#and you know what they say. one must imagine sisyphus happy...

[pyaarisms]

med school is truly making me into sisyphus

[gerogerigaogaigar]

Phineas and Ferb fascinates me from a structural standpoint. I'll admit I haven't watched the show front to back, but I've caught the odd episode here and there and I certainly get the gist of it.

The first time I saw P&F it seemed charming but unremarkable, the second and probably third time it became obvious that it was a clever but formulaic show. At some point it clicked. Children's shows are usually formulaic, Dee Dee will destroy Dexter's invention, Elmer Fudd will fail to hunt the Wabbit, He-Man will defeat Skeletor, and Sisyphus will roll that boulder up that hill. Phineas and Ferb asks not just that we imagine Sisyphus happy, but that we imagine that he is ecstatic to see that boulder roll down the hill.

Where the status quo is an unspoken rule of older cartoons it is the explicit law of the P&F universe. There is a roadmap to every episode, you probably already know it but I will spell it out regardless. Phineas will say the phrase "I know what we're gonna do today" thus kicking off their project for the episode. Candace will try and fail to get them "busted". There will be a musical number. Meanwhile Doofenshmirtz will have made an -inator that Perry will be called upon to destroy. Perry will get caught, Doofenshmirtz will explain his plan, Perry will escape, destroy the -inator and the ensuing chaos will clean up Phineas and Ferb's backyard shenanigans just in time for their mom to get home. Ferb says something at the very end, often his only line in the whole episode. The end.

There are stock lines that must be said. "I know what we're gonna do today" "I wonder where Perry is" "Busted" "🎵Doofenshmirtz Evil Incorporated🎶". The show doesn't just have a cartoon status quo, the universe operates off of the laws of cartoon status quo to the extent that characters actively notice when the cycle doesn't complete correctly. The characters seemingly know that their world operates on cartoon physics, but to them it's just physics. In P&F a giant whirlwind carrying away a giant backyard amusement park is as natural as gravity.

Candace's place as the character who knows this is all insane must be a tortuous existence considering the whole world is conspired against her. Not out of a cosmic meanness but a deep thematic kindness. Candace is the only character whose intent is to cause purposeful harm and the universe will not let her get away with it.

Truly this is one of the most unerringly kind shows I've ever seen. It is unreal how much faith it puts into wordplay, running jokes, and raw absurdity to carry itself while never stepping into the realm of cartoon cruelty.

You know cartoon cruelty. It's why Tom gets punished for Jerry's actions and why the Trix rabbit can never eat his own damn cereal. At its best cartoon cruelty manifests as Ed, Edd n Eddy or the Looney Tunes short Duck Amok where there is catharsis in seeing the characters hoisted by their own petard. At its worst you get CatDog which is so intensely cruel to the character of Cat that I can't comprehend what the writers were going for.

The confident lack of irony is part of what makes Phineas And Ferb work. The show is a parade of cartoon cliches and dad jokes and it never it never winks at the viewer or lampshades how silly this is. It just has absolute faith that the corniest jokes ever really are that funny. And so they are. I actually laugh out loud every time they do the "Aren't you a little young for this?" "Yes, yes I am" bit. Maybe it's the delivery, maybe it's just the confidence in the bit. Probably a bit of both. I am smiling to myself just thinking of this dumb running joke.

But what this all amounts to is what every bit of fandom wankery amounts to. I am of course talking about shipping. For my money the best bit in the show is the romantic framing of Doofenshmirtz and Perry's rivalry. This is where the show's cartoon logic and unrepentant kindness synthesize perfectly. The homoerotic undertones of the spy/supervillain dynamic are an extremely tired observation and are usually only emphasized in an ironic sense to poke fun at pieces that never intended the gay subtext. P&F flips this joke by not being even a little bit ironic about it, but still adhering to the unspoken nature of the gag.

The end result is that Perry and Doofenshmirtz's status as a romantic couple is tacitly understood to be part of the shows status quo, but never commented on. The world of P&F is too inherently kind to be homophobic (homophobia being a key component of the joke) but it still has a joke shaped hole to fill. So it does the funniest possible thing and fills the hole with nothing. The joke is the lack of a joke. The expectation of a joke that is met with a shrug from the show's own internal logic. And that's really funny. An evil scientist and a platypus are in a loving relationship that happens to also be a hero/villain rivalry. Don't worry about it. It's not the weirdest thing happening in the tri state area I promise.

[forgetmynamepleasethanks]

IF YOU write for hazbin x helluva boss could you do a oneshot stolas x raven!reader whos family only recently became royals and are treated as lesser by the other royal families. the ravens arent as fancy as the other families and dont really care about all the royal stuff so they're kinda looked down upon. they meet at some meeting or you can decide. and make this take place after season 2 episode 9 so blitzo and him have broken up at least for now. thank you a ton!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I write for everything. That's why it takes me so long to write because I get a request, watch the entire show/consume the entire source material, then I start writing until I get a new request and the cycle continues. I am the Sisyphus of fanfiction. One must imagine forgetmyname happy. Anyways. Thank you for the request. I needed an excuse to watch season 2 of Helluva Boss. And shoutout to my favorite mutual for inspo for this I lowkey stole major plot elements from your story please forgive me. They're a better writer than I am so if you're interested in reading the inspiration for the latter half of this fic check out this. Also this isn't particularly romantic, just two straight guy cool guy besties (peak reference).

-----

If the parties weren't bad enough, the meetings were. Was being a royal really worth it? Sure, immortality, woo. How nice it is to spend the next ten thousand years sucking up to other pompous avians.

Despite your less-than-enthusiastic outlook on royalty, being the youngest of your brothers made you the prime target for all the busy work one could hope for.

That's why you found yourself here. Due to your family's relative youth in terms of royalty, you're positioned to the very far end of an uncomfortably long table seating representatives from all the royal houses in hell.

What a bunch of pricks.

The etiquette that your parents had drilled into you from such a young age- you truly believe they conceived you to be the perfect little delivery boy to turn errands for them- is the only thing keeping you in your seat and this stuffy cape and outfit on your body.

After a wait that could have lasted from 15 minutes to 15 years, the host of this meeting finally makes his entrance. As much as you like to pride yourself in your blasé attitude, being in the presence of King Paimon is enough to shut you up and sit you down.

"Welcome everyone please stop your yammering and listen to me. God when did there get to be so fucking many of you." Paimon announces as he makes his entrance.

"As I'm sure a few of you know hell is currently experiencing some unfortunate economic... blah blah blah"

Could this get any more boring? As you fight to keep your eyes in focus you notice someone standing by the door behind you. It's one of Paimon's sons. Stolas. Long time no see. You and Stolas used to be close, but the weight of royalty split you two apart.

Wow, he looks just as bored as you. I guess being Paimon's son would mean you get dragged along to a lot of borin- "You! Raven boy. Not to be rude or anything but what do you people even do?" Your internal monologue is cut off by Paimon. You don't respond for a beat, internally laughing at how Paimon literally doesn't know who you are or what your family does but you still have to be at this stupid meeting.

"We keep the humans out of hell, Your Highness." You respond dryly. It takes you a second to even notice that you've responded. The line is so ingrained into your lexicon that it practically says itself.

"Right! That's the totally important job I gave your very... snicker... esteemed family." Paimon snorts out, barely containing his mocking laughter. A handful of other representatives stifle laughs at your expense.

Oh, the joys of being a Corvus Arcana. The least royal royal family in hell.

"Yes well, you're dismissed. You're needed for other important tasks. Prince Stolas will direct you. Thank you for your time." Paimon says with mock sincerity.

Oh. Stolas. Yes. You know Stolas. You're flooded with memories of the two of you back at the old "Center for Princes to be" It was a glorified daycare, really. You two got up to a lot. He taught you a lot about the starts, and bugs, and everything he read about. You taught him how to make spit balls and get out of trouble you put yourself in.

You rise from your seat, flipping your cape as you walk to the door. In royal etiquette flipping your cape at someone is somewhat rude. Exactly what you wanted.

The conversation behind you restarts as you reach the door. Stolas is waiting for you with a nervous smile on his face, almost like he's got bad news.

"Ah, I remember you! I didn't know it was you who my father was talking about! Let's head out, shall we?" Stolas remarks oh so professionally. He's looking right at you, using his eyes to try and convince you he's excited about your new task, but you know him well enough to tell he'd rather be anywhere else right now.

"To what do I owe the pleasure?" you respond sarcastically. Both of you know you were chosen for this because of your less-than-stellar family image.

"Ah! Well! You see- You were chosen for your... unique skills and inspired professionalism! Yes of course!" Stolas sputters out trying to respond without admitting that you were chosen because you're the trailer park trash of the royal family.

A smile creeps onto your face at the owl's half-baked response. He was never the most socially perceptive, even in his youth. You follow the tall owl out of the meeting room and down some of the winding hallways of Paimon's manor.

"Well hopefully my 'inspired professionalism' landed me something to do besides sitting in that room. How bad could it be? As long as it's not something stupid like stacking boxes." You respond lackadaisically. You look to Stolas for a reaction but he seems fully focused on looking at some dusty old paintings on the wall.

Then you round a corner into a freshly moved into bedroom. So fresh that boxes are strewn about. You look up at Stolas who's scratching the back of his head and looking anywhere and everywhere but your direction.

"No way. It's stacking boxes." You state dumbfounded.

"If it's any recourse I will be helping you unpack. That's our mission. Isn't that... heh... fun?" Stolas replies. You look him up and down. Both of you know how stupid this is.

You just sigh.

Twenty minutes later you're unpacking boxes. Your cape is discarded on the bed, the effort of moving boxes with both magic and your birdy body causing you to break a sweat, and as promised Stolas is helping. You can't help but sneak glances at him. He really has changed a lot since you were kids. He's a lot taller for one thing. Besides the obvious physical change, he seems to never have really put himself together. You can tell he's struggling.

Ruffled feathers, quick to anger, and somewhat mopey. To an average royal this would seem pretty normal. Royals aren't known for their vigor and lust for life. To you, these are signs that he's not doing so hot. Struggling to lift a white cardboard box labeled "FRAGILE!" the tall owl is surprisingly human- well, demon? Humanized? He seems a lot more likable than the rest of the royals.

You decide to break the silence. "So tell me. What's a big important bird like you doing unpacking boxes with lil old me?" It's almost self-deprecating the way you look down on yourself.

"Me?- Ah of course he means you- My father brings me along as a secretary of sorts to his meetings when I'm available." Stolas responds while trying to not trip over a box of pillows as he places knickknacks he got out of a box around the dresser.

You snort at his response. "I have a secretary but she doesn't unpack rooms." You banter at him. This seems to irk Stolas. "Yes well since my divorce it seems my father can't resist the urge to assign me silly tasks as if I were some child in need of a distraction." Stolas snaps at you. He drops his volume at the mention of his divorce, which has surely affected how he is perceived by the other royals.

Despite how peeved he sounds by your comment, it sounds more like he's disheartened than truly upset.

You had heard of his divorce. You didn't care. Your family was never huge on the whole arranged marriage thing. You weren't even married yet, which for a prince of your age was unheard of in most other families.

You smile, half sympathetically, half filled with schadenfreude. "Join the club." An uncomfortable silence fills the air after your response. Stolas was aware of how your family is treated. It seemed silly to complain about being assigned trivial tasks like unpacking a room to a Corvus Arcana. It's sort of like complaining about a paper cut to a man missing both his arms.

"I apologize," Stolas says.

"For what?" You respond quizzically. "For how the others treat you. Merely because your lineage is young does not justify the lack of respect or meaningful assignments they've received from the other royals." Stolas says.

The uncomfortable silence fills the air once again. Stolas had always been the only person to treat you like a true royal. Back in the day, he was the only one to play with you, share with you, or even really acknowledge you. You two unpack in silence. After another ten minutes of unpacking you finally can't take it anymore.

"This blows. Wanna ditch this stupid "assignment"?" You stretch your arms and let the box you were carrying fall to the ground with a thump. Stolas looks at you dumbfounded.

"Ditch? Like... 'play hooky'? No... I could never! I'm much to old for that type of behavior now." Stolas seems aghast at the idea of offending his father. You turn around and grin at him. "Oh like anyone's gonna miss us! There's a million servants around here that can unpack this dumb room. Let's ditch this. Or are you gonna tell me you're having a blast?"

"That's not the point. I can't just leave!" Stolas retorts.

"You're an adult now. Plus King Paimon clearly doesn't care what we're up to. No one's checked on us. C'mon, we used to do this all the time. It'll be like back then when we used to sneak away from the nannies at daycare." You rebuttal. You can see Stolas fighting with himself over what to do.

The look on Stolas' face is priceless. There's nothing quite like a royal trying to decide if it's worth doing something considered "non-royal".

"I suppose it's okay to leave unannounced... I read something about the human country of Ireland and how its people say goodbye without saying anything and-" Stolas realizes he's rambling. "Ah well... yes. I guess I'd like to leave."

You shake your head in mock surprise at his overly introspective response. "Follow me."

You two walk in silence for a moment. You're spending the quiet time considering your current circumstances. You and the prince of the Ars Goatia are playing hooky from a meeting neither of you were really invited to. Huh. Interesting spot you've found yourself in.

Conversely, Stolas is trying his best to keep his cool. He's not so used to just leaving these types of things. You two have also not spoken much since you were young. There was never any bad blood or anything, being a royal is just time-consuming.

Stolas follows closely behind you as you walk out of the castle. "So... if you don't mind me asking..." Stolas begins, waiting for your confirmation to continue. After a quick nod from you, Stolas furrows his brow, contemplating his words before speaking, "Your..." He pauses, searching for a diplomatic way to phrase it. "casual demeanor seems almost at odds with your status as a royal. It's always been quite intriguing, I must say. Most other royals tend to carry themselves with a certain..." He gestures with a hand. "formality, shall we say. Your informal manner is indeed a rare sight." Stolas asks you.

The owl's attempts at not offending you are admirable. "Well. My family is much younger than yours, as you know. While your family and all the others gained power at the very start of hell my family rose to power a short three hundred years ago. To put it bluntly, we don't really do all the royal stuff." You respond, trying to explain your family's situation.

"I see... fascinating." Stolas offers. The two of you make it out of the castle without another word.

You two find yourselves behind the castle. You hop up on a small ledge to see over the hedges. Stolas, being tall, can see over just fine.

"Well. The world's our oyster." You say. The night is fresh upon you and the city shines spectacularly below you. You look up at Stolas with a mischievous grin. "How quickly would your dad notice if his fancy schmancy car went missing?"

Stolas snickers at your question. "We'll just have to find out I suppose."

-----

I don't really like how this turned out but I also feel like I say that after everything I write. I'm also pretty rusty (and slightly intoxicated). Life has been up my ass for like two years so that's where I've been. Once again, massive props to freakyfrye for a lot of inspiration behind this. I had no clue where to take it but I read their story and it was great! Worth checking out. Anyways I hope you enjoyed.

[chimaerite]

the eternal absurdity of hannigram

In Greek mythology, Sisyphus is condemned to endlessly roll a rock up a hill. His eternal labour underscores the importance of embracing the present and finding joy in process, no matter of absurdity.

“I've never known myself as well as I know myself when I'm with him” Will Graham confesses, his head lifts up, eyes retrieving from the sodden ground to meet Chiyoh’s. The woman sighs a shaky breath, her graceful hand moves forward for a handshake, head nodding.

“Fine, we will go find him.”

While there are other means to violence, as Chiyoh puts it, love had never been Will Graham’s first instinct to project. Inadvertently, he found himself oddly drawn to Hannibal. Whenever with Alana, he felt indifferent. More importantly, he feels ashamed to have professed his love for her yet felt so immature to act on anything apart from a singular kiss. He builds up a false swelling of emotion in his heart, yet is condemned to have it all roll down, back to the beginning. Only then, can his footing change, and he return back to the start.

He's happy, he says. He leans down to his dogs each day with a softly bright smile that the dogs refract. He laughs at Price and Fisher’s jokes, even if they jab at him in the slightest. He smiles for Jack Crawford, for Beverly, his co-workers – and, though they have learned to never bring it up, they know deep down something in Will has broken like a teacup to carpeted ground, silent yet shattering.

It's absurd, the situation. Will knows this. Absurd is Hannibal’s thirst, his ego, his looks, his brains, his blood, his scent of stupid smell and Will cannot shove him out of his chambers. What’s even more absurd is the current situation of a false identity by Hannibal, which presents Will with an infuriating challenge to find him in Florence. He squeezes his eyes shut and explores the darkness. The chapel stained glass casts an ambient light around him, although it does not affect him.

One must imagine Will Graham happy.

He should be deep in thought about the case on his hands, but he finds his mind seeping towards Hannibal. Does Hannibal believe in God? Likely not – yet he plays his cards as such. Spoken outwardly to be in the image of god, Hannibal claims killing to be morally passive. In fact, if Hannibal is God in the abstract, metaphysical form, then Will would be damned. For he is condemned for eternity to have such a boulder hindering the rest of his life – in the acts of love or not. He rolls the boulder forward, hands splayed against the jagged harshness, and pushes; desireful, he finds himself sweating profusely.

Unknowingly to Will, the wendigo has crept up behind him as he seats in the gallery. Will opens his eyes to meet Hannibal’s, the glare shining behind him like a glory light. He’s nicely suited as always, on the contrary to Will, and his eyes are crescented as always, but light presents itself differently this time in his eyes. Before any coherent words came from the unfaltering passion behind Will’s inner voice spoke out:

“If I saw you everyday, Will, I would remember this time.” He speaks carefully - tenderly, even - his hands clasp in front of his legs as he takes a seat next to Will. The man rolls his eyes, but a faint smile, more genuine than the one he generally shows, plays on his battered lips.

Chiyoh was right, there are other means of influence than violence, and an eternity more to combat it.

Based on NBC Hannibal Season 3 Episode 6: Dolce

[sorcerous-caress]

to dance with you | Astarion

[ fluff, heavy angst, bad end, character death, trauma, nb!reader ]

[Before the events of bg3, Reader is one of Astarion's victims ]

I am very sorry.

There was no taste to numbness, no colour, shape, or smell.

Just an absence, an emptiness. 

You couldn't escape it, no matter how much you tried. Much like total darkness, the abyss waited for you back home at the end of the day.

And while you knew it was hopeless to attempt to rationalise your way out of it, to cling to some justifications that explain that lack of warmth in your life, that just maybe it somehow made you superior to endure, you knew deep down it was a waste of time.

There's no dignity in suffering. There's no prize for enduring agony. 

Your drink was getting cold.

Lifting the cup to the edge of your lips, you swallowed down what you could of the lukewarm liquid. Barely registering the taste of it.

You're spiralling again. You always did around this time of year.

People say one must imagine sisyphus happy, and yet you've dragged your own corpse up this hill too many times to count. Clawed your way out of rot and into a resemblance of a functional adult.

Staring out the cafe window into the snow-covered city, you finished the rest of your now cold drink. It was barely night, and yet the sun has already said its goodnights.

The streets will fill out soon. The buzzing of the nightlife was just on the horizon. 

You found it ironic in a way, for how much Lathander's followers loved to proclaim the sun as the symbol of absolute goodness, then how come people only felt like being their true selves at night.

It felt like a curtain being drawn at the end of the show, when the angels slept and the pressure to perform melted away.

You should take your leave soon.

Your eyes shifted to stare into the bottom of your empty cup, traces of the remains of your drink have dried up in various shapes. 

"Good evening" a voice called out to you, someone standing in front of your table, next to the empty chair.

Looking up, you were met with ruby eyes. Silvery hair and curling around pointy ears, framing the pale face and.

"Would it be alright if I joined you, my dear?" The elf continued, voice gentle as if coaxing a rabbit out of its nest.

You don't know why, but at that moment you nodded.

He sat down on the opposite chair.

You weren't superficial. At least you didn't think so. People couldn't control their appearance, so what right do you have to judge them based on it?

Yet when you took in the man in front of you. His half lidded eyes made you the sole point of his focus, the subtle smile to his lips. You would've been blind to pretend that it didn't affect you in some way.

"Do you mind if I buy you a drink? Something to warm you up, maybe?" Clear concern in his voice, "it tends to get very cold quickly at night, and we don't want someone as lovely as you getting sick now, do we?"

He was…worried about your health? A stranger you've never met before?

You shook your head. "No, it's alright." He was probably just trying to be nice, "I wasn't aware I looked miserable enough to worry a stranger, I was just about to leave anyway."

His eyes widened, his smile dropping. "No wait…I'm sorry, I didn't mean to offend" he cleared his throat, seemingly embarrassed by the misunderstanding he caused, "But where are my manners? You may call me Astarion." 

You stared at the hand that he extended to you, he didn't seem phased by your hesitation to shake it. In fact, he patiently waited for you.

Not wanting to make this more awkward than it already is, you took his hand. He smiled again.

You told him your own name, and he said it suited you. His cold hands let go of yours after running his thumb across your hand.

"Please excuse my previous…failed attempt. I'm not used to approaching people." His eyes looked to the side, probably to mask his nervousness, you thought.

He seemed so bold and confident moments ago, yet the second you mentioned leaving, he immediately switched. 

Huh, people really aren't what they seem like, you thought to yourself. Who knew behind his confident facade was just someone like you.

"It's alright, I'm sorry for my rushed assumptions." You felt bad. This person was just trying to be nice, and you were rude to him for no reason but your own paranoia.

"I noticed you since you walked in," he admitted, "you looked…simply breathtaking." His eyes drank you up, taking in every detail of your form.

You've barely noticed him. You've barely noticed anyone in the cafe. You were too occupied wallowing in your own misery to give the outside world more than a passing glance.

"I'm flattered, really." You admitted, "but I'm not sure if I will live up to your expectations…" as shameful as it was to admit, you thought it was better to warn him early on than to pretend to be someone you're not.

Astarion's hand reached over the table, holding your own in a loose reassuring grip. Giving you enough space to pull back if you wanted to.

"Oh no, trust me." He gave your hand a comforting squeeze, "you're simply perfect." His voice dripped with honey, warm and sweet sliding down your throat.

You held his hand back.

"Then let me make it up to you, how about I buy you a drink? To warm you up." There was a playful edge to your voice as you repeated his words, "well by how cold your hand is, you probably really need this drink."

Amusement filled his face as he chuckled. "You clever little thing." Your eyes followed his tongue as he licked his lips, "I'm starting to like you already."

After a couple of drinks and some time, the two of you ended up leaving the establishment together. Light conversation flowed seamlessly and weaved into one another between you both.

To say he was easy to talk to would've been an underestimation. You felt like you're hanging out with a lifelong friend instead of a stranger you've met a couple of hours ago.

You really didn't pay much attention to time flying by, not when the night sky looked so mesmerising above you. Not when Astarion sat next to you on the garden bench.

And while your conversations didn't stay light for long, he didn't seem like he minded as he leant you his shoulder to lean on while you expressed your worries.

"I think you should tell them. They're your parents, after all." His arm kept you close to his body, "Isn't it their job to help you during rough times and all of that?"

"I don't know, I'm supposed to be an adult." You hid half your face in his shoulder, "I much rather suck it up until I find a new job, and then maybe I'll tell them."

Easier said than done. It's been a week since you've handed in your applications, and yet not a single letter was sent back to you.

"I just don't want to be a burden," you continued "sometimes I wish I didn't worry them so much. Maybe they'll do better without me holding them back." 

Astarion didn't reply. His hold tightened around you.

"Sometimes…I wish I could just disappear." You buried your face in his neck, taking in his scent and closing your eyes.

Again, no reply, only the sound of the night breeze rustling the nearby bushes. The moon looming over the both of you and showering you in her light.

A waning moon.

"I ruined the mood, didn't i?" You let out a bitter laugh as you pulled away from him, "I'm sorry."

There was a somber expression on his face, his usually sharp eyes appearing soft and round.

"No, not at all." He said, "I was just thinking about your words. Wishing to disappear."

With a heavy sigh, he turned to you. "I could preach to you all night about how valuable a single mortal life is like they do all morning at those temples, but we both know that's bullshit." His voice sounded more natural, vastly different from the smooth sultry tone he had before. "Life will still move on, with or without that person."

You snorted, "What, not a fan of the church and gods?" 

"More like they're not fans of mine. But I suppose we can't all have taste." Getting up from the bench, the moonlight illuminated the edges of his hair like a halo, completely facing you.

"I suppose they're missing out." Walking by his side, the two of you strolled through the garden at a slow pace. Hands occasionally brushing against each other.

"Definitely, who wouldn't want this face on their side. I'd probably get them more visitors than their clerics ever could." Leaning closer, Astarion stopped in his tracks as his hand held your face.

"Actually, something tells me you'd do very well at that job, helping others." You leaned into his hand, eyes fluttering shut for a moment.

With a sarcastic laugh, he said "Please, me?" 

"Yes, you." When you opened your eyes, you were met with his intense gaze, "you're really good at making people feel at ease, letting them speak their worries. Like you did to me."

"Darling, I did no such thing." He lowered his eyes to your lips, licking his own. Maybe he was using this as an excuse to avoid your gaze.

You gently lifted his chin to look at you again, "Sometimes the best way to help someone is to listen to them, truly listen." 

His lips pressed into a thin line.

"I have been cold and rude to you, and yet you've treated me with warmth…that's a gift, you know. I won't ever forget it." Your own hands cupped his face, contrasting against his pale cold skin. "So yes, if you ever consider being a cleric or something one day, you'll definitely have my recommendation." 

Closing the distance between the two of you, your lips gently pressed against his forehead. Wishing his safety and well being with a quick peck as you pulled away.

His own hands left you long ago, laying abandoned on his sides. His fingers twitched.

Taking a deep breath, you saw his usual easy going smile come back. You felt at ease again as he returned to what you knew as his normal self. "I can think of a way or two you could repay me then, something we would both enjoy greatly." he said.

You felt a subtle touch against your hips, his hands asking permission to hold you.

It was getting really late, you realised. Your dogs must be worried sick back home. Their anxious figures waiting in front of the doorstep, you remember kissing them goodbye before you left.

...

It will be alright, it's just one night. You always left them more food than normal just in case, so they'll be safe and happily fed until your arrival.

Maybe you can even introduce Astarion to them tomorrow. You have a feeling they'll absolutely love licking his face until his hair is a mess.

"Yeah." You pushed his hands to fully grip your hips, his smile grew. "That sounds good to me."

-

The time spent during the walk to his home flew by. He was very good at making you lose yourself in the moment. 

Stepping inside, he kept a tight hold on you as he led you through the corridors.

Huge oil paintings adorned the crimson walls, a red carpet to match. You immediately noticed the lack of windows, and whatever ones you could spot had a thick layer of black curtains drawn closely shut over them.

He ignored any servants you passed by, and likewise, they seemed to pretend you didn't exist either, as if you were invisible like a ghost.

Astarion's demeanour shifted the second you stepped foot inside the palace, and his replies reduced to one word or less whenever you tried to start a conversation. 

You had a sinking feeling in the pits of your stomach, gnawing at your flesh and slowing down your steps.

"Is something wrong?" You asked him after he led you into a bedroom at the end of the hall. "You don't seem well."

His back was turned to you.

You took a step forward, placing a hand on his back. "Astarion?"

He flinched away from your hand the second you touched him, as if you burned the flesh on his back. A low hiss of pain escaped his lips.

Turning to face you after a few seconds, his expression was schooled back into the most charming smile.

"I just tend to get nervous when it comes to initiating intimacy." He told you, a nervous look in his eyes as he shifted slightly.

Oh, is that why he has been acting this way? You offered a comforting smile. "That's completely alright. We don't have to do anything you're not comfortable with."

"... really? Even when you came the whole way here?" He said with a sceptical tone, "nonsense, my dear, I will get over it in time. I just…need a couple of minutes, yeah."

"I really mean it, Astarion, we don't have to do anything." You repeated yourself more firmly.

You thought your words might offer him some relief, yet the subtle frown to his lips only grew deeper. 

"How about we just get comfortable on the bed and see where the night takes us?" He offered, unbuttoning the cuffs of his embroidered shirt and sitting on the lush bed.

You didn't like his total disregard for your offer. You could tell he wasn't believing you. But you didn't want to push him at the time, so you just let it go.

After making some adjustments to your clothes until you were in a comfortable state, you joined him on the bed. He immediately turned to face you. His body was so close to yours.

"Now…" he whispered so close to your ear. "Just how much I wanted to make you mine since the moment I saw you."

One thing led to another, a teasing touch there, a promising squeeze here, and the taste of his lips against yours.

He just knew how to take your breath away, how to get you to melt into the kiss. Wanting more, chasing after his tongue for another taste.

His hand going down your body, feeling your throat, your chest, your waist, and then your thighs. Heat collected between your legs. You could feel your body respond back to his expert touches, completely ignoring your brain and forming a mind of its own as it grinded against his hands.

Pleasure was overwhelming you. It was both too much and not enough at the same time. It was addicting and consuming.

Was he enjoying it, too? Did seeing you this needy and responsive to his touches make him burn with lust and desire for you?

You tried breaking the kiss to get a good look at him, but he wouldn't relent. Wouldn't give you a chance to even think about anything else but your own pleasure.

When you finally managed to pull away from his lips, you couldn't get more than a glance at his expression before he immediately went for your neck. Sucking and marking the flesh with vigour, teeth sending shivers down your spine.

You didn't realise how sharp his teeth were until you felt them graze your neck. They were almost alarmingly sharp, one wrong move, and they'd glide easily into your flesh.

"Astarion…" you called out to him. His lips left your neck and took it as an invitation to kiss you again, stealing your breath away. "Astarion no wait- " you mumbled between each kiss.

That got him to stop, his hands pulling away from your body.

"Yes my love?" He breathed against your lips.

Your eyes met his, you took in his dishevelled appearance, the flush to his cheeks and his wet glistening lips. His eyes looked like they held desire in them, inviting and tantalising.

But the more you stared into them, the less they seemed to look at you and instead look through you. Deep inside his eyes, he was a thousand miles away. 

You couldn't even see a hint of desire in them if you took away the facade.

"I don't want this." You whispered.

"Did I do something wrong?" 

"No…I just don't want this."

He got off of you, giving you your space back.

Neither of you mentioned it, instead each of you stuck to their own side of the bed.

It was clear he didn't know how to proceed forward, a crease to his eyebrows while in deep thoughts, as you assumed.

The silence was uncomfortable, unbearable even. Your mind wandered back to your home, your comfortable safe haven. 

In an attempt to lighten the mood, you said, "one time, Luna cost me over 5000 golds."

Seemingly coming back to reality, it took Astarion some seconds to fully register your words, "Luna?"

"My dog," you said, "the sweetest shepherd you'll ever meet. I came home from work late one time and she wagged her tail so fast that she fractured it." 

"She sounds charming." Astarion let out a soft laugh, "although, why Luna?"

"She's black and white, you know like the phases of the moon. I thought it was clever at the time." You admitted, "or are you more of a cat person?"

"I'm not an animal person at all, honestly." 

"What, are they also not fans of you?"

That got another chuckle out of him. "They tend to be too smelly for my liking, but I'd take a cat over a horse any day." 

He turned his body to face you again, you did the same.

"Really? Luna adores horses, she could teach you a thing or two."

"Are you really not only suggesting that the dog and I meet up, but that she'd also take me as her pupil?"

"I mean…well yeah, I was kinda hoping I'd take you to meet her tomorrow morning." You cleared your throat, "well that's if you want to.

His focus seemed to drift again, "...you don't happen to have cats, do you?" His tone was quieter than before, eyes not fully meeting yours.

"There's a stray that comes to visit Luna daily, he's not very friendly to other people but who knows." As corny as you thought your line sounded, you still proceeded to say it in hopes it will lift his mood up, "maybe he'll also fall victim to your charm like I did."

Instead of the reaction you expected, you were met with genuine scepticism.

"Ha" his laugh was bitter, "you don't have to spare my feelings darling, I know you don't see me that way."

You sat up on the bed.

"What do you mean?"

He looked up at you, you felt like he was attempting to make himself smaller against the pillow.

"Oh I'm not holding a grudge or anything." He claimed, "I can admit it when I'm not someone's type or whatever."

Brushing a strand of his hair behind his pointy ear, you tried to coax him to meet your eyes again. "...Astarion, I am very attracted to you.

He leaned away from your hand. "Then why did you want to stop?"

The truth burned in your throat to admit. "I just…I didn't feel like you were enjoying it. Like you wanted it."

That look, the eyes staring through you.

Astarion seemed very conflicted, about what? You weren't sure. But you wanted to comfort him, to take away his pain and carry it yourself instead.

He never denied your words.

You pulled your hand away from his hair, still not laying down beside him as you watched his body curl under the covers.

"It's alright, you don't have to explain anything." You got up from the bed, "I can leave if it's-" just as you were about to pick up your clothes, his hand immediately grabbed your wrist in a desperate grip.

"No," he said with dread in his eyes, "you can't."

It was a complete switch from his previous state, you weren't sure what to even make of it.

"I can't?" 

He seemed to catch himself, letting go of your wrist.

"stay with me, at least for tonight." His eyes were pleading, "we can just hold each other, isn't that what you want?" 

He sat up from the bed, gently taking your hands in his as he led you back to the comfort of the sheets.

"It's what I want." He whispered, voice so inviting and beckoning you closer, "I swear." 

You weren't strong enough to resist.

Following after him, your bodies pressed together under the soft sheets. You only felt your own heartbeat in your chest as he held you close. He was cold, so you shared your own body warmth to warm him up. 

The candles in the room were burning out, a calming silence fell. Lulling you to rest and let the day end.

You could only hear your own heart beating.

This was nice, it felt nice and safe so it must be.

Just as sleep was about to steal you away, Astarion's voice nudged you back awake.

"What do you like about me?" His voice was raw, sincere.

You couldn't see his face, "you, of course."

He moved against you, "obviously, now be more specific."

You tried to think about it. It felt like one of these important questions that'd shape your future relationship with him, so you tried to give it all of your thoughts.

There were so many things to love about him, but many of them were things you'd still love him without.

Yet they were still parts of him, but how many parts were actually him.

"Your nature." Was the answer you gave, still not quite satisfied with it.

"Oh shit." His serious tone didn't last long before being replaced by a playful one, "I didn't invite a druid to my bed, did i?" 

You snorted, "very funny, but I meant it." 

Even without seeing his face, you felt his lips curl upwards against your skin. Claiming that small victory was enough for you.

"You know" you found yourself rambling, "my day was going absolutely horrible until you showed up. I don't usually really believe in gods or miracles, but…you were the closest thing to a guardian angel I've ever had."

A yawn escaped your lips, you continued.

"I was too inside my head. I forgot that a whole world outside existed. A world with people like you." Your eyelids fluttered, sleep lurked behind them. "As shitty as life can be, somehow I believe things will be okay." 

Adjusting your position so you could face him in the dark, you felt his body stiffen against yours.

"Goodnight Astarion." you gave his forehead a small kiss, wishing for his safety and well being. "Rest well."

-

The deep hours of the night is when the Szarr palace fell the most silent. Merely an hour or two separating them from dawn.

A warm living breathing body laid next to him, just like many others before. And Astarion embraced them just like many others before.

But the waves of emotions swirling inside him like poison were definitely new.

He didn't get a hint of rest, he couldn't. As much as he wanted to just close his eyes for the remaining hours and ignore the waking world. After all they will definitely disappear in the morning, so what's a few hours of blissful ignorance?

But he just couldn't, the thought itself threatened to turn his stomach inside out. Disgust he has never felt in years lurching at his insides.

It's their fault, it's all their fault.

They should've made it easier for him. They should've just closed their eyes, spread their legs, and ignored his existence. 

They shouldn't have mentioned their stupid moon dog. They shouldn't have made him leer inside at the idea of having parents to support you yet still choosing to suffer alone.

How dare they be so cruel? How dare they kiss his forehead so tenderly.

He was choking. His throat burned so much that every breath felt like needles being dragged against the inside of his neck.

Worst of all, he could still hear their heartbeat. Did his own sound like that before? Is this what it felt like to have a speck of evidence that you're alive? 

A constant reminder of your mortal life, of your endless potential, of your stupid naivety and your pointless kindness.

His whole body was shaking.

Cazador will be here soon. Just like so many times before.

He needed to act fast. He needed to do something. Otherwise, he felt like he would go crazy.

They don't deserve whatever that monster did with all the others. They don't deserve a fate that cruel, not someone like them. Please God, anyone else but them.

He prayed, holding them closely as he begged and pleaded with each one of the Gods he could recall the name of in his state of panic.

If not for his miserable life then please do something for them, they're still a mortal, they're still one of your children. Please god just save them.

Like always, no answer came.

Astarion felt hopeless, useless and small. 

He stared in horror at his own hands, still in the same praying position. He truly had nothing to offer.

Nothing except a dignified death.

Death would save them from Cazador, Death would save them from torture.

Death was what he should've picked that night almost two centuries ago. 

Careful not to disturb their peaceful rest, Astarion grabbed a pillow.

He took one last good look at them in the dark, he engraved their face into his memory.

He wanted to lean over and give them one last kiss. He didn't feel like he deserved to.

The pillow pressed against their face, slowly cutting off their oxygen.

Astarion held tightly. He kept his hold firm even as they struggled.

He couldn't take his eyes off of the pillow, his tears falling and staining its white cover. A drop after another.

As their struggles died down, by that time, he had gotten his side of the pillow entirely wet. He still held firm, despite his shaking fingers, despite the blood slowly joining his tears onto the pillow from how hard his teeth dug into his lips.

At these hours, the Szarr palace was the most silent. He couldn't risk making a single sound.

Only when a heartbeat ceased to exist did he let go of his grip.

He got off the bed, closed their eyes and covered their face with the sheets. He sat on the floor, head next to their cold dead feet.

Despite his clean hands, he swore he felt their blood on them, seeping into his skin and marking him forever.

Not just their blood, but the blood of every innocent miserable person he lured back into this hell.

He just wanted to save them, to save this one person. Take a life in stride and carry the guilt to the end of his days. 

It was just one life, one very precious person.

Was a very precious person.

But he forgot to account for the hundreds of lives he has taken indirectly before, it was easier to forget when it wasn't his own hands stopping their heartbeat.

His whole world felt like it stopped because of one life.

As he sat there on the cold floor, naked, shaking with tears streaming down his face, he heard the very familiar tapping of a staff against the floorboards.

All of his feelings vanished in an instant, as if he was drowning in a deep volcanic abyss before getting pulled into the freezing surface.

He could not feel his fingers, numbness spread throughout his whole body.

The tapping got closer. It was heading towards him.

Cazador was heading towards him.

There were no feelings left inside him, just pure numbness.

There was no taste to numbness, no colour, shape, or smell.

Just an absence, an emptiness. 

He couldn't escape it, no matter how much he tried. Much like total darkness, the abyss waited for him back home at the end of the day.

[forgot-how-catflap-works]

Hot take: Sisyphys got a sweet deal

We must imagine Sisyphus happy, according to existentialist philosopher Albert Camus. It’s one of his hottest and most widely known takes. The idea that when confronted with the meaninglessness of his existence, condemned for all eternity to push a boulder up a mountain only for it to roll back down, dear old Sisyphus may find contentment. What other choice does he have after all? 

(Showing my age here with the rage face meme and will not apologise #MillenialPride)

The assertion is that we mortals are faced with a similar conundrum. Life is unpredictable, chaotic, and frequently terrifying. With nothing but the infinite void to look forward to, how are we to spend our days? Either we embrace religion and pray for eternal salvation, skip the queue to the void by killing ourselves because it doesn’t make any difference in the end, or laugh at the absurdity of it all and find joy in the simple act of being here. It is up to us to create our own meaning. 

On my good days this notion provides me a lot of comfort, and links in nicely with the zen buddhist idea that this moment is the only thing we truly have. So the take home is to embrace it, and live fully for the moment. It’s all very Dead Poets Society or, if you’re like me and have never seen that film, the B plot in Season 1, Episode 3 of Community.  In the immortal words of Professor Whitman, “Seize the day Jeff, for real. Go running naked in a hailstorm, kiss a girl in the middle of the day, fly a kite but do it for yourself! Or you wot just fail my class, you’ll fail life.” 

On my bad days however, I’m just salty about it. Suddenly the pressure to create my own meaning in the limited time I have becomes crippling to the point of paralysis. Every moment not spent living my best life is a moment wasted. I move steadily towards the grave, the years ahead steadily becoming fewer than those behind. What have I achieved with these dwindling hours, these precious days in which I am burdened to create my own meaning? I’ll tell you what I’ve done; play RuneScape and be depressed.

The problem with transferring this thinking from Sisyphus to a human living under late stage capitalism in the 21st century, is that Sisyphys didn’t have to go to a fucking job everyday. All he had to do was push a boulder! All day! Piece of piss mate. 

What I wouldn’t give to just push a boulder all day. No laundry, no dishes, no reletenlessly targeted advertising and no more fucking work emails or meetings. I bet Sisyphys never once had a melon-related panic attack in the fruit aisle of Aldi. On top of that, pushing a massive boulder to the top of a mountain is an incredible workout. Right now I have to drive nearly 30 minutes to go and sweat in a leisure centre while strangers grunt in my periphery. Give me the boulder any day. I want that head empty, no thoughts, brain scampled egg life baby. Release me from the curse of my own self-awareness. 

Okay, I get it that Albert Camu grew up in poverty, survived tuberculosis, and lived through the Second World War. I readily admit that my “melon crisis” doesn’t stack up in comparison.  All I’m saying is, it’s pretty easy to imagine someone happy when they are free from the mountains of bullshit that besiege us every single day. I am completely overwhelmed by the mere act of existing under capitalism. The sheer number of decisions I have to make every single day just to get from one end to the next breaks my autistic brain. I can’t handle it, didn’t ask for it, and I certainly don’t want it. But surely we could do literally anything else? 

I know it’s sort of laughable to say, “Let’s all go back to a simple, agrarian existence where we live off the land and chill by a waterfall smoking phat blunts.” Like, obviously that sounds a thousand times better than what we’re doing now, but short of a catastrophic societal collapse and then thousands of years of recovery, that’s not going to happen. Did you know it (sort of) takes six months and over $1,500 dollars to make a single chicken sandwich from scratch? Sustaining a single human life requires an incredible amount of work. 

There are so many of us, and we’re so connected and interdependent on each other as a species. No organism on the planet comes close to what we have built for ourselves and it is an amazing feat by every conceivable metric. But what is it all for? Have we ever once as a civilisation stopped and asked ourselves why we’re doing any of this? 

For whatever reason, we are apparently limited in our conception of all that remains possible. A civilisation disjointed and misaligned, adrift on this rock hurtling through space at mind boggling speeds, confronted with the meaninglessness of it all and refusing to collectively acknowledge it for even a moment. 

It’s like we’re still locked in that primordial stage of evolution, where we must accrue resources to survive the harsh winter and outlive our rivals. When we predominantly existed as smaller bands or tribes, that made a lot of sense. But now we are a single connected superorganism, our sense of competition is squarely in opposition to our sense of collaboration. 

We broadly recognise the need to collaborate in tackling existential threats like climate change, yet our primal competitiveness sees us knee jerking our way back towards fascism. It’s like we’ve gone to the doctor about a backache and they prescribed a dozen hungry tigers to be administered immediately. We’re still acting as though there is not enough to go around, when there is in fact plenty; it has just been misallocated. I am left always wondering why? What do we have to gain from eating ourselves alive?

I cannot help but think it comes from a petulant refusal to collectively acknowledge the void. We struggle desperately for meaning, to leave a legacy, but forget that it is impossible. Even those who live on in infamy after their death will one day perish from the collective consciousness. Our sun will die, all heat will fade from the universe until it is nothing but a barren, lifeless waste. No tower you build or lineage you foster will outlast that. Yet we sit watching helplessly as oligarchs and plutocrats rail against their own mortality to catastrophic and destructive consequences for the rest of us. I suppose in the long run, that doesn’t really matter though does it? 

We have made a home for ourselves in the belly of a vast, insatiable beast. A beast so hungry for our blood and labour that it stifles anything that cannot be effectively comodified. How are we to find happiness and peace under such conditions? It is simply not a priority. 

To quote folk punk band AJJ: 

This is no exaggeration, we're living in a death machine

And no, it's not just your imagination

You've been living in a death machine

Some of us are passengers, and some of us are driving

Almost everybody's getting bled to death to keep the motor running

Sisyhus at least is free from its roiling guts, and in that freedom it is not difficult to imagine him happy. For the rest of us, it takes a little more effort and a lot more work. 

[jxrmngxndr]

Deep Dive

BODY

height: 183cm / slightly over 6'

strength ★★★★★ [ strongest human, strongest flamechaser yada yada ]

dexterity ★★★☆☆ [ who needs dex when you can just flatten the field ]

health ★★★★★ [ he's a genetically modified super soldier I'm pretty sure he can't be unhealthy ]

energy ★★★☆☆ [ shockingly sedate in current era, but in past era this man was a fucking sports star prince of the school I just know his ass was annoyingly hype for everything ]

beauty ★★★★☆ [ all of the kaslanas are fuck off gorgeous and they got it from their great great great great grandmother /j get this man some brown contacts tho ]

style ★★★☆☆ [ what that tiddy window for. Also in Golden Courtyard we see that he works an office job in an orange tracksuit which is a choice. ]

hygiene ★★★★☆

SKILLS

perception ★★★★☆ [ frequently does the anime "ho?" when he notices something it's so funny. dramatic ass ]

communication ★★☆☆☆

persuasion ★★★☆☆ [ does it count as persuasion if you're just bulldozing ]

mediation ★★☆☆☆ [ the leader of the Flamechasers and. reasonable to an extent but also. glances at Second Key manga ]

literacy ★★★★☆ [ jock central, but his big villain reveal has him fucking summarizing the iliad. the type to unironically say "one must imagine sisyphus happy." ]

creativity ★☆☆☆☆ [ this man doesn't have a thought in his head that MEI didn't have first. he is doing what he is told, to the highest extreme ]

cooking ★☆☆☆☆ [ we see in Golden Courtyard that he can follow package instructions and that's it ]

tech savvy ★★★★☆

combat ★★★★★ [ regularly sent to exterminate or contain Herrschers solo. big bad final boss momence ]

survival ★★★★★ [what 50k years of being the strongest man will do to a mf ]

stealth ★★☆☆☆ [ on top of the innate cold, I think just his general presence is probably overwhelming to be around. giving him a couple stars because he can use subterfuge for like enough time to get what he wants out of an interaction (see: Seele) but then drops the act with breathtaking speed ]

street smarts ★★★★☆

seduction ★★☆☆☆ [ back in the past era I think he had that earnest friendly boy swag which was enough to rizz MEI, but I also think that was her lipbiting over his naivety a little bit. Current era. Bottom text. ]

luck ☆☆☆☆☆

handling animals ★★★☆☆ [does pardofelis count ]

pacifying children ★★★☆☆ [ does griseo count ]

MIND

intelligence ★★★★☆ [ he's no mastermind, but he's able to parse situations and put the pieces together quickly, sometimes before his opponent realizes he's done it. he gets accused of stupidity more often than he actually displays it, and it usually gets recanted ]

happiness ☆☆☆☆☆ [ I uh. I don't think he's thought about himself as something that feels that sort of emotion in. a very long time. ]

spirituality ☆☆☆☆☆

confidence ★★★★★ [ mf literally thinks he can handle it all, entirely 100% alone ]

humor ★★☆☆☆ [ we know he makes dad jokes, in summer survival rhapsody ]

anxiety ★☆☆☆☆

patience ★★★★☆

passion ★★☆☆☆ [ I think he used to be ]

nice         ☆★☆☆☆     mean [ this one's a little wibbly. in all of his appearances we don't ever see him be maliciously unkind, and people regularly comment on his kindness specifically but like. he did still do all of that. he did. he did do that. ]

brave       ★☆☆☆☆     cowardly [ sorry I think about the why do birds fly thing frequently and it makes me want to collapse on the ground sobbing I need a minute ]

pacifist     ☆☆★☆☆     violent [ heeeeeee isn't like vicious but his first reaction to a lot of situations is overwhelming displays of power like his first reaction. I can't in good conscience describe him as a nonviolent person ]

thoughtful ☆★☆☆☆    impulsive  [like. okay. yes he wanted to enact project STIGMA earlier than his fellows might have wanted, but consider also the scale of time that we're working on here. he did in fact wait thousands upon thousands of years before making specific moves, complete with regular touchbases to track the progress of other projects. ]

agreeable ☆★☆☆☆     contrary [ this one is in a similar vein as persuasion and mediation, by which I mean like. he can be told or even asked to do something it's literally so easy to get him to do something it might not even occur to him that he doesn't want to do it. but when he gets an idea in his head that he's gonna do something. he's gonna do it sob ]

idealistic   ☆☆★☆☆     pragmatic [ he thinks that the other projects are nice in theory if they work but there's such a big emphasis on if. it's almost like he's waiting for STIGMA as a foregone conclusion and hoping that someone will prove him wrong ]

frugal        ★☆☆☆☆     big spender

extrovert   ☆★☆☆☆     introvert [ previous era, he's the extrovert that adopted the introverts, but current era he's just been alone for so long that I think he's sort of. forgotten. how to be a person in general. ]

collected   ★☆☆☆☆     wild

ambitious / possessive / stubborn / jealous / decisive / perfectionist

SOCIAL

charisma ★★★★☆

empathy ★★★☆☆

generosity ★★☆☆☆

wealth ★★★☆☆

honest   ☆★☆☆☆ deceptive

leader   ☆☆★☆☆   follower [ this one is sooooooo funny to me because like he's the leader of the flamechasers he's undeniably in charge but. he's also MEI's dog on a chain and he is vocal about it ]

polite     ☆★☆☆☆  rude [ his speech patterns and his mannerisms fascinate me you would never expect him to be a boku boy ]

political ★★★★☆  indifferent [ hilariously, I think he thinks that politics in general are too granular to be important. not big picture enough ]

BELIEFS

higher power ★☆☆☆☆ [ his signet is fucking Deliverance I think after a certain point he started to think of himself as the higher power and hated it ]

fate/destiny ★☆☆☆☆

magic ★☆☆☆☆

soulmates ★★★★★ [ he is a kaslana. he literally dropped everything he was doing to become MEI's lapdog for the rest of eternity ]

good and evil ★★★★★ [ face in hands. we know that he considers two things evil, but one is unnecessary and needs to be exterminated (the Honkai) and the other is necessary and he'll go to any lengths to enact it for aforementioned extermination (project STIGMA) ]

luck ☆☆☆☆☆

PRIORITIES

family ★☆☆☆☆ [ bro needed family names explained to him, and when he understood he went "what I do isn't her problem hope that helps." keeping a single star for MEI because she was literally his everything ]

friends ★★★☆☆ [ we are explicitly told that his psyche genuinely began to break after he had to put down the Seventh Herrscher, and in Crimson Ice his treatment of Kalpas is so interesting to me ]

love ★★★★★ [ his is a love story above all else ]

home ☆☆☆☆☆

health ☆☆☆☆☆ 

praise ☆☆☆☆☆ [ he explicitly says on more than one occasion that he's fine with bearing the brunt of responsibility for any and every bad thing that happens like my guy what the fuck ]

justice ★★★★★

truth ★★★☆☆

power ★★★☆☆

fame ★★★★★ [ I think he strives for infamy and I don't think this is a good thing. he wants to be made an example of ]

wealth ☆☆☆☆☆

others' opinions ★★★☆☆ [ he understands that it is valuable to have others recognize his power and authority and the things that he's done, but I don't think he cares whether the opinion is good or bad. as long as there is a strong opinion of some kind ]

[askzloyxp]

Would you maybe be able to bring other editors on board? Perhaps teach Lyarrah how you do your jazz so she can take over for a couple weeks. Unless I'm mistaken in assuming that her job is just copy pasting the script into the YouTube captions feature. I don't really know how captioning works

Okay, this is actually quite fun to talk about because YES! Youtube's caption system does have a feature where you can get auto-captions made if you just feed it the transcript of the video! HOWEVER, Lyarrah's job on the Recap is not to just do that.

First and foremost, Ly actually handles all of the metadata of the vids except thumbnails. Tags, description and even the titles are all things she has to fill in after I upload, because by that time I have absolutely 0 energy to do that. She also is the one moderating the comments. Even if I'm often the one to reply, she does a lot to filter out the bad stuff and add spam-filters.

Then she has to make the actual captions. Even with the script available, this is actually still a serious undertaking. Because that feature that you just feed the script and it puts the timings in automatically? It sucks ass. The timings are all over the place, it struggles with even the british accent and it couldn't add who is speaking or sound/tone descrptions even if you put them in. And with Recaps specifically, it couldn't put in the parts where the Hermits themselves are speaking, because THEIR LINES ARE NOT EVEN IN THE SCRIPT! What clips to use and to add to the video is mostly decided in the video-editing phase, long after the script is written. So that stuff needs to be added later. But because it's not in the script, the system gets confused about parts where the words that are not in the script are said, and just puts whatever lines in there. As a result, cleaning up after the algorithm takes longer than to just make whole new subtitles. WHICH IS WHAT LYARRAH ACTUALLY DOES.

More or less every video she makes captions for is re-transcribed by hand with the script only as a reference. This results in much better captions where she can even add her personal touch with the emojis to convey tone and all that!

I know there are automated systems in DaVinci Resolve and Adobe Premiere that could output pretty solid captions with working timings, and she's actually looking into that, and will be trying them out. But even then, it will be her responsibility and her choice to use these tools, because she's our captioning specialist. Whatever research she does will still be a load off my back.

But could she just edit the recaps for me? Funny you say that, because in theory? She probably could. Lyarrah and Pixlriffs are both adept video editors, each with their own youtube channels, and perfectly capable of producing videos no worse than what I make. Pix has already edited a couple recaps in the past, and every time he'd deliver on time and arguably a tighter product than what I make. HOWEVER, the trick here is that to get the HC Recap done every week, week after week, on time and with passable editing, when the source material is a dozen videos at least and the result needs to be well paced, illustrative and well, passable, is a whole other ordeal. I don't mean to toot my own horn, but here you gotta not know how to edit, but know how to edit like a motherfucker.

...that doesn't mean "good" or "fast",... just.. like a motherfucker.

And for one, I wouldn't want to put that much work onto anyone, while for two, I wouldn't trust to put that much work onto anyone. Maybe to a professional editor or like, a TV-editor this isn't much, but I don't think I have the funds to hire one, especially when at the end of the day, to me the whole process has long become routine, entertainment even. I love the edit. Which is also why I struggle with stress and burnout the way I do: it is incomprehensible to me that I can't just sit down and do this like always!

One must imagine Sisyphus happy.

[beyondplusultra]

mango hiii!! do you have any fic recs? my trust in your taste is absolute after you've obliterated me with your 2/2 comic with that war of vaslav nijinsky quote <3

Hello hello!! First of all, I'm glad you liked the comic! It was a joy to make, and an even greater joy to see how people have reacted to it :)

As for fic recs, here are a few of my all time favorites!

2/2 fics that will make you stare at the ceiling for an indeterminate amount of time as you contemplate life:

you've got me seeing through different eyes by futuresoon - this is the First Ever Shuake Fic I ever read and I immediately spiraled into the abyss from which I've never managed to crawl out. It's a very popular fic, so chances are you've read it already, but it's absolute peak 2/2 bad end content and I'm obligated to put it in every rec list

One Must Imagine Sisyphus Happy by telekinetics - cries

Last Night on Earth by TzviaAriella - CRIES

Long fics that made me read long fic:

Black Star by HassouToby - This is pre-Royal, and for the longest time was what I accepted as my headcanon for what happened after vanilla's events. Not akeshu, but has some of my favorite characterizations of all the phantom thieves I've ever read, and honestly just a completely wild ride that WILL suck you in.

The Brigverse series by TzviaAriella - Akeshu pirate AU. Do I have to say anything else here. The third installment of the main series is currently ongoing as of this post's writing!

The Liminality series by MistressEast - NG+ with a twist. It's. It's so good you guys.

The Next Time Around by chashmish - No powers AU, this fic is about Akechi and Akira reuniting and rekindling a relationship during the events of Makoto and Ann's destination wedding in Italy. It's a fic I always fall back on when I want a feel-good time!

One-shots that rewired my brain chemistry:

you have to let it breathe, my love by ThirtySixSaveFiles - No powers AU, an akeshu love story that starts when the two of them meet in a wine shop.

hold my hand by relationshipcrimes - Gen fic, Akechi and Futaba bonding time, because Akira left Tokyo, and on this particular day Akechi is her only key item choice.

(don't shoot) the messenger by shouldbeworking - Ryuji is the center of a misunderstanding. This one never fails to make me laugh!

before midnight by specterthief - You guys know how during third sem, Maruki wired Sumi's parents to think she was at gymnastics boot camp or whatever? Yeah what the FUCK was up with that.

anywhere, i would have followed you by shantealeaves - MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH. I've only read this fic once. One time. Ever. It's imprinted into my brain. Mind the tags!

[greetings-inferiors]

I was working at a local fair, setting up fences (because the people they paid to set up fences didn’t show up) and I was assigned someone to help me, I taught him what to do( they of him how best to go about doing it, etc., and just assumed he was around my age, slightly younger, 16/17/18. While working someone came up to him asking how his honeymoon was. Turns out he’s in his mid to late twenties, ie married, and works as a councillor at the local council. Damn I completely misread it.

Anyway later when we were packing up I was told to help someone out putting away tables and the fences I spent all day putting up (one must imagine Sisyphus happy). I assumed he was early twenties, then he went up to a young woman and she gave him a fiver, a kiss on the forehead, and she told him to buy himself an ice cream. Turns out that’s his mother, and he’s 15.

In other words, age is an enigma and you could genuinely go up to me and say you were any age from 15 to 40 and I’d believe you. God knows I’ve been more wrong before.

[droppingartintotheinfinite]

Having now reached home after reading Camus’ essay (“The Myth of Sisyphus”) in class, I am still filled with rage.

Albert Camus presents an interpretation of Sisyphus’ myth that I find myself utterly incapable of reacting to with any emotion other than blind, vicious loathing towards every paragraph, every sentence, every individual word with which he presents his argument.

To call it an argument is, perhaps, generous. That would require a clarity of intent that this essay seems unwilling to provide. The final line, the thesis statement, the phrase his conclusion rests upon…

“One must imagine Sisyphus happy.”

…Is a line that sounds deep and meaningful only until you actually pay attention to what the essay is about, under the flowery prose and mythological inaccuracy.

The thesis of the essay, though some room must be left for differences of interpretation, is one of the inherent futility and absurdity of life. In the eyes of Camus, we are all Sisyphus, doomed to forever push our own boulders up our own hills, and happiness can come only from making peace with this.

To be frank, it’s just not a very good metaphor. You can dress it up all you like — use poetic language and colorful metaphor, repurpose the trappings of ancient myth for modern ideal — the banality of the underlying meaning remains unchanged.

The usage of Sisyphus for this essay is something I find both unnecessary and actively contrary to the intended takeaway of the piece.

As we all know, all western intellectuals must present their arguments with extensive references to Greece or Rome, lest they become too accessible to the wider masses, those uncultured heathens with their roots in other traditions. As I am unfortunately guilty of this habit myself, let us continue to work within the trappings of Greek myth.

Why Sisyphus, specifically?

Camus is forced to recontextualize or outright alter significant portions of Sisyphus myth in order to present a story that could plausibly end with “One must imagine Sisyphus happy.”

Why not use Arachne, condemned for daring to compare herself to a goddess? Surely, one must imagine her happy, weaving now as much as she could ever want to, her punishment granting her freedom to do what she loves forever.

Why not Medusa? One must imagine her happy, given the tools to ensure no man will ever touch her without consent ever again. (Though, of course, I’m sure we’re all familiar with how that ends, though Perseus was little more than the weapon the gods used to end Medusa’s hard-won peace.)

Why not Persephone, if we’re allowed to use the interpretations that suit our goals? One must imagine her escape from her mother’s watchful and overbearing gaze, finding her freedom at last as she bites into the pomegranate. Her marriage to Hades is perhaps the most stable marriage of any on Olympus. Certainly, one must imagine Persephone happy.

Camus’ thesis on Sisyphus is one of acceptance towards pointless misery. He proposes that Sisyphus, rolling his boulder up a hill for eternity, must eventually learn to find joy in his labor.

And honestly? Fuck that.

Profanity, perhaps, is not considered acceptable in the intellectual context, but is this essay not about the toil of the masses? Surely the language of the proletariat must be considered appropriate when theirs are the struggles we discuss.

Thus, allow me to say: “The Myth of Sisyphus” by Albert Camus is pseudointellectual horseshit. It is a turd adorned in gold leaf, a meaningless, bullshit idea with no true substance to it.

To put it bluntly, Camus is full of shit.

By using Sisyphus specifically, in place of any other figure, he posits suffering and toil as inescapable aspects of life. He says we are all Sisyphus, and we all have a boulder, and we all must push it forever.

To push this ideal, he lobotomizes Sisyphus as a character. The actual myth (as opposed to the hollow, gutted corpse of it Camus parades about) presents Sisyphus as a trickster. He repeatedly schemes to avoid death, from conspiring with his wife for her to bury him without a coin to cross the river, allowing him to elicit Persephone’s sympathy and gain a stay of execution, to binding Thanatos himself when the reaper comes knocking. There is no point where he intends to go to the underworld peacefully — unlike what Camus presents, it was not that Sisyphus intended to accept his death and was simply too in love with the world to let it go, but rather that he refused to, point blank, and was willing to do whatever it took to avoid the underworld.

Though the original myth is one of hubris and the futility of defying the gods, it is certainly easy to reimagine Sisyphus as a hero, unwilling to bow to the harsh and often unreasonable edicts of the divine.

But to imagine him happy with his lot, content to push that boulder up the hill for eternity, is to imagine a Sisyphus who has utterly given up on everything that makes him himself, a Sisyphus who has utterly lost the conviction, the determination, the sheer undiluted refusal to bow that defines him.

One could imagine, perhaps, Sisyphus giving up on the gods’ empty promises and walking away from the rock to find his own way out. But to imagine Sisyphus happy to suffer for no benefit until the end of time itself?

Camus posits a world where happiness can only be found when you give up on things ever getting better. He posits a world where your only option is to say: “Welp! My life sure sucks! Guess this is completely inescapable and will never change at all!”

Camus posits a world where we have no agency in our own lives, and tells us we must imagine ourselves happy with this.

Suffering is inevitable, yes, but there is absolutely nothing requiring us to declare that every misery we suffer is inescapable, that every poor hand we’re dealt is one we ought to just accept, that every injustice we face leaves us with no recourse but to smile and turn the other cheek.

We are told as children that life isn’t fair, and this is true. It isn’t, it never has been, and it likely never will be.

But that doesn’t mean it can’t be more fair in the future than it is now, and it doesn’t mean our only choice is to give up on demanding better.

[mimsytheborogove]

Had a convo with a somewhat friend recently about Everything Everywhere All at Once (EEAO), aka the best movie, and they told me that “anyone can put philosophy over anything if you try hard enough” when we disagreed about the message of the film.

Please!!! No!!! Also spoilers under the cut.

The movie very deliberately referenced Albert Camus’ Myth of Sisyphus in its themes.

Sisyphus is a Greek king who is cursed with rolling a boulder up a hill for all eternity, only for the boulder to roll back down once it nears the top (also the he tried to live forever by trapping Death and getting Persephone to let him out to do his funeral rites…Sisyphus was a bad guy). The point of his punishment is that trying to escape Death is ultimately futile.

Camus takes this conceit and uses it as a metaphor for life as well — life is also, ultimately, futile. We get up everyday to roll the rock up the hill, but it always rolls back down. There’s no divine purpose to the rock rolling except to emphasize how meaningless it all is. Life, similarly, has no purpose (since Camus came after the existentialists).

Why, then, do we bother? Why don’t we all just lay down and die? Camus offers the following: we must imagine Sisyphus happy. If Sisyphus finds happiness in the act of rolling the rock, it ceases to be a punishment. Similarly, we must find happiness in the act of living. Get a Starbucks once in a while and hug a furry animal, you’ll understand. These small moments of joy which we eke out are things which we must choose to continue living for, every single day despite the pain we endure, because for most people it’s worth it.

EEAO has this exact theme. When Evelyn and Joy are beginning a reconciliation of sorts in the parking lot, they talk about the pointlessness of living, where all there is are these little moments of happiness and the rest is meaningless. And Evelyn makes it clear that yes, there’s a lot of pain in life and her relationship with Joy. They fundamentally do not understand one another, in part because of the generational divide and the immigrant/ABC perpetual foreigner division between them. It causes them pain, it hurts, it’s frustrating and annoying because they can’t seem to quite make the other understand. But Evelyn states that she essentially believes that loving Joy and having her as a daughter is WORTH IT ALL. And, when Jobu Toppacky chooses not to enter the all-consuming bagel of nothingness (which is definitely a metaphor for Joy’s suicidal ideation), this is symbolic of her ALSO choosing the sparks of joy over nothingness. We must imagine Sisyphus happy.

THATS WHAT THE MESSAGE IS. Sometimes, choosing those sparks of joy is worth it. Some people might not think it’s worth it — think of Gong Gong and his decision to basically disown his daughter for not obeying him — and they choose nothingness over any scrap of happiness, because the pain is too much. Sometimes, that’s what’s necessary. But the point of life is the pain and the happiness (like how Jobu Toppacky says, she knows the joy and pain of having Evelyn as her mother), and we choose every day to wake up and try again and again for that scrap of happiness.

And it’s not perfect! Obviously! My somewhat friend was caught up in Evelyn fat shaming her daughter (something I felt so close to my heart because whew, growing up Asian). She said that Evelyn still throwing out a “you look fat” comment at the end made it seem like the movie “tripped and fell at the finish line.” THE FATSHAMING IS BAD BUT ITS NOT THE POINT OF THE MOVIE, OBVIOUSLY.

Of course the fatshaming is bad!! Joy treats it like an act of affection (which it basically is — in my family at least, it’s meant in a “I care about your well-being, and I pay attention to you because indifference is tantamount to disdain”) but it’s still not good. It’s very bad, actually, and it highlights the way that Evelyn has grown up in a very different culture than Joy and still, even at the end of the movie, does not completely understand her daughter.

And that’s GREAT! Because in real life, there is no perfect communication. We are casually cruel to people for no reason because we just don’t understand them, or they don’t understand us, or both. You may not realize it, but you’ve probably hurt someone you care about because you’ve said something in a way that was interpreted poorly. Evelyn hasn’t learned to understand her daughter or even accept her daughter completely; she’s learned to keep trying, to keep “tripping at the finish line” and getting up again, because her daughter is WORTH IT to her. And Joy, similarly, is going to keep trying despite the mutual pain, because her mother is WORTH IT to her. How that trying turns out is ambiguous at the end of the movie — maybe Joy, like Gong Gong before her, doesn’t find it worth it in the end and cuts off her mother entirely. But for now, she finds fulfillment in the small moments, enough to choose to continue on. We must imagine Sisyphus happy.

This is NOT a movie about “family is more important than anything, even when your family is sucky.” It’s about the fact that Evelyn and Joy CHOSE EACH OTHER out of their own volition. Because those little moments mattered enough. That’s why Evelyn is so devastated at Gong Gong for abandoning her, asking him how he could let her go. She can’t imagine not enduring this suffering (she legit gets beat up by like five million guys and hops dimensions for fuck’s sake) for her daughter. She loves Joy, and she will keep choosing her. And Joy, ultimately, shows she loves Evelyn and will keep choosing her as well.

Waymond is the perfect foil for Evelyn because he is the embodiment of the “kindness and love just because it makes it all a bit more bearable” sentiment. He’s played off as an idiot, and he kind of is, but his glowing sense of sheer goodness radiates throughout the film. Why not put googly eyes everywhere? It’s hilarious! Why not give cookies to people? Cookies are good! The mundanity of life sucks ASS, and it keeps going and going (not unlike the cycling of the machines in the laundromat), why not have some enjoyment? Life is fucking meaningless but guess what? These cookies are bomb af.

In the world where Evelyn is a celebrity, Waymond appears to have found success elsewhere, whatever that looks like. Evelyn is undoubtably successful since she’s a superstar. And yet, Waymond says that, in another life, he would have also found fulfillment in just running a failing laundromat with her. Evelyn is heartbroken that Waymond doesn’t love her in the way she remembers from her version of Waymond — but why? She’s a superstar! She’s more successful than she ever dreamed! But she had chosen Waymond in the past, and she found that choice fulfilling enough that, faced with its loss, she is devastated. Waymond said that his love for Evelyn would have made the laundromat worth it, and Evelyn seems to agree here. We must imagine Sisyphus happy.

Anyway, that’s why EEAO is great, don’t @ me.

[glitter-stained]

One must imagine Sisyphus happy, the voice says as I walk down to the well. It echoes against the walls, empty and wet in that peculiar way in which voices only echo in a cave, this deep, dark loneliness that chills you to the bone. One must imagine Sisyphus happy, it whimpers from very far away; my knuckles are rubbed red as they tie the bucket to the rope, and send it down below, and fill it with water. But I know Sisyphus. Who cares if he's happy? He was a bad man, but first he was a child, but first he was a man. What does it matter know, when the boulder rolls up and when it all falls down? I pull the bucket up, and fill my amphora ; watch the blood where I ripped my finger nails drip through and taint the water red. Something about eternity, I suppose. One must imagine Sisyphus happy, is the rule, but I hear him scream out every day, and he deserves it so much I am glad, and I pity him so much I could cry. And no one really cares if you are able to convince yourself that he could learn to love this endless, aimless task, and I could scream all my despair to the well and the well will never answer me; nothing changes around here, only the mind of those that are trapped, and that empty, violent freedom to imagine your neighbour is happy. Maybe one day it will be too much; perhaps, one day, it will be enough. For now I carry my amphora and feel it emptying and look for my sister. One must remember I'm a murderer. Plic, ploc. The water drips through.

[irrealisms]

new pinned post!

this is mostly a multifandom blog. currently primarily into lifesteal + mxtx novels but i post other things too. i mostly don't post politics/current events. i do regularly post about antipsychiatry and being Mad/crazy/neurodivergent. i'm Catholic and occasionally post about that but not regularly.

blog organization

tags list about ao3

fanfic

lifesteal between the moth and the moon: T, vitalasy&zam. a conversation about graves and death and love and hope. 1.2k. every martyr in this jungle: T, vitalasy&zam. a conversation that goes nowhere and doesn't help anyone. but they're trying. 1.4k. Game Over. Try Again?: T, vitalasy-centric. does it count as a time loop if you're the one making it happen? 2.3k no apple but a heart: M, vitalasy-centric. "when you kill someone, you get their heart" taken literally, or: the one in which vitalasy eats subz's dead body as an act of devotion. 1.1k. and by way of honoring the things we once both held dear: T, parrot&spoke. PMMM au of the conversation parrot and spoke have post-wormhole. 1.1k. the visceral organs used for food: M, vitalasy&planetlord. the stream where vitalasy spawnkills planet in the prison, set in the same universe as no apple but a heart. 2.6k. every hand is a storm: T, vitalasy/zam. PMMM au of their relationship starting and ending. 2.7k. tidal forces: T, vitalasy/subz/zam. hwbm au; three chapters, each chapter is a scene from a different relationship. 3.6k. tell me what you want me to say: G, vitalasy&zam. canon divergence where vitalasy joins the solar union. not a fix it. 1.1k.

dsmp and behind us is the devil: T, bench trio-centric. pieces of my we know the devil au. three chapters/hours, each of which focuses on a different character & a different relationship. 3.3k. no one gets too much light: T, tubbo-centric. a drunk conversation between tubbo & ranboo in new l'manburg after tubbo finds the exile pole. 1.8k gadfly: T, dream-centric. dream goes into heat in pandora's vault. 2.6k. if this wine hasn't turned to vinegar: G, niki-centric. wilbur is niki's soulmate; niki isn't wilbur's. a relationship study of the wilbur & niki relationship, from niki's pov. 3k. isolate song: T, tommy-centric. avian!tommy post-exile recovery, but with way more birdsong neurology facts than is usual for the genre. 3k. two for flinching!: T, dream&wilbur&tommy. mild canon divergence between 'inconsolable differences' and 'boundless sands', where wilbur goes to confront dream a second time; a compare-contrast on the tommy&wilbur and tommy&dream relationships. 3.8k. liza forever minnelli: M, wilbur-centric. hunger games au. about mental illness and institutionalization. mind the tags. 4.7k. the autopsy garland: M, dream-centric. hunger games au. about RPF fandom and youtube celebrity culture. mind the tags. 4k. where you hide your heart from me: T, wilbur/quackity. in pogtopia, wilbur preens quackity's wings. 2k. you're fairly certain there's a curtain somewhere: T, techno-centric. script-format metafiction about being a character in a collaborative medium. 1k. one must imagine Sisyphus happy: T, wilbur&quackity. during a late night in las nevadas, wilbur and quackity have a conversation about living. 1.6k. under these smothering waves: T, tommy&dream. a snapshot from exile arc. 3.7k. how everything is torn: T, ghostbur-centric. ghostbur angst set in the gap between ghostbur on doomsday and the resurrection attempt 4 days later. 2.3k.

tgcf memory foam: T, xie lian-centric hualian. an exploration of having a body that never changes. 1.6k. [DISCLAIMER: from here on out, we're reaching my older writing; there's a lot here that's good but there's also a lot here that i would do differently now!] steel-coated twine: M, bailian. look, it's book 4 bailian which in retrospect should maybe have been rated E. either you want book 4 bailian or you don't. 1.1k.

mdzs/cql i don't have the heart to match: T, jiang cheng-centric. what if jiang cheng was a self-closeted trans woman? 4.5k. no one lays a lily on their grave: T, jiang cheng & jin ling. a post-canon conversation about grieving people you loved who did terrible things. 2.5k. our crooked aim: M, jiang cheng/lan wangji. what if they had grief hatesex about the absence of wei wuxian? think about it. 2k. how easy you are to need: M, xue yang/xiao xingchen. an exploration of xue yang's history with sexual abuse and xiao xingchen's relationship with touch. 2.7k, with an 800 word bonus scene.

tma stifled the choice and the air in my lungs: E, jon/elias. set in late s4. extremely dubiously consensual sex for the sake of feeding the Eye. 4k. watch the blood evaporate: M, jon-centric. jon whump about self-harm and suicide attempts. 2.6k. dream when there's nothing to feast on: T, jon&daisy. a conversation from late s4 about starving. 1.6k. here or not here: E, martin/peter. martin dissociates through a series of bad decisions during s4. 3k. your body is not a word: M, jon-centric. jon exchanges sex with strangers for statements; there's dubious consent on both sides. 1.8k.

silmarillion always already annihilated: T, turgon/gondolin. paris burning/cityverse au. or: in an au in which cities are people, turgon falls in love with his. 2.6k. [DISCLAIMER: from here on out, we're reaching my older writing; there's a lot here that's good but there's also a lot here that i would do differently now!] sweating out the poison: E, maedhros/maglor. dubcon + omegaverse + post-sirion angst. 2.2k. whatever a moon has always meant: M, indis/míriel. an exploration of doubt, grief, and faith. 3.3k. wherefore art thou come: T, fingon/maedhros. fingon survives the nirnaeth; maedhros plans to march on doriath. a fix-it, but only if your vision of a fix-it includes murder. 1.2k. in the indigos of darkness: T, about original númenorean characters. a story about found family, three unrepentant king’s men under pharazôn, disability, religion, and death. 5.4k. melt, thaw, resolve: T, maedhros-centric. maedhros attempts suicide. 2k. we but teach bloody instructions: T, maedhros&maglor. scenes of maedhros and maglor having arguments about morality while raising elrond and elros. 5.4k. what you sow: M, maedhros-centric. maedhros has nightmares. one after angband; one after sirion. 2.6k. pitch black, pale blue: T, about original númenorean characters. a short history of númenor, as told by its women. 4k. survival skills: E, maedhros/fingon or maedhros/sauron depending on how you look at it, which should be all the summary and content warning you need. 1k.

taz balance corvidae: M, lup & taako. abandoned multichapter fic with the premise of lup & taako as a DID system. 7.5k. liebesahnung: E, lup/barry bluejeans. hurt/comfort sex about gender dysphoria. 2k. as the tide: T, magnus/lucretia. a nonlinear love story that is also a tragedy that has a happy ending. 4k. but thinking makes it so: G, lucretia-centric character study. 2k.

we know the devil 3 a.m.: G, venus-centric. a venus pov character study of yellow ending 3am. says as much about 16-year-old-will as it does about venus, imo. 1.9k.

fic rec masterposts dsmp [no others yet but you can ask if you want me to post my tma + mdzs ones]

web weaves, moodboards, and collages

about my life quitting therapy Eli, Eli, lema sabachthani? i was born for this my hands are clean. / your mind is not. if you can live your life without an audience, you should do it. Aww, did you think you broke the cycle?

lifesteal it's more like a very pointed argument: heaven will be mine eclipse federation au you wear the moon like a halo: zam's grief over subz, and the thin line between hallucination and haunting fox, chicken, grain: eclipse federation and 2+1

we know the devil the three worst girls since eve - three collages for the three main characters the devil is lonely - a moodboard for the game as a whole

dsmp as the last i may know: c!tubbo diptych: c!crimeboys PERPETRATOR TRAUMA: c!quackity and no one was gonna come and get me: c!fundy c!wilbur + relationships c!wilbur + death as catharsis c!wilbur + change, and the lack of it exile arc + water c!wilbur + legacy attachments on the dream smp new l'manburg

meta

svsss svsss and sexual violence - pt 1: shen yuan’s realization of himself as a target - pt 2: gender and homophobia - pt 3: non-bingqiu sexual violence - pt 4: shen qingqiu’s body - pt 5: we live in a society

lifesteal c!princezam and ableism

dsmp c!tommy is annoying (and that's important) c!wilbur and his audience bedrock bros analysis in defense of l'manberg

nbc hannibal nbc hannibal and psychiatric abuse

silmarillion [DISCLAIMER: from here on out, we're reaching my older writing; there's a lot here that's good but there's also a lot here that i would do differently now!] tolkien & the fall of arda (short) on being a Christian with complicated feelings about Eru on original sin and loving terrible elves a fading world in defense of Maeglin my feelings about Númenor and religion martyrdom in tolkien (short) religious conflicts between pelargir & umbar tolkien and religious feelings (short) a defense of fëanor's refusal to break the silmarils

[penguinpondering]

"We Must Imagine Sisyphus Happy"

Is a statement that I think about often. It's a profound idea put forth in our modern day to contrast our own lives. "Everyday Sisyphus wakes up and knows what he is going to do, what he has to do". In our modern lives of aimless wonder and unfulfillment how freeing, how satisfying, is it to know that you have a purpose and duty to do. I think it's what a lot of people crave, and what we need. In my own life I often sit and wonder about my purpose. It's not a over statement to say that there are some out there who have made thinking about their purpose their purpose, and I would sometimes think my self one of them. I have never accepted in my life the idea of a Divine or destined purpose, it's always been core to me that ones life is what they make of it. But even with that thought strongly in my heart it has not stopped the endless feeling of emptiness that often washed over me when I think about my place in the world. I have no pre-destined purpose in life, no godly anointed Sisyphean task to do, but what do I want to do? Often that's been instant gratification tasks or ones that simply immerse to the point of loosing all track of time. It's not a healthy thing to do nor is it a good answer to the poised question. "Idle hands are the devil's plaything" is another statement I think is important in our modern times. Not for the puritan reasons it once was used for but because I do deeply think that if left idle man does only evil. Not evil acts persay but evil to himself. Maybe "A Idle Mind is the Devil's Plaything" rings truer for my purpose. Our minds crave purpose and having been left idle must find some sort of task to do, or simply turn to darkness and the feelings of emptiness that plague so many. Historically there are plenty of times when people left idle turn to destructive acts to fill the time. There are also plenty more that turn to creative endeavors. I fully understand those who refuse to retire out of fear of a slow boring state of pre-death. It saddens me that so many have been deprived of their thoughts so long that they have no idea how to find purpose and enjoyment out of things they wish to do, or simply have no idea what they would want to do besides what they have their whole lives. I think we should all find our own boulders to roll up a hill, whether it's simply to fill the time with a fulfilling action or if it's just to avoid the empty feeling of not having something to do. But I think this boulder shouldn't be something that's just done for instant gratification or just to pass the time but does genuinely pull from the soul. It's hard to say what that even means. This is just what I think

[the-gayest-tree-you-ever-did-see]

What do you think happened at those Career Districts?

How do they volunteer being in the life/death competition?

Do you think this is parallel in real life?

Thank you,

@curiousnonny

i feel like im basic about this in the sense that i read it very literally as how war drafting/enlisting works. career districts are closer to the capitol, if not physically, politically and ideologically, and so they kind of.. believe in the hunger games more. obviously they are still distraught about sending kids to die, but its for a good cause, right? doing this now means avoiding a war in the future. its twenty three lives a year versus millions at once, and you know, president snow says it might wipe out the whole world given the weapons we have! i love my kids and i love my friends but its the choice between letting one die versus letting all of them die.

and so i think they almost equate the games to a war. you are either drafted (reaped) or enlist (volunteer). the career districts volunteer because it is, very literally, a career path. you train your whole life to win the games and bring home glory, enlist, and ideally, win, come home, spend a year recovering and being paraded around, and then you teach the other kids how to follow in your footsteps. every district has mentors for the chosen tributes, but i think since kids in career districts were training, those mentors made their services available to all the kids in the district, not just the chosen ones. (and yes, i do believe they think of themselves as the chosen ones.) its amazing how much you can justify when you believe in the cause. its like that one post about the older woman who was against unions because it meant that everything she'd done was for nothing. if the career districts are to realize that the hunger games and their entire governmental system is corrupt, then wasting their whole lives away to learn to kill and survive, to treat human lives as a means to an end, and to send kids off to the games willingly was all for... nothing. and if its all for nothing, look how much they lost already. how can you recover from that? how can you face yourself?

they have to continue volunteering and training and going along with the games because it would mean everything they thought was important is actually harming them and was never important at all. one must imagine sisyphus happy, right?

but yeah, this is very parallel to how people enlist for war in real life. we even see in the volunteers, katniss volunteers to save her family, because she'd rather fight a war than let it touch her sister, but no one volunteers for peeta because hes a decent option anyway. finnick has a head full of visions of glory and he volunteers too young, and letting go of that cockiness, no matter how false, would be admitting that he did it for all the "wrong" reasons. mags (an older veteran and mentor) volunteers for annie (a young woman already scarred) so that the younger generation is protected from the horrors of war. peeta volunteers for haymitch for the opposite reason, but also because he wants to die with his fellow soldiers if he must, even if we erase katniss entirely.

and even with being reaped (drafted), its going to be a majority of poorer people in minority groups who need get more tesserae and have their names in more times. so you see someone like gale, whose name is in more than probably any other kid in the district with forty two slips in order to get food for his family and save his younger siblings, is so geared to war. hes already fighting it in his head. and if he admits that war is not the answer, that principles do not have to be casualties in it, then it was all for nothing. his whole life, lived in fear of reaping but never volunteering, of always being prepared to fight but never willing to jump in... it was all useless. especially because we saw peeta volunteer in the 75th games to be with katniss, but it never occurs to gale to do the same in the 74th. we know how eager he is to fight, but he never chooses it.

i think suzanne collins did a fantastic job building up this system because it is very, very real and very, very poignant.