be.”

“And how soon can it be redeemed?” You inquire, blinking up at him with doe eyes.

He’s pretty sure he’s half hard again at this point. “As soon as you want to.”

You take him by the collar for the second time that evening. “Wanna get out of here?”

-

7:43am. Earlier than Suna would like to be awake after the two of you were up basically all night, in what was basically a marathon-sex-fest. And yet. The insistent buzz of his cell phone on your side table, over, and over, and over, until he picked up, had other ideas.

“Yer nasty Sunarin, doin’ that kinda shit in someone else’s bathroom?” Atsumu shrieks through the phone. “People outside could hear you!”

“My bad.”

He hits the end call button with more force than is necessary, and sets his phone to silent before flopping back into the bed.

“Who was that?” You murmur, half asleep.

“No one important.” Suna hums.

You yawn. He smiles and wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you closer.

He’ll take hell over heaven any day if it this is what it looks like.

[miitarashi]

Oh- OH?? IS IT A REQUEST ABOUT BUFF WOMANS??? my dear unknow,consider yourself kissed. (Yeah,i'm using a photo cuz i had to delete the first one because i made something wrong but luckily i didn't lost what i writed).

☆Tintin headcanon☆

- Buff woman 🙏🏽

Oh dear,this one is quite interesting not gonna lie.

First he would probably be surprised a bit,just a little.

He gave that quick up and down, took in the information and just kept his polite demeanor as always.

Traveling the world,he probably saw a buff woman or two but one close to him was something interesting in a way.

If you end up getting close to him,he would be more than happy to know you better.

If you talked about your workout routine and the amount of weight you lift,the boy would feel genuinely surprised,joking a bit that what he normally does in one adventure is almost a long workout since he's always running,jumping and or punching someone just to get his story.

And when he said it,now was your time to be surprised,even more because his body looked a bit ""petite"" for someone who does all of that (in a fucking daily basis)

One thing that I know probably happened is,when Tintin introduced you to Haddock,at some point,being an old marine like him, he probably wanted an arm wrestle just to see what would happen. You won,but it was a fair game lol.

Now,the dating part is kinda funny.

Do y'all know that couple dynamic “The amazon x the short guy”?

This. This is your dating life.

If you're taller,of course he wouldn't feel ashamed or anything like that,we all know this man,this perfect one that can do no wrong and does not have a fragile masculinity.

Just don't tease him about being short or trying to carry him like a bag of potatoes and we're good.

Only when not in public tho.

Like,having a buff woman is basically accepting the prince/princess treatment. Being held,hugged from behind and having someone to look up to for comfort??

A bit weird at first,but when he discovers the good things of having a buff girlfriend?

Sign he in.

Being used as a weight,like him laying on your back while you do push ups? A bit cynical at first,but when you easily do it,normally it becomes a thing. Like he is reading something while lying on your back or mumbling about this new mystery,it's kinda funny but he doesn't have a problem with it. (Again,as long it's made at home)

Would even go running with you as a way of spending time together, stopping at some park or little place to stay and just enjoy some quality time before going back home.

The cuddles? Being holded like a fragile thing always gives him the best naps he ever had in his life. Adore when you wrap yourself around him like a blanket.

I don't know why,but I feel like when you guys cuddle with you resting on top, hugging his waist and resting your head on his abdomen with a tank top or any clothes that shows your muscles,he would like,trace the definated line of it??

Like,I'm sure he would do it If you had body marks too.

Other girls hitting on him,he find amusing when you tower over him and kinda of send them off. (If you is far he would walk up and be by your side holding your hand)

He would even take you on adventures too,bonus if you learned some type of martial art. What is this? The perfect woman??

Although,if you're the tough exterior and fragile inside,the princess will be you. No questions asked.

He would find it lovely. The way you could be tough to be face to face with someone taller,but ask him to kill a roach out of fear clinging on his arm for protection.

The ✨cutiest✨

Insecure about wearing dresses? You're a queen in his eyes. Worshiped on the spot.

Need motivation? He's your number one fan,rooting for you and helping you out in any way.

Feeling insecure about him leaving you because of your looks? Didn't i said that this man sees you like a Goddess??

Let's not even get on the thighs part because damm he just want to be crushed-

Beside it! This man fell in love with every little inch of you and love being the prince or making you his Goddess, nothing less than this.

It's a Win-win for both of you basically.

——————————————————————

N/A: hey! I said i wasn't dead. So the thing is,i'll probably settle sunday or monday to post fics and request. Maybe one day a week and in between i post some incorrect quotes that pass cross my mind while i write the big fic that i'll post on my AO3. Like i said i already have some things writed so don't worry,i'm still here and writing requests too. (Making bots too cuz i just made a Tintin bot about that "i could be a better boyfriend than him" best decision i've ever made🙏🏽). So yeah,hope you liked! Thank you for reading😘

[a-mag-a-day]

MAG 79 - hair dying session

Oh, there we have the Potassium in Martin's name!

I'm sad Tim is so fixated on seeing Jon as a villain. I see that at his point it's a natural reaction of him. Jon massively antagonized him. It's still heartbreaking.

TIM "This isn’t office politics. It’s not like he’s had one too many at the Christmas party and started ranting about the Greeks." - Wait, did this happen once? I would fit so well! God I wanna see tipsy Jon infodumping or ranting!

You can totally see Martin's manipulation talent here. It's not straight up backtalk at Tim, it's gently guiding him.

Oh fuck, them stumbling upon warped Not!Sasha gave me serious chills. I love shit like that.

JON "God, I’m an idiot. Smash the table, kill the monster, stupid! Lazy, sloppy assumption. Of course the table was binding it." - That is literally, what the statement-giver in MAG 78 described, yes! It was so obvious.

"All the pieces were there. And I just… I couldn’t see it." - It'll give him that, his job is not to understand. He simply has to observe.

Martin snapping is so much fun! (There a wonderful animatic on Youtube of that scene btw!)

MARTIN "If we were all happy that wouldn’t actually be the end of the world." - MAG 160, they're actually happy; The world ends :´)

TIM "Stay back!" MICHAEL "No." - The Magnus Archives is an office comedy… xD

MICHAEL "None of you are protected down here." - Tunnels being a blind spot for the Eye foreshadowing!

JON "I can’t fight it with a pipe. I’m tired just carrying it." - There we have the hint of Jon being scrawny, getting tired from just carrying a metal pipe is quite an achievement. Also, that is THE pipe :) With his fingerprints…

NOT!SASHA "I’m going to wear you, John. I’m going to wear everything you are." - That sounds very disturbing…

Not!Sasha's statement: Once upon a time there was [talks in third person], but they're talking about themself-trope. We also had this in MAG 29. I liked it there, somehow I don't like it here. It is clear, that it's about itself and that makes it a bit too cringy for my liking. But some things about the Stranger are just cringy and that's alright.

NOT!SASHA "Then one day it was sent to the house of its enemy, which had the biggest eyes you ever did see." - More Institute being all about eyes and watching.

NOT!SASHA "You really aren’t even a shadow of your predecessor. You’re nothing." - The Stranger really loves mocking Jon especially in comparison to Gertrude, does it? It's gonna happen again in the Unknowing.

NOT!SASHA "You’ll miss the Unknowing, of course, but you wouldn’t understand it anyway." - The Unknowing has already been fleshed out. Because that's it in essence. Not understanding what's going on anymore. It comes up in the Unknowing.

JON "I’m sorry. Martin, Tim… Sasha. I’m so sorry. I should have… I didn’t… I’m sorry." - T_T (First name he said is Martin :D)

NOT!SASHA "I wonder, if I wear you, will I really become the Archivist? Rob the eye of its pupil?" - Interesting question, but I also don't think it would work like that. Also Archivist is already referred to as the pupil of the eye!

Hm, the sound of shifting stone happens very quick there, I thought it was longer. However, I think it still does a great job to show what just happened, I remember immediately understanding what was going on. I mean the whole season we got to hear how the tunnels changed, walls suddenly appearing, the floor opening up instead of the trap door. And finally we get to see that old man who's being all this!

An old man you say? I wonder who it could be...

[hasellia]

You know what, screw it! I’ll make my OWN Universal Studios shared cinematic monsterverse! Starting with the Mummy!

The Mummy; Fractured language

The movie begins with an antique dealer breaking artifacts, in order to sell the individual fragments for a higher profit. This accidently completes the rivival ritual that awakens Imhotep. The mummy then goes on a museum looting spree and killing several people. A French private collector and a totallynotatalltory minister meet in London and decide to form a small syndicate to find the one looting the artefacts and stop them. A cat and mouse chase is on between Imhotep and the syndicate as they rob and destroy artefacts in museums around world. Imhotep burning/breaking them to enact his revival rituals and the adventurers blowing them up to stop him. Imhotep realizes things are getting heated and decides to switch priorities to revive Anck su namun.

Through the film it is revealed that Imhotep was actually a priest from Ancient Nubia(?) 3,000 years ago (where modern-day Sudan is). He was exiled and died wondering the egyptian desert. 1,500 years later he is reawakened when someone accidently knocked over a pot in a museum within ancient Egypt, completing the revival ritual. Lost, he assumes the identity of a Medjay before rising through the ranks as a priest. (Note, Imhotep doesn’t introduce any ancient knowledge into Egypt, just saying “there are impressive things you can do and there are impressive things I can do”). He catches the eye on princess Anck su namun and the two agree on a mutual partnership on political grounds. This partnership evolves into a romance. Anck su namun is set to the bare the pharaohs child, who Imhotep raises as his own son. One day Anck su namun is assassinated. Hearing what happened, Imhotep attempts to flee with his son before his son is murdered too. Imhotep enacts an ambiguous revenge on the dynasty before leaving Egypt. Imhotep wonders east for the next several hundred years, reaching India before deciding to turn back to try to revive his wife and child. He finds that he cannot do it and falls into a depression. He decides to fall into a long slumber, unknowing if he’ll be awakened.

In the modern day, Imhotep is successful in reviving Anck su namun and informs her their son died shortly after her. They decide to do what they can to finish the ritual for their son, killing most of the adventurers along the way. Eventually the chase ends in the Athens Museum with the sole surviving Londoner adventurer holding the last artefact that could revive the Egyptian couple’s son. Anck su namun races towards the adventurer to try save their son, but after all the rampage he’s done Imhotep is frozen in fear. He turns on an intercom, gets on his knees and begs the adventurer to just let them revive their son and be happy. The adventurer decides to ignore it and blows up the artefact. It is quiet afterwards for a few seconds, before the adventurer hears Imhotep’s wails. It then dawns on him just what he’s done and what this actually meant to the mummy couple. Anck su namun catches up to the adventurer and rather than kill the adventurer decides to enact one of the few curses she knows. Voicing her title as the last true heir to Egypt she declares her royal punishment on the adventurer as to listen to her husband’s wails whenever the adventurer is just about to fall asleep and in his dreams. The movie ends with Imhotep and Anck su namun watching a sunset over Athens, wondering what their future is going to be.

The Mummies and the child of the night

The sequel is a wacky family adventure film. The mummy couple discover and adopt a runaway teenage Wolf Girl. She ran away because after being accepting of her sexual identity the wolf girl thought it would be safe to reveal her wolf lnature to her bio family. It wasn’t and now she is being chased across Europe by Dracula who claims she is his daughter as “a child of the night”. Hijinks ensues as the mummy family try to get Dracula of their arses. At one point Imhotep revies a holy cat, Nedjtet, who warns and wards off Dracula with other evil spirits. Nedjtet cannot speak but the wolf girl and Imhotep can understant them. There is a running gag where Imhoptep and the wolf girl fawn over Nedjtet whilst Anck su namun is pissed that Imhotep revived this specific cat because it ate their son’s favourite pet goose. At one point Imhotep shouts “fuck” in ancient Egyptian. Towards the end of the movie, Dracula’s unholy army and the mummy couple’s technically holy army fight each other. Anck su namun hears from Dracula’s unholy army that he’s a shit leader and as Pharaoh she lectures Dracula on effective leadership. Eventually the wolf girl calls off the fight, saying she will visit all her families on her own terms. The movie ends with the mummy couple vacationing in Mauritius when the wolf girl knocks on their door. Revealing her bio family is now accepting of her wolf nature, but after spending some quality time with him, she actually does fucking hate Dracula. There is another knock at the door. Imhotep opens the door to face Dracula’s unholy army with cats in baby pouches strapped to their chest. Anck su namun says in ancient Egyptian something to effect of “Oh fuck not again”.

The post credit scene is of the mummy couple with the wolf girl finally relaxing in the sun on the beach. Imhotep says something to the effect of, “When we’re happy like this, I wonder where all our troubles fly off too?” Anck su namun responds with "Oh I know", before the movie cuts the sole survivor of the first movie sitting quietly in a therapist office.

[true-blue-sonic]

I've been thinking of what kind of kid sidekick Silver could have in the vein of Sonic & Tails/Amy & Cream/Blaze & Marine and came to the conclusion that because of Silver's nature his kid partner would have to go in the opposite direction of the others and not only be less innocent than him but actually have a darker personality. Someone like Tails Nine or Anti-Miles that would contrast and challenge him but could also be positively influenced by him.

To be quite honest, for me Silver actually has the the vibes of the kid sidekick! He's older than Cream, Marine, and Tails, but with both Blaze and Espio you can see that they are the more mature and experienced people who counterbalance Silver's naivete and relative unknowingness about the world. But Silver having a kid sidekick himself would nicely shown how he's grown and developed, I think.

I must readily admit that I don't know a single thing about Prime, so I have no ideas what Tails Nine and Anti-Miles (or is the latter from Archie?) are like in terms of personality. The duos from your ask are characterised by the fact they have (what appears to be) contrasting personality traits: Sonic is the jumping-in-headfirst brawler whose intelligence is quite subtle, whereas Tails is the child prodigy whose intelligence rivals Eggman and can be quite visible. Amy is the eager heroine whereas Cream is much more polite and a bit on the sidelines. Blaze is the wise ruler of a country whereas Marine is the more brash and unknowing explorer*. So I guess for Silver and his own kid sidekick, the same would apply? Silver's a naive optimist who never gives up or backs down from a challenge, and who would do anything to help out the future or other people, no matter what it takes. So a sidekick of his then indeed would be more 'grounded in reality'/pessimistic, pointing out that that is not always how the world works and perhaps being a bit selfish?

...Hmm, except for that last part about selfishness, that honestly just kind of describes Blaze imo😅 But I can see Silver be a positive influence on his kid sidekick, because his optimism aside, Silver can be an absolutely brutal person once he's been crossed. Perhaps then the sidekick will see that even naive, wide-eyed idealist people have their boundaries, and are not afraid to stand up for what they believe is right? It's definitely interesting to think about, and I like the idea of Silver's positive traits rubbing off on another character!

*I love how I write this out, and for every character I can make a case there is more underneath the surface that what you would say at first glance. Sonic is also smart, Tails and Cream are also good fighters, Blaze's got quite the impatient temper on her, etc. It has little to do with the ask itself, but I adore how multi-faceted Sonic characters are!

[luckyladylily]

I mean, there are lots of things that have this level of disconnect from fiction to reality. Take hacking, for an example. Another information gathering trope, and another extremely common trope at that which bears virtually no resemblance to the real world counterpart, not even modern interpretations. This, in fact, happens with many subjects, with the common uniting factors being: 1. It is a highly technical field poorly understood by the public. 2. It is very easy to pretend that it is simpler than it is if you don't know anything about it in detail.

The less people in general know about it and the simpler it seems as a narrative the more this happens. Which is why hacking is such a good comparison. It has an almost identical narrative through line. The protagonist needs info, the info is contained in some way that is trying to be hidden, protagonist applies specialized skills to obtain that information. Who cares what those skills might be or if it even remotely works how we want it to, just hand wave that so we can make an exciting scene. The motivation to bullshit it is exactly the same.

Torture is an application of a highly complex and technical field that very, very few people truly understand: Psychology. People know jack shit about psychology, and they are often resistant to learning about it because it goes against their preconceived notions, ranging from political views to own sense of identity.

Then there is the fact that literally everyone has been in a situation where they were pressured into revealing something they didn't want known, and that happens and is real, so intuitively people just scale it up to torture and think the same simple interaction holds.

Another comparison back to hacking, even to most fairly tech literate people computers are magic boxes and interacting with them on a deeper level is akin to sorcery. I mean this almost literally, my experience as an IT person is most people treat specialized technical computer skills like they are a form of unknowable wizardry. If you know just what buttons to press when and the right magic words and spells (read: console commands) you can do impossible things with a computer. This is further motivated by people's preconceived thoughts and emotions about computers and their unknowable nature. It just makes sense to people that if the information is *there*, then all it takes is a computer wizard of sufficient skill to get at it. It doesn't matter if that is true or not, the concept is completely divorced from reality and when it hits correctly it is purely by accident.

So the divorce from reality is no mystery at all. It's just what people do with concepts they have a passing familiarity with, and fiction has a strong incentive to use emotionally charged concepts as a plot device and little incentive to get it right. And whatever else torture may be, it is an emotionally charged concept.

I can think of several things like this off the top of my head. Drugs, crime, virtually any scientific or technical concept of significant depth (we have a super tropes like techno babble that exist just to point out the extreme prevalence of bad science), any time someone dual wields pistols, everything about mental health and especially the "scary" ones like psychosis. I could go on. It happens with, so, so many subjects.

Now the why behind torture specifically? The when and how it rose to prominence as a trope? That's what is unique about the situation.

it's interesting to me that torture just works to us, as a literary device. It's everywhere in movies and stories and whatnot, from big-budget dramas to little grindhouse short stories. It fits neatly into the requirements of plot: character doesn't want to offer information, Gets Tortured, has to offer information.

the issue with this is that it isn't how it works.

torture is a display of power. It fouls interrogation, this is known; a person being tortured will tell you whatever you want to hear to make it stop, which is more often than not a lie, made up on the spot, or if the truth an incomplete and useless version of it. It isn't generally done for information's sake anyway, but as a form of what the ancient Greeks called hybris, the violent exhibition of your power over another person.

This is, every once in a great while, done right in fiction, but it's a challenge to write vs. the idea that it's a shortcut to one character revealing plot-critical information to another. Pretty much every form of torture works this way, even the ones that are legally permissible. Psychological torment or physical discomfort also produce an animalistic desire to escape harm and foul interrogation. The forms of torture the cops can do? The cops do it not to gain information (or if they think it will, they're lying to themselves) but because it makes them feel powerful.

There's probably a master's thesis in it for somebody studying the rise of torture as a plot device since the beginning of the war on terror and the contemporaneous development of the Broken Windows theory of policing. I'm not really aware of any similar level of disconnect between what Works in fiction and what happens in real life!

[thekimspoblog]

Lila the decrepit

OP: "So, basically, the devs gaslight us into furthering Lila's existence. Now that they've shared the idea of Lila to the world, Lila will never die"

See, here's the thing that bothers me, though: I've played two trippy, super-meta, choose-your-own-adventure games recently: "Who's Lila?" and "Slay the Princess". And I appreciate what both are trying to do; this vaguely Pygmalion-esque motif about an idea (specifically the idea of a beautiful woman) being so powerful, that it transcends the work of fiction which originally birthed it. I get that!

But I don't think "having the capacity to transcend" as an abstract concept is actually enough to allow a fictional character to become transcendent. As someone who writes a lot of fanfiction, the characters who actually have that power are the ones with easy to recognize, relatable personalities. Whereas "Who's Lila?" and "Slay the Princess" function a lot more like biology lessons about mind viruses, and the characterization of Galatea(Lila/Princess) is so oblique that the writers refused to commit to any personality traits besides generic haughtiness.

Now, HBO's "Westworld" was a story about how works of fiction can take on a life of their own. But Dolores is SO COOL because WE KNOW WHO SHE IS. She's gentle, but not timid. Mercenary, but not heartless. She has hobbies! Her creators built her with a love for painting specifically because that creative spark would help her to understand her own reality as an artwork. She likes classical music; her background in cattle ranching has given her a cynical view of the world. Death doesn't mean the same thing to her that it does to human beings, but that hasn't spared her from feeling tangible heartbreak: friends and family she couldn't save no matter how godly she was, two love interests who both rejected her once they actually saw beneath her surface. She has an instinct to consume and expand herself, but she's not just some unknowable force of nature; she actually stops to contemplate how much space on earth her species has a right to occupy. The point is, I lay in bed and think about Dolores; I think about funny things she's done; I turn over in my mind whether her political crusade was a worthy cause; the effect she had on other characters which was shown rather than dictated; I imagine her in crossovers with other fictional characters and can imagine what she would say.

Can any of you say Lila is going to have that sort of lasting effect on you? Probably not! Even If I wanted to write fanfiction about these characters, it's physically impossible because who they are is so wrapped up in the world they inhabit, and little is understood about them besides what they like to eat.

I'm not saying it's BAD WRITING exactly; I knew going in I might not get any concrete answers, and in truth I got quite a few; I liked it better than Slay the Princess. But if we're going to keep telling stories like this, we should keep two things in mind:

1. Stories about patterns of thought that can take over your mind hit harder when you actually show us an idea worth taking over a person's every thought.

2. Not every artwork that was born to transcend does so. Many wither on the vine, forgotten. And dramatis personae (UIW-AM) can extend their natural lifespans by adopting more specific attributes.

Honestly I think it's more interesting if William Clarke just has DID or something. He has a better chance of transcending anyway; the idea that Lila is a separate enigmatic entity who's puppeteering him against his will just holds him back from doing so.

[triakis-octahedron]

You recognize by voting for a party on the condition of "they want a nicer genocide" just bolsters the party into believing they can get away with reactionary or conservative policy, right? This is the problem with liberal capitalist democracy. If you vote for the one guy who is 1% nicer than the other, their win just proves that the voters are willing to put up with (or agree with) bad policies for minorities.

If you want to do this whole crystal ball game about somehow "knowing" that Labour will be better than Tories, or Democrats better than Republicans (in both examples they work together to pass the SAME social policies while fighting over their minor disagreements usually through economic policy), then I could run the reverse argument at you. How do you *know* Tories won't face harder consequences from voters, and Labour won't reform to win the next election, etc.? The point is you literally don't know so acting like trans people, or any minority group targeted by bigoted policies, should sacrifice time to vote for someone who *MIGHT* go about making their life hell but maybe not *AS* hellish is an absurd, and completely un-materialist position. I'm not passing judgement on you personally I am simply giving my own perspective as someone who has gone through this as a minority who voted for "the lesser evil" many times only for them to stab me, my loved ones and my community in the back.

I think that if voting is a lot of effort for you, and you don't see that major a difference between the two parties then you shouldn't do it, you're right. But where I live, voting takes like 30 minutes at most, and usually around 5 or 10, and you don't have to go somewhere to do it, you can do it online or via the mail, and that's with one of the most complicated voting systems for elections (in terms of what information the voter has to provide) in the world. If voting is significantly harder than that for you, or you find doing what I just said a lot of effort for any reason, then what I said about voting doesn't apply as much.

However, I disagree with you about it being basically unknowable that one party will be better than another. Left leaning parties usually have to pretend that they support minorities, or at least have some level of plausible deniability. This makes it much harder for them to implement the more extreme bigoted policies, whereas if a right-wing party does it, most of their voter base will be cheering them on. A few years ago, I looked at the policy history of representatives in my area, and I can tell you for sure that the right wing representatives voted much more often for harmful or bigoted policies than the left wing ones. Maybe this doesn't apply internationally or even in the rest of Australia, or maybe things have changed since I last looked into that, but it seems to me that while left wing parties can be bigoted as well, they very rarely do as much harm as the right wing ones.

As I have said before, I don't know anything really about british politics specifically, and should not have commented on a post about it. That was a mistake on my part. Most of my political knowledge is based on Australia, and because of our voting system allowing you to vote for multiple parties in order if the major left or right wing party decide to do a bad thing, they will loose votes to smaller parties. If the major left wing party here did something like that in Australia, many people would change their votes from 1. major left wing 2. minor left wings 3. major right wing 4. minor right wings, to 1. minor left wings 2. major left wing 3. major right wing 4. minor right wings.

This would show the major left wing party that they can't do what they did, while still preventing the right wing parties getting into power. The major left wing party would probably still win, but they would have to make compromises with the minor parties which they don't want, so they would avoid that in the future. I probably should have considered that other countries don't work like that, especially in posts where I talk about how australia's voting system is better than most. I'm still not sure what you are suggesting the alternative is, and why it would be just as bad for someone who will probably betray you to get in power compared to someone who has repeatedly stated that they want you dead and they are definitely going to go through with that.

I understand not wanting to vote for someone when you have been betrayed over and over again, but every alternative I've been presented with has been worse. Things seem hopeless, and like they can only get worse, but that's not a reason to give up. If every option is bad, and will make things worse for you, you have to keep delaying the inevitable and hope that another option presents itself, not give up and refuse to do anything, at least that's my opinion. And it is definitely possible to both protest and vote, you don't have to pick.

Another thing that's worth mentioning is that if refusing to vote becomes common that causes problems too. If people of a particular political ideology will commonly refuse to vote for reasons the politicians see as random or unreasonable (and a lot of the politicians will see refusing to vote in the USA or Britain that way, even if people are clear about why they are not voting), then I think the politicians will stop catering their policies to that demographic, viewing them as unreliable, and they will decide not to make policies in their favour since if the politician does one thing the demographic doesn't like the politician will loose most of their support. I'm not saying that's an accurate way to view things, but I think it's how most politicians would view things.

[kujakumai]

Thinking again why I’m not super happy with the anime’s Atem-as-social-equity reformer flashback, and I think part of it has to do with the structure and wider problems inherent in MW, namely the treatment of the Kul Elna reveal and how its implications for the moral status of fantasy-kingdom-Egypt at large are just sort of ducked. 

It’s like...afraid, I guess, to dare suggest that Atem or his father have any (even unknowing) complicity in a terrible system, or that it casts any shadow over their rule as kings, eager to dismiss it as totally the fault of one bad guy. It flinches from the idea that any of this is Atem’s responsibility to correct, fearing that by ceding to it he could no longer be the protagonist. But I don’t think that’s the case!

I find no contradiction is positioning Atem as a good-hearted hero and also saying that he’s the king, that this is a role he’s been trained into his entire life and as such sometimes struggles to question that which he thinks is normative, and that as king he’s part of a giant, messy, complex political project he can’t always control, with history and inertia he can’t always push back on and people who don’t always have his best interests at heart, and sometimes he just signs off on what his advisors recommend because he’s literally 16 and they sound like they know what they’re talking about and that has terrible consequences. That’s...really grounded and compelling actually! Remarkably moreso than a lot of fantasy! I love it! I really love that MW doesn’t depict a perfect fantasy realm with a sage divine chosen monarch, but a country made of both good and bad actors, each with their own problems, that was handed to a smart and kind but young and anxious high schooler who is just sort of doing his best. It’s really human. 

We don’t have to handwave and dismiss Kul Elna’s tragedy and TKB’s grief to keep Atem a sympathetic wide-eyed hero. Keeping Atem the hero doesn’t require that TKB be held up as villain. All we have to do to square these things is, y’know, have Atem realize the system he’s in charge of is really messed up and to try his best to fix it. Instead of what he does in canon, which is be sad about it for two panels while Mahad assures him this doesn’t have to rattle his worldview or change how he feels about anything and that the status quo is just fine, don’t worry about it.

So I guess I think that if we’re going to ascribe views like “When I’m Pharaoh, everyone’s going to be equal,” into Atem’s mouth, that’s a declaration that should happen near the end. It’s not something we should hear in a childhood flashback, the implication being that he’s always been a shining example of perfect future king and doesn’t need to do any work and obviously his critics and enemies were always wrong. That should be the “My dad fucked up, this is fucked up, and I’m fixing it. Now.” Depicting Atem’s heroism and strong sense of justice shouldn’t come at the expense of further villainizing TKB by comparison into someone fundamentally unreasonable--it should be done by vindicating him.

But like. In the real world Atem died very soon after that and handed his kingdom off to Priest “torture program” Set. So maybe having him learn something and announce a new shining direction for the future would be totally pointless. I dunno.

[rainbows-fanfics]

World of Dreams

Summary: Jack and Sally's first time in Dream Town together. And the first of many.

Ship: Jack/Sally Skellington

WARNING: CONTAINS SPOILERS TO THE SEQUEL NOVEL, Long Live the Pumpkin Queen, WRITTEN BY SHEA ERNSHAW. If you haven't read the book yet or want to avoid spoilers, please do not read the fic!!

This fic is considered to be part of an AU and not compliant to my other TNBC works. Please keep that in mind while reading! Thank you!

--

The Hinterlands forest is an eerie place, when one is in Halloween Town. It begins with tall, impeding trees - branches following the wind to form unsettling faces and figures. These are tricks to the unknowing eye, but the lands do it  intentionally. To make one feel truly alone while wandering, susceptible to scares the creatures can impose on them. Nature purposefully winds down the longer you go, to make victims feel like the world around them is physically  spinning .

It is a natural delusion - a safety measure set it in place, to drive humans to madness before they’d stumble upon the town.

Jack Skellington walked down the dirt path with ease, his arm interlocked with a shorter figure beside him. Sally admired the bats scurrying around in the dark sky - listening to the distant howls and screaming from Halloween Town, which was left far behind them. In her other hand remained a wicker basket, filled with Halloween-like goodies and presents. To present to her family in Dream Town, as a formality for their first  proper visit.

The ragdoll bowed her head at the thought.  Family . The concept was hard to grasp - having a father and mother of her own, who looked and acted just like her. Ragdolls of her own kind…in a town only several minutes away. She belonged   in Halloween Town - with Jack and Zero, and the rest of her people…but it gave her a sense of belonging  elsewhere . One that made her giddy, fingertips buzzing as she held onto her skeleton tighter.

He noticed her grip, the usual smile etched onto his skull. “-Nervous?”

“...A little.” She confessed. He brought his hand down to interlock his fingers with hers, giving an assuring squeeze of the palm. She reciprocated the gesture. “-I know I met them already, and I’ve seen the town before, but…it’s our first dinner with my parents. How can I not be?”

“The way I think of it, it’ll be the first of many.” He noticed the look on her face and added: “-I’m  positive it will go well.”

They approached the set of holiday trees. While they normally glistened in the pumpkin sun, each of the seven doors had a slight glow to them in the moonlight. To symbolize their presence in the magical forest, so any wandering soul can find their way back home. The two walked past them, deeper, into the part of the Hinterlands where light did not quite reach – and found the once-hidden, abandoned crescent moon door. This one had a slight bioluminescence to it, after finally being uncovered from the thickets of thorns that once blocked the doorway.

The King of Halloween stepped forward and opened it. He was greeted with scents of lavender and chamomile. The gust embraced his figure and brought a strange calmness - the numbness one feels in their limbs right before they fall asleep. He shook out of his dozing to step back and bow politely, motioning in its direction with a bony wrist. He winked at her.

“After you, my Queen.”

Sally Skellington grinned as she took his hand. They were soon falling, almost  flying, into the gentleness of the cloud-like transportation.

—---

It was the skeleton’s first time in Dream Town, so he was understandably curious with everything he saw. His sockets observed their surroundings intently, looking at peaceful streams of colored water in nearby creeks. He listened to the sounds of crickets and other sleep-inducing noises around them. They soon approached the lavender crops. The large wall still circled the town, but residents were free to come through as they pleased now.

They could hear the distant hooting of an owl.  Sally urged him to come along. They walked through the fields, exchanged brief greetings with the farmers they encountered, before officially entering the town. Jack was once again gawking at everything they passed - from the clay-like cottages, to the various pillows, blankets, and mattresses scattered around the floors and benches…to the people wearing nightgowns and pajamas. He was absorbed in it all. He eavesdropped on some nearby conversations and couldn’t help noticing the rhyming and strange riddles in which they spoke.

“This is all so fascinating,” He said under his breath. There was an excited gleam in her husband’s eyes. “To think this is where you’ve come from…I’ve wanted nothing more than to see this.”

Her phantom heart skipped a beat. What affected her the most was…how badly he wanted this. Visiting this place together was the first thing on his mind. To know where she was from, to properly see and experience Dream Town for himself – so he could learn everything he could about her. She’d never known anyone more caring than him. It made butterflies emerge in her stomach. She leaned up to kiss the underside of his jaw. He smiled at her in return, eyes half-lidded.

  “Sally!”

They were interrupted by a couple of voices. They found two ragdolls practically skipping over - their faces brightened with stitched smiles. Greta embraced her daughter tightly with no hesitation, and Albert the same. She returned their hugs. There was a sense of belonging from this sign of affection - to feel the same seams on their fingers and cheeks…a familiarity she’d grown to miss, no matter how short it was…

They pulled away and looked at Jack, who offered his hand in return. Albert shook it respectfully, looking just as delighted with his presence. Greta was too preoccupied with the Pumpkin Queen’s stitches, making a fuss of her yarn hair. Sally giggled at this small display, knowing for the first time what it was like to be primped. It was nothing like when the Vampire Prince and Helgamine embellished her.

“The Pumpkin King! It’s a pleasure to see you again. Please, accept my apologies. Time has been of the essence…” Albert bowed his head slightly. The other man grinned in return.

“No trouble at all! Thank you for inviting me. This is a great honor!”

“--And a shared one, at that.” Greta butted in. She looked downwards and pointed to the basket held in Sally’s hand. “What is that you’re carrying, dear?”

“Oh!” She had forgotten all about it. She wasted no time offering it to them. “Goodies from Halloween Town. I brought some of my remedies and apothecaries. There are also fine cobwebs, moss scrubs, and chocolate-covered beetles you can sample.”

They looked surprised as they took the basket, lifting it with uncertainty.   They eyed their gifts for a moment, indifferent, until the smiles returned to their lips. Greta grabbed one of the aforementioned treats and tilted her head. The beetle squirmed in her grasp and she involuntarily yelped. It flew from her hand and was promptly caught by Sally’s.

“That one was still  alive  !” She hollered. Her daughter smiled and took a bite, not minding the kicking legs. She soon ‘  mmm’ d at the flavor.

“These ones are the best..! The most exquisite beetles are the ones that squirm down your throat.” She turned to the skeleton and beamed. “Although Jack’s favorite are blood-covered scorpions.”

“-We can bring some of those next time, if you’d like.” He offered.

Her parents stared at them for a long time, bewildered. They coughed politely and led them further into town. The sky was at a beautiful twilight above them, as it always was. Stars were beginning to gleam in the distance, though the time was still not quite night. The moon remained full and colored a brilliant white, contrasted to the yellow crescent in Halloween Town right now. The Pumpkin King scratched his skull as he gazed at their horizon.

“Our chefs are still preparing dinner, so there’s enough time for a tour, if you’d like.” Greta moved her attention to Sally. “We only briefly showed you what we have here. We were a little… rushed  at the time. There’s so much more we can tell you.”

She nodded. “Lead the way, please.”

Jack clasped his hands together, exhilarated to begin the tour. The Governors went into insightful detail about things this time around. The two were brought into their research facility, where they got a closer look at the sleepwalking subjects and listened to their studies, advancements, and theories placed in the field. They also got an inside-look into the dream sand factory, getting to see the process in action - blending stardust, moonbeams, and pinches of yawns into their batches. They refrained from showing them the yawning trees, for their safety.

Sally had her eyes attentively on her husband the entire time, wanting to see his reaction to all of this. He looked completely mesmerized, absorbed in everything they told him and even asking about things he didn’t know. He was informed of their language and attempted to speak in rhymes and riddles for himself. He was better at it than she ever would be. They collectively agreed to simply use their ‘ flat language ’ from thereon, which was a relief, since she would’ve surely gotten a headache trying to understand them.

The tall skeleton halted in his tracks when they approached a large structure - titled ‘ Lullaby Library ’. He was excited as they stood there, listening to her parent’s stories of its construction, book selections, and transportation to the human world. He jumped in elation when they were led inside, and wasted no time drinking up the sight of bookshelves, dozing visitors, and candles that lit the dark interior. The dim lighting in here didn’t bother him one bit.  He went around taking note of everything they had. Greta couldn’t help noticing his enthusiasm.

“A bookworm?” She asked politely. He didn’t hear her - far too busy reading the titles on lucid dreaming. Sally turned and smiled.

“Oh, yes, Jack is  obsessed with reading. He has the biggest library in all of Halloween town, right in the Skellington Manor. He and I read together all the time.”

Her eyes lit up at this information, watching the thin figure fingering through the pages of literature. She laid a hand on her shoulder. “He’s going to love it here.”

Sally knew that already. The moment she first stepped in the Lullaby Library, she instantly thought of Jack, thinking how much he would love it. The comfortably dark atmosphere and endless amounts of books would keep him at bay for a century. She desired for him to kiss her in a place like this - in the dark corners of a library, unseen in the solitude of knowledge. A purple blush grew on her cheeks at this thought. She returned to his side, snapping the skeleton out of his frenzied interest when she brought her hand into his.

“Do you want to see the door?” She offered. “It’s on the top floor.”

He nodded and returned the book to its place, happily following Albert and Greta up the winding staircase. They found the aforementioned entrance - its wood having a familiar burn like a candle’s flame once encased it. There was a small glow beyond its frame, golden in color. He marveled at this sight while Sally gazed at it almost nostalgically. Just past this door is a different world entirely, much like their Holiday trees in the Hinterlands.

“From Dream Town, you can enter a human library in  any location you want,” Albert began confidently. “All you have to do is think of where you’d like to be, and that’s where you’ll go.”

“It was how I got into the human world when I was here,” Sally explained as she played with her hair. Her eyes came to the other ragdolls. “I’m glad you didn’t destroy it.”

“As are we.”

“Halloween Town leads to the catacombs in human cemeteries,” Jack muttered, bringing a hand to feel its surface. “Our world is associated with death. It’s how we get newly-deceased residents into town.”

Albert stepped forward. “Ours reside in libraries because we are a world of imagination - dreams and fantasies, which are found in books and stories. Tales are sometimes read to ease children to sleep. It’s only natural we’re linked this way.”

Sally blinked thoughtfully at what she just learned. Before more could be exchanged, a small child came running up the steps. Sally recognized the little boy who showed her around Dream Town when she was first here and helped her out of that locked room. He addressed Albert and Greta with a polite nod.

"Governors, Edwin said the chefs are nearly done. The food is almost ready.'

"Perfect. Thank you," Greta dismissed him. She turned to Jack and Sally. "We'll start heading to the house and then we can have a nice supper."

They turned on their heels and led them back downstairs. Jack's posture slumped as he reluctantly followed after, clearly disappointed their time here was so brief. He wouldn't mind being here for years -  eternity , even. His wife noticed this and squeezed his arm assuringly. He perked up as she leaned over to whisper:

"Don't worry. We'll be back ."

—----

The Governors' house didn't have the same gothic architecture of the Skellington Manor, but it was still impressive. Edwin excelled in its upkeep, ensuring there was no speck of dust on any portrait frames or cobwebs collecting in the corners of rooms. The butler welcomed them kindly as they entered, allowing their new guests to admire the interior. There was music playing in the background, a gentle melody that could lull any listener to sleep. Jack and Sally remained awake as they followed them down the halls, basking in her childhood home.

The royal couple expected to be led straight to the dining table, but were instead brought to the living room. There was an antique camera situated in the middle of the floor, pointed at a wall with a painted foreground, reminiscent of a cloudy sky with soft blues, whites, and purples. Vases of lilacs sat around the area. A couple of chairs with soft, pillow-like cushions waited with them.

Confusion marked their faces. Sally went to ask what this was until Greta placed her small hands on her own. She looked at the smaller ragdoll endearingly.

"We're sorry for not asking you this sooner, but we haven't had a picture of you since you were a child." The breath hitched in her throat. Tears threatened to come to her eyes. "We simply want a new memory of you - to see how much you've grown."

"A family portrait." Albert added with an uncertain smile.

She found no harm in the idea and tipped her head. The two ragdolls beamed and ushered her over right away. Edwin came into the room with confident strides, preparing the camera while the family got ready. Sally and Greta sat in the provided chairs while Albert stood behind them both, a hand on each of their shoulders. When they were completely situated, their eyes immediately darted to Jack Skellington, who had gotten comfortable in the doorway watching them.

He perked up seeing everyone’s attention on him. The situation dawned on the skeleton and he offered a polite smile. “I, um, don’t want to intrude-”

Greta motioned him over with her finger. He refused to budge. “-Really, I understand if-”

“-You’re family  now, son.” Albert stated matter-of-factly, briskly walking over and pushing the tall man forward. “As far as we’re concerned, you belong here. We wouldn't have it any other way.”

Sally grinned as her husband joined them from behind, resting his hand on her unoccupied shoulder. He looked uncertain and bent down to stay in-frame. Albert smirked as he patted him on the back. Greta shot an appreciative look his way. The Pumpkin King finally released the breath he’d been holding. He felt welcomed.  Embraced  , even. He’d never felt an experience like this - to be involved in a family that wasn’t his own. He remained in solitude for many years, but now he had  Sally …and the Governors in Dream Town.

It was a delightful thought to him.

—---

The picture came out wonderfully. Jack and Sally received their own copy and held onto it dearly. She had a great spot in mind for it back in the Skellington Manor.

The four adults were in a good mood as they finally moved into the dining room, where a table was already set and made presentable. Jack held the chair out for Sally and assisted her into it, before setting himself down in his. They admired vases of flowers and the light-purple tablecloth. Every seat in this world was unimaginably comfortable - cushions the softest they have ever felt, backings feeling like mattresses. They were practically  invitations to fall asleep in. Halloween Town would dread them in a terrible way.

Sally watched Edwin pour from a container into their cups. She blinked as she looked at her tea, sniffing it curiously. “-What flavor is this?”

“They’re herbal teas,” Greta answered. “They’re flavored like a honey-sweet chamomile.”

Without missing a beat, she and Jack took hefty gulps. They agreed on the taste right away. Sally was nearly addicted to the sensation, drinking it all right away and having to refill only minutes in. The butler returned with a small bowl of toasted almonds and set it between them. He was thanked and returned promptly to the kitchen. Jack grabbed a few and popped them into his mouth. Sally held one between her fingers thoughtfully.

“What is it like to eat here? What do our kind even  eat ..?”

“Dream Town prefers foods that help sleep quality and even induction. It’s said that almonds help boost this.” Albert informed as he took some for himself. “It’s a fascinating thing to study, really - what foods and drinks help you sleep better. Our diet practically exists around it.”

Her ruby lips parted as she absorbed this information. Greta leaned forward politely. “What is food like in  your world?”

“We have a wide variety, but rot and mold are quite popular. Since we have so many creatures, there are a lot of accommodations - while garlic is loved by many, the vampires are  highly allergic, for one. We all have a soft spot for blood and insects, though.” Jack explained, in-between his munching.

The shorter figure nodded along to his words. “Eyeballs, rat’s tails, pumpkins, and worms are also beloved. A common decadence we share with other worlds is our love for chocolate and candy.”

Again, Greta and Albert looked completely baffled. It was becoming painfully obvious that their worlds were different. Although their daughter ended up in a rather strange place in their eyes, they still loved and cared for her all the same. Perhaps, if  she  enjoyed these things….then they could, too. The way she talked about Halloween Town and their habits sounded pleasant, like she was  proud .  Of the place she’s come from and the people she reigned over. They wouldn’t have it any other way.

They forced their postures upright and smiled respectfully. Albert cleared his throat. “As… different as that all is, I think it’s something we could try someday.”

Her eyes lit up at his words. “You think so?”

“Why not? I’ve eaten worse things.” He laughed. Greta batted at his elbow and he hushed down. “We’ll plan a trip to Halloween Town soon. We would love to see it, Sally.”

The Pumpkin Queen fluttered her eyelashes, overwhelmed with what she was hearing.  “That…means a lot to me. Thank you.”

They went to speak, but were interrupted by the head chef and Edwin proudly striding into the dining room. They presented plates of cooked turkey, white rice, and vegetables before them. They four wasted no time digging in. Jack and Sally found the flavors pleasant - albeit a little  mild compared to Halloween Town’s cuisine - but still good, nonetheless.

They exchanged conversation through their dinner. Albert happened to mention he invented daydreaming, which inspired an insightful discussion between him and Jack Skellington about nightmares and insomnia. They went on and on about the scientific aspects and their purpose between sleeping  and scaring. Meanwhile, Greta and Sally talked a little more on the side, about how she’d been adjusting as the Pumpkin Queen and what everyday life was like in her town.

Dessert was eventually served, which were plates of cookies and cups of warm milk. Jack couldn’t help mentioning this was Santa Claus’ favorite food. That happened to bring up the infamous  ‘Christmas’ incident…a long and enlightening tale, looked back on both fondly and worriedly. They laughed and chatted the night away, until their minds felt fuzzy and they were ready to return home.

—---

By the time Jack and Sally were back in the Skellington Manor, they barely managed to change into their nightwear before passing out on their bed. That night was particularly peaceful. They’d never slept so soundly before. And they had Dream Town to thank for it.

[thislovintime]

Peter Tork with the Fairfax Street Choir, circa 1972/73.

“[Peter had] given his money away to everyone but the government, so they got him for back taxes. Right now they get almost everything. Even as the Monkees’ re-runs are still on network TV and residuals still come in, they don’t come in for Peter Tork.The government got him again, in January of 1972, on a drug charge and he spent three and a half months in jail. He was released May 11, beardless, short haired and with nothing to do except head back to Marin.

It could have ended with the open guitar case at Ghiradelli square. The memory of what was and what could have been. Peter’s eyes brighten as he talks of his return to Marin, they tell you his story's going to have a happy ending. And it does: the Fairfax Street Choir.

Back in Marin. Peter Tork began to hang out at the Sleeping Lady. (He works there as a waiter now). One night The Fairfax Street Choir was there. He was amazed, saw a home, and joined. He grins as he adds: ‘In some ways I was a cold, lonely hitchhiker being picked up by a warm school bus.’

That school bus consists of thirty or so people. Not just singers either. There’s a complete rhythm section, horns and dancers. Yes, dancers. A total communication operation. Only this one works. They do make fine music. It’s the kind of music that makes you feel good. If they ever play in town, see them and see if their new brand of old gospel doesn’t get you smiling before they’re three bars into the first number. They're infectious that way. It makes Peter Tork happy. He feels The Fairfax Street Choir is capable of shaking the world to its foundations. Tearing it up and taking the world by storm... if it wants to. Addressing himself to the ‘if it wants to.’ Peter tries to whip the group into professional quality and some elements won't stand for his trying.

And Peter hasn't abandoned his solo career either. He tells you matter-of-factly he's got an album or two in him, and the way he says it, you believe him.With no regrets about his years as a Monkee, Peter Tork has adjusted. He's happy. Content. And hopeful. For the Choir. And himself.

Talking to Peter Tork you know he'll be back. ‘I feel the next ride will be much more sedate and won't be quite as phenomenal... but you never can tell.’” - San Diego Reader, December 6, 1973 (originally published in the Chicago Reader; interview conducted by Chuck Stepner)

“‘As far as I can see, in Hollywood, if you haven’t got a lot of political support or another hit lined up, everybody thinks you’re dead. I knocked around for a year with my picture, looking for roles, and out of eight people that I went to see, all of whom said they liked me, ‘We’ll definitely use you,’ I got one reading, which I blew, and that was that. ‘I was never inherently afraid of my situation. When I found myself in a boardinghouse with my daughter in a room for twenty-five dollars a month, sleeping on a mat on the floor, I was not discouraged. I had already made my connection with my source.’ The source in this case had nothing to do with drugs. It was a spiritual awareness. ‘Cosmic intelligence, higher power, connectedness, the pattern, the source – these are ways of alluding to the process that expresses itself, in my experience, as intelligence and order,’ Tork said. ‘So we discuss a source, an unknowable source, which we call one, the unified one, from which all things spring.’ Like many ‘heads’ of the sixties, Tork's introduction to the spiritual plane was provided by LSD. ‘I brought some of those sugar cubes with me when I left New York in 1965,’ he recalled. ‘I'd heard that they deteriorate at room temperature, so I took two. Acid does not deteriorate at room temperature.’ His trip was virtually a classic of the genre. ‘I looked in the mirror and saw my mother. I dove out the front door yelling and hollering in Long Beach at two in the morning. I fell into a pumpkin patch and I had my first experience. I finally had a sense of there being a cosmic pattern. I didn't see God in the sense that Jesus came to me, or I saw a man with a beard in a chair high in the sky, but I did have a sense of a driving patterned force being the sum total of all the benevolent intelligences now or ever on the face of the earth.’ Ultimately, Tork came to feel that the acid experience was a limited one. ‘I mean, it opens you up to the possibilities of living beyond your ego, but after a while you come back down and the chemistry you had before the acid trip is largely restored; your ego comes back. I particularly relate to what Ram Dass said, which is that in the throes of acid he was egoless, but as he started to come down his ego walked back in the door and re-fused with his body. That's why he decided to go to India, so he could have the acid experience without having to go through the return trip. In India they had techniques that they'd been developing for years, that made it possible for one to go into a post-ego state.’ Tork's trip, in a larger sense, reflects that of many sixties seekers who opened up to the possibility of possibility, the magic of rock 'n' roll and the magic beyond. Some of them are still out there, having missed the flight back, either accidentally or by design. ‘It is said in a certain school of esoterica that when you first get the hint of it the mountains are no longer the mountains and the moon is no longer the moon,’ said Tork, as the afternoon sun went down and shadows slanted across his room. ‘But when you get past it and come out the other side, with some journeyman mastery, shall we say, the mountains are all mountains again and the moon is a moon. ‘I think I'm at that stage with my life. When I first got the awareness of the extramundane, things just became all holy and completely beyond rational understanding. It was the first flush of acid, the first social explosion of the hippie era. 'Everything is everything' and 'Wonderfulness is wonderfulness' absolutely swamped the factual reality of a chair. Chairs were no longer chairs; they were imbued with mystery and magic. Having lived with that and taken a few hard knocks on the basis of overdoing it, I've entered what I call the tertiary stage of things. The first stage is where things are what they are. You've got goals and dreams and hopes, but there's no magic. Then you find the magic and it's all magic and nothing is real. Now there is reality and there is magic; they're both real.’ - Peter Tork, When The Music Mattered (1984)

[eldritchlegacy]

the soft hum of wind dancing with the trees can be heard outside the kitchen windows, fragmented shadows cast onto the counter from moving branches outside. it looks like a dance. bella considers, watching as the shadows seem to move around the glowing vein-like lines on the paper. maybe harper and bonnie were right about magic being in everything. one just had to be willing to see it. "no, you'll never be revoked. just a boy i once knew named edward." she jokes, somewhat surprised by her own ability to finally be able to. and why shouldn't she be able to? it's been two years, hasn't it? years that felt a lifetime filled with self-discovery and death.. too much death.

yet still two years.

bella had made peace with the idea of what she'd shared with edward. it had been love, of a sort. a first love, a puppy love. but it wasn't something that would have lasted. she knows that now. she had been too willing to give up parts of herself then and wholly unknowing of an entire part of her history that would come to define her now. she'd been too young even if she'd felt mature for her age because of keeping track of her mother too.

would she ever turn into a vampire?

a few months ago she thinks that answer had become easy (and certainly made her interactions with rosalie smoother). no, she hadn't wanted that for herself anymore and the ease which she'd considered it previously made her shudder now. would likely make her father shudder even worse if he'd ever known. yet bella had never seen jasper coming and that complicated her image of the future into a million shades of gray. right now she was human, she was learning about her family, bonding with her father, dealing with victoria and her god-forsaken army, but she was human and for the time being wanted to be. whatever the future held for her and jasper, they'd figure it out together.

"the only one i want watching me sleep is you and preferably from bed not the shadows." the heat rising in her face when she realizes the meaning of her words can't be missed. her name glows across the page once more, having reappeared as the magic continued to take hold with a bit of a flair. she'd thought the spell was done, yet evidently not. it's a distraction from her annoying blush. finally as a kind of humming warmth drifts through the house she can sense it, magic. as if some part of her ancestral past she'd been disconnected from was waving a greeting to her; letting her know it was present. then she feels jasper step away and a small sense of loss plays across her emotions in a way she can't hide.

bella uses the space to turn toward him, observing his features and the way he seems to recall something. she'd read an article once about eye movements and recall, looking to the right meant you were remembering something. what he says bella knows from her own research that bonnie had helped her with once they'd realized they'd both somehow ended up in a supernatural world even if bella's involved vampires more directly than elena telling bonnie who told her about klaus (@everythingheard) visiting elena in paris now that elena was accepted into university in france. that seemed to be a whole other thing that bella hadn't even attempted to delve into or understand when she had everything going on with vampire attacks from victoria left and right. vampire politics didn't concern her, at least not right now.

circling her thoughts back as jasper speaks, bella considers his words and finds her emotions radiating more warmth as he moves closer and looks into her dark hues. she reaches out for him, because she can't help herself, letting her hand find the side of his face. "i won't make you talk about it, i guess.. with everything going on and harper involved and who knows if that could make maria involved.. i guess it wouldn't but.. well, maybe it's stupid but i suppose i just needed to hear you say that. we haven't really.. defined this. maybe we haven't had to after.. well--" after what'd happened when he'd fed on her and the subsequent make out session that'd led to and they hadn't shied away from the pda since. she has an inkling he can sense what she'd recalled herself from the brief spike of emotion it causes. jasper hadn't left her either, he's been there, with her, willing to stand with her even with bringing the cullens back into the scene because they had to. even with alice coming back soon.

"you know, i want this. right? obviously not all the drama of what's happening in our world right now. but us. i don't know what's going to happen a year from now or tomorrow, but i want us. and i don't care what edward or alice or even maria would have to say about it. not that maria's even a factor right now hopefully. okay, maybe i care but i don't care care."

@eldritchlegacy | continued from X

Time seems to stand still for a few moments as Jasper allows himself just to feel Bella so near to him. Too much in his life he’s felt he didn’t simply let himself be in the moment and if there ever was a time, this would be it. The thing is that the closeness would not have been easy for him even just a year ago. The thought crosses his mind that there was a time in Jasper’s life when he likely would’ve been compelled to take a scoop out of her neck. Images of this cross his mind and he’s ready to take that much loathed needed step away when she squeezes his hand. Just like that the thought is gone and instead Jasper watches Bella work, a bit fascinated once the working seems to take hold.  

Lips tug into a smile as he peers over her shoulder. “I hope you won’t revoke mine.” It’s a joke ( mostly) and he isn't expecting a response. Jasper is more than well aware of the possibility that for her own safety, Bella may have to do such a thing. Though he does not intend on giving her any reason to– if he can prevent it. 

The mention of Maria does manage to sober Jasper up a bit more and effectively leads to him taking that step back. It’s not that he has any ill feelings for her or hasn’t healed from what happened between them. The subject is just not one he truly cares to discuss if it can be avoided. For all the goodwill he may profess to have toward her, Jasper definitely isn’t interested in revisiting his past and the part he played in Maria’s army.

Honey colored hues glance upward and to the right as if Jasper is trying to recall something difficult to grasp. He knows Bella deserves some kind of explanation that comes from his own mouth and not research she’s done on her own. “Maria is my maker,” he says, sure that she knew this somehow, despite his never actually saying it. “I helped her win the vampyr wars in the south.” Jasper does his best to keep his feelings in check, reciting this as though it is simply historical fact and did not affect him. 

“She and I no longer share views on most things and I keep my distance from her as best I can.” When admitting to this final bit of information, Jasper decidedly moves forward to face Bella, making eye contact with her to ensure she understands his meaning. While he is not opposed to the idea of working again with Maria, should the need arise, he doesn’t truly want to tangle their lives together any more than they already are. Jasper had sensed the trepidation from Bella concerning Maria and hoped this could assuage that.

[the-clari-net]

Untouchable

Ao3

After Johnny 13 romanced the pants off of one unknowing Jazz Fenton, Jazz has been frustrated to say the least. She continues to think about how she let herself get lead on so badly like that. Everything in her mind understands that nothing that happened was her fault.

Nevertheless, Jazz wants to be better, she wants to be less vulnerable.

She wants to fight.

Her mom showed Jazz self defense moves, but even so, Jazz felt it wasn’t enough. She wants to make it so that no one can come that close to her again unless she allows it. She wants to be prepared for anything. Jazz didn’t think much of it until she was on an errand with Danny through the Ghost Zone.

“Hey, Jazz can we make a quick stop? I gotta ask Pandora about something for my history class”.

“Um, sure?” Jazz frowned, “But Danny you should really look into studying and getting your information from resources within our actual dimension”.

“But who better to know about ancient Greece than someone who literally lived it, “Danny countered.

Jazz has met Pandora before. She’s an incredible ghost. She’s powerful, she’s kind, she’s one of the few who can have an intense conversation about psychology and provide her with a new perspective and insight on how the world works. While she may not approve of Danny’s methods, she’s happy he’s still making an effort to finish his school assignments.

Pandora is training when they arrive. Jazz sees Pandora going up against one of her subjects, another tall and strong man who seems to be going through a tough time.

Rather than using a sword or some other sharp weapon to face her opponent, Pandora is using a staff. A simple, blunt staff that through her grace and skill managed to knock down her opponent in an instant.  

Jazz was mesmerized. Jazz wanted to learn how to do that. She needed to see more.

Unfortunately, that’s when Danny called out to Pandora and waving her over.

Pandora smiles when she sees the duo and walks over, tossing her weapon over to one of her servants, and they fumble while trying to hold its weight.

“Hello Danny, to what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?”

Danny bows, and responds politely, “Lady Pandora, I wanted to come visit to ask a favor from you. You see, I want to hear some stories from your time in Greece, what the typical day was like for you.”

Pandora raises a brow. “Is this related to your studies by any chance? Because I also was sent a message from another one of your peers not too long ago asking the same thing. Samantha, if I’m remembering correctly.”

Danny squawked, “What do you mean Sam– I mean, uh no? This has nothing to do with school…”

“Well, I’m still happy to assist you, so long as you stay for a quick hand to hand combat if that seems like an acceptable trade?”

Danny winces a little, knowing he’ll be very sore tomorrow, but the guaranteed interview is too good of an offer. “Yes, my lady that’s uh, acceptable”.

Two hours later, Danny is seriously questioning his past self’s rationale for being here. Even though he’s much more athletically built than be was before his transformation, Pandora is lethal even without a weapon. Thankfully she steps back for a second and announces that she’s satisfied with their combat and will allow them to rest.

“Oh,” Danny wheezes out, “sounds good, I’ll just…take a water break for a moment.” Danny walks away, presumably to find a comfortable space to collapse before he interviews Pandora.

As he leaves, Jazz and Pandora are left alone together. She faces Jazz and smiles. “Your brother has immense skill in combat, it’s not anyone who can endure training for that long with me”.

Jazz smiles wryly, “Yes, he is quite skilled. He inherited that instinct from our mom. I don’t think I got much of that I hate to admit”.

Pandora blinks, “I don’t understand. This isn’t all skill young Jasmine, I’ve seen him when he was still developing his abilities. His energy is stronger, he’s been steadily improving. I am certain that you can reach similar levels of physical combat if you applied yourself.”

“You really think so?” Jazz looks up at this gladiator of a woman telling her that she can do it. She takes a shaky breath before continuing in a smaller voice. “Um…Lady Pandora, would you mind allowing me the honor of training how to combat? With a weapon I mean.”

Pandora takes in Jazz’s slightly hunched posture, and her shaky voice and frowns. “Your brother has mentioned to me that you have some experience, why would you want to learn more?”

“I do have some self-defense experience, but…” Jazz looks down. “I just want to feel safe in myself.”

The ghost looks at the young girl and her frown deepens, “I see”. 

She goes and walks over to the farther wall, where her weapons are hanging. Jazz is trying to settle her breathing when Pandora comes back with the same stick that she was using when they first arrived to her haunt.

“This is a bo staff. You’ve already seen me working with this, yes? I think this would be a good weapon for you to learn. It takes discipline to learn but can be incredibly beneficial when necessary.”

Pandora tosses the staff at Jazz and she’s quick to grab it. It’s very light in her hand.

“I’ve only worked with this form of martial arts in my current form,” she gestures at her four arms, “but I think I can help you.”

Jazz gives a small smile in response. This is the answer she was looking for. With this in her hand, with enough time, she could go out with less fear. Help Danny.

She feels hopeful, that she will be untouchable with this.

“Alright, let’s begin.”

[lupically]

#F40B32 | RYOMEN SUKUNA.

genre | light fluff, light angst, very faint romance undertone 

word count | 2616

warning | mention of death, mention of injury, mention of killing, decapitation 

note | i just wanted to try my hand at writing for a villain that is obviously irredeemable in a semi-realistic way.

what happens when you are irredeemable? you will fall in love anyway.

but ryomen sukuna wasn't in love with you. after all, he had killed you one too few times to claim that he was in love with you.

the first time he killed you was out of instinct. you were an intruder touching his soul the way mahito did, except you barged in without any malicious intention. he had gazed over your fallen body with mild interest then; a mere mortal, yet you emerged from thin air into his locked tight domain without dying?

the second time he killed you was a choice. he gave you not a minute to explain yourself, even though you had wasted the minute asking questions about his identity and the skull-filled area instead of giving him any valuable information about yourself. he had been fed up, he was never a man of patience, so he killed you with a wave of his hand and returned to his dull life alone on his throne.

the third time he killed you—he did not kill you. there was no third time; people liked to say the third time's charm but sukuna believed no such superstition. he killed you twice already and each time, you came back unscathed, both your body and your memories. whether he liked it or not, killing you for the third time would do neither you nor him any benefit, so he kept you alive.

you were afraid of him. he could tell, and he meant for things to be that way until he realized it served as a misfortune on his part. in order to understand this mystery—your sudden appearance into his domain, as well as your inability to leave it and his inability to kick you out—he has to gain some piece of information about you, but you were too shaken up from being murdered to talk to him at all.

sukuna's patience was reaching a breaking point and he thought about torturing it out of you, but he understood that humans are fragile, way more fragile than your typical jujutsu sorcerer. he could accidentally kill you and you would return with no scars and more unwilling to converse with him than before. then it was the waiting game all over again.

he wasn't planning on going through such a dull ordeal again, so he left you be and waited for you to calm yourself down.

the first time you talked to him, you asked him a question.

"are you going to kill me?" you asked him.

sukuna peered down at you from his throne. small, frightened, curled into a ball with no desire to touch the skeletons at his feet, but you looked up at him out of politeness.

he scoffed, displeased. "no, but i always can."

the second time you talked to him, it was to exchange a brief introduction.

"ryomen sukuna," he hummed curtly then he nudged his chin toward you. "your turn."

you shuffled up to your knees and sat down on your heels. your fingers fidgetted at your lap as you timidly peered up at his tattooed, disinterested expression.

"[full name]," you said with a nod, unable to meet his eyes. "nice–nice to meet you, sukuna-san..."

the third time you talked to him, you flinched.

"ma–may i ask you two questions... if i can...?" you asked, for the first time standing up to face him directly.

sukuna leaned away from his propped-up arm. after taking a better look at you, accessing your figure analytically despite having seen you move around slowly for days already, he shoved his hands into the sleeves of his robe and he suddenly jumped down from his throne to stand before you.

you pursed your lips nervously over his looming figure, face heating up with terrible anxiety while your eyes darted down to the watery ground. oh, his presence has been so overwhelmingly deadly that you forgot your white tennis shoes were stained red and your pastel ankle socks remained wet. you did not dare to complain, not even in your head.

"i'll allow it," he said.

"where am i?" you quickly asked.

"an innate domain," he replied.

you have questions, but you decided not to ask. you only nodded after breathing out a soft sigh to calm your nerves. this man constantly sounded condescending, he was kicking open your comfort zone without actively doing anything that would make you uncomfortable.

"okay..." you said, "thank you."

"aren't you going to ask me another question?" he stated with a raise of his brow. "you wanted to ask me two questions."

you gulped, blinking hopelessly at the air as a grimace appeared on your face. "the first question was if i can ask you two questions, and the second one is about where i am... so that makes two."

oh, a meticulously cautious one, and somewhat humorous too he would give you that. sukuna scoffed loudly, but it was less out of annoyance and more out of disbelief of your incredible dullness. however, as plain as you were, he has grown accustomed to your presence; the scent of fear that bounced off of you and the fact that he cannot kill you at will.

"you must be dying to know what this place is, are you not, you brat?" sukuna asked.

when he saw the flashes in your eyes, he knew he had you down through and through. all you were was but someone who was too afraid to say what they want, which was just as he expected from you. you wouldn't cause him trouble, you never could.

reaching his hand out of his sleeve, he stayed silent despite seeing the way you flinched with your eyes shut at his raised hand. his movement had been slow, but that was an involuntary response, an instinct that he didn't craft into you. he wondered what it was.

"you can ask me three more questions," he said as he pushed the heel of his palm against the curve of your head. he was gentle at first, then he clamped his hand down on your head as he bent his waist to meet your eyes. he laughed. "i'll allow it."

he could keep you here. he has no choice but to keep you here, and he would kill you once he realized he has the ability to. but for now, perhaps he could act a little civil, something like a human being but one that people would hate to the core.

except he was met with a little obstacle in the way, which was that you were no bad company.

the first time sukuna gained a liking toward you was when you asked him a peculiar question.

"sukuna-san," you called one time when there was only silence within the innate domain.

you sat on a bed of skulls, one that you tentatively asked the king of curses to make you so you wouldn't have to lean on the rib-cage structure and sit in water for slumber.

he denied it at first. calling you names and threatening you about ever requesting something from him—a bed in his domain? fucking atrocious. but your insomnia was killing you; you hated the blood water and your neck burned whenever you wake up having it arched at the worst angle possible.

he did not grow soft. he just made one so he didn't have to watch you sleep in his peripheral vision.

"hmm."

"why do you think curses exist?"

he raised a brow at you. "did i not teach you that before?"

"you did, sorry," you nodded, "then do you believe in god?"

"where the fuck is this coming from, you brat?"

"from where i came, god is good. but from what i am seeing, whether from where i came from or here, everything goes against that value," you muttered loudly as you pulled at your fingers. "cursed spirits harm people. if i can argue that way, i think cursed spirits are harmful within themselves."

"if god is good, and god is real, why would this happen," you said. "why should we feel negative emotions? why do we have the ability to create cursed spirits? why do curses like you exist?"

he furrowed his brows in irritation. have you reduced him to mere curses? have you reduced him to nothing but a brainless being that only takes joy in the suffering of others? no matter how he approached your words, he felt infuriated that you could minimize his importance to simply being a bad person.

he was much more than a bad person, much more than just a pain! he has ideals, he has goals and ambitions, he has wit and strength! he has anger and malevolence and power beyond which your soul could ever contain and endure! he was ryomen sukuna, the strongest curse in a thousand years and more!

he will fucking kill you.

"i'm really glad you're here, though," you finished off softly, an unknowing smile on your face as you rubbed your thumbs weakly together.

he will kill you.

"for a long time, i was told my anger and hatred aren't real. that they don't and should not exist, and i learned to bury them to the ground so they never appear on the surface again," you said, your innocent smile audible to his ears and making his chest twitch with guilt.

"cursed spirits' existence is proof that my negative emotions are real. they may be a problem, but i am not crazy for having them because they're here. they became something, they're here and alive."

he will... he will kill you.

"i just think it's unfair to put the blame on cursed spirits and cursed energy alone when the society's standard guarantees the manifestation of them," you said. "if my anger got out to the world in the form of a monster and it hurt someone, i'll forgive it. i will forgive myself."

he...

"you don't need to hear this, i wish i had your confidence, but i have to say it," you looked up and smiled at him, "i'm a little glad you're here, sukuna-san."

he will kill–he will ki–

the second time, he went stoic.

mahito was too smart for his own good. the first thing he noticed when he entered the soul within yuji's body was the way sukuna has the collar of your shirt clutched in his hand and your body pulled close to his side. it was a glance, he had one small glimpse of you both before he was kicked out of the domain.

your face was riddled with tears—crying, disappointed, and frustrated, but why? for the transfigured human whose name mahito almost forgot, or because sukuna just had one of the most sadistic outbursts you have ever witnessed.

and sukuna, the king, the lord, the almighty—didn't he look annoyed. well, not annoyed, per se. angry, mad, overwhelmed, knowing, protective. very, very, very protective; glowing eyes that glared at mahito's patched up face, fingers that gripped at your shirt so tightly he could rip the fabric apart, an aura that was ready to spit any moment if mahito so much as reach a finger toward your direction.

you meant something to ryomen sukuna. mahito realized that, so the second time he entered the innate domain, he killed you.

right before his eyes, with a cunning and triumphant smile, your neck cracked and your skin broke, and mahito tore your head off just before he was once again beat out of the domain.

sukuna tried to heal you. he tried to seal your head back to your lifeless body, time and time again pushing your decapitated head against your haphazardly cut neck. but his reverse curse technique wasn't healing you. your skin refused to piece itself back together, you refused to come back to him. time passed and he was getting mad, he was going batshit crazy trying to force himself out of this body.

bastard! bastard! bastard! he was supposed to kill you! he was supposed to be the one to kill you! he would murder that patch-faced piece of shit! he would kill mahito! and he would destroy the whole world, light it on fire and kill all that wasn't worthy of his time! he would jump universes, light-years, the bloodstream of the galaxy to find you and bring you back to him. he would—

"sukuna-san, i'm sorry i took a while! i thought you were fighting–holy shit, is that me?"

the third time, sukuna admitted to himself.

"what kind of flowers do you like, sukuna-san?" you asked, voice drowsy and your legs dangling after you climbed on one of the bones of the rib-cage structure.

"why does it matter?" he asked from his throne, eyeing you carefully.

your were a clumsy idiot. you could fall anytime.

"it doesn't, but it's flowers," you mumbled with your chin leaning against the bone, eyes threatening to close. "sukuna... sukuna..."

"what?" he snapped.

"i like lilies, the red ones," you said with a silly grin. "will you visit me when i die? sukuna... will you bring... mmm... bring red lilies..."

he looked ahead. your death; your grave, decorated with red lilies, protected and preserved with his curses. your death—he gritted his teeth. he refused to think about it. it was a waste of time.

or maybe he simply hated the idea of your death.

sukuna has not gone soft. he was irredeemable; a killer, a curse, a tragedy to descend upon mankind. he was not good and he never would be, nor did he ever have the intention to be good.

still, from you, there was proof that he could be more. what was left of his being; his anger and his torture, what was left within the gaps of his hell, the rare softness that once was there, belonged to you now.

you were the vessel that pocketed all that he could potentially become if he wasn't born to be ryomen sukuna, a version of him that you have witnessed. within you, there was proof that he did not only exist to hurt people, but also to validate madness and pain, to acknowledge passion in its murderous wakefulness. within you, there was proof that within himself, there are pieces of what it means to be human and alive.

hearing your soft breath, sukuna looked up to find you asleep with your head against the bone. your arms barely supported your weight and you were threatening to fall off as you dozed with faint snores. he stared at you, his fingers twitching, then he finally waved his hand so he could bring you away from the ribcage and to where he sat.

he paid no mind to subtlety when he set you on his lap. his hand supported your back while he kept your head pressed against his shoulder. his other arm went around your body, preventing you from falling off the throne made only for him to sit on. when he was done adjusting to the new sitting position, he relaxed.

brushing the hair away from your face, he stared down at you with disinterest, but his heart pumped and pumped for you to be warm and well, his arms tightened for you to sleep soundly.

"i will bring you all the red lilies you want," he whispered, the back of his finger gliding past your soft cheek. you did not smell like fear when you fall asleep, you did not smell like fear now even when you looked at him. "i will allow myself that."

after all, ryomen sukuna was only fond of you. very, very fond of you.