#blue bird sequence

[namelessmoons-corner]

☆.｡.:° ATEEZ Pirates AU fanfiction - Snippet °:.｡.☆

Hullo *★,°*:.☆(￣▽￣)/$:*.°★* 。I'm currently writing and posting an ATEEZ fic on AO3 named Blue Bird (here's the link: Blue Bird - Chapter 1 - namelessm00n - ATEEZ (Band) [Archive of Our Own]) and because i can't stop myself i'm posting an interlude that might not even make it in the final fic...

*★,°*:.☆:*.°★* 。

Interlude - Mother

High in the sky, she watches silently.

She observes.

She did, she does, she will.

Again and again.

High in the sky.

Pale and loving.

Silently, she observes.

That’s all she does.

All she did.

All she will.

She remembers the first one.

But is he?

One came before, didn’t he?

But that one was her doing.

Her doing or his.

Can she?

She watches.

Can she act?

High in the sky, she watches.

Bright in the sky, she acts.

She turns and turns and turns and turns.

Her child is here.

He bears her touch. 

Recognizable.

Bright against the dark.

High in the sky, she watches.

Watched.

Up in the sky, she listens.

She hears.

Pleas.

Save me ple-runrunru-they’reaftermetheyreafterm-helpmehelpmeHELPME

She’s full now.

High in the sky, she watches.

High in the sky, she listens.

High in the sky, she helps.

Her child.

Is he?

He will.

He was.

He is.

She turns. It turns. He turns. 

He was here. He is not.

A step.

He wasn’t there. He is now.

She helped, she helps, she will.

Where is he now?

He sleeps. She watches over him.

*★,°*:.☆:*.°★* 。

Here it is!

If you liked it, don't hesitate to go to ao3 to read the actual fic aha,

☽ Moon ☾

[namelessmoons-corner]

☆.｡.:° Scienslaver - Lore dumping #4 - Blue Bird (ATEEZ fic) °:.｡.☆

Well well well... Is it time to talk about a big part of ATEEZ's lore? It apparently is!

First thing first, while i have expanded on the lore to suit my story, a part of it hasn't been invented by me. I shall so disclaim: “Give back to Moon what is Moon’s and to ATEEZ what is ATEEZ’s.”. (+Gattaca the movie because the lore is also heavily inspired from what i remember of the movie)

If this is understood, let's get into the lore.

☆:.｡.o.｡.:☆

The superior entities in Scienslaver are two things: both Z and the human race as an idea. Due to childhood trauma and personal problems, Z, once known as Henry Jo believed and still does that the solution to his problem is science, and through it the betterment of human kind.

Of course, as all cult leaders do, he took things to far and science became to negation of emotions. Thus, to further science and its results, it was decided that emotions were something that set back humans and the cause of all potential problems. War and crimes were used as an example. "War happens because the nation leaders were too emotional" or "crime is committed out of desperation or rage or love".

Henry Jo and some of his most trusted advisors formed a political party promoting peace through science. The goal: perfect humans for a perfect planet and no more problems. Elected without real opponent, things began to take shape.

The first step was to find a way to prevent humans from feeling anything. Scientists found a way to regulate and/or stop emotions from existing. A device. The Emotion Regulating Device, shortened as ERD. Thus passed the Emotional Regulation Act. With it, no more crime was promised. And for a short while, it worked. But it never does to underestimate the human race.

The next elections, Jo was re-elected. This time, stricter measures were put in place. A curfew. The need of government pass to go to different cities. The impossibility to get out of the country.

But when the people started to question these decisions too much, the trump card came. "The United States of America have decided to declare war on us. Can you see, my people? Can you see what emotions might do to you?"

Have the US really started a war? the citizens would never know. The government began to move the capital city and the political siege to a newly constructed city, one that would become the new center of the country. Grey City. But why change this, why transfer everything from Seoul to this new place? An answer came from the government. "We have been informed, thanks to the brave soldiers strategically placed in our enemy's nation, that the emotionally-controlled nation is about to bomb our previous capital city!"

Arrangements were already in place to allow most of Seoul's citizens to flee the city. Only some people stayed. The elderly, some families, political opponents. A few weeks after the announcement, bombs began to rain.

[Shameless self promo: go read Spin off: The Destroyed Lands. It's a pov from a schoolgirl in Seoul during the bombing]

Years later, Henry 'died'. His 'son', Z, took his place and continued to rule. The goal of restricting emotions had been met. What to do now? Better the human race.

Of course, the most accurate term for this ideology would be eugenics. For Z, what better way to have a perfect human race than to cheat the genetic lottery?

"Wouldn't it be better for your children not to have any problems or medical condition? What better way than to have your child born without any potential flaw?"

And to do this, what better way than growing babies outside of their "genitor"'s body to be monitored?

More than a century later, humans are... uncanny for the most part. The population is stagnant. Babies are only grown by scientist if someone dies.

☆:.｡.o.｡.:☆

And that's it! I always forget things, so I'm sure this is missing some things, but here is the 'religion' of Scienslaver.

If you have any question at all, don't hesitate!

What religion has the largest following in your setting?

[dingustripas]

I just finished watching Glass Onion for the third time so now you get to hear my rant about it but the details are out of order in the timeline because I’m lazy

(SPOILERS AHEAD)

When Miles lifts the gun off of Duke, we can actually see it pre-Blanc explaining it. The scene where the two hug you can see Miles take the gun and slip it into the back of his jeans.

Following the gun thing, we, the viewers actually SEE the gun itself (pre-Blanc’s explanation) when Miles goes back to the mini bar to put it in the ice bucket. Although it’s kind of hard to see it’s very clearly a gun but our eyes manipulate our minds into thinking it’s a drink because it is indeed a minibar.

They show how Miles places the drink in Dukes hand pre Blanc’s explanation but quickly distract us with the groups dynamic and Birdie.

Phillip is skeptical of Helen when she asks for Blanc, we can assume that he and Blanc have had negative run ins with people from jobs. Also Phillip might be judging Helen’s character, who she is, because he doesn’t want to put Blanc into a situation where he’s in true danger. He’s a detective not Batman.

Birdies mask at the beginning of the movie at the boat is just fucking chains across her face in diamond pattern.

Blanc doesn’t have a gag reflex when the dude in the white suit puts Miles “covid vax” down his throat. (Bc he’s 🏳️‍🌈)

Andi, when she first comes up with the idea for Alpha and starts working with Miles, is wearing dark colors. The dark blue pinstripe suit, her completely black ensamble when we see her at the Glass Onion (the bar). But when she’s challenging Miles she’s wearing both Black and white. At the trial she’s wearing a light almost off white suit. Why is this important? Because what color is Helen wearing when she shuts miles down? White. The color white is, in itself, a color that symbolizes Miles downfall.

Connecting back to the white idea, Whiskey is wearing all white (her bathing suit) when she reveals crucial information about Miles giving her the Taurus necklace for her birthday. (Which leads to his downfall when Blanc puts 2+2 together that he killed Andi)

“Im really bad at dumb things” -Blanc. The reason he didn’t catch on to what was going on with Miles earlier was because Miles is stupid. Miles is so dumb that he fucking befuddled Blanc because Miles is so stupid.

Blanc isn’t uncomfortable about his arousal around Birdie when she put her legs up on him while Miles talks about being ‘Disrupters’. He’s uncomfortable because he’s GAY and has a BOYFRIEND/HUSBAND.

There’s a bunch of owls and small trinkets of birds in Birdies room.

The movie, at the very beginning, with Miles mystery invitation box thing hints at where the envelope is hidden. The fibonacci sequence on the box has the center blocked out in black, where we will later see in the film is red which is where Miles is hiding the envelope. For fucks sake the movie even goes out of its way, with Dukes mother, to point out the sequence. (“The first one’s a fibonacci sequence” -Dukes mom).

During the dinner Whiskey is wearing the same golden chain body jewelry that Birdie was wearing earlier at the pool. So this could mean two things: 1. They have the same chain and 2. Whiskey borrowed the chain from Birdie.

Now connecting to my first point about the chain jewelry above. The reason why Miles likes Whiskey, despite her sleeping with him for the sake of Dukes channel, is because Whiskey reminds him of younger Birdie. Birdie even talks to Peg about how dazzled and amazed Miles was when he first met her and how she wishes it was like that again. Then when they’re smashing the glass sculptures, the first thing Whiskey smashes is a sculpture of a bird. Hence smashing Miles perception of her as another person he can use like he used Birdie.

“You have him turn around so he can have deniability” -Aaron Burr in Hamilton (Basically what Blanc was thinking when he walked out of the room)

When Blanc is trying to light his cigar in the “Smokeless garden” the reason the alarms go off is because because just the smoke and small flames from Blanc’s cigar could cause “another Hindenburg”.

The ending scene with Helen and Blanc after Blanc asks her if she’s ready to go home, Helen’s sitting stance mimics the Mona Lisa. Miles said “It all started with her” in reference to his success being inspired by the Mona Lisa. But it all ended with Helen and her stance at the end mimicking the Mona Lisa is meant to represent that. The beginning and end of Miles Bron.

Blanc refers to alchol as offering Helen “some courage”. Ofc as we all know alcohol is commonly referred to as “Liquid Courage”.

We should’ve known Miles was the killer for this simple reason: The glass he handed to Duke. Duke dying holding Miles’s glass is literally like a signed note. Duke died with Miles name literally written on the crime scene.

[ms0milk]

𝟏𝟕 | 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐁𝐚𝐥𝐥 (𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐨𝐧𝐞 & 𝐭𝐰𝐨.)

ー✧ prince!bakugou x royal guard!reader

"He does not grab you by the collar or threaten you with his teeth and when you grasp his hand to steady yourself from an awkward step, he is the boy who makes magic for you in the dark."

slight cw panic sequence. (I) reader agonizes after yesterday's kiss and of course the ball is today. blue mages haunt you, red wing captains stalk you, the wrong prince finds your hiding place (II) bkg will not let you embarrass yourself alone. ballgowns, blue fire, champagne, pearls, a song from home, relief and peruro. dance my love, or die. 7.7k

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Captain Hawks has one job and you’ve made it so much more difficult than necessary. He’s had one job for fifteen years. Red feathers brick out southern wind from the hiding place he’s made above your window and he glares through gusts and goggles to watch you finally return to Prince Touya’s room. You crumple in a pile at the foot of the bed when the door clicks closed. You’re rotting. Sulking. The Alderan dragon everyone’s so worried about, you who his king assigned him to watch– you, the girl with wet eyes and hair full of hay.

You kissed your prince last night. He knows the feeling.

Hawks takes a sip of coffee and grips the barrel of his mug to keep ocean wind from throwing it off the roof. The king is right to worry about you. You have spent one week wandering palace grounds, greenhouses, pantries, walkways and stables and never once guarding your prince. Weird bird, are you the chicken or the egg? Did you stop guarding Katsuki because you’re the spy Enji thinks or because not even the red wing captain could follow you undetected? Because you know better than to keep close to your charge when something is stalking? Hawks winces in a particularly strong breeze. It’s the latter.

Two eyes burn suddenly from your gloom to the parapet fifty meters outside your window where the captain spills his coffee in a rush to stay out of sight. What he wouldn’t give to be warming a bed back in town but instead Hawks rolls his eyes, flat on his wings behind a gable wall. You rise and jerk your curtains closed, glare like black fire.

Princess Fuyumi runs clear through a ten foot portrait propped up in the hallway to be dusted. She’s cold, she’s sick of sending maids to find you and the ball is today. Master Aizawa is securing perimeters somewhere too far away to be helpful, Uraraka’s finalizing guest lists, and Bakugou is getting stitches because he’s good for nothing else. The princess shakes paint flecks from her hair. She rips canvas from her belt and throws the standing frame to the ground.

Kirishima has never dressed for a ball like this before because parties in Aldera usually require armor. What do you do at a Ball if not wrestle? Do Takobans dance Peruro? Sero and Kaminari assure him he doesn’t look silly in white. Todoroki sits outside beside the sea. Deku holds his hand tight to keep him from jumping in.

In the king’s rear guard, Shinsou nurses a broken finger. Enji derives gross entertainment from screaming at soldiers all dressed in blue and it smells like the king came home for this party. The queen cannot be found. Few people think to look for you. No one minds blue fire.

An already tedious afternoon dissolved when a boy crossed your path on turret stairs, your hiding place from prying eyes. You didn’t have the heart to bark when he stumbled through Excuse mes and My Ladys. The quiet wasn’t helping. You could trust Bakugou with his champion for a day but your prince’s hands still danced on your skin the longer you let thoughts linger.

The little footman continued, melting, as you raised your head from between your knees. He carried a box under his arm and waited for your permission to move in the tight stairwell, “From Princess Fuyumi.”

Inside the box under the arm of the boy on the spire stairs was a dress.

You spent last night between pickle barrels in the distillery and hid in the morning where you knew your prince wouldn’t think to find you, curled in the deepest sconce of the north wing watching staff fly past. Today is the ball. It’s why the princess ordered you a dress and it’s why you’re pulling gold lace through your fingers by candlelight. Aizawa’s training pit echos pretty like the sea when it’s empty and the uniform room has a mirror. It’s a dark little annex off the main ring without those Takoban windows Captain Hawks loves so much.

All week, you growl through the effort of fastening garters to a stocking. Another. All week he has followed you and all week you kept his attention off your prince. If Bakugou had just stayed away, if he’d just hated you properly. You lean back to inspect neatly laced boots– Alderan dancing knots– boots so delicate they couldn’t be made for actual dancing. What will he wear tonight? You force a hand through wild braids.

Soldiers can fight armed or barefisted, fire cannons and crossbows, deliver first aid, hunt, guard, salute. You would be the head of your kingdom’s army and so you must know one thousand more important things, like how to string a corset and when to use forks in a line on pretty tables. Silk the color of blood gathers all the heat of your chest and keeps it close. Does the heir of Aldera waltz Takoban? You take the buttons at the ends of your sleeves in your teeth to fasten them closed. What will he look like in their blue costumes dancing with their pretty ladies? Can you remember how to count rhythm in threes? Can you even look at him?

More important than a soldier, court mages, even more important than a champion, you are trained as Head of Royal Guards. You are poison tester, navigator, weaponmaster and seaman, you judge the safety of the room by the shoes of its hosts and you wear fine clothes at fine parties to accompany your masters like a trophy. A prized hunting dog. You will be beautiful for one night and you can no longer avoid your job; assassins love to hide at parties.

“Steady,” you whisper to the gods.

It’s been a few years but you know how to wear these clothes and you know how best to move, and you wince when the sheath of a dagger chills the skin under your ribcage where it hides. You sparkle unsettlingly in the gown and grunt through the effort of untucking stubborn skirts from hilts and scabbards. Wielding a candle to examine yourself more closely in the mirror, you judge the shapes impractical clothes make when they’re meant to fit only you. Pleats of red fall over themselves from your waist to your ankles and in your reflection a bit of fire stirs, because in a cold kingdom this gift was made of love.

You are blood red tonight from neck to heel. Gold tassels align themselves like military badges across your shoulders and the sleeves of the gown bleed to lace at your wrist where two green buttons wink. You can’t help staring. Jeanist’s dragontooth gleams on your breast.

This is an overstuffed week. Hedonistic, anxious like a blood clot heart attack. You are stalked, you are tested and attacked, you’ve pretended not to feel, you did half your best, you snacked instead of training and sat in pleasant company you love, why wouldn’t a ball punctuate this disaster? Something about preparing for war in the dark makes this bearable. Something about fastening a knife to your thigh keeps you from thinking about Bakugou Katsuki and the formalities waiting for you upstairs. Someone is watching you.

A man clears his throat outside the doorway, careful not to stand where you might see him but you are too focused to be caught by surprise. “What do you want?”

“Apologies, Captain.”

At that, air falls loose from your nostrils. Your lips don’t dare part to make a sound. Your self-important posture doesn’t have time to settle before red pleats freeze and the candle cracks like a knuckle in your palm because the horror of this hadn’t occurred to you. That voice will never leave.

“Y/n?” the flame mage murmurs again.

Why would Aldera want you back? Playing princess instead of posting sentinel. Knowing you’re spied upon and letting Bakugou find you, day after day, letting him help you house spiders, letting him spar, letting him smile, letting him sit beside you– you knew what was watching you– something worse than flying captains. It’s why this horrible place remains horrible and the cold like frost can never be shaken off the back of your neck. It’s why the queen hides in stables and why your blood runs black in the instant you understand yourself through your reflection.

Your two shoulders fly through the doorway first so that when the blue mage attacks your legs will be spared enough to carry you upstairs. You can outrun him, you can outrun anyone. You should have paid more attention to ball preparations this month instead of languishing in your prince’s backwards attention. You should have killed yourself to kill him before his body hit the water. Why wouldn’t an assassin slip through the cracks of your distraction? And why wouldn’t it be him? Unkillable.

The candles inside the changing room are doused and shattered so that you are the only possible flammable thing in this dusty arena and you pull the knife from your hip as you soar over the threshold.

It would have flown hard when you released it– might have even killed a ghost– if you hadn’t seized up as the figure came into view. White hair, tall with sunken eyes, only slightly shorter than his father. You right yourself to land on your new dancing boots, and their heels wail two lines through the sand at the edge of the arena.

Prince Natsuo doesn’t have the energy to be surprised by you. He is not fazed by your drawn weapon and doesn’t flinch in the dark, but he remembers your name, “Captain Y/n?”

Like a cat your eyes go wide and your knife clatters to the floor. Half-fresh braids fall over your shoulders in a deep and rigid bow. Your fists bunch the soft material at your hips and you consider dropping to your knees in the silence and dust of the sparring pit so far away from any party he should be attending. Your heart beats to a new fear, “Highness,” you stammer to the ground, “I–”

“Do you dance, Captain?”

You do, and you quirk an eyebrow at the floor. It’s becoming increasingly clear, for how threatening this country is, that its eldest princess actually took all the reason at birth. Swallowed it from the room with her first cry and left kings and countrymen to stumble on their words, for even when you are not threatening him at knifepoint there’s a dread just behind the prince’s every word. Your Alderan senses are dulling in this kingdom. Your ghost never sounded so nervous. “I’m sorry, sir,” you lift only your head from the stiff bow, “I don’t understand.”  

Prince Natsuo’s suit is blue trimmed silver. He is white trousers and shining bells, military honors, rope tassels, broad like his father, beautiful like his mother and dressed like a blue glass bottle. He’s never spoken to you and seems to have trouble even looking at you now, like a rabbit the dog runs past in a hunt.

You soften, “May I escort you to the party, sir? You’ve made a wrong turn,” rising fully as the prince gathers his thoughts and keeps well away from you– no. Less away from you and more just to himself. Like pouring a cup just full enough to tease the tension at the rim, Prince Natsuo is bursting with nothing to say.

All week you hid from spies and all week Alderans made it their job to find you, to be near you. Today you hide from just one man and suddenly every person in the cold kingdom knows exactly where you are. Winged captains weather the winds to watch you and squire boys can retrieve you from tall towers. Maids predict which hidden paths you’ll take from the kitchens to ask if you’ll need a bath– intercepting you without issue or sweat. Are you that predictable? Unsubtle? Obvious and lacking, or does horrible Takoba deserve a little more credit? Her skittish prince can track you down to the darkest corner of his castle like it's only natural to hide from festivities instead of attending them.

“Please excuse my being started.”

“It’s your job,” he musters just as you scoop up your blade and tip it back into its sheath amongst skirt folds. “Thank you– for your job.” He’s fidgeting, not murderous, and his voice no longer sounds like a monster. The prince scratches gently at a bauble on his chest as you peer through the dark, “I’m sorry.”

I’m sorry, Bakugou’s heartbroken voice parrots. Don’t cry. He pleads with his hands on your cheeks. You can’t change what you’ve done. Bakugou Katsuki can haunt you til death, but you don’t get to hide from him.

“Your Royal Highness, it would be my pleasure to escort you upstairs.” You square yourself to the blue bottle prince, “Humble Y/n, apprentice to the Captain of Her Alderan Majesty’s Royal Guard. My apologies. You had to come all this way just for a proper introduction.” And extend your hand to him, a polite smile on your lips. To death then. You’ve survived worse than a party.

Natsuo does not take your hand. He pops something off of his chest, drops the something in your hand and straightens his suit jacket, content with or oblivious to the fact that his sister inherited all his good social reason. You eye him first and then study the metal on your palm that glints in dim moonlight– candlelight– and tense as the room’s circle of sconces suddenly blink to life one by one.

Of the fifty candles in the training room ring, the first five from the entrance miraculously catch bright warm fire. Six, then the seventh, one by one around the edge of the room. Natsuo rushes to pat out your panic, “Magic candles.”

“Magic candles,” you repeat, which makes much more sense than a drowned magician. You exist at the edge of complete catastrophe, always prepared to fight that man who was too bored to kill you, but magic candles make sense. When have you ever seen a servant in this cold place spend their time lighting candles?

“And a medal,” Natsuo continues. You follow his line of sight to the object in your hand. It’s silver. It fits right in the cleft of your palm. The inscription around the edge is in a language you don’t know but what is clearly the moon sits in the center. A comet streaks across it and together they make the emblem of the House of Todoroki. “The medal of honor.”

“It’s beautiful.”

“It’s yours.”

“It certainly is not,” you say, the air sort of floating from you instead of being pushed out by your voice. Eleven, twelve candles, a quarter of the room is lit. The badge warms in your fingers but you no longer look at it and extend your hand back to the prince in a gown that already makes you too ridiculous to breathe. He shakes his head and you push your open palm a little farther like a plea.

“I’ve seen you. I heard about…my father’s arrival in your training exercise and I, I didn’t, I don’t think my sister’s champions would have been fast enough to stop him if you hadn’t. You kept my mother from the mad magician and I doubt anyone has thanked you and I, I just– my father wouldn’t allow honors on your gown and mine is more than I deserve.” He straightens his jacket again and continues to struggle with eye contact. Twenty-two, twenty-four, twenty-seven candles come alive in the cold arena and the ring of light reaches the pair of you at the far end. “It’s much less than you’re owed.”

Prince Natsuo bows to you deeply and turns so quickly that arena-sand clouds his feet. He does not accept your escort and he doesn’t turn around. He only strides across the room, thirty-three candles, and out the dark but open doors. It’s easy to imagine him judging his own performance just where you can’t see him; he exudes the nervous energy of someone who cringes when they turn your back to you. You’re smiling before you realize. Fourty.

It’s slightly warmer than you’ve felt all month, in clinging red skirts and candlelight. Aldera is always bustling so Takoba is loney in comparison, but maybe there is comfort where you have never looked before. Comfort in red gowns. Comfort in sweaters beside the sea, comfort in silver soldiers and a training room where you are not their commander. That thought is a shock and you clutch the comet in your hand at the edge of the room. Forty-five.

Aizawa’s training pit warms by candlelight under its glass ceiling. Oppressively tall and so much like drowning, the stars blink down at you from their thrones like dappled moonlight on waves. You fasten the comet pin to your bodice with eyes tilted to the sky. Your first night here the sky was the only one who knew you. You smooth your hands up your hips and rest both palms at your waist where Bakugou held you, bleeding, poisoned, his forehead slipping off your shoulders with sweat and the lurches of the horse. A ten minute ride from the edge of the forest to the city gates, it was only the sky watching such desperation. There was comfort in that, under the threat of death. Comfort in your loss of rank here, in anonymity.

Rescued from a crowd, rescued from punishment, rescued from the sea, from cliffs, from sickness, from solitude. Saved by magic, saved by strength, by yourself and by your prince, over and over again in this wet kingdom.

There is comfort in teaching strangers to fear you and you blink through the memory of your cherrywood halberd soaring through a dinner party. The loss of its weight at your back makes you ache and your ears start to itch as the rest of the night replays itself. Forty-seven. Bakugou pressed close between your legs at the lip of a table. His thumbs smoothing your cheeks over like parchment and his cheeks flashing red at a realization– at everything you now realize he was trying to say, to show you. You’re grateful for the privacy of the stars again so that no one can ask why you smile in an empty room.

Forty-eight. Dying for a person is so much worse than dying for a cause. You thought it might be the end when the blue flammed mage forced his hand around your mouth or when a garden screamed in ashes under his boot. When he– he took you by the shoulder and branded the shape of his palm to your flesh, when your arm was relieved of its socket– everything, all of it came so much easier than the moment your prince stepped forward to face him. Easier than Bakugou collapsing in a burning clearing, easier than counting the decline of his heartbeat through the clothes on your back, easier, so much easier than retching up seawater together on the sand.

Prince Bakugou is agonizing. Forty-nine, he’s upstairs, gilded, waiting for you.

You shake your head like unnecessary thoughts might come loose with the movement. For one night your worry can be in not staring after your charge– not tasting his lips when you wet yours at the edge of the party– and not in hallucinations of murderous mages. A comet and a dragontooth remind you of the weight of a heart. The last candle around the glowing arena beats to life beside the first and it is time for a ball.

You would have smoothed your skirts over the daggers hidden among them. You would have checked your hair again in the mirror and tested the fit of your boots with a few secret skips. You’d have imagined the warmth of Bakugou’s hands and his magic, to ease the ache of watching pretty blue ladies waiting to dance with the barbarous and beautiful prince. You would have attended and served quietly, you would have dreamed of home if the flame in that last pretty candle wasn’t flickering in a clear and lonely shade of blue.

Fifty.

“Find cover!” you hiss at the squire who collapses to the floor rather than get knocked down the stairs in your charge, “Douse the rugs!”

You call over your shoulder and hurdle the staircase railing rather than waste time sprinting to the bottom. If all of your training boiled down to a single skill, if there was only one chance, one thing you could be trusted to do in the blink of an eye it was arming yourself.

A shortsword shines in your fist as you sprint, its wall hooks worse for your wear after being ripped from the armory on your warpath. The scabbard is fastened sloppily to your left hip. Cruel images of half-scorched bodies, croaking victims that need both your hands to carry them to safety, your prince– they necessitate the holster which whips your thigh as you tear through a quiet castle. Quiet, so quiet, too quiet for a ball, idiot, you should have known. Every single light in the castle blinks to life in the very last lilacs of sunset, and every single one of them quivers with blue fire.

Seed-sized wall carvings flow through their forms, animated by your speed. Stone does not creak when you step over it, hardly any servants linger in empty hallways and the thought that one squire boy will be the firefighting force for the whole castle is horror compounded by horror. “Captain Hawks!” You bellow with the last bit of air between strides.

He’s watching you, he didn’t abandon his assignment for a party. You burst from servants’ paths onto the exact blue rugs you knew the stairs would lead to; your Alderan senses might be dulling but this castle is no longer a maze. Takoban cluelessness can take over all it wants. All it needs to do is get you to the ballroom in this stupid fucking dress. One by one, sconces yawn in innocent blues and burn so hot and so quickly that wax weeps to the floor.

A window in the line takes your pommel to its pane as you retch the sword’s hilt through the glass and shout, “Hawks!” louder, between flying shards, into the night, “Fire!”

Candles instead of your dress, a candle instead of your flesh. He could be anywhere, nearby, outside, straddling corpses, you don’t know the rules his magic follows and every step you take without bursting into flames is a second you can’t waste. Your prince will fight to the death, you cannot let him. Your prince will die for his friends, you can’t bear to lose a single one. Send me instead, you beg. Me, wait for me.

You soar down two flights of twisted stairs and lurch at a tight corner before colliding with a laundryman and his blue candlestick. “Run,” you seeth without stopping, vaulting over both the man and portrait strewn across the floor beside him, ripped at the center and trailing flecks of paint. The last turn is towards the right leg of the grand staircase, entryway and ballroom dead in your sights. Red wings don’t appear and so you hook your hips, and your gown with it, over the lip of the banister.

Hardly a breath escapes the closed ballroom doors. Why are there always too few guards here? What ball makes no noise? What kind of monster could kill a room of people without making a sound? There are clicks, you panic as the banister ends and dismount the slide into a sprint. There is the bone chilling image of the blue mage clicking over corpses with the heels of his tall black boots– the body of your prince lying charred and bloodless before he could even let loose a spark.

Your dancing boots make the loudest sound in the entire palace as you run your legs harder, to carry you farther, until finally your hands are flat on the ballroom doors and your biceps scream under orders. The elven silver budges only slightly. There should be footmen outside to let guests in and the anxiety of their absence gives you an unnatural strength, enough to force one gilded door open a crack and slip into the destruction with your weapon raised.

Find him, find him, find Bakugou first, soft sunny hair and pomegranate eyes, the boy who barks laughter, he who wields the magic of old gods, your heart, find your prince, get him home.

Silver foot bolts shriek over marble as you force your way inside. You are a cacophony always. You are blood splattered across the edge of the dancefloor when you burst into the party.

“Highness!” You shout into the blue before realizing the silence of the ballroom doesn’t come from death. One thousand pearls startle immediately at the beast and her raised sword. Gowns of lace, suits of glass, feathers, freckles, masks and tiny shoes, bells, fans, crystal flutes of pink champagne, and not a single person speaking over a hush. Two hundred eyes watch the Alderan dog prepare to fire again into a party.

Balls in Aldera breathe life to the city. Any comfort you felt for Takoba dies with your entrance. Waiters roll between guests with trays of cake and wine, and the winter floral decorations must have cost a fortune for petals to be sewed and draped and weeping from the walls because this certainly was meant to be a ball. Your fingers ache for the weight of your halberd for the first time since you lost it in the sea.

There is no mage when your heckles fall. No mage when your shoulders droop and your sword with it, not when you search the ballroom for your Alderan sun, not a single shock of white hair taunting from the windows. Every candle in every abra, every chandelier, sconce, cup, spike, or lamp, is a melancholy flickering blue above the sea of silent guests.

Your weapon falls slack. You exhale as the swordpoint chips the floor.

The queen sits on her throne beyond leagues of distracted dancers and servers and bards, with her hands folded and her husband beside her tense, hunched, and licked by fire where you startled him out of his seat. The great ballroom window blinks with its audience of stars. Just outside and over the cliffs, the maws of the sea applaud.

You jolt, as do the guests closest to you, at the sound of metal crush but it is only Uraraka in her uniform, catching the tray of a server who panicked at the sight of you. Shinsou’s hair isn’t hard to pick out from his post beside a waitstaff door and he thins his lips instead of speaking. No one speaks. There is no laughter, there is a single violin playing from a fifteen piece band– did you scare the trumpets too?– weeping a waltz for the dancers who crane away from their partners to watch what you might do. Their every gown is white, blue, green– silver like sea foam. Their hair obeys them and folds into smooth shapes at the tops of their heads so that their noble throats can be struck sick by the air of a room above the sea. You are the only foul red thing here.

The flame of worry collapses in your chest along with your heart. Quietly, blue fire watches back without laying a finger on anyone.

Oh.

“Y/n?”

There you are.

The ring of dancers at the center of the room curl around in their timid waltz, revealing new faces from the back of the crowd. Kirishima in a fit white suit, too focused on not crushing his Takoban partner to even realize you’ve arrived and then Mina, full of worry with her hands in Fuyumi’s and both perfectly placed in the seaside painting with their layered dresses of white. She makes to break away from the current, to rescue you, but her prince beats her to it.

The prince of Aldera climbs trees in the summer to reach the best apples. He likes to bathe at night. He is slightly shorter than his mother in her favorite boots and it bothers him, but never enough to say anything. His fingertips sparked when he kissed you.

He is cloaked in red. An abandoned partner jingles angrily as he drifts through the tides and calling your name is the easiest thing in the world, “Y/n.” He glows. You have hidden from this all day, and tonight his war cape arcs sanguine circles around him. 

The Sun approaches, he glides to you like picking up a stray is part of this dance. He takes up your swordhand in his, weapon clattering to the polished floor and with a magic-heavy hand at your waist the scabbard belt falls away. Hair pushed straight back and two red earrings dangling, Bakugou rolls his eyes, “It’s a dogshit party,” and a few pieces of hair fall over a stitched gash on his cheek, “but I doubt a swordfight will fix it.”

You don’t understand and you don’t try to speak through volley after volley of embarrassment. 

“Won’t,” he rumbles, “won’t let you look crazy alone.” Prince Bakugou Katsuki steadies his palm just behind your waist and draws you onto the dancefloor, hand in hand. He is more than beautiful. Polished boots, white suit and golden embroidery– each button in his vest is flanked by a small Alderan sun. Dragons prowl along the hem. His red cape you thought lost, rocks you with homesick.

“Highness,” he steps to a rhythm in fours, heel toe, toe, toe heel forward into the fold of your dress to guide you back into the stream of dancers. “I didn’t– I–” Your feet barely make the proper shapes to keep up for your Alderan heart is a grease fire not a hearth. Bakugou holds his head high to the side with the posture of a king. His pupils occupy their lowest corners so he never need take his eyes off of you.

You, his war criminal.

“Sir,” you manage and wince when you dare a peek past his shoulders towards onlookers.

He is embers, “I have a surprise.” He does not grab you by the collar or threaten you with his teeth and when you grasp his hand to steady yourself from an awkward step, he is the boy who makes magic for you in the dark. Bakugou Katsuki’s ears are scarlet even as he stares ahead, sweat pearls between your fingers and he sweeps you close, albeit awfully tight, through the steps of a Takoban dance. His face catches light from the candles above and the shadow of his pale lashes sweeps over both cheeks. 

A corded thigh slips between yours and back again to the tune of one sad string. The rhythm doubles for four steps and calms again. You could dance the continent around for all the etiquette training you’ve endured but something about the lack of ghosts here, something about your heart beating out of time with the song, about red eyes and a clenched jaw, the hand fingering notches on the small of your back like it might a cello– you are suddenly on the catwalks again with your lips smiling into his, you are holding back tears, you are clicking teeth and stumbled steps and hands cupping cheeks, and your heart bleeds all over the dancefloor. Your voice cracks, “I’m so sorry,” and it is the loudest thing in the room.

“The candles are blue at the queen’s request,” he rumbles, sacrificing posture to watch you properly, to correct you. “That must…I, I didn’t know. I wouldn’t have let them.” Bakugou raises his right shoulder in invitation for your hand to rest there but your fingers lift from his arm as he turns you both, and settle on that small new wound at his cheek. You breathe deeply as your chests slot together, no fight in sight. Your relief almost comes in tears.

Party guests do not stop staring, especially now that the foreign royal has spirited his beast to the dancefloor. At a distance, familiar faces train gazes your way. Little doctor Shuzenji and Aizawa beside her nursing a pink champagne flute, both ribboned in their bests. Uraraka offers you a tight lip at the edge of the dancefloor. Fuyumi boxsteps in line nearby, the lonely violin picks up pace, hand in hand with her youngest brother and attempts to lean in to whisper to you before Bakugou cages them both out with his shoulders.

He clears his throat, “Captain,” the second-loudest thing in the room, “will you dance with me?”

It’s not your best, admittedly, but the thought your four-step is poor enough your partner needs to clarify does lighten the mood, and you nod. Half your focus is sacrificed to keeping calm in such a full room and the other half is completely at his mercy.

“Peruro?” Bakugou raises those flaxen eyebrows, his lips led by yours. The dance peruro. Destructive and certain to give the Takoban King an aneurysm. Something like comfort slips in. Your eyes widen suddenly and your prince with you. What does he see? you wonder. You nod again.

The waltz will reach its climax soon and Bakugou leads you through a perfect Takoban rhythm until the second he dips forward to whisper, through your hair and over the silence of this cursed party, “Mind your ears, dragonne.”

You shudder immediately at the name, hand in hand, chest to his. Something in your perfect center bursts in white flame and you throw your eyes down to your skirts.

“Dance!” Bakugou’s voice cracks like a whip of thunder above the soggy party and he lifts his chin over your head. The vibration of every syllable rumbles from his ribs to yours and his growl is smoke on water, “or die.”

The next second a horn howls one crescendoed note and every hair not squeezed into your silk dress, prickles. You jerk your gaze back up to Bakugou, unsure what expression you might be making, “How?”

But your prince is still grinning wide so you must be too. “Bribed em,” he leans close and as one confused violin trails off, another trumpet joins the fray. Dancers look around distractedly and onlookers whisper, louder, slightly louder, to be heard over the addition of percussion to the building swell of tuning instruments. A pair of cymbals crash like earthquake, a waitress topples over.

Shinsou shakes his head in the corner of the room and rubs his face, fondly entertained. The king is out of his seat again. Suddenly a fifteen piece band is making the sound of home. The band vibrates under an arc of camellias and the small woman seated at the front pulls a flute from her suit jacket. The herding call of her shepherd’s pipe gathers the cacophony and just as quickly as the group disrupted the peace, they hush behind seventeen beautiful whispers of the pipe, clear and bright as stars. It is the quiet start of Mitsuki’s favorite drinking song. Fear of crowds melts from you like bedtime stories.

faire of the fields

the girl who plays for me

dance and i will watch you

dance and i will join,

you who

teaches beasts to love

send us all to war

She draws the final note long and low, violins become fiddles, trumpets repeat the tune, a drummer growls, two pipes build, and the flute cheers back atop a flirty melody of three before the brilliant song erupts. Bakugou clasps your hand tight and throws you from his grip so that you might twirl and glow under his arm but the rules of peruro dictate a little more focus than that.

The closest dancers to you shriek when Mina barrels through them and pulls you out of his hold. She squeals with two gloved hands on your waist, “Miss firelight!” Her dress envelopes yours and the spinning doesn’t stop until you’ve tripped a man at the edge of the dancefloor and very nearly toppled over yourselves.

Over the curve of her shoulder you snort, shocked by your own glee, as Takobans try to adjust their waltz to the Alderan rhythm and inevitably four-step themselves into a fervor. Kirishima towers over your prince and barks with laughter trying to get the man to spin under his arm. Shinsou is no longer brooding at his post. He is hand in hand with Kanminari, flecked all over with petitfour cream, who has led him into the fray.

“Lady Mina!” you bellow and take up her hand in yours. You fasten your waists together and both of you fly into the tide. When was the last time you put the blue mage’s voice away? How long has it been since you last danced Peruro? Singing while stepping, laughing, diving for bystanders and squealing when drunk guests toppled over themselves to be the one to lift you into the air. You steal your partners in peruro, and fight to keep them. It keeps the room from feeling small, from crushing you. When you are thrown whoever catches you gets the next dance and the songs never end.

Euphoria threatens to spill over the fire Katsuki started in your heart. Flame mages are far from your mind under blue candlelight.

The queen does not move, but she might be smiling. Fuyumi yelps when her champion scoops her up from behind and places her on her shoulder. Even the youngest Todoroki and his freckled champion tut about together to the rhythm. You hope no one tries to steal the blue prince; he might not survive it; and make eye contact with Natsuo while you completely butcher Mina’s three step dips. He stands at the base of his parents’ thrones, unmoving, but pink with excitement.

Takobans, even servants, lingering at the edge of the crowd cannot outswim the rip current. They belong to a quietly stubborn nation who will attempt their delicate hop skips even to the bleat of an Alderan horn. Only cowards leave a dancefloor and it is the first respectable tradition you’ve seen here.

In a flash of red across the room, your prince takes up two stiff women in each arm and you almost spit in laughter as they go purple under the instruction of the barbarian prince. The polished floor vibrates. It’s too loud to think, a mix of happiness and screams of indignation as pretty lords and ladies are pulled into the fray by those countrymen only slightly drunker than they.

Peruro is a game and so when Sero Hanta and his cheeks tattooed with lipstick kisses, plucks you from your partner, Mina can hardly complain. The flutist roars her approval and her fiddlers breathe life into the happy song behind her. Trumpets pluck, bleat, and howl complex harmonies that prove you’re Alderan from the sheer intoxication of the sound.

Sero’s long arms wrap behind you and you’re off your feet before you can speak. “Return of the Red Captain!” His grip on your sides is more ticklish than hell and you giggle and squirm as you fall into a dip. His palms hit something hard, the dagger concealed in your gown, “Are you armed?” He chuckles and tugs you up and close, back to chest.

“Me? Never.” You peek over your shoulder, both laughing, and he peels you from him so tight you spin away three times fully and far enough away from him that Kirishima poaches you without difficulty.

His Alderan fire rolls off the warm parts of him in waves of pine smoke and happiness. How many yards of fabric it must have taken for Takoba to stitch his suit– the cost– you can’t imagine. He hoists you onto his shoulder before you can think a moment longer.

Your red pleats swell in the air and settle with your hips on his broad shoulder. The hidden sheath under your bodice taps his ear. “Are you armed?!” He hollers and spins once to make you squeal and grip tight to his hair. Princess Fuyumi covers her mouth to hide laughter and you beam at each other from your shoulder seats, over the sea of Takoban heads. The champion shrugs you into his arms and back onto your feet. The new heels of your dancing boots click like bells every step you take.

Eijirou is a wonderful dancer, and difficult to burgle. He throws his hands above his head and the pair of you clap, kick one leg out and turn, eyes always locked and teeth shining. With your next kick, your hip checks a short man attempting to dance Takoban and knocks him into another pair. Eijirou’s next clap, behind his back, startles a woman so badly she covers her ears and the whole room reeks of home. Drown in it Takoba, dance or die.

Your friends are safe. There’s nothing to fear from shitty parties and you spare a thought for the servants you must have traumatized on your rampage down here. Wers and mers, the window you broke– Kirishima’s hands are at your waist because you are distracted, you are searching, and before you can brace yourself he has thrown you clear into the air.

No matter how much you hate it here, the ballroom is beautiful and Natsuo might be a wonderful king. His decorations shine in the queen’s candlelight. Early winter flowers are strung by the thousands to garnish balustrades and window frames, they erupt from iridescent vases and hang in an arch over the howling band. Bundles of pearls dot every corner and swallow the moonlight. Silver shells and whistles, inlaid cuffs, white wigs, Takoba is most beautiful by moonlight. There’s no sun here. Did you ever think you’d hate him? That you’d miss him? Where is he? Your prince likes plums best because they’re sour and he blows on dandelions when no one’s watching and he works construction with his men when the city needs repair and he hates how dry paper feels on his fingers. The daggers at your hip cool in your descent.

“Red suits you, dragonne!” Bakugou roars and you land square in his arms to the coo of a shepherd's pipe. You blink and his, him, he– he stares. He is terrible at piano and walks with his head down after rain to keep from stepping on worms. He mends his own clothes because his father taught him how to sew. “You,” he attempts to speak, “Captain, you,” but the high of the dance dissolves from him even as the music swells because you stare and bring your fingers to the wound on his cheek.

“You’re beautiful,” you breathe. He does not find his words in the space between your faces. Your prince goes pink. Enough of the room is dancing now that you need to read lips to truly hear anything but he understands your every thought without effort as he lets you down. There’s a hand on your back to keep you close. I’m afraid. It hurts to be so close to you. He presses his forehead to yours.

“Y/n, ’m sorry.” You fight yourself not to fight the closeness. It’s rotten work. Your gown matches his suit perfectly and pressed together you spin in the chaos and climax of a beautiful song.

The prince rolls figure-eights against your forehead with his own. Two much less focused dancers jostle your duet and Bakugou sweeps a foot forward to trip the leader before lifting you over the pile of men and returning to the dance. You glow red in his arms above him, halo of the moon.

A tall man shifts between rushing servants on the catwalks. Your prince beams below you, king of the sun. It's a pretty party. It is perfectly loud. A polearm is readied on a scarred arm in the dark and no one minds blue fire.

The flutist picks up speed, spurred on by the tambourine, and each note from each instrument cuts itself off to make time for the next. Every place you touch one another aches. If it would just stay like this forever, dancing, knowing without speaking, you could kill any enemy. The sky would learn to kneel, if only you could keep the adoration of winespilt eyes.

A series of gasps, a yelp, and Kirishima’s sweet laughter punctuate the thought. Bakugou was meant to wear fine clothes like these. Sparks like fairy lights twinkle where sweat beads on his jaw and you would have given nine lives to kiss him one more time. He will be a good king too. There is a scream.

Your hand on his shoulder bunches the fabric of his cape, and you lurch forward to lock your other hand around his back. Your foot is dead behind his before he can blink and with a surge of momentum from the dance, the last swell of fiddle, a prayer for old gods, luck from the sea and something like love, you knock the prince over your shoulder and onto the ground into the thickest thrall of dancers.

He laughs the whole way down and holds you where he can to keep from knocking your heads together. The sound is molten gold. You would sin to hear it always.

He is still laughing, howling, bursting with joy when he hits the ground and you with him in your perfect dance peruro. He doesn’t notice the whine of dropped instruments or revulsion of the crowd because he cannot look away from you. On his back, on the floor, beneath you, Prince Bakugou lifts his arm to cup your face and freezes in the new and sudden silence.

The impact of the spear shattered a chunk of floor beside your prince’s heart where it landed. Missed, you grin feebly. He’s okay. He is perfect and wide-eyed and beautiful, and the blade of your cherrywood halberd shines with blood from its home through your chest.

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[lynxgriffin]

What are your predictions for Deltarune Chapters 3-4 ?

Hmmm, let's see...

I think Susie and Ralsei are going to work out very quickly that Kris was the one to create this fountain. Susie's going to brush it off like "Okay yeah I get why you would, it's okay we'll just have fun and seal the fountain when we're done anyway!" and Ralsei will try and act like it's not a problem, when he clearly is bothered by it, and this will start to build up some tension between Ralsei and Kris.

I am open to Toriel being another side party member, less convinced yet that we'll be seeing another adult like Undyne or Napstablook there as well. I do not think we'll be getting a Snowgrave repeat where Toriel is manipulated into killing Undyne or anything like that. If there's a weird route continuation here, it'll be handled very differently.

I don't think we'll be seeing more of the Dreemurr household in the dark world; it'll just be focused on what's on the TV. We've already got a few possibilities for areas: a cooking show, the weather report, and the monster movie, plus we do keep getting hints that the western show may show up in some capacity.

To that end...hopefully a Susiezilla sequence for the monster movie part!

Unsure of what Mike's role will be in here, but I'm anticipating Tenna as the main big bad for this Dark World.

I don't think anyone has guessed the secret boss for chapter three yet, and I don't think anyone will. Thusfar for secret bosses, there's been no hints of them from other places, and you have to go out of your way to find them. Their function as Darkners made from discarded/forgotten objects makes sense in hindsight, but isn't obvious from the get-go. All we know is that we'll need the shadow mantle for a future secret boss, and that that's missing now.

At the end of chapter three, Asriel is going to call on the landline phone and talk to Toriel briefly, but WE won't get to actually communicate with him and it's going to drive me bonkers.

We know less about chapter four, except for some very basic things...Susie and Kris have a few scenes talking out in the light world, and it's raining some of that time. It could either go the direction of an all-light world chapter, or another dark world they explore the next day.

Assuming it's the latter and there's another dark world (which makes more sense to me), I feel the best location options are the hospital, the church, and Asgore's flower shop. If there's a thread started in chapter three getting into more of the Dreemurr family history and Kris's place in it (which does seem to be the case), Asgore's shop seems the best bet to continue that thread next, so I'm going to predict Asgore's shop for chapter four.

Since that's a flower shop and all, a more Alice In Wonderland sort of theming seems likely, with more of a jungle/wild area that the Fun Gang has to explore compared to the city and sound stage areas of previous chapters.

I am expecting Catti (and potentially also Jockington) to be future Dark World partners, and either chapter four or chapter five seems a good option for that.

I think Catti is necessary as a partner 1) because of her occult history with Kris, 2) her focus on protecting Noelle, who I could see showing up in the Dark World again as early as chapter four or five, and 3) her clearly having beef with Susie.

If we're dealing with Kris's family history through chapters 3 and 4, I can see that then going into more of Susie's backstory and whatever is going on with her family. I get the feeling that Catti knows some secret about Susie that makes her dislike her more than just "she stole Jockington's hat once", and that will need to be resolved in conjunction with learning more on Susie's situation.

Every day in-game that big-headed blue bird monster is going to reveal another shelf in the second floor of the library, which will slowly give more worldbuilding lore, and it's going to be maddening just getting those little crumbs of info one at a time.

We'll be getting more Knight hints, but not a real reveal until chapter five.

[follows-the-bees]

2x3 Filmmaking Analysis

Editing and cinematography breakdown of the purgatory and mermaid scene in The Innkeeper.

I haven't talked much about editing in all of my previous breakdowns of this season, but I want to start talking about that, and I'm starting with this scene. The whole of 2x3 contains exceptional editing between what is happening in Ed's gravy basket purgatory and the real world.

We start with Stede on the stairs, quiet, only a deep inhale of despair is heard, the heartbreak already evident on his face. He holds up a lamp, one of the only sources of light in the "reality" scenes. Lighthouses and golden lighting in general have been used in both seasons to symbolism the love between Ed and Stede. Stede is literally carrying this light with him, and he sets it down next to Ed's head shining the light onto him. Stede is the one who puts the glow on Ed's face.

The editing then cuts to Ed in Purgatory as he hits the water, a giant light behind him, but he starts to sink away from it, becomes surrounded by water, recalling back to 1x4 when he talks about how he feels like he is just treading. Water shows Ed's mental state: he's expressed in the past that he feels like he's drowning, he wants to stay at sea forever, be the bird who doesn't touch ground, etc.

We end this shot with Ed's bare feet the most visible in the dark blue abyss of the ocean. And in a direct parallel, the next edit is to Stede's feet - which are wrapped in BLUE-dyed fabric, with RED lining - walking into the waterlogged cabin. This immediate cut between their two feet in water shows how Stede is meeting Ed in both worlds. They are together in the water, in the deep blue depth, their connection only picks up from there.

While talking to Hornigold, Ed professed that he didn't think anyone was waiting for him. And he still has that mindset as he starts to sink.

Stede sits quietly down next to Ed, lovingly calls him a nut, and debates about taking the cloth off of Ed's face. We know Stede to be a boisterous man, not afraid to talk, but his voice is quiet here, the sentences short. He covers his face with his hands, hiding and comforting himself. Stede is rendered speechless when he's faced with earth-shattering grief and this all encompassing sorrow tells the audience just how much pain Stede is in.

Stede pulls off the cloth from Ed's face, once again taking a shaky inhale of breath to prepare himself, and the show cuts to Ed's eyes opening in the water as he starts to fight, pulling on the rope tugging him down.

The editing takes us back and forth between Ed struggling with the rope in Purgatory to his fingers and hand twitching as he fights in the real world, all voiced over by Stede's mournful apologies to Ed. When Stede's voice comes through to Ed, it sounds muffled, like it has to travel through a tube to get to him - through the water and Ed's coma-induced brain.

As soon as Stede touches Ed's hand in the real world, squeezing it, Ed stops sinking further into the watery depths, and instead his focus is before him where a large light has appeared. This editing shows how Ed feels Stede's presence, not only his voice but how the touch grounds him, or at least prevents him from further sinking.

Stede's voice changes here, getting louder as he yells at Ed to come back to him. The quiet grief is replaced by twinges of hope, the deep sobs escape in raspy pains of anguish.

The light first appears to Ed in Purgatory when Stede holds his hand, and as Stede starts to hammer on his chest, to try and bring some life into him, the scene cuts to Ed seeing movement in the light as Stede in mermaid form starts to swim closer.

The scene then goes from both POVs to just Ed's. We see the rope come off as he decides to live. We can hear the muffled cries of Stede breaking in from the real world, and we see a sequence of scenes from the first season of Ed and Stede as Ed remembers all of their moments together.

Right when Stede pounds his chest for the last time and says he will never leave again, that's when the mermaid version of him comes into full focus. And we again spend time in just purgatory, in Ed's POV.

Mermaid Stede swims up to Ed and stops right in front of him, not touching, not pulling him to the surface. Instead he just stays there with him, smiling, and letting him know he's there. It is Ed who decides to live, and I think that's an important distinction. Stede doesn't save him, he just exists in Ed’s space, floating in the water, and ushering in light and hope.

The last moments are Ed waking up as Stede cries, their hands gripping onto each other in a symbolic meaning of them choosing each other, Ed choosing life. The last shot is no longer the fantastical purgatory place with bright white lights and blue water that symbolize the all encompassing pressure around Ed. Now it's the real world, where Stede is wearing blue and red, his feet are in water, and his lamp shining the light onto Ed. Their hands are clasped together as Ed takes a large breath of air - coming to life. Reborn not on the seas or water, but the boat that they fell in love with each other on.

We see continued symbolism throughout this scene. The red representing their love, the lamp set next to Ed by Stede and the bright light in the ocean that mermaid Stede brings in, showing the light and hope in Ed's mind now. And the blue colors that Stede wears, and Stede stepping into the water-logged cabin, showing how he is joining Ed in his world. And when Ed chooses life, all of those things are there to greet him but not in the bright fantasy colors of his mind, but rather the muted colors of the real world.

The cinematography of purgatory is lighter in tones. The ocean is dark until Stede brings in the white blinding light, which then surrounds them, turning the water around them to a soft blue. On the other hand, the lighting on the ship is darker. The brown wood of the cabin are just shapes in the background. The only light is from the deep orange lantern glow. The contrast in colors representing the fantasy from reality.

Every single cut in the editing has a purpose. Each action that happens in the real world is immediately reflected in the purgatory mindset. Not a single shot wasted. This scene is beautifully put together in all aspects of the filmmaking.

Hand gif credit

[odoraful]

𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐆𝐑𝐎𝐖 𝐅𝐎𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑

following a long trip in liyue, you return to mondstadt to reunite with a certain blonde alchemist.

content: albedo x gn!reader; established relationship; ~1k words a/n: speaking of characters who haven't shown up in a while (ﾉД`) i thought i'd write a reunion scene to manifest his return, hoyoverse, the people need him back! i hope you have a lovely day/night!

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

A sudden breeze picked up as you walked up the rickety wooden steps of Stone Gate towards Mondstat. It felt cool on your skin, providing a needed respite against the midday sun. The wind tousled your hair before subsiding, leaving it laying at an awkward angle. You chuckled, brushing it out of your face. Must be telling me to hurry up, then. You thought. In the City of Wind, the breezes seemed to have agendas of their own. Interpreting this as their playful welcome to your arrival, you quickened your pace.

There was an invisible thread always drawing you back to this city, no matter how far you travelled. It was tied inextricably to the sense of comfort and warmth you associated with it. Leaning on the wooden railing lining the boardwalks of Stone Gate, you saw the very person who tugged at that tenderness in your heart. The blonde alchemist had his sketchpad out, glancing between the page and the railing opposite him. You saw a small bird perched on it. It flittered its wings every so often, and you saw his eyes widen at the movement. You slowed your gait, hoping to not scare it away. However, the bird turned its head at your arrival and flew upwards in your direction. Albedo’s eyes followed where it had flown, landing upon you. 

Albedo had spent the weeks of your absence at his campsite. This was the first time that you weren't just a day's trip away in the city, or even by his side. In those early days following your departure, he swore he saw phantom images of you. Sucrose would notice Albedo’s eyes linger on empty spaces around the campsite. When she asked, he would reply that it was nothing and continue his work. However, in the corners of experimental notes, Sucrose curiously found sketches of you. She counted them. There was one with your arms folded, a playful expression on your face. Another was you taking a curious peek at an alchemical substance. She spotted one more of your side profile staring up at a twinkling sky. Although Albedo was used to setting distances between people, it was different with you. Alone without you felt… emptier. Idle moments when he drew his favourite expressions of you could only briefly fill that emptiness. 

You covered your hands over your mouth. “I’m so sorry Albedo!” You rushed over to meet him. 

Cocking his head to the side, he pouted a little. “I didn’t expect the first words I’d hear from you to be an apology. What for?”

“I made too much noise coming over to you and I scared the bird away,” you said, sheepishly. 

Albedo shook his head, his expression remaining composed. “It’s alright. The bird had stayed its course and coincidentally flew away at the same moment as your arrival. Besides, I had already finished my sketches.” 

He noticed the dejected look still on your face. This certainly wouldn’t do for your reunion; he had to find a way to cheer you up. He flipped through his sketchbook, opening to the most recent page. You peered over for a better look. The sketches were strikingly true to life. Albedo had even drawn sequences of the bird fluttering its wings which were overlaid on top of one another. The resulting effect gave the illusion that the bird was moving on the page. 

“The bird is known as an emerald finch. It’s one of the rarer finch species, known for its blue-green coloured plumage, like a jewel.” 

You inspected the drawing closer. “Ah! I thought it looked familiar. I always saw a few of these birds gathering in the plazas in Liyue.”

Albedo nodded. “Yes, emerald finches are predominantly found closer to Liyue Harbour. However,” he took up his charcoal once again to scribe the date down in the bottom corner of the page, “this little one happened to find its way to me.” He met your eyes and smiled. “It’s quite adorable, isn’t it?” 

During your travels, you remained patient. You counted the days until your return, but never let your wish impede the work needed to be done in Liyue. You both made sure to write letters to each other each week, but despite the regular correspondence, it was only now you realised just how badly you missed him. Letters weren’t nearly enough. You couldn’t feel his calming presence, see that fond smile, hear him casually talk about, well, just about anything. 

Not letting a second more waste, you threw your arms around his torso. The position was certainly a little awkward. You had hugged him on his side, himself still holding his sketchpad.  

“Dearest, hold on.” Albedo murmured. He quickly tucked his sketchpad away in a pocket on the inside of his coat. Releasing your arms from him, he turned to face you properly and circled your arms around his waist once more. “There, that’s much better.” 

You buried your face against him and he reached a hand to stroke your hair. 

“I missed you.”

Your voice was muffled against his clothes. Albedo could still make out the slight waver in your tone. He breathed deeply. A wholeness surged within him as he heard those words, and felt you tangibly in his arms at last. 

The winds had been still up to this moment. They knew well enough to respect the privacy between lovers. 

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EPILOGUE

“Are these little drawings of... me?” You were flicking through his notes relating to his latest project when you saw sketches of, undoubtedly, yourself. 

Albedo faced away from you, busying himself with collecting random papers on the table and putting them in a neat stack. The action held no practical purpose, but it did help to hide the bashful look on his face. 

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[haveyouseenthismovie-poll]

End of month update - July

Hello, all! This is the end-of-month update, where I post Tumblr’s current top four films that have received the highest percentage of “yes,” “no,” and “haven’t even heard of this movie” votes.

As of today, the top four films with the highest percentage of “yes” votes are:

Finding Nemo (2003) | Shrek (2001) | Monsters, Inc. (2001) | The Lion King (1994)

Next, the top four films with the highest percentage of “no” votes are:

Fifty Shades of Grey (2015) | Sausage Party (2016) | Pinocchio (2019) | Sharknado 2: The Second One (2014)

This top four changed through the new addition of Fifty Shades of Grey (2015), which replaced All Quiet on the Western Front (1930).

Finally, the top four films with the highest percentage of “haven’t even heard of this movie” votes are:

Faat Kiné (2001) | Now Add Honey (2015) | Like a Cat on a Highway (2017) | Dean Spanley (2008)

That’s it for July’s end-of-month update! Remember that you can view last month’s update by clicking here. Additionally, you can view the full ranked Letterboxd lists of movies that have come up on this blog by clicking the following links:

This list is ranked from highest-to-lowest percentage of “yes” votes.

This list is ranked from highest-to-lowest percentage of “no” votes.

This list is ranked from highest-to-lowest percentage of “haven’t even heard of this movie” votes.

Remember to vote on the polls that are currently running: Winter Light (1963) | Call Me By Your Name (2017) | Head (1968) | The Man Who Stole the Sun (1979) | Almost Famous (2000) | The Tale of Princess Kaguya (2013) | Hotel Mumbai (2018) | The Body Remembers When the World Broke Open (2019) | Liz and the Blue Bird (2018) | Phantom of the Paradise (1974) | Eureka (2000) | The Wolfman (2010) | The Hangover (2009) | Project X (2012) | Poison (1991) | Life, and Nothing More... (1992) | Edward II (1991) | The Crying Game (1992) | The Russians Are Coming! The Russians Are Coming! (1966) | Everything Is Illuminated (2005) | Samurai Rebellion (1967) | Spy (2015) | Clouds of Sils Maria (2014) | Hell is Empty (2021) | The Wizard of Speed and Time (1988) | Sorcerer (1977) | Running on Empty (1988) | Departures (2008) | My Fair Lady (1964) | The Great Mouse Detective (1986) | Solaris (1972) | Who Killed Captain Alex? (2010) | The Order (2003) | The Human Centipede (First Sequence) (2009) | The Mask (1994)

[idkfitememate]

Furina Encounter

૮꒰˶ᵔ ᗜ ᵔ˶꒱ა Pairings : GN! Meka Reader x Furina

૮꒰ྀི∩´ ᵕ `∩꒱ྀིა W.K. : 1.1k

໒꒰ྀིᵔ ᵕ ᵔ ꒱ྀི১ Tags/CW&TW : Reader is implied to (technically) be a murderer, Furina gets scared, Reader is also implied to know original Hydro Archon

Imagine Furina exploring the deeper parts of the Opera Epiclese, only to find tunnels between the walls.

These tunnels led to crawl spaces beside vents, they lead to small doorways and openings to different rooms and spaces, some places even she’d never seen before.

After wondering for a while, she came across one more room she’d never seen.

Surrounding her on all sides was broken down and shattered Meka. Meka of all kinds. Dancing, protecting, alarming… and some she couldn’t tell off the bat.

Some that looked like perfect replicas of birds and one that looked like an opera singer. Eel like Meka and others.

It was a room of abandoned Meka.

Old and rusted, decaying and ruined.

As she walked through, every now and then one would scream or twitch, causing her to jump and whimper.

She passed a window and was shocked when she saw she was beneath the surface. Fish swam by the window, and an otter even passed by, knocking on the glass.

What really scared her was when a Meka turned on for a second, music blaring from its mouth before it broke down again.

The only light was from the windows the pointed out into the water around her, giving off an eerie deep blue glow throughout the room.

And then she finally made it to the end of the room.

There sat a thin and spindly Meka. It was tall, dressing in clothes that were a mixture between a circus ringmaster and a jester. Under its top hat wearing head as a face that was halfway between the comedy mask and the tragedy mask. It’s legs ended on needle points, small almost invisible holes on the end.

The most terrifying part, however, was that on its chest was an open window, and the inside was entirely filled with water from the Primordial Sea.

To be clear, its midsection was thin, it was made in a way where it mimicked a starving person, seeing its ‘ribs’ through its skin. On its back you could see its ‘spine’ poking through its clothes.

It was rusted and its once brilliant blue, white and gold clothes were worn and washed out with tears in the fabric. Small chips and cracks riddled its metallic skin, but beyond that, it was in perfect condition.

No missing limbs, no missing clothes - as far as she could see anyway - and over all it just looked a little worn. That’s all.

But as she crept closer, something seemed to flip on inside the odd Meka.

“Gnosis Found. Start Up Sequence Initiated…”

The Primordial Water inside your chest glowed a bright blue as it began to flow through your body.

What the God thought was cracks were actually intricate flowing lines to show the Water flowing through your metal bones. Your mask creaked as the joints in your face warmed back up after years of neglect. The mask spun to the comedy side and pressed down into your head, hiding the tragedy behind it. Your eyes lit up in blue as the water filled your skull.

Your joints moaned as you slowly stood. Furina summoned her sword and pointed towards you, though her hands shook terribly.

As you stood, you easily towered at a height of over ten feet. The smaller could hear the liquid sloshing inside you.

“Startup Sequence Complete. Running Diagnostics… Running All Systems…”

She could now hear mechanical whirling inside you. Then, your head turned a full 360°. Furina yelped and fell the to floor, still clutching her sword.

Then your face did a 360°, the face turning upside down then back. Then it flipped, revealing the tragedy mask, then back to comedy. Your chest did a 360°, your midsection did a 360°, and your arms did a 360° at each joint.

The Water in your chest drained and your chest transformed, metal claps coming out from your back and creating a holding place on your entire midsection. The girl could hear multiple things going on inside, going from flames to something metal.

After a few moments, the cage slipped away back inside you. You raised a hand and watched are your already think fingers somehow became thinner. Then they slipped into your thin hand, and flames burst out causing the girl in front of you to scream. Sharp scissor-like appendages came out and snipped at the air. Finally, a few syringes came out and filled with some kind of glowing substance. Five syringes and five colors. After, your thinned fingers came out before thickening again, not that it made much difference.

You did the same to your other hand, and Furina just watched. While she was scared, at the same time she was slightly intrigued. Though, she kept her sword close to her person.

When you reached your legs, you did practically the same thing with your hands. Thinning, fire, needles- though there were only two - and then back to the needles.

Your body shuddered and small metal sheets pulled away on different parts of your body. Long metal tentacles slithered out. Thin and grey they moved in circles. A few had small claps that opened and closed, and some that suddenly flashed with Electro energy. The metal tubes slid back into your body, but a few more with needles slid out. They filled with the same liquids then slid back in, the metal plates going back into place.

“All Systems Functional. Scanning… Archon Located. Persona Downloading…”

You stood still for a moment and let the Primordial Water flow through you, then stood up straight as you were leaning before.

“Persona Downloaded. One Moment Please…!”

Your eyes lit up brighter.

You jumped, making Furina scooted back.

You did a spin, small wheels sprouting from your feet. Your hat spun off your head. You preformed a few hat tricks, before spinning the hat back onto your head. A cane launched from somewhere on your body and into your hand. You even did a little dance as you wheeled forwards towards the now extremely shocked Furina.

“Hello Mon Archon lumineux, lustré, d'une beauté aveuglante et décoré avec amour! It is I, your Exécution Entièrement Automatisée et Divertissement Meka! At your service!~♡”

Furina stared at you before your hand suddenly disconnected from your wrist, a metal wire connecting the two. It flew to her hand, careful of the sharp points and pulled her up. A soft tune played from your body as you twirled her around before falling to your knees before her.

You pressed your cold, metal lips to her palm, a comedic kissing noise playing out as you lifted your head.

“Happy to be of service once more, Madame la mer étoilée. ~♡”

Furina swore she could hear the crying of a child coming from your Primordial Water Filled Chest.

໒꒰ྀི˶˙Ⱉ˙˶꒱ྀིა Author’s note : I had the idea a long time ago for an Execution Meka, and finally finished it! There’s inspo from everywhere in here. A little of Spinel from SU, some Mommy-Long-Legs from PP, a little murder drone (I don’t watch it but know a little), also some Pearl from SU, and a little FNAF in there as well (if I write anymore/if any gets requested you’ll know why!) ໒꒰ྀི´ ˘ ` ꒱ྀིა

I don’t know, just thought it’d be interesting, plus I feel like if any Nation had something that was made/born specifically for some type of execution directive, then it’d be Fontaine.

Again, I don’t know why, it just feels right. Also I feel like the laws are almost like the Queens Rules like from TWST, a few that make sense, and many more that are absolutely bullshit, so mixing entertainment and execution seems right up that alley! ☆૮꒰ˊᗜˋ* ꒱ა

* My luminous, lustrous, blindingly beautiful and lovingly decorated Archon - You to Furina

* Fully Automated and Entertainment Execution Meka - You to Furina

* Madam star-studded sea - You to Furina

(If any of this is off, blame the translator, same goes for all fics I write that have something other than English!)

[byemambo]

4Minutes EP. 1 - My Takeaways

So after finagling with my VPN options, I managed to watch 4Minutes episode 1 shortly after episode 4 of This Love Doesn't Have Long Beans released. Given that I haven't read a singular novel/source material for any of the series I end up consuming: my analyses are not anything more than just pastime fun and pondering thoughts.

Title Sequence

When I first saw the title sequence along with the score: I immediately thought of WestWorld (which I haven't seen the show myself because I'm not great with intense themes surrounding it but my professor showed us the title sequence and I immediately fell in love with it). The score is dynamic and although the title sequence itself doesn't give too much away besides showcasing the two main characters in fragments, it sets the tone for how I'll be viewing the series moving forward: intense, dark tones, small pockets of joyous moments within the storyline (but won't be the main focus of the story itself), and following the lives of morally gray characters.

Camera Angles (Bird's Eye View)

For starters, I noticed a repetition in using a bird's eye view angle to introduce us to new environments and exposition. Whether it be Tyme's introduction after suffering out a possible fatal injury, Great's apartment away from home (which his family members allude to his absence majority of the time in visiting the home), Korn being transported to the "department" that earns the family company most of their revenue, to Tonkla's place of stay (is it Korn's place as well, who knows at this point in the story). However, the scene that stood out the most to me is the right image in the third row of Great descending from his apartment level down a spiral staircase rather than taking the elevator as usual, which hinted at Great's spiral of wrapping his mind around his experiences with sporadic short term time travel and why time is warping the way it is. What I find interesting and continue to ponder during this point of the exposition: why is Great experiencing these symptoms and when? Did he start experiencing them out of the blue, or did he suffer some sort of freak accident or injury prior to the hit (and almost potential run)? Even during the family dinner scene, Great's father even emphasized him having to clean up after his son's "messes," so him experiencing the consequences of past accidents is possible.

I also appreciate the usage of the bird's eye view to emphasize the size of the characters within the space/environment they occupy. That in some instances, they're a small part of the entire whole within the context that they reside in. Tyme running away from the killer who injured him and left him for dead, Great occupying his apartment alone, his only companion that is briefly introduced to the story is Title (which rip for him not getting that calculator for the exam), Great also occupying the elevator to reach the bottom level of his apartment building (which makes me wonder if there's a correlation between the physical levels he occupies and the levels of consciousness he has awareness of, maybe even having its own spin on Inception's take on dream levels now that I referred back to the series's trailer). Korn taking a boat ride to the company's place of organized crime/gambling that seems isolated from the rest of the world where the story takes place, Tonkla's lack of fulfillment and feelings of loneliness after Korn leaves the apartment to attend family dinner (which a lot of us are speculating a cheating or romantic betrayal story arc). The director and cinematographer does an amazing job with utilizing the space through framing and placing each character within the composition, which is intentional and pushes a continuation of how a certain environment shapes the interactions between characters within the environment.

The Number 4 and Time

We know how significant the number 4 will be throughout the entire series, but my question right now is how the gift (since I don't think it's a power that the holder can control willingly) works and its parameters. From the first time leap: Great's car clock read 12:39 just before entering the tunnel and meeting his doom. However, after hitting the woman and attempting a hit and run, it had been four minutes since the incident occurred, latching onto Great and forcing him back four minutes to redefine his fate and making different decisions.

This also happens when Great pays the woman a visit at the hospital the next day: spending four minutes between speaking with the nurse at the desk and attempting to leave the premise after running into Tyme and desiring no confrontation. Once his phone clock reads 13:14, we are transported four minutes back to speaking with the nurse again, this time Great peeking at Tyme's visitation with the patient in room 1 and still running into Tyme regardless. Rather than walking away, Great helps Tyme with his papers, which makes me wonder just how much of these occurrences are solely coincidental and which are repeating itself for Great to revert down a predestined path for the appropriate events to happen in sequence. If Great hadn't left the woman to die out from her injuries or slow down the time taken to aid her injuries, he would not cross paths with Tyme. Even after visiting the woman and attempting to leave the hospital without saying anything to Tyme, time leaps backwards and establishes a second chance for the first meeting to occur. I wonder until the next episode is released: is Great only acting out based on what he's been taught and has known for majority of his life and being met with another chance to act according to his own volition? Is this a matter of nature vs nurture? Is he going to realize that he's being given chances to make different decisions that he will be better off living with than if he were to act based on what he's always known despite not 100% aligning with them?

Family Dinner (Introduction to the Dynamics)

Great doesn't strike me to be someone who thinks like an inherent nepo baby (at least that's what I got from Korn's character introduction as well). Between the two brothers, Korn appeases his father's wishes that involve the state of the family company's successes and endeavors, whereas Great despises them, seemingly living a more "detached" life (while still having access to things like his luxury car) of going to university and focusing on graduating. Again, with the director's intentionality when framing the characters within the environment, we get another rendition of rich family, empty homelife that we all know and love. Even Great establishing the disconnect even further by physically sitting in opposition to his father by being on the opposite end of the dining table, he not only refuses to become one with the family by bowing down to the head of the household, he desires to be viewed as an equal to his own father and cause a rift between the family members.

Despite being unified by sharing the same color grading, we can see how Tyme's home environment is much more inviting, much more lively, much more loved. We can see this through not only his relationship with his grandmother, we can see this through how the home is decorated and cared for, and see how Tyme's priority in life is to become a surgeon and take care of his grandmother by repaying for all she has done for him for what seems like majority of his life. I'm curious to see how the relationship between Great and Tyme play out after being introduced to their temperaments: both having their own expressions of stubbornness, Great being more outward and Tyme being more subdued. However, both characters have shown their sillier sides that's dependent on the closeness of their relationship around those individuals, so I wonder how long it'll take before both characters take down their walls around one another.

Miscellaneous Thoughts

I absolutely adore Den already. I feel the stark contrast between Pol in KinnPorsche and Den in 4 Minutes, which makes me so excited to see what Job will bring to the story as a more relevant supporting character that we couldn't get enough of in KinnPorsche. His smile is gorgeous and just from the kabedon alone in the image below already lets me know that his character is about to be a hoot, and I'm ready for it. The look on Tyme's face is sending me, which makes me wonder where Tyme stands in terms of romantic experience as he's a focused medical professional with a clear goal that may stray him away from other priorities in life like his social needs.

But how much I adore Tyme's relationship with his grandmother. Nothing is more wholesome to me than a family man, but specifically for their elders. The contrast between Tyme's relationship with his family versus Great's will be an interesting juxtaposition for both characters to teach and learn from one another's upbringing that carried into their adult lives. We still don't know their backstories so early on in the series, but I can only speculate that Korn's mother is either deceased or no contact with the remaining family, which may put a strain on how Great and his mother fit within the family's dynamic, since wealth and status seem to be key players influencing the direction of the story. One main character having inherent access to wealth and status that can save him from all sorts of struggle and difficulty, whereas the other main character coming from a humble upbringing that places a lot of strain on his desire to earn a living well off enough to take care of him and his family. We will definitely see how these core values will create friction or shape the characters' outlook on life and the world in which they occupy.

[namelessmoons-corner]

☆.｡.:°ATEEZ Pirates AU fanfiction - Spin off - The Destroyed Lands °:.｡.☆

Hey there (≧∇≦)ﾉ I'm on track to finish a chapter for Blue Bird, but I've come to realise that not a lot of people know that I've written a short one shot for it, so here it is!

You don't have to know ateez to read this OS, honestly the lore is pretty self explanatory when you come down to it.

I would recommend listening to Where is my Mind by the Pixies while listening to it tho.

ao3 | masterlist

No pairing Word Count: 725 Summary: 2025 A few years after the arrival of Z at the head of the government, Seoul and its surroundings are destroyed. Minso witnesses it. Welcome to the Destroyed Lands Tags/Warnings: Mild Gore, Bombing, ATEEZ lore, This is for an ATEEZ fic I'm so sorry they're not there yet,

☆: .｡.o.｡.:☆

Seoul, 2025

Ooh Stop

A few seconds before the first impact, the city is silent. The world stills. Lights are flying in the sky, comparable to meteors. Or comets.  But she knows. It's not a natural phenomenon. 

With your feet on the air

It's almost pretty. Red streaks across the sky, slowly approaching the city, bigger and bigger with each second that goes on. 

And your head on the ground

It's mid-afternoon, but you could almost think the sun has set. The air is heavy. As if a storm were coming. 

Try this trick and spin it, yeah

She's alone on the street. Most citizens, those able to, left the capital with the warnings. Even now, the screens are on a loop, telling people to leave the city. 

Your head will collapse

Entire buildings vacated. Dark clouds, illuminated by falling stars. There is no wind, but goose bumps on her skin. 

If there's nothing in it

A few hundred meters away from her stands a small grocery store. Maybe she could reach it before the first explosion. It's a gamble.

And you'll ask yourself

She needs to move. She know this. She wills her feet to listen to her.

Where is my mind?

Until now, it hadn't seemed real. She has continued to study, left with only a few people in her class and even less teachers. Mostly those known for disagreeing with the presidential party and their politics.

Where is my mind?

The first contact has been made. She can hear it. 

Where is my mind?

She is aware that the new government has set up a new base away from the capital and has promised places to live for the citizens of Seoul. But she also knows that there isn't enough space for everyone. 

Way out in the water, see it spinnin'

The new capital city is far from Seoul. Its name is Grey City. The country will soon don a new name. 

I was swimming in the Caribbean

She closes her eyes. The wind is back. Except it's not the wind.

Animals were hidin' behind the rocks

She won't make it in time. But there is one last thing she can do.

Except the little fish, bumped into me

She thinks about the chip on the inside of her elbow. She would relish in this last emotion.

I swear he was trying to talk to me, koi-koi

The elected president was afraid of the repercussions of other countries. She doesn't quite understand how they knew this would happen. 

Where is my mind?

Her feet don't move, but her arms do. She takes the cutter.

Where is my mind?

She thinks about her little sister. She's home, at this hour. Maybe with her music, she hasn't heard it.

Where is my mind?

The cut hurts. The blood makes everything slippery. The cutter falls on the ground. The smell of iron makes its way up her nose.

Way out in the water, see it swimmin'

Her mom is at work. Typing away her life.

With your feet on the air

Her fingers feel gross. The chip must be smaller than she thought. She can't find it yet.

And your head on the ground

Her aunt lives in the countryside. She should be safe. Maybe she's thinking about her family still here, in Seoul.

Try this trick and spin it, yeah

There. She grasps the small device. Yanks it out. It hurts.

Your head will collapse

She can almost hear the puddle forming at her feet. Her shoes are wet. She doesn't open her eyes.

If there's nothing in it

Here it is. Desperation. Her throat constricts. She tries to breath.

And you'll ask yourself

Another impact is made. Closer this time. She can hear it clearly. Another gush of wind. Stronger this time.

Where is my mind?

A ray of light on her face. Her eyes open. The moon.

Where is my mind?

Another emotion. This one frees her lungs. She breathes in.

Where is my mind?

Anger, maybe. Or hope. She can't understand the difference anymore.

Way out in the water, see it swimming

Breathes out. Closes her eyes one last time.

With your feet on the air

A thud.

And your head on the ground

Silence.

Try this trick and spin it, yeah

Across the night sky, a blue bird flies away.

☆: .｡.o.｡.:☆

[carionto]

Blot out the Sun

It's hard to comprehend the true scale of Human engineering. Even if you see one of their capital ships as it gets bigger on approach and does not stop getting bigger until you can no longer see one end to the other. It's like trying to grasp how large a city is - you've been on the street level and you've seen it from a bird's eye view, but that never gives you an idea of how precisely big it is. It just is.

Which presents a unique problem, because unlike practically everyone else in the Galaxy, ALL human space ships (and even most space stations) are capable and often prefer to land directly on planets instead of shuttling. When there is an atmosphere, the sheer displacement of one such vessel can cause days worth of chaotic weather patterns and even seismic activity should they decide to land. As in proper land land, as in - landing struts skyscrapers touching the physical ground.

The simple act of a Dreadnought coming to a halt above the surface of a populated planet is considered an act of war.

Suffice to say, nearly everyone has banned Human ships with a displacement of over 200'000 tons from landing, and nothing over 2.5 million tons can even enter the upper atmosphere layers of their planets at all.

Given how chaotic Earth's weather is already, (and the things they're willing to do to it) Humans don't have much problem with that.

It is quite a spectacular event, however, when on a sunny day, all of a sudden a huge form begins to take shape far above the few clouds there are. Millions of tiny lights blinking away on this gigantic dark metal body. Hobbyist astronomers and enthusiast engineers all look through their telescopes, identifying individual markings, hatches, docking ports, weapons, anything and everything of note and not.

Then it flares up.

A fireball streaming gently down towards your world. It is already as big as the sun in the sky, and nearly as bright, but you know it is dozens of kilometers away still.

The heat from the breaking sequence dies down. A shadow begins to loom along the horizon. Slowly, ominously. Still so far away, yet it dwarfs and snuffs out whatever cloud coverage there was, the heat pushing the water along the sides of the behemoth and further up.

The wind is picking up. It's getting warmer.

And darker.

It was day time, now it is beneath the belly of the beast time.

It comes to a halt, only one kilometer above the ground, two hundred and twenty meters from the tip of the tallest building. You can barely see the edge of the horizon - it is just a thin strip of hazy blue, everything else is metallic darkness illuminated by the lights from the city and the massive ship itself.

Then they descend. Hundreds of small ships, all uniform in core design, yet individually decorated and no two are truly alike. Troop transports. They land everywhere.

In unison, the landing bays open and out step the soldiers.

In their off duty clothing with bags and backpacks and suitcases.

It's mandatory leave and we're in Neo Las Vegas, and the city paid to put on a show like no other. Have fun boys and girls, the night will never end!

[findmeinthefallair]

I hadn't spotted these a year ago:

Oh my god, guys???!!! Parallels:

2. These are the same face - the Depression Face.

It tugs at my heart like nothing else, because...

3. Oooh never paid attention to this:

4. These lil' guys were moving and animated while sleeping here, aww:

5. The screenshot below, to me, is foreshadowing that Hunter may have expressed his wish to study at Hexside...but once that wish is actually granted, he too is gonna be depressed - at school, specifically - for months, and frustrated that he simply cannot be enthusiastic about classes the way he initially hoped. He'll push and push himself and judge himself for why he "can't even" enjoy lessons he's supposed to be excited about:

6. Do you think they took Hunter to the zoo's bird hall, before he carved Waffles (I personally view it as a good element of exposure therapy)? :

7. People usually put the S1 screenshot of Luz drawing light glyphs, next to the one with Flapjack fading away...but I saw this too:

It makes me wanna chew extra recycled cardboard about Luz and Flapjack parallels, specifically. Because of what they both offered to the world, if you think about it:

8. If Camila went through an outfit change like this in her nightmare:

Imagine the mayhem of Hunter's many nightmares with his many outfits :S

9. A really good reference for how Hunter healed pre-timeskip, is this sequence, where the order has been altered a bit below:

(who knows, maybe Willow recorded a lot of vids of him on her scroll T___T)

10. Wow this sums up the show doesn't it:

11. Ugh you can't tell me that...they wouldn't have had a similar-ish mirror scene with Waffles and older Hunter to these, if we had a full S3 or more seasons:

Him approaching a mirror with no palisman beside him...I can't imagine how that was in those horrible months. (Maybe he does this before heading out to conduct a Palisman Adoption Day)

12. I feel really happy, confidently believing that he unlearned this body language:

in the presence of adults, especially his new parental figures. Coercive control wasn't a dominating theme in his life anymore. And while we didn't see it onscreen, he would've found the space to even initiate connection via physical touch with his parents, like what Luz naturally does here:

I say "physical touch" specifically, because to quote @idlescree's amazing video analyses, Hunter's own physical body - not just his mind - was the ultimate and most intimate battleground for Belos to exert control, by possessing Hunter and using him as a puppet in the most direct way possible. So for Hunter to get physically close to family to express love after Flapjack's death, in spite of terrible spooky thoughts that he might still gravely injure others...that isn't a small feat at all.

13. I think his casual sweater is a plain gold colour, and his cosplay outfit has its yellow colour: because he's still influenced by Belos.

The black of the wolf tee and in the cosplay, feel to me like foreshadowing of his post-possession grief. Even after Flapjack is gone, Hunter still thinks about Belos and is still walking around in the same cosplay outfit. His newfound freedom and healing is reflected in his timeskip design (calm midtones of orange and blue): when Belos has no more hold on him via a painful history. We would see a progression from the predominant darkness of the black colour to those peaceful midtones on his clothing.

14. Best one saved for last! It's a headcanon, but I draw a few connections. @childlikegoblinqueen and I were talking about him likely returning to the place where poor Flapjack was slain, even if it takes a number of years before he can do so. Waffles will be with him.

Imagine...instead of running frantically in the night:

he calmly strolls during a beautiful Halloween evening, with autumn leaves blowing in the wind once again:

There are no horrors awaiting him, and very importantly, he can believe that.

And he visits the spot at the lake, and puts his hand to his chest:

but for once, he can smile while doing that specific gesture. All the times that he has put a hand to his heart in the show, he wasn't smiling (link). He then leaves and then returns to his family (walking in the opposite direction of the portal above) to have an actually joyful Halloween celebration.

[natalievoncatte]

“Careful with that! We have to assume everything here is dangerous.”

Lena would have preferred to be anywhere else. The last thing she wanted to occupy her afternoon was dealing with yet another reminder of her brother’s sprawling insanity. Every one of these weapons caches -he probably would have melodramatically called them “hideouts” or “secret bases”- was like a tombstone marking the grave of the only truly sincere, loving relationship she’d ever had in her life.

He hadn’t always been the slavering maniac with an incoherent obsession with killing a superhero. He’d been a protector and a benefactor, a chess opponent and a confidant, the only person in her life who presented an uncomplicated human connection, without any ulterior motives or conditions.

Everyone else wanted something from her. Money. Power. A competitive advantage. Technological secrets. Or just sex. Lena resented that most of all, the gray old men who saw nothing of her achievements or her intellect and regarded her as just another piece of ass with blue enough blood that they had to ask permission rather than simply grope.

Watching her crew load up the equipment in this sweltering heat made her physically ill, and she was glad she’d skipped breakfast. Kara would be upset if she knew.

She’s had to text Kara and let her know that she’d be out of the office and would have to skip their lunch plans. Kara was…

Kara was becoming a complication, because Kara was doing the one thing Lena wished she wouldn’t: She was giving Lena hope. She’d barreled into Lena’s life with an earnest intensity that had been bewildering at first and intriguing afterwards, with her insistence that they be friends, and constant reminders that they were friends, even as her eyes wandered to Lena’s cleavage or she unconsciously bit her lip and stared that smoldering stare just to look away at the last second.

Lena shook her head, clearing her thoughts of yet another Straight Best Friend taking her down that well-worn path of sapphic suffering. She had bigger fish to fry right now.

It was too bad that her relationship with Supergirl had been so chilly lately. It might have been easier to simply tip off the hero and the government agency she worked with and let them handle the clean up.

Lena was deep in reverie when one of the crates, a bulky reinforced one, dropped a good two feet from a forklift and the wood splintered as the locks burst free.

“Idiot!” Lena shouted at the driver. “This equipment is sensitive and potentially dangerous, and…”

“STARTUP SEQUENCE INITIATED.”

A metallic voice ground out of the crate and it shifted as something vast and bulky moved around inside. Lena stumbled back, glad she’d opted for a sensible set of flats for this, and turned to run.

A metallic claw crashed out of the crate, followed by an arm-mounted rotary cannon. The older model Lexosuit, one of the originals that Lex had planned to illegally smuggle out of the country in a fake theft scheme and sell to the Kasnians, stood up in its shaky, clanking way and took a few steps, shaking off planks and nylon straps the way a baby bird might shake off pieces of shell.

There was nowhere to go. The machine scanned the room, moving jerkily as it zeroed in on her.

Lex’s voice, a recording, boomed from its loudspeakers.

“Ah, dear sister, I see you’ve found another of my hidden fastnesses.”

You melodramatic-

“Oh well. I should thank you for setting off the security system. I won’t have to waste my precious time killing you myself. Au revoir, Lena!”

The suit spun its arm cannon and aimed at her. The barrels assembly made a half turn, the electric motor charging up as it cycled the first 32mm mass-reactive exploding shell into the chamber. Lex had once called it a masterpiece in the art of violating the Geneva Conventions. It was about to blow Lena inside out, and the subsequent shots reduce her to a the chunky consistency of a good bolognése.

But then there was a wind that was not a wind, and SHE was there.

Supergirl seized Lena with precision and grace, hands that could crush diamonds pressed just so over Lena’s ears to protect her from the roar of the guns. Lena wasn’t sure who screamed louder, her or Supergirl, as the revolving barrels ripped out their entire supply of ammunition in a few seconds, pummeling Supergirl’s back with explosions that could have shredded a tank, as the hero cradled Lena, sheltering her with her superhuman body.

When the hellstorm was over, the machine charged at them.

Supergirl did scream now, and fell upon the machine in a berserk rage. Lena had seen her in a fight before and knew she could be terrible to behold, but this was different. The empty suit was struck with such unending fury that she reduced it to shreds of metal and oil-spitting chunks of machinery in moments, spreading it halfway across the floor of warehouse.

When Supergirl rounded on her, Lena’s heart skipped. The hero’s chest was heaving, straining at the crest on her chest even as the bunching muscles on her arms and stomach pulled at the material, her perfect hair swirling around as she turned, that angelic face marred by a streak of oil and a sheen of sweat.

How dare she just look like that. It was incredibly unfair.

Before Lena knew it what was happening, Supergirl was lifting her into a heart-skipping bridal carry, pulling her much too close as she took off. On instinct, Lena pressed her eyes shut and buried her face in the Kryptonian’s neck, to hide from the heights.

Moments later they landed, and Supergirl threw Lena’s balcony door back and deposited her on her feet, leaving her stumbling back against her kitchen island in a daze. Supergirl stared at her, looming over Lena with the height difference increased by her stacked heels and Lena having lost her shoes at some point, so her stocking toes were left curling on the cold floor.

“That thing almost killed you,” Supergirl snapped. “If Is been a millisecond later you’d be dead.”

Her voice was tight with emotion, somewhere between anger, exasperation, and terror, and it felt like a fist closed in Lena’s chest.

“Are you sure you just weren’t there to make sure I wasn’t taking Lex’s old suit for a spin myself?” Lena spat, though her voice trembled. “You don’t seem to trust a thing I say lately. If I tell you the sky is blue you’ll go check.”

Supergirl’s face flushed and Lena braced for another booming, self righteous speech about trust or safety or the meaning of teamwork or some such heroic nonsense, but then her voice shattered into a million pieces and tears welled wet in her eyes.

“All I want is for you to be okay.”

A thousand thoughts danced in Lena’s mind. To ask her why, to defy her, to taunt her, to demand what exactly it was that made Lena so damned important that this woman was so intense about her safety one moment and so angry the next.

In the dance of all those thoughts, the more base instinct won out. Lena grabbed Supergirl by the neck of her suit, just below those delightful collarbones of hers, and used it as a handle to pull herself into a hard, aggressive kiss.

The world hung still for a moment, and Lena felt it all pivot around her. Something big was happening here. Something huge, something…

Something forgotten entirely as Supergirl’s tongue roughly claimed Lena’s mouth and her hands raked over Lena’s ass, dragging her skirt up.

Oh God, she thought, this is actually happening.

Lips pressed to her skin, the words burning hot into her flesh like an invocation.

“Is this okay?” Supergirl whispered.

“Yes,” Lena moaned, without hesitation.

To be continued…

[the-yellow-birdy]

I come at this hour, only for you (part. II)

AN: Hi, here's part 2! Hope you will enjoy and as always any feedback is appreciated lt<3 <Don't hesitate to message me, if you wish to be on the taglist:)>

L.O.L - Yellow bird

// 18+ audience only! - Sexual Themes - Dom!LarissaWeems x Sub!FemReader - Heavy dom/sub dynamics - BDSM - Power dynamics/Power play - consensual manipulation - Implied cunnilingus - fingering- guided masturbation - Lesbian yearning - All characters are above the age of 18\\

“Crawl”, she had said.

The night took a different turn after that single, horrifyingly, arousing word was flung out into the room. You only remember a few sequences from the nights endeavors, for your mind had slowed and been drugged with the heaviest substance of them all.

Slick arousal, heels, musky sweetness, blue, pleasure.

The line had been crossed. There was no turning back from her sweetened wicked ways. You know you shouldn’t have, and even if you wanted to think she did too, you knew she didn’t. The undeniable attraction you had was stronger than any will you would ever be able to muster. You couldn't get enough and you didn’t want enough. 

It had been a week since the night of your unspoken commitment and you were beyond confusion. Had you been imagining the whole thing? No! Definitely not imagining, perhaps hallucinating? 

There hadn’t been any late night messages requiring you by her side, morning greetings as she passed your desk or even the faintest of a smile presented to you. It seemed as if you were invisible to her. A mere day-player in her everyday life, not even worthy of a glance. And frankly you didn’t know whether to be fuming or saddened by her behavior. Maybe you were just a thing for her to have her fun with, and once she was done, you would be cast out, becoming a part of the unimportant world around her.

You couldn’t take it. All you wished was for her to notice you, tell you how good you were doing, have you drive to Jericho to fetch her coffee, make you pour her tea, or even make you sit half naked in front of her, eating her out till the dawn of morning.

Anything.

Only one thing kept you from completely putting out the fire within you.

There had been this one encounter between you, which had you feeling all sorts of emotions inside yourself you couldn't explain. 

It was a particularly late night a few days ago, when you had stayed later than usual. Numerous papers and documents Ms. Weems couldn’t catch up with, had been passed on to you with an…

“I expect them to be filled out by tonight.”, she said, and with a hasty look into your eyes she was gone. Sauntering back to her office in her beige cocktail dress and black stilettos, you couldn’t help but let your eyes linger on her swaying hips and meaty backside as she swayed them flawlessly.

You had delivered the papers to her and as she retrieved them without any recognition of your presents, you left. Again your heart ached and longed for the thing you couldn’t even admit.

It wasn’t until you ran through the rain down to the parking lot that the most peculiar thing happened. As you opened the car door you felt a strange sensation within you. You looked upon the majestic building of the school, heavy rain ensnaring your ability to hear. It got cold, yet, just as you were about to get in the car, you spotted the lovely headmaster standing in the office window, surveying you. You couldn’t see her face, the dark night casting a shadow on it, only a silhouette of yellow glow shone around her, caused by the fireplace. She saw that you had caught her in the act, yet she did nothing to withdraw from your view.

Leaving so soon, sweet mouse?

You stood in the rain, having absolutely no care for your wet toes or damp hair, gazing up at the headmistress. Still she kept looking at you, it felt eerie and comforting at the same time. A few moments went by between you, even if you were separated by vast space you felt it. 

What does she want?

Suddenly, she raised her right slender arm that crossed over her stomach and gave you a small wave, her fingers wiggling in the cool air of the spacious room. It was the first time she had gifted you any attention other than curtsies and basic work formalities in days or weeks, you couldn’t tell any longer.

You waved back at her. 

Don’t turn around, don’t turn around

As she lowered her arm and turned back disappearing in the dim lit office you got in your car, soaked and tired, yet a spark of hope remained in the back of your mind as you drove back to your apartment.

However, that was days ago and right now it was time you clocked out, you were exhausted and couldn’t bear to think about this excruciating situation any longer. Seven had already struck and all your work was finished. As you had stuffed all your personal belongings in your bag and put your coat on after organizing your desk for tomorrow, you made your way towards the headmistresses office. 

Just get it over with. 

You knocked twice, feeling melancholic at the emptiness within you, knowing your interactions would be limited and strained.

“Enter.”, you heard her enchanting voice echo through her office.

You opened the door and stepped inside, not closing it behind you.

Just for good measure.

You swallowed the lump in your throat, “Goodnight Principal Weems, I’m off for today…”

She looked up from her screen, the glasses on the tip of her nose looked as if they would fall off were she to bend her head further down to look at you.

The enchanting woman was looking at you with curiosity or was it skepticism? Surely she wouldn’t be doubting your promise of your work being finished, you would never lie to her! Did she not know that? Of course she did, you’re just being ridiculous.

You couldn’t help but consider the observing of Ms. Weems a privilege. The woman had an astounding facade. Elegant, fierce, charming with a tint of something wicked, only to be noticed in the corners of her lips or glints in her eyes. Something dark laid beneath and you were quit sure, you were the only one knowing. Everyone else, blinded by the tall beauty and her toothy smiles. A siren is what she is, an enchantress having a new prey in sight. Unfortunately, as enlightened as you were, you didn’t look away.

But her. The way she licks the envelope before sealing it, a tiny lipstick stain now and then. How her demeanor changes from principal Weems to Larissa at the end of a shift, bidding you a good night. How she bends over you ever so slightly to show you something on the school system, purring directions in your ear, as her hand is laid on your back, soothing the tensions in your spine from her close proximity. Oh you could just keep going, her accent, the expensive smell of prada perfume, the wine red lipstick, her movements, moans oh.

Her moans were sweet and almost put you in a coma the first time you heard them. The only time you heard them. 

How do you make it stop? This improper infatuation was a dead end, you had to clear your mind, think rationally as you usually did.

“I see.”, she husked.

She reached for the metal hinges of her glasses, taking them off and putting them silently down on the desk. A moment of silence fell and before you knew, she arose from her leather chair, it squeaked from the movement. She stood to her full astounding six feet and however many inches height. The light gray knee dress she wore looked impeccable on her as it hugged her meaty features perfectly, even more so with the pendant around her waist, accentuating her figure and the aura of her expensive living. She stood a short second by her desk, fingers pressed on the smooth surface, before sauntering in your direction. 

Nononono 

You didn’t know whether to run or to stay. Hell, you didn’t even know which of the two you most desired. You loathed the way she made you feel. The claiming of your body without even touching it, simply being in her presence had your skin crawl with excitement and hairs on the back of your neck spike. Only one question left on your mind.

What’s her next move?

She halted in her steps, looking down on you with an expressionless face, the once sky blue eyes had turned a dark ocean blue. Her hand gripped the wooden door, the other one placed on her hip, trapping you in her space even if the hall was free to escape through right behind you.

She seemed to enjoy the helplessness your body language involuntarily showed, when a tiny smile appear on her face. 

No, you wouldn’t be played with like this. You are a grown woman, capable of confronting your demons. Even if the demon was a neck breaking tall celestial goddess with eyes carved of the finest diamond known to mankind.

With no care for where you were standing, she slowly closed the door, giving you enough time to move. You felt lightheaded by the unexpected action and didn't know what to do other than complying with her actions, moving to the side as the door closed in with a small clink.

So much for an escape plan

Your heartbeat picked up, “stop”, you said, turning your head. The tension was so evident you could taste it, smell it, cut it right open and let it flow around the room and not just in the few centimeters between you.

She is so close.

You could feel the scented bodily heat radiating off of her, by how close you were standing and it gave you a bad case of vertigo.

You looked at the ground, certain that if you even caught a glimpse of her you would bend and fall, hard and painful. She observed the features of your face, her eyes focusing on your half open lips, looking as if she cared little to none for your request.

She let two fingers guide your chin so that your eyes no longer lingered on the floors, but at her.

“With what, my sweet?”

Tell me, tell me dear. 

She was so close, yet the feeling of her being further away than ever perceived your mind. Why did she have to be so damn beautiful, especially with the moonlight hitting the side of her face from the early october nights glow. 

A beautiful manipulator was definitely not what you needed in your life, no, not what you wanted in your life. Rational, think rational god damn it.

Breathe. 1… 2 … 3 .. J- Just breat…

With no care for her or yourself, you lunged forward, smashing your lips against her plumb red pillows. Your faces melted with each others, heads turning with vigor as your mouths molded together in sync. Your eyes fell shut in bliss. It was the first time you tasted them and even if you had tasted her lower set of lips as well, this was just as addictive. The juices are more watery and different in taste. She tasted of chocolates and cosmetics from her lipstick. 

She had a sweet tooth

It was pure heaven, pure hell, pure her. 

Other than forcing her tongue deeper into your mouth, Larissa did nothing, she simply stood her ground, not touching, not moving, nothing. The only thing she yielded to was the saccharine taste of your mouth. Your spit. It made her want to drink it, make you drink hers. She wanted every last single bit of you devoured by her mouth. The only thing she needed was to make you crave it so dearly, not even god herself could hold you back.

Finally, after what felt like years of laying on the burning surface of the sun, she took a hold of your cheeks with one of her hands, the other still glued to her hip and backed away from your mouth. She looked down at you with hooded eyes, head held high, emphasizing her true role after your little display of disregard.

“What a naughty girl you are, kissing your superior like that, hmm.”, her warm, heavy breath hit your face as she squeezed your cheeks harder and wrinkled her nose, the purring of her voice slick and firm. She looked into your doe eyes that were hazed and blinded by arousal. You were irresistible and if you did not stop pliably watching her with that needy look on your face, it would be the death of her. You would be the death of her.

“Have you no manners?”, you hear her words, the condescending meaning of them, but the grin on her lips tells you otherwise. 

She lets go of your face, taking a step back and folding her hands in front of her, taking on the role as Principal Weems once again.

“I bid you a good night, Ms. L/n. I trust you can find your way out.”, she sang, still a bit out of breath. She gave you a curt smile, not one of friendliness, no, one of something you couldn’t quite distinguish just yet.

You were on the verge of tears. How could this woman treat you so cruelly? 

“But -But I didn…”

“Goodnight. Ms. L/n.”

You straightened your body from against the wall. Your bag had been discarded to the floor, unbeknownst to you in the midst of the heated activities. You picked your belongings up from the floor and took ahold of the doorknob.

“I expect you here tomorrow night at nine, I do hope Saturday evening has no occupations keeping you.”

You were shocked, has this woman no empathy? Why are you not saying anything? You had never been so ashamed of your malleable behavior. And then again, no one has ever brought that specific side out of you like she ever before.

“Yes, Ms. Weems.”

—-

You were crazy.

Absolutely insane.

As you stood in front of the great wooden door once more, you looked down at the time.

8:57

Should you wait. Maybe, just a minute. You definitely didn’t drive a little faster just so you wouldn’t be late, no of course not. It was just, the make-up you applied earlier took a bit longer than usual, nothing else. Your breath had become a tad ragged from the fast pace of your walking and as always the running wasn’t the only thing making your heart beat at an abnormal fast pace.

You imagined her sitting in her office chair as usual, tapping away at her computer. Or maybe she was signing some documents of yours, that you had finished earlier, in her admirable handwriting. 

It was laughable to think about the many times you had stood beside her, as her long slender fingers moved the pen over the white sheet and flexed after a particularly long sentence. It had been small catches of the eye at first, but soon they had turned into deep stares of the womans dainty hands. If she had ever caught your prolonged gazes, she never let you know, simply giving you back the papers, her fingertips brushing yours.

You never knew it could feel so sweet. And how come you had never experienced it like this before? Other partners or flings had simply passed as sand slipping through your fingers. You didn’t really care much for it if you were being honest. Noone ever really sparked a burning interest within you, but neither had anyone made you want to run for the hills faster than you knew your feet would take you, like her. It excited you, whether you wanted to admit it or not.

Time struck 8:58. 

You knocked carefully at the door, announcing yourself with a bit of courage you had been able to muster, “Principal Weems, it’s Y/n, you wished to see me.”

She called upon you, “yes, enter.”

You did as instructed and slowly swung the heavy door open, met by a peculiar sight. You stopped in your tracks as the image of the headmistress sitting behind her mahogany desk-piece fully immersed in her work, didn’t perceive your vision.

You stood in the door, leaving it to close on its own as you let go of it. You looked around. She must be in here. You just heard her, unless you’ve gone completely bonkers she had to be here.

With a disturbance in the corner of your eye you directed your gaze towards the fireplace and what a sight to see. The principal was sitting in the Victorian sculptured chaise, her signature heels discarded next to it with a grand bottle to the side. From your line of vision, you could only see her hand dangling off the armrest, accompanied by a glass of what must’ve been red wine. The top of her updo she never failed to style just perfectly. And lastly her foam white shins, crossing just where her ankles meet. You swallowed some excess saliva from your mouth and fiddled with your fingers.

“Go ahead and strip Y/n, I wish you bare.”, her voice rang into the room.

The shirt of which you wore was quickly becoming too tight, almost too tight to breathe. 

Strip.

Bare.

You had never been so terrified and titillated in your life. Your armpits felt warm and soaked mimicking the parts between your legs.

Larissa never let down a fight. Ever since she herself was a student at Nevermore Academy would she never bow to conquer, always eyes on the price. Especially when a certain Addams was to be her appointed opponent, was she a force to be reckoned with, just like now. Except this time of course, her opponent is very much more favorable to her, and far more enjoyable at that. Oh, she just couldn’t wait to have you admit defeat.

As your body had been frozen and your heart skipping several beats, Larissa got impatient and cleared her throat.

It had been a good minute with no evident sound of clothes dropping to the floor. She turned her head just a small angle, yet enough for you to catch her poised side profile as it lit up from the fiery background. Hypnotic.

“Shall I have to repeat myself, girl?”, the words fell from her lips and you saw her delicious tongue forming them as she spoke.

Just as if in a trance once more, every border was let down. You slowly pulled the shirt over your head. You dropped it to the floor, still looking towards her. You started grabbing the back of your bra to snap it open, freeing you perked breasts. 

“No, Ms. Weems.”

She drove her sight back to the dancing fires, “Good.”

As your tits met the chilling air, your nipples almost immediately hardened, even more than they already were from your involuntary arousal.

As the material of your clothes grazed your skin, she heard the whooshing sound and the desire to turn around and watch as you undressed was gradually growing more and more insufferable. She didn’t of course. It had taken the headmistress many moons and suns to learn the importance of patience, especially with you here now. She couldn’t just throw all care out of the window this early.

 All things good come to those who wait.

You removed your own heels putting them aside. Then your socks, left and right, putting them in the open space of your left behind stilettos.

The wooden floors had icicles spike up through the skin of the padded area of your soles. The only carpet in the room was in front of the fireplace, as of right now laid right under the awaiting woman's own nylon covered feet. 

The rigid air in the room was closing in on you. 

How on earth are you supposed to go through with this? Your face was hot and red. Stomach turning and bubbling in excitement. Your head dizzy and light. Dear god, why did she have to wear that awful perfume that let your better judgments get lost in the cravings of tasting it on your lips, licking it right from the source of her skin.

You unbuttoned the last of your slacks restraints. With your underwear, they glided over your flesh protected hips and quietly fell to the floor in a pool around your feet. Your cold, red, bare feet, on the brink of running in every direction away and towards the scarily quiet woman. 

You could still stop it, you could!

“Come to me.”, she calmly said and raised the wine glass in her hand and gulped down a big sip of the silky red substance. Her lipstick had laid a mark on the brim of the glass.

Maybe she would let you lick it off.

What? No. 

Your heartbeat felt heavy and as if your heart was threatening you, that with each timid step you would take, it was further on its journey to pop out of your chest. Fall to the ground in a splattering of blackened red blood, only for her to come by your limp side as your heart was still beating on the floor next to you, piercing right through it with her sharp, plastic heels.

You took a step towards her, but a cold voice made you stop and the feeling of utter exposure finally hit you.

“Not like that.” 

A moment of silence pierced the temperature of the room. Fright strangled you and left you behind with a ragged breath. You knew what she was asking, from the moment you took a step you already knew that deep down it wasn’t enough. Could you really bring yourself to do it, you already had.

Yes.

Like a subject bowing for the reign, a believer kneeling in front of the holy cross, you did what you knew was required of you.

You got onto your hands and knees. Still not having made it to the fluffy carpet, the cold floor embraced you and reminded you of what was to come. What you were.

She couldn’t believe it. The pride she had for you in this very moment seethed through her bones, for she knew where you were, what you had done. You were perfect, absolutely and completely made for her. There was no doubt in her mind.

The fear of the loss of your dignity that once had you in a chokehold had faded into the abyss, and even if a heavy blanket of shame couldn’t help but cover your mind given the position you found yourself in, exposed, sweaty and obedient, it simply was of insignificance to you, for the only thing that was kept in your mind and had been for this entire encounter since you entered the door was…

I want to see your face.

You crawled along the floor. The only sound in the room came from the spectacle the woman herself was watching, the crackling of burning wood as the fire slowly turned its flesh from a beautiful brown to a black and gray surface, slowly transforming it into ashes like the former blocks beneath them.

You were suddenly met with the white, soft carpet underneath you. Your hands and knees had gotten slightly red from the hard ground and the carpet was a comfortable contrast to it, almost soothing the soreness. 

You moved on hands and knees up beside her. Your mind was cramped with thoughts you didn’t know what to do or how to cope with.

What if she thinks a fool of you. 

Did you make a mistake? Assuming the wrong thing.

Is your body to her liking?

You know you’re leaning more towards the plaine look rather than a great beauty such as herself, would she mind?

Are you doing good?

Is she satisfied with you?

Is she happy?

Larissa turned her head to look down at your form. She couldn’t hold back the ragged breath she had held within her. One glance at your naked body next to her and she knew there was no telling of the heads and heels any longer. She adored the eagerness in you to be near her, be with her. The compliance you showed melted something in the older woman she wouldn’t be showing this early on, but it was certainly still there.

You were a beauty, a true and utter pretty girl, all for her. All for her to see and touch and feel.

“Sit up, my darling.”

You sat back onto your heels. You looked up at her and you swore the look of reassurance and calm in her face made you want to burst into tears, for it melted every last bit of doubt within you away.

She couldn’t help but observe your uncovered flesh and visible bone outlinings of your body as you straightened your back. Your breasts were just above average in size, they bounced deliciously on your ribcage as you moved. Your nipples had become soft again, they now presented themselves as a heavier contrasting pink on your smooth skin. 

Larissa felt a slow throbbing in her underwear. How on earth she managed to catch such sweet innocence under her hand was a mystery to her, but a blessing nonetheless. And of course a pad on the back, if you were to ask her.

She looked into your eyes. Your wide, glazed eyes filled with arcour and need. You were both holding your breaths once more. The connection of your bodies pulled you to almost grasp for the other, even if you had not shared a single touch yet. Your freckled face had never before looked upon her as it did now. How wonderful.

Still gazing at you, she took the wine in her other hand and let the other stretch itself towards your face. She caressed your cheek with the back of her fingers. It had been so long.

So long, so long, so long

Too long, without the sweet tingling of her touch. Her skin felt cool to the one on your face. It calmed you more than you cared to admit, Yet your body deceived you when your eyes fell lightly shut.

“How has your day been, sweet girl?”, she moved her hand to the top of your head, scraping the stray hairs down your hairline out of your face and behind your ears.

You opened your eyes, “It was okay. Ms. Weems.”

She removed her hand. You felt empty once more. She looked at you for a moment, seemingly captured in a thought stream. With a graceful movement of her other hand, she presented you with the half filled glass, prodding you to take it. After a moment of confusion, you tentatively did.

“Hmm, I'm certainly hoping the answer will change to one with a bit more enthusiasm by the end of tonight”, she lifted her eyebrow with an adoring smile to her lips.

“Drink.”

If you had any knickers on, they would have been submerged with the slick forming between your thighs.

Gods no. What if you're making a mess on her rug?

You took a glance at the red liquid, bringing it closer to your face and revealed in its earthy aroma. After a little investigating, you brought it to your lips and began to slowly drink. It was expensive, that much you were able to tell. The taste was more intense and flavors more complex than the cheap ones in your own fridge at home. Halfway through you wanted to lower the glass, not able to drink anymore. But as soon as you tried to pry away the glass, the woman above you moved with elegant hast.

“No darling, drink up. I would hate the thought of not having clenched your thirst.”, she purred in her heavy British accent and gave you a sinister smile. She put a finger under the stem of the glass forcing you to keep consuming the beverage. 

Your mouth was filled to the brim with bitter sweet alcohol and you had to squint your eyes to concentrate on swallowing it without choking. You felt as the wine slipped passed your lips and dripped onto your chin, your neck, chest. You felt dirty and sticky, ashamed of the degenerate behavior she forced upon you.

As the glass emptied, she removed her finger and sat back on the chaise. You lowered the glass a bit out of breath and simply looked up at her.

“Tsk, you have made quite the mess, haven’t you?.”, she tutted and by an inch only, tilted her head to the side. 

With her hand again, she reached for your lips. She held onto your chin gently as she, not so gently, cleaned your lips from the fruity wine. She halted when they were no longer dripping with fluids, still holding your face.

“Did you put this lipstick on for me?”

“Perhaps.”, you said it more nonchalantly than you intended to. 

You made eye contact.

“Cheeky today, aren’t we? Can’t possibly be the wine already.”

She flowingly glided her sight back to your mouth. Suddenly she drove her thumb over your lips once more, only this time it wasn’t an act of assistance.

She pressed hard onto your soft pillows and slid onto the skin around them. You knew by the adhesive feeling on your chin that she was smearing your lipstick around your mouth.

You felt a drop of arousal slip onto your inner thigh, not to mention the aching of your sweet places, as she abused your lips.

With no forewarning she pushed two of her long manicured fingers past your lips. 

Her mouth fell slightly agape as the sight of your mouth enclosed around her fingers settled in her mind. You didn’t push her away or turn your head, you complied with a muffled squeak as you felt her pointer and index finger press down onto your tongue.

“That’s it, suck.”

You didn’t know if it was the effect of the alcohol or your complete devotion to her, probably both, but an urge to satisfy her took over you.

You gently grabbed her hand. You licked between her fingers and sucked the pads of them with your teeth biting softly at their tip. You began to suck her fingers with a desire to please, it showed.  

Brave.

You started sucking harder, sloppier. Your eyebrows knit together and a whine escaped your throat when she started rocking them back and forth, parading the ministrations that would usually take place further south.

Oh please. More! I can't much longer!

You were lost in her trance and you never wanted to wake. You looked up at her and the sight could have killed you. Her eyes were black, only a rim of turquoise surrounding them and they looked as if she saw right into the atoms of your bones. Your soul. Her mouth took deep open breaths, her bottom lip getting trapped by her teeth and tongue.

She pulled her fingers from your mouth and cupped your face with both of her hands. After a drawn out thirst filled look, she collided her lips with yours. You dropped the empty glass in your hands and it collided with the carpet right in front of you, hurriedly gripping her muscular biceps. Once more you got to taste her flavors. But this time, she tasted of the finest wine and the simple, divine taste her own saliva had to offer. She devoured your mouth with her much bigger one. She sucked and loved and bit and claimed it as no one else could.

She pulled your face up, hinting you to stand up from your sitting position. The possessiveness her tongue showed had you crying into the deep sloppy kisses, as you went to stand. The task was found to be harder than expected.

As soon as your legs tried to show strength and hold your weight they gave under from the missing blood in your calves, caused by the cut blood circulation. 

“Hmph!” you exclaimed into your lovers mouth as your knees hit the ground again with a harsh thud.

Ms. Weems pulled back to look at you with a faint smirk, “Already weak in the knees I see, and all from a kiss?”

“How utterly pitiful, my dear”

“I’m sorry Ms. Weems I-I can’t see…”

“Don’t worry dear,”, she took ahold of the underside of your arms steadying you, as you for a second time tried to stand. You succeeded, the hold of her strong hands being your biggest support.

“I’ll take care of you now, sweetings. Come here,”, She patted her lap, prodding you to take a seat. She guided you around the chaise until you stood right in front of  her. 

An owner and her devoted pet.

She turned your limping form around and placed her hands on the curve of your hips. Her touch on your hips felt like the dirtiest of sins, yet it was so gentle and tender, so how could this feeling within you ever be considered a transgression of the godly?

She pulled you down onto her thick soft thighs, half exposed by the tight gray skirt that attached itself to her dress. You leaned back against her and as your head collided with her shoulder, your legs on either side of hers, the full weight of your body trusting her with the most sacred and intimate parts of yourself. There were no longer any restraints strong enough to hold Larissa back.

She buried her nose in your long, loose hair. It cascaded on, now, both of your shoulders, and she inhaled the flowery scent of your shampoo, the tint of your own skins smell evident as well. 

She glided her left hand up your sticky, red torso and found its way towards your breast, her other hand still firmly holding the meat of your hips. 

“Oh, oh please.”, you pleaded with closed eyes and a scrunched face as your head rested on her shoulder. Half dizzy of her, half dizzy of the alcohol filled beverage.

She took a look at your form from underneath her. Her eyes found the way down the heaving valley of your breasts, over your soft stomach and navel, all the way down to the black mound of curly hairs between your cream thighs. 

She pinched your now fully erect nipples, purposely making you twist and writhe above her. 

“Touch me, I need your touch please!”, You had abandoned all propperness and decorum. 

Make me feel you, please please please

“Oh but I am, silly girl.” grabbing the entirety of your ample flesh, she groped and violated your breast with vigor.

“I n-need more- oh - more.”

She starts moving her hand on your hip to a slow pace, rutting you against her thighs.

“How greedy you have become, hmm,” She snaked the hand once on your breast up to hold onto your neck. Your chest rose and arched away from her while your head continued to rest on her shoulder.

“P-Please”, you slurred as the delirious feeling of her hand on your throat tightened. You definitely noticed the effect of the alcohol, but in some strange way it made your sensations spur and the tingles of fire in your skin lit up as if gasoline had been cast over them.

Her other hand made its way from the guiding of your hips to the faint showing muscle of your stomach. 

Lower

Lower

Lower

Low… Oh!

Cold fingers circled your tight and tension filled bud. You let a single gasp out, but quickly it turned into mewls and moans of pleadings and joy.

“Like this? Is this what you want, darling. Tell me, tell me it’s the pleasurable touch of my hands you crave.”

“Y-Yes! It’s you - it’s you I c-crave Ms.Weems.”

She had gathered some slick from your, as well sticky, entrance and had pinched your clitoris. She chuckled  into your hair as you squealed in white pain and red desire from her doings. 

She then traveled further, further than ever before. Two fingers began to massage the outer muscles of your vagina. She started to nip at your neck, just a simple few nips here and there, slowly becoming kisses that traveled from the back of your ear to the base of your neck, as she slowly sank her fingers deeper and deeper into your womanhood.

“Well done, lamb, there you go. look at me”, she began to pump her fingers. Your mind saw nothing but a cheshire grin as you prepared yourself to open your eyes. You looked up at her as if you gazed upon divinity.

The pace of her fingers quickened and the feeling of her sliding in and out of you were something you couldn’t put into words. Maybe the best way to describe it was death, yes death. That would be it.

She started whispering things into your ear. Like a siren she sang her songs to you and hypnotized you to see stars align.

That's it, dear

Mine now

You’re perfect, Y/n

Ah, such a good girl

Louder Y/N

Who owns you?

Harder? Oh but I’ll break you, dear

Let go for me

And you did. 

You had never experienced more energy consuming acts of the mind and body before, resulting in your spent body slumping against her and tears rolling down your face.

“Ah, sh sh.” she cooed.

The headmistress turned your body so her arm rested behind your neck and the rest of your body supported by the softly cushioned chaise. The flames of the fire warmed your numb skin. The hold of your lover warmed you even more. 

Larissa tenderly sweeped the wet hairs away from your forehead and gave it a kiss.

“Sleep my girl. My sweet Y/n.”, and you did.

----------------------------

Taglist:

@ladybathoryy

[afrognamedfizzarolli]

Helluva Boss observations and easter eggs you may not have noticed!: Pilot

The pilot is both a great place and weird place to start, as it is our introduction to the cast and world, but also no longer considered canon. Many of the events and details we learn/see are later confirmed in the series itself, but there were quite a few changes.

I want to start off with some design changes!

With Millie, she used to have white roots visible, this actually kept up for a few of the early episodes. As we know now it seems imps have two noticeable instances of sexual dimorphism: females have black horns with thin white stripes and naturally black hair, and males have evenly sized black and white stripes on their horns and naturally black hair. We see many trans or otherly gender queer imps that dye their hair with visible roots. I assume Millie's design was changed when that was established to be a gender difference in imps.

Her heart tattoo is also much smaller, and switches sides (an animation error almost certainly) When the pilot first came out I actually thought she had a heart on both shoulders.

Some stuff with Stolas!

We see his hand outlined with a red glow at one point, presumably representing his magic. While in the series his magic is represented by blue. This is most likely due to the change of his character as he was originally planned to be a villain.

Not a design change, but I find it funny that Stolas' name in Blitzø's phone is "Creepy Mouth (aka one night stand bird dick)". Surprisingly all being spelled correctly.

Stolas' Grimore! I actually only noticed this on this last watch. It was a darker blue(purple? red? It changes in different scenes) and instead of the moon design it has a different insignia of his that we still see throughout the series in various places (notably on his bed) it also has no design on the back.

Little details!

I didn't realize before either that the woman who Moxxie is trying to shoot before Eddie gets in the way, is Eddie's mom. I'm sure this is something many others picked up on immediately though.

Speaking of which, the human news anchor shown at the end bares a striking resemblance to a character of Brandons: a news anchor named Flint Dicker.

A poster of "THE AMAZING IMP SIBLINGS" is on the wall of the conference room. Showing Blitzø, Barbie Wire, and another character labeled "Tilla". This was changed in the series to just being Blitzø and Barbie, Tilla's design being slightly altered and then used for their mom.

Hazbin easter eggs! Oh boy is there a lot of them.

In the commercial sequence we see in the room of one of the targets a framed drawing of Sir Pentious

In the background of when Blitzø is interviewing a previous client, there is a billboard for 666 News ft. A photo of Katie Killjoy, I especially love this one as Brandon ended up voicing her!

In Blitzø's office he had a vision board labeled "BOSS GOALS" with 5 drawings, in the center is Blitzø labeled "ME!" Top left we have Katie again, top right is a duck with a top hat and two $'s, this assumably referencing Lucifer, bottom left is Rosie, an arrow pointing to her hat labeled so eloquently "HAT" and lastly in the bottom right there is a more detailed drawing that looks to be Carmilla Carmine labeled "Moxxie drew not as good" this tracking later as in 1.05 "The Harvest Moon Festival" Moxxie talks about Carmine angelic weaponry, showing a great interest in her business.

Next is a dumpster in an alley with various graffiti. Notably, a face that looks to be Nifty, "ALWAYS CHASING RAINBOWS" and "HAPPY HOTEL". There is also a sinister face labeled "DEVIL". Im not sure if this is a specific refrence to anything though.

Lastly, one that I'm sure almost everyone noticed but feel the need to include, is we can see Loona watching Charlie's performance of "Inside of Every Demon is a Rainbow"

Funny observations:

When the crew teleports into the church, we see maany people with some pretty detailed designs, I do not know if or what they may be referencing, but I have a strong suspicion it is something, my guess is that they are caricatures of some people who worked on the pilot. One person in specifically is wearing a jacket with a patch reading "WHEN YOU SEE IT" with a 👌

Signs! In the hospital we see a sign saying "WE SAVE LIVES" in faded text it reads between we and save "try to" and after lives another line is visible starting with "but" I cannot make out the rest.

Others show that they are in ward 13, the next room over labeled as 667, implying the room that Eddie was in is 666

A note is taped to the side of the fridge of the break room reading "LOONA DONT EAT MY LUNCH -MOXXIE"

Another thing I only noticed recently is when Blitzø sneaks out at the Goetia palace, he is naked except for his jacket, with the grimore serving as some creative censorship. (+Stella's beta design. I personally love her current design, but this one wasn't bad)

When Blitzø makes the comment about making Moxxie the employee of the month he holds up a small plaque as an example, a larger version of this same plaque, is visible on a wall in the commercial sequence.

While in their hazmat suits(idk if that's what these actually are), you can see the shape of Moxxie's bowtie under it

... and just Blitzø holding some targets panties, cause why not

There are a handful of other details, but I'm going to hold onto those as later on we see call backs to them. Also, I've spent a lot more on this than Id planned already, I have at least 3 hours on this one alone.

Please bare with me, I promise these will get more interesting the further we go in the series!