#anyways there's several ways you could take this

[taliesin-the-bored]

It was a musical, but...I am not beating the allegations.

I shall take this as an opportunity to ramble about Rómeó és Júlia, the subject of said allegations by @unstark, who may have created a monster (/j; thank you for doing so).

The first thing to know is that I haven't read Romeo and Juliet since middle school and liked it well enough then but wasn't really enthused because I liked the poetic elements but found the romance somewhat grating. However, I am a theater kid/opera nerd at heart, and looking at different versions of things and analyzing the connections, sometimes to an obsessive degree, is one of the things I live for (that's part of the lure of Arthuriana).

The second is that Rómeó és Júlia (ResJ) is fantastic, in large part because the cast is incredibly talented. I've seen all or a good portion of several different language versions of the musical, which originated in France as Roméo et Juliette (RetJ), and they all have good or decent but reasonably similar Juliets and mostly fine to mediocre Romeos. In addition to having a good Juliet, this Romeo, played by Dolhai Attila, was quite charming as an actor as well as a great singer so the rest have been mostly downhill. I am afraid, though, that like most of the people on ResJ/RetJ Tumblr, the characters I found most interesting were Mercutio and Tybalt, who both vary wildly from production to production. In ResJ, Mercutio (who fans call Zolicutio because he's played by Zoltán Bereczki) is a force of nature, and I did not properly appreciate that the first time I watched it. He sings, dances almost constantly, acts well, and raps in Magyar, and he never seems to stop or slack in energy until he dies. Tybalt, on the other hand, is a deeply tortured soul who's occasionally comedic in his melodrama (he does the Mr. Bean walk once) but has genuine pathos. I originally watched the first half without subtitles and did not realize the...ahem...concerning nature of his thoughts about Juliet, but that's in almost every version of the musical, and it is not as big a trigger warning as the obvious one, which is that Romeo and Juliet includes onstage suicide and murder, as well as references to sexual content. This is probably the first thing anyone learns about Romeo and Juliet, but I thought I should put that out there to be safe. Anyway, Szilveszter Szabó was vastly different than how I pictured Tybalt while reading the play, but he was excellent and brought a new perspective to the character. You love to see it. Also, ResJ Benvolio is a punk with the heart of a golden retriever, another far-from-the-play take which works in its context.

Now, the 2010 French version. I followed ResJ with the RetJ revival because John Eyzen's Mercutio is the second most popular Mercutio on Tumblr, after the inimitable Zolicutio, and I wanted to see what the hype was about. He is vastly, vastly different, both from how I imagined Mercutio and how Mercutio is in any other production. Eycutio alternates between stillness and over-the-top energy. He may or may not be bad mental illness rep. He may or may not be beholden to the madness-inducing entities of Chaos. Eyzen fully embraced the vibes of "La Follie" and the Queen Mab speech Mercutio has in Shakespeare to create a very unstable dude who revels in unpredictability and danger to a greater degree than Zolicutio and has probably won Best-Haired Veronese Man three years in a row. He has a love/hate relationship with Tybalt and flirts with him while fighting. (Zolicutio also flirts with Tybalt, but less in a I've-secretly-liked-you-since-we-were-twelve-but-also-hate-you-and-we-kissed-at-a-party-once-but-you-pretend-you-don't-remember-and-I'm-going-to-make-that-hard-for-you way than an I-bet-you're-into-me-and-also-that-you'll-hate-this-and-I-could-be-into-you-but-it's-not-clear-and-I-canonically-kissed-Romeo-but-didn't-seem-serious-about-it-and-I-rap-about-not-liking-romance-and-it-might-be-to-hide/drown/prevent-the-pain-or-I-might-be-aroallo-and-thriving way). Tim Ross's 2nd Tybalt looks and acts like the unlikely and maltreated test-tube child of George Michael and Cruella de Vil, and I'm going to leave it about that, because I have rambled too long without mentioning that Romeo's costume is exceptionally terrible in this one, that I really did not like Escalus, and that the Nurse was fantastic. All in all, what this one has to recommend it is the excellent Nurse, plus Tybalt and Mercutio's unevenly acted but ultimately interesting dynamic, which is the stuff of Fanlore pages.

I have not watched all of the 2001 French original, even though many people say Cécilia Cara is the best Juliet, because the other Juliets are also good and apparently a bald Mercutio is one thing I cannot take. (I could under certain conditions. If he were a young cancer patient, then that would add an urgency to his fervor for living life to the fullest, and a suspicion that he's going to die painfully soon whatever he does could influence his recklessness, but him being considerably older and more sophisticated than Romeo is weird). I might watch more of it, but it's low priority.

Apart from those, I've watched large parts of the Italian and Israeli ones, which I prefer to the French ones in acting but not in singing. The Italian one is a lot more dramatic than the Israeli one, which is maybe the least dramatic RetJ variant ever but pulls it off really well. The characters seem like normal people you would meet who try their best but get caught up in a tragedy bigger than they can understand. Of special note, as usual, is that ever-shifting scene, the duel between Mercutio and Tybalt, and this is the most original take on it I've seen. What sets it apart is that THEY DON'T EVEN DISLIKE EACH OTHER. You get the sense that they've had a lighthearted rivalry since they were kids but they're sort of friends and it's all a game to them. It's also the only version I've seen where those two actually have fencing swords, so the fight looks more realistic, emphasizing that they're playing with fire. When he realizes Mercutio is dying, Tybalt is visibly devastated and seems to lose the will to live. I don't usually cry at movies or shows, but that is the version which brought me the closest to crying.

I would like to watch the 2019 Toho version, since it comes highly recommended, but am not sure where to and might have to wait a while on that one. After I'm done with the Italian one, I intend to watch the Russian one, the German one, and the alternate cast recording of the Hungarian one. As for the English one...well, I've listened to a bit of it, and it was awful.

If you want to watch multiple versions at once or see which ones you might like, there is a great playlist on YouTube where someone edited together parts of the videos of different versions. If you want an incoherent-without-watching-the-full-thing but possibly still entertaining look into it, watch this compilation someone made, which is extremely funny if you've actually seen the full musical.

If you've read this entire semi-coherent ramble, you're a trooper. I hope it was vaguely interesting. Have a wonderful day!

it’s really easy to become obsessed with a shakespeare play you just have to watch one version of it and then read the play and then go mad trying to watch every possible version of it you can find and then study several centuries worth of performance history and controversy

[gojoacedia]

Vi has severe attachment issues, meaning it took you a long time to break the walls surrounding her heart down to get to the point you are at with her now. And boy was it obvious how attached she was.

-She would get nervous if you left for even a few seconds. She would always go grocery shopping with you, workout with you (even though your workouts were half of what she did), sit on the counter while you did your makeup, and even sit on the floor of the bathroom if you were taking too long in the shower.

-If you managed to escape her arms in the middle of the night she would panic in her sleep and grab you back as fast as possible. You couldn’t be an inch away from her.

-She looks at you like you’re insane if you do anything nice for her. She could be standing behind you and kissing your neck the whole time you were cooking and still not realize you were making food for her. When you do serve her a plate she tells you to eat it. “You need to eat too! I can’t eat this if you don’t have anything!” She would complain. “Vi, honey, I have my own plate. I made enough for two.” You would reply, rolling your eyes at how she never considered you making two portions.

-Every day when you come home from work or school she greets you at the door like a dog who hasn’t seen their human for weeks. She would bury her face in your neck, smelling your hair like it was a drug. You would drop all of your bags (some of which had gifts for her) and hug her back. “What’s up with you today? I was gone for 30 more minutes and you're acting like it’s been years,” you laughed, grabbing her face in your hands and giving her a long kiss. She would just roll her eyes and tell you to shut up, never wanting to admit how much you affect her.

-When you have sex she will always force you to make eye contact. She didn’t want you thinking about anything other than the way she made you feel. If you ever threw your head back in pleasure she would immediately stop and grab your chin, forcing you to look back down at her. “Eyes on me, princess, or you don’t get to cum,” she would say. She couldn’t help herself from getting exponentially more wet when you whimpered in protest, following her orders anyway.

-After you came (and after she came if she was in the mood) she would carry you to the shower, giving you butterflies every time she picked you up like you weighed nothing. She would make you pee before you went in the shower so you didn’t get a yeast infection, knowing your body better than your other partners ever did.

-She had absolutely no shame when it came to the nastiest aspects of your life. She could never see you as anything other than a goddess. Even if you were sick and snotting your brains out into an entire box of tissues. Even if you were on your period, disgusted at whatever left your body that week. You could have pink eye and she would gently wash away all the eye crusts with a warm washcloth. Nothing could phase her when it came to you.

-You eventually needed to have a serious talk with her about how she treated you. She would burn the whole world down for you and then get mad if you traveled to her favorite restaurant in the underground to get take-out slugs. You needed her to know you were also allowed to be attached.

-Going off of that, if you ever needed to have a conversation about boundaries you had a rule that you had to say 5 nice things about her for every complaint. You knew she didn’t take criticism well due to her past, so you made her feel like royalty before trying to have any serious conversation with her. She noticed this, of course, and it only made her love you more. Her impatience mixed with your patience was a match made in heaven.

[hotshotsxyz]

heart is beating heavily

(buddie) (s8 spec) (1k) several people asked for more of this town is only gonna eat you so this is that. unfortunately i am still feeling evil, so please enjoy buck's pov of the same events :) btw the title of both of these fics comes from the song bloody shirt by to kill a king, which i played on repeat while writing these cw: mass shooting / gun violence

Buck’s breath leaves him in a sharp exhale when he hits the ground. It hurts, but not—not where it should. His chest, his back, they’re on fire. His head, though, as violently as he was thrown to the ground, never makes contact with the cement.

The only thing he can see now is Eddie. Eddie, hovering above him, eyes wild. He looks—cornered. Trapped. Only he’s the one pressing Buck into the sticky floor of the arena, not the other way around, and he doesn’t understand why.

“Eds,” he tries to say, but it comes out as more of a croak.

Eddie shakes his head sharply, almost—

Panicked.

Buck takes a breath and it hurts. His thoughts feel sluggish in a way they never really are. He tries to take stock of what he knows anyway.

His body is screaming in pain.

Eddie is afraid. (Why is Eddie afraid? What could possibly—)

They’re on the floor. (Eddie pushed him to the floor. Why would he—)

The space around them is filled with a cacophonous noise that Buck can’t quite identify.

Pain. Fear. Sharp popping noises that make Buck’s ears hurt, and—

Screaming.

Oh.

Buck presses his lips together and tips his chin toward his chest in an approximation of a nod. Eddie exhales, warm against his cheek. His face does something complicated, and then—

I’m sorry, Eddie mouths, and before Buck can figure out what for, white hot pain lances through his chest.

In his mind he screams.

In reality, he bites his tongue hard enough to draw blood. They’re in danger, and he won’t—As long as he’s still breathing, Eddie won’t leave him here. Even if he should. He won’t protect himself, won’t run, won’t hide. The least Buck can do is keep from drawing attention toward them, but in the moment, it feels like the hardest thing he’s ever done.

“—so good,” Eddie breathes into his ear. “I got you; I promise.”

Buck wants to believe that almost as much as he wishes Eddie would just save himself. Every breath he takes is harder than the one before, though, and it occurs to him that soon, he might draw his last. If he has to die, Eddie’s face is a pretty incredible last thing to see. He just wishes it wasn’t twisted in pain and fear.

It takes a minute for Buck to catch up with his own thoughts. Pain. That’s—he’s seen it in Eddie’s expression enough times to know it intimately. Why is he in pain? Eddie presses his cheek to Buck’s before he can interrogate the expression further.

“Slow, steady breaths, okay? You have to breathe through it, even if it feels like you can’t.”

The scrape of Eddie’s jaw against his sends something like a shiver down Buck’s spine. There’s something—something important, but—it feels just out of reach.

“You have to, Buck, I can’t—I just need you to hold on,” Eddie whispers, quietly wrecked.

He’s trying. God is he trying. But it’s—every breath feels like pulling fire into his lungs. With every exhale, he feels a tiny bit weaker, a tiny bit worse. Eddie pulls away slightly, and Buck feels the absence like a missing rib.

“Hear that?” Eddie asks, brushing a thumb across Buck’s cheekbone.

He doesn’t—he doesn’t hear anything other than Eddie, but he’s not sure he wants to.

“We’re so close, Buck.”

Something settles in his chest at the sound of his name on Eddie’s lips, louder than before, drenched in something that sounds like relief. He blinks once, twice, slow and heavy.

“Come on, eyes on me,” Eddie says sharply. And—oh, when did he get so far away?

Eddie pulls the hem of his shirt to his teeth and—oh god. That’s not Buck’s blood. He’s—Eddie’s hurt too, but Buck can’t make his mouth work, can’t even keep his eyes open long enough to—

“No!” Eddie commands. A new pain accompanies his voice. “You’re staying right here with me, got it?”

He has to—has to tell Eddie—he doesn’t—

“That’s perfect, you’re perfect,” Eddie says, eyes shining.

A lump forms in his throat.

“Just keep—c’mon Buck, just keep fighting. I need—you have to be okay.”

He does. He does have to be okay because Eddie’s not and he’s acting like he doesn’t even know.

“Hurt,” Buck forces out.

“I know,” Eddie says, but he doesn’t! “I know it hurts, I’m sorry.”

Buck lets out a frustrated groan. He tries to shake his head, and when that fails, to lift his hand to Eddie’s abdomen.

Eddie turns away from him, and if Buck could scream now, he would.

“Alright,” he says, turning back to Buck. “I’m going to get you onto that gurney. Let me do all the work, okay?”

No! No he can’t! Buck tries to tell him again, tries to force anything through his lips that Eddie will understand. You’re—“hurt,” he manages again. He can’t even lift his hand now. He’s dying and he’s going to take Eddie with him.

Eddie says something he can’t parse, and suddenly he’s moving, being lifted dizzyingly high off the ground. He sees—

A body. A swarm of cops. Uniformed paramedics and EMTs running in every direction imaginable.

One of them, he just needs one of them to look at Eddie. He just needs one of them to see. He’s still walking, still talking. He still has time.

Eddie drops him onto what must be a gurney, and immediately it begins to roll. Buck allows his head to loll away from Eddie and towards—

An EMT! She can—she can do something. She can—

She’s not looking at him.

She’s not looking at Eddie either. She’s looking straight ahead and under any other circumstances Buck would compliment her for her pragmatic understanding of the urgency of the situation. But she’s walking too fast and Eddie’s beginning to stumble.

“Diaz, is that—” Yes, yes! Someone sees him. Someone else knows—

“—were you shot?”

Buck gets his head around just in time to watch Eddie collapse into the arms of a firefighter he doesn’t recognize.

He wants to scream, to sob, to thrash against the restraints keeping him on the gurney. He wants to—

Wants to—

Needs—

Eddie.

[therandompagesblog]

SKZ Pack Chapter 2

Trigger warnings: angst

Being mated to a head alpha was something special. It was symbolic in the way that you became one. Not one with him, but also one with the pack. It meant you had earned your right as their omega, as their mate. The mark was as important as having intercourse with that person. The mark symbolised their love and care for you, along with ownership. The power of that werewolf becomes transcribed into your veins, re-writing your whole DNA. It was powerful, but the act of mating was even more powerful. It was the combining of two souls into one. It was the union of bringing two people together. The traditional way was the head alpha would present himself to you and offer you into his nest that was newly decorated. The head alpha would ask for your approval and ask you to scent in the room, to make yourself as comfortable as possible. The head alpha would then lie you on the bed preparing you in a way he fitted before he did the act. While he mated you, the head alpha would mark you in a way that called to them before releasing their seed, locking your souls together. Once the bond was sealed the head alpha would allow the other wolves to become actively involved with you and may too mate with you when they are ready. That's what the elders taught you in werewolf school anyway, but for Y/N it was a little bit different back then. Not by much but she did mate with her old head alpha first. This was the reason Y/N started to get more emotional. Y/N felt more anxious, more detached, she even felt lost to a certain extent. Lost in the pack. It didn't help that Jisung marked her the other day.

Jisung's second accident posed a slight problem that day. It started off as a sweet day with him and Y/N spent the day together, binge-watching a series together. As you do, you move onto each other, and then a kiss happens. A kiss that got quite heated. Jisung was feeling needy but knew he had to tread carefully because of his last mistake but he had this need to please his omega so he did. Jisung had started off with his hands in her joggers teasing her but he still couldn't quite get the hang of it because he could smell the other members around. In the end, Y/N agreed to let him grind on her if he kept his boxers on which helped massively for Jisung as he got her to cum and made himself cum, but he ended up biting her during his release which scared the crap out of him and an angry Felix scolding him. Much to Y/N's surprise Chan was completely fine about it or that's what he said anyway, but Y/N felt there was much more to it. He too was getting agitated that she was unclaimed and he was willing to risk Jeongin to do it correctly.

As the days went on Y/N was starting to get more emotional and Chan could feel it. She came to his room and spent less time each day, especially when he mentioned Jeongin. She did want Jeongin but she wanted her head alpha first, she craved him badly but his leg wasn't healing and it had gotten infected that Jaehee had to give him some strong antibiotics and once they settled she would have to re-break his leg so it would heal correctly, which to Jisung's amusement was hilarious at the thought of his alpha having his leg broken. Jisung was scolded by Chan with a snarky comment that he could re-break his leg for biting Y/N. As much as Y/N wanted to laugh she couldn't. Everything in the house was so unsettled for various reasons and she didn't like it so she asked Jeongin to call a meeting after everyone was finished with their duties.

Jeongin would lead the meeting as he was nominated to take over Chan with Minho until he was better. It annoyed Y/N that Hyunjin was being pushed out but he assured her several times he did not mind and he knew Chan needed time as they all did, which was why they needed to clear the air once and for all. They needed to put this right and allow everyone to have their own chance to voice their opinion regardless of the others. "Right, so, um. I wanted to talk to you all because, Y/N is right, there is a lot of tension and upset in the room that we are not addressing and I wanted to talk about it because Chan is upstairs in pain and needs to focus on healing but he can't if he knows where all pissed off at each other." Jeongin stared as he stood in the middle of the living room awkwardly. It was new to him to take the lead. "What I did want to state is despite how we feel about that night. Hyunjin, Y/N and Seungmin risked their lives. They could have died and if they did it would be a different conversation and we all would have had massive regrets about our actions so we need to draw the line today. Things are going to be different because we have an omega now, our mate who we have to love and care for. Things are different even for her, let's remember how she didn't even know how to make a nest, that was hard for her, let alone for her to trust us, but we were patient. Think about the first day, we didn't know she existed. We didn't know she was going to arrive and it was hard but we got through it, like we did when we took Hyunjin in. We got through it and we will get through it again." Jeongin stated.

The wolves nodded, listening to Jeongin's words. It was all different for them. They were used to being eight and not having to worry about having an omega. They were used to going about their day until everything shifted far too quickly. "Can I say something?" Felix asked, nervously, breaking the thick silence. "I want you all to say something anyway so go ahead," Seungmin stated. "I am grateful to you guys, honestly, I am and I am sorry I was a coward that day. I don't have it in me. It felt sick for what I did to San. I can't do it again." Felix said honestly as he looked at them, giving Y/N an apologetic smile as Changbin held her hand. "No one's blaming you. It is alright." Hyunjin whispered. "Thank you. What I do want is for everyone to be fine. I know it won't happen overnight but I want us to make more of an effort." Felix added. "Alright, I'll speak. I want everyone to get along, that is all. Hyunjin is still our alpha regardless and we know now that he had his reasons. He is our friend, our brother and our alpha so let's all work on that." Changbin stated which Hyunjin appreciated. "Nothing else?" Jeongin asked. "Unless I'm a terrible mate? No." Changbin added.

Seungmin was next and stressed his lack of communication skills within the pack was causing problems. He admitted the secrecy with Minho and Jeongin was unfair and it left problems for Y/N and Hyunjin who felt they had to do something. Jeongin and Minho accepted that answer and promised to be more communicative. Jisung apologised for his defiance and messing up every so often but admitted his insecurity of feeling abandoned and rejected, which was why he thinks he felt the need to mark Y/N. Y/N felt sad heading Jisung's story and knew there was more to it but said nothing as she knew it wasn't the time. Hyunjin too spoke and apologised for his cowardness and will repent for his actions, but reminded his wolves he was their alpha and that wasn't found to change. "Hyung?" Felix nudged Minho who was staring at the floor. "Yeah. Um. I want everyone to be happier." Minho whispered. "Hyung, come on. Everyone else has said their issues." Seungmin said. It was unfair if he didn't speak. "What? What do you want me to say? I don't have problems with any of you. The rest is between me and Y/N which is being resolved." Minho growled, but the truth was Minho didn't like confrontation. He actually wanted to speak to Y/N privately and resolve it away from interference. "A thank you would have been nice. I almost got fried by some weird ass fog." Seungmin growled as he wanted some form of gratitude from the stubborn elder. "Thank you for stupidly following an OMEGA to your death. Ya, if she told you to sacrifice yourself would you?" Minho chided. His words made Y/N feel stupid and low but she had to accept it, this was meant to be uncomfortable for all of them. "Maybe. Depends on what it was for, but in all honesty, she was the one who was prepared to die. Think about that." Seungmin growled. "Yeah, and we're left to pick up the pieces," Minho grumbled, but in truth, Minho felt guilty when he found the note. He hadn't expected them to leave and tackle it alone. Minho was the one who panicked the most where as Jeongin was the one who was angry at the time.

"Why don't we let Y/Nssi speak? She's allowed to say how she feels about us too."  Felix added, but Y/N waved them off. She didn't know what to say at this point but hoped they could move on, but still, Jeongin wanted her to. Jeongin crouched down in front of her as he took her hand in his, trying to urge but she dismissed him. "Ignore Minho hyung. Why don't you tell us how you feel about us? Please, it would help us." Jeongin pleaded. "I promise everything is fine with me. I want everyone to be happy and to get along. I want you to stop blaming each other and be yourselves." Y/N explained but Jeongin shook his head, she was avoiding a particular topic. She wasn't stating how she felt about them. "What about us? Do you feel happy with us? Content? Satisfied?" Jeongin asked. "I think so," Y/N whispered as she looked up at the creme ceiling. She didn't want to think about this. She didn't want to disappoint them and say she felt lost with them. She didn't want to say she felt useless. She didn't want to say she felt rejected. "Baby, don't cry. Tell us." Jeongin urged, wiping her tears that she didn't know had fallen down. "I feel lost. I think after everything that happened with Ateez I felt lost when they left, like I don't know who I am. I feel like I don't belong here or I'm being rejected I don't know why. I want to be loved but I don't know how." Y/N admitted. "Take all the time that you need. None of us is ever going to pressure you into anything. We will go at any pace you set for us." Changbin promised. "I agree but I want you to think about what Chan said, but I also want you to know. I will never force you to ever do it with me. Ever."

Taglist for the iconic readers

@galaxy4489 @mbioooo0000 @jisungs-iced-americano @maybeimmia @hwangrfrnd@wolfo2027 @kayleefriedchicken @leamueller920 @borahae-reads @jennibahng @cookiesandcreammy @leezanetheofficial @jutdwae-flower @danceonmyheyday @jc003 @hpnsfwaddict @linocz @itzreetal987 @skzdreamer13 @reallychaoticwoo @liv1sworld @upsidedownchaire @jutdwae-flower @danceonmyheyday @jc003 @hpnsfwaddict @skzdreamer13 o @ihttinniee @kingdomofpentagon @pixie0627 @tsunderelino @notevenheretbh1 @catlove83 @h0rnyp0t @hash2013 @hyunmikim @emi-han @iknow-uknow-leeknow @jigglypuff3000 @aalexyuuuhm @reallychaoticwoo @missseoulite @ihrtlix @estella-novella @xxeiraxx

[bats-in-the-attic]

Obsessed with the idea of going clubbing while on leave with the 141.

Price claims he's only there to be the designated driver. Simon claims he's only there to keep you lot from giving Price the slip and getting into trouble, but he's standing with John and nursing his own drink. He's had several at this point, says it's the only way he can stand being in a place like this. Secretly, they're both there because they saw your skimpy little outfit and decided the club didn't sound so bad if they got to watch you move around in that. And god, can you move. They're both intently watching you dance sandwiched between Kyle and Johnny, wondering what else those hips can do. Kyle and Johnny are absolutely entranced. They've been getting closer to you with every song, and at this point, it feels like you three are in your own little world. Kyle has his hands on your rib cage while you grind back on him, Johnny's got his on your hips, and you've thrown your hands over his shoulders.

Johnny looks over to where Simon and Price are standing and notices the look on Simon's face and the fact that his drink is empty and immediately sets out a plan to get Simon to loosen up a little. He gets Kyle's attention and motions Simon over and tells him to keep their bonnie lass company while him and Kyle go get drinks for everybody. Kyle raises an eyebrow but follows him to the bar anyway. The song changes to something slower and you, in your infinite drunken wisdom, take Simon's hand and spin yourself so he's got you wrapped up in his arm with your back to his chest. Were he sober this would never fly, but he's got a good buzz and he's wanted to sink his teeth into you all night, so he puts his other hand on your hip and stands there and sways with you for a minute. Johnny, never one to miss an opportunity, promptly places a shot for you into Simon's hand, says something you can't quite make out, and heads back to the bar so him and Kyle can watch this all unfold.

Simon holds the shot up in front of you and you ask him what it is. With a smirk he says "Johnny called it a Jolly Rancher shot. Said its something fruity for our little tart". You scoff at that. You tell him you've never had one, he says he hasn't either and then does what Johnny expected him to do. Instead of letting you take the shot out of his hand, he places it at your mouth and takes a half step away from you so he can hold it while you knock it back. What Johnny didn't expect him to do was immediately bring his other hand up to your throat to keep your head tilted back so he could bend over you and lick into your mouth. Your tongues tangle briefly before he pulls away, keeping his hand on your throat. Your breath catches and he says "Johnny was right, the shot was fruity". The only thing you can focus on is Simon's tongue as he licks his lips.

Suddenly Price has his hand on your shoulder and says it's time to go. On the way back to base you lock eyes with Price in the rear view mirror and blow a kiss. You giggle when his grip on the steering wheel tightens. Kyle and Johnny both place a hand on your legs and you get the feeling that you've still got a long night ahead of you.

[lottiesgrl]

𝘀𝗵𝗼𝘄𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗿𝗵𝗶𝗮𝗻𝗻𝗼𝗻 𝗮𝗳𝗳𝗲𝗰𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻

cw: fluff, slight angst, rhiannon is a stalker, mentions of murder, heavily inspired by @rhiannonsknife's works

rhiannon has always felt like nothing to other people. at most, she's the comic relief of the office, someone to pull the pisser any time her coworkers feel particularly cruel. but at worst? at worst, she's nothing at all. she doesn't exist to other people. she passes like a ghost through the lives of all of her colleagues, her so-called "friends", and pretty much every stranger she meets, as well.

but to you? oh, to you, she's everything.

you have no idea why people have the tendency to overlook her when she's such a ray of sunshine in your life. she brings you coffee at exactly 9:15 am on the dot, with two sugars and a little bit of cream just like you mentioned such a long time ago. you always give her a kind smile and thank her profusely, which makes her beam, as none of her coworkers even acknowledge when she does this for them (aside from, of course, when she messes it up)

it's this subtle display of affection that has rhiannon absolutely obsessed with you. i mean, why wouldn't it? you're the first person in a long time to simply acknowledge her existence, much less treat her with kindness. you always catch her staring at you when she thinks you're engulfed in your work, and she quickly sputters and pretends to be intently staring at her (not even turned on) computer screen.

god, if only you knew the extent to which she actually looked at you. if only you knew the way she sat outside your apartment, watching you intently through that one window with the curtains always pulled.

it only gets worse when you start to return the favor. you've heard her complaining nonstop about the shitty equipment she has to work with that barely works half of the time anyways, and so one day, you decide to surprise her with a whole new set of equipment, wrapped up in a pretty little bow. it takes everything in her not to burst into tears on the spot, her voice shaky as she thanks you over and over again.

every waking moment is consumed with the thought of you. the way you smile at her, the way you smell (she totally hasn't taken several items of your clothing when you were away from home), the way your eyes light up when you see her, the way you're so unapologetically yourself and people like you for it.

but no one likes you as much as she does. no one could ever come close to loving you as much as rhiannon.

after many, many weeks of not so subtly yearning for you, rhiannon finally decides to ask you out with a shy smile and the biggest bouquet of flowers you've ever seen. you ask her in concern how much they cost but she ensured you that she'd rather spend her money on you. it's such an easy yes - you'd been enamored by her for longer than you can remember. the look on her face when you say yes makes your heart flutter, her eyes wide and misty.

you'd do anything for her, and she'd do anything for you. she'd truly do anything. and you love it.

so what if that means she'd murder someone for you?

[dronebiscuitbat]

Oil is Thicker Then Blood (Part 100)

The sound of light snoring filled a 16 year old boys bedroom in the wee hours of the dusk, the wall adorned with guitars on racks and band posters displaying men with long hair.

His blankets were a charcoal black, his sheets a dark grey. On his desk lie a machine glowing with RGB, and whirring softly, and his seating options consisted of haphazardly arranged bean bags.

“Nico! ¡Levántate! ¡tienes tu turno en la puerta del búnker hoy!” Came harshly from the living room, and a drone with a mop of black hair grumbled, emerging from his nest of blankets like a member of the undead.

His purple eyeslights flickered on just to display his groggniess- another night of fitful sleep.

“Comin abuela!” He calls out in return, throwing the blankets off him and stumbling into the bathroom where he brushed his shoulder length hair and cleaned his teeth.

The only thing he was wearing was a pair of long black shorts, his hair was a mess, and when he looked at himself in the mirror he looked like a disheveled shelter dog.

“Ugh. Fuck me…”

He sighed as he gathered up clothes to wear for his shift guarding the front door, with everything going on, older students had the choice to volunteer to help with different projects instead.

And he'd take security work over a stuffy classroom any day.

He slid on a grey shirt and green cargo pants before fumbling around in his room to find his brown aviator jacket and matching goggles, then dug in his nightstand to find his service weapon- a 9mm pistol that would do nothing against a threat that wasn't a normal drone.

He strapped it to his hip and opened the the door to the living room where his grandmother was watching some kind of reality TV show, her legs covered in a knitted blanket.

“Morning.” He gave a half grin to her slightly yellowed frame, she smiled back, faded blue eyelights blinking at him.

“Buenos días mijo. Casi pensé que no te levantarías” She hummed, gently taking his hand as she couldn't quite see him even in his close proximity.

“Nada…No me iría de casa indefenso.” He replied before sighing. “Por favor, usa tus gafas abuela…”

She shook her head. “Ah, no. Not like it will help anyway.” She switched to english, probably not even realizing she'd switched at all. “You be safe mijo! Don't be a idiota!”

He chuckled softly. “Done enough of being stupid… no worries. See you when I get back.”

He shut the door behind him, stopping to stand just in front of his door to watch several people walk by- a deadpan expression seeping onto his face.

“Let's get this over with…”

He traipsed down the hall towards the bunker doors. Getting shoulder checked and ignored all the way through; he was decently tall for a worker drone but that didn't stop people from not caring enough to get out of his way.

It was kind of his luck. Hell, his whole families luck it seemed. He should've been named Murphy, because every single bad thing that could happen; did.

His father was murdered outside the bunker before he was even born, and his mother only took care of him for the first four years of his life before dumping him on her mother and bailing. He couldn't parse her out from the crowd even if she was still around.

So it was just him and his dear Abuela, and it had been for most of his life, which he was fine with, she was a lovely woman and had raised him well. Though recently her opticals had begun to fail…

Just another thing added to the list of mundane and shitty aspects of his life.

Why couldn't his problems be more fantastical? At least then he could be miserable and interesting instead of miserable and bored to fucking death.

He reached the front of the bunker on complete autopilot, settling into his post next to the open door, snow blistering around him while he leaned against the frozen concrete.

Despite how lonely it often got, he did find himself enjoying his time out here, one earbud in his audials while he watched the ship that would take them all away from here be built.

He'd actually begun as a welder, and was pretty good at it too- the only problem being that he was too impatient for it, he would get into a flow and then burn his hands because he wasn't paying attention… so now he was put on simple security.

“Hey Nico. Just get here?” His watch partner and now, one of his close friends patting his shoulder as she walked by with a piping hot cup of gasoline for the both of them.

“Hey Nellie. Yeah. Kinda slept in…” He replied, looking into the girls green eyelights and near silvery hair that hung down to the small of her back.

“Boss should be back from the expedition today with the ‘cords. All that's left after that is preparing that monstrosity to go.” She pointed to the ship, now being coated in heat shielding for its cone and underbelly.

“You think it'll actually work? Some of that shits starting to get in our pipes now… it's gonna get impossible to clean out soon.”

She shrugged. “If it don't, I say let's have one last hurrah until we all munched, if the planets gonna take everything; let's not let it take our joy too…”

“And if it does?”

She laughed. “Then I'll kiss you. How about that?”

He blushed at that, looking away sheepishly. “I think I'd take you up on that.”

The air cracked with supersonic pressure, alerting both drones to a yellow blur quickly decending, preparing to land just in front of them and they both braced themselves, snow getting flung everywhere as something big and mechanical landed with a loud thud.

After everything settled, what remined standing before them was tall, formidable, and had a long tail with a stinger. A Murder Drone…

Carrying a small, feisty, visibly pregnant little worker, and both were smiling like idiots.

“You said slow.”

“That was slow!”

“You broke the sound barrier!”

Nico felt his features soften. Good, they were both back in one piece, and it seems to have went well If their playful bickering was anything to go by.

…

There was one more reason he really enjoyed being out here, instead of in there.

“Mama! Papa!” Little Tera was calling from the arms of a drone with blonde hair and white eyelights, reaching out for her parents as N nearly ran to take her out of the workers arms.

“Oh hello my baby bat! Papi missed you yes he did!” He spun her, making a cascade of happy giggles escape her mouth.

Nico smiled at the sight, feeling his heart swell before a pang of deep regret hit him like a truck.

It wasn't supposed to be this way…

That night with Chloe was supposed to be fun, no consequence. She'd told him she was sixteen too, acted like she'd never done anything before right up until she absolutely blew his mind- but he'd chalked it up to it being his first time.

Then; nothing. Radio silence, he didn't see her in his classes, didn't see her in the halls or any other party he'd went to, like she'd been a ghost.

Until she called him five months later to meet her at the nursery.

He thought the meeting place was odd, but at the time didn't seem to care, he was just excited to see her again, being unable to wipe the night from his memory- he'd wanted something more substantial ever since then…

What he arrived to, was her holding a pillbaby put with one hand- which she dropped unceremoniously into his arms before just walking away without explaining a damn thing.

He didn't need one though. He knew the moment the babies eyes opened and he was staring into his own eyelights, when her mouth opened to let out a coo and she weakly rolled into into him.

He held her close, alone aside from Mrs.Rayn in the nursery, having to sit down because his legs threatened to give out underneath him.

At first… he just admired her, she was mostly inert now having been just transferred and having no life experience other then him in that moment. But she was perfect in every way.

Then he… thought about how he'd have to adjust, he'd have to drop out of school, move out- but… he couldn't move out, abuela couldn't see very well and without him she could hurt herself…

Okay… so he couldn't move out, that's fine. So it was drop out, keep taking care of his grandmother and the new addition, and get a job so he could make sure she'd have toys and extra bottles and all the oil she needed.

But… taking care of the both of them would be a full time job- he couldn't be out all day and expect his grandmother to help raise yet another baby.

He started to tremble when he made that revelation. How absolutely upset his grandmother was going to be at him, how utterly impossible it would be to try and juggle everything this little baby would need at the age of 16.

And he started to cry uncontrollably, hugging her tightly as his heart unraveled out onto the floor. Ugly sobs wracking through his body as he went through the last… and most viable option. To leave her here.

Yet he still stayed for another hour, basking in his daughter's presence, memorizing it to the best of his ability.

He'd given her a name- even knowing it would never be used.

Mariposa, his little butterfly.

And then, he went to the front desk, legs feeling like lead and with shaky breaths, and handed her to Mrs. Rayn.

She didn't even have time to ask a question before he was gone, not being able to bear being there a second longer without breaking down into more tears.

When he got back to his room, he collapsed in a heap of despair. Sitting on the edge of his bed just staring into space, the weight of what he'd done threatening to crush him.

After an hour of that. He called Chloe, she didn't pick up but he didn't exactly need her to. He just needed to fucking scream.

So he did.

He left a thirty minute long expletive filled rant as a message before throwing his phone in fit of absolute rage and then collapsing as tears ran down the inside of his visor again.

He had a daughter, a pillbaby with his code and the circumstances of her birth and his life had made it impossible for him to be there for her in the way he wanted to be.

He knew, realistically, this was the best choice for both of them, he wouldn't have to uproot everything and she would have a much higher quality of life, she'd have two parents who'd love her instead of just him, a 16 year old boy who barely knew how to take care of himself.

The next morning, and the day after that, and the day after that he went to visit her secretly, giving her tickles or admiring her before he went to school. His heart hurting knowing that there was going to be a day soon where she'd be gone.

And then the day came.

And she was gone.

He was brought back to the moment by a happy laugh, Tera pulling her mother's beanie off as she climbed her head, looking overjoyed to be with her parents.

She was so happy now, so energetic, so wild and carefree, he felt cemented in his choice, that it was the right one. But sometimes he was simply just jealous of her new parents; despite the fact they seemed wonderful.

They got to experience her first words, first steps, spoil her rotten. All the things he wanted to do, to be the dad he never got to have.

“Papi! Happy! Mama!” She yelped out a short string of words, beaming happily as the family went inside. Resting on her mother's shoulder- they made eye contact.

She recognized him, not as her dad but… as someone she knew. Her mouth tilted upwards and she gave him a happy wave, kicking her feet.

He gave a small, bittersweet wave in return.

[mad-hunts]

in response to the other's answer in regards to what jervis would prefer on his toast, jack simply nodded. he'd found himself at a loss for what else to say even though that was actually quite rare for him. maybe it was the idea that barton could be outside at that very moment, listening in, that made jack suddenly feel like a fog had rolled into his mind; making it so that he could protect himself without even knowing for sure that there was a threat in the first place.

barton didn't like talking about julien - he'd pretty much stowed away every single picture but one the family had with him in it, in fact. for it still hurt him too much to look at them. therefore, especially considering his father's history of not being able to regulate his moods well, jack might have to perform 'damage control' if that were the case. but crossing the bridge if he were to get there seemed to apply quite well here. so, the farceur chose to move on and it turned out to be wisely, too.

jervis did look very tense lying there with jack visibly appearing to want to curl up into himself and never come out. after going to the nearby trunk in the room, he opened it. this was done as a means to distract the both of them from succumbing to the weight of their own differing circumstances. though there was certainly a good cover reason for jack to, ❝ oh, wow. ahh... i almost forgot that its supposed to get down into the forties tonight so you might need this. its going to be cold, after all, ❞ it was also hitting sundown at that moment as well.

jack could tell by just looking through the crack in the curtains of the one window in the room. while gnawing on his bottom lip, he pulled out the plush blanket inside of the chest only to shake it out a bit. now, as jack tossed the blanket up just enough to cover jervis's body without touching him? something matilda told him a few years ago echoed in his mind during a conversation they had late at night: 'you know, i know you'd like nothing more than to get rid of all your feelings sometimes - but i hope you never change.'

jack just remembered looking up at the tent he was in that day of camping afterward, as he decided he should probably get to sleep. but it felt validating in a way he couldn't explain as well even now. because jack's first instinct upon seeing jervis was that he was struggling, so he should help him; though one could definitely say that sense of responsibility had made him suffer in the past. thank goodness sucking in a deep breath through his nostrils and exhaling could allow jack to quiet his mind then.

he tilted his head at the other's words and squinting his eyes, deep in thought. of course if jervis didn't believe in one, that was fine, but it appeared like he might. these sorts of concepts could trigger whole debates for a reason, however, as spirituality was something that jack affiliated himself with. but religion? he wasn't so sure, so he more than understood when jervis settled for saying his loved ones being at peace was simply something he wanted to believe in. with jack's sudden exit came the arrival of a much less benevolent figure, to say the least, and barton couldn't say he blamed jervis for seemingly somewhat disappointed that his son left.

jack was easy to get along with, and with just a little bit of time spent with him, he might just win someone over with his compassionate nature. barton knew this well along with the reality he had to learn other people's behaviors throughout the years to appear at least 'semi-normal.' how that was going for the doctor would often depend on who you asked, though. barton could only snort derisively at that, ❝ funny. just remember, you'd be in arkham right now if it weren't for me and my daughter. ❞ he pointed a sharpened nail in the direction of jervis as he proceeded into the room.

the same crack in the curtains jack had once looked through was soon closed with a quick 'swishing' motion. barton was personally raised with a very limited exposure to faith, as neither wesley nor winslow were particularly religious father figures. but barton could admire those who participate in it regardless of their level of involvement in it. though it could be used as a force of evil as much as it could be used for good, a lot of humanity existed in shades of gray.

so even if they were under the threat of suffering through something like eternal damnation after death... in barton's mind, it was only a matter of time before someone used a widespread thing like faith to their own advantage. and maybe this was bad of him but thinking about wesley being in such a place somewhat brought him a sense of twisted satisfaction; because at least barton would be getting a form of justice for every fearful moment wesley put him through that way. barton only blinked as his eyes trailed from jervis's face to the teacup that jack had presumably brought him.

shockingly enough, all he felt when he discovered that marty's father was a powerful figure was an incredible amount of disbelief for a moment before it fizzled away. barton was used to things getting worse even if he couldn't have seen this coming. plus, he'd gotten frighteningly good at treating human lives like this police captain's more as obstacles than actual beings. it remained to be seen which one jervis was to barton. he squinted his eyes before standing up and ultimately finding out that, yeah, he had done that too quickly.

barton felt like he was green around the gills all over again, ❝ that is one way to put it, jervis. but don't worry. you just reminded me that, although we're going to have to get creative, there are ways of getting away with it. i'd say pinning his murder on someone else might be the best. ❞ he uttered after swallowing thickly, making a 'turn around' gesture with his finger towards the other. barton talking about murder as if it was light dinner conversation said everything that needed to be said about how he felt about their current predicament.

maybe it was because he was still feeling a lot of malaise, but no part of it bothered him in particular. the doctor was more worried about jervis becoming queasy because he accidentally saw the scars where he'd stitched on yves's arm to his own body, ❝ uhh, just in case you didn't get that, turn around. i'm going to change my shirt. ❞ once that was done, barton slipped his current bloodied one over his head only to replace it with the other. he slumped down in the chair to the table opposite of jervis and looked over the tarot cards laid out before him.

barton, too, knew how to interpret them. ❝ what were you two planning on doing with these? a 'past, present, and future' reading? because i can do it while my son's gone for you. ❞

Jervis gave the barest of shrugs as he glanced at Jack through his bangs, the quiet rhythm of their breathing, the slow drip of the IV, and the faint shifting of the cards against the tabletop the only sounds piercing the air. "Either one sounds perfectly agreeable. I defer to your good judgment." A ghost of a smile, pale and wan, tugged at his mouth for an infinitesimal moment.

Call it the lingering pangs of paternal instinct or projection, whatever you felt was most appropriate, but some flicker of warmth—worry mingling with concern—stirred within Jervis' breast; softening the veneer of exhaustion and discomfort that clothed him like a second skin. Like an invisible cancer that had latched onto him, draining his vitality—a slow-acting poison decades in the making; only this time, the source was external, a reflection of Jack's own unease radiating across the space between them.

Jervis drew in a shallow breath, feeling the tightness in his chest not as his own, but as if their nerves had blurred and grown entangled. He tried to focus, willing his own breath to steady, his hands to unclench. A low chuckle escaped Jervis' chapped lips at Jack's query. The medications in his IV coursed through him, cold and prickling, sending a frisson over his skin as goosebumps rose in response. And yet, somehow, it eased the deep ache within him, dulling the edges of both pain and nausea. He could feel the weight of his discomfort receding, just slightly, as though the medicine were smoothing his raw nerves; coaxing him toward a delicate, unfamiliar calm.

Not quite like ketamine.... not like the cozy, blithesome feeling that coursed through his veins with each dose. Even when most of his prior consumption of the drug hadn't been consensual—thick enough to cut his teeth on, it ensured small pockets of blissful ignorance hardening into a dissociative shell, like callus. (God bless those poor, ministering angels at Arkham... only a trace of spite and animosity there, rage bleeding with sorrow at how his autonomy and consent was completely ignored, snatched... one wrong move, and he was left cowering in a crumpled heap, or otherwise dead to the world... but now? Would the scales be tipped, if they managed to drag him back there? He wasn’t sure he wanted to know that answer.) If Odysseus and his crew had been desperate to escape the Lotus Eaters only to stumble unwittingly into the clutches of Polyphemus, Jervis felt quite the opposite.

For better or worse, the ketamine had left him numb to everything.

The pain, the grief, the anguish that tore gouges in his heart and mind; lacerated his psyche to shreds, in conjunction with the ECT. Somehow, he compartmentalized it... gravitated to the cannabis as an alternative upon his discharge, once he'd regained his center of gravity and emerged from his self-immurement; the fractures left by his losses and lessons grinding him to the bone. Everything it cost him and what he'd earned in exchange. Simon. Arabella. His time in Ireland. Sylvie. The flood. Alice.

The lengths he had gone...

And so Jervis chuckled; the sound dry and hollow, barely touching his eyes. He met Jack’s gaze, his expression tightening as he mulled over the question, tasting the irony in it.

“An afterlife…” he murmured, his eyes drifting. Thoughts and memories broke the surface like apples bobbing in a bucket: Simon and Stephen putting aside their differences over the blessing at Passover; his and Arabella's quiet, but spirited discussions of Heaven and the saints and catechism, the differences between the Old and New Testaments as they strolled along the shoreline. Stories of the witch trials in Ireland, of John Calvin and his legacy in Scotland.

All the old beliefs he’d grown up with circled back and hit like a tidal wave, tied as much to memories of family as to the concept of religious faith itself, all its beauty and diverse forms, yet it left him feeling frigid now. For a little over three decades, he'd told himself that he could appreciate the mythology of it all, even found it strangely comforting at times, but belief? That had always been a different thing entirely.

Jervis' mind tugged him back to reality. He could sense Jack’s curiosity pressing at the edge of his own awareness, a secondary presence so strong it was almost rendered a physical form. "That's.... a complicated notion, from where I'm standing.” He let out a slow, careful breath; curled his fingers back around his necklace as he dissected the question. “But... yes. I'd like to think our loved ones are at peace."

He could map it all in a dozen lines, right down to his own lived experiences, the rules he tried so hard to follow, the ideals that always seemed to warp and fray. There was karma, consequence, perhaps even the lingering shadows of what people might call a curse. But the idea of any higher being calling the shots? It gnawed at him like an old wound. And so Jervis looked back at Jack, almost apologetic, the faint sting of an old ache flickering beneath his words.

He was spared from elaborating with Barton's sudden appearance; lurking on the threshold like a wraith. Poor Jack's confidence and ease withered like a hapless petunia caught in the dead of winter. A few quiet words of dismissal and a pat to the shoulder were all that heralded the reluctant, leery departure of his one potential ally in the wolf's den.

'As phantoms frighten beasts when shadows fall.' Jervis sighed, slowly pulled himself into a sitting position, looked Barton in the eye; as well as he could, anyway, with the lingering gray spots and his missing glasses still impeding his line of sight. “Maybe we each make our own heaven—or our own hell.”

Perhaps that was petty or harsh of him to say out loud... though that was the truth of the matter. Jervis didn’t need religious belief to drive him, after all; he needed only his own peculiar code, that precarious balance between curiosity and cynicism, and the sense of duty he still felt for a daughter who had deserved something far more stable, more secure; safer than the patchwork life he had known. Whatever his flaws, his faults, some small part of him still respected the right to believe—what faith meant to others; its power to inspire, to build, to destroy. The cause and effect of human history, the double-edged promises of faith. And maybe that was the root of it: faith could be a tool, a guide, a balm.

But then the stark, often bitter truths he’d learned through survival would come rushing back. Besides, he reckoned, Barton likely wouldn't give a damn about any of his prior train of thought. In any case, on the topic of hell, Jervis never pictured the vast, cavernous expanse of fire and brimstone that Jonathan Edwards had once preached about in the summer of 1741. No. Hell always conjured up fevered images of a frozen lake in the deepest, darkest part of the center of the earth, untouched by light and warmth and life��the last of Dante Alighieri's nine circles.

'I sometimes think we must be all mad and that we shall wake to sanity in strait-waistcoats.'

He was torn from the thick mire of his thoughts, yanked back outside his mind as if caught in a sudden hurricane at Barton’s next revelation. Jervis shut his eyes, pinched the bridge of his nose, then reached for the cup of tea Jack had brought him. The liquid within was a warm, golden amber—like sea glass he’d once collected as a child in Bermuda, or the bits Alice would gather along Gotham’s coastline on their rare visits when she was little.

How simple those days were...

"Well." Jervis' voice was completely flat, his brow creasing with incredulity and disgust. Barton’s outline weaved and blurred before his eyes like a will-o’-the-wisp. No more, no more… no room, no room. He felt completely hollow. "Trading one problem for another, are we?" His scarred knuckles bulged as his fingers curled around the delicate porcelain; his grip hard enough to produce a faint, foreboding crack.

He would weep, if he had anymore tears left to shed over their predicament. For Marty and his partner, for the trouble Jack and Matilda had been brought into by association… but none for himself or Barton. He wasn’t certain he was worthy of it; and Barton had no qualms over their actions, he’d freely admitted it at that bistro earlier. Jervis’ hands tingled, as if they were still covered by the bloodied gloves he wore when he dispatched the driver in order to retrieve Alice’s rabbit, wielding his hatpins on pure impulse; there was no premeditation involved, but there was no discounting how surgical his actions had been in their efficacy with each targeted nerve cluster and artery. He wasn’t indulging in self-pity, oh no… nothing so shallow or solipsistic. Not like that at all. Just a pure ant mill of growing dread and horror and regret, one that couldn’t be encompassed by words alone.

His teeth sought the gouges in the corner of his mouth from where he’d previously bit himself in the throes of his nightmares, worrying at the cuts till they began to sting anew.

‘Despair has its own calms.’

[goldenempyrean]

hey :) just wondering - would you ever consider writing for agatha harkness/rio vidal?

Under Her Spell

〚 Notes - So I originally wasn't going to write for them, since I tried to write Agatha in the past and couldn't quite nail her character down but I was super sleepy last night and wanted to give this a go! So let me know what you think! 〛

〚 Pairing - Agatha Harkness x Rio Vidal 〛

〚 Summary - Agatha wakes up ill but she's got Rio to look after her. 〛

〚 Wordcount - 1280 〛

〘 Check Out My Masterlist! 〙

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Agatha Harkness was a woman of power. 

A woman of strength and most certainly a woman of unwavering resolve. She’d faced trails, hunts and grief yet little had ever slowed her down. Yet here she was, slumped over her desk, surrounded by a messy pile of books and various other magical nicknacks. 

She honestly wasn’t quite sure what she was meant to be doing. It had all seemed clear a few hours away when she felt decisively less shitty. You see, the witch had woken up with a groggy mumble and an empty bed to match. That wasn’t all too unusual, after all, her girlfriend’s “occupation” didn’t exactly give her the flexibility to lie in whenever she wanted 

Agatha was used to it by now, what she wasn’t used to however was waking to a throbbing headache and horribly sore throat. She swallowed, the action provoking a sharp wince in response. Before she had even sat up properly, the brunette had been sent forward with an unpleasant fit, the dry rasping coughs only further irritating her enflamed throat. 

She groaned as she forced herself up from the bed, each movement feeling like it took twice the  amount of effort. When she finally managed to stand, she had to reach back and grip the bedpost, her vision swimming for a moment and the room span out of focus. 

After taking a minute to catch her breath she made her way over to her desk, weaving between the clutter that had accumulated on her floor—enchanted objects, potion bottles, and the odd errant crystal she’d forgotten to clean up 

The desk was already covered in books and ancient tomes, their pages splayed open from last night’s research. Agatha had been on the verge of discovering something big—or at least, it had felt that way. But now, squinting at the words on the page, she found herself struggling to even focus. 

That’s how it went for several hours, forcing herself to read lines of spells and chants, only half understanding their meaning. Even if she had, she was way too congested to pronounce anything correctly anyway. Why she had even bothered to work on this in the first place had been long forgotten but the thought of giving up without making any progress was embarrassing for a witch of her calibre.  

Rubbing at her nose, Agatha sniffled thickly but wasn’t doing much in the way of giving her relief.  Reaching over to her side, the pulled open the drawer of her desk pulling out a white stitched cloth. 

Another sniffle escaped, this one more insistent, making her nose twitch. She could feel the prickling sensation of a sneeze building, and for a moment she tried to will it away, refusing to let the cold control even a small part of her. But the tickle won out, and with a begrudging gasp, she sneezed into her handkerchief, a soft, “Hh’tschh!” escaping before she could stifle it. 

A distant knock at the door caught her attention. She coughed and pulled her navy cardigan closer around herself, wishing whoever it was to leave as quick as they came. They knocked again, a little louder this time. Agatha groaned, rolling her eyes as she glared towards the door. 

She had just been about to get up when the wooden hinges creaked subtly as the door opened, “Agatha?” The witch instantly relaxed from the barely-held defensive position she’d gotten it when she recognised the voice calling out to her. 

“In here my love.” The witch cringed at the sound of her own rasping voice, clearing her throat with an irritated noise as she looked up to see Rio leaning against the doorframe to her room. 

“You look like death.” 

“Hilarious.” 

Rio shrugged with an amused smirk, “I like to think so.” She came towards Agatha, gently reaching out to touch her forehead, wincing at how warm her girlfriend felt beneath her touch, “I told you not to go out in the rain yesterday without so much as a coat to keep you warm. Now look at you.” 

Agatha let out a grumble, eyes narrowing slightly as she looked up at Rio with a mixture of stubborn defiance and begrudging affection. “I can look after myself.” She said, her words quickly followed by a damp sniffle. The action didn’t provide her any relief, in fact it only seemed to irritate her sinuses further. Her pink nose twitched for a second before the witch scrambled to duck into the fabric she’d been clutching, “Hii’tshhuu!” 

Rio made a noise somewhat between sympathy and adoration as she pressed a soft kiss to the top of Agatha’s forehead, her nose winkling a little as she realised how damp her hair was, “Were you outside again?” 

“No.” Agatha grumbled, turning away to blow her nose quietly before continuing, “I think I broke a fever earlier. Just had to sweat it out I suppose.” She filled in the obvious and Rio simply hummed but her expression said she wanted to say something more. 

The brunette dragged a chair to come and sit beside her girlfriend, watching silently as Agatha tried and failed to get on with some work, “Do you want me to draw you a bath love? I’m sorry but you’re fooling nobody with the way you’re shivering.” Rio took off her coat and laid the warm fabric over the witches shoulders. Agatha unconsciously sank into the garment, the faint smell of her girlfriend lingering on the item. 

Agatha sniffled again, rubbing at her nose once more before nodding as she turned to look at her, “I’d like that.” She said simply, sighing before pushing her chair away from the desk, standing up to simply sit back down again a few seconds later, only this time she was sitting in Rio’s lap, tucking her head against the crook of her neck, “Thank you.” 

Rio continued the hold her for a while, her hand finding its way beneath Agatha’s shirt as she drew shapes down her back, her cool touch providing a welcomed relief from the fever that had her freezing cold one minute and burning up the next, “You may have to let me get up if you want that bath anytime soon.” Rio murmured, earning a tired mumble in return. She hadn’t noticed how her girlfriend had practically fallen asleep against her, “You’re exhausted love.” Her voice was quiet. 

Without another word, her girlfriend slipped her arm around Agatha’s shoulders, guiding her up, “Back to bed with you, hm?” Though her words were sweet, Rio’s tone left little room for arguments as she made easy work of getting the notoriously stubborn Agatha Harkness changed into fresh nightwear and then back under the covers of their bed, “Good girl.” She pressed another kiss to her forehead. 

“I’m going to get you mix you something for your throat then run you a bath, alright? I don’t expect to come back and find you wondering about like a lost puppy.” Rio narrowed her eyebrows playfully but Agatha simply rolled onto her side and tugged the blanket a little closer over herself as she closed her eyes. 

The Green witch sighed softly, this time as she leant down she allowed herself to plant a kiss on her girlfriend’s pink tinged cheeks, earning a sleepy mumble of gratitude from her partner, “Just rest, okay? I’ll wake you up in a little bit.” 

So maybe Agatha was stubborn. Maybe she was a woman of power. The woman of power. But right now she was a sleepy, feverish, sniffly mess. But maybe that was okay.  Now she had Rio to take care of her and that was all that mattered. 

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[boba-pearl-writes]

Amortentia - 11/8/24 - word count: 613 - @rosekillermicrofic

Evan was not enjoying Potions. 

This wasn’t quite a surprise, as he never enjoyed Potions. Usually, this had to do with him not being able to make Potions as well as Slughorn demonstrated, ending up with him at the end of Slughorn’s judgemental, disappointed looks. He didn’t really care. Barty and Pandora were way more skilled at Potions, and he usually partnered with them anyway.

This time, they were making amortentia- Evan hadn’t done the required reading before the class, but he knew what it was. One of the most powerful love potions in the wizarding world, and not too easy to brew, either. It was supposed to smell like your soulmate or the person you loved most.

Evan had never been really interested in the concept or the meaning of soulmates. In his view, Barty was the only right person for him, the only person he’d felt strongly towards, and not even fate would change that. If fate agreed with him, then… Well, that was alright. 

The only problem was, Barty had refused to partner with him this Potions class partnering with Regulus instead, and Pandora had already partnered with some Gryffindor girl. Evan was happy to leave them to that.

Dorcas wasn’t even in their year. Evan had ended up with Mulciber, something he’d never forgive the rest of them for. It was well known that Mulciber was absolutely helpless at Potions, and, combined with Evan’s lack of affinity towards this class- they were going to end up doing something wrong.

By some miracle, after the last ingredient and the last stir, the potion took on the pearly color it was supposed to take, no thanks to Mulciber, who’d just been chatting with Avery the entire time. The potion looked almost hypnotizing with its silvery color and its swirling smoke. What was the most entrancing about it was its smell. It smelled like the smoke from a blunt, green apple lollies, and something else that could only be described as Barty. He looked over at the person in question and found that he was already staring back.

Their eyes met. Evan sucked in a breath. Barty looked away, a flush of red on his face.

What’d that mean? Could it be…?

Barty didn’t look over at him for the rest of the class. Evan cornered him after class, and Barty tried making several excuses to get away. Evan knew for a fact, though, that they both had a free period.

“What’d you smell in the amortentia?” He asked, getting right to the point. Barty looked down, not meeting his eyes. 

“What’s it matter to you?” Evan frowned. Barty wasn’t this hostile, not to him.

“Barty,” he said, softer this time, and Barty looked up at him, eyes shining with unshed tears. “I smelled green apple lollies and blunts.” Evan tried to emphasize the smells, tried to get Barty to understand. Barty’s eyes widened and Evan knew that he’d understood. 

“I… I smelled roses… and a small bit of blood,” Barty said. Evan had suspected but hearing it, actually hearing it, was an amazing feeling. 

“So it’s… me?” Barty’s face brightened and he reached for his hand.

“It’s you. It’s always been you,” Barty said, breathlessly. “It’s always been you and me.”

Barty and Evan leaned into each other as one, meeting in the middle for a kiss that, even though it was broken apart by giggles moments later, was unlike anything Evan had ever experienced. 

It was perfect, or, at least, as close to perfect as he could imagine. That was enough. 

They walked back to the Slytherin dorm hand in hand, Potions and studies the furthest thing from their mind. 

[anonymousgayrobot]

ANALYSIS OF THE OZ N VIC SCENE? AND GENERAL THOUGHTS?

**spoilers; i tagged it too anyways so please don’t get mad at me**

saying that you ‘don’t believe in kismet’ before strangling the only person left that ‘makes you weak’ to death is SOOO (good writing but sooo painful).

oz didn’t want to kill vic, even recognizing that he didn’t deserve to die like that through that little line, but he instead ‘needed’ to kill him, to get rid of that last weakness, an emotional weakness. to be ‘destined’ to die by his hand implies it had been deserved and meant to be, but instead it was only fate that oz needed to have in his hands lest he risk it end up in someone else’s and risk the opportunity for his own destruction. after all, family ties is what had destroyed the maroni’s, causing every one of their deaths, and even to a less-outright degree, sofia’s fate in returning to arkham. family opens the door for revenge and revenge ultimately destroys all.

‘but thats the thing about family, family makes you strong but it sure as hell makes you weak; I can’t have that no more, it’s too much, too fucking much’. oz is even seen teary-eyed as he strangles vic, unlike all of his other outbursts somewhat similarly caused by an emotional ‘jab’ at his character, like killing alberto for insulting his dream or his own brothers after they’d made him feel humiliated by his leg—there is visible pain and even apologies in a broken voice, telling vic it wasn’t for nothing, that he was a good man, and implying it to be for a greater cause—someone who truly never cared would never even care to utter any words of the slightest bit of ‘comfort’ in the moment , but that care is clearly something that oz quickly, and has to, stifle. he doubles down on that defense with how apathetically he takes vic’s wallet, hesitates looking at his ID before his expression quickly sours again, most likely blocking out any more unwanted/unnecessary feelings, and tosses the card (the last reminder of vic) into the water, successfully suppressing everything that could make him weak; in snuffing out family and vulnerability, his own humanity had been snuffed as well.

sofia exposed his weakness and TORE it open in a way that no physical torture could inflict (another thing makinf sofia such an interesting character). after being faced with the severe consequence of having any piece of vulnerability exposed, especially with someone who wanted nothing more than to rip into that wound and shred what she could given the chance, he could not let that happen again at any cost—especially as he climbs to higher power, which would make the fall only so much harder and cost so much more. oz being an emotionally vulnerable character with a severely, overcompensated guard, and then having a more psychologically-focused character like sofia as his adversary, was an excellent choice by the writers.

[incomingalbatross]

Thoughts on Ghost Days by Jim Butcher (and possibly the earlier books, if they spill over into this post)

All of this is, as Harry observes, absolutely typical of his existence. Of course he can't just die, he gets sent back as a special unknown type of ghost to solve his own murder. And of course he shoulders like three different new obligations, makes a new friend, and adopts a criminal teenager within his first 24 hours of unlife.

Kinda love how quickly and understatedly he's incorporated the very latest familial revelation into his narration. He says something like "I'd lost the scar on my arm that I got while skinning a fish on my grandfather's farm" and it's so casual it almost slips by.

(Side note: I need to see his grandfather and his brother find out about each other now. I realize there has been no opportunity and these aren't exactly Harry's secrets to tell anyway, but please.)

Mort going "all cats can see ghosts, they just don't usually care" checked out completely, of course, but it was also perfect setup for Mister's "HELLO YOU'RE BACK MY HUMAN HI." Which. Oof.

Ways you can tell it's really Harry Dresden: 1) Mister hits him in the invisible shins, 2) he opens the conversation with a Star Wars quote, 3) he's talking a teenager into turning his life around.

Love all the Bob content in this one. Harry got to see how the other half lived and everything. (Though his amorality credentials are slightly tarnished by that heroic last stand of his. Which he'd better have survived.)

Everyone here seems like they're an inch from cracking, and I'm concerned for all of them, but they're DOING THEIR BEST. (Butters isn't an inch from cracking. He seems to be doing great, I'm very proud of him.)

Very glad and also a little amused that the Super Secret Safe Witness Protection Home for Maggie is... the Carpenters. I mean it absolutely should be, but it's also funny.

Of course Mouse exists equally in the physical and spirit world. I'd be more surprised if he didn't.

I DID have several moments where I went what about Thomas. why isn't your narration even mentioning Thomas, but the payoff of "I couldn't stand to face even the thought of what I'd done to him" made it make sense.

More general/Thematic thoughts:

Uriel and/or the narrative really said "You're going to take a good, hard look at the unintended consequences of your actions. And you're going to do it disembodied so you can process a little better."

There was something that really struck me at some points in the Lasciel period, and it's back again now: I love that when Harry crosses lines, not only is he capable of seeing it, but the reaction of the people around him is, "yeah you sure did cross a line! you did wrong. so stop doing it and get better, because you can. this isn't a slippery slope unless you decide it is."

He has! Free will! Contrition is always meaningful! Change is always possible! Harry is never allowed to write himself off. He is always told that he's capable of picking himself up and doing better - because he is. He's alive and human and that means he has as much hope as he chooses to hold onto.

That said, I also really appreciated the weight his choices in the last book are given here. It's so easy to just go along with "it was for Maggie, it was his JOB" (and it was his job), but this book made Harry and us stop and linger on both the lines he crossed and the unintended harm he caused.

(Though he is taking too much weight on himself. Martin maneuvered a lot of this into play, not to mention the ACTUAL Red Court. And there is something to be said for the SG-1 approach of "stop worrying about ramifications and just kill the ancient evil first.")

(Oh, now I remember! I was also thinking of Hunger Games re: this. Katniss and Peeta's defiance of evil was personally motivated and sparked a lot of unintended harm to others - but it was also the only spark that could have destroyed the machinery of evil. Not quite the same but made me think of it.)

ANYWAY. Speaking of crossed lines and harm caused: I was NOT prepared for the murder reveal.

It DOES explain so much about this whole book, especially in combination with the (not as shocking :P) reveal that he's only mostly dead. He NEEDED to know this. He needed to know and understand all the choices he made, and their results - and the lie that influenced him - if he was going to be allowed back to his body.

First, he needed to know there was no outside killer to worry about. He also needed to know that HE did this. All of it. Part of accepting culpability and facing his choices meant facing that there was a third murder on his account - because that is how he frames it - what he did to Molly and what he did to himself and everyone who loved him.

He also, most crucially, needed his free will reasserted, both by the manipulation being revealed to him and by Uriel balancing the scales.

Because a Harry Dresden who had given up on himself as the Winter Knight is a nightmare the world's not ready for.

Instead he's ready to give Mab new problems. :) She gets what she paid for.

Closing thought: If, when he finally gets back to the world of the living, he does not make at least one "mostly dead" and/or "really most sincerely dead" joke, I will be very disappointed in him.

[welcometothejianghu]

Welcome to another round of W2 Tells You What You Should See, where W2 (me) tries to sell you (you) on something you should be watching reading. Today's choice: 死亡万花筒 / Kaleidoscope of Death.

Kaleidoscope of Death is a 2018 Chinese webnovel about two young men who fall in love while basically playing a whole bunch of horror-themed escape rooms that can for-real kill you.

This novel was gripping. I could not put it down. It started out fun and ended up ripping out my heart several times. It does a good job getting the ball rolling with a series of adventures in weird worlds, then turns into a meditation about grief and loss and what it means to have something to lose in the first place.

This is the first time I've ever done a book rec! I'm doing it in conjunction with a rec post for the Spirealm, and originally I was just going to do this as a bonus section for that post. However, I felt they both deserve whole different posts, because they both have very different things to recommend them. I also think Kaleidoscope of Death a 100% necessary read if you've seen the show, because it provides some context that the show simply cannot include -- but it's not a necessary read before you see the show.

Therefore, I'm going to give you five reasons I think you should sit down with this one, and not a single one of these reasons is going to assume you've watched the Spirealm! The book is great and deserves to be read on its own merits, and then if you then start watching the drama afterwards, so much the better.

1. All the Cross-Dressing

(Yeah, I'm going to punctuate this one with screencaps from the Spirealm, because otherwise it's just a wall of text.)

I'm not going to tell you why the male characters frequently dress and pass as women, since the book explains the practicality of it better than I could. You just need to know that they often do, and it's never not kinda hot when it happens.

When you first meet Ruan Nanzhu, it is as Ruan Baijie, a stunningly beautiful and noticeably tall woman. Lin Qiushi, our POV character who is extremely confused for a number of reasons, spends the first whole arc talking and thinking about Baijie like she's a girl. In fact, one of the cutest things about sweet, earnest Qiushi is that he clocks Baijie several times, and every time he's just like, oh, she's so flat-chested, how unusual for a girl, anyway...

And this isn't even just dressing up! Stepping into the door worlds changes you physically based on your clothing and cosmetics. Nobody inside looks the same as they do outside, and nobody looks the same inside as they did last time they were inside. The rules that govern these transformations aren't even clear to the characters themselves! So, you know, have fun with that.

I'm going to say it's not an out-and-out trans thing, in that we're not dealing with an AMAB egg who will crack someday. Ruan Nanzhu is a very male-identified, penis-having man! He's just also pretty entertainingly comfortable with performing whatever gender makes him the most fuckable person in any given room. Lin Qiushi is not so inherently genderfluid, however, which means that when his gremlin sort-of-boyfriend makes him pretend to be a girl, it's a completely different kink.

Therefore: If you like it in any way when boys dress up like girls, you owe it to yourself to pick up this one. And if you like a fandom that likes it when boys dress up like girls, baby, welcome to the world inside the doors.

2. Those boys GAY

This is a textual romance. Lin Qiushi and Ruan Nanzhu are in love. This is a danmei novel about how they fall in love. There is kissing and there are fade-to-black scenes that explicitly acknowledge that the two of them have sex with one another. We even know that Ruan Nanzhu (usually) tops. This s not just me pointing at them and saying gaaaaaaaaaay. This is actual gay.

And it is gay that takes its fucking time. They do not actually hook up until well over halfway through the book, but they are physically affectionate from almost the get-go. Ruan Nanzhu is such a trickster and a liar that Lin Quishi finds it hard to believe that anything he does is sincere, which leads to nearly lesbian levels of wondering if it means anything when a guy demands you kiss him on the mouth when he's pretending to be your girlfriend. Meanwhile, Ruan Nanzhu is over here being the Kate Beaton comic about sitting here consumed with lust all evening.

Even once they both acknowledge what they're feeling for one another, they don't get together right away. After all, they're playing a game of life and death where they lose friends left and right. Every time someone goes inside the door, there's a real chance they won't come out again. Is giving your heart to someone worth how much it will destroy your entire life when you lose them?

(Yes, says the book. Yes, it is worth it.)

The slow burn of their relationship is delicious, in part because the physical (though not sexual) aspects of it predate the romantic ones. It also has the fun hot-and-cold aspect where Ruan Nanzhu is incredibly affectionate inside the doors, then icy outside of them. Poor completely inexperienced, never-been-kissed Lin Qiushi does not know what to make of any of this. He can barely manage parenting a cat. He does not know how to handle a boyfriend who is also a girlfriend who is also (spiritually) a cat.

I also find it charming how much the gay part of it both is and isn't an issue. It's not that Lin Qiushi has a problem being in love with a man; however, the fact that Ruan Nanzhu is a man does mean the heteronormally indoctrinated and relationship-inexperienced Lin Qiushi takes much longer to realize what exactly those feelings he's having are. The book's world is one where heterosexuality is the assumed default, while queerness is unexpected but everybody's still pretty cool with it. Besides, no one's going to judge Lin Qiushi's gay yearnings, because who doesn't want to fuck Ruan Nanzhu?

3. HAKO ONNA HAKO ONNA HAKO ONNA

So as I was reading through @zintranslations' earlier chapters, I kept seeing translators' notes down at the bottom about being so excited to finally get to the Hako Onna arc. Okay, I thought, this is a lot of hype; I hope it doesn't disappoint.

Friends, it does not. This is the arc I was reading while screaming into a pillow. It's thirteen chapters long, tied for the longest arc in the book with the first door. It is a fucking nail-biter. It does the clever thing of taking all the things you've learned about what can happen inside the doors and combining them for a worst-case scenario.

The setup is pretty simple: There's a bunch of boxes. One has the exit. Most are empty. Some have things that help you. Some have things that hurt you. The more things you find that hurt you, the more things there are to hurt you. And you have to open the boxes.

All the door arcs are pretty well-written, so that you can more or less play along with their various adventures. Hako Onna, however, is exceptional. It's so complicated, but you can actually follow it. And you need to be able to follow it, because the multiple emotional gut-punches that happen in this arc all depend on understanding how the rules of the game have just been leveraged to fuck someone over.

Now I really want to play the board game -- which I was pleased to discover is a real board game! And speaking of board games...

sidebar: Betrayal at House on the Hill

I know this isn't technically related to the novel at all, but if you like board games, horror, and being incredibly dramatic, you owe it to yourself to try out Betrayal at House on the Hill.

It goes like this: You and several other horror-movie archetypes wander through a mansion, "building" it as you explore it, so the game layout is different every time. At some point (and it's based on so many random factors that you never know when it'll be) someone triggers a condition, and the haunting begins. All the players then get the rules of haunting explained to them -- except for one player, the one picked to do the titular betrayal, who gets a different set of instructions and becomes the antagonist. From that point on, the game is about either surviving or completing the haunting, depending on which side you're on.

I have played this game before with normal board game people, and they were like, eh, this is fine. I have also played this game before with theatre kids who RP and LARP, and we all had a fucking blast. So I'm going to warn you that you have to choose your crowd carefully. This is a game for people who do improv and voices.

4. The art of losing isn't hard to master

The book has a high body count -- higher than the show's, in fact, though that's related to how the book also has more characters than the show does. When you meet someone who can go into the doors, be careful how much money you'd lay on their survival.

Death after the doors comes so quickly, too. There's barely any time to say goodbye, if there's even any time at all. Often there's just a phone call telling our main characters that one of their friends or allies or enemies is gone.

Everyone who gets the chance to go through the door worlds is only able to do so because they're dying already. The more doors they pass, the more they get to kick that death further down the road -- but the more doors they enter, the more chances they take that they might die inside one. So really, none of the players can be that resentful of being forced to play a game that can kill them, since they're already playing it on borrowed time.

I will say, somewhat cryptically, that the book has a positive ending that leaves open the possibility for other positive things. The path to that positive ending, though, leads through some pretty wrenching takes on living through grief. It's not even all rah-rah and it-gets-better, either -- the text acknowledges many times over what it means to have someone that life isn't worth living without.

And that's maybe not what you expected from a BL horror adventure webnovel, but it's what you're gonna get! Ha ha!

5. What He Is

Which is the title of the first extra chapter, which is not extra at all, but is in fact a necessary explanatory piece that whacks you upside the head like a two-by-four and recontextualizes the entire story.

...Yeah, that's all you're going to get from me about that. You'll understand when you get there.

Have you put it on your reading list yet?

The way you have to read it is a little convoluted: @zintranslations has chapters 1-17 and 63-end + extras. Taida Translations has chapters 1-62. So no matter where you start reading, you're going to have to switch sites at least once.

There are also apparently Portuguese, Indonesian, Russian, and Spanish translations too? And the original Chinese webnovel, of course. And some audio dramas and subs linked to from this Carrd, which helpfully has other information, like content warnings for specific chapters, in case the horror aspect of the story gives you pause.

Anyway, once you're done reading it -- or even before you're done! -- you should absolutely go watch the Spirealm. I think it's clear from both rec posts that I definitely like the book better, but I appreciate having the drama to bring so many scenes to life, and I think the casting is great. Also, I don't think reading the book makes you like the drama less! Rather, I think reading the book gives you insight into the awkward and sometimes terrible choices the drama had to make to survive -- which in turn gives you the ability to see through those choices, on to what the show always wanted in its heart to be.

I do find it funny how "Kaleidoscope of Death" and "Death's Kaleidoscope" technically mean the same thing, but they sure read different, don't they?

[the-judicial-assistants-notebook]

not enough discussion about the gavins' complicated relationship with feminine-coded/beauty products, i don't think.

[asurrogateblog]

The Syd Poll

the topic of this poll is one that is frequently avoided in the pink floyd fandom, but inevitably one we all consider – our individual views on what we think caused syd's psychological struggles (and by extension, led to his departure from the band). I think that – at least in this neighborhood of tumblr – this is a conversation we are capable of having in a way that is civil, nuanced, and at least minimally disrespectful to syd.

So, to help facilitate this, here are some ground rules:

let's all assume we have a mutual understanding of the complexities of this. syd could never actually be reduced down to a poll, and all of our viewpoints are limited in various ways

the poll options just serve as just a conversation starter, and responses are not necessarily a statement of absolute beliefs

feel free to discuss as much or as little of your own perspective as you feel comfortable sharing.

in the case that debates break out, please try to assume good intent – and also demonstrate it (unless, for instance, someone is being blatantly insulting beyond a misunderstanding that needs correcting)

please do NOT vote if you are not actually a pink floyd fan with at least basic knowledge about what we're talking about here.

The options I've included below are not meant to be exhaustive, they are simply the "theories" that I have seen most commonly circulated. I have also decided not to include combinations. I'm fairly sure we'd all agree multiple factors were involved. Rather than make the poll too complicated, I ask you to instead select the one that you think is the "most" important to your viewpoint, and clarify further in your tags/comments as you wish.

so. here we go.

READ BEFORE VOTING ^^^^

(note of correction: "late-onset schizophrenia" should just be "schizophrenia". the typical timeline for onset of symptoms is late adolescence/early adulthood, so syd would've been well within that period at the time)