#and or wishing death upon him for what accounts to a stupid mistake that he regrets almost immediately

[quiescentdestiny]

Hi I'm thinking about how Lucas unwittingly dragged Jean into danger because he wanted to reconcile with his family, very similarly to the way that Nicky did to Andrew for the exact same reasons.

[bonky-n-steeb]

𝑅𝐸𝑀𝐸𝑀𝐵𝐸𝑅

PART ONE

𝙇𝙊𝙆𝙄 𝙭 𝙍𝙀𝘼𝘿𝙀𝙍 | 𝙎𝙏𝙀𝙑𝙀 𝙍𝙊𝙂𝙀𝙍𝙎 𝙭 𝙍𝙀𝘼𝘿𝙀𝙍

𝗦𝗨𝗠𝗠𝗔𝗥𝗬: Bored after staying on Asgard your entire life, you decide to sneak on earth. But what happens when Steve falls irrevocably in love with you, the Queen of Asgard, wife of Loki.

𝗪𝗔𝗥𝗡𝗜𝗡𝗚𝗦: yandere, obsession, death, violence, cursing, manipulation. If you find any of this triggering, please DNI. Also inform me if I left something out.  

ɴᴏᴛ ʙᴇᴛᴀ ʀᴇᴀᴅ, ᴀʟʟ ᴍɪsᴛᴀᴋᴇs ᴀʀᴇ ᴍɪɴᴇ

As you know my previous account got deleted and therefore I have to post this again... Hope you guys like it!

SERIES MASTERLIST || MASTERLIST

You sat reading a book in the ethereal gardens of the Palace, with your back pressed against a tree. Loki had brought that book from Midgard. You loved reading, and Loki always got you books from all over the nine realms. That’s how you had bonded in the very beginning.

As you read the book, you had a feeling you already knew what was going to happen, as if you had already read it. So, you closed it and stared at the grand garden before you. Filled with plethora of flowers, the sweet smell diffusing in the air, the palette of colors pleasing the eye.

“Do you need something?” Your maid asked. You shook your head, “I don’t, and even if I needed something I would take it myself.” You gave her a smile at that.

You were the daughter of a common farmer; you were independent since your birth. You had a habit of doing everything by yourself and even despite it being years since marrying Loki, you still couldn’t quite get adjusted to maids. They weren’t servants for you, they were your friends. Your humility and intelligent was something Loki had fallen head over heels for.

The entire Asgard was happy and wonderfully surprised when Loki had announced that he would be marrying you. A common girl with barely any powers was marrying the God of Mischief and the king of Asgard; that had generated quite the rumors, some even thought it was one of his pranks. Even you were worried, but Loki had chased all your worries away.

Despite Thor being the elder brother, Loki had been crowned as the king. Though Thor was powerful and had immense strength, he neither wished to be the king, nor did he have the time to be one. He was rather busy with Midgard and thus Loki had taken the mantle.

When it came to you, even despite being the God of Lies, Loki never lied. He was the best husband you could ask for. Taking your opinions in consideration, asking for your help, cherishing you, loving you more than anybody else. He didn’t rule Asgard alone, no, he ruled Asgard alongside you.

You had changed him; from the selfish Loki whose heart was filled with vengeance, you had made him into a noble and beloved king. But still he never stopped pulling pranks on you, and you took it just as lightly. He was still very mischievous at his heart and you had accepted him with all he brought along.

There was just one thing he didn’t allow: you visiting Earth. And that was only because he was worried for you. The people of Midgard had not taken his attack lightly, and they were still very much furious. Though they were now on good terms, he didn’t want anything to happen to you. You were his everything.

And visiting Earth at least once was one of the only things you wanted. Literally everyone had been to Midgard except you. Even Loki and definitely Thor frequented Midgard, but not you. Once a month you both used to come to that topic and he would brush you off, promising you to take somewhere else. And that maybe fueled your need to go to Midgard even more.

“What are you thinking about, my love?” When you heard his sweet yet authoritative voice, you smiled softly. Lost in thoughts you hadn’t even noticed he was sitting beside you. You inhaled deeply, “I was thinking about the forbidden fruit. I was thinking what would go wrong if I went to Midgard. Just once Loki, just once. That’s the only thing I ask of. I’ve heard the Earth is circular, unlike Asgard!” You asked giving him your best puppy dog eyes.

“Now my beloved, how many times, huh? How many times do I have to list the reasons why you shouldn’t visit Midgard. I won't be able to live if something happens to you. I will go insane, there won’t be a point in living.” He gently took your chin between his fingers and pressed a soft kiss to your cheek.  

“I know Loki, I love you too. But aren’t your relations with Earth better now? And Thor goes there all the time and so do you! And I have powers Loki!” You had the powers of making anyone reveal the truth. You were a rarity; a commoner with powers. Your ability to extract truth was really an ace at your side while ruling Asgard.

“We don’t know if someone is holding any grudge. I can’t risk it. Ask me anything, I will search the entire universe for it and bring it upon your feet. Just not Earth. Now I don’t want to ruin such a perfect day by arguing with you.” Before you could speak further, he shut you with a kiss.

As you both laid in each other embrace, you got lost in the abyss of his eyes. “Oh Loki, do you know how much I love you?” With eyes full of mischief, “Well you do know a certain way to show your love, my beloved wife.” He quipped.

~~~

Today Thor was leaving for Midgard. And at the same time, you had made your plans to sneak. You had started wondering if Loki had a mistress there, well what else could be his reason for not permitting you to visit Earth.

One part of the plan was already in action. You had shared your concerns with Heimdall. He had been awfully quiet but when you had pleaded and asked of it as a favor for his Queen, he had agreed. On the condition that you would return within 3 days, or else he would pull you back to Asgard. You had happily agreed.

The plan was simple, while he would transport Thor, you would go too, you just had to stand close enough to Thor. All excited, you got ready in the best of your clothes. You knew they didn’t dress like this on Midgard, but you had an impression to make as the Queen of Asgard.

The dark green silk robe complimented your emerald wedding ring; you wore button earrings and connected them to your hair clip with chains. You let your hair down but not without braiding few locks of hair; your right index and ring fingers were adorned with your best rings. You wanted to wear your crown, but decided it would be too much for Midgardians; after all you were going there for vacation, you had no plans of ruling earth.

Not many were there to say goodbye to Thor, the Prince travelled very frequently. You were glad that today neither Loki nor the warriors were there. “Goodbye Thor, have a safe journey!” You said as you stood a little too close to him. It was your signal for Heimdall to transport you to Midgard. “Thank you, sister...” before Thor could complete his sentence, you were both sucked into the wormhole.

~~~

It was a.... cool experience to say at least. To be honest, you had no idea. You had kept your eyes closed through half of the journey, and you had probably screamed your throat dry. You did travel through the Bifrost at times but Loki always held you tight. Today though you were spinning all by yourself in the rainbow tunnel. Thank the Norns, it was over faster that you expected.

As Thor landed gracefully in the Avengers compound, you landed straight on your ass and skidded halfway across, bruising you elbow and knuckles.

Thor’s voice boomed aloud, as you tried to get up rubbing your aching ass, “Oh dear Sister! Are you alright?” He said as he helped you get up, “Well, Heimdall didn’t tell me how to land.” You tried to lighten the mood.

“There must have been some mistake. Don’t worry I’ll call Heimdall to send you back.” He said softly while rubbing your elbow as he began praying to Heimdall.

“Uhh, well Thor, that’s not needed. And this... this wasn’t an accident at all. I kind of made a deal with Heimdall and he sent me here...” Thor’s eyes widened with shock and what you thought was anger. You had never ever seen Thor get angry at you, ever. And you were truly scared now.

Thor and you were best of friends. It was as if you two were siblings, not Thor and Loki. As you looked at him now, you knew you had truly screwed up. You knew your decision would anger Loki, but his anger you could handle. You weren’t quite sure about it with respect to Thor.

“You did what? You aren’t supposed to be here! You are going back to Asgard before anyone sees you.” He held you by your elbow and it hurt like hell. “But Thor,...” you tried pleading. Maybe you had not guessed the extent of your family’s anger correctly and you knew you were going to pay for it badly.

“I wasn’t asking you.” He said in an impersonal tone. “You need to understand this is for your own good.” You were tired of listening to the same thing over and over again for so many years. And you finally snapped.

“Tell me the truth Thor! I know that’s not the only reason, why don’t you people want me to come here? Does... does Loki have a mistress here? Huh? I’m so sick of listening to you people give me all kinds of stupid reasons to keep me away from here! You know, if maybe you had not reinforced the fact that I’m not allowed to visit Midgard again and again, then maybe I wouldn’t be so obsessed with coming here.” You couldn’t hold your tears back.

“It’s not what you are thinking, trust me sister, Loki only loves you. But we need to go now and don’t use your powers on me.” You snatched your hand away from him. He was correct in guessing your intentions, you were going to use your powers on him to make him say the truth. But his anger held you back. After all, he was your family, and this visit to earth was just three days long.

“There’s one catch; you can’t take me back. I told you, I’ve made a deal with Heimdall. It includes that He won’t open the Bifrost for me to leave Earth until the evening of the third day!”

~~~

The Avengers were all gathered in the briefing room. Thor was coming back and they needed to discuss an important upcoming mission. As Steve stood telling everyone about the mission, they could hear the tell-tale noise of the rainbow tunnel as they called it.

Tony yawned loudly and stood up from his chair, he was least bit interested in the meeting and just wanted to get out. “Thor is here. We should go meet him.” He said stretching. Steve rolled his eyes, while Nat and Clint got up.

“We can continue, Thor knows where to come.” Steve interjected. “I guess Tony is right on this one.” Wanda said shrugging. Before they could continue, they heard the noise of Thor and a lady arguing. Her voice was vaguely familiar.

“Let’s go!” Tony said excitedly as he hoped to get a little more spice on this dull day. Reluctantly even Steve joined the entire group as they walked outside. Thor was facing them and from his gestures even they knew he was truly angry. The lady had her back to them, her golden magic swirling around her hand, showing her anger and annoyance at Thor. She was dressed in the finest fabric.  

Thor stood still and suddenly stopped fighting as he saw literally all of the Avengers looking at the two of them with keen interest. You saw his stunned and somewhat worried expression, so before he could stop you whipped your head around.

The moment you turned, Steve’s heart stopped in his chest. He couldn’t believe his eyes. This was not true; this couldn’t be true. You were just like in his dreams, if not more beautiful. Your eyes pulled him in like sirens calls. Your voice a sweet balm on his heartache. You looked like a goddess, and he was sure you were one. But, how could you possibly be here? So very real, standing in front of him in all your grace, just as if to taunt him.

You tilted your head in confusion, all of them, literally all of them were staring at you as if they had seen a dead person walk out of the grave. “Uh, well, you must be the Avengers I’ve heard so much about! It was rude of us to fight out here, and I apologize for the commotion. Let me introduce myself, I’m Y/N, The Queen of Asgard and the wife of the beloved King Loki.”

As you said the words, all of the Avengers’ eyes widened with confusion, as fear and anger gripped their hearts.

[remsmoonlight]

— title : sweeter than candy

— word count : 3k words

— pairing : daryl dixon x reader

— summary : daryl is good at keeping things buried, but when the thought of words left unsaid do you both realise you have both been thinking the same thing about the other. 

— warnings : mentions injuries, mentions of death

“ hi!! OMGG I came across your account and I’m obsessed with your writing!! I was wondering if you could write a Daryl Dixon x Reader following candy coated promises. Where Daryl has developed feelings for reader and following an errand run she gets injured and has to stay in bed. And Daryl find out! If that makes sense! Thank you!!! “

           ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*   requests are open ! / requested by anon *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

A deep desperation of yearning to be useful has led you to forget the risks involved in the interminable list of things that wish to cause you harm and are able to on such an intense scale. Luck had been on your side for so long, the illusion of life’s greatest ally refusing eluding your group for this long has proved itself to be just that — nothing more than an illusion. Once the burning of fear had dulled to nothing more than a dim ache, all you now feel is the one wound that does not run red yet pours into your veins as if it does. Stupidity. You’d volunteered yourself to go on a run with a small group, you’d spent enough time before the barbed wire fences, that you felt yourself becoming trapped.

A deep regret that would follow you even in death would be if any of your group would, too, meet their chapter’s end too soon by an immense error made on your part.

One thing that lays dormant in your mind, yet unable to completely fade is the fear of becoming too settled in safety. Spending too much time wrapped in a blanket of comfort that provides refuge from the grit the outside world revels in only hands you a vulnerability unsuitable for a reality submerged in death that roams freely. You don’t want to forget how to survive, you’ve come too far for that.

Part of that is how you have ended up being put to bedrest.

Your brain is yet to sort through and file the fleeting images that blend together into one disorientating image instead of a folder of what had occurred picture by picture. In one instance the group and yourself had been rummaging through the shelves that still contained some stock and the next, you’re rushing Maggie out of the way and pushing over shelves onto a growing horde of walkers. Though in the next second, your heart fell a thousand feet below as you lost your balance from the liquid coating the floor from where they’d tumbled and smashed to the floor, with the shards of glass forming a bewitching hazard.

“ your ankle still givin’ you trouble? “

The voice pulls you out of your thoughts, your sight settling on Maggie.

“ I don’t know if that hurts more or if these scratches do. “ You complain, your fingers lightly tug at the bandages that cover the fresh wounds that coat both of your palms, you take note of a number of loose fibres from the material.

“ Glass’ll do that to ‘ya. “ She chuckles, slowly moving into the room. She grabs a chair from the metal desk on the side and moves it next to your bed. “ I never got a chance to say thanks. “

“ You don’t have to worry about it. “ you refuse, shaking your head in turn.

“ I feel it’s my fault you’re like this. “

“ If we’re going to blame anyone, let’s blame my eyesight. I should have seen that wet patch. I should have been more careful. “ Frustration that burns bright in your reply as you turn away from her. Perhaps you’d spent too much time concealed from the harsh reality that constantly claws at you all as it takes refuge in a thick coat of a hauntingly isolating fog as it waits to drag you down with it further into the depths.

Mistakes are synonymous with fatalities now, one moment you’re on top of the world and in the next you can be in a free fall clutching the thin air as if it should be your saviour. Never have moments been promised, and this fact has never shone clearer than when the dead claimed the Earth for itself in an effort to void it of life wholly.

“ Hey, don’t be too hard on yourself. “ Maggie brings a hand forward to squeeze your shoulder momentarily, a comforting smile packaged with it easing some of the self loathing you could feel weaving itself into your being.

“ I don’t have much to do in here by myself, I have to keep myself entertained somehow. “

“ Well, I got an idea.. “ She trails off, a mischievous grin lifting her lips.

“ Maggie.. “ You utter a strict warning, already knowing where the conversation is about to lead.

She pauses for a second, laughter bouncing from grimy wall to grimy wall as she reacts to your cautionary tone, the light in her eyes bursting with the power of a thousand stars as it illuminates her features. Gratitude for the fleeting moments of rare normalcy that reflects a past occurrence in the old world runs deep, for a fraction of a second you can pretend you’re simply two friends joking about something goofy and foolish. For a minute, you’re not sheltering in a decrepit prison as you run from walkers, it’s a perfectly average afternoon.

“ You can’t tell me you don’t realise the way he looks your way now? I know you’ve been lookin’.. “

“ Okay, I think I'm tired now. “ You huff, shifting your body as to your ability with your injured ankle to face the wall that has an array of stains permanently painted into its surface.

Maggie only laughs in response, the sounds of steps dulling into nothing more than a ghost of an echo that informs you of her departure. Her words have pulled a string you’d not wished to pay attention to until it would be absolutely necessary. Needless to say that as much as you’d tried to bury the budding seeds of affection into the dirt, they’d only bloomed in force into a sea of colour with the evidence left to coat your fingertips for everyone to see.

Never had it been your intention to entertain this idea, when anything positive you’ve managed to seize with both hands can be ripped away so unexpectedly that you are left to nurse the empty space left behind of what once had been, grieving the idea of what could have been. However, there’s a dim curiosity that softly grows in size that envelopes around you, compelling a desire to reacquaint yourself with a human intimacy that fell to the back of the queue as the instinct to survive overwhelmed it. You don’t want to fear living, you don’t want to fear connecting to others on a deeper level, but you can’t help but simply.. be afraid.

Had you been in a different reality where the world continued on as normal, you would have probably fallen under his spell sooner.

Only after that one night you’d spent on watch together after he’d gone out of his way to bring you such a simple gift illuminated him in a way that your sight would often lean towards him. Many times you would find yourself analysing his actions on a deeper level, a coy warmth burying itself in the pit of your stomach when realising he’d included you in his thought process. From the chocolate bar, to you being the first person he’d check on if you needed anything before heading out on a run, to even the simple act of being there just to talk when life felt rough. A shape of one Daryl Dixon had been carved out by the man before either of you had realised.

A thunderous groan erupts from your lips as you turn onto your back to stare at the bunk on top with the realisation hitting you like a train threatening not to stop. You completely adore the Dixon.

About an hour away from the Prison Daryl secures the last of the rabbits caught, they swing side to side with each of his calculated movements. All Daryl finds himself wanting to do is to get back to the Prison, unable to push down the inclination of being back to the comfort the life behind those metal fences bring. It’s been a long day and all he’s interested in is getting back to those he holds dear.

That thought is when a fleeting frame of your face crosses his mind. Though he speaks not of which he truly wishes to share, the time you do spend together is something he cherishes more than a billionaire would with all of the money and rubies in the world if they had them in the palm of their hands. The darker side of him, the side that would always listen to those who preferred to taint his waters with their gloom, doesn’t allow the emotions constantly swirling within him to be touched by the burning sun rays as they are laid bare.

Heavy breaths fall without grace from his chest as he’s let through the gates, the stony expressions etched deeply into Carol’s features. No words need to be uttered to know it’s to do with you, Daryl doesn’t even allow a thought before he’s making his way on a path he has walked a thousand times and will walk a thousand times more. Creaks that echo in the darkening corridors that are not lit by the comforting flames of candles, the prison sounding as if it’s more in pain than it appears — still, he pays no care. His only goal is to check on you, he’d be unable to forgive himself if anything were to happen to you and he’d never be able to see you one last time. His brain conjures a number of horrific scenarios and tainted pictures to accompany them as it runs wild in a sea of dread.

The crossbow that had been secured in Daryl’s grip is lowered gently to the ground as he scans your form, a grateful sigh when he sees the slow movement of breathing.

He lowers himself into the chair next to your bed, trying to pinpoint the moment he’d stopped gazing upon your form as a friend to replace it with an aura of starlight — no longer did he see the colour of your eyes, but galaxies full of life and wonderment. Daryl allows himself a few seconds to chase each other by as he considers his next action, though deep down he’s aware his decision had already been chosen, as he threads his fingertips into yours to allow your warmth to comfort the panic that had been raging at the thought of your demise. His thumb traces a circle that is light enough to keep you tucked away in a slumber and as a comfort technique for him, where his mind allows him the time to placate himself.

Before he’s aware of it, the sky blends into itself once more as the pastel hues paint it with dashes of gold from the sun as dawn breaks and he’s hunched over with your hands still connected as one — the position held the entire night. Nothing can be heard in the confined space except a symphony of soft breathing from you both, the serenity only the early hours in which no one is awake brings comfort to the sleeping forms of you and Daryl.

A lengthy yawn escapes your lips as your eyes fight to open as they blink heavily to adjust to the light that invades as much as it can. The weight of something lying comfortably in your hands confuses you, as you distinctly remember there had been no pressure previously, the image before you washes your entire body with the icy grip of shock as you scan the trail leading from the hand within yours to the person it belongs to. Teeth grip your bottom lip as you bite it, attempting to battle away a smile that wishes to break free, you can’t believe the sense of humour that the universe has. Not an inch is moved by any part of your body, you seek to savour the intensity that such a simple action bears, your eyes positively glowing in adoration as a softer side to the man is revealed. Moments like these are few and far between, it leaves you wanting to bottle it up and pocket it forever.

A squeak of displeasure cuts through the serenity the early hours have worked so hard to cultivate as you inch your injured ankle to the side, clearly different positions prove to be the opposite of beneficial. The noise is enough to wake Daryl, his sudden alertness makes you doubt whether he’d truly been in a deep rest, but it’s the least of your worries as he realises he spent the night with his grip connected to yours. The warmth that brought a grounding comfort to your being now is a phantom touch you crave again once an eerily coolness now surrounds your empty palm.

“ ‘M sorry ‘bout that. “

“ There’s nothing to apologise for, Daryl. It was nice. “ You confess, your volume touches the air with a softness of a feather that descends to below in an elegant waltz.

“ Mhm. “ He turns his gaze to the floor, a thumb is chewed upon lightly as he’s wondering what he should say next. “ ‘Was worried about ‘ya as soon as I got back. “

“ Yeah, things just kinda happened. “

“ ‘Ya gotta watch y’self more out there. “ He scolds you with a light scorch of misplaced anger that almost lays eternally with him, a wave of anxiety at the thought of losing you are twins in a realm of horror he never wants to bear witness to.

“ I know, Daryl. “

Poisonous words full of fire and fury born out of dread of your existence in his life being cut short itch to burn your indifference to the situation. As he settles his gaze upon you, all he can see are the stolen moments you both have shared away from the group, where the person he’d created in his head built without even speaking to had been smashed into shards the more he got to know — you’re a fresh breath of peace in an unstable world that thrives on chaos. Quiet moments where all he can hear are the flickering embers of the fire are the memories he finds himself kicking for, all that lost time to never be recovered due to his preconceived notions.

“ Do ‘ya? “ Daryl shakes his head in frustration, his soul a pot of swirling emotions and thoughts blinding him to the point he can’t see straight. “ I can’t lose ‘ya. “

His voice is so low you barely hear it, your brows thread together in the slightest form as they’re unused to the window of Daryl’s vulnerability being so widely open.

“ You won’t. “ A faint twitch of your lips means well, you try to comfort the man. Your touch is delicate as your palm overlaps his with warmth.

“ Y’can’t promise that. “

“ But I can try! “ You argue lightly, a bounce in your response.

“ Forget it. “ Daryl sighs harshly, shaking his head as if to rid himself of the thoughts that run circles around his mind.

“ Daryl! Wait. “ Your voice falls on deaf ears as he’s already halfway towards the exit of the room, for a moment you forget your injury and a burning sensation flies with boundless wings up your protesting muscles and you land in a heap on the floor. The bandages do nothing to cushion your fall, you cry out in pain from the intensity of the throbbing plaguing your body.

“ Why can’t ‘ya be careful!? Damn it. “

Before you know it, Daryl is level with you as you feel his touch grazing your skin — ensuring you’d not injured yourself further. Guilt pools in his stomach at the thought of your current suffering being his fault, his ire now directs itself brightly towards him.

“ Dar — what’s going on? Why are you acting like this? “ You quiz as your expression contorts into a grimace. You’d not seen him behave like this for what feels like a long century, even more so when directed towards you.

“ Like what?! Huh? “

“ You’re being crazy! “ You state, your finger jabs into his chest.

“ Ain’t it obvious? “ Daryl asks suddenly.

Your head shakes, confusion clouds your features as if it’s an angry storm that has waited long enough for the calm — nothing can be seen through the darkened skies. All you want is for the sunny rays of truth to shed light upon this mess.

“ ‘Ya mean more to me than you should. “

“ Daryl? Do.. do you — ? “

He nods suddenly, unable to hear the words out loud no matter how true they ring, because as real as it is. There would be no taking it back then. Your lips purse as a sad smile lifts itself with no help from you, your heart hurting as you realise this could have been avoided entirely since you both appear to be on the same page. You acknowledge the fact that actions would speak louder than words in this scenario, your fingertips brush through darkened strands of hair as if they play a sheet of music with the aging competence of a commanding pianist. This is one of many songs your mind finds itself conjuring, a burning hope of this forging something more between you. It’s not long before your arms are wrapped around his neck, with Daryl unable to believe the scene in which he finds himself in, you’re a sky full of stars that he finds himself wanting to get lost in.

“ We can take this one step at a time, yeah? “ You question softly, not wanting to be witness to the fleeting images of a set of angel wings.

He agrees silently, a warmth spreads outwards from your cheeks and treks outwards to cover your completely. The moment is sweet, as it concludes with a honeyed kiss on his tanned cheek. In one frame you both are thinking the same thing, just how lucky you are to have fought through your fears of living and given in to taking the plunge into unchartered waters that Maggie and Glenn have already found themselves navigating.

In a world full of the dead, you both agree that to love shouldn’t be a reason to cower and hide.

[just-call-me-the-intrusive-thot]

Soulmate September - Day 8

Day 8 - The temperature of your chest gets hotter when you are closer to your soulmate and colder when you move further away. (D&D AU)

Pairing(s): Romantic Roceit, Romantic Background Analogical

TWs: Swearing

–

“Oh I adore being made out to be the bad guy here.”

“You robbed the lair of the Dragon Witch! It’s literally your fault that we are mired in this bog of despair!”

Roman’s accusation rang loudly within the wagon as they made the long ride back to Amoresse to rest for the night. Janus rolled his serpentine eyes, 

“You, dear delusional knight, are totally not the one who went and killed said Dragon Witch, thus leaving her treasure for the taking.”, the half Yuan-Ti hissed, appropriately, “Besides, you can absolutely take the moral high ground here when you stole her crown at the first opportunity.”

The pristine elven knight gasped dramatically, clutching his figurative pearls at such an accusation! 

“This is an outrage-!”

“Both of you shut the fuck up or I’m driving this wagon off the nearest goddamn cliff!!”

Roman and Janus both immediately quietened down at the threat issued so casually by their wagon driver as the dhampir hissed curses under his breath. The two in the back glared at each other back and forth, avoiding looking towards the wrecked fabric of the canopy and the splintered wood. In Roman’s defense, he hadn’t known that grabbing the crown specifically would cause the Dragon Witch’s castle to fall to ruin around them. He’d realised his mistake almost immediately when he felt the dark magic radiating off of it. However, he couldn’t bring himself to admit that was the case. Especially not around Janus, the damn snake wouldn’t let him live it down. 

Being careful to pick his moment, Roman hazarded a glance over at the reptilian rapscallion eyeing up his spoils; Janus was an enigmatic entity to Roman, showing such sophistication and poise while also being prone to stumbling over his words or his own two feet in the same breath. Unabashedly, he displayed selfishness unrivalled by even the most aristocratic nobility, but in a pinch, was fully able to toss aside even the most valuable of artifacts to save a life. 

Roman had tried not to think about it. The noble and chivalrous knight, Roman of Sandaria, being saved from the jaws of death by a conman who, by all accounts, he had fully expected to leave him to die. The elven man wasn’t sure where his resentment lay; perhaps Roman thought he should’ve been able to save himself, perhaps he felt guilty for misjudging Janus but couldn’t find it in him to admit it, or perhaps it was an underlying prejudice from his training days. Yeah, he really  didn’t want to think about it.

Instead, Roman made his way to sit up front next to the moody wagon driver, making light conversation,

“I should be the one manning the wagon, your highness.”

“Roman, I’ve told you before, you can just call me by my name.”, the dhampir met Roman with piercing silver eyes, “Now, tell me what’s wrong.”

“I don’t understand my- Virgil,”, he corrected at the last second, “Nothing’s wrong. Aside from the fact you refuse to allow me to call you by your title-”

“That’s horseshit and you know it, Roman.”, Virgil kept his eyes on the road, anxious over the possibility of a crash if he kept his gaze averted too long, “I’ve known you since we were kids, I can tell when you’re lying. Besides, being called ‘your highness’ feels wrong as it is. Coming from you? It’s even fucking weirder than this whole marrying into royalty thing...”

Roman rolled his eyes but sat closer to offer Virgil a one-armed hug. The latter gave it a moment before accepting the gesture, “Virgil, you’ll be fine. If any one of us was suited to princedom, I cannot think of a better candidate. And your future husband is unreasonably attractive, so I don’t see what you have to complain about-”

“Oh my god, shut UP!”, Virgil chuckled and shoved Roman playfully. “I mean, you’re not wrong but the last thing I need is to think too hard about Logan and crash this stupid fucking shambles of a wagon!” 

The lighthearted banter did wonders to distract Roman until Virgil managed to get things back on track unfortunately, “Now, stop deflecting and tell me what’s got you so gloomy, Sir-Sing-A-Lot.”

Roman rolled his eyes at the old nickname, “I’m fine, Virge, really. I merely wish our cascading castle adventure had been a little less…ruinous.”

“.... Was that a fucking pun-”

“Ahem.”, Janus cleared his throat from behind the two of them, “I do so loathe to interrupt.... whatever this is,”, he gestured between the two of them, “But I believe that’s our stop up ahead. Wouldn’t want to go destroying that as well.”

With that, the serpentine rogue slunk back into the wagon. Roman muttered something under his breath, inaudible to Virgil, before reluctantly joining the scaled nuisance bagging up his wares. The elven knight made sure to keep his crown tucked into his rucksack, just in case thievery was something to be wary of in Amoresse. The town’s reputation, however, gave Roman hope that their visit would prove more helpful than hindering; the rumours told of a town renowned for helping wayward, lonely souls find their soulmates. As a single, disaster gay, Roman sure hoped the rumours were true. Truly he could think of nothing sadder than turning up alone to his best friend’s wedding.

Getting booked into their rooms at the tavern was a far easier ordeal than having to endure the overly chaotic gate guard to the city. The bizarre tiefling had spent so long rambling on and on about the most grotesque topics that by the time they had successfully secured a wagon bay, the moon now shone in all her celestial beauty. Virgil had suggested resting for the night, and despite Roman’s urging that they stay together, Janus had been insistent on checking out the nightlife. The knight had been content to let him do so while he guarded the prince, but the tired dhampir insisted he too take the night to enjoy himself. Roman would have argued further had Virgil not issued the suggestion as an order after his first protest.

And that was how Roman found himself sitting at a small outdoor bar tended by a rather friendly dwarf. Said dwarf, Patton as he came to learn, was quite the chatterbox while Roman was content to take in the night air in spite of his earlier worries. 

“Say kiddo,”, the dwarf broke from his pleasant rambling, “you’re looking a little lonely there. You got something on your mind?”

Roman hadn’t expected that. He pursed his lips in thought. 

“I suppose I may as well be honest with you. I’ve been wondering if-”

“If the rumours are true?”, Patton finished, “Well, luckily for you, they are!”

He ducked down behind the counter and pulled up an ornate crystal bottle that contained a marvellous prismatic liquid inside. Roman watched with great interest as the dwarf pulled out a goblet and began to mix a sweet, fruity smelling drink before dropping in three drops of the colourful elixir.

“Anima Venenum”, Patton informed him, “Our town’s alchemist created it by accident a couple of centuries back, and ever since, we offer some to tourists who look like they need a little guidance in the ol’ world of love!”

Roman was mesmerised, “Really? You mean, I needn’t pay you for it?”

“Nope! Our only rule is to never hand it out to anyone who doesn’t ask us for it. It’s up to you if you wanna accept this, so no pressure. I just figured you looked like you might be in need of it.”

The knight had so many questions swirling around in his brain, but by the time he had settled on a single one, his hand was holding the goblet to his lips. The taste was citrusy like sweet clementines, but with a mixed berry and almost floral taste that reminded him of a rose wine. As the last of it slid down his throat, Roman noted a soft honey-like taste as he thanked Patton, 

“That tastes wonderful! I’ve never had an elixir that tasted so good.”

Patton chuckled, “Actually, the elixir itself is tasteless. People just take better to it when it's mixed with a good drink, otherwise the texture weirds ‘em out.”

“Ah, I see.”, Roman let out a gentle chuckle. He didn’t feel all that different, truth be told, and so he asked, “How will I know it’s working?”

“The effects are instantaneous, don’t you worry! It might be hard to notice at first, but when you’re near your soulmate, your heart will feel really warm- In a good way! Not like heartburn, so don’t worry about it feeling unpleasant.”, Patton assured him.

Roman nodded, making a note of it as he got up to leave before quickly asking, “Oh! How long will it last?”

Patton waved him off, assuring him, “It’ll last for as long as you need to find your soulmate, guaranteed!”

With the night reaching its peak, Roman found himself strolling along the cobbled streets back to the tavern when he felt it; a flicker of warmth in his heart. Soft as the beating of a butterfly’s wing but very much there. He followed the feeling until he came upon a narrow street, hardly lit by the lamps stationed at it’s opening. The street itself was largely empty bar a silhouette in the dark leaning against the stone bridge that arched over the shimmering water running beneath it. 

His heart raced as Roman approached the figure, the flames licking at his heart until he arrived about a foot from the entrance of the bridge. The figure turned to Roman, smirking a familiar smirk,

“Come to join me, oh loyal guardian of our beloved prince?”

Janus. His soulmate was Janus?! Roman couldn’t believe it, yet no matter how thoroughly he scanned the immediate area, not a single other soul revealed itself. The half Yuan-Ti raised a bemused eyebrow at Roman, “Please, do keep ignoring my question so you may continue to look like a fool.”

Roman scowled. Maybe the kindly dwarf was just teasing him? No, he didn’t seem the type. But this conman? His soulmate? Perhaps Roman would indulge it, see where that led him. Worth a shot anyway. 

“My apologies.”, was all Roman offered as he took a spot on the bridge next to Janus, the flames of his heart undeniably soaring to life at the close proximity. Janus gave Roman a puzzled glance which let Roman take in his features; a half scaled face and body that, the more he watched the moonlight dance along the scales, made Roman want to gently reach out and touch them. In fact, he had subconsciously been doing just that when Janus had held his wrist in place, “It’s not completely rude to just touch someone’s scales without permission. What’s gotten into that underbaked brain of yours, Roman?”

Flustered and embarrassed by his lack of tact, Roman uttered quietly, “Soulmate cocktail.”

“Pardon?”

Roman panicked, “So many cocktails. Is what I said. Like, 14 whole cocktails.” 

Great. Excellent save.

“..... You’re expecting me to believe that? Did you forget that I’m rather adept at being able to tell when someone’s lying to my face, Roman?”

End him. Just end him now. Roman wished a stray lightning bolt would smite him where he stood so he wouldn’t have to face his own stupidity. Quick, say something to help ease the situation.

“Okay. I had 16 cocktails.”, he stammered with a laugh, “I’m absolutely drunk. You got me, you clever reptile you!”

Roman of Sandaria you are a certified idiot. 

“.... Alright then. Prove it.”, Janus goaded him, locking onto Roman’s crimson eyes with his own citrine snake-like eyes. 

“Prove-?”

“Let me smell your breath.”, Janus clarified, getting closer. Each inch set Roman’s heart aflame all too literally. “If you’re as inebriated as you claim to be, your breath will absolutely stink.”

Shit.

“Uuuh, personal space-”, Roman began to move back, but Janus grasped the front of his tunic.

“Don’t give me that, Mister Personal-Space-Is-A-Societal-Construct, I’ve seen how often you get in your dear prince’s personal space...”, Roman could’ve sworn for a split second that Janus sounded resentful, or perhaps envious, before his tone took a more curious route, “... or perhaps could there be another reason you don’t want to be so close to me?”

The knight became aware of the burning within his chest threatening to rage out of control, the distance between them barely a couple of inches now. Roman wasn’t sure what to do, but the lure of Janus’ eyes and the way his ribcage radiated with a heat he’d never felt before spurred him to act; he leant forward and pressed his lips to the serpentine man before him.

It surprised Roman just how pleasant it felt, though he prepared himself for harsh retaliation from the half Yuan-Ti when he felt Janus take in a breath against his lips. However, Roman was pleasantly surprised to find that Janus, not only didn’t issue him a well-earned slap and spend the rest of the night cussing him out, but instead kissed him back even harder. Not that Roman was complaining. By the time they pulled back for air, Roman didn’t even notice the fire in his heart subsiding to be replaced with a more natural warmth as Janus’ hands softly caressed Roman’s cheeks. “I’ll be the first to admit, I totally saw the night heading that direction.”, Janus mused in surprise.

Roman let out a hearty chuckle, hardly even noticing that he’d subconsciously wrapped his arms around Janus.

“Care to tell me what brought this on, Roman of Sandaria?”

Just hearing his name spoken in such an enticing dulcet made his knees feel weak; how had Roman never noticed how beautiful Janus’ voice was? His mind was too busy latching onto every octave, every syllable, that he nearly forgot to answer him. He took Janus’ scaled hand and pressed his lips to it in a gentle gesture his soulmate clearly wasn’t used to if the flustered way he averted his eyes was anything to go by,

“I suppose you could say I did a little soul searching.”

----

Have some straight up Roceit fluff, this came out so cute.

@tsshipmonth2020

Taglist: @somehow-i-got-an-account @cateye-glasses @lavender-mochi [I know you love your Roceit so I figured I’d tag you incase you needed this] @fandomsofrandom [I nearly missed the reblog where you asked to be added I’m so sorry]

[atiny-dazzlinglight]

Stuffed (Yunho x reader)

Pairing: Yunho x reader

Kinks mentioned: Size kink and choking kink

Word count: 4.2K

Summary: Yunho was always a soft and gentle boyfriend. He gave the best cuddles, planned the cutest dates and showered you with affection. To top it off, he never pushed you for anything sexual. He would always give and give, but never receive and it bothered you to the core. But this time it will be different and you’ll give him all the pleasure you know he deserves.

Ao3 link

Author’s Note: There are some mistakes that I missed when writing this, so please ignore them until I go back and fix it all. Thank you~ never try editing fanfic when your brain is fried

Taglist: @atiny-piratequeen​ @hard-mingi​ @aestheticlixie​ @shutupchannie​ @broken-x​

The day was a disaster.

Work was chaotic since your boss kept breathing down your back about stupid and miscellaneous tasks,  despite there being a hundred of other employees that could do it.

Then the bus ride back home was crowded, leaving no space to stand, let alone sit down while wearing heels. Three little kids pulled on your pencil skirt, and you swore an old man ‘ accidentally’  pinched your ass when you got off. 

So by the time you got into your shared apartment, you were practically fuming.

You placed the keys in the dish by the door and kicked those pesky heels off your aching feet. Trudging your feet into the living room, you paid no attention to the blue-haired man that was by the fridge as you fell face-first into the leather sofa.

 “ Welcome back, sweetie. ” Yunho was already changed out of his work clothes and was dressed in jeans and a simple shirt. When he didn’t get a response, he peeked his head out of the kitchen to see you on the couch.

Quickly stirring his ramen, he walked over to you and used his large yet gentle hand to rub your back, forcing a content sigh to leave your mouth.

“ Rough day?” 

You turned your head to look at him as you gave him an exaggerated sigh. “ They're trying to work me to death, and the bus was packed today too.” 

He picked your small body up and sat you down in his lap, your head resting under his chin. 

“ Do you want my ramen? It’ll be done in a few.” He held your hands in his, drawing your focus to them.

“ But it was for you. What are you going to eat then?” Dainty fingers gazed at the gentle hands that were almost twice the size as yours. The difference in size was enthralling to you and your imagination.

A gentle kiss was placed on your cheek before being lifted again and placed back down on the couch with ease as if you were featherlight. He went into the kitchen and came back with a cup of noodles, placing it in your hands.

“ Don’t worry about it. I’ll find something else to eat?” He said with a sweet smile that could make any woman's heart do somersaults. “ You want me to start you a bath, so you can relax tonight?” 

“ You don’t have to do that Yunho. I’ll just take a hot shower and call it a day.” You argued and it only made him laugh.

“ Why don’t you ever let me spoil you?  Just let me run you a bath and then we can binge-watch marvel movies in the bedroom. How does that sound?” 

Looking up into his eyes was a mistake. Those dastardly puppy eyes melted the ‘ no thank you’ on your lips and made your heart swell. How could you say no to that face?

“ That sounds fine…” You mumbled as you stuffed your face with the noodles, but he heard you loud and clear as he smiled before going back to the kitchen to find him something to eat once more.

It was simple things like this that made you grateful for finding such a beautiful and genuine specimen as rare as Jeong Yunho. 

It was a lucky chance for you to meet him at your friend Hongjoong’s housewarming party since they were mutuals. You both kept staring at each other throughout the night until Seonghwa, Hongjoong’s lover, exposed you two when he dragged you over there and told you two to just start talking.

Both of you being embarrassed for being spotted out like that, it was an awkward first conversation that bloomed into this sweet and alluring relationship you both are in now. 

Now inside the tub with bubbles nearly covering your entire being, you sighed as you felt the aches and pains of today’s work disappear thanks to your boyfriend’s efforts. 

The relaxing smells and heat from the bath had your mind drifting to a more tempting world, filled with the images of you and Yunho. 

A hand cupping your face as he leaned in for a gentle kiss that warmed your body fast; arms stretching to reach around his neck due to the height difference, but you didn’t care. Hands trailing down to pull you closer and lock you in an embrace with their strength. Doing endless sinful deeds to you that would always make him feel larger than life to you since you failed in comparison to his size. 

But you didn’t care.

You loved the size difference between you two. That’s one of the first things you noticed when you spotted him at that party. 

Hongjoong always joked about your past relations and comments saying that you indeed have a size kink and you would playfully deny it all. Quickly flagging him off and saying it wasn’t true and to stop teasing you. 

But after all the time you spent with this mammoth of a man, Joong’s words replay in your head and you think about how true his accusations were.

Bringing your mind back to reality, you got out of the tub and quickly dried off and dressed in some panties and one of Yunho’s large shirts, the hem ending at your mid-thigh. An outfit that he secretly loves with a passion.

As you walked back to your bedroom, you think about how much Yunho holds back on you. His own desires are always thrown on the back burner, but you always noticed the fire that stayed behind his eyes that he thought would go unnoticed.

He will always make sure that you felt like a queen and experience the best pleasure that the world could offer. The focus will always be on you and nothing more. Not that your complaining, but whenever you wanted to recuperate that attention and pleasure, he would smile sweetly and say he’s fine. 

But you knew very well he wasn’t. 

It always felt like he was holding back from you. He placed this wall between what he does versus what he really wants and you can always see that battle in his eyes. There’s so much heat that tries to stay hidden from you when they witnessed you in a state of undress or any type of sexy clothing; the burn felt too close for comfort. But then again maybe the tiny masochist in you wanted to feel that burn.

It gave you so much power to know that you can make your usual bubbly boyfriend’s gaze become so tinted with desire and make him fight with himself for self-control. But for once you wish he would lose that battle.

“ Are you okay baby?” 

Yunho’s voice broke you from your thoughts as you looked up from your spot, laying on his chest. You had Spider-man: Homecoming playing on the tv and it was serving as background noise to you. 

“ I’m okay. I was just daydreaming.” You said as you stared up at him.

“ So I’m guessing you're not interested in the movie right now?” He smiled as he wrapped his arms around your body, bringing you closer to his warmth.

“ Now you know Spider-man is your favorite movie. You put this on for you.” You smiled as he couldn’t help but laugh at what you said.

“ Well, what would you rather do?” 

You stared up at him and remembered your previous thoughts and took account of how this sudden scheme in your mind could work. Tomorrow was Saturday and Yunho didn’t plan on going to the dance studio this time, so you have no repercussions for what you plan on starting tonight.

You pulled yourself upon his body until you were eye level with him. You stared down into his chocolate eyes and he stared back at you, waiting for your next move. He didn’t have to wait much longer as you leaned down to gently place your lips on his for a kiss. Yunho didn’t hesitate to kiss you back as a hand traveled to the back of your neck.

There was no delay as you nipped at his bottom lip until he opened his mouth and you plunged your tongue into his mouth, earning a groan from him.

Without breaking the kiss, you adjusted your body to now straddled his hips that had your ass pressed right over his cock. Your hands went to cup his face as you continued to attack his mouth with kisses and started to grind your hips down on him, which made his body jolt up a bit from the suddenness. 

“ Babe, what are you do-”

You made him swallow his words as you kissed him deeply again, your grinds matching in time of your kisses. You could hear his deep inhales through his nose as hands went down to your hips, trying to hold you still.

When you pulled away for air, you immediately went to attack his neck with light nips and bites. Yunho grip only tighten, but by the way, how his fingers flexed, he still had some control left in him

“ What are you doing?” His voice was a bit deeper now and you took the opportunity to sit up and look down at him.

“ I’m just wanna have some fun.” You smiled wickedly, putting more weight down on his growing erection. He put more force on my hips to the point where it hurts just a bit, but you wouldn’t complain about it.

“ I get that, but you’re being more aggressive this time around.” You could see how his eyes got darker, betraying how he really feels about this change.

“ I’m doing this because you won’t do it,” I stated bluntly as his eyes went wide and brows furrowed in confusion. He let out an awkward laugh, “ I don’t understand.”

“ Yunho, I love how sweet and caring you are, but I feel like you always hold back on me whenever we get into situations like this.” You explained as he sat up, supporting himself with his arms.

“ Well, I never want to hurt you and all. You know that’s the last thing I want to do. Compared to you, I’m a bit bigger.” He retorts and you gave a huff and crossed your arms.

“ I can’t believe I'm telling you this...” You took a deep inhale, feeling your cheeks go warm, “ I kind of have a size kink. I was actually attracted to our size difference at first before we talked at that party.”

You grabbed a hand from off of your hips, pulling it up to be in front of your face. “ With all this strength you have, you treat me like a porcelain doll and that’s nice and all, but what if I don’t want that?  What if I want you to use that strength to completely overwhelm me and do whatever you want to do to me? From bite marks to harsh grabs, would you really tell me no?”

The look he had in his eyes became deadly as you watched them trail down your body before coming back to your eyes.

“ Are you sure that this is what you want?” His voice sounded strained as he watched you slowly moved lower on his body, face hovering above his jeans. 

Besides both of your deep breathing, you both could hear the zipper being pulled down. Small hands reaching inside his boxers to pull out a hard cock from its confinement. Placing a kiss at the underside, making him sigh.

“ I’m positive.” 

While keeping eye contact with him the whole time, he watched his cock slip between your lips and slowly descend into your mouth. His base had a bit more girth than the tip, so you could barely get your mouth past the point. You started to bob your head and use your hand for whatever your mouth couldn’t fit, all while watching him lose himself to the pleasure he was receiving.

His eyes were darker than before, mouth agape as low groans left his throat. But his hands were still clenched at his side, not knowing what to do with them. 

“ Your safe word is treasure. If your mouth is full, smack my leg three times. I’ll stop if I’m too rough.”

If your mouth wasn’t so full with his cock, he would have seen the smile on your lips, but to make sure that he knew that he was heard, you gave him a thumbs up before hollowing your cheeks to suck him more.

It was like a snap in the air surrounding you when Yunho decided to lose control.

His large hands immediately went to your hair, fingers gathering at the root to form a tight hold on you that made your scalp sting. But you weren't bothered by it. 

He used his newfound leverage to make you take more of him in your mouth, jaw slowly aching as it was forced to stretch to accommodate his size.

“ Baby you look so pretty.” Yunho cooed as he stared down at you with so much heat, “ You can barely take half of my cock in your mouth but you're hungry enough to try and take more.”

This was different.

Yunho only ever praised you with sweet words and charms, but now? He gave you words of praise but these only sent a pool of wetness to form in your panties as you could only moan. 

“ I’ll help you swallow me down. Relax your jaw and breath through your nose.” He groans before quickly bucking his hips up and the tip hitting the back of your throat, almost making you gag.

“ This is what you wanted right? Don’t tell me you can’t handle this?” His tone was mocking despite the moans that would leave his mouth whenever his tip hit the back of your throat.

He was chasing his own pleasure, forgoing any concerns and you loved it. This was the Yunho you wanted and your finally getting it. Even with the tears running down your face from controlling your gag reflex, you were happy and turned on nonetheless.

You still use your tongue to lick the underside of his cock and sucked him off as best as you can as he basically fucked your throat.

You could feel your arousal slowly drip down your thighs as you only keep your hands on his muscled thighs. You could feel his thighs tense under your fingers, a sign of his approaching orgasm. Your mind going completely blank as it thought of the possibility of him cumming down your throat for the first time. 

Too bad you were robbed of that feeling as he pulled you off of his dick by your hair, the whine leaving your throat was swallowed by his mouth as he pulled you further up on the bed without breaking the kiss. 

He flipped both of you over, your back touching the sheets and now having him in your line of sight.

When he pulled away, your lips were puffy and whenever you swallowed, your throat would ache. But none of that mattered compared to the predatory stare

Yunho was looking at you with. 

Not breaking eye contact, he yanked your panties down and in the back of your head, you thought he ripped them but he only threw them across the room. He looks down and groans at the mess between your thighs.

“ You got this wet just from sucking me off. How naughty can you be?” He teased with a dark chuckle.

“ Extremely naughty. But don’t tease me cause I need you so badly.” You whined as you rolled your hips up against his erection. His long fingers instead decided to probe around your entrance before pushing a finger inside, curling it to press your g-spot.

“ You want me that bad baby?” He continued to curl his finger and watch you squirm, pussy clenching for something more than just a finger inside. “ Who would've thought that my small and cute girlfriend would want me to just pound away into her with no remorse. Am I right?”

His large body had leaned over you, placing open mouth kisses on your neck and he stretched you open even more with another finger. He continued to scissor you as his thumb went to rub your clit, making your pussy wetter than it already was and slowly start the scorching knot in your stomach. You whined and it drew in his attention.

“ Don’t make me cum with your fingers. I want you inside.” Your voice sounded needy and you didn’t care if it sounds embarrassing. Fingers won’t be enough for you this time and he knew that.

“ Tell me what you want baby. If you tell me, then I’ll do it.” Yunho stated as he pulled his shirt over his head. Your eyes checking out the toned muscles from the dancing that he does from time to time and working out in the gym. His jeans were quick to follow suit as he continued to tease you by rubbing his cock, that was aching tall and proud, against your clit to make you squirm more.

“ I want your cock inside me Yunho.” 

He pressed the tip at your hole teasingly, “ What else?”

“ Baby I need you to fuck me, please? That’s all I want. Don’t hold back like you usually do.” You continued as you watched him bring your legs onto his shoulders, the tip practically kissing your pussy.

“ You sure about that sweetie?” A flash of concern appeared in his eyes.

You flashed him a look that made the rest of his concern disappear.

“ Wreck me.”

There was a moment of silence before you heard Yunho speak again.

“ Remembered that you asked for this.” He warned before quickly thrusting inside in one go, your breath getting caught in you throat. It caught you off guard from the sudden intrusion, but the way his cock has stretched you so right nearly made your eye roll to the back of your head. And he didn’t move in his usual sensual movements. This time he was rough, aggressive and dominating.

You loved every second of it.

“ Oh fuck!” You couldn’t help but watch how fast he was moving in and out of you.  It was so captivating to watch something as large as that disappear inside of you and reappear without a problem. He brought your ankles to the sides of your face, folding you over to get even deeper inside of you. 

“ You don’t even understand how long I wanted to fuck you like this for.” Yunho groaned as you clenched around him, squeezing his cock every time he pulled out of you. Letting gravity help him plunge deeper into your wet heat each time had you seeing stars and made your legs slightly quake. 

Yunho wouldn’t stop staring down at your face as he watched it contort in different expressions, but they were all laced with pleasure. “ Your little body is taking me so well too,” his lips ghosted to the shell of your ear. “ I can feel the tip of my cock hitting the very depths of you. Can you feel me, sweetheart?”

I moan left your throat as a hand went to grab his arm, so you wouldn’t go over the edge so soon. You wanted this all to last after waiting such a long time to get here. So lost in the sea of pleasure you were swimming in, you barely heard Yunho talking to you.

“ Turn around.” His voice was husky as he moved your body before you could move it yourself. Placing you on your hands and knees as he leaned over your small body, supporting himself with his arms. He hastily submerged himself back inside and you both let out a moan, happy to be connected once more.

You could feel Yunho thrust harder and at this point, you could feel pressure in your stomach as if he managed to thrust deeper inside of you. Only able to sit there and just take it all, you simply moaned out his name, sounding like a broken record. 

You soon felt long dexterous fingers wrap around your throat, pulling your head up as his face was pressed to the right side of yours.  You felt him place soft kisses to your cheek as his thrusts didn’t falter or slow. All you could hear was Yunho’s deep groans from the way your pussy squeezed him like a vice. 

“ Yunho don’t stop!” Your arms started to give out but the only reason you were still up was due to the hand that was wrapped around your throat in such a pretty way. Your core would spasm as you felt your end coming near.

“ You gonna cum for me Y/N?” He huffed as you quickly nodded your head, unable to speak as if your impending orgasm was stuck in your throat. 

His long arms reached for a pillow, stuffing one right underneath your lower stomach as he released your throat; arms giving out and your face hitting the cool sheets. His big hands wrapped around your waist as he just pounded into you, hitting your g-spot with every push back inside. 

You were getting breathless. You could feel the drool leaving your mouth as you were basically fucked silly by this blue-haired demon that was now moaning your name as his thrusts started to go more sporadically, a telltale sign of his orgasm as well. It made your mind think of how good it would feel to have his seed rooted deep inside and now that was the only way you saw fit.

Lifting your head up just a bit so you could see his azure colored strands stuck to his forehead from sweat. “ Cum inside me, please! Don’t pull out~”

“ Bold of you to assume that I wasn’t.” He gave an evil smirk and it only made you clench around his more, making him groan. “ Keep squeezing me like that.”

You did your best to continue clenching your velvet heat around him as your orgasm was right there on the edge, only needing a slight push for you to come down. But you didn’t know what was missing until you begged that he put his hand back around your throat, which he did graciously. Fingers pressing into the side of your throat had not only steeled you in place for his powerful thrust, but it was that last push that had your orgasm crashing down like a meteor. It was uncontrollable. Your legs spasmed from the sheer force and your eyes rolled back as Yunho used the opportunity to thrust into you wildly before he came crashing just as hard as you felt his seed paint your pussy white.

Both of you were panting hard, the only sounds vacant in the room before Yunho slowly removed his hand and gently pulled himself out of your abused hole. You felt gentle kisses paint your cheek before you rolled over to see him, staring down at you with such loving eyes this time around.

“ I didn’t go overboard, did I?” He asked, his voice soft and only laced with concern. The duality of this boy making you laugh.

“ No you didn’t and it all felt good.” You pulled him down for a sweet kiss that made you both smile and gets the giggles in between.

“ Well, that’s good. I thought I was being too rough on you but you never said the word or tapped me.” He sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck, gaining you the urge to tease him. 

“ But who would've thought that you had a choking kink?” You seem him flinch as he stared back at you with wide eyes, cheeks flushing a light pink. “The typically sweet and gentle Jeong Yunho enjoys something as naughty as that?” You giggle as you pretend to look shocked.

“ Well, you liked it too! You even asked me to do it again.” He retorted as he tried to get me to stop mocking him. 

“ Well, I admitted to having a size kink, so what makes you think that I’ll back away from you choking me?” You questioned and he could only shake his head with a smile. 

“ Keep talking to me like that and I’ll fuck you over the edge again.” He threatened but it sounded like a promise to your ears.

“ Do it then. You know I don’t care.” You sassed as you could see his eyes go dark with desire once more.  A hand reaching up to your throat from the front this time, so you could both look at each other in the eyes. Smirking down at you with a heated gaze.

“ You’ll regret saying that when I’m done.” 

[ds-sparrow-manufacturing-co]

A Rebuttal

Ok so I really did not want to make this post. I would’ve loved to have left this whole thing behind because I’m aware I made some mistakes and would like to atone for them, but it seems I’m going to have to go over this one more time. For anyone seeing this post who somehow doesn’t know, I said some regrettable things about Aidan Gallagher here. I later made another post here summarising the entire situation that resulted, so I would suggest you read that first. 

I’m still getting people telling me what I said was fucked up, which is entirely justified. However, I have just now realised that the person who took it upon themselves to ‘correct’ me about my opinions of Aidan Gallagher (something that has not changed, I still strongly dislike him) later made several derogatory posts about me. I was not aware of this because after the first rude post they made about me, I blocked them to save myself the additional stress. 

I have done my best to deal with this whole thing as calmly and politely as possible. When this person was downright evil towards me, I didn’t bother to argue with them, I just made an admittedly-snarky post with a screenshot of what they said, and then blocked them because I had no desire to begin an argument. When I realised that what I had said about Aidan Gallagher had been fucked up, I apologised, accepted my mistake and did what I could to fix it. But I am out of patience. I don’t take kindly to being treated the way this person has treated me, I don’t think anyone does. So here I am, about to break down everything they said about me bit by bit to show you how much of a lying scumbag they have been towards me (as well as possibly others).

warning: this post is incredibly long

tw: su*c*de mentions

My first interaction with this person was when i got an anon ask who wanted to know what Aidan Gallagher had done to make me dislike him. I responded with a brief list, excluding most of my evidence because it was late at night and I didn’t have the energy to go down the rabbit hole of all this. The following day, the blog this post is about reblogged my post, attempting to disprove everything I said. I will not include screenshots here, because it was a long post, you can find it in my archive if you so wish. I read what they said, took everything into account, and responded with my proof for things I hadn’t previously included the proof for, as well as explanations for why certain things he’s said annoyed/upset me. I expected a polite response, as we had both been courteous so far. 

Instead,  I received the following:

Now, lets break down some of what they said.

‘stop saying things you can’t prove, because it’s fake’ - I provided my proof. I am not trying to lie to anyone, or perpetuate rumours. All I aimed to do was explain my point of view and why I personally dislike him.

‘some of your screenshots are fake’ - That’s just blatantly untrue, especially as they have at other points said things along the lines of ‘well yes but he apologised/he didn’t mean it like that’ for everything I have provided screenshots for. Make up your mind.

‘you’re so gullible’ - For... having an opinion? That I researched before forming? And which is based on something other than my blind faith in a 17 year old? Right.

This was when I blocked them.

I thought that was going to be the end of the situation. Then, I got some asks.

I saw this and, being a minor, was a little creeped out. I had assumed this person was a teenage fangirl because that’s who the majority of Aidan Gallgher’s fans are so this information was surprising.

This one scared me. I did what the anon suggested, created a backup (i won’t tag it here because I get the feeling some of the aforementioned ‘army’ are going to see this) and reported the other blog. Once again, I thought it was over.

It was at this point that people started telling me how fucked up what I said in my original post was, and I realised they were right. As mentioned at the start of this post, I apologised, and did everything I could to fix it. End of, right?

Until today, where I started thinking about what the above anons had said and decided to fact check, mainly out of curiosity. I unblocked the blog, only to discover they had made 3 posts about me that I hadn’t seen.

This was the first one, as you can see they began it with a screenshot of my original post. Let’s talk about this.

“but you wishing him dead is ok?” - I never wished him dead, to start with. Stabbing does not automatically equal death, but I know that’s nitpicky of me. I also did not wish he was stabbed. I said in that exact tag that I didn’t, because of TUA. However, I know that this ‘joke’ was really shitty of me, and I have already apologised multiple times.

“what kind of a low life do you have to be to have nothing better to do, but talk shit about a kid?” - Why don’t you tell me? As I’ve said multiple times, I am a minor. That doesn’t excuse what I said, but that does make it incredibly hypocritical of them to say that given everything.

This was the second post they made about me, beginning with the same screenshot as in the first post.

“they’re spreading false rumors” - I’ve already covered this one.

“they want a reason to be mean, even if it isn’t true” - I would never be mean to someone if they hadn’t done anything to deserve it. I’m a strong believer in the moral philosophy of respecting everyone until they give you a reason not to. Aidan Gallagher has given me more than enough reasons to lose respect for him. And, honestly? I still respect him as an actor, even if only that.

“you can’t say you’re a decent human being and wish someone dead. you can’t say you’re anti-bullying and want to prevent suicide and then bully someone” - That is some big talk from someone who claimed they were ok with what Aidan Gallagher said about mental health because they’ve had their own experiences with suicide, before immediately telling me to rot and burn in hell for disagreeing with them. And, wait a second, wasn’t Aidan Gallagher the one supporting women’s rights and feminism who then turned around and made gross comments towards a bunch of girls? Hmm. Also, wishing someone dead is too wide of a blanket statement to actually measure whether someone is a decent human being with. 

“i tried to be nice” - I didn’t know telling someone to rot in hell, calling them a stupid hoe, was being nice. I didn’t know lying, and telling people to report someone because they disagreed with you was being nice (notice how they never said anything about my stabbing comment until I disagreed with them.) I guess we have very different definitions of nice.

“if they really cared, they would kindly ask a fan if the rumors were true” - And that, ladies gentleman and variations thereupon, is a brilliant example of how not to perform unbiased research! I based my opinion on actual evidence, and neutral articles as well as arguments from both sides. Not on one fan who’s likely to deny everything.

“they said it themselves, they have no proof” - That is so incredibly cherrypicked. What I actually said was “supposedly used the f-slur although i can’t find proof“, one of the many points on my list of reasons I dislike Aidan Gallagher. You know why I said that? Because I found a screenshot of him supposedly having called someone that slur via Instagram but I gave him the benefit of the doubt and decided it was probably edited. I included the point on my list in the hopes of people doing their own research. And I certainly did not say I had no proof for anything, as you would know if you saw my original response to this blog, where I provided proof.

“threatening him and bullying him is wrong” - I am fully admitting of the fact my stabbing comment was in poor taste but it was very clearly not a threat and not even close to being bullying. Furthermore, I would say making four posts harassing and telling others to harass someone because they disagree with you is a lot closer to being bullying than anything I did was.

“defamation is a crime” - I live in the UK, so let’s use those defamation laws. A statement is not defamation unless it ‘ has caused or is likely to cause serious harm to the reputation of the claimant.’ Less than a hundred people are even aware my blog exists. Nowhere near enough people have seen anything I’ve said to count as defamatory. Not to mention that a statement is not defamatory if it is a statement of opinion.

“you’ll get karma for lying and playing the victim” -  Ohhh the irony. I have not lied once. I have provided all the necessary proof for everything and I have owned up to my mistakes. And yet, they, who have repeatedly lied about me, twisted my words and oddly enough, avoided including proof outside that one screenshot of my original post, are the one accusing me of playing the victim. Classy.

“hi to your little follower that you cry to” - This one’s just hilarious to me. I’m happy to have people on here who will let me know when people are, you know, harassing and bullying me. And, what the hell do they mean by ‘cry to’? Do they mean ‘mentioned that this situation was stressful once’? Wow.

“I promise you misery for the rest of your sad little life” - Honestly just re-read the other screenshots after seeing they said this. Jesus Christ. And, as someone who already struggles with depression and other mental health issues I’m interested to know what they’re intending to do that’s gonna be any worse.

“you’ll pay! that’s not a threat it’s a promise” - Are they planning on tracking me down? Or are they just going to keep sitting on their throne of yes men and echo chambers acting as if they’re actually affecting me? 

I would say this is the last post I plan to make about this situation but I’ve said that over and over again throughout the last 12 days and it’s never the last post. This whole situation has honestly been very emotionally taxing, and combined with some real life things, it’s been a bad week or so. Hopefully this post is enough to end this whole thing. 

[bytheangell]

My Latest Mistake

(Read on AO3)

“Alec…” The voice that reaches him from his office is soft, hesitant. Alec isn’t sure if it’s because Jace is too busy tip-toeing around him over everything with Magnus, or because he’s still embarrassed over getting bested by an art student who only learned about the Shadow World a few months ago, but either way he’s tired, and isn’t sure he can deal with any more just then.

“Can it wait?” Alec sighs, glancing down at his desk at the mountains of papers in front of him. There is no shortage of reports to file - about Isabelle’s undercover investigation into Glorious and taking down Aldertree, of Jace’s undercover operation to follow Clary and Jonathan, of the fact that they lost Clary and Jonathan, and now have to account for the potential kidnapping of the Seelie Queen… it’s a lot. It’s too much, but at the very least it’s a distraction from the fact that his personal life has fallen to pieces around him.

“No.” Isabelle says, coming up behind Jace. Her face is solemn, more serious than he’s seen in days, even when he first brought up Asmodeus’ ultimatum to her.

“Look, if this is some sort of intervention, we can just skip the theatrics and--” Alec starts, only to be cut off by Jace again.

“It’s not. But it is about Magnus.” Jace looks nervous. So does Isabelle. If this was just about him, just about his relationship, then they wouldn’t be so hesitant to barge in and try to put him in his place. He knows his siblings better than that.

“What is it? Is he--” Alec starts, but the words fall short. He’s lost the right to ask about Magnus, to know how he’s doing, what’s going on in his life, the moment he cut things off between them. “It isn’t my business. Please, you two, I know you mean well but just--”

“He has his magic back, but he’s with Asmodeus.” Isabelle says.

It takes him a few moments to process that statement. That’s impossible. Asmodeus is in Edom, unless…

“A warlock was found dead in her shop in the city. Upon further investigation there were signs of a rift opening, of stronger demonic energy than we’ve registered since Lilith. We tapped into some cameras in the city and tracked the last person to enter and leave the shop at the time of her death. He followed Magnus through the city… it’s Asmodeus. We’re sure of it.”

Alec’s mind is blank. What happened? How did he get here? Was it something he did, something he said, that allowed him to break his banishment in Edom? Or did Magnus bring him here, calling to him in his time of need? Alone, with no one to turn to but the only family he has left?

...did Alec drive Magnus to this?

“Thank you for telling me, I-” but his words fall short again. He should tell the Clave. He should warn them, gather every force they have to defend against the Greater Demon the way he failed to do with Lilith… but he falters, again, the same way he had before when Jace was the one at risk.

This isn’t what he wanted. He didn’t make a deal to get Magnus his magic back only to send him into the arms of a abusive, neglectful father. He didn’t give him his powers only to pit him against the Clave.

“...what do you want us to do?” Jace asks, as if reading his mind. And maybe he is. Bond or not, Jace always had an uncanny ability of knowing what he’s thinking. It made them terrors at the Academy, and especially for their mother, but now he wishes nothing more than to keep his thoughts to himself. He doesn’t want anyone to know the pain he feels… or the guilt.

“Who else knows?” Alec asks, his tone teetering carefully between hopeful and fearful. If no one knows they can cover it up, but at the same time if no one knows then it falls solely on them to decide the fate of the entire Shadow World in this moment. One gives him two choices, and the other makes the decision for him, forcing his hand.

“Just us, and Underhill. He’s the one who tracked surveillance,” Isabelle says.

“Show me.”

“Alec, I don’t think that’s such a good idea,” Izzy says, shooting a nervous glance in Jace’s direction. “Show me.” He repeats, and this time he’s standing up, back straight, voice stern. It isn’t a request. He needs to see the consequences of his decision.

“...Alright.”

It’s a quiet walk to the security room where Underhill looks both surprised and horrified to see Alec stroll in through the door.

“He wants to see the footage,” Jace tells him, the look on his face making it very clear that this isn’t up for debate.

“Fine. But don’t shoot the messenger,” Underhill says, rewinding a series of surveillance tapes before hitting play.

Alec watches Magnus get his magic back, feeling some small flicker of hope for the first time all day.

“He did it,” Alec mutters under his breath, the smallest smile flashing across his face.

It doesn’t last long. Asmodeus tracks Magnus’ magic signature, following him at a distance to the love locks. Alec feels every last ounce of hope inside him burn away with the lock on the ground. His chest is tight and he can’t fight the tears that fall silently at the sight, remembering the words Magnus uttered before engraving them with his magic.

The same magic that turned them to ashes now in his wake.

It isn’t any easier to watch him meet with a Silent Brother - over what they don’t know, there’s no audio on the cameras they tap into, only images. But it’s clear that Magnus isn’t okay. It’s clear that even with his magic he’s still distraught.

This was supposed to fix things. Magnus is supposed to be happy again. Whole again.

What went wrong?

They lose the cameras when Magnus disappears, only to pick them back up again with Magnus walking next to Asmodeus. There’s no magic binding him, no sign of coercion. They’re just walking, side-by-side, and when the finally come to a stop it’s for Magnus to open a portal that he patiently waits for Asmodeus to step through first before following through and closing behind them. The tape cuts out, and Alec leans forward, eager for another glimpse of the man he loves, for any sign of where Magnus is right now and proof that he’s alright. The timestamp shows this footage as within the hour.

Alec’s eyes are glued to the screen but when he finally pries them away the others in the room are all focused on him, watching and waiting for his reaction. No, more than that - they’re waiting for instructions, because now it’s up to him what they do about his ex-boyfriend gone rogue with his Greater Demon father.

He knows they’ll keep this quiet if Alec asks him to… but can he? What kind of leader does that make him if he does? Does he want to leave behind the legacy as the only Head of the New York Institute who habitually put the well being of Downworlders before that of his own people?

Is he capable of doing anything else, when the Downworlder in question is Magnus Bane?

“Thank you for telling me.”  Alec still doesn’t know what he’s going to do.  

“I’m so sorry, Alec,” Izzy says, reaching out for him. He doesn’t fight her embrace, but he doesn’t return it, either. He doesn’t deserve the comfort, not when he’s the reason for the pain in the first place.

“Don’t be. I made my decision. Magnus has his powers back. It’s what he wanted… it’s what he needed. What he does with them now isn’t up to me.”

“Alec, just tell him about--” “No! I can’t, Izzy, I- I won’t. I won’t take this away from him.”

He’s never felt so lost. So helpless. Magnus has his magic back but Alec knows the sort of person Asmodeus is. He knows what Magnus thinks of him, what he feels about him. How low must Magnus be to turn to his father for comfort? For acceptance?

Or, Alec shudders to think, for companionship?

“We can’t make the same mistake we did with Lilith,” Alec says, his voice resigned. “Underhill, alert the Clave about Asmodeus. This is a serious threat to the entire Shadow World… to the entire world.” This is his fault. He was selfish. He was foolish. So eager to give Magnus what he thought he needed he played right into the hands of a Greater Demon. This couldn’t be a coincidence…. It had to be something he did. Something he missed, that allowed Asmodeus to come here now.

How could he be so stupid?!

Of course Asmodeus would swoop in as the savior, returning Magnus’ magic to him, his life, his very soul. He played the savior at the expense of Alec’s love, and Alec let him. He practically handed Magnus over on a silver platter, abandoned and betrayed and vulnerable.

This wasn’t Asmodeus’ doing, not entirely, Alec realizes. He’s just as much to blame.

“Where are you going?” Jace asks, face pulled tight with concern as Alec pushes past them into the hallway.

At least there’s one thing Alec is entirely positive of right now, in a sea of doubts. He can trust Isabelle and Jace to do what needs to be done here. The Institute can take the lead in tracking down Asmodeus. But as for him?

His loyalties are owed elsewhere.  

“I’m going to save Magnus.”

[seenashwrite]

Notes From Nash: Season 15, Episode 3

It's ep three, and was third try the charm? Well, we're still in that little town, which is infuriating. But don't lose hope, chickadees. There was some character arc action and some plot advancing, and just drama in general, and it moved at a decently quick clip, all of which is refreshing after last week's ass-disaster of an episode. 

If I were grading this ep, all things considered (including some damn fine acting moments that elevated the material), it's an A-. (Five points were docked immediately because we were still in the little town.) But seriously, this week's writer(s) had a LOT to make up for given the aforementioned last week as well as a largely lackluster premiere, so you know what? Props to them. 

We got a loose end from season past tied up, got rid of some dead weight, and then there was a thing that happened that I’m not entirely sure was necessary at this interval, but I get why it happened. Of course, we had our requisite random hamfisted “solution(s)” and still-unexplained bits that should’ve been clarified ages ago, can’t not have those, it seems. Regardless, this episode was actually fairly interesting to watch. I’m still wary about the state of the season after the first two, but this one had some spark.

Spoilers below the cut, you know the drill.  

This one's in order, I was jotting stuff down as I watched. Past ep breakdowns linked at the bottom. If you’re new, hello, welcome, etc., I don’t do meta shit or reading into the symbolism of the color of a blurry wallpaper just over someone’s shoulder, I look at writing and cohesiveness and structure and flow and all that jazz. I basically just call things as I see ‘em. 

//////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////// 

More spooky-scary still seems to be pouring from the hellpit, but at least this crypt is pretty, and Harry Potter tent-esque because the square feet inside is seemingly bigger than the outside.  

Rowena appears to be outfitted in one of my grandmother's housedresses, or a coffin lining, or a 1980s prom dress, whichever you prefer, and none of them have been pressed. I'm trying to say I don't like it. They also continue to do Ruthie's makeup in such a manner that she perpetually looks approximately fifteen years older than she actually is, so in a way I'm thankful this is likely her last episode. On the other hand, I trust these writers and the people who assemble/green light the promos about as far as I can throw them, so we shall see. In any event, Ruthie is quite the good actor and I hope she gets a million gigs after all this is done.  

This Sam-Dean moment with Creased Brow Sam and Gruff Voice Dean is falling so flat, not because of them, but because we're hearing The Same Damn Thing We've Already Heard. Move the plot along, please----- Oh wait here comes Belphagor once again with a solution, this time a nice little plot rescue MacGuffin! Lilith's Crook. Just gotta blow it like a horn. 

Motherbitch, this is stupid.

I got a thought: make it Gabriel's horn, so it calls in all the angels who should've come back with the reverse-y switch-a-roo, and they deal with sealing the hole, but bonus! At end of ep last scene is that it's also called Gabriel back, too. I'd announce to the universe that this show needs to hire me, but, welp.

Oh look, Ketch is in a hospital gown. Oh look, I bet Ketch is about to die in that hospital gown, instead of a badass suit like it should be. It looked like DHJ accidentally spoiled via a tweet that I happened to see----- 

I dodge the promo images and articles and such so I can give a view of someone who doesn't know what is coming in these things. 

-----because he talked about coming back just to leave again, that it was a pleasure, whatever, and y'all will have to fill me in on that because I kinda can't believe he whiffed that hard. I'm not looking it up, is my point. Did he whiff? Actually, don't answer that, I don't care. I mean, don’t go to trouble looking into it on my account.  

Hmmm. Was Ketch’s death entirely necessary? At least, right now? I dunno. Maybe. I’m 50/50 whether this, or have him be double-crossy then get killed later. In any event, well-acted by DHJ. He's quite fantastic. He is wasted in all the Hallmark dreck he's been in, I really hope he gets some good work after this. That's that. Moving on. 

We're 1/4 in, and I'll give it this: we've gotten some action, some drama, but they've GOT to make up for the lack of plot progression in episode 2. Belphagor is shady as shit, which we knew, and this just got reinforced by that demon who has such a hard-on for Belphagor getting axed. 

I do not mind rando badass lady hunter having lines and playing a tangentially-important role in the ep, but this means if we ever see her again, she'll likely get killed, so I'm not getting attached. 

So hell is an angry vagina. SFX, are y'all okay? Is that prick whose tweets occasionally come across my feed still working there? Y'all need some hugs? I know y'all need some better budget, that all the DC shows got it, but oh well, that ship's sailed.  

Well done set dec, I dig the ghoulish statues in that hallway. And hey costume design, I like the ring that dude was wearing, I would wear that in real life. It would also look great as a wrist cuff. I digress. 

We know this demon is not going to succeed in killing Belphagor, so once more we have a pointless halftime cliffhanger. Also, have I mentioned I'm done with Cas being a weak puss? I'm telling you, if stuff got rewound, he should be incrementally getting his mojo back, that tracks logically. See Ep. 1 notes for what I thought should've happened for a legit "Whoa" moment. 

"Do you have any idea what he is?" --- he's a poop demon. Again, see the first episode of @youtotallymadethatup​    /shameless plug

[sighs]

Is this show gonna end with a Jack vs. Jack battle royale? Because fuck that noise. But! Writing-wise, it's okay that ol’ Belph may become the big bad. Nash, why would you say that, you ask. Easy.

IT WILL GET US THE FUCK OUT OF THIS LITTLE TOWN

A. Ny. Thing. to get us the fuck out of this little town. I am so goddamned bored.

Cas, this is a mistake. You should leave. What are you doing. Leave. Don't fall for that. Leave. Go now. Whoosh. Okay, or glow worm and barbeque the body. That was a nice little catch of emotion by Misha at the end. Except are the demons now gonna jump into his body? Better not, we've seen that season. 

Commercials! Cannot believe I've not been inundated with the adverts for the convention here in the spring, that's usually the jam. Imma go get some frozen yogurt. Highly rec strawberry with a little warmed-up Nutella. Try it, then tell me I'm crazy. I'm not. It's heavenly. 

Aaaaand, we're back!

Don't look so distressed Cas, y’all were gonna burn it anyway. But this takes Jack v. Jack off the table. Hopefully this means we'll be headed back to the Empty to get some progress on that hanging thread from last season sooner rather than later. Still, I'm glad we are down a character for awhile, this character in particular was starting to work my nerves and honestly, is just dead weight. I want it back to Sam and Dean for the most part this final season with sprinklings of Cas. Everyone else is secondary.

[claps] Very excellent Ruthie and Jared. One critique: Wish there could've been some sort of line from Rowena, re: "And perhaps I'll get to see my boy again", something of that ilk.

But I want to say this, and say it emphatically:

The nonsensical spells pulled from asses must stop

The soul-catcher thing is an example of a great move because it drew upon the past, then built upon for the present. This heart and angel blood and salt shit, and then this “Oh by the way it needs my dying breath” stuff is just obvious “um um um well how about bleh” writing stumbles, and it shows. The only reason that lameness worked? Ruthie and Jared’s performances. Period. Because y’all gave them absolute garbage to work with, and they made it shine.

Hey! There's the two convention promos with one short local ad in between, followed by the same local ad again! I was beginning to think they'd forgotten! 

WE ARE OUT OF THE LITTLE TOWN, I REPEAT, WE ARE OUT OF THE LITTLE TOWN 

DEAN IS IN A HENLEY, I REPEAT, DEAN IS IN A HENLEY 

Oof, Dean. I mean, I figured this convo would have to happen one day, it's been building, because even though his intentions are good, Cas has been involved in his fair share of shit taking left turns. Hopefully Cas is going to go seek out other angels. Also, re: Cas saying he's getting weaker - because, why? WHY. This has never been addressed in a definitive, satisfactory manner. 

Right, so, like we do each time, let's check in to see if we've had any character development and/or plot progression: 

Do Ketch and Rowena and Belphagor count, since they've progressed to being dead? Dunno, that's more of a finality to their overall arcs. Dean's being an asshole and Sam's being weepy and Cas is being an Eeyore, that's about par. Meh. Okay. So did the plot get advanced? 

YES THANK YOU FLYING SPAGHETTI MONSTER SWEET LORD YES. But, eh... a little weaksauce. Yes, that chapter of the initial onslaught is closed, yet we know it's not over. So I feel like the ep should've ended with, after the bunker door slams, a cut to a little scene that serves as a clue about what lies ahead. I mean, ahead-ahead, season-wise. Like, twenty second blip, not even, then hard cut to black screen, then on to promo which appears to be MotW. 

So that's it, really. More adept writers could've made the material of #1 and #2 into the premiere (minus several things, most specifically minus Kevin, should've saved Osric for something else down the line), then this should've been episode #2 instead of #3. Can't unring that bell, though. Let's hope we hit some speed before Buckleming comes along to run us into a ditch, then (fingers crossed) we have a few eps after that to rebound for the finale.

See you next week.

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Past posts, from newest to oldest (and I sometimes do addendums if a response warrants)

Episode 2

Episode 1

[canarhys]

hOLY SHIT I JUST FOUND OUT ABOUT YOUR ACCOUNT BUT JFC I LOVE IT AND I LOVE YOU SO MUCH DUDE Can you make a Valdangelo Godswap AU? You might know what this is from, but could you do Aphrodite Nico with Athena Leo? Leo's like a HUGE nerd and Nico's super hot and cute and always has glitter on his face, obsessed with pink, etc jfc, Leo has a huge crush on Nico and Nico also has a huge crush on Leo, but both of them are sO OBLIVIOUS and are constantly trying to improve themselves for eachother :))

“piper. piper, please explain this. piper, i’m legit about to start crying right now, you have no idea—“

“dude,” the daughter of hermes interrupted, “just like...breathe.”

[[MORE]]

“i can’t!” leo threw his arms up in the air, the predicament he was facing clearly taking a toll on his mental state — not good for a son of athena. “piper — have you seen him? i physically can’t speak whenever he tries to talk to me!”

“it’s just nico, leo,” piper soothed her friend, whose emotions were the equivalent of a knott’s berry farm roller coaster. “you went on a quest with him one time.”

“that was a year ago!” leo exclaimed. “when i had no clue that i had a crush on him and we weren’t totally awkward with each other.” his face suddenly curled in horror. “oh my god, i had acne back then. he probably thinks i’m ugly—“

“okay!” piper yelled out, grabbing leo’s arm and pulled him out of the hermes cabin quickly, making him yelp when, in a split second, he was outside and he could actually taste the oxygen on his tongue. piper placed her hands on her hips as she looked at him taking back in the air he lost. “better?”

“physically, yes,” he answered. in contrast, his brain was having a fucking field day. because only ten minutes ago, piper had brought to light the idea that leo had a crush on nico — the revelation which had caused the son of athena to have a mental breakdown because he was that oblivious to his own feelings. and it wasn’t something to feel proud of, because leo had felt that he understood everything about himself up until now.

so he didn’t even bother to question why he felt his face flush whenever nico complimented him, or why he felt butterflies in his stomach whenever nico placed a hand on his shoulder. and it made him internally scream to no end at how, for a child of an intelligent goddess, he was such a dumbass.

“well, you’re fine now,” piper said. “i haven’t seen you have this much of a heart attack since the whole jason incident... for the same reason. god, athena kids are hopeless romantics.”

“shut up, piper!” leo flapped his hands. “i just need to think for a second.”

his friend’s face contorted into sympathy, and she placed a hand on his shoulder. it made leo feel guilty. whenever something was ‘too much,’ he tended to lash out because he was having a crisis wrapping his head around whatever was happening. he apologized but she told him not to worry.

“it’s just... i just... i don’t even know,” he mumbled, burying his face in her chb t-shirt. “i think i like him... a lot? he’s really cute and i’m really bad at confessing my feelings for people. plus he’s a child of aphrodite! he’s basically out of my league.”

she grabbed his shoulders and forced him to look her in the eye. “i’m sorry, whose brilliant idea was it to create demigod cell phones that don’t attract monsters?”

leo didn’t answer and she nudged him slightly before he mumbled a small “...me.”

“and who was able to behead an entire column of cyclopes with a single ballista fire?”

leo started laughing. “me.”

“and who fought the leader of an army of rabid hellhounds and speared him through the chest?”

“okay, okay, i get it!” leo exclaimed, his smile crinkling his eyes. “that was me.”

“if you are able to defeat a rogue demigod in under a split second, then you are out of nico’s league! if he doesn’t return your feelings, then he has to raise his standards!”

leo snorted before hugging piper tight, the touch-starved soul within him begging to encase his best friend in a big hug. piper really knew how to rile people up.

“piper, have i ever told you how amazing you are?”

“i mean... i always knew, but okay.”

leo would’ve punched her if she wasn’t being amazing right now.

suddenly he felt piper shift under his embrace, he looked up and saw her with an uncomfortable expression. “uh, dude—”

“valdez?”

his heart suddenly stopped at the sound of the gravelly voice that belonged to the one and only man of his dreams. he turned around on impulse, which was a mistake because he was suddenly frozen on the spot and his fingers weren’t even moving an inch and leo was pretty sure his mind wasn’t any better because nico was right there—

if you asked leo valdez what his favorite thing about nico di angelo was, he probably wouldn’t answer and just spontaneously combust. nico di angelo had an inch on him, less thin limbs and more... well, hotness. he had smooth olive skin with galaxies upon galaxies of freckles, curled hair that was currently in a weak (yet cute) ponytail, and he was wearing a pink leather jacket with studs and clips. his dark eyes were glittered up under the lids, giving him almost a fairy look that nearly made leo collapse on his own.

leo probably looked like a gaping fish, his face dark and flushed. nico wasn’t helping. because he wasn’t saying anything either and leo really needed him to hand him a subject because if he wasn’t, leo was going to accidentally fall into his arms and kiss him senseless—

“can i...” nico started, before clearing his throat. leo was swerving by the raspiness of his voice. “can i talk to you for a minute?”

leo glanced at piper, who was hiding a thumbs up that only leo could see. he looked back to nico and could only nod.

leo said his goodbyes to the daughter of hermes and followed his crush to camp half-blood’s lake, a shimmering blue that reflected the sun overhead, a small dock leading out towards the water. leo caught sight of some water spirits, who waved at him flirtily, and he forced himself not to blush as he shyly waved back.

“that was your friend?” nico asked. he had perched himself on the edge of the small wooden dock, the darkness of his raven hair pulling away by the streams of sunlight illuminating it. he looked gorgeous as the sun cascaded across his freckled skin. his legs were crossed, and he was looking at leo with a weird face. leo didn’t know what emotion he was expressing but he hoped it wasn’t bad.

“huh?” he realized after around 9.5 seconds that nico was talking to him. “oh, yeah, piper! we’ve been friends since we were kids, we’re pretty close.”

nico raised an eyebrow before humming in acknowledgement. what, did he want him to say they were dating or something? leo could never figure him out, which was probably why leo liked him for some stupid reason — the only equation he couldn’t solve.

nico patted the empty space next to him. “sit,” he said.

leo blinked before walking over to where he was, crouching down to sit upon the dock and let his feet dangle over the edge.

“why did you want to talk to me?” leo asked. (if he had been looking, he would’ve seen nico curse under his breath.)

“oh, um, i was lonely... yeah, because my friends are on a date and they’re like the only people i hang out with so...”

leo felt his high hopes drop to a new low. oh. that’s why he brought him here. leo felt a bubble of spite fill his stomach, more towards himself than towards nico. because of course nico wouldn’t want to converse with him in the first place — leo was so insignificant that he was barely a mole on a baby’s ass. the new information already made him want to jump in the lake and leave camp.

“so i’m like your rebound?” he joked, almost sarcastically, and his eyes widened when nico’s head snapped towards him in an almost defensive position.

“no!” he yelled. “i wouldn’t just do that to you. you’re... uh...” he coughed. “you’re fun to talk to...”

the spite bubble popped, and he made a soft “oh.” he really wished he knew how any of his nerdy rants and book reviews were “fun,” since those were majority of his conversations with the son of love. nico was from the 30s, which meant that he didn’t know much from this era and leo had once been a bit of a tour guide. once in a while he would bring up a topic that leo was obsessed with and he would go into a thirty minute explanation into star wars or dc comics. then he would promptly realize that he’s been infodumping and die on the inside.

nico sighed. “look, i really enjoy your company. you’re smart and you have funny jokes.”

leo made a face. “all of my jokes are inside jokes that no one understands.”

“...yeah, but they’re funny when you know the material?”

leo couldn’t help it. he giggled. “sure, you’re just saying that.” he twiddled with his thumbs, dreading for when the conversation was going to hit death valley where neither of them knew what they were going to say. “what do you want to talk about?”

“i don’t actually know?” nico laughed, a short yet heavenly laugh where his eyes closed like butterfly wings and his mouth curled in a dashing smile. “i’m not good at conversation starters.”

“honestly same,” leo replied. “i’m pretty sure all my dialogue has been entirely based on this book series i...” he dragged his sentence before facepalming. “uh, sorry, i don’t know why i’m—”

“no, no!” nico suddenly grabbed his wrists, and leo skin felt cleansed by the touch of fingerless gloves against his arm. “tell me about it.”

leo raised his eyebrow. he had never done this before. “you sure? i can go on about it for an hour and you won’t be able to stop me.”

“no, i’m sure.” he placed leo’s hands back down on his lap. “tell me.”

that was enough of a catalyst to start talking about the latest book collection he had gotten his hands on (in greek, of course), the six of crows duology. he had finished the grisha trilogy just a month ago (in under a week, he might add), and had bought the two books at the camp’s bookstore. he had finished the first book in a single day and read again because it was just that good, but he was struggling to find time to read the other one. he had asked nico if he wanted to hear spoilers (to which nico nodded wordlessly), and leo had then gone into a rant about how dumb kaz was for not actually trying to show inej his feelings or how nina was way too good for matthias (both of which now sounds pretty relevant to the situation), then started screaming about wylan and jesper and wouldn’t stop talking about their cute dynamic and suddenly he was on the topic of grisha as a whole.

the entire time nico was just nodding and looking at him, but as leo was explaining the chemistry of all the book’s relationships, he noticed nico had a lost expression on his face. he was staring at leo, eyes gazing longingly at him with a soft smile and tint of blush on his cheeks (leo suspected it was makeup). the glitter under his eyelashes were prominent, bright pink and gold and adding beautiful contrast to his entire looks. his hair was cascading around his face in ripples. was he daydreaming? leo stopped talking to prove his theory, and nico didn’t stop staring. was he a little too much?

“do i have something on my face?” he questioned, making nico snap back into reality.

“w-what?” nico stuttered.

“you’re staring,” leo mumbled, averting his eyes from the beautiful boy. “i knew it, i’m ranting too much.”

“no, no!” nico exclaimed, waving his hands for emphasis. leo noticed his black and pink nail polish. “it’s just... your eyes are striking.”

leo an inhuman noise, confused. nico realized what he said and immediately tried to recover.

“cause they’re... uh, they’re scary! yeah, they can kill a man in one hit. i should know, i saw you take down a monster twice your size.”

there was silence. it made sense. his eyes were brown, differing from his siblings’ gray ones, yet they were still sharp and jason claimed they made him nervous when they first met. leo didn’t know if he should be proud or not. it was one thing to strike fear in enemies’ hearts. it was another to strike fear in your friends’.

“uh, thanks man,” leo said, internally scolding himself for not having a proper answer. “yours are... neat.”

neat, he screamed at himself. neat! of all the fucking words in the world, that’s what he said. god, athena must be shaking her head in disappointment in olympus. sorry mom.

(it was a travesty since neat was an understatement when it came to nico di angelo.)

“you know what, i’m sorry,” leo apologized, standing up and backing away. “i have a project i need to work on and jake has been asking me to help him with something, i should go—”

“wait!” nico stood up abruptly, which was the worst mistake of his entire life because leo watched in shock as his foot stuttered under the lack of wood under it and sent nico toppling down into the lake below. leo cried out, rushing towards the water and looking over the dock to see nico pop up from the water and gasp for air.

his black bangs stuck to his face, dripping wet with the hair tie forming his ponytail missing. he pulled the strands from his eyes, looking up at leo who had his hands over his mouth as if he was afraid of what nico was going to say next.

“are you okay?” leo asked, trying to ignore how nico still looked breathtaking after taking a dunk into the half-blood waters.

nico slapped his hands down in the water, the flying droplets hitting leo’s face and making him wince. “do i look okay?”

leo didn’t answer, looking down at the dock in shame, and already his brain was about to burst and now he was probably going to cry? because this is like the worst thing to happen to him in forever and now nico is mad at him and he won’t be his friend anymore and all this stuff was making his stomach feel like excommunicating every single acid in it. “sorry.”

“oh fuck, um, wait, oh gods wait, no, it’s my fault i— leo, hold on!”

leo could barely hear him as he did the only thing he could think of doing, not even bothering a second glance as he ran away to the athena cabin.

—

nico was an idiot.

no scratch that, nico was literally the god of idiots. the whole enchilada of idiots with an idiot army by his side.

being a son of aphrodite, nico expected himself to be a master when it came to emotions, especially romantic ones. and it showed, by his ability to patch up relationships between other campers and help them get ready for their dates with his wardrobe expertise. he was able to make monsters swoon by his voice only to set them up to kill them. he was the one, after all, that knocked sense into percy that he had a crush on annabeth.

but all of that was thrown out the window by leo valdez.

cute, adorable leo, who went for hours on end with tv series and science rantings that nico couldn’t even comprehend because he was always staring at his face, starry eyed and so passionate that it made his chest hurt. whose intelligence was able to bring down a rogue demigod general in the titan war. who was so easy to fluster and make laugh till he couldn’t breathe.

so, nothing could have compared to the absolute disaster he was when they talked a week ago.

first strike was when he had forgotten to create a valid reason to speak with him (anything other than him wanting to stare at leo in a non-creepy way) and fucked it up by explaining that he was some sort of rebound. a rebound! leo wasn’t a rebound, he was a goddamn blessing!

then was when he was caught and he replied with, “your eyes are striking.” he tried to ignore that part because he had never been that stupid, and his explanation wasn’t any better because leo probably took offense of him calling him scary (which he can be but nico likes his face).

finally — falling in the lake. the one thing he was not prepared for, making him so pissed off at how bad he was at this whole feelings thing that he accidentally lashed out at leo. it was the worst — seeing hurt cross over leo’s face with a dejected expression, and nico failing to speak a coherent apology before leo took off, obviously wanting nothing to do with him after he was such a jackass.

which he was, no doubt about it. he wondered what he did wrong, sitting by his vanity, now dry and doing his own makeup and applying glitter under his eyes. then he realized that everything from the point he realized he liked leo was wrong, because he should’ve known that he can’t be too prideful in his love abilities. and now he drove leo away.

“don’t beat yourself up about it,” reyna said, the daughter of apollo said, cleaning up her golden arrows with a small cloth. she was visiting the camp from the roman one she stayed at. “i’ve met leo. he isn’t the type to hold grudges against someone.”

“i know that!” nico spun around in his chair, crossing his arms in exasperation. “i feel bad though. if he hates me, he has a reason to.”

“if he hates you, he’s obviously a dumbass,” reyna counterpointed. “are you going to apologize though? because i’m tired of seeing you pining and not making any moves.”

“i made a move and it ended with me swimming with the fishes.”

“the only thing you said was that his eyes were pretty.” reyna leaned closer, placing a hand on his shoulder. “step up your game.”

nico scoffed. “i’m getting relationship advice by a sun demigod.”

“i’m being serious.” the daughter of apollo had a stony expression on her face. “it’s important to be yourself, i mean that’s what you told me. but if you want to go all out, go all out. you and leo will continue to avoid each other until you come out to him.”

nico sighed. “okay, but...how?”

reyna grinned, picking up a brush from nico’s vanity. “allow me to help.”

an hour later nico was wearing a mesh t-shirt and black leather jeans with combat boots that were decorated in pink flower embroidery, plus a bubblegum aviator jacket gifted to him by his mother. his hair was let down today, ending at his shoulders and wavy like ocean seas, with clips holding up his long bangs. he had his eyelashes curled and eyelids brushed with eyeshadow, and he looked himself up and down in the mirror along with reyna.

finally his best friend gave him a thumbs up. now the challenge was knowing what to say.

“knock him dead!” reyna called out. “well, don’t actually. but you’ll do great.”

“thanks!” nico called out. he was about to head to the athena cabin until he bumped into someone who ran straight at him.

“oh shit!” the person yelped, and nico’s thought processes immediately malfunctioned. “sorry, my bad— nico?”

the plan was supposed to be talk to leo, ask him out somewhere, then confess to him and wait for judgement. but that plan was basically burned to ashes when nico found himself struggling to form words as he stared at leo. his dark yet clear and stabbing eyes looking up at him, his skin decorated in small freckles under the eyes and beauty marks dotting his face delicately. his wild dark hair was like smoke, and small owl earrings hung from the lobes of his ears. he was wearing a pale blue shirt under his chb tee, blue shorts and high socks, making him look like an absolute nerd especially with a small pencil tucked above his ear and gods, nico could feel himself reaching elysium.

nico registered that he was holding leo to keep the shorter from falling, hands on his tiny waist that made his mind even more jumbled until leo’s loud and rapid voice started speaking.

“oh, nico, thank gods i found you! i wanted to say sorry, i’ve honestly been avoiding you because i thought you were mad at me and you most likely are, and you have the right to because i sent you into the water and i probably ruined your makeup — though you guys probably have waterproof makeup so i don’t know — and i didn’t even help you out which was really stupid of me because i’m supposed to be a nice person and frankly you were dripping wet, wow that sounds really wrong i’m sorry i should probably stop rambling—”

the boy took in a deep breath, but nico was squealing internally about how cute leo was when he rambled. he willed himself not to pinch his cheeks and kiss him on his forehead. “i’m sorry.”

“what?” nico honestly was lost halfway through his rant. “it’s fine, it was my fault. i should be the one apologizing. i yelled at you.”

“yeah but i deserved it,” leo mumbled, looking down at the ground.

“no, you didn’t,” nico retorted, going into defense mode. “i’m sorry, really. you want me to make it up to you?”

leo tilted his head like the goddamn cutie he was. “you don’t have to but... how?”

“let’s head to the bookstore,” nico answered. “you pick out a book and i buy it for you.”

“what?” leo exclaimed, backing up until nico’s hands weren’t on his waist anymore (which totally didn’t make him feel sad). “dude, you seriously don’t have to do that, i mean there’s a library—”

“yeah, but the library doesn’t let you keep the books. i know you like reading them over and over again.” nico held up a bag of drachmas from his pocket. “i have money. you can buy the entire store if you desire. but i’m not letting you get out of this empty handed.”

leo looked ready to go off on an entire explanation of why he wasn’t going to follow nico’s idea, and despite him being one of the best debaters the camp has ever seen, nico was determined to hold his ground because that’s what leo deserved.

leo sighed, noticing that nico wouldn’t budge. “okay, fine!” he groaned. “can i at least pay you back?”

“nope.”

“ugh!”

leo’s worries about this arrangement were quickly diminished though, when leo had seen the fuckton of books that had been added to the bookstore since he had last came there. he was gawking over some of them, even held on to three and continuously checked their summaries to make sure they were good. nico leaned against a bookshelf, non-fiction, staring at leo as he ran his finger across the covers and watched his talk to himself silently, even picking some novels up to read with focused eyes. the son of aphrodite hated how whipped he was, but the son of athena was so pretty that he couldn’t help it.

leo placed one of the books back on the table, though hesitantly. “are you sure you can pay for these?”

nico nodded. “i’m stocked up on money right now. buy whatever you want.”

“i’ll just buy one,” which seemed easier said than done to leo, because he was having an internal debate between two thick novels. he turned to nico and showcased them. “pick, i can’t choose.”

nico scanned the books. one was named the outsider by stephen king, the other children of blood and bone by tomi adeyemi. nico had no idea what their summaries were or if they were actually interesting, but he was pretty sure he could pay for both.

“i can buy both of them,” he said. leo was about to protest but nico snatched both of the books out of his hands. “this all you want?”

“i mean, yeah, but—”

“no buts!” nico interrupted. “you deserve this and you don’t get to think otherwise. you want these or not?”

leo nodded. nico smirked. “good. i’ll be back.”

a minute later nico was handing a paper bag of the two books to leo, who almost didn’t grab it if it wasn’t thanks to nico’s prodding. a smile made its way onto the son of athena’s face, fond and filling nico’s empty stomach with butterflies. he looked absolutely gorgeous.

“thanks, neeks,” he said, before gasping and covering his mouth.

nico felt his cheeks heat up. “neeks?”

“sorry, it just came out!” he clutched the books to his chest as if they were a stuffed toy. “you’re really nice, nico.”

nico felt himself step closer towards leo. “it’s no problem.” but it was a problem, because nico was already in leo’s personal space and trying to think other thoughts than kissing him. “you needed this.”

leo laughed, wheezing slightly and light-hearted. “i guess.” he looked up at nico and the son of aphrodite thought he saw him leaning up towards him until—

leo’s face contorted into absolute horror, his eyes widening as they looked at nico’s shoulder. he screamed in terror, jumping and backing up quickly until he hit his head on a nearby ladder that just-so-happened to be placed next to him. nico could barely register leo holding his head in pain before his eyes rolled up into his head and he promptly fell onto the floor, unconscious.

oh shit.

nico looked down at his shoulder to find a daddy longleg hanging on to it. he yelped and flicked it off to gods’ know where, when the reality of the situation hit him. of course a spider would show up. as if the children of athena couldn’t get enough. as if nico didn’t have enough disastrous experiences caused by him already.

nico had brought leo into the infirmary and asked for the apollo kids to give the books to leo on his way out, before rushing to the aphrodite cabin and saw reyna back there, with a sunflower yellow dress, on her demigod phone when nico opened the door with a slam.

“how’d it go?”

nico thought about the day for a single second before walking towards the bed and falling down face first on it, taking in a breath, and muffled his yelling.

son of love? more like son of dumbass.

—

when leo got out of the infirmary, books in hand, he had willed himself not to drown himself in the camp’s lake.

who decided it was a great idea to make children of athena have arachnophobia? because leo had actually tried to kiss nico, one of the boldest decisions in his life, he may add, only to get severely mortified at a fucking tiny saddy longleg climbing over nico’s shoulder, getting a concussion, and passing out. and he actually tried to look cleaned up, with his best shirt and a small pencil to add. was karma doing this? making himself a humiliation in front of the prettiest boy on earth?

he wanted to march up to athena and demand her he take him up to olympus and away from his feelings.

piper had helped him with the incident from two weeks ago, after helping him a week prior when he had felt horrible about nico falling in the lake. now she was telling him, as she was eating from a bag of chips, that he should just confess and get it over with.

“yeah, like that worked,” he grumbled sarcastically.

the daughter of hermes threw up her hands in exasperation. “leo, you have to be shitting me! at this point, you both are oblivious fucks. right now, you march right over to nico’s cabin, tell him your feelings, and hope it goes well. hell, i’m sure he likes you too!”

leo sputtered. “where?”

piper groaned, lolling her head back as if she was begging her heavenly father to take her back to heaven. “nevermind. just tell him you like him.”

and here leo was, in front of the aphrodite cabin, pink and glossy and full of the prettiest people in camp half-blood. leo used to think the kids in there were airheads and lovebugs until he saw them in battle, especially nico, one of the only aphrodite campers with charmspeak. leo wished he had charmspeak so he could beat some sense into himself to go through that deadbeat door.

he let out a breath, clearing out his mind. well, here he goes.

he raised his hand to knock on the door when it opened to... speak of the devil.

“leo?” nico called out, closing the door behind him. he was wearing the same attire he had on two weeks ago, all dolled up and making leo’s face go from normal to seething warm. “i, um, i’m sorry—”

“you’ve got to be kidding me.”

nico blinked before narrowing his eyes. “excuse me?”

but leo was angry, because his emotions have gotten the best of him for far too long and nico was right there, and leo felt all his common sense get thrown out the window and get replaced by anger at the gods for all these bad happenings and shit. he was angry at himself for holding back so long, and angry at nico for not starting something earlier and pretending they could always go back to how they used to be because, frankly, leo was done. he was finished.

“i’m just gonna come out and say it. i like you, di angelo. i like your gorgeous face and your dumb laugh and i like how you try to apologize for things i neither you can control. i literally just figured i had a crush on you like three weeks ago and honestly i’m just done because i’m a son of athena so love isn’t my strong suit which really isn’t that surprising but you get the point. you make me smile a lot and i like it when you hug me and i don’t even know how to interact with you anymore because you make my brain genuinely malfunction and i hate you for it, i hate you but like i like you too and i really want to kiss you—”

he was cut off by nico suddenly surging forward, locking their lips together.

leo made a surprised muffled noise, eyes widening before eventually closing them in bliss, wrapping his arms around nico’s neck and letting the taller hold him by the waist, firm hands grasping him. he felt himself melting in nico’s arms, kissing back and unconsciously bringing his hands up to caress nico’s soft hair.

nico brought up a hand to hold leo’s head, rubbing circles on his back. leo barely remembered that he needed to breathe, and hesitantly leaned away, looking up at nico, who looked as blissed out as he felt. his cheeks were scarlet, his eyes full of hearts.

“wow,” leo muttered. “did you—?”

“mhm,” nico hummed.

“and was i—?”

“mhm.” a fond smile crossed nico’s face. leo felt himself fall in love all over again. “do you want to come inside? just to talk! and maybe kiss?”

leo smiled, glad they were finally being blunt with one another. “i’d love to.”

[spaceytrash]

Little Big Secret

pairing: House/Wilson friendship

genre/warnings: light angst, fluff, Transgender themes

words: 1830

--> summary: Wilson has been hiding a something from House for years. What will his reaction be when he finds out what it is?

a/n: Wrote this while I was slightly drunk. Apparently I project on my fav characters when I'm drunk and write, so his happened. I blame the alcohol if this is actually bad and/or for every mistake. Read on AO3: here

It was beginning to overwhelm him. The feeling of lying, of deceit, growing stronger every second, not leaving him. The secret he had hold back for over 10 years finally growing too big for his conscience and making him feel like a cheat and a liar. He had been carrying it around for years and he was finally growing tired of hiding. Of lying and deceiving his best and, most likely, only friend. Of ignoring who he was and trying to hide his true identity. Hiding who he really was as a person.

Hiding was shaping up to be more exhausting every day and he wished for nothing more than be able to finally come out and tell at least his best friend if not the rest of the world loud and clear who he was and who he had always been.

Wilson sighed and ran his fingers through his hair, afterwards trying to ease the hardened muscles in his neck. He was feeling pretty maudlin for some reason. Tired of life and especially tired of hiding himself away from the only person whose opinion really mattered.

It wasn’t like he had actively hold back from telling his secret, he wasn’t ashamed of it, but there just never had been the right moment. And then he and House had been friends for so long already, it had felt weird to tell him out of the blue, so he had chosen the easy way and just told him nothing. But today for some reason he felt like that had been the wrong decision. That he should have just moved past his fear of rejection and distrust and told the other who he really was.

He wanted to tell himself, that he had decided not to tell House the truth because it was none of his business, which objectively it really wasn’t, but the truth of the matter was that he had just been scared to death of what his reaction would have been. His whole life had been full of plenty rejections and hardships when others found out, so he was never keen on telling someone about it. Always hoping against hope for the best but also fearing for the worst.

 Rubbing his tired eyes, Wilson once again tired to shove his melancholy feeling away but to no avail. Today was going to be a bad feeling day, apparently, and there was nothing he could really do about that.

Trying to concentrate on the patient file in front of him, he was glad for once when his office door opened unexpectedly, and he heard limping steps walk into his office. House had been the reason for his worried thoughts, but his presence was still better than being alone with said thoughts. They would only lead to a dark path and he really wasn’t in the mood for that.

“Remember that Nurse in Radiology, who was dating that lanky accountant? Apparently lanky is now a woman,” House announced without greeting, planting himself firmly on the couch in Wilson’s office, munching on a bag of chips and not caring if crumbs fell down onto the carpet.

Wilson looked up at him, scowling and rolling his eyes. Typical for House to just barge in like that and not only start gossiping but also finding a topic that hit far too close on a day like today.

“Good for her, finding out who she is and changing her life accordingly”

House tilted his head slightly, eyes narrowing, watching Wilson closely, “Interesting.”

“What pray tell is so interesting about that?” Wilson’s voice took on a tired and strained note.

He knew he was only inviting House to inspect further but somehow couldn’t bring himself to deflect or change the topic, “It’s good to see that she knows who she is and had the ability to change”

“Hmm. Nothing against that. Only normally you would have asked me how I even found out about it,” House’s voice sounded investigative, like he knew Wilson was hiding something and he didn’t yet know what. Which was true.

 He felt his hand return to his neck, kneading out the tensed muscles. Suddenly House’s interruption wasn’t so welcomed anymore. This conversation was reaching territories he didn’t like.

“I suppose through your usual gossip channels. Hiding out in Coma Guy’s room with the door open and listening to the nurses chat”

House harrumphed, which told Wilson he had been right, but didn’t look like he was thrown off the idea that his friend was having a secret, “You’re still hiding something. I know it. Come on spit it out. You know I will find out about it eventually”

All the answer Wilson granted him was a heavy sigh. He knew he should just tell him. After all just minutes before he had been contemplating telling his friend. But now, actually faced with it happening, he wasn’t so sure if he really wanted to. His nerves getting the better of him again and he was fearing the reaction House would have.

“There is nothing to tell. Now I’m sure you don’t care about your own, but I have paperwork to go through,” and with that Wilson looked back down at his patient file, hoping, even though he knew it was futile, that House would take the hint and leave him alone, not inquiring any further.

 He chose to ignore the inquisitive stare he felt on himself for some time, instead trying and failing to read the data in the chart in front of him.

“Where you trying to score her? You knew they were together,” House’s voice interrupted the silence that had engulfed the room.

Wilson sighed again, closed his eyes for a second but otherwise continued to ignore House. He could hear in the tone that his friend didn’t really believe what he said and only wanted to get a rise out of him. Another thing he knew fully well, was that House wouldn’t rest before he found out what he was hiding. He knew it was only a matter of time, yet he couldn’t bring himself to actually tell his friend. Thinking about all the ways it could go wrong if he did. How it could destroy the best thing he had in his life. How it could destroy this stupid, fantastic friendship with House.

“Good riddance. It would have been to early for a Mrs. Wilson number 4 anyways”

Closing his eyes once again, he took a deep breath. He should just tell him, but what if everything he feared would come true? Then again, was he ready to live with that secret forever? One way or another it would come out eventually, so why not just get it over with and tell him. At least he wouldn’t feel like he was lying or deceiving his best friend anymore.

“Or, if it’s lanky you wanted, it would have been Mr. Wilson the first once upon a time”

Wilson let his hand drop onto his desk rather hard, which made his pencil holder fall over and roll them all over his files.

“House stop. I know what you’re trying to do. There really is no need for that. I tell you what is up, so just stop with that”

The dark-haired doctor looked at him with a self-congratulating smirk, “So what’s been irking little Jimmy?”

 Bracing himself for the upcoming conversation, Wilson closed his eyes for a second and then looked out of the balcony window, consciously avoiding looking at House.

“I wanted to tell you this years ago, but there just never had been a good moment for it. And somehow, I always feared your reaction. This friendship with you is the longest lasting relationship I have, and I’m scared of loosing it,” he sighed, his hand unconsciously returning to his neck, “I’m transgender. I was born with female body, but it never felt like it was mine and it really wasn’t. I am a man, no matter what my chromosomes say.”

He glanced down on his desk, fearing for his friend’s reaction. Finally, he had revealed and shared his deepest secret. Silence was filling the air and the longer it continued, the more nervous he got. His hands started to shake slightly, and his heart was beating wildly in his chest. He just wished House would finally break the uncomfortable silence and just say something. Either something scathing or accepting, he almost didn’t care anymore as long as the stifling silence got interrupted.

 “So, I guess my plan of asking for kid pics when I meet your folks is out of the question now?” House finally said.

Wilson looked up at House and felt relief immediately wash through him when he saw the other’s face. After years of friendship he felt like he could read House’s facial expressions pretty well. And at the moment his face told him, that while he hadn’t expected the news, he still accepted them without question. It was everything Wilson had hoped that that moment would be, when he had imagined it in his better moments.

He gave a short but dry chuckle, “I prefer if you wouldn’t. They are rather embarrassing”

House gave him an answering smirk, “Little Jimmy been running around naked a lot then?”

“Something like that. Never liked wearing shirts as a kid,” which made House laugh slightly.

Then the light-hearted mood turned more serious.

“Explains a lot though. When did you knew?” House asked, his voice careful, not wanting to anger Wilson with inconsiderate questions.

 His friend’s consideration for his feelings made him smile softly. If only more people could see this side of House, then they would understand how Wilson could be friends with House.

“When I was around 5, I knew something was wrong. Not what though. That came when I was in Middle School. A teacher of mine was quite liberal, especially for the time, and taught us about all kinds of things. Sexual orientations, gender expression and whatnot. That’s when I finally realized what was different with me. Told my parents a year later”

“Must have been hard to tell them,” House interrupted.

“Yeah. But thankfully they took it in stride. It was really awkward the first year after I came out, but when they finally accepted that that’s who I am they supported me through it. Found me a doctor who understood the situation and prescribed me hormones. From then on, I felt far more comfortable with myself. I think that out of the three of us, I was the least likely to cause other trouble and after Danny got diagnosed,” he gulped and took a short break, “they had enough stuff on their plate to panic about me being transgender”

House nodded, “Schizophrenia trumps wrong body then”

“Apparently.”

They were silent for a while, until Wilson looked at House a bit uncertain and asked quietly, “We’re alright, right?”

“Yep,” House popped the p loudly, “As long as you buy me lunch, Wonder Boy”

[the-ash0]

surviving paradise chapter 1

I am free.

Oh, sweet euphoria.

I might be laughing a little too loud, a little too high. The edge to it reminds me of Raditz. Pathetic, crazy bastard. I cut off the sound. Echoes reflect back at me from trees and hills at the far end of the clearing. The sharp, dangerous cackle cuts through an oppressive silence, and causes both humans and Nameks to recoil from me. Which is what a laugh should do. Still, I would prefer these creatures would not keep staring at me so. Am I the only one who gets the enormity of the joke?

“You messed up your wish,” I explain, but they simply stare at me. Nameks and Earthlings both inch away, huddling together for safety. The silly creatures cannot even comprehend their own stupidity: they got their wish, but not what they wanted.

As for me? My wish, human? Well I missed my chance. Got cheated out of it. Murdered out of it. Still, it’s fine. This is better. Way better. Do you wonder why, human?  Well, I am not sure I can explain in terms you could understand. I guess you could say I escaped the game. Or, maybe this is a new game, but this time I shall control the rules. Heh. maybe I’ll have you little humans dance for me like the puppets you are, weak and mindless fools that you are.. No, I didn't think you’d understand.

Yet I can explain to these creatures staring at me where their wish went wrong: “Don't you see? You resurrected all those killed by Frieza and his men, but I was no longer a part of the PTO when I killed those villagers.”

“So cruel!” Kakarot’s halfbreed whispers as understanding dawns on both green and Saiyan-lookalike faces, then twists to revulsion. Rightly so; we had an uneasy truce back on Namek, the humans and I. But now that all greater threats have been eliminated, I am the one they should fear. They are at my mercy, and my best approximation of that is a clean kill. A fact they had conveniently forgotten in the heat of battle, and now remember on account of these few missing Nameks.

Serves them right. It would be poetic justice if their complacency and reliance on death-cheating magic bites them on the tail this way. It’s an extra bonus if said injustice is dished out by me; someone only alive by a mistake in wording. Oh, how it must sting: to wish for those you have lost but to get the one who took their lives instead. The murderer instead of the murdered. The one you hate instead of those you love...

“That’s right.” I smirk, then bask in their reactions: shock, anger, and of course fear. Even as the surrounding wildlife returns to its soft hum, the cluster of Namek and human fighters keep their focus on me. A wise decision, and I cannot help but rub it in: “Be careful what you wish for.”

What now, human? Does it bother you that I ridicule them for it? Do my words upset you? Does it shock you that I laugh at their pain, that I find mirth in the fact that not even magic can erase their loss? Too bad, human. Life isn’t fair and relying on fairy tales to right its wrongs never got you anything.

Well, I’ll admit it did get them something: me. The Prince of Saiyans, the planet destroyer and— right now— the strongest thing on this planet. And yes, recently the one responsible for the deaths of those Namek villagers.

“Monster,” they call me, and several drop into defensive stances. Which is amusing, really. What do they want from me? An apology? That would not do. Why, these Nameks might get it into their heads that I owe them a debt. No; anything I ever owed is surely cleansed from me in death. Nothing will tie me down: no planet, no people, no warlord, and certainly not guilt. I’m free!

Besides, it is hard to regret something that proves Shenlong agrees: the villagers remain dead because when I killed them I had already escaped Frieza… No; not only have I escaped, but I have been wished back to life and gone straight to paradise.

Which, I suppose, is disagreeable to these weaklings’ sensibilities.

“And what are you going to do about it?” I ask, and turn to face them casually. Predictably my taunt incites them, their bodies shake with fury. To them, I must seem like the epitome of injustice. Good. I cannot help but draw my lips back further and grin. Will any of these fools dare the first strike? It is suicide; they must know. They are weak.

Can I take them all? It would be like ants taking down a lion. Ridiculous, until you have felt a swarm of killer ants come for you. Did you know, human, that there are worlds where thousands upon thousands of workers will throw themselves at an enemy to save their queen? Being swarmed again and again for hours on end is... not a pleasant memory.

There are not that many Nameks. Still, there are more than a few, and they are stronger than most beings. Also, the human fighters proved tenacious last time around. That was not a fond memory either: escaping in my pod battered and bloody. So I ponder this, my relaxed stance honed over the years: Nameks and Earthlings combined; could they manage to take me down?

“Tch.” I dismiss them, turn my nose up as I step back to lean back against a tree. It is only half a bluff, for their pause proved their reluctance. And, with the sky blue and the sun bright, I think I may pass on this opportunity as well. A breeze brushes softly through the trees. The sound and smells of this place call out seductively: soft clear water flowing, insects humming, sweet nectars in the air...

One by one, the warriors turn away. This is victory. I close my eyes as I revel in it, aware that no one will challenge or take it from me. And what a victory it is! I’ve won. Nobody seems to understand, to realise, I’ve won that final game in the end.

“Frieza is dead.” The words hum around the group in whispers, repeated again and again as they huddle together. Now and again, they spare me a furtive glance. As if I would take offence at this— this joyous fact. They do not realise, it seems, that I have been waiting for the monster's end since I was five...

Well, perhaps not quite that long, foolish child that I was. But still, long enough. The Super Saiyan is born to kill the monster, like the legends promised. That Kakarot is the one to pull it off does not even surprise me. The feeling of pride it gives me does. But then the Super Saiyan goes down with planet Namek. A loss, but it’s a good death.

Besides, “you can easily fix this with your magic”, I explain with a half-raised hand, suddenly eager to help. I wouldn't mind fighting that oaf of a Saiyan again, you see. It was great fun. An honest fight; refreshing. There is a poetic justice in someone so simple ending one as twisted and deceitful as Frieza. Odd perhaps that he could succeed when I failed. But there is little reason to fear that third-class. I have beaten him once, I can do it again.

Perhaps I have been playing its games for too long. Perhaps calculating and thinking were my downfalls in the end. I doubt one as addled as Kakarot ever grasped the enormity of what he was up against. He just kept going; tore down the walls that kept him from his goal and fought until he had won. It was what upset me about him on my first trip to Earth as well. An unrelenting, unbridled will to win… Is that Saiyan instinct?

Or, perhaps Kakarot simply lacks the mental capacity to know when defeat is imminent, does not have enough brain cells to know reason. Not enough smarts to stay alive, really. In any other place than this gentle little planet.

“You really are smart!” It is the blue haired woman that praises me, odd thing she is. I cock open a lazy eye as she flutters my way, and I resolve to blast her head off if she adds ‘for a monkey’ to her words. But I am left waiting for it. Perhaps she really does think I’m clever. Humans, so far, have not impressed me with their intelligence. Oh, do not take too much offense, human. Saiyans are hardly known for their brains either. The sad part is that you are also lacking in power.

She’s right though. I am smart. Smart enough to know I got lucky by not getting my wish. For a little while on Namek, I feared Frieza had decided to keep me. Even now, I cannot help but wonder. Would Frieza have tired of me if Kakarot had not come along? Or would I still have that noose-like tail around my neck as that monster laid into me just to see what it would take to get me down on my knees? Back on my knees.

“Feh.” I guess in Kakarot that monster found someone more fun to play with. Finally. Lucky me. Clever me. To let the two greatest warriors in the galaxy end each other. What a victory. Frieza is dead and all I’ve ever wanted is right in front of me.

Right here, on this opulent, soft planet. Before, I would have been disgusted at the sight. But I am different now. There is nothing to be jealous over. No rush. No orders. Nothing to do. If I wish, I could simply sit in the shadows until the sun goes down. Enjoy, bask and take of it. Yes, this planet is ripe for the taking. What was your Earth expression... having your pie and eating it too?

No...it gets better. They are giving it away! “Vegeta, you’ll need a place to stay too, won’t you?” That woman, the mental one with blue hair, walks up to me with an open, naive smile. Simply invites me into her own house. For free. I keep a straight face, but I can hardly believe my luck. Trusting little fool; she’ll be lucky to live to regret it. I follow her and her entourage of Nameks projecting pure innocence.

I did not get my wish, but I got what I wanted.

I am free.

[geek-gem]

A Serious Version Of Sonic Movie Sequel Ideas Explained

So had to click here again and I hope well I want the title to be truthful. Basically it's my thing about what I feel sequels would be. Just okay the movie isn't even out yet but I keep thinking ahead and this is in case.

But I wanted to talk about this and it relates to my post that silly one explaining events by the characters themselves. Along with relating to that Sonic movie Reddit leak whether true or not. Mainly I want to take advantage of this now and just have these ideas.

Including with the story taking liberties I'm want to build upon some stuff. Basically here's the trilogy. Along with a extra movie.

Spoilers for the Reddit leak because it references characters just in case or other things.

The first sequel. Stories taken from Sonic The Hedgehog 3, Sonic Adventure 2, and Sonic Heroes.

The first film and okay changed that last part text the first big text whatever. Wanted to change things up a bit and that change was a mistake I back spaced.

Yet the first film like the leak said the writers looked at Sonic stories mainly the Classic games and Sonic Adventure. The ones with the most are Sonic 1, Sonic 2, and Sonic Adventure.

The film takes place two years later. In 2021 almost left 201 but also the 30th anniversary of the Sonic franchise, 28th anniversary of Sonic CD Metal Sonic's first appearance, 20th anniversary of Sonic Adventure 2 Shadow's first appearance. Wanna say others but let's yet this over with.

Also seriously I keep thinking of that year as a sequel and in this timeline the 50 years not 6 but the many years after the Ark was raided not raised. Let me talk about this.

So it takes place after the first film where Sonic and his friends Tails, Amy, also new character Grant, along with Rouge and Madonna beat Dr. Eggman or Robotnik whatever name they use. Along with Perfect Chaos. With Sonic becoming Super Sonic.

The post credits scene is of Eggman building a big machine, looking at more manuscripts had to look on Google well YouTube at the top search had to use sonic unleashed gaia manuscripts almost forgot gaia. Including the end shows Metal Sonic being created.

Now here while he's building Metal Sonic, he also discovers about the government whether GUN or whatever are hiding something from the public relating to his grand father Gerald Robotnik. He then discovers Shadow.

Honestly knowing some Eggman fans I feel it's best to not have Eggman being tricked or whatever honestly this is different from Sonic Adventure 2.

Yet having Shadow and Metal Sonic. Also while I go with the theory GUN went after Sonic because they wanted to keep Shadow a secret. But just it's good to have both of these guys to help. Yet my silly post said people knew the difference or whatever with Metal Sonic and stuff.

Including Eggman tricks Knuckles into thinking Sonic is a bad person along with Tails and anyone else. Also Knuckles questioning why does Metal Sonic look more evil then Sonic. I've thought of this before but I guess Eggman saying to at least make him look different enough.

Including during the course of the movie while Eggman knows who Rouge is and she can't help them. Also theirs people who noticed some plotholes with her teaming up with Eggman and Shadow.

Yet during the course of the movie Shadow and Metal Sonic attack, and people thinking Metal could be Sonic until they find out it's a robot who looks like him. The people now start to think despite all of the good things Sonic has done. They were now thinking this is happening because of him. Theirs destruction that happens after battles, and people blaming Sonic that Metal Sonic was even born. They honestly want Sonic to be accounted for his actions.

Which actually at first Sonic does hear this stuff yet he understands and at times still helping. Also I don't wanna sound stupid at times doesn't listen some of them I don't wanna do that. Yet it's so much that he is actually thinking too deep into it.

Then connecting more into the first film. Mainly Sonic is met by Tikal's orb whenever he goes to some places even the old Echidna temple to go out and ease his mind. He's met by her and even Chaos in his normal form basically Chaos Zero. But after Sonic basically kicked his ass. Chaos then realized along with Tikal that the world changed. With the film introducing Chao but they aren't a big thing yet to Chaos they are. He's not angry anymore or not as much.

Was gonna write the thing about Sonic yet I wanna explain first this to connect and respect that in the games Chaos was angry for a reason. That he wasn't some random God Of Destruction and just this to be have audiences be aware of that lore.

Now the Sonic thing he talks to Tikal about the stuff of what's been going on. Also the themes and talks about scarifice. With Tikal despite everything she tried to stop. Chaos was angry and destroyed the world. So she had to make the choice of trapping herself in the Master Emerald wait....just....or just Tikal trapping herself with Chaos for thousands of years to make sure nobody was hurt.

I don't know well it seems to count. Yet basically sometimes scarifice comes in certain ways. Whether it be like that or other ways.

Shadow is basically still the same, being the Ultimate Lifeform and hating on humans and basically the world. With seeing his family and basically sister in a way Maria shot while trying to make sure he escaped. While still the same Shadow and trying to set up his supposed father's plans Gerald Robotnik's yet okay people say their some weird stuff with it such as why Chaos Emeralds always connected.

But basically the plan changes.

Metal Sonic is still the same thing. But basically as the film goes on he thinks a bit more for himself. Including of how his father Eggman treats him, and how this is basically getting him nowhere. Along with the obsession that he is the real Sonic.

Yet it's get more personal and he slowly losing it.

While it doesn't go the way of Sonic Heroes some people don't like how Eggman was trapped for most of the game.

Also theirs this theme with Shadow and Metal how they are similar. Both weapons in a way. Including with different relationships with certain families. With different goals.

Including Knuckles okay he figures out what's going with the Master Emerald being stolen. So he teams up with Sonic and friends. Including let's have half of the moon blown up still in a way.

Yet instead of some stuff. Okay just thought of this Gerald's video is released early and everyone figures out what's going on with Shadow.

Including Metal Sonic in secret studying Sonic, studying Shadow, and maybe some Chaos but basically for the Biolizard he decides to absorb it's energy or something and the others see this or just he kills it.

This is a different route instead of what Metal Sonic did in Sonic Heroes.

I'm seriously thinking wow Metal Sonic botched Shadow's and Gerald's plan to destroy the Earth yet Eggman... honestly he wants the Earth for himself.

So Sonic with Amy a bit but Sonic tries to change Shadow's mind. Including this is on Earth but Shadow basically kicks his ass in a fight. Including Shadow is not accepting that Maria died and what her final wishes were. He's choosing to ignore them because he is so enraged and just can't let go of her.

But it's until Sonic even admits that Shadow is becoming the thing he hates and even others learning of Maria never wanted this. Along with Amy protecting Sonic reminding Shadow of what Maria did for her and fully remembering his final moments of seeing her and her final wishes of giving them a chance.

While still I guess feeling angry. Shadow decides to help. But Metal Sonic is almost ready just he's Neo Metal Sonic now and he's so bent on killing Sonic and furious of how his own father has treated him and the world. He tries to kill Eggman but Sonic stops him. Including going Super Sonic. With Shadow becoming Super later.

Along with Neo Metal Sonic becoming Metal Madness and Metal Overlord. With Metal Overlord still being so powerful. The only way to defeat him is to get to his core. Since having the energy of the Biolizard in him and other things.

Sonic realizes that they need to get closer. Yet with how Metal is their is a high possibility of death. But also to Chaos Control Metal Sonic or his core basically his heart out of the area.

Realizing that this might be the only way and the world is going to be destroyed soon. With the whole reason Metal Sonic is doing this is that he wants Sonic dead. Knowing he could die, he wants to save everyone even Eggman and everyone who basically hates him. Showing who he really is. He doesn't care of what people think of him. But he's going to do what he thinks is right.

So he does that almost left dies. Even with Shadow using all four of his rings but Sonic going in first and Shadow supposedly keeping Metal Sonic at bay. With Shadow not approving of what Sonic is doing and even everyone else but Eggman just being shocked by this.

He gets close enough to Metal, gets to his core and some spear or something not Chaos Spear but something maybe of something fallen off of Metal then thought something Tails built.

Including Metal supposedly stabs Sonic in a way and Metal saying he is the real Sonic. Including as he Metal develops more he learns to talk. But Sonic replies their are no Sonic's with everyone hearing them. Yet also meaning both him and Metal are dying. With Sonic finally saying Chaos Control.

It happens and the explosion and Sonic's death screams are so loud along with Metal Sonic's too go across the world and even break some glass with everyone hearing them and watching them. Also yeah have it in the sky since Metal Overlord flies. As the explosion goes off Shadow basically falls down a visual reference to his death from Sonic Adventure 2 but just now witnessing Sonic's scarifice yet he manages to fly a bit yet is weak a bit after using all four of his rings.

Metal Overlord comes crashing down dead basically. Yet okay just put Sonic saying Chaos Control now but Sonic is nowhere is sight. No body and nothing. Just okay the spear there. The world just witnessed Sonic just had scarificed himself.

They saw him scarificing himself dying, Metal Sonic and even Eggman finally got what they want Sonic supposedly dead but gone. Yet Metal Sonic but died doing so. Along with Shadow seeing this made him realized now. Maria scarificed her life to save him. Now Sonic just had scarificed himself but it wasn't one person it was the whole world. Along with Shadow himself. With that symbolism of Maria and Sonic while different did similar things. They both died doing what they thought was the right thing and saved a life in Maria's case and in Sonic's case everyone on the planet including Shadow. Who was basically going against Sonic and hated him.

Basically in a way that ending people think of for Sonic Adventure if Sonic had died but differently in a way.

The world is in sorrow. Even cameos for the fun of it like Princess Elise and no Sonic 06 did not happen in this universe. He met her during those two years and is friends with her. Along with Chris Thorndyke who he met too and was friends with him and his family. Basically those are cameos I personally put in there showing those two while some or a lot of people don't like them. Wanted to show them how they would feel at something like this and not stereotypes of them because I'm okay with them and I guess like them. Not the biggest fan okay basically oh head be nice it's a nice little cameo for people who like them and I wanted to treat them with respect.

Along with a cameo building Buddy/Gadget/Rookie from Sonic Forces before the events of that game happened and him reacting to these events too.

They built a memorial for Sonic and even a statue, the world mourns for Sonic's death, while Eggman would of wanting to kill Sonic himself. For the first time in his life. He is basically shocked by an action like this and confused. Because he wants to retain his douchey self and not care.

Including after witnessing that. Shadow now wants to now help the world. But not just by Maria's promise yet seeing first hand what someone like Sonic would do.

Basically now remembered thinking he failed Sonic is life but he won't fail him in death. Including even talking to his friends with Amy there too thinking he was the one who killed Sonic and telling them he's not asking them to forgive him. With Amy and the others being confused by this emotion. That Shadow actually blames himself for Sonic's death.

But the post credits scene or whatever is of showing Blaze seeing a dimenison portal being opened and her being concerned.

Just thought of this and almost forgot or just I remember and realized this is going to be long.

Sonic Mania Movie

Basically a movie adaptation of Sonic Mania I guess the next year 2022 with the third movie coming out later. Still thinking at times a Team Chaotix movie and Shadow movie. Maybe a Team Chaotix movie before the first sequel and oh Knuckles but no it's Team Chaotix still just new ideas.

2nd sequels stories taken from Sonic Rush and Sonic Forces and a bit of Sonic Rush Adventure

Had to look at the first big text thing. Basically the world is depressed after Sonic was okay just put the Sonic Rush Adventure thing. But okay the world is depressed after Sonic supposedly died. While in Sonic Mania from what I know the Phantom Ruby dropped in this dimenison where the main movies take place. So Eggman finds it and the comic where Infinite before he becomes of what he is. Him leasing Jackal Squad to raid Eggman until Infinite discovers what the Phantom Ruby can do like Eggman. With now Jackal Squad joining Eggman and his forces now.

Shadow I guess this takes place a year after Sonic's supposed death also hey 30th anniversary of Sonic 2. But Shadow still trying to do what he can after Sonic scarificed himself. Inspiring Shadow and going by Maria's promise to protect this world.

So he finds Eggman at his hidden base and had to look so last paragraph put Shadow at front. Basically Shadow kicks the Jackal Squad's ass and him telling them stuff like this isn't worth it. Basically Jackal Squad just leaves Infinite and then Infinite tries to fight Shadow but as the story goes gets his ass kicked.

With Shadow calling him pathetic and let's put weak in there. But also him easily kicking his ass and his squad just flat out leaving it. This basically triggers even more of what happens with him. To go with Eggman's plan and become one with the Phantom Ruby.

Along with Infinite this version. The aftermath of what happened. After being left and considered weak by Shadow. Because of this Infinite's mindset grows even more negative. Disgusted by the concept of family and hating it along with despising the concept of weakness so much. He's basically losing himself at this point.

So since Sonic is supposedly dead. Eggman attacks and Shadow is the one who fights backs. With this time Infinite well they meet first or whatever or sometime. But also Infinite bringing clones of Shadow, Chaos, and Metal not a clone is rebuilt but made sure he's not gonna betray Eggman. Also the fact Sonic is considered to be dead at this point. They kick Shadow's ass and he's the one who vanishes.

Okay girl cleaned up some popcorn of mine on the ground. But basically Shadow is one of the world biggest defenses and while Shadow hates working with Shadow clones. This was Eggman's idea. Infinite decides he can torture Shadow since he's the one who increased this threat even more. I know torture wasn't the word used in the Japanese version and the English version for some reason used it.

Honestly Infinite seriously hates Shadow. I can see him doing this stuff. Also realizing Shadow can't not die or age. Yet you can mentally hurt him in some way.

For Sonic while confirmed dead. As a visual reference to Sonic Rush Adventure he washes ashore on the island where Marine resides at and she okay I had to watch the first part on YouTube I'm on my phone at Target I had the audio off.

But she starts poking him with a stick. So yeah Sonic is injured but he heals up on the island including some time meeting Blaze who wants to check on this. Basically Sonic using Chaos Control with all that power now teleported him here.

While wearing a bandage around his chest he tries to get back. Yet doesn't know how yet these Sol Emeralds could be the key. But because of what's going on in the other dimenison. With Infinite and Eggman using the Phantom Ruby and starts opening portals to other dimenisons. With Classic Sonic's world being one of them.

Also theirs no Tails vanishing and no he's not losing hope. Yet over time even with some of Sonic's last words he starting to lose hope but he doesn't wanna show it but people see it. Along with others like Amy having dreams of Sonic being alive and seeing her. Also this relates to old ideas. Even Shadow himself having dreams of Sonic being alive. Also the reversal of a racing scene between them. Instead of Shadow it's Sonic who says hey don't you remember I died which wakes Shadow up whether before he gets captured or while he is.

Also I know Shadow doesn't need sleep. Including let Grant and others be affected by this.

Including Tikal was shocked by Sonic's scarifice and even shows up I guess to help but basically pissed off at a fake Chaos and maybe Chaos helps.

Along with Buddy/Gadget/Rookie decides to help and overcoming his fear.

So instead of saving Sonic it's Shadow and he escapes and Sonic and Blaze and guess yeah put Marine there too teleport oh the Death Egg what about a random prison but using s teleporter that opened they go into that dimension and even Sonic saving Buddy/Gadget/Rookie.

Also their are changes like they have all the Chaos Emeralds but they won't work. Even for Sonic, Shadow, Tikal, Chaos, or even Classic Sonic. Including Sonic getting angry at one point.

Just okay the Sol Emeralds also theirs this critical thing the Chaos Emeralds being used so much and the idea they can think for themselves. Basically they aren't helping Sonic and the others.

Also the last Sonic movie post the silly one I forgot about Silver and I don't know I guess Blaze replaces him but still I don't know. This phone has 24 percent and I want this to be the end of this or some shit.

Looked over tags a bit got them done phone has 23 percent wanna post this

Edit got tags done and forgot Marine and Silver tags sorry for this being long now 22 percent sorry of this being long again wanted to share these

Edit well it said I reached 30 tags hope I could put Cheese. Now I'm waiting for Uber. I seriously felt like I was being unfair if Cream wasn't mentioned. Basically she cries when Sonic supposedly dies too

Edit I'm sorry even the last save I felt weird still have my large Dr. Pepper I'm very sorry waiting for Uber still I ramble

[lanayrusea]

aftg gift exchange!

@callron hi i’m your person! i have no idea if this is what you wanted but it’s what i wrote so i hope you like it!! i tried to focus on neil since you said you love him (i also love him), plus renison. (also: i use v minimal japanese in this but in case anyone comes for me, just kno i’ve been studying it for six years. i still make mistakes all the time though lol)

ok please enjoy!! @aftgexchange

By all accounts, it was not a game meant for winning.

It was not a death match. They were not playing a nemesis, or even a friendly rival. They were not playing anyone they knew. It was a Japanese team from Fukuoka touring the States for practice, or fun, or murder. They were one of the first official college Exy teams on record, and had sent an astonishingly high percentage of their players to the Olympics. Kevin had nearly cried when Jeremy told him they shredded USC.

Simply, they were out of the Foxes’ league.

They would have stood a chance, Neil thought, with Andrew in goal, but Andrew was currently out of commission. No one was quite sure how he’d done it, but the monster had somehow managed to contract pneumonia. He was over the worst of it and had returned from the hospital, but still refused any drugs beyond those that were absolutely necessary. Wymack nearly blew a gasket the last time Andrew opened his mouth to complain about being sick. It hadn’t been pretty.

So Andrew was on house arrest, or Fox Tower arrest. Renee had filled in seamlessly during the local scrimmages scheduled that week, but Neil could tell the team had silently come to terms with the fact that their match against Fukuoka would be, in all likelihood, a wreck.

It was not a game meant for winning.

Even so, Neil began to feel his usual nerves in the hours before the match, though there was nothing at stake other than the Foxes’ largely nonexistent dignity. The game wasn’t even going to be broadcasted. From a spectator’s perspective, Neil figured, if you were going to watch your team get slaughtered, it might as well be by another team you knew. Losing to strangers was just embarrassing. And you couldn’t say, Oh, next time. At this point, the only thing keeping the Foxes in the game at all was their determination, as always, to put up a good fight. Wymack had little to say during their pre-game meeting—mumbled something or other about pyrrhic victory—and set Dan on them instead.

“If we can do anything,” she said, “we can make them remember what it cost.”

Renee nodded and said sensibly, “When you put down a dog, the dog still bites.”

For a moment the Foxes stood frozen, then glanced around at each other, all wearing the same expression: Did she really just say that? Am I nuts?

Allison was the first to recover. “Renee, sweetest, we’ll work on your analogies. Dan, don’t worry. We’ll give ’em hell.”

“Do the Japanese have hell?” asked Nicky.

“I will box your ears,” said Kevin evenly, though the question hadn’t been directed at him.

“Do it after the match, Queen Elizabeth,” said Dan. “Okay. We all know our jobs. Renee: don’t even worry about what happens past half-court. Backliners: work extra hard. Neil: dance. Kevin—” He shot her a vicious look, but she didn’t back down. “Don’t overwork your left hand. It’s not worth it.”

Wymack made a noise of agreement. Kevin bristled but said nothing.

“If you need to get mad, get mad. Fuck it, you should already be mad—this is plain unfair. They’re three times our size. There’s no stakes in terms of our actual season, so if you need to punch someone, just make sure I don’t beat you to it.”

Appreciative laughter.

“I know our hopes aren’t high,” Dan said, “especially after hearing what they did to Kevin’s idol—”

Several people said several different things at once. Dan powered through.

“—but I still think we have a chance offensively. Defense: every pass you guys intercept, every shot you block will be a victory, and it’ll make victory against the blockheads in our league that much easier. Neil, Kevin: I want three goals each from you.”

“And?” Neil said, knowing what had to be coming.

“And,” Dan continued, “I know threats of extra drills and runs don’t scare you, you masochistic bastards, so if you don’t score enough, you’ll take turns in goal during our next scrimmage and let Renee and the monster laugh all they like.”

Neil’s jaw dropped. Nicky hooted. Wymack was grinning.

“That’s how it’s going to be?” said Kevin. He sounded riled, which, Neil realized, was probably exactly what Dan wanted.

She smiled. “That’s how it’s going to be.”

“Goddamn,” muttered Matt.

“Keep it together, Boyd,” said Allison.

Dan clapped once, and suddenly everyone was back at attention. “Alright, you heathens! I think it’s time we light this thing. We have nothing to lose, so let’s play like it. Hell—let’s make this the one game Andrew actually wishes he’d played. Renee, have I told you recently I adore you?”

“I adore you too, Dan.”

“Lovely. Coach?”

Wymack stood. “Dan Wilds, you’re a phenomenon. Strikers, that was no joke she just pulled. Three goals apiece. Get out there.”

Neil was going to have to ask Andrew about basic goalkeeping strategy.

The team from Fukuoka emerged onto the court at the same time, carrying their helmets under their arms as though to mirror the Foxes. They were called Hakuchō, the Swans. (“Their mascot is a swan? Isn’t that a little…underwhelming?” “Underwhelming? Have you ever met a swan?” “Have I ever met a swan?” “They’re vicious! They don’t give a shit whether you live or die!” “Are you implying that a swan has tried to kill you?” “Listen, those fuckers come out of nowhere.” “Are we all hearing this? Confirmation of Nicky Hemmick’s near-death-by-swan experience?” “DAN, ALLISON’S BEING MEAN TO ME!”) They looked impeccably prepared; their drills were immaculate. There was a certain quiet about them, too, the kind that came from confidence, not from lack of volume. The thought arose suddenly in Neil’s head: I want us to be that good.

He glanced at Kevin, who was grim with anticipation. Neil knew he felt the same.

Warmups went by fast. Neil listened to the Swans talk to each other, getting a feel for the easy, even sound of the Japanese language when it wasn’t coming out of the mouth of a mob boss. It was a stark contrast to all the languages he knew, which seemed to lean more heavily on consonants. Japanese sounded open-mouthed. He was listening to them rattle off calls and signals when familiar laughter caught his attention.

Neil looked around. Who—?

It was Kevin. He was a few meters from Neil, doing stretches he had made up for his left arm, but he had completely abandoned them and was now leaning on his racquet, stifling laughter. There were also two Swans nearby, looking bewildered. To Neil’s surprise, Kevin caught his breath and spoke to them.

He had completely forgotten Kevin spoke Japanese.

How did I forget something like that?

Neil was about to grab Kevin and get him away from the poor Swans, but unexpectedly, they began to laugh, too. He caught one word that sounded like English: pudding.

From near the goal, Allison said loudly, “I can’t believe it! The queen bitch is making friends!”

From near the Vixens, Aaron said, “Is he dying?”

Katelyn said, giggling, “Aaron.”

A whistle blew, and Kevin and the two Swans left for their respective sides of the court with a last grin. Neil jogged a few paces to catch up with him.

“What was that all about?” he asked.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Kevin said, then snickered. “God, I can’t even look at you.”

“Me?” Neil ran a self-conscious hand through his hair. The week before, he had run out of shampoo and, out of desperation, used some from an unlabeled travel bottle, discovering a split-second too late that it was old hair dye. He managed to scrub out most of it before it took, but his roots were still tinged brown. Allison had lent him some of her fancy princess shampoo in the meantime (“vegan, of course”), and now he smelled like mint and coconut. (Somehow, it didn’t exude the same kind of power on him as it did on Allison.) But he had thought the team was over teasing him about that.

“Strikers, get to your positions!”

That was Dan—she had lost the coin toss. They put on their helmets and hustled.

“It’s alright,” Neil heard Matt say. “This is still a game, folks! We can’t get discouraged.”

“Yeah,” said Nicky. “Instead, just think of how shitfaced Kevin’s going to get tonight and how funny it’ll be when he drunk dials Jeremy.”

Even Renee laughed at that one.

The whistle blew.

First half was a fiasco. Dan was ready to kill Aaron, who had maybe never cared less about the score of a game, but she stayed furiously silent during their halftime meeting. Matt was breathing hard; he had been running almost as much as the strikers. Allison had undone the numerous braids Renee used to keep her short hair out of her face and now combed her fingers through the waves of it. Renee did not speak or move the whole time, except to drink. She was conserving her energy.

Neil had scored two goals. Kevin had scored one. They were down three.

“Three,” Wymack said upon their entrance, “is not fucking bad.”

“It’s not good,” Kevin shot back.

“Whose fault is that?” said Allison.

“Everyone’s,” Matt said forcefully, before Kevin and Allison could get to each other’s throats. “That’s why it’s called a team.”

“Boyd’s right,” said Wymack. “There’s not enough incentive here. I was pessimistic before, and that was a mistake on my part, but I really think we can put a dent in these guys’ ego. There might not be any camera crews or flashing lights, but I’ve seen the reporters. They’re watching you. They’d be stupid not to.”

Aaron muttered something unintelligible. Neil and Dan glared at him.

“Look,” Wymack continued, “they’re everything we knew they’d be. They’re strong, they’re fast, there’s a fucking million of them. Defense, you’re doing great, but I need more from you. Aaron Michael Minyard, do not test me.”

Aaron scowled.

“Renee,” said Wymack, “I know you can give me more. I’ve watched you work for years now, and I can tell when you’re holding back.”

Renee allowed herself a small smile. It occurred to Neil that maybe she had been waiting for this—for the rest of her teammates to wake up.

Wymack looked around at them. “That goes for all of you. Where’s your effort? Neil, I know how fast you are. Kevin—one goal? Really?”

Kevin flushed angrily and opened his mouth.

“No!” Wymack interrupted. “Offense, you are where our win lies. Don’t just stand there looking surly. Show these assholes you’re the team that’s come out on top, time and time again. Knock them over the head with it. So what they’re incredible? They’re not expecting a challenge. And so far, you’re not giving them one.”

Neil knew he was right. Dan looked ashamed.

Wymack sighed. “You’ve played this game before, Foxes. You’ve played this exact game. How many damn times, I’ve lost count. Don’t make me start thinking you’ve gotten soft.” After a moment, he sneered. “How come no one’s thrown a punch yet?”

Allison grinned wolfishly. She was re-braiding Renee’s hair with deft, confident fingers. “Great point, Coach. Hemmick, don’t let them walk on you.”

Nicky looked startled to be addressed. “Hey, I’m a lover.”

Neil suddenly felt more awake. “No, Nicky,” he said, “she’s right. Their number four—”

“Kobayashi,” said Kevin.

They stared at him.

He shrugged. “That’s what it says on her jersey.”

Neil turned back to Nicky. “She’s taking advantage of your delayed left turn. Your weight’s not evenly distributed. I’m not saying fix it right now,” he added quickly, “I’m just saying don’t let her use it.”

“Switch spots with me,” Matt suggested. “You’ll have to pay closer attention to Renee but I’ll bet the advantages compile. We’ll see if we can trip them up.”

Nicky clicked his tongue. “Carpe fucking diem.”

Dan finally spoke. “Maybe we can turn this into a good thing,” she said thoughtfully. “They were wary of us at first, or at least our reputation, but now they think we’re no hot shit. They’re too good to let their guard down completely, but if we come out hard and fast maybe we can rip a hole in it.”

Neil nodded. “They won’t know what hit them. If they’re too shocked to respond for even just a minute, we can own the rest of the game.”

Kevin raised an eyebrow. “Well, we can,” he said pointedly, then glanced from Aaron to Allison and Renee.

Allison stiffened. “Yes, Highness?”

Neil said, “Kevin” at the same time Renee said, “Allie.”

“No fighting,” said Dan. “Defense is pulling their weight, and if they need help, I can always fill in. They’ve certainly blocked more shots on goal than we’ve made at this point.”

Warning whistle. The Foxes started putting their helmets back on.

“Now’s the time,” said Wymack. “They’re not invincible. Win it right now or go home and tell Andrew how lousy you are without him.”

Everyone groaned.

Wymack grinned. “That’s my Foxes.”

By all accounts, it was not a game meant for winning. But when had the Foxes ever listened to anyone else’s account?

It was not an important game. It didn’t determine their spot in a bracket. The only people who watched it live were there in person. Their opponent was an elite team from Japan whose business it was to slaughter anyone they were put up against. The reporters made sure to put all of it in their columns—maybe the USC Trojans had a rough day, or maybe the PSU Foxes got lucky for the thousandth time in a row. But there was nothing in it for them, and they still tried their damnedest.

And the Foxes still won.

That Renee Walker, one of the journalists said to another, shaking her head. I’m stunned.

I know, said the other. And we thought Minyard was scary.

Neil’s head was a blur by the time the buzzer screamed at him to stop running. He felt like he had been playing against USC again—it was ridiculously unfair how good these people were while still being so sportsmanlike. He was mad that he couldn’t be mad at them. They were so courteous. How could someone be courteous while ramming you into the floor with an Exy racquet?

Needless to say, no one threw any punches.

The Foxes got better every passing moment of the second half, but so did Fukuoka. Neil had been right: they returned to the game with just enough force to shake their opponent’s ground without blowing themselves out. And the Swans retaliated. Just as he began to recognize some of their strategy calls, they stopped using them. Kevin wasn’t playing like he was bored anymore. Aaron wasn’t playing with one eye shut.

And Renee. God, had she woken up. She was a queen on her throne and her soldiers let no one usurp her.

The final score was 8-7, and the last goal was Neil’s.

It was like waking up from a dream. He could see his teammates yelling something to him but the stadium was so loud he couldn’t hear them. He leaned on his racquet for a moment, then ran for the congregation at half-court. Kevin came up behind him and smacked him on the shoulder so hard he tripped. Dan’s laughter cut through the commotion.

“Kevin!”

“Sorry!”

Kevin helped him to his feet and ruffled his half-dyed hair. Neil swatted Kevin’s hand away, grinning, and then they were shoving each other around and then they were at half-court, and Matt was practically suffocating him, and he could hear Katelyn calling after Aaron and Wymack saying, “Natalie Renee Walker!” Matt released him to hug Nicky and he was immediately seized by Dan, who said, “Neil, you devil!” and let him go just in time for them to see Allison grab Renee’s face, pull her from the throng of Foxes, and kiss her full on the mouth. Unless he was much mistaken, the cheering intensified.

When Allison pulled away, Renee looked more flustered and more pleased than Neil had ever seen her, but she also looked like she was about to faint. Breathlessly, she said, “Allie, I love you—but I’m never playing like that again.”

Allison laughed and swept Renee off her feet.

Behind them, Nicky was laughing at Kevin’s expression so hard Neil thought he might fall over. Kevin looked dumbfounded.

“You, uh…okay?” Neil asked him.

All Kevin could say was, “Wow.”

“Nicky,” said Matt, “are you breathing?”

Nicky managed, “He had no fucking idea.”

They lined up for handshakes (Allison almost carried Renee through), then began to head back to the locker rooms. Neil was following Matt in to hear Wymack and get changed when someone called his number.

“Ten! Short boy!”

Neil whirled around to see Swan four, one of the starting strikers, jogging over to him. Kobayashi, Kevin had called her. She offered him a quick bow of the head and said, in lightly accented English, “Sorry for laughing at you, Josten. Before the game started.”

“That’s what that was about?” he said. “I don’t mind. I know I look ridiculous.”

“We have a word for that in Japan,” she said. “Purin-atama. It means ‘pudding-head.’ In Japan pudding comes with chocolate on top and vanilla on bottom, like your hair. But usually we do it on purpose. That’s what is funny.”

Neil grinned. It was funny. “Thanks for telling me. I’ve been called worse names.”

“Your team is amazing,” Kobayashi said. “I’m so surprised we lost! And you’re really fast.”

“Kevin is better,” he said, then clarified, “Number two.”

“Oh, he is good. When I sat on the bench I just watched him. His Japanese is pretty good, too. I was surprised he speaks.”

Neil almost said, I was, too, but caught himself. “He doesn’t use it much. I’m not sure he likes it.”

“Really? If he teaches me some drills I can teach him some curse words. He seems interested enough.”

Kobayashi glanced over his head, and Neil followed her gaze. Kevin was indeed watching them, not surreptitiously at all. His frown disappeared when he saw them looking back.

“Come on, kid!” he called, feigning nonchalance.

“Looks like they need me,” Neil said. “Good game, Kobayashi.”

“Otsukaresama,” she said with a smile and a nod. “Maybe I’ll see you soon, Ten. My team says we want to meet that infamous goalkeeper of yours.”

Neil laughed. “Oh, him.”

“Yes, him. They tell us you two are—what’s the polite way to say? ‘Involved’? Where is he, anyway?”

“He’s in bed with a bad cold because he refuses to take his medicine.”

Kobayashi smirked. “He’ll be in bed with more than that when we’re through with him.”

“I’d like to see you try.”

“Until next time?”

“Count on it.”

She gave him a two-fingered salute and returned to her Swans. And Neil returned to his Foxes.

[superkaramels]

@xsupercorpx :  “Sorry I'm confused please remind me on what post did I comment on?. Never mind, but i still don't see how this answers my question.  By the way I wasn't trying to hate on your account. I did go to the Karamel tag looking for supercorp shipperes who where posting hate in that tag to ask them to take it down. And happened to stumble upon this. I was just curious.  And I mean no hate but just Because you ignore the bad he does or compares all the bad things to the good things he does and sees there is more good than bad doesn't erase the fact that he still does these bad things, but saying that means the supercorp shippers shouldnt ignore all the good things he does too. I know how to keep my opinion of A Character I dislike in my ship tag and I will say sorry on behalf of the supercorp shippers who do this to you guys. I cant change what they do with what they post but instead of fighting about it I would ask them to take it down. And the supercorp shippers are not the only ones who goes to the opposite tag to distribute hate. The karamel shippers do this on IG a lot. We post joke about monel that are funny to us to bring out a laugh but we don't set it in your guys tag yet they decided they want to fight about it. I know its not you but you should be aware that this is not one sidedactions.”

Sorry for replying via post, but this is a sideblog and if I reply with my main blog you may get really confused.

Okay, I totally get that you weren’t trying to hate on me, that’s the reason I answered you, because you were actually very polite and I appreciate that. I wasn’t trying to hate on you either with my answer. Just trying to clarify my motives. It seems like I didn’t do a very good job, did I? (English is not my first language and I suck at explaining myself). So I’ll try again: The reason why I made those gifsets (it’s not just that one you saw. I’m giffing every scene I consider to be important) is because I love that character and I think there are some scenes that are pretty underrated or literally ignored by some people and that are important for the development of the character.

I’m very aware that Mon-El is not perfect, far from it, and believe me, I have never ignored something he has done wrong. In fact I don't see characters I love (even tho I still love them) as perfect beings who can do no wrong. I don't do that with Mon-El or with any other character from any other show I watch. The fact that Mon-El made mistakes is what makes him interesting. That is the whole point of his plot, he is going from being a selfish and spoiled person (as he admitted in 2x16) to being a person willing to help and fight for what is right and to sacrifice himself for the sake of others. That is character development. The writers are trying to build "the hero's journey" and you may not agree, but I think they’ve done a very good job. The problem is that even though I'm able to point when he does something right or when he does something wrong, many other people see everything in black and white and they ignore things that have happened in canon. One of those things is that Mon-El in canon said that he does not like or agree with slavery (as it has been seen in 2x09, 2x16 and 2x17), something that the antis continue using as an argument to insult us.

I really appreciate that you were trying to help us. The fact is that we (karamel fandom) have asked these post hijackers/tag invaders to stop doing that. Their answer was always NO. All of them have always given us very rude answers. We see hate in our tags on a daily basis. Chris Wood (he's just an actor who's trying to do his job) receives hate on social media on a daily basis. I've receive death threats for shipping karamel (and I'm not the only one). People from our fandom who have been abused were treated as if their situation did not matter and have been insulted, people from the LGBT community who are part of our fandom have been called homophobic. Members of your fandom have created multiple tumblr accounts with pro karamel urls for the sole purpose of hijacking our post and insult us. They also decided it was a good idea to boo every Mon-El scene at a screening in LA (in front of producers and cast members of the DC/CW shows). Btw, that screening was a charity event for kids. It is one thing to defend your ship, it is another to bully people you know nothing about just because we don't like the same thing as you (again, I’m not talking about you personally, just explaining what’s going on here). 

I’m aware that not evey SC shipper is a bad person, just like I’m aware that not every KM shipper is a good person. In fact, I’ve blocked some karamel shippers because I really don’t like the way they were behaving.  On the other hand, I'm sure that I have 90% of members of your fandom blocked, either because they are very immature people and have insulted us in one way or another or because their only purpose in live is to make our tumblr experience a living hell. For example, I would love to reblog some Kara and Lena gifs because I really like their friendship, unfortunately I can't because most of the blogs who make Kara and Lena content are blocked.

I’m not aware of the situation on Instagram because I don’t have an account, and I’m sorry if members of my fandom have been rude to you guys, that’s not what we stand for. We have called out people who have displayed that type of behavior in the past. I hope it is resolved soon. I just wish everyone would stay in their line and let people enjoy whatever they enjoy. Ship wars are pointless and stupid and I'm ashamed that a wonderful show like Supergirl have such a toxic fandom.

In case I wasn't clear, I have never pretended to be rude or hate on you with this post. Just trying to make you understand my point of view, just as I try to understand yours.

Edit: I just checked your blog and I saw that you wrote an anti Mon-El post and you tagged it as #Monel. You know, if you're trying to get members of your fandom to stop doing that and you do the same, then what is the point?. Anti tags exist for a reason, please use them and don't post hate on the #MonEl tag. Let’s be respectful with one another. I'm politely asking you to remove that post from the pro tags, just like you suggested us to do in this kind of situations.

[palmnix]

Chaos’s Assassin 9

Half an hour after successfully retrieving the information from Rose Song we were all sat around a table in a little coffee/tea shop a couple of streets down from the Agent's house. The tea shop itself was nice; small, with tables lining the windows and a cute little bar by the door. The tea's they sold were even cuter, they were little bubble tea's of different colours and flavours. Not exactly my style, but it would do.

“So, what's the plan?” Piper asked, tugging at the feathers braided into her choppy chestnut hair. There seemed to be some kind of unspoken agreement between the six of us, the two quests were meant to come together. And seeing as the prophecy had mentioned that we would “travel with six” we were pretty sure that we were on the right track.

“I guess we need to find a way to get down to the Whitehouse today.” Annabeth answered, her grey eyes deep in thought.

“We could always get a bus.” Jason contributed, sipping quietly on his strawberry bubble tea. It was an odd choice, but one we all accepted readily.

“The bus station just got shut down,” Hazel said, “apparently there was some robbery in the corner store right next door to it so they shut it down for the investigation.”

“How do you know that?” Leo asked, edging to see what she was looking at in her hands. It was a newspaper, and front page was a photo of the corner store.  

“That may have been us,” Piper said, raising her hand slightly, “does it say if they have any leads?”

“No, luckily none of the witnesses pegged you guys as the robbers, so they have all just got different descriptions for the monster you were fighting. ”

“Lamia.” Piper contributed.

“Nice…” Jason complimented, high fiving Leo across the table.

“Well I wish the detectives good luck with that case,” I said, looking up from my black coffee, “What are you guys doing in Boston anyway?”

I had to ask, it had been on my mind all day.

“Same reason as you.” Annabeth answered with a cold glare in my direction.

“Well, not exactly,” Jason offered with a slightly nicer attitude, “Octavian is from our Camp, so he's our responsibility. It's only natural that we have to go get him before this gets too far.”

“Rose Song called both camps.” Hazel clarified.

“How does she know about us anyway?” Leo asked, his decaffeinated green tea and croissant left untouched (because we all know what happens when he has too much caffeine).

“I think Chiron said something about a younger brother who was a half blood during the Battle of the Labyrinth or something… and with all the ruckus during the Giant War, I would be surprised if she didn't know about the Roman Camp.” Piper piped up.

“There were apparently a lot of unregistered deaths during the Labyrinth’s Battle.” Leo said, nodding matter of factly.

“It was practically slaughter,” Annabeth muttered, the air getting tense. Then, with new vigour, she asked, “How old was he?”

“He died at 15.”

No one spoke for a long time, Annabeth's eyes stared into the distance, and I couldn't help but feel guilty. It was a time when people were disappearing all over the place, many just not returning to camp. People were going on quests without prophecies and deaths were not taken into account. But still, I felt as if I was once again carrying the sky on my shoulders, and this time it was permanent. I had to live with my mistakes, so many deaths, the least I could've done was remember their names… but I didn't. I guess I was just selfish.

“Okay,” Hazel said, having not known about the Camps at the time. The others, apart from Annabeth and I, snapped out of it quickly, “So where do we go from here?”

“We could just hitch a ride,” Jason suggested, “It's not uncommon, a lot of the time there are many tourists that are willing to take a couple of people along. We might be lucky and find someone heading for Washington.”

“I would be surprised if we don't,” Piper said, agreeing with her boyfriend and sipping on her camomile tea, “That's tourist destination number 1.”

“Okay, and how long will it take us to get there? Does anyone know?”

Leo smirked slightly, before saying in a bad robotic voice, “I estimate, around 7 and a half hours.”

“Well it's almost 9 o'clock,” Annabeth said, beginning to put things in her bag, “so if we leave now we could get there before 8, and that would give us time to quickly catch a bite and then kick some ass. Remember, we have to get Omega’s friends out before sunrise tomorrow. So let's do this quick.”

 It had been surprisingly easy to find a family to allow us to crash their little road trip. After we mentioned chipping in on gas money, they were happy to bring us along. Due to this, 2 hours after the discussion at the tea place we were already on our way to Washington in a large black and grey camper van with a family of four. Hazel had very kindly spun the mist so the people that were helping us saw a random person’s face, instead of a shady hood. However, in the end it didn't seem like it was really needed, seeing as I mostly stayed in the back where the ‘living room’ area was. If you'd ever seen ‘We're The Millers’, it was basically that truck.

Piper and Jason stayed upfront, talking to the parents and Hazel and Leo stuck close to the main door, having a conversation with the two teenage kids about the “New Era of Electronics”, whatever that was supposed to be. At first Annabeth stuck with Jason and Piper, but after a while, upfront seemed to be a bit too cramped for her. So she then decided to join me on the couches at the back of the bus, the furthest away from the commotion. I wanted to complain, but honestly, I had missed her so much, I was kind of craving her company…

“So what's your deal?” she asked bluntly, her face betraying her badly hidden curiosity.

“My… deal?” I replied cautiously.

“Yeah, your story. Tell me how you are connected to Chaos.”

I looked at her, it wasn't as if she was giving me puppy dog eyes or anything. It was nothing like that in fact. Her stare was one of a warriors, and she was not backing down. That alone reminded me of the good old days, stuck in trucks similar to the one we were caged in at the moment.

“How about this, I'll tell you what you want to know. In return, you tell me what I want to know.” I said, coming up with a compromise.

“Alright, deal.” she said smirking slightly.

Upon feeling her curiosity, I paused for a second, thinking about how to explain my situation without giving too much away, “You know how there's that one person in the whole wide universe that you would sacrifice everything and everyone for, just to keep them safe. You would even give your life for this person. You know?”

She looked at me for a moment before leaning back slightly and ducking her head to her lap.

“Yeah” she said.

“Well, I almost lost that person. I’m not the kind of person to let someone I love suffer, so, as payment for their safety, I gave up my life and joined Chaos’s Army.”

Sensing the fragility of my confession she chose to move the subject along, “So you were recruited then? For the Army.”

“Yeah, but I had to go through the same procedure as the others.”

“Wait, I don't understand, what  ‘procedure’?” It hit me that she probably thought it was some kind of operation. I couldn't help but released a short, quiet laugh at her shock, before clarifying.

“We spend 385 days training in the school they have there.”

“Okay, then how come you aren't the regular soldier? How come you're a-”

“An assassin?”

“Yeah...”

“I was given the choice after I graduated, either join the army like the other recruits and start from the bottom working my way up, or just become his Assassin. That was about 11,615 years ago.”

“So, you just kill people in cold blood?” As she said that her eyes glazed over with a frozen kind of hatred, one that I knew wasn't caused by my character, but rather by what she assumed were my actions.

“Not really, I do what the Army can't. I take care of the threats to the universe, the army takes care of threats to specific planets that could eventually grow to something more. Like this planet and Octavian. Basically I have smaller, more skillful targets. Assassin is just a title. I mean, I guess in some sense it's accurate… look, the people I kill are killers, they’re criminals in the eyes of Chaos. So I get rid of them.”

“Does that not have an effect on you?” She asked, her eyes turning from icy to troubled, “You’re from earth right? Humans aren’t born killers.”

“No species’s are born killers, but, depending on the circumstances, they can be taught to be, even if that's not what you thought you were doing. Anyway, if by killing these people I’m saving an innocent person's life? Then, It’s worth it.”

She looked at me for a couple more moments, her legs crossed from where she sat on the beige seats across from me. All of a sudden her stone faced expression crumbled and another Annabeth emerged, the Annabeth I was in love with. Then, without any warning, she started to giggle.

“What’s so funny?” I couldn't help but ask, the infectious laughter threatening to spill from myself as well.

“This situation just reminded me of a very similar scene from a couple of years ago, it was on my first ever quest. I had gone with my two bestfriend’s, although I hadn’t known that at the time, to go retrieve a stupid lightning bolt and somehow ended up in the back of a van slightly different from this one (if you count goats and hay stacks as different), driving halfway across the country, filled to the brim with barnyard animals. It stunk. But ironically our friend Grover blended right in. I remember sitting there with Percy and just talking about anything and everything, it was the first time we had really even clicked, you know? Right now, I can't help but miss him.”

Throughout her speech she had subconsciously ended up with a peaceful expression on her normally anxious face. She had been in her own world, I could see that much, but when she was brought back to the terrible, harsh reality that is life, the only thing in the whole universe that I wanted to do, was hug her. Hug her and tell her everything was okay. I would crack a terrible joke, get her to laugh, get her to feel the same peace, the same happiness, she had felt when she told her story.

Reality didn't feel the same anymore. I had left everything, just for it to end, but now she was all alone, suffering, and I was the cause. I didn't really regret leaving, if it meant all was well, then perhaps it was for the best. But what about her? What had she wanted? What had my family wanted? I hadn't even taken that into consideration. What did she think happened? Where did she think I had gone?

[moneypedia]

Explain this: To excel man in that which man excells all other animals?

Man a Machine, Julien Offray de La Mettrie (1748) 

It is not enough for a wise man to study nature and truth; he should dare state truth for the benefit of the few who are willing and able to think. As for the rest, who are voluntarily slaves of prejudice, they can no more attain truth, than frogs can fly. I reduce to two the systems of philosophy which deal with man's soul. The first and older system is materialism; the second is spiritualism. The metaphysicians who have hinted that matter may well be endowed with the faculty of thought have perhaps not reasoned ill. For there is in this case a certain advantage in their inadequate way of expressing their meaning. In truth, to ask whether matter can think, without considering it otherwise than in itself, is like asking whether matter can tell time. It may be foreseen that we shall avoid this reef upon which Locke had the bad luck to shipwreck. The Leibnizians with their monads have set up an unintelligible hypothesis. They have rather spiritualized matter than materialized the soul. How can we define a being whose nature is absolutely unknown to us? Descartes and all the Cartesians, among whom the followers of Malebranche have long been numbered, have made the same mistake. They have taken for granted two distinct substances in man, as if they had seen them, and positively counted them. The wisest men have declared that the soul can not know itself save by the light of faith. However, as reasonable beings they have thought that they could reserve for themselves the right of examining what the Bible means by the word ``spirit,'' which it uses in speaking of the human soul. And if in their investigation, they do not agree with the theologians on this point, are the theologians more in agreement among themselves on all other points? Here is the result in a few words of all their reflections. If there is a God, he is the Author of nature was well as of revelation. He has given us the one to explain the other, and reason to make them agree. To distrust the knowledge that can be drawn from the study of animated bodies, is to regard nature and revelation as two contraries which destroy each other, and consequently to dare uphold the absurd doctrine, that God contradicts Himself in His various works and deceives us. If there is a revelation, it can not then contradict nature. By nature only can we understand the meaning of the words of the Gospel, of which experience is the only truly interpreter. In fact, the commentators before our time have only obscured the truth. We can judged of this by the author of the Spectacle of Nature. ``It is astonishing,'' he says concerning Locke, ``that a man who degrades our soul far enough to consider it a soul of clay should dare set up reason as judge and sovereign arbiter of the mysteries of faith, for,'' he adds, ``what an astonishing idea of Christianity one would have, if one were to follow reason.'' Not only do these reflections fail to elucidate faith, but they also constitute such frivolous objections to the method of those who undertake to interpret the Scripture, that I am almost ashamed to waste time in refuting them. The excellence of reason does not depend on a big word devoid of meaning (immateriality), but on the force, extent, and perspicuity of reason itself. Thus a ``soul of clay'' which should discover, at one glance, as it were, the relations and the consequences of an infinite number of ideas hard to understand, would evidently be preferable to a foolish and stupid soul, though that were composed of the most precious elements. A man is not a philosopher because, with Pliny, he blushes over the wretchedness of our origin. What seems vile is here the most precious of things, and seems to be the object of nature's highest art and most elaborate care. But as man, even though he should come from an apparently still more lowly source, would yet be the most perfect of all beings, so whatever the origin of his soul, if it is pure, noble, and lofty, it is a beautiful soul which dignifies the man endowed with it. Pluche's second way of reasoning seems vicious to me, even in his system, which smacks a little of fanaticism; for [on his view] if we have an idea of faith as being contrary to the clearest principles, to the most incontestable truths, we must yet conclude, out of respect for revelation and its author, that this conception is false, and that we do not yet understand the meaning of the words of the Gospel. Of the two alternatives, only one is possible: either everything is illusion, nature as well as revelation, or experience alone can explain faith. But what can be more ridiculous than the position of our author! Can one imagine hearing a Peripatetic say, ``We ought not to accept the experiments of Torricelli, for if we should accept them, if we should rid ourselves of the horror of the void, what an astonishing philosophy we should have!'' I have shown how vicious the reasoning of Pluche is in order to prove, in the first place, that if there is a revelation, it is not sufficiently demonstrated by the mere authority of the Church, and without any appeal to reason, as all those who fear reason claim: and in the second place, to protect against all assault the method of those who would wish to follow the path that I open to them, of interpreting supernatural things, incomprehensible in themselves, in the light of those ideas with which nature has endowed us. Experience and observation should therefore be our only guides here. Both are to be found throughout the records of the physicians who were philosophers, and not in the works of the philosophers who were not physicians. The former have traveled through and illuminated the labyrinth of man; they alone have laid bare those springs [of life] hidden under the external integument which conceals so many wonders from our eyes. They alone, tranquilly contemplating our soul, have surprised it, a thousand times, both in its wretchedness and in its glory, and they have no more despised it in the first estate, than they have admired it in the second. Thus, to repeat, only the physicians have a right to speak on this subject. What could the others, especially the theologians, have to say? Is it not ridiculous to hear them shamelessly coming to conclusions about a subject concerning which they have had no means of knowing anything, and from which on the contrary they have been completely turned aside by obscure studies that have led them to a thousand prejudiced opinions, - in a word, to fanaticism, which adds yet more to their ignorance of the mechanism of the body? But even though we have chosen the best guides, we shall still find many thorns and stumbling blocks in the way. Man is so complicated a machine that it is impossible to get a clear idea of the machine beforehand, and hence impossible to define it. For this reason, all the investigations have been vain, which the greatest philosophers have made à priori, that is to to say, in so far as they use, as it were, the wings of the spirit. Thus it is only à posteriori or by trying to disentangle the soul from the organs of the body, so to speak, that one can reach the highest probability concerning man's own nature, even though one can not discover with certainty what his nature is. Let us then take in our hands the staff of experience, paying no heed to the accounts of all the idle theories of the philosophers. TO be blind and to think one can do without this staff if the worst kind of blindness. How truly a contemporary writer says that the only vanity fails to gather from secondary causes the same lessons as from primary causes! One can and one even ought to admire all these fine geniuses in their most useless works, such men as Descartes, Malebranche, Leibnitz, Wolff and the rest, but what profit, I ask, has any one gained from their profound meditations, and from all their works? Let us start out then to discover not what has been thought, but what must be thought for the sake of repose in life. There are as many different minds, different characters, and different customs, as there are different temperaments. Even Galen knew this truth which Descartes carried so far as to claim that medicine alone can change minds and morals, along with bodies. (By the write of L'historie de l'âme, this teaching is incorrectly attributed to Hippocrates.) It is true that melancholy, bile, phlegm, blood etc., - according to the nature, the abundance, and the different combination of these humors - make each man different from another. In disease the soul is sometimes hidden, showing no sign of life; sometimes it is so inflamed by fury that it seems to be doubled; sometimes, imbecility vanishes and the convalescence of an idiot produces a wise man. Sometimes, again, the greatest genius becomes imbecile and looses the sense of self. Adieu then to all that fine knowledge, acquired at so high a price, and with so much trouble! Here is a paralytic who asks is his leg is in bed with him; there is a soldier who thinks that he still has the arm which has been cut off. The memory of his old sensations, and of the place to which they were referred by his soul, is the cause of this illusion, and of this kind of delirium. The mere mention of the member which he has lost is enough to recall it to his mind, and to make him feel all its motions; and this causes him an indefinable and inexpressible kind of imaginary suffering. This man cries like a child at death's approach, while this other jests. What was needed to change the bravery of Caius Julius, Seneca, or Petronius into cowardice or faintheartedness? Merely an obstruction in the spleen, in the liver, an impediment in the portal vein. Why? Because the imagination is obstructed along with the viscera, and this gives rise to all the singular phenomena of hysteria and hypochondria. What can I add to the stories already told of those who imagine themselves transformed into wolf-men, cocks or vampires, or of those who think that the dead feed upon them? Why should I stop to speak of the man who imagines that his nose or some other member is of glass? The way to help this man to regain his faculties and his own flesh-and-blood nose is to advise him to sleep on hay, lest he beak the fragile organ, and then to set fire to the hay that he may be afraid of being burned - a far which has sometimes cured paralysis. But I must touch lightly on facts which everybody knows. Neither shall I dwell long on the details of the effects of sleep. Here a tired soldier snores in a trench, in the middle of the thunder of hundreds of cannon. His soul hears nothing; his sleep is as deep as apoplexy. A bomb is on the point of crushing him. He will feel this less perhaps than he feels an insect which is under his foot. On the other hand, this man who is devoured by jealousy, hatred, avarice, or ambition, can never find any rest. The most peaceful spot, the freshest and most calming drinks are alike useless to one who has not freed his heart from the torment of passion. The soul and the body fall asleep together. As the motion of the blood is calmed, a sweet feeling of peace and quiet spreads through the whole mechanism. The soul feels itself little by little growing heavy as the eyelids droop, and loses its tenseness, as the fibres of the brain relax; thus little by little it becomes as if paralyzed and with it all the muscles of the body. These can no longer sustain the weight of the head, and the soul can no longer bear the burden of thought; it is in sleep as if it were not. Is the circulation too quick? the soul cannot sleep. Is the soul too much excited? the blood cannot be quieted: it gallops through the veins with an audible murmur/ Such are the two opposite causes of insomnia. A single fright in the midst of our dreams makes the heart beat at double speed and snatches us from needed and delicious repose, as a real grief or an urgent need would do. Lastly as the mere cessation of the functions of the soul produces sleep, there are, even when we are awake (or at least when we are half awake), kinds of very frequent short naps of the mind, vergers' dreams, which show that the soul does not always wait for the body to sleep. For if the soul is not fast asleep, it surely is not far from sleep, since it cannot point out a single object to which it has attended, among the uncounted number of confused ideas which, so to speak, fill the atmosphere of our brains like clouds. Opium is too closely related to the sleep it produces, to be left out of consideration here. This drug intoxicates, like wine, coffee, etc., each in its own measure and according to the dose. It makes a man happy in a state which would seemingly be the tomb of feeling, as it is the image of death. How sweet is this lethargy! The soul would long never to emerge from it. For the soul has been a prey to the most intense sorrow, but now feels only the joy of suffering past, and of sweetest peace. Opium alters even the will, forcing the soul which wished to wake and to enjoy life, to sleep in spite of itself. I shall omit any reference to the effect of poisons. Coffee, the well-known antidote for wine, by scourging the imagination, cures our headaches and scatters our cares without laying up for us, as wine does, other headaches for the morrow. But let us contemplate the soul in its other needs. The human body is a machine which winds its own springs. It is the living image of perpetual movement. Nourishment keeps up the movement which fever excites. Without food, the soul pines away, goes mad, and dies exhausted. The soul is a taper whose light flares up the moment before it goes out. But nourish the body, pour into its veins life-giving juices and strong liquors, and then the soul grows strong like them, as if arming itself with a proud courage, and the soldier whom water would have made to flee, grows bold and runs joyously to death to the sound of drums. Thus a hot drink sets into stormy movement the blood which a cold drink would have calmed. What power there is in a meal! Joy revives in a sad heart, and infects the souls of comrades, who express their delight in the friendly songs in which the Frenchman excels. The melancholy man alone is dejected, and the studious man is equally out of place [in such company]. Raw meat makes animals fierce, and it would have the same effect on man. This is so true that the English who eat meat red and bloody, and not as well done as ours, seem to share more or less in the savagery due to this kind of food, and to other causes which can be rendered ineffective by education only. This savagery creates in the soul, pride, hatred, scorn of other nations, indocility and other sentiments which degrade the character, just as heavy food makes a dull and heavy mind whose usual traits are laziness and indolence. Pope understood well the full power of greediness when he said: Catius is ever moral, ever grave Thinks who endures a knave is next a knave, Save just at dinner - then prefers no doubt A rogue with ven'son to a saint without. Elsewhere he says: See the same man in vigor, in the gout, Alone, in company, in place or out, Early at business and at hazard late, Mad at a fox chase, wise at a debate, Drunk at a borough, civil at a ball, Friendly at Hackney, faithless at White Hall. In Switzerland we had a bailiff by the name of M. Steigner de Wittghofen. When he fasted he was a most upright and even a most indulgent judge, but woe to the unfortunate man whom he found on the culprit's bench after he had had a large dinner! He was capable of sending the innocent like the guilty to the gallows. We think we are, and in fact we are, good men, only as we are gay or brave; everything depends on the way our machine is running. One is sometimes inclined to say that the soul is situated in the stomach, and that Van Helmont, who said that the seat of the soul was in the pylorus, made only the mistake of taking the part for the whole. To what excesses cruel hunger can bring us! We no longer regard even our own parents and children. We tear them to pieces eagerly and make horrible banquets of them; and in the fury with which we are carried away, the weakest is always the prey of the strongest. La grossesse, cette émule désirée des pâles couleurs, ne se contente pas d'amener le plus souvent à sa suites le goûts dépravés qui accompagnent ces deux états: elle a quelquefois fait exécuter à l'âme les plus affreux complots; effets d'une maine subite, qui étouffe jusqu'à la loi naturelle. Ce'st ainsi que le cerveau, cette matrice de l'esprit, se pervertit à sa manière, avec celle du corps. Quelle autre fureur d'homme ou de femme, dans ceux que la continence et la santé poursuivent! C'est peu pour cette fille timide et modeste d'avoir perdu toute honte et toute pudeur; elle ne regarde plus l'inceste, que comme une femme galante regarde l'adultère. Si ses besoins ne trouvent pas de prompts soulagements, ils ne se borneront point aux simples accidents d'une passion utérine, à la manie, etc.; cette malheureuse mourra d'un mal, dont il y a tant de médecins. One needs only eyes to see the necessary influence of old age on reason. The soul follows the progress of the body, as it does the progress of education. In the weaker sex, the soul accords also with delicacy of temperament, and from this delicacy follow tenderness, affection, quick feelings due more to passion than to reason, prejudices, and superstitions, whose strong impress can hardly be effaced. Man, on the other hand, whose brain and nerves partake of the firmness of all solids, has not only stronger features but also a more vigorous mind. Education, which women lack, strengthens his mind still more. Thus with such help of nature and art, why should not a man be more grateful, more generous, more constant in friendship, stronger in adversity? But, to follow almost exactly the thought of the author of the Lettres sur la Physiognomie, the sex which unites the charms of the mind and of the body with almost all the tenderest and most delicate feelings of the heart, should not envy us the two capacities which seem to have been given to man, the one merely to enable him better to fathom the allurements of beauty, and the other merely to enable him to minister better to its pleasure. It is no more necessary to be just as great a physiognomist as this author, in order to guess the quality of the mind from the countenance or the shape of the features, provided these are sufficiently marked, than it is necessary to be a great doctor to recognize a disease accompanied by all it marked symptoms. Look at the portraits of Locke, of Steele, of Boerhaave, of Maupertuis, and the rest, and you will not be surprised to find strong faces and eagle eyes. Look over a multitude of others, and you can always distinguish the man of talent from the man of genius, and often even an honest man from a scoundrel. For example it has been noticed that a celebrated poet combines (in his portrait) the look of a pickpocket with the fire of Prometheus. History provides us with a noteworthy example of the power of temperature. The famous Duke of Guise was so strongly convinced that Henry the Third, in whose power he had so often been, would never dare assassinate him, that he went to Blois. When the Chancellor Chiverny learned of the duke's departure, he cried, ``He is lost.'' After this fatal prediction had been fulfilled by the event, Chiverny was asked why he made it. ``I have known the king for twenty years,'' said he; ``he is naturally kind and even weakly indulgent, but I have noticed that when it is cold, it takes nothing at all to provoke him and send him into a passion.'' One nation is of heavy and stupid wit, and another quick, light and penetrating. Whence comes this difference, if not in part from the difference in foods, and difference in inheritance, and in part from the mixture of the diverse elements which float around in the immensity of the void? The mind, like the body, has its contagious diseases and its scurvy. Such is the influence of climate, that a man who goes from one climate to another, feels the change, in spite of himself. He is a walking plant which has transplanted itself; if the climate is not the same, it will surely either degenerate or improve. Furthermore, we catch everything from those with whom we come in contact; their gestures, their accent, etc.; just as the eyelid is instinctively lowered when a blow is foreseen, or (as for the same reason) the body of the spectator mechanically imitates, in spite of himself, all the motions of a good mimic. From what I have just said, it follows that a brilliant man is his own best company, unless he can find others of the same sort. In the society of the unintelligent, the mind grows rusty for lack of exercise, as at tennis a ball that is served badly is badly returned. I should prefer an intelligent man without an education, if he were still young enough, to a man badly educated. A badly trained mind is like an actor whom the provinces have spoiled. Thus, the diverse states of the soul are always correlative with those of the body. But the better to show this dependence, in its completeness and its causes, let us here make use of comparative anatomy; let us lay bare the organs of man and of animals. How can human nature be known, if we may not derive any light from an exact comparison of the structure of man and of animals? In general, the form and the structure of the brains of quadrupeds are almost the same as those of the brain of man; the same shape, the same arrangement everywhere, with this essential difference, that of all the animals man is the one whose brain is largest, and, in proportion to its mass, more convoluted than the brain of any other animal; then come the monkey, the beaver, the elephant, the dog, the fox, the cat. These animals are most like man, for among them, too, one notes the same progressive analogy in relation to the corpus callosum in which Lancisi - anticipating the late M. de la Peyronie - established the seat of the soul. The latter, however, illustrated the theory by innumerable experiments. Next after all the quadrupeds, birds have the largest brains. Fish have large heads, but these are void of sense, like the heads of many men. Fish have no corpus callosum, and very little brain, while insects entirely lack brain. I shall not launch out into any more detail about the varieties of nature, nor into conjectures concerning them, for there is an infinite number of both, as any one can see by reading no further than the treatises of Willis De Cerebro and De Anima Brutorum. I shall draw the conclusions which follow clearly from these incontestable observations: 1st, that the fiercer animals are, the less brain they have; 2d, that this organ seems to increase in size in proportion to the gentleness of the animal; 3d, that nature seems here eternally to impose a singular condition, that the more one gains in intelligence the more one loses in instinct. Does this bring gain or loss? Do not think, however, that I wish to infer by that, that the size alone of the brain, is enough to indicate the degree of tameness in animals: the quality must correspond to the quantity, and the solids and liquids must be in that due equilibrium which constitutes health. If, as is ordinarily observed, the imbecile does not lack brain, his brain will be deficient in its consistency - for instance, in being too soft. The same thing is true of the insane, and the defects of their brains do not always escape our investigation. But if the causes of imbecility, insanity, etc., are not obvious, where shall we look for the causes of the diversity of all minds? They would escape the eyes of a lynx and of an argus. A mere nothing, a tiny fiber, something that could never be found by the most delicate anatomy, would have made of Erasmus and Fontenelle two idiots, and Fontenelle himself speaks of this very fact in one of his best dialogues. Willis has noticed in addition to the softness of the brain-substance in children, puppies and birds, that the corpora striata are obliterated and discolored in all these animals, and that the striations are as imperfectly formed as in paralytics. Il ajoute, ce qui est vrai, que l'homme a la protubérance annulaire fort grosse; et ensuite toujours diminutivement par dégrés, le singe et les autres animaux nommés ci-devant, tandis que le veau, le boeuf, le loup, la brebis, le cochon, etc. qui ont cette partie d'un tès petit volume, ont les nattes et testes fort gros. However cautious and reserved one may be about the consequences that can be deduced from these observations, and from many others concerning the kind of variation in the organs, nerves, etc., [one must admit that] so many different varieties cannot be the gratuitous play of nature. They prove at least the necessity for a good and vigorous physical organization, since throughout the animal kingdom the soul gains force with the body and acquires keenness, as the body gains strength. Let us pause to contemplate the varying capacities of animals to learn. Doubtless the analogy best framed leads the mind to think that the causes we have mentioned produce all the difference that is found between animals and men, although we must confess that our weak understanding, limited to the coarsest observations, cannot see the bonds that exist between cause and effect. This is a kind of harmony that philosophers will never know. Among animals, some learn to speak and sing; they remember tunes, and strike the notes as exactly as a musician. Others, for instance the ape, show more intelligence, and yet cannot learn music. What is the reason for this, except some defect in the organs of speech? But is this defect so essential to the structure that it could never be remedied? In a word, would it be absolutely impossible to teach the ape a language? I do not think so. I should choose a large ape in preference to any other, until by some good fortune another kind should be discovered, more like us, for nothing prevents there being such a one in regions unknown to us. The ape resembles us so strongly that naturalists have called it ``wild man'' or ``man of the woods.'' I should take it in the condition of the pupils of Amman, that is to say, I should not want it to be too young or too old; for apes that are brought to Europe are usually too old. I would choose the one with the most intelligent face, and the one which, in a thousand little ways, best lived up to its look of intelligence. Finally not considering myself worthy to be his master, I should put him in the school of that excellent teacher whom I have just named, or with another teacher equally skillful, if there is one. You know by Amman's work, and by all those who have interpreted his method, all the wonders he has been able to accomplish for those born deaf. In their eyes he discovered ears, as he himself explained, and in how short a time! In short he taught them to hear, speak, read, and write. I grant that a deaf person's eyes see more clearly and are keener than if he were not deaf, for the loss of one member or sense can increase the strength or acuteness of another, but apes see and hear, they understand what they hear and see, and grasp so perfectly the signs that are made to them, that I doubt not that they would surpass the pupils of Amman in any other game or exercise. Why then should the education of monkeys be impossible? Why might not the monkey, by dint of great pains, at last imitate after the manner of deaf mutes, the motions necessary for pronunciation. I do not dare decide whether the monkey's organs of speech, however trained, would be incapable of articulation. But, because of the great analogy between ape and man and because there is no known animal whose external and internal organs so strikingly resemble man's, it would surprise me if speech were absolutely impossible to the ape. Locke, who was certainly never suspected of credulity, found no difficulty in believing the story told by Sir William Temple in his memoirs, about a parrot which could answer rationally, and which had learned to carry on a kind of connected conversation, as we do. I know that people have ridiculed this great metaphysician; but suppose some one should have announced that reproduction sometimes take place without eggs or a female, would he have found many partisans? Yet M. Trembley has found cases where reproduction takes place without copulation and by fission. Would not Amman too have passed for mad if he had boasted that he could instruct scholars like his in so short a time, before he had happily accomplished the feat? His successes, have, however, astonished the world; and he, like the author of The History of the Polyps, has risen to immortality at one bound. Whoever owes the miracles that he works to his own genius surpasses, in my opinion, the man who owes his to chance. He who has discovered the art of adorning the most beautiful of kingdoms [of nature], and of giving it perfections that it did not have, should be ranked above an idle creator of frivolous systems, or a painstaking author of sterile discoveries. Amman's discoveries are certainly of a much greater value; he has freed men from the instinct to which they seemed to be condemned, and has given them ideas, intelligence, or in a word, a soul which they would never have had. What greater power than this! Let us not limit the resources of nature; they are infinite, especially when reinforced by great art. Could not the device which opens the Eustachian canal of the deaf, open that of apes? Might not a happy desire to imitate the master's pronunciation, liberate the organs of speech in animals that imitate so many other signs with such skill and intelligence? Not only do I defy any one to name any really conclusive experiment which proves my view impossible and absurd; but such is the likeness of the structure and functions of the ape to ours that I have very little doubt that if this animal were properly trained he might at last be taught to pronounce, and consequently to know, a language. Then he would no longer be a wild man, nor a defective man, but he would be a perfect man, a little gentleman, with as much matter or muscle as we have, for thinking and profiting by his education. The transition from animals to man is not violent, as true philosophers will admit. What was man before the invention of words and the knowledge of language? An animal of his own species with much less instinct than the others. In those days, he did not consider himself king over the other animals, nor was he distinguished from the ape, and from the rest, except as the ape itself differs from the other animals, i.e., by a more intelligent face. Reduced to the bare intuitive knowledge of the Leibnizians he saw only shapes and colors, without being able to distinguish between them: the same, old as young, child at all ages, he lisped out his sensations and his needs, as a god that is hungry or tired of sleeping, asks for something to eat, or for a walk. Words, languages, laws, sciences, and the fine arts have come, and by them finally the rough diamond of our mind has been polished. Man has been trained in the same way as animals. He has become an author, as they have become beasts of burden. A geometrician has learned to perform the most difficult demonstrations and calculations, as a monkey has learned to take his little hat off and on, and to mount his tame dog. All has been accomplished through signs, every species has learned what it could understand, and in this way men have acquired symbolic knowledge, still so called by our German philosophers. Nothing, as any one can see, is so simple as the mechanism of our education. Everything may be reduced to sounds or words that pass from the mouth of one through the ears of another into his brain. At the same moment, he perceives through his eyes the shape of the bodies of which these words are the arbitrary signs. But who was the first to speak? Who was the first teacher of the human race? Who invented the means of utilizing the plasticity of our organism? I cannot answer: the names of these first splendid geniuses have been lost in the night of time. But art is the child of nature, so nature must have long preceded it. We must think that the men who were the most highly organized, those on whom nature has lavished her richest gifts, taught the others. They could not have heard a new sound for instance, nor experienced new sensations, nor been struck by all the varied and beautiful objects that compose the ravishing spectacle of nature without finding themselves in the state of mind of the deaf man of Chartres, whose experience was first related by the great Fontenelle, when, at forty years, he heard for the first time, the astonishing sound of bells. Would it be absurd to conclude from this that the first mortals tried after the manner of this deaf man, or like animals and like mutes (another kind of animals), to express their new feeling by motions depending on the nature of their imagination, and therefore afterwards by spontaneous sounds, distinctive of each animal, as the natural expression of their surprise, their joy, their ecstasies and their needs? For doubtless those whom nature endowed with finer feeling had also greater facility in expression. That is the way in which, I think, men have used their feeling and their instinct to gain intelligence and then have employed their intelligence to gain knowledge. Those are the ways, so far as I can understand them, in which men have filled the brain with the ideas, for the reception of which nature made it. Nature and man have helped each other; and the smallest beginnings have, little by little, increased, until everything in the universe could be as easily described as a circle. As a violin string or a harpsichord key vibrates and gives forth sound, so the cerebral fibers, struck by waves of sound, are stimulated to render or repeat the words that strike them. And as the structure of the brain is such that when eyes well formed for seeing, have once perceived the image of objects, the brain can not help seeing their images and their differences, so when the signs of these differences have been traced or imprinted in the brain, the soul necessarily examines their relations - an examination that would have been impossible without the discovery of signs or the invention of language. At the time when the universe was almost dumb, the soul's attitude toward all objects was that of a man without any idea of proportion toward a picture or a piece of sculpture, in which he could distinguish nothing; or the soul was like a little child (for the soul was then in its infancy) who, holding in his hand small bits of straw or wood, sees them in a vague and superficial way without being able to count or distinguish them. But let some one attach a kind of banner, or standard, to this bit of wood (which perhaps is called a mast), and another banner to another similar object; let the first be known by the symbol 1, and the second by the symbol or number 2, then the child will be able to count the objects, and in this way he will learn all of arithmetic. As soon as one figure seems equal to another in its numerical sing, he will decide without difficulty that they are two different bodies, that 1+1 make 2, and 2+2 make 4, etc. This real or apparent likeness of figures is the fundamental basis of all truths and of all we know. Among these sciences, evidently those whose signs are less simple and less sensible are harder to understand than the others, because more talent is required to comprehend and combine the immense number of words by which such sciences express the truths in their province. On the other hand, the sciences that are expressed by the numbers or by other small signs, are easily learned; and without doubt this facility rather than its demonstrability is what has made the fortune of algebra. All this knowledge, with which vanity fills the balloon-like brains of our proud pedants, is therefore but a huge mass of words and figures, which form in the brain all the marks by which we distinguish and recall objects. All our ideas are awakened after the fashion in which the gardener who knows plants recalls all stages of their growth at sight of them. These words and the objects designated by them are so connected in the brain that it is comparatively rare to imagine a thing without the name or sign that is attached to it. I always use the word ``imagine,'' because I think that everything is the work of imagination, and that all the faculties of the soul can be correctly reduced to pure imagination in which they all consist. Thus judgment, reason, and memory are not absolute parts of the soul, but merely modifications of this kind of medullary screen upon which images of the objects painted in the eye are projected as by a magic lantern. But if such is the marvelous and incomprehensible result of the structure of the brain, if everything is perceived and explained by imagination, why should we divide the sensitive principle which thinks in man? Is not this a clear inconsistency in the partisans of the simplicity of the mind? For a thing that is divided can no longer without absurdity be regarded as indivisible. See to what one is brought by the abuse of language and by those fine words (spirituality, immateriality, etc.) used haphazard and not understood even by the most brilliant. Nothing is easier than to prove a system based, as this one is, on the intimate feeling and personal experience of each individual. If the imagination, or let us say, that fantastic part of the brain whose nature is as unknown to us as its way of acting, be naturally small or weak, it will hardly be able to compare the analogy or the resemblance of its ideas, it will be able to see only what is face to face with it, or what affects it very strongly; and how will it see all this! Yet it is always imagination which apperceives, and imagination which represents to itself all objects along with their names and symbols; and thus, once again, imagination is the soul, since it plays all the roles of the soul. By the imagination, by its flattering brush, the cold skeleton of reason takes on living and ruddy flesh, by the imagination the sciences flourish, the arts are adorned, the wood speaks, the echoes sigh, the rocks weep, marble breathes, and all inanimate objects gain life. It is imagination again which adds the piquant charm of voluptuousness to the tenderness of an amorous heart; which makes tenderness bud in the study of the philosopher and of the dusty pedant, which, in a word, creates scholars as well as orators and poets. Foolishly decried by some, vainly praised by others, and misunderstood by all; it follows not only in the train of the graces and of the fine arts, it not only describes but can also measure nature. It reasons, judges, analyzes, compares, and investigates. Could it feel so keenly the beauties of the pictures drawn for it, unless it discovered their relations? No, just as it cannot turn its thoughts on the pleasures of the senses, without enjoying their perfection or their voluptuousness, it cannot reflect on what it has mechanically conceived, without thus being judgment itself. The more the imagination or the poorest talent is exercised, the more it gains in embonpoint, so to speak, and the larger it grows. It becomes sensitive, robust, broad, and capable of thinking. The best of organisms has need of this exercise. Man's preeminent advantage is his organism. In vain all writers of books on morals fail to regard as praiseworthy those qualities that come by nature, esteeming only the talents gained by dint of reflection and industry. For whence come, I ask, skill, learning, and virtue, if not from a disposition that makes us fit to become skillful, wise, and virtuous? And whence again, comes this disposition, if not from nature? Only though nature do we have any good qualities; to her we owe all that we are. Why then should I not esteem men with good natural qualities as much as men who shine by acquired and as it were borrowed virtues? Whatever the virtue may be, from whatever source it may come, it is worthy of esteem; the only question is, how to estimate it. Mind, beauty, wealth, nobility, although the children of chance, all have their own value, as skill, learning and virtue all have theirs. Those upon whom nature has heaped her most costly gifts should pity those to whom these gifts have been refused; but, in their character of experts, they may feel their superiority without pride. A beautiful woman would be as foolish to think herself ugly, as an intelligent man to think himself a fool. An exaggerated modesty (a rare fault, to be sure) is a kind of ingratitude towards nature. An honest pride, on the contrary, is the mark of a strong and beautiful soul, revealed by manly features moulded by feeling. If one's organism is an advantage, and the preeminent advantage, and the source of all others, education is the second. The best made brain would be a total loss without it, just as the best constituted man would be but a common peasant, without knowledge of the ways of the world. But, on the other hand, what would be the use of the most excellent school, without a matrix perfectly open to the entrance and conception of ideas? Il est aussi impossible de donner une seule idée à un homme privé de tous les sens, que de faire un enfant à une femme à laquelle la nature aurait poussé la distraction jusqu'à oublier de faire une vulve, comme je l'ai vu dans une, qui n'avait ni fente, ni vagin, ni matrice, et qui pour cette raison fut démariée après dix ans de mariage. But if the brain is at the same time well organized and well educated, it is a fertile soil, well sown, that brings forth a hundredfold what it has received: or (to leave the figures of speech often needed to express what one means, and to add grace to truth itself) the imagination, raised by art to the rare and beautiful dignity of genius, apprehends exactly all the relations of the ideas it has conceived, and takes in easily an astounding number of objects, in order to deduce from them a long chain of consequences, which are again but new relations, produced by a comparison with the first, to which the soul finds a perfect resemblance. Such is, I think, the generation of intelligence. I say ``finds'' as I before gave the epithet ``apparent'' to the likeness of objects, not because I think that our senses are always deceivers, as Father Malebranche has claimed, or that our eyes, naturally a little unsteady, fail to see objects as they are in themselves (though microscopes prove this to us every day) but in order to avoid any dispute with the Pyrrhonians, among whom Bayle is well known. I say of truth in general what M. de Fontenelle says of certain truths in particular, that we must sacrifice it in order to remain on good terms with society. And it accords with the gentleness of my character, to a void all disputes unless to what conversation [!]. The Cartesians would here in vain make an onset upon me with their innate ideas. I certainly would not give myself a quarter of the trouble that M. Locke took, to attack such chimeras. In truth, what is the use of writing a ponderous volume to prove a doctrine which became an axiom three thousand years ago? According to the principles which we have laid down, and which we consider true; he who has the most imagination should be regarded as having the most intelligence or genius, for all these words are synonymous; and again, only by a shameful abuse [of terms] do we think that we are saying different things, when we are merely using different words, different sounds, to which no idea or real distinction is attached. The finest, greatest or strongest imagination is then the one most suited to the sciences as well as to the arts. I do not pretend to say whether more intellect is necessary to excel in the art of Aristotle or of Descartes than to excel in that of Euripides or of Sophocles, and whether nature has taken more trouble to make Newton than to make Corneille, though I doubt this. But it is certain that imagination alone, differently applied, has produced their diverse triumphs and their immortal glory. If one is known as having little judgment and much imagination, this means that the imagination has been left too much alone, has, as it were, occupied most of the time in looking at itself in the mirror of its sensations, has not sufficiently formed the habit of examining the sensations themselves attentively. [It means that the imagination] has been more impressed by images than by their truth or the likeness. Truly, so quick are the responses of the imagination that if attention, that key or mother of the sciences, does not do its part, imagination can do little more than run over and skim its objects. See that bird on the bough: it seems always ready to fly away. Imagination is like the bird, always carried onward by the turmoil of the blood and the animal spirits. One wave leaves a mark, effaced by the one that follows; the soul pursues it, often in vain: it must expect to regret the loss of that which it has not quickly enough seized and fixed. Thus, imagination, the true image of time, is being ceaselessly destroyed and renewed. Such is the chaos and the continuous quick succession of our ideas: they drive each other away even as one wave yields to another. Therefore, if imagination does not, as it were, use one set of its muscles to maintain a kind of equilibrium with the fibers of the brain, to keep its attention for a while upon an object that is on the point of disappearing, and to prevent itself from contemplating prematurely another object - [unless the imagination does all this], it will never be worthy of the fine name of judgment. It will express vividly what it has perceived in the same fashion: it will create orators, musicians, painters, poets, but never a single philosopher. On the contrary, if the imagination be trained from childhood to bridle itself and to keep from being carried away by its own impetuosity - an impetuosity which creates only brilliant enthusiasts - and to check, to restrain, its ideas, to examine them in all their aspects in order to see all sides of an object, then the imagination, ready in judgment, will comprehend the greatest possible sphere of objects, through reasoning; and its vivacity (always so good a sign in children, and only needing to be regulated by study and training) will be only a far-seeing insight without which little progress can be made in the sciences. Such are the simple foundations upon which the edifice of logic has been reared. Nature has built these foundations for the whole human race, but some have used them, while others have abused them. In spite of all these advantages of man over animals, it is doing him honor to place him in the same class. For, truly, up to a certain age, he is more of an animal than they, since at birth he has less instinct. What animal would die of hunger in the midst of a river of milk? Man alone. Like that child of olden time whom a modern writer refers, following Arnobius, he knows neither the foods suitable for him, nor the water that can drown him, nor the fire that can reduce him to ashes. Light a wax candle for the first time under a child's eyes, and he will mechanically put his fingers in the flame as if to find out what is the new thing that he sees. It is at his own cost that he will learn of the danger, but he will not be caught again. Or, put the child with an animal on a precipice, the child alone falls off; he drowns where the animal would save itself by swimming. At fourteen or fifteen years the child knows hardly anything of the great pleasures in store for him, in the reproduction of his species; when he is a youth, he does not know exactly how to behave in a game which nature teaches animals so quickly. He hides himself as if he were ashamed of taking pleasure, and of having been made to be happy, while animals frankly glory in being Cynics. Without education, they are without prejudices. For one more example, let us observe a dog and a child who have lost their master on a highway: the child cries and does not know to what saint to pray, while the dog, better helped by his sense of smell than the child by his reason, soon finds his master. Thus nature made us to be lower than animals or at least to exhibit all the more, because of that native inferiority, the wonderful efficacy of education which alone raises us from the level of the animals and lifts us above them. But shall we grant this same distinction to the deaf and to the blind, to imbeciles, madmen, or savages, or to those who have been brought up in the woods with animals; to those who have lost their imagination through melancholia, or in short to all those animals in human form who give evidence of only the rudest instinct? No, all these, men of body but not of mind, do not deserve to be classed by themselves. We do not intend to hide from ourselves the arguments that can be brought forward against our belief and in favor of a primitive distinction between men and animals. Some say that there is in man a natural law, a knowledge of good and evil, which has never been imprinted on the heart of animals. But is this objection, or rather this assertion, based on observation? An assertion unfounded on observation may be rejected by a philosopher. Have we ever had a single experience which convinces us that man alone has been enlightened by a ray denied all other animals? If there is no such experience, we can no more know what goes on in animals' minds or even in the minds of other men, than we can help feeling what affects the inner part of our own being. We know that we think, and we feel remorse - an intimate feeling forces us to recognize this only too well; but this feeling in us is insufficient to enable us to judge the remorse of others. That is why we have to take others at their words, or judge them by the sensible and external signs we have noticed in ourselves when we experienced the same accusations of conscience and the same torments. In order to decide whether animals which do not talk have received the natural law, we must, therefore, have recourse to those signs to which I have just referred, if any such exist. The facts seem to prove it. A dog that bit the master who was teasing it, seemed to repent a minute afterwards; it looked sad, ashamed, afraid to show itself, and seemed to confess its guilt by a crouching and downcast air. History offers us a famous example of a lion which would not devour a man abandoned to its fury, because it recognized him as its benefactor. How much might it be wished that man himself always showed the same gratitude for kindnesses, and the same respect for humanity! Then we should no longer fear either ungrateful wretches, or wars which are the plague of the human race and the real executioners of the natural law. But a being to which nature has given such a precocious and enlightened instinct, which judges, combines, reasons, and deliberates as far as the sphere of its activity extends and permits, a being which feels attachment because of benefits received, and which leaving a master who treats it badly goes to seek a better one, a being with a structure like ours, which performs the same acts, has the same passions, the same griefs, the same pleasures, more or less intense according to the sway of the imagination and the delicacy of the nervous organization - does not such a being show clearly that it knows its faults and ours, understands good and evil, and in a word, has consciousness of what it does? Would its soul, which feels the same joys, the same mortification and the same discomfiture which we feel, remain utterly unmoved by disgust when it saw a fellow-creature torn to bits, or when it had itself pitilessly dismembered this fellow-creature? If this be granted, it follows that the precious gift now in question would not have been denied to animals: for since they show us sure signs of repentance, as well as of intelligence, what is there absurd in thinking that beings, almost as perfect machines as ourselves, are, like us, made to understand and to feel nature? Let no one object that animals, for the most part, are savage beasts, incapable of realizing the evil that they do; for do all men discriminate better between vice and virtue? There is ferocity in our species as well as in theirs. Men who are in the barbarous habit of breaking the natural law are not tormented as much by it, as those who transgress for the first time, and who have not been hardened by the force of habit. The same thing is true of animals as of men - both may be more or less ferocious in temperament, and both become more so by living with others like themselves. But a gentle and peaceful animal which lives among other animals of the same disposition and of gentle nurture, will be an enemy of blood and carnage; it will blush internally at having shed blood. There is perhaps this difference, that since among animals everything is sacrificed to their needs, to their pleasures, to the necessities of life, which they enjoy more than we, their remorse apparently should not be as keen as ours, because we are not in the same state of necessity as they. Custom perhaps dulls and perhaps stifles remorse as well as pleasures. But I will for a moment suppose that I am utterly mistaken in concluding that almost all the world holds a wrong opinion on this subject, while I alone am right. I will grant that animals, even the best of them, do not know the difference between moral good and evil, that they have no recollection of the trouble taken for them, of the kindness done them, no realization of their own virtues. [I will suppose], for instance, that this lion, to which I, like so many others, have referred, does not remember at all that it refused to kill the man, abandoned to its fury, in a combat more inhuman than one could find among lions, tigers and bears, put together. For our compatriots fight, Swiss against Swiss, brother against brother, recognize each other, and yet capture and kill each other without remorse, because a prince pays for the murder. I suppose in shot that the natural law has not been given to animals. What will be the consequences of this supposition? Man is not moulded from a costlier clay; nature has used but one dough, and has merely varied the leaven. Therefore if animals do not repent for having violated this inmost feeling which I am discussing, or rather if they absolutely lack it, man must necessarily be in the same condition. Farewell then to the natural law and all the fine treatises published about it! The whole animal kingdom in general would be deprived of it. But, conversely, if man cannot dispense with the belief that when health permits him to be himself, he always distinguishes the upright, humane, and virtuous, from those who are not human, virtuous, nor honorable: that it is easy to tell vice from virtue, by the unique pleasure and the peculiar repugnance that seems to be their natural effects, it follows that animals, composed of the same matter, lacking perhaps only one degree of fermentation to make it exactly like man's, must share the same prerogatives of animal nature, and that thus there exists no soul or sensitive substance without remorse. The following considerations will reinforce these observations. It is impossible to destroy the natural law. The impress of it on all animals is so strong, that I have no doubt that the wildest and most savage have some moments of repentance. I believe that that cruel maid of Chalons in Champagne must have sorrowed for her crime, if she really ate her sister. I think that the sam thing is true of all those who commit crimes, even involuntary or temperamental crimes: true of Gaston of Orleans who could not help stealing; of a certain woman who was subject to the same crime when pregnant, and whose children inherited it; of the woman who, in the same condition, ate her husband; of that other women who killed her children, salted their bodies, and ate a piece of them every day, as a little relish; of that daughter of a thief and cannibal who at twelve years followed in his steps, although she had been orphaned when she was a year old, and had been brought up by honest people; to say nothing of many other examples of which the records of our observers are full, all of them proving that there are a thousand hereditary vices and virtues which are transmitted from parents to children as those of the foster mother pass to the children she nurses. Now, I believe and admit that these wretches do not for the most part feel at the time the enormity of their actions. Bulimia, or canine hunger, for example, can stifle all feeling; it is a mania of the stomach that one is compelled to satisfy, but what remorse must be in store for those women, when the come to themselves and grow sober, and remember the crimes they have committed against those they held most dear! What a punishment for an involuntary crime which they could not resist, of which they had no consciousness whatever! However, this is apparently not enough for the judges. For of these women, of whom I tell, one was cruelly beaten and burned, and another was buried alive. I realize that all this is demanded by the interest of society. But doubtless it is much to be wished that excellent physicians might be the only judges. They alone could tell the innocent criminal from the guilty. If reason is the slave of a depraved or mad desire, how can it control the desire? But if crime carries with it its own more or less cruel punishment, if the most continued and most barbarous habit cannot entirely blot out repentance in the cruelest hearts, if criminals are lacerated by the very memory of their deeds, why should we frighten the imagination of weak minds, by a hell, by specters, and by precipices of fire even less real than those of Pascal? Why must we have recourse to fables, as an honest pope once said himself, to torment even the unhappy wretches who are executed, because we do not think that they are sufficiently punished by their own conscience, their first executioner? I do not mean to say that all criminals are unjustly punished; I only maintain that those whose will is depraved, and whose conscience is extinguished, are punished enough by their remorse when they come to themselves, a remorse, I venture to assert, from which nature should in this case have delivered unhappy souls dragged on by a fatal necessity. Criminals, scoundrels, ingrates, those in short without natural feelings, unhappy tyrants who are unworthy of life, in vain take a cruel pleasure in their barbarity, for there are calm moments of reflection in which the avenging conscience arises, testifies against them, and condemns them to be almost ceaselessly torn to pieces at their own hands. Whoever torments men is tormented by himself; and the sufferings that he will experience will be the just measure of those that he has inflicted. On the other hand, there is so much pleasure in doing good, in recognizing and appreciating what one receives, so much satisfaction in practising virtue, in being gentle, humane, kind, charitable, compassionate and generous (for this one word includes all the virtues), that I consider as sufficiently punished any one who is unfortunate enough not to have been born virtuous. We were not originally made to be learned; we have become so perhaps by a sort of abuse of our organic faculties, and at the expense of the State which nourishes a host of sluggards whom vanity has adorned with the name of philosophers. Nature has created us all solely to be happy - yes, all of us from the crawling worm to the eagle lost in the clouds. For this cause she has given all animals some share of natural law, a share greater or less according to the needs of each animal's organs when in normal condition. Now how shall we define natural law? It is a feeling that teaches us what we should not do, because we would not wish it to be done to us. Should I dare add to this common idea, that this feeling seems to me but a kind of fear or dread, as salutary to the race as to the individual; for may it not be true that we respect the purse and life of others, only to save our own possessions, our honor, and ourselves; like those Ixions of Christianity who love God and embrace so many fantastic virtues, merely because they are afraid of hell! You see that natural law is but an intimate feeling that, like all other feelings (thought included) belongs also to imagination. Evidently, therefore, natural law does not presuppose education, revelation, nor legislator, - provided one does not propose to confuse natural law with civil laws, in the ridiculous fashion of the theologians. The arms of fanaticism may destroy those who support these truths, but they will never destroy the truths themselves. I do not mean to call in question the existence of a supreme being; on the contrary it seems to me that the greatest degree of probability is in favor of this belief. But since the existence of this being goes no further than that of any other toward proving the need of worship, it is a theoretic truth with very little practical value. Therefore, since we may say, after such long experience, that religion does not imply exact honesty, we are authorized by the same reasons to think that atheism does not exclude it. Furthermore, who can be sure that the reason for man's existence is not simply the fact that he exists? Perhaps he was thrown by chance on some spot on the earth's surface, nobody knows how nor why, but simply that he must live and die, like the mushrooms which appear from day to day, or like those flowers which border the ditches and cover the walls. Let us not lose ourselves in the infinite, for we are not made to have the least idea thereof, and are absolutely unable to get back to the origin of things. Besides it does not matter for our peace of mind, whether matter be eternal or have been created, whether there be or be not a God. How foolish to torment ourselves so much about things which we can not know, and which would not make us any happier even were we to gain knowledge about them! But, some will say, read all such works as those of Fénelon, of Nieuwentyt, of Abadie, of Berham, of Rais, and the rest. Well! what will they teach me or rather what have they taught me? They are only tiresome repetitions of zealous writers, one of whom adds to the other only verbiage, more likely to strengthen than to undermine the foundations of atheism. The number of evidences drawn from the spectacle of nature does not give these evidences any more force. Either the mere structure of a finger, of an ear, of an eye, a single observation of Malpighi proves all, and doubtless much better than Descartes and Malebranche proved it, or all the other evidences prove nothing. Deists, and even Christians, should therefore be content to point out that throughout the animal kingdom the same aims are pursued and accomplished by an infinite number of different mechanisms, all of them however exactly geometrical. For what stronger weapons could there be with which to overthrow atheists? It is true that if my reason does not deceive me, man and the whole universe seem to have been designed for this unity of aim. The sun, air, water, the organism, the shape of bodies, - everything is brought to a focus in the eye as in a mirror that faithfully presents to the imagination all the objects reflected in it, in accordance with the laws required by the infinite variety of bodies which take part in vision. In ears we find everywhere a striking variety, and yet the difference of structure in men, animals, birds, and fishes, does not produce different uses. All ears are so mathematically made, that they tend equally to one and the same end, namely hearing. But would Chance, the deist asks, be a great enough geometrician to vary thus, at pleasure, the works of which she is supposed to be the author, without being hindered by so great a diversity from gaining the same end? Again, the deist will bring forward as a difficulty those parts of the animal that are clearly contained in it for future use, the butterfly in the caterpillar, man in the sperm, a whole polyp in each of its parts, the valvule in the oval orifice, the lungs in the foetus, the teeth in their sockets, the bones in the fluid from which they detach themselves and (in an incomprehensible manner) harden. And since the partisans of this theory, far from neglecting anything that would strengthen proof, never tire of piling up proof upon proof, they are willing to avail themselves of everything, even of the weakness of the mind in certain cases. Look, they say, at men like Spinoza, Vanini, Desbarreau, and Boindin, apostles who honor deism more than they harm it. The duration of their health was the measure of their unbelief, and one rarely fails, they add, to renounce atheism when the passions, with their instrument, the body, have grown weak. That is certainly the most that can be said in favor of the existence of God: although the last argument is frivolous in that these conversions are short, and the mind almost always regains its former opinions and acts accordingly, as soon as it has regained or rather rediscovered its strength in that of the body. That is, at least, much more than was said by the physician Diderot, in his Pensées Philosophiques, a sublime work that will not convince a single atheist. What reply can, in truth, be made to a man who says, ``We do not know nature; causes hidden in her breast might have produced everything. In your turn, observe the polyp of Trembley: does it not contain in itself the causes which bring about regeneration? Why then would it be absurd to think that there are physical causes by reason of which everything has been made, and to which the whole chain of this vast universe is so necessarily bound and held that nothing which happens, could have failed to happen, - causes, of which we are so invincibly ignorant that we have had recourse to a God, who, as some aver, is not so much as a logical entity? Thus to destroy chance is not to prove the existence of a supreme being, since there may be some other thing which is neither chance nor God - I mean, nature. It follows that the study of nature can only make unbelievers; and the way of thinking of all its more successful investigators proves this.'' The weight of the universe therefore far from crushing a real atheist does not even shake him. All these evidences of a creator, repeated thousands and thousands of times, evidence that are placed far above the comprehension of men like us, are self-evident (however far one push the argument) only to the anti-Pyrrhonians, or to those who have enough confidence in their reason top believe themselves capable of judging on the basis of certain phenomena, against which, as you see, the atheist can urge others perhaps equally strong and absolutely opposed. For if we listen to the naturalists again, they will tell us that the very causes which, in a chemist's hands, by a chance combination, made the first mirror, in the hands of nature made the pure water, the mirror of the simple shepherdess; that the motion which keeps the world going could have created it, that each body has taken the place assigned to it by its own nature, that the air must have surrounded the earth, and that iron and the other metals are produced by the internal motions of the earth, for one and the same reason; that the sun is as much a natural product as electricity, that it was not made to warm the earth and its inhabitants, whom it sometimes burns, any more than the rain was made to make the seeds grow, which it often spoils; that the mirror and the water were no more made for people to see themselves in, than were all other polished bodies with this same property; that the eye is in truth a kind of glass in which the soul can contemplate the image of objects as they are presented to it by these bodies, but that it is not proved that this organ was really made expressly for this contemplation, nor purposely placed in its socket, and in short it may well be that Lucretius, the physician Lamy, and all Epicureans both ancient and modern were right when they suggested that the eye sees only because it is formed and placed as it is, and that, given once for all, the same rules of motion followed by nature in the generation and development of bodies, this marvelous organ could not have been formed and placed differently. Such is the pro and the con, and the summary of those fine arguments that will eternally divide the philosophers. I do not take either side. ``Non nostrum inter vos tantas compenere lites.'' This is what I said to one of my friends, a Frenchman, as frank a Pyrrhonian as I, a man of much merit, and worthy of a better fate. He gave me a very singular answer in regard to the matter. ``It is true,'' he told me, ``that the pro and con should not disturb at all the soul of a philosopher, who sees that nothing is proved with clearness enough to force his consent, and that the arguments offered on one side are neutralized by those of the other. However,'' he continued, ``the universe will never be happy, unless it is atheistic.'' Here are this wretch's reasons. If atheism, said he, were generally accepted, all the forms of religion would then be destroyed and cut off at the roots. No more theological wars, no more soldiers of religion - such terrible soldiers! Nature infected with a sacred poison, would regain its rights and its purity. Deaf to all other voices, tranquil mortals would follow on the spontaneous dictates of their own being, the only commands which can never be despised with impunity and which alone can lead us to happiness through the pleasant paths of virtue. Such is natural law: whoever rigidly observes it is a good man and deserves the confidence of all the human race. Whoever fails to follow it scrupulously affects, in vain, the specious exterior of another religion; he is a scamp or a hypocrite whom I distrust. After this, let a vain people think otherwise, let them dare affirm that even probity is at stake in not believing in revelation, in a word that another religion than that of nature is necessary, whatever it may be. Such an assertion is wretched and pitiable; and so is the good opinion which each one gives us of the religion he has embraced! We do not seek here the votes of the crowd. Whoever raises in his heart altars to superstition, is bound to worship idols and not to thrill to virtue. But since all the faculties of the soul depend to such a degree on the proper organization of the brain and of the whole body, that apparently they are but this organization itself, the soul is clearly an enlightened machine. For finally, even if man alone had received a share of natural law, would he be any less a machine for that? A few more wheels, a few more springs than in the most perfect animals, the brain proportionally nearer the heart and for this very reason receiving more blood - any one of a number of unknown causes might always produce this delicate conscience so easily wounded, this remorse which is no more foreign to matter than to thought, and in a word all the differences that are supposed to exist here. Could the organism then suffice for everything? Once more, yes; since thought visibly develops with our organs, why should not the matter of which they are composed be susceptible of remorse also, when once it has acquired, with time, the faculty of feeling? The soul is therefore but an empty word, of which no one has any idea, and which an enlightened man should only use to signify the part in us that thinks. Given the least principle of motion, animated bodies will have all that is necessary for moving, feeling, thinking, repenting, or in a word for conducting themselves in the physical realm, and in the moral realm which depends upon it. Yet we take nothing for granted; those who perhaps think that all the difficulties have not yet been removed shall now read of experiments that will completely satisfy them. The flesh of all animals palpitates after death. This palpitation continues longer, the more cold blooded the animal is and the less it perspires. Tortoises, lizards, serpents, etc. are evidence of this. Muscles separated from the body contract when they are stimulated. The intestines keep up their peristaltic or vermicular motion for a long time. According to Cowper, a simple injection of hot water reanimates the heart and the muscles. A frog's heart moves for an hour or more after it has been removed from the body, especially when exposed to the sun or better still when placed on a hot table or chair. If this movement seem totally lost, one has only to stimulate the heart, and that hollow muscle beats again. Harvey made this same observation on toads. Bacon of Verulam in his treatise Sylva Sylvarum cites the case of a man convicted of treason, who was opened alive, and whose heart thrown into hot water leaped several times, each time less high, to the perpendicular height of two feet. Take a tiny chicken still in the egg, cut out the heart and you will observe the same phenomena as before, under almost the same conditions. The warmth of the breath alone reanimates an animal about to perish in the air pump. The same experiments, which we owe to Boyle and to Stenon, are made on pigeons, dogs, and rabbits. Pieces of their hearts beat as their whole hearts would. The same movements can be seen in paws that have been cut off from moles. The caterpillar, the worm, the spider, the fly, the eel - all exhibit the same phenomena; and in hot water, because of the fire it contains, the movement of the detached parts increases. A drunken soldier cut off with one stroke of his sabre an Indian rooster's head. The animal remained standing, then walked, and ran: happening to run against a wall, it turned around, beats its wings still running, and finally fell down. As it lay on the ground, all the muscles of this rooster kept on moving. That is what I saw myself, and almost the same phenomena can easily be observed in kittens or puppies with their heads cut off. Polyps do more than move after they have been cut in pieces. In a week they regenerate to form as many animals as there are pieces. I am sorry that these facts speak against the naturalists' system of generation; or rather I am very glad of it, for let this discovery teach us never to reach a general conclusion even on the ground of all known (and most decisive) experiments. Here we have many more facts than are needed to prove, in an incontestable way, that each tiny fiber or part of an organized body moves by a principle which belongs to it. Its activity, unlike voluntary motions, does not depend in any way on the nerves, since the movements in question occur in parts of the body which have no connection with the circulation. But if this force is manifested even in sections of fibers the heart, which is a composite of peculiarly connected fibers, must possess the same property. I did not need Bacon's story to persuade me of this. It was easy for me to come to this conclusion, both from the perfect analogy of the structure of the human heart with that of animals, and also from the very bulk of the human heart, in which this movement escapes our eyes only because it is smothered, and finally because in corpses all the organs are cold and lifeless. If executed criminals were dissected while their bodies are still warm, we should probably see in their hearts the same movements that are observed in the face-muscles of those that have been beheaded. The motive principle of the whole body, and even of its parts cut in pieces, is such that it produces not irregular movements, as some have thought, but very regular ones, in warm blooded and perfect animals as well as in cold and imperfect ones. No resource therefore remains open to our adversaries but to deny thousands and thousands of facts which every man can easily verify. If now any one ask me where is this innate force in our bodies, I answer that it very clearly resides in what the ancients called the parenchyma, that is to say, in the very substance of the organs not including the veins, the arteries, the nerves, in a word, that it resides in the organization of the whole body, and that consequently each organ contains within itself forces more or less active according to the need of them. Let us now go into some detail concerning these springs of the human machine. All the vital, animal, natural, and automatic motions are carried on by their action. Is it not in a purely mechanical way that the body shrinks back when it is struck with terror at the sight of an unforeseen precipice, that the eyelids are lowered at the menace of a blow, as some have remarked, and that the pupil contracts in broad daylight to save the retina, and dilates to see objects in darkness? Is it not by mechanical means that the pores of the skin close in winter so that the cold cannot penetrate to the interior of the blood vessels, and that the stomach vomits when it is irritated by poison, by a certain quantity of opium and by all emetics, etc.? that the heart, the arteries and the muscles contract in sleep as well as in waking hours, that the lungs serve as bellows continually in exercise, n'est-ce pas machinalement qu'agissent tous les sphincters de la vessie, du rectum, etc.? that the heart contracts more strongly than any other muscle? que les muscles érecteurs font dresser la verge dans l'homme, comme dans les animaux qui s'en battent le ventre, et même dans l'enfant, capable d'érection, pour peu que cette partie soit irritée? Ce qui prouve, pour le dire en passant, qu'il est un ressort singulier dans ce membre, encore peu connu, et qui produit des effets qu'on n'a point encoure bien expliqués, malgré toutes les lumières de l'anatomie. I shall not go into any more detail concerning all these little subordinate forces, well known to all. But there is another more subtle and marvelous force, which animates them all; it is the source of all our feelings, of all our pleasures, of all our passions, and of all our thoughts: for the brain has its muscles for thinking, as the legs have muscles for walking. I wish to speak of this impetuous principle that Hippocrates calls enormon (soul). This principle exists and has its seat in the brain at the origin of the nerves, by which it exercises its control over all the rest of the body. By this fact is explained all that can be explained, even to the surprising effect of maladies of the imagination. Mais, pour ne pas languir dans une richesse et un fécondité mal entendue, il faut se borner à un petit nombre de questions et de réflexions. Pourquoi la vue ou la simple idée d'une belle femme nous cause-t-elle des mouvements et des désirs singuliers? Ce qui se passe alors dans certains organes, vient-il de la nature même de ces organes? Point du toutl mais du commerce et de l'espèce de sympathie de ces muscles avec l'imagination. Il n'y a ici qu'un premier ressort excité par le bene placitum des anciens, ou par l'image de la beauté, qui en excite un autre, lequel était fort assoupi, quand l'imagination l'a éveillé: et comment cela, si ce n'est par le désordre et le tumulte du sang et des esprits, qui galopent avec une promptitude extraordinaire, et vont gonfler les corps caverneux? Puisqu'il est des commincations évidents entre la mère et l'enfant, et qu'il est dur de nier des fair rapportés par Tulpius et par d'autres écrivains aussi dignes de foi (il n'y en a point qui le soient plus), nous croirons que c'est par la même voie que le foetus ressent l'impétuoisité de l'imagination maternelle, comme une cire molle reçe;oit toutes sortes d'impressions; et que les mêmes traces, ou envies de la mère, peuvent s'imprimer sur le foetus, sans que cela puisse se comprendre, quoiqu'en disent Blondel et tous ses adhérenets. Ainsi nous faisons réparation d'honneur au P. Malebranche, beaucoup trop raillé de sa crédulité par les auteurs qui n'ont point observé d'assex près la nature et ont voulu l'assujettir à leur idées. Look at the portrait of the famous Pope who is, to say the least, the Voltaire of the English. The effort, the energy of his genius are imprinted upon his countenance. It is convulsed. His eyes protrude from their sockets, the eyebrows are raised with the muscles of the forehead. Why? Because the brain is in travail and all the body must share in such a laborious deliverance. If there were not an internal cord which pulled the external ones, whence would come all these phenomena? To admit a soul as explanation of them, is to be reduced to [explaining phenomena by] the operations of the Holy Spirit. In fact, if what thinks in my brain is not a part of this organ and therefore of the whole body, why does my blood boil, and the fever of my mind pass into my veins, when lying quietly in bed, I am forming the plan of some work or carrying on an abstract calculation? Put this question to men of imagination, to great poets, to men who are enraptured by the felicitous expression of sentiment, and transported by an exquisite fancy or by the charms of nature, of truth, or of virtue! By their enthusiasm, by what they will tell you they have experienced, you will judge the cause by its effects; by that harmony which Borelli, a mere anatomist, understood better than all the Leibnizians, you will comprehend the material unity of man. In short, if the nerve-tension which causes pain occasions also the fever by which the distracted mind looses its will-power, and if, conversely, the mind too much excited, disturbs the body (and kindles that inner fire which killed Bayle while he was still so young)l if an agitation rouses my desire and my ardent wish for what, a moment ago, I cared nothing about, and if in their turn certain brain impressions excite the same longing and the same desires, then why should we regard as double what is manifestly one being? In vain you fall back on the power of the will, since for one order that the will gives, it bows a hundred times to the yoke, And what wonder that in health the body obeys, since a torrent of blood and of animal spirits forces its obedience, and since the will has as ministers an invisible legion of fluids swifter than lightning and ever ready to do its bidding! But as the power of the will is exercised by means of the nerves, it is likewise limited by them. La meilleure volonté d'un amant épuisé, les plus violent desires lui rendront-ils sa vigueur perdue? Hélas! non; et elle en sera la première punie, parce-que, posées certaines circonstances, il n'est pas dans sa puissance de ne pas vouloir du plaisir. Ce que j'ai dit de la paralysie, etc. revient ici. Does the result of jaundice surprise you? Do you not know that the color of bodies depends on the color of the glasses through which we look at them, and that whatever is the color of the humors, such is the color of objects, at least for us, vain playthings of a thousand illusions? But remove this color from the aqueous humor of the eye, let the bile flow through its natural filter, then the soul having new eyes, will no longer see yellow. Again,. is it not thus, by removing cataract, or by injecting the Eustachian canal, that sight is restored to the blind, or hearing to the deaf? How many people, who were perhaps only clever charlatans, passed for miracle workers in the dark ages! Beautiful the soul, and powerful the will which can not act save by permission of the bodily conditions, and whose tastes change with age and fever! Should we, then, be astonished that philosophers have always had in mind the health of the body, to preserve the health of the soul, that Pythagoras gave rules for the diet as carefully as Plato forbade wine? The regime suited to the body is always the one with which sane physicians think they must begin, when it is a question of forming the mind, and of instructing it in the knowledge of truth and virtue; but these are vain words in the disorder of illness, and in the tumult of the senses. Without the precepts of hygiene, Epictetus, Socrates, Plato, and the rest preach in vain: all ethics is fruitless for one who lacks his share of temperance; it is the source of all virtues, as intemperance is the source of all vices. Is more needed, (for why lose myself in discussion of the passions which are all explained by the term, enormon, of Hippocrates) to prove that man is but an animal, or a collection of springs which wind each other up, without or being able to tell at what point in this human circle, nature has begun? If these springs differ among themselves, these differences consist only in their position and in their degrees of strength, and never in their nature; wherefore the soul is but a principle of motion or a material and sensible part of the brain, which can be regarded, without fear of error, as the mainspring of the whole machine, having a visible influence on all the parts. The soul seems even to have been made for the brain, so that all other parts of the system are but a kind of emanation from the brain. This will appear from certain observations, made on different embryos, which I shall now enumerate. This oscillation, which is natural or suited to our machine, and with which each fibre and even each fibrous element, so to speak, seems to be endowed, like that of a pendulum, cannot keep up forever. It must be renewed, as it loses strength, invigorated when it is tired, and weakened when it is disturbed by an excess of strength and vigor. In this alone, true medicine consists. The body is but a watch, whose watchmaker is the new chyle. Nature's first care, when the chyle enters the blood, is to excite in it a kind of fever which the chemists, who dream only of retorts, must have taken for fermentation. This fever produces a greater filtration of spirits, which mechanically animate the muscles and the heart, as if they had been sent there by order of the will. These then are the causes or forces of life which thus sustain for a hundred years that perpetual movement of the solids and liquids which is as necessary to the first as to the second. But who can say whether the solids contribute more than the fluids to this movement or vice versa? All that we know is that the action of the former would soon cease without the help of the latter, that is, without the help of the fluids which by their onset rouse and maintain the elasticity of the blood vessels on which their own circulation depends. From this it follows that after death the natural resilience of each substance is still more or less strong according to the remnants of life which it outlives, being the last to perish. So true is it that this force of the animal parts can be preserved and strengthened by that of the circulation, but that it does not depend on the strength of the circulation, since, as we have seen, it can dispense with even the integrity of each member or organ. I am aware that this opinion has not been relished by all scholars, and that Stahl especially had much scorn for it. This great chemist had wished to persuade us that the soul is the sole cause of all our movements. But this is to speak as a fanatic and not as a philosopher. To destroy the hypothesis of Stahl, we need not make as great an effort as I find that others have done before me. We need only glance at a violinist. What flexibility, what lightness in his fingers! The movements are so quick, that it seems almost as if there were no succession. But I pray, or rather I challenge, the followers of Stahl who understand so perfectly all that our soul can do, to tell me how it could possibly execute so many motions so quickly, motions, moreover, which take place so far from the soul, and in so many different places. That is to suppose that a flute player could play brilliant cadences on an infinite number of holes that he could not know, and on which he could not even put his finger! But let us say with M. Hecquet that all men may not go to Corinth. Why should not Stahl have been even more favored by nature as a man than as a chemist and a practioner? Happy mortal, he must have received a soul different from the rest of mankind, --- a sovereign soul, which, not content with having some control over the voluntary muscles, easily held the reins of all the movements of the body, and could suspend them, calm them, or excite them at its pleasure! With so despotic a mistress, in whose hands were, in a sense, the beating of the heart, and the laws of circulation, there could certainly be no fever, no pain, no weariness, ni honteuse impuissance, ni facheux priapisme! The soul wills, and the springs play, contract or relax. But how did the springs of Stahl's machine get out of order so soon? He who has in himself so great a doctor, should be immortal. Moreover, Stahl is not the only one who has rejected the principle of the vibration of organic bodies. Greater minds have not used the principle when they wished to explain the actions of the heart, l'érection du penis, etc. One need only read the Institutions of Medicine by Boerhaave to see what laborious and enticing systems this great man was obliged to invent, by the labor of his mighty genius, through failure to admit that there is so wonderful a force in all bodies. Willis and Perrault, minds of a more feeble stamp, but careful observers of nature (whereas nature was known to the famous Leyden professor only through others and second hand, so to speak) seem to have preferred to suppose a soul generally extended over the whole body, instead of the principle which we are describing. But according to this hypothesis (which was the hypothesis of Vergil and of all Epicureans, an hypothesis which the history of the polyp might seem at first sight to favor) the movements which go on after the death of the subject in which they inhere are due to a remnant of soul still maintained by the parts that contract, though, from the moment of death, these are not excited by the blood and spirits. Whence it may be seen that these writers, whose solid works easily eclipse all philosophic fables, are deceived only in the manner of those who have endowed matter with the faculty of thinking. I mean to say, by having expressed themselves badly in obscure and meaningless terms. In truth, what is this remnant of a soul, if it is not the ``moving force'' of the Leibnizians (badly rendered by such an expression), which however Perrault in particular has really foreseen. See his Treatise on the Mechanism of Animals. Now that it is clearly proved against the Cartesians, the followers of Stahl, the Malebranchists, and the theologians who little deserve to be mentioned here, that matter is self-moved, not only when organized, as in a whole heart, for example, but even when this organization has been destroyed, human curiosity would like to discover how a body, by the fact that it is originally endowed with the breath of life, finds itself adorned in consequence with the faculty of feeling, and thus with that of thought. And, heavens, what efforts have not been made by certain philosophers to manage to prove this! and what nonsense of this subject I have had the patience to read! All that experience teaches us is that while movement persists, however slight it may be, in one or more fibres, we need only stimulate them to re-excite and animate this movement almost extinguished. This has been shown in the host of experiments with which I have undertaken to crush the systems. It is therefore certain that motion and feeling excite each other in turn, both in a whole body and in the same body when its structure is destroyed, to say nothing of certain plants which seem to exhibit the same phenomena of the union of feeling and motion. But furthermore, how many excellent philosophers have shown that thought is but a faculty of feeling, and that the reasonable soul is but the feeling soul engaged in contemplating its ideas and in reasoning! This would be proved by the fact alone that when feeling is stifled, thought also is checked, for instance in apoplexy, in lethargy, in catalepsis, etc. For it is ridiculous to suggest that, during these stupors, the soul keeps on thinking, even though it does not remember the ideas that it has had. As to the development of feeling and motion, it is absurd to waste time seeking for its mechanism. The nature of motion is as unknown to us as that of matter. How can we discover how it is produced unless, like the author of The History of the Soul, we resuscitate the old and unintelligible doctrine of substantial forms? I am then quite as content not to know how inert and simple matter becomes active and highly organized, as not to be able to look at the sun without red glasses; and I am as little disquieted concerning the other incomprehensible wonders of nature, the production of feeling and of thought in a being which earlier appeared to our limited eyes as a mere clod of clay. Grant only that organized matter is endowed with a principle of motion, which alone differentiates it from the inorganic (and can one deny this in the face of the most incontestable observation?) and that among animals, as I have sufficiently proved, everything depends upon the diversity of this organization: these admissions suffice for guessing the riddle of substances and of man. It thus appears that there is but one type of organization in the universe, and that man is the most perfect example. He is to the ape, and to the most intelligent animals, as the planetary pendulum of Huyghens is to a watch of Julien Leroy. More instruments, more wheels and more springs were necessary to mark the movements of the planets than to mark or strike the hours; and Vaucanson, who needed more skill for making his flute player than for making his duck, would have needed still more to make a talking man, a mechanism no longer to be regarded as impossible, especially in the hands of another Prometheus. In like fashion, it was necessary that nature should use more elaborate art in making and sustaining a machine which for a whole century could mark all motions of the heart and of the mind; for though one does not tell time by the pulse, it is at least the barometer of the warmth and the vivacity by which one may estimate the nature of the soul. I am right! The human body is a watch, a large watch constructed with such skill and ingenuity, that if the wheel which marks the second happens to stop, the minute wheel turns and keeps on going its round, and in the same way the quarter-hour wheel, and all the others go on running when the first wheels have stopped because rusty or, for any reason, out of order. Is it not for a similar reason that the stoppage of a few blood vessels is not enough to destroy or suspend the strength of the movement which is in the heart as in the mainspring of the machine; since, on the contrary, the fluids whose volume is diminished, having a shorter road to travel, cover the ground more quickly, borne on as by a fresh current which the energy of the heart increases in proportion to the resistance it encounters at the ends of the blood-vessels? And is not this the reason why the loss of sight (caused by the compression of the optic nerve and its ceasing to convey the images of objects) no more hinders hearing, than the loss of hearing (caused by the obstruction of the functions of the auditory nerve) implies the loss of sight? In the same way, finally, does not one man hear (except immediately after his attack) without being able to say what he hears, while another who hears nothing, but whose lingual nerves are uninjured in the brain, mechanically tells of all the dreams which pass through his mind? These phenomena do not surprise enlightened physicians at all. They know what to think about man's nature (and more accurately to express myself in passing) of two physicians, the better one and the one who deserves more confidence is always, in my opinion, the one who is more versed in the physique or mechanism of the human body, and who, leaving aside the soul and all the anxieties which this chimera gives to fools and to ignorant men, is seriously occupied only in pure naturalism. Therefore let the pretended M. Charp deride philosophers who have regarded animals as machines. How different is my view! I believe that Descartes would be a man in every way worthy of respect, if, born in a century that he had not been obliged to enlighten, he had known the value of experiment and observation, and the danger of cutting loose from them. But it is none the less just for me to make an authentic reparation to this great man for all the insignificant philosophers --- poor jesters, and poor imitators of Locke --- who instead of laughing impudently at Descartes, might better realize that without him the field of philosophy, like the field of science without Newton, might perhaps be still uncultivated. This celebrated philosopher, it is true, was much deceived, and no one denies that. But at any rate he understood animal nature, he was the first to prove completely that animals are pure machines. And after a discovery of this importance demanding so much sagacity, how can we without ingratitude fail to pardon all his errors! In my eyes, they are all atoned for by that great confession. For after all, although he extols the distinctness of the two substances, this is plainly but a trick of skill, a ruse of style, to make theologians swallow a poison, hidden in the shade of an analogy which strikes everybody else and which they alone fail to notice. For it is this, this strong analogy, which forces all scholars and wise judges to confess that these proud and vain beings, more distinguished by their pride than by the name of men however much they may wish to exalt themselves, are at bottom only animals and machines which, though upright, go on all fours. They all have this marvelous instinct, which is developed by education into mind, and which always has its seat in the brain (or for want of that when it is lacking or hardened, in the medulla oblongata) and never in the cerebellum; for I have often seen the cerebellum injured, and other observers have found it hardened, when the soul has not ceased to fulfil its functions. To be a machine, to feel, to think, to know how to distinguish good from bad, as well as blue from yellow, in a word, to be born with an intelligence and a sure moral instinct, and to be but an animal, are therefore characters which are no more contradictory, than to be an ape or a parrot and to be able to give oneself pleasure. Car, puisque l'occasion se présente de le dire, qui eut jamais deviné à priori qu'une goutte de la liqeur qui se lance dans l'accouplement fit ressentir des plaisirs divins, et qu'il en naîtrait une petite créature, qui pourrait un jour, posées certaines lois, jouir des même délices? I believe that thought is so little incompatible with organized matter, that it seems to be one of its properties on a par with electricity, the faculty of motion, impenetrability, extension, etc. Do you ask for further observations? Here are some which are incontestable and which all prove that man resembles animals perfectly, in his origin as well as in all the points in which we have thought it essential to make the comparison. J'en appale à la bonne foi de nos observateurs. Qu'ils nous disent s'il ne'st pas vrai que l'homme dans son principe n'est qu'un ver, qui devient homme, comme la chenille paillon. Les plus graves auteurs [Boerhaave, Inst. Med. et tant d'autres] nous ont appris comment il faut s'y prendre pour voir cet animalcule. Tous les curieux l'ont vu, comme Hartsoeker, dans la semence de l'homme, et non dans celle de la femme; il n'y a que le plus adroit, ou le plus vigoreux qui ait la force de s'insinuer et de s'implanter dans l'oeuf que fournit la femme, et qui lui donne sa première nourriture. Cet oeuf, quelquefois surpris dans les trompes de Fallope, est porté par ces canaux à la matrice, où il prend racine, comme un grain de blé dans la terre. Mais quoiqu'il y devienne monstru-eux par sa croissance de 9 mois, il ne diffère point des oeufs des autres femelles, si ce n'est que sa peau (l'amnios) ne se durcit jamais, et se dilate prodigeusement, comme on en peut juger en comparant les foetus trovés en situation et près d'éclore (ce que j'ai eu le plaisir d'observer dans une femme morte un moment avant l'accouchement), avec d'autres petits embryons très proches de leur origine: car alors c'est toujours l'oeuf dans sa coque, et l'animal dans l'oeuf, qui, gêné dans ses mouvements, cherche machinalement à voir le jour; et pour y réussir, il commence par rompre avec la tête cette membrance, d'oû il sort, comme le pulet, l'oiseau, etc., de la leur. J'ajouterai une observation que je ne trouve nulle part; c'est que l'amnios n'en est pas plus mince, pour s'être prodigieusement étendu; semblable en cela à la matrice dont la substance même se gonfle de sucs infiltrés, indépendamment de la réplétion et du déploiement de tous ses coudes vasculeux. Let us observe man both in and out of his shell, let us examine young embryos of four, six, eight or fifteen days with a microscope; after that time our eyes are sufficient. What do we see? The head alone; a little round egg with two black points which mark the eyes. Before that, everything is formless, and one sees only a medullary pulp, which is the brain, in which are formed first the roots of the nerves, that is, the principle of feeling, and the heart, which already within this substance has the power of beating of itself; it is the punctum saliens of Malpighi, which perhaps already owes a part of its excitability to the influence of the nerves. Then little by little, one sees the head lengthen from the neck, which, in dilating, forms first the thorax inside which the heart has already sunk, there to become stationary; below that is the abdomen which is divided by a partition (the diaphragm). One of these enlargements of the body forms the arms, the hands, the fingers, the nails, and the hair; the other forms the thighs, the legs, the feet, etc., which differ only in their observed situation, and which constitute the support and the balancing pole of the body. The whole process is a strange sort of growth, like that of plants. On the tops of our heads is hair in place of which the plants have leaves and flowers; everywhere is shown the same luxury of nature, and finally the directing principle of plants is placed where we have our soul, that other quintessence of man. Such is the uniformity of nature, which we are beginning to realize; and the analogy of the animal with the vegetable kingdom, of man with the plant. Perhaps there even are animal plants, which in vegetating, either fight as polyps do, or perform other functions characteristic of animals. Voilà à peu près tout ce qu'on sait de la génération. Que les parties qui s'attirent, qui sont faites pur s'unir ensemble et pour occuper telle ou telle place, se réunissent toutes suivant leur nature; et qu'ainsi se forment les yeux, le coeur, l'estomac et enfin tout le corps, comme de grans hommes l'ont écrit, cela est possible. Mais, comme l'expérience nous abandonne au milieu des ces subtilités, je ne supposerai rien, regardant tout ce qui ne frappe pas mes sens comme un mystère impénetrable. Il est si rare que les deux emences se rencontrent dans le congrès, que je serais tenté de croire que la semence de la femme est inutile à la génération. Mais comment en expliquer les phénomènes, sans ce commode rapport de parties, qui rend si bien raison des ressemblances des enfants, tantôt au père, et tantôt à la mère? D'un autre côté, l'embarras d'une explication doit-elle contrebalancer un fait? Il me parait que c'est le mâle qui fait tout, dans une femme qui dorrt, comme dans la plus lubrique. L'arrangement des parties serait done fait de toute éternité dans le germe, ou dans le ver même de l'homme. Mais tout ceci est fourt au-dessus de la portée des plus excellents observateurs. Comme ils n'y peuvent rien saisir, ils ne peuvent pas plus juger de la mécanique de la formation et du développment des corps, qu'une taupe du chemin qu'un cerf peut parcourir. We are veritable moles in the field of nature; we achieve little more than the mole's journey and it si our pride which prescribes limits to the limitless. We are in the position of a watch that should say (a writer of fables would make the watch a hero in a silly tale): ``I was never made by that fool of a workman, I who divide time, who mark so exactly the course of the sun, who repeat aloud the hours which I mark! No! that is impossible!'' In the same way, we disdain, ungrateful wretches that we are, this common mother of all kingdoms, as the chemists say. We imagine, or rather we infer, a cause superior to that which we owe all, and which truly has wrought all things in an inconceivable fashion. No; matter contains nothing base, except to the vulgar eyes which do not recognize her in her most splendid works; and nature is no stupid workman. She creates millions of men, with a facility and a pleasure more intense than the effort of a watchmaker in making the most complicated watch. Her power shines forth equally in creating the lowliest insect and in creating the most highly developed man; the animal kingdom costs her no more than the vegetable, and the most splendid genius no more than a blade of wheat. Let us then judge by what we see of that which is hidden from the curiosity of our eyes and of our investigations, and let us not imagine anything beyond. Let us observe the ape, the beaver, the elephant, etc., in their operations. If it is clear that these activities cannot be performed without intelligence, why refuse intelligence to these animals? And if you grant them a soul our are lost, you fanatics! You will in vain say that you assert nothing about the nature of the animal soul and that you deny its immortality. Who does not see that this is a gratuitous assertion; who does not see that the soul of an animal must be either mortal or immortal, whichever ours is, and that it must therefore undergo the same fate as ours, whatever that may be, and that thus in admitting that animals have souls, you fall into Scylla in an effort to avoid Charybdis? Break the chain of your prejudices, arm yourselves with the torch of experience, and you will render nature the honor she deserves, instead of inferring anything to her disadvantage, from the ignorance in which she has left you. Only open wide your eyes, only disregard what you cannot understand, and you will see that the ploughman whose intelligence and ideas extend no further than the bounds of his furrow, does not differ essentially from the greatest genius, --- a truth which the dissection of Descartes's and of Newton's brains would have proved; you will be persuaded that the imbecile and the fool are animals with human faces, as the intelligent ape is a little man in another shape; in short, you will learn that since everything depends absolutely on difference of organization , a well constructed animal which has studied astronomy, can predict an eclipse, as it can predict recovery or death when it has used its genius and its clearness of vision, for a time, in the school of Hippocrates and at the bedside of the sick. By this line of observations and truths, we come to connect the admirable power of thought with matter, without being able to see the links, because the subject of this attribute is essentially unknown to us. Let us not say that every machine or every animal perishes altogether or assumes another form after death, for we know absolutely nothing about the subject. On the other hand, to assert that an immortal machine is a chimera or a logical fiction, is to reason as absurdly as caterpillars would reason if, seeing the cast-off skins of their fellow caterpillars, they should bitterly deplore the fate of their species, which to them would seem to come to nothing. The soul of these insects (for each animal has its own) is too limited to comprehend the metamorphoses of nature. Never one of the most skillful among them could have imagined that it was destined to become a butterfly. It is the same way with us. What more do we know of our destiny than of our origin? Let us then submit to an invincible ignorance on which our happiness depends. He who so thinks will be wise, just, tranquil about his fate, and therefore happy. He will await death without either fear or desire, and will cherish life (hardly understanding how disgust can corrupt a heart in this place of many delights); he will be filled with reverence, gratitude, affection, and tenderness for nature, in proportion to his feeling of the benefits he has received from nature; he will be happy, in short, in feeling nature, and in being present at the enchanting spectacle of the universe, and we will surely never destroy nature either in himself or in others. More than that! Full of humanity, this man will love human character even in his enemies. Judge how he will treat others. He will pity the wicked without hating them; in his eyes, they will be but mis-made men. But in pardoning the faults of the structure of mind and body, he will none the less admire the beauties and the virtues of both. Those whom nature shall have favored will seem to him to deserve more respect than those whom she has treated in step-motherly fashion. Thus, as we have seen, natural gifts, the source of all acquirements, gain from the lips and heart of the materialist, the homage which every other thinker unjustly refuses them. In short, the materialist, convinced, in spite of the protests of his vanity, that is he but a machine or an animal, will not maltreat his kind, for he will know too well the nature of those actions, whose humanity is always in proportion to the degree of analogy proved above [between human beings and animals]; and following the natural law given to all animals, he will not wish to do to others what he would not wish them to do to him. Let us then conclude boldly that man is a machine, and that in the whole universe there is but a single substance differently modified. This is no hypothesis set forth by dint of a number of postulates and assumptions; it is not the work of prejudice, nor even of my reason alone; I should have disdained a guide which I think to be so untrustworthy, had not my senses, bearing a torch, so to speak, induced me to follow reason by lighting the way themselves. Experience has thus spoken to me in behalf of reason; and in this way I have combined the two. But it must have been noticed that I have not allowed myself even the most vigorous and immediately deduced reasoning, except as a result of a multitude of observations which no scholar will contest; and furthermore, I recognize only scholars as judges of the conclusions which I draw from the observations; and I hereby challenge every prejudiced man who is neither anatomist, nor acquainted with the only philosophy which can here be considered, that of the human body. Against so strong and solid an oak, what could the weak reeds of theology, of metaphysics, and of the schools, avail, ---- childish arms, like our parlor foils, that may well afford the pleasure of fencing, but can never wound an adversary. Need I say that I refer to the empty and trivial notions, to the pitiable and trite arguments that will be urged (as long as the shadow of prejudice or of superstition remains on earth for the suppose incompatibility of two substances which meet and move each other unceasingly? Such is my system, or rather the truth, unless I am much deceived. It is short and simple. Dispute it now who will.

C.J. W · 1 decade ago