#can you sense the derangement in my soul

[allastoredeer]

Isn't Charlie's ex-boyfriend a hellborn and an Overlord? With his father being friends with Lucifer and all?

I think he's a Hellborn. Sinners can't reproduce and have children, and I'm 70-80% sure he was born in Hell, especially considering he and Charlie went to Prom, implying they went to school together, implying that he is a growing boy, and Sinners don't age like the Hellborn do either. Carmilla has her daughters, but they either died with her or she adopted them when she when she was sent downstairs, because there's no way she gave birth to them in Hell.

His name is Seviathan Von Eldritch, and I don't know why, but that just screams an old, snooty, better-than-thou Hellborn blood-line. Does anyone else get that vibe? Just me? Is it just my eat-the-rich mentality? (It does roll off the tongue very nicely though, I'll give them that).

I don't think Hellborn become Overlords. Or, at least, I headcanon that Overlords are a title specific to Pentagram City and the Sinners.

[wannaeatramyeon]

Being Goo Kim's Secret Friend: an introduction

G/N. Trying maybe a new lil storyline. General shenanigans with reader as a secret friend. Masterlists

Goo Kim's circle of secret friends is a very exclusive and private club you are proud to be part of.

Would have figuratively and literally worn the declaration like a badge of honour if it wasn't supposed to be, well - secret.

How he had come to hear about you is still a head scratcher, although you suppose you have built up quite a reputation if you asked the right people.

You know a lot about a lot. Have your finger in all the pies. Developed a knack for keeping your ears low to the ground and anything you don't know, you dare say isn't worth knowing.

Sticking your nose into places it didn't belong though, it should have gotten you into a lot of trouble-

But god has his favourites. Despite your lack of physical prowess, you rolled the dice and somehow accrued enough luck and passable charm for things to work out for you in most situations.

Most.

Your leg has pretty much healed completely after the incident a few years back. It just tends to click a lot whenever you bend your knee. It's fine, you can live with it, after all you should have seen the other guy.

Spoiler alert: he's dead.

.

.

"You owe me, babe." The blonde grins, wiping off his sword with-

"Hey, that's my jacket!" Despite being unsteady on your feet and your right leg throbbing painfully, you hobble over to yank it out of his hands.

"Sorry," he doesn't look sorry at all. He crouches down, opting to use the recently deceased guy's shirt instead. It's terribly disrespectful of the dead.

"He's really dead, huh." You give the body a harsh nudge with your foot. There's nothing, not even a choked gurgle. Just an ever growing puddle of blood and two lifeless orbs peering up at the open sky.

"'Fraid so," he answers, sliding his glasses back up his nose.

"Good." Then you add, "What's your name again?"

.

.

And it's not so much that you're indebted to Goo Kim.

You like to think that you're practically innocent in this. He's the one that pulled the trigger, the actual sword, the very first time you met him and off-ed the guy who was a pain in your ass. It's not like you could control what that blonde maniac chooses to do. 

(Not that you think this defence would hold up in a court of law.)

(...And yes you're thankful, but you have a feeling he was just trying to make a dramatic entrance more than anything.)

So no, you're not indebted to him. It's a mutually beneficial relationship. 

You help Goo with his little queries and his morally grey (if you're being generous) errands; in return there's a steady stream of income and the more efficient and discreet you are, the heftier the tip too.

.

.

Sure, yes, Goo can be a very difficult customer.

His personality takes a bit of getting used to, and you admire your own restraint at not beating him black and blue.

Honestly, that time you met Gun Park, you knew deep in your soul that you had met a kindred spirit. Your eyes connected as Goo was rambling and being his usual deranged self, and you are absolutely certain that the annoyance and murderous intent in his black eyes was also what was reflected in yours.

Anyway- That's a story for another day.

Back to Goo.

He is clingy at the worst of times and flakey when you actually need him. Throws a tantrum if you don't pick up his calls before the third ring though it's fine when he ignores you for days.

Delights in giving cryptic instructions and orders that are less quirky and more deranged riddles, although it is kind of, sort of, a little endearing how much his eyes light up when you finally work out what he's saying.

His sense of personal space and boundary is also unsurprisingly absent. He has a penchant for nicknames that make you cringe and a fondness for slinging his arm around you and cackling in your ear like you're best friends.

Which you know is a lie.

You weren't born yesterday. He’s friends with you precisely because you are not a fool. You know Goo would sell you up the river without a second thought.

But in the end, none of that matters.

You really really can't oversell how good it is to have friends in high places.

Best of all, a friend who seemingly has no issues killing on your behalf and who leaves their own fingerprints all over the scene of the crime.

[seneon]

★ loveuloveuloveuloveuloveu, touya todoroki.

"i'm breaking up with you."

that was all it needed for touya to utter such words that has your stomach dropped to the lowest grounds of the earth. time seemed to come to a halt, honouring and granting you the favour of taking however much time you needed to process his words, for it to be punctured into your mind.

now, it didn't sting like how a vampire would dug his fangs into one's skin. his words seemed to give birth to an unknown feeling within you— something not of human that grows as quick as it could in your mind and it fills the emptiness in your stomach.

your heart is out of the picture. same goes to your mind. they reek of nothing, devoid of emotions of feelings. eyes always so full of life, now seemingly as dark as the deepest depths of an ocean. you've lost your life on the inside. and you're not about to lose the man you loved more than yourself. it's crazy how touya matters more than your own life.

he awaits a response or any kind of reaction. all he gets is a gaze that isn't even on him. your eyes pierces through his soul, enough that it reaches the ends of the horizon. touya's eyebrows could only furrow in a sense that something is utterly wrong with you in the moment he tells you that he wishes to break everything off with you.

wrong choice, it seems. for when you finally looked at him and see him as he is, even if your eyes still devoid of any human feelings, touya felt like he has no escape to what fate decided for him.

"you are not breaking up with me," you said, voice so cold that it is almost like icicles that drives through his skull. "you are my angel, you are not leaving until whatever god says you can or whatever tragedy pours upon you."

touya has never felt such an uneasy feeling creeping onto his skin. it was like millions of insects crawling into his soul and finding solace in him. there was something utterly wrong with you. it's written in your eyes that perhaps you might just be more deranged than he is. he could see the fire in your eyes, flames stronger than his cremation. they burn with desire to keep touya exactly where is is.

it is then prayerful whispers and unending streams of "i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you"i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you".

note. inspired by angels from massive attack

© SENEON 2024 ♰ do not repost, alter, or translate.

[bleeding0heart]

This is the end

Hold your breath and count to ten

Feel the Earth move and then

Hear my heart burst again

For this is the end

I've drowned and dreamt this moment...

🌟Starring🌟

Celestial Daifuku Cookie 🔮 (My OC—One the beasts who didn't get corrupted)

Shadow Milk Cookie🎭

The betrayal part is inspired by this amazing post🌟🌟:

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As the seal weakened, the crack embedded in the bark getting wider, Celestial Daifuku Cookie could feel a way too familiar sense of dread stirring in his stomach.

No... Impossible... It can't be, can it?

And then the worst happened. The vines eventually withered, giving way for the gap to crack bigger, hence freeing the beast within...

”Ahhhhaha!... Doesn't this fresh air just smell DIVINEEE?"

Shadow Milk Cookie.

Shadow Milk's booming voice echoed through the empty forest of Beast Yeast as he popped out of the Silver Tree, staring down on them with a deranged grin, his eyes flashed with chaos.

He eyed them for a moment, until his gaze fell upon a particular cookie: Celestial Daifuku Cookie.

Even though millions of years had passed, his sugarcube has changed a lot, he still recognized, still remembered. The painful memories of his beloved, abandoning him and his friends to tend to the weakling crumbs, had been carved deep into him, soul and flesh, body and whole.

"Well, well, wellll~... Look what we have here~? Care to give your old friend a bigggg hug, sweetheart? I've missed you dearly after I got imprisoned behind those nasty bars and chains!" Shadow Milk faked a pout, before his iconic smile returned, along with his "unbearable" singsong tone.

"It seems like the seal has gotten weaker as time passes by so carelessly... You still haven't changed at all, Jester."

"Awwhhh.... Don't say it like it's a bad thing~! My poor little heart feels like it's being torn in two by your cruelty, sweetheart~! What do you say we have a dance to reunite after being separated from each other for so long, eh? I've got some moves that'll make even the moon jealous~!"

"No—" Celestial Daifuku didn't even have a chance to refuse, as the Jester grabbed him by his hands, fingers intertwining. Shadow Milk's hollow laughter filled the place, as he forced his sugarcube to dance with him by force, controlling their movements like a puppeteer with his puppet.

The other cookies could only watch in helplessness. "Let go of him!" Pure Vanilla demanded, concern etched across his face. He raised his staff and pointed it at Shadow Milk, who only gave him a mocking grin in return.

"Hmm... Now why should I do that? Silly Vanilly'! Did you really think that you're the one in control here? Oh, no, how terrible! But fret not, my darling audiences! Because I, Shadow Milk Cookie,..." The Jester pulled the Oracle closer, holding him by his waist and hand in his. "... And Celestial Daifuku Cookie will perform a once-in-a-lifetime show together, tonight!"

[shkika]

Since my wrist is killing me and I can't draw, have my ramblings about machines having souls and being able to become husks and also just Ultrakill thoughts! Predictions about the ending if you squint??

im just having fun here

Like I'm so deranged about how machines being intelligent and actually conscious is handled in Ultrakill. The build-up, even if accidental(?), is SO SO CLEVER and gradual (as gradual as ultrakill can get). How that fits into the overall narrative and how the tragedy of this game manages to be so awesome??

First with how I love the way "Machines are living beings" idea is handled. It starts from the introduction and establishes the world so well in so few words it's so lovely. You get introduced to the machines as war weapons. They need blood to survive and humanity has been eradicated. That's all you need to know.

You start with the basic information that these machines don't want to die. Which makes sense, it doesn't have to mean they are actually alive. It makes sense a machine would look for any way possible to keep itself running to continue doing it's job.

And then immediately in the prelude you meet the Swordsmachine. A part of a specific group of machines the terminal calls "scrapheads" which modify their own bodies. While at first that does not ring as anything that's especially noteworthy. A machine trying to upgrade itself is nothing unheard of. It's to be better, stronger, more efficient.

Except that's not exactly what the Swordmachine design is about according to the game. It is mentioned to have very impressive combat prowess compared to other machines, however what it is also referred to as is "beautiful". The design is appreciated almost like a piece of art. And some of it's parts don't even wield a practical purpose, the mentioned example being it's voice box.

It is not ONLY about utility. It is also about art!!

Alright. That's interesting. Let's give an even more outrageous example. Skipping Limbo for now, there is lust where we are introduced to Mindflayers. Which?? Are so wild??? And mysterious? We don't know what and when they were made for (ALTHOUGH I VERY MUCH HAVE HEADCANONS ABOUT IT) their bodies are described as completely seperate and useless to the machine. And yet it is stated they act very lovingly and take care of their bodies. So much so in fact that they SELF-DESTRUCT if it is harmed.

V2 in the first fight is a rival to you as any other machine, however once it's arm is stripped away from V1 the confrontation becomes PERSONAL. The second fight is not simply about the lack of resources anymore. It is to reclaim what was lost. Whether that be the arm or something else. Even the very terminal entry itself calls it revenge.

And of course. With Violence it is revealed that with all of this. Machines can also make other forms of art like poetry. Which is even more interesting is that the machine which did that was first EVER machine to use blood mind you. An extremely old design, yet it could make art to express it's feelings.

Machines are capable of modifying, changing, expressing and LOVING themselves. They make art and some are frequently seen attacking you in groups! Those are clearly intelligent beings. And I mean. Duh. everyone playing Ultrakill knows that. Obviously. Like. Yeah.

So then why isn't the fact that these walking weapons probably have souls more discussed? What makes a soul? Why would machines not have them? If they can do all that people can on an emotional level.

And what happens when these machines die? What exactly is stopping them from ending up hell? Obviously heaven is unobtainable. Their very reason for existence, is to cause pain and suffering. The means through which they need to keep themselves alive is to cause suffering. It makes sense they'd all become hells beloved children. Doing what is in their nature is an art form to it.

What's even more is that the game itself supports the idea that some are souls. Surely hell cannot create them since everything made by hell are demons, which are very easy to recognize by the stone exterior.(?? unless im wrong??)

And there is no feasible way for machines like the Guttermen and Earthmovers to be their actual living counterparts. On a basic level they LACK the means to be alive. The people inside the Guttermen need to be alive in order for them to function. When opening them in-game they are just skeletons. Nobody has been supplying them with blood for a long time. Because it's hell. The game itself states that death is a luxury in hell. It does not happen easy.

Earthmovers need sunlight to power them. And the game specifically put them in an area that is clouded. There is none to be seen in violence. No they are just trapped in place, forced to shoot each other for all of eternity.

Machines, when they die… go to hell! Probably!

Some of the machines you kill, perhaps reccuring enemies go to hell (Thank u l@/little-tornad0 for the addition hehe)

When you die.

You respawn! Hell keeps you going. Hell wants torture. Hell wants bloodshed. Hell wants entertainment and you are the purest form of it.

It makes me think a lot about the potential ending of the game. About the themes. I don't think this means inherently that hell is a perfect self-sustaining organism that can go on like this forever. Gabriel says machines are destroying it and leaving nothing behind. Things are clearly going south in some way. And it'd fit the themes better if it was all going to uh.. hell lol. If it was all going to collapse. From the main theme of the game literally being "The fire is gone" to the name of the last chapter literally being named "Godfist suicide"

Also for what it's worth the Mirage secret is awesome meta-commentary on the idea that everything will die. Everything is destined to end. It is up to you how your each that end.

I think this is what Ultrakill will kind of be about at the end maybe. Gabriel will die out with a bang doing what he wants.

V1 itself is clearly NOT killing efficiently to survive, but for fun. Before it all ends. It's going out with a bang.

And with no new humans or machines that can enter hell in the long run. Perhaps it's very being too will decide it wants to go out with a bang.

In short. uh machines have souls. everything will die but not in a sad way. but in a very cool awesome way. thats pr awesomesauce

[wraith-caller]

My most deranged d twins HC is that their curse and existence is a desperate attempt at Godwyn's reincarnation by a system that doesn't know how to handle the error introduced by Ranni's ritual.

The idea is that, bc reality is written to no longer include true death, that even with the use of the death rune to kill someone, they are not able to pass into an afterlife. The death rune still exists yes, but its not in the Elden ring anymore. So if the ring dictates reality, how can a rune that's no longer part of it still effect things in a normal way? Those killed by it are still snared in the current system by the current rules of reality, but they cannot return to the Erdtree as they have been touched by true death.

So where do they go? In this case, the dead soul is dumped into a tarnished body. They are graceless but also await a reincarnation of an entirely different sort, one which doesn't appear to need the Erdtree but only Marika's call. And who would she call for more desperately than her beloved son, who was never supposed to be able to die? So you end up with this messed up situation where that soul became snared in these two twins. Maybe a demigods soul can't be bound to a single tarnished body, maybe an extra body exists bc of Ranni's body having also died but bc it was a separate person rather than the one matching the dead soul, there were weird consequences. The input was disjointed, so the output was too.

This ends up being why the order accepts them when no others will. It's why Devin begins to break when confronted with what's become of his soul's old body, whether he realizes it or not. It's why Darian so viciously despises the undead, bc some part of him knows intimately the horror of being one.

Does it make any sense with what we know about true death meaning no reincarnation? Nope! Is there any textual indication of this from the game? Not really! Am I going to put it in a fic anyway? Hell ya I am!!!

[writingmysanity]

Did I miss it?

Pairing: Zoro x reader

Word count: 1600

TW: drinking, reader is tipsy for sure.

A/N: Happy Birthday, Lissie!! Okay, lets try this again. My computer crashed half way through what I was writing and I lost… everything. I know I asked you a tough question the other day, and you answered lol much to your own pain – so here you go. I truly hope you enjoy. Thank you so much for being my friend and enabling me in my deranged thoughts in our messages. You're such a kind soul, and such a good mum.

I hope you’re spending your free time re-watching the video from Taz and resting. Perhaps thirsting. @stray-kaz

A/N continued: this is the first time i am writing for Zoro, I am pretty sure he is ooc here. i claim being out of practice.

=========

Despite how the shouts and cheers of your crew mates seem to linger around you, their laughter resting in the gusts of wind, the night is quiet. Their words are whisked away without thought or care into the night, seeming to echo back from the depths of the bay as nothing more than whispers. Obsidian waves lap at the hull of the ship, rocking the ship slowly to the tune of what your mother called the whiskey lullaby.

Taking a deep breath, you melt into the side of the ship, sinking to your knees to rest against the railing, still cradling your own glass to your chest. Moonlight washes over the deck, casting the whole of everything you can see with a blue-ish hue. The sight never ceases to amaze you, a gentle smile resting on your lips as you take in your crew, littered about the open space in various rather uncomfortable positions that make you laugh.

If you were a little less drunk, you would move to try and help them shift into at least more comfortable positions. But as things stand currently, you find you are unable to stand properly when the ship and your vision continue to move. Slowly, you shift to face out towards the water, slotting your legs through the railings to allow them to dangle, resting your head against the wood with a sigh.

Celebrations aren’t uncommon for the straw hats, and you have come to even enjoy their rambunctious energy since you joined the ragtag group of pirates. You are certainly still learning to accept their willingness to celebrate you, they certainly have made you feel as part of their family, safe and accepted,but something is missing.

A certain head of moss colored hair.

Not two weeks prior, Luffy had sent his first mate off on a special retrieval mission. Zoro had been nervous to leave, knowing he wouldn’t be able to be there for his crew, but also the certainty that he wouldn’t be able to be there for you.

Normally, he would have already crowded you away in the crows nest or back in the kitchen hiding behind the island, finishing off the last of the liquor with you, his attention solely on you. Those dark eyes locked on your form beside him as he listened to you drunkenly ramble about whatever seemed to have caught your fancy that night. The thought of not getting to celebrate with him weighing heavier on your heart than you expected it to.

You have long since stopped trying to deny your feelings for the swordsman, and though unspoken, you know he feels the same – though neither of you have tried to push it further.

Sitting in silence, you let the rush of the waters below over take your senses, the distant push and pull dancing beneath your feet coupled with the distant cry of a sea bird lifting from the oceans surface. So engrossed in your thoughts and the siren call of the sea, you don’t hear the steps rushing up the plank of wood connecting the ship to the harbor, nor the gentle bumps of the body stumbling up onto the deck as they make their way to you. You don’t hear any of it, until his voice startles you from your reverie, the depths of your thoughts lingering on him more than you would ever admit to anyone else.

“Did I miss it?” his voice is slow, measured as you yank yourself around with a gasp, nearly throwing your glass at him in surprise. At this, he chuckles, slowly moving to kneel before you, careful of his swords and your hold on the cup as he tugs it from your hand.

“Zo…” he nods slowly, gaze softening in a way that you've learned is meant only for you. “You startled me.” you confess, the drunken tilt to your words making him frown slightly. You're out here, drunk, and the only one awake.

“I noticed,” he states calmly as he slides closer, sitting beside you, relaxing at the near awestruck look painting your face, eyes wide and glassy with emotions you've yet to speak on, lips parted. “I’m sorry I’m late.” he starts again. “Did I miss it?”

“I thought you weren’t meant to be back until next week,” you stumble out, reaching for him, completely ignoring his question. Or not hearing it. Chuckling, again, he lets you tug him closer, one hand resting on his arm, the other taking the opposite hand.

“I took larger steps,” he half jokes, running his thumb over your knuckles with a gentleness no one else would believe he is capable of, your laughter earning one of his rare smiles. “Now, please answer me this time, pretty girl.” he asks slowly, catching your attention as he rests his free hand on your cheek. Nodding slowly, your eyes lock with his, immediately lost in the depths of the blackened seas washing in his gaze.

“Did I miss it?” he asks again, gently emphasizing each word. At this, you frown slightly, looking up to the moon, as if trying to discern the time. Between your addled brain, and your excitement at seeing him again so soon, you shrug with a crooked grin that leaves him dizzy.

“I don’t know,” you state honestly. “we can say no,” you offer, eyes softening as you match his gaze again, able to see that this means something to him. Sighing in relief, his shoulders sag a bit before he moves away from you, earning a soft whine. His shoulders shake at the sound, eyeing you amused.

“patience, princess,” he chides, pulling a box from the bag at his side, setting it in your lap. Its not big, it can fit in the palm of your hand, but it is expertly wrapped, a beautiful bow resting on top. Frowning, you lift it to your face, shaking it.

“What is it?” you hum, tilting your head at it. He huffs a bit, amused. He has never dealt with you when drunk, at least, not without the both of you being drunk together.

“Open it and find out,” his normal measured voice laced with an amusement he would deny later. Beaming up at him, you nod, tugging the bow lightly, watching it fall away with ease before tugging at the corner of the beautiful silver paper that gleams in the moonlight. Inside is a small box. There is nothing too special about it, a simple smooth brown box. Humming in curiosity, you tug it open, peeking in as if something would jump out before the top fumbles off completely. Inside is a thin silver chain.

Frowning, you tug it up, watching in awe as the charm swings to the end.

At first, all you're able to discern is that the charm is a silver circle. Clumsily, you grab at it, wanting to look closer, oblivious to zoro’s anxious shifting beside you. On one side, there is a compass etched into it, careful practiced lines marking each direction with a small brilliant emerald resting in the center. You stare at it for a moment before realizing you can feel the same raised edges on the other side.

Flipping it slowly, your eyebrows furrow as you try to read it, scrawled in perfect cursive.

Lets get lost together

head whipping to him, your eyes are wide, gaping at him. He shifts slightly, moving away from the railing now, eyes flitting between you and the necklace.

“Do.. do you like it?” his voice is quiet, all of his insecurities and internal doubts swarming him as you sit there, staring. After a minute of tense silence, he shakes his head, jaw tense as he moves to stand. “I knew it was a bad idea” he sighs, moving to take the offending item from your grasp, but you refuse to let go.

“you mean it?” your voice almost whisked away by the wind its so soft. This is as close to a confession as hes ever gotten other than a drunken “I like your face” or one of his pet names you’ve come to adore. He pauses again, uncertainty resting clear in his eyes as he nods slowly.

“Yeah,” his voice is quiet, watching as your demeanor switches from quiet and contemplative to bright and excited – the brilliance he finds himself melting for. Quickly, you turn, scootching the best you can, drunk and sitting, to turn your back to him while holding the necklace up impatiently.

“Put it on me,” you nearly demand before pausing, looking at him pleadingly over your shoulder. “Please.” shaking his head at your antics, he takes it from your hand gently, slowly shifting to his knees to raise it over your head and around your neck from behind. Once its clasped, he tugs it loose, allowing it to rest over your shirt, his touch lingering on your neck as he leans down slowly to whisper in your ear, the sensation making you shiver.

“Happy birthday, Princess.”

======

happy birthday, my friend. It was super quick, but I really hope you enjoy it or at least get a chuckle out of it. I hope your day is the best.

[akunoniwa]

Reconciliation

AN: i really like the priest trope y'all and dottore continues to plague my being.

Synopsis: In which you confess to your earnest, local priest about your most wretched sins...

Pairing: Priest!Il Dottore x fem!reader

Warnings: MDNI, he's a priest all of the sudden... for some reason..., dirty (blabbing) talk, mutual masturbation ig, you two just drive each other mad

WC: ~2.7k

Also, if anyone is interested, for the last couple years I have been curating a playlist of Evil, Macabre, Scheming classical that I usually write to. You can find it here! (Spotify :/)

Dottore himself may possess a universe-worth of deranged secrets, but his malevolence was the most obvious truth of all.

He’d be a resourceful and dutiful liar, a rehearsed cosmopolitan who knows what to say to get not just underneath your frail blouse, but your skin. He’d often get hyperboles thrown his way, how he must be able to read minds… Surely… That is impossible, right?

How Dottore managed to slip in through the ancient cracks of the Church of Favonius, one could not trace with their finger alone, as he found a special way to bypass the seminary. Growing morbidly bored in his lab as his segments took care of the more ‘menial’ things, he had a thought, twisted and contorted as usual: Where could he get a true, mouth-watering taste of humanity, bare and earnest before him? Naturally, a church is a place where sin may be denounced, but in a sense is romanticized and encouraged in its fashionable banishment. How he’d not considered this his first time around was… Perhaps a symptom of his inability to have all of himself in one place, both cognitively and literally speaking.

Dottore couldn’t merely walk into the cathedral in search of employment, however. The fame he’d acquired was not for his victories, but rather his shortcomings, though the public wouldn’t discern them beyond atrocities, successful or not. While the Fatui had strange footholds in every part of Teyvat, his presence would not be shrugged off, especially should Seamus get word of his meanderings.

His plan, then, was simple– dispose of a working, familiar priest, and he could replicate him as he’s done before in Inazuma, promptly and quietly taking his place. The edges of his ears tingle with anticipation as he imagines all of the degeneracy and blasphemy he’d bear witness to in confession, perhaps he could absorb some inspiration for other projects… Or so he initially thought before you started coming to him for ‘advice’, blotting his mind with a different genre of filth.

In the confessional, he’s able to indulge in hearing various grim sins and tales, his tarnished soul getting off on the compiled suffering in one way or another. His coos of nurturing advice would aptly dilute any evidence of that, though, as he had a reputation to maintain. Besides, he wouldn’t be able to hear your most vile fantasies should he somehow get removed.

You came in routinely, your voice shrouded in its faux shame, so close to his ear as it was only separated by a mere wooden screen. He could damn near feel your tongue as it pushed your impure thoughts to him on its crests and troughs. He was well aware of your intentions, convinced you’d not step foot on church grounds were it not to hand-feed him samples of your depravities. The image of you kneeling, in such a decadent position while you granted him whispers of obscenities, made it hard to restrain a grin of utter, vulgar satisfaction.

Knowing who was approaching next, he allowed himself to loosen his grip on his character only slightly, “My… I never would’ve expected your prompt return…”

“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned…” Your voice crept beautifully through the holes of the screen like a miasmic mist. He allowed his still-unfamiliar title slipping past your lips prick chills all over his body, the blatant implications of hierarchy stoning him.

This was all between you two anyhow, so he decided to play with you to his content, “I can only imagine.” His true voice, too, lingered like smoke through to your ears, dense yet airy, “Perhaps the Lord will find it within His grace to admonish you of your consistently licentious behavior… Tell me, dear, what ails you?”

“I just can't seem to stop thinking about you, Father…” You always had a hard time dropping the guise immediately, as if you haven’t shared these thoughts with him numerous times before.

You heard him shift, his robes moving slowly about his tensed, upright form, your voice drowning him when it was shaped in such a needy tone, “Ah… Quite the predicament, indeed. You know this is a safe place for you to air your sins out into the open, you must proclaim them clearly to Him.”

Your light giggle sent wakes of delirium through him, “I could never conceal my true self from you, Father… Although, I find myself wondering if you’re really an envoy of God or a spawn from Hell.”

“You wound me, darling, deeply so, though that will not divert my faith and divine purpose to ensure your merciful forgiveness.” He improvised artlessly, your implications alone rustling his guts, a friction he was growing addicted to. His entire being salivated at the thought of what mangled ideas you’d bring right to his feet. How you returned to him, beckoning for attention like a crow as you’d gift him with gleaming desire.

“A true messenger of God’s word would surely not get giddy at the thought of fucking one of their devotees… Wouldn’t you agree?” Your words were somewhat daring on your part, as you couldn’t entirely surmise just who was inches from you, but he has more than revealed his insatiable lechery.

You swore you could feel his breath through the screen as he pushed out an arrogant chuckle through his nose, as if there were no other place for you but the palm of his hand, “It’s that very thing, your passionate devotion, that compels Him. Though it seems you’re trying to parry attention away from your misdeeds…”

You noted, much to your pleasure, how he didn’t deny your accusation, “It’s just… Often when I go to pray before bed, I get distracted…”

“It’s entirely normal to get distracted,” He briefly paused, you could almost feel the breath that was perched in his throat in your own, “Perhaps you’re neglecting a piece of your conscience, an inherent part of yourself that you’ve yet to reconcile with.”

An inherent slut, that’s what he thought. How you come in here weekly only to tempt him, your mind is devoted to nothing nearly akin to a god. Truly exquisite.

You continued a bit more blatantly, toying with him, “That could be… It’s so hard to not lose my train of thought when I’m on my knees and can’t think of anything but your voice in place of His.”

His body was bleeding soot, he felt a build-up of carnal animosity trickle into his veins as you spoke, “Is that so… Was I not conveying His word as I usually do, darling?”

Your knees were quickly growing sore from kneeling, but the pain was blunted by the dull buzzing in your abdomen, “If His words are usually detailing what terrible things he’d like to do to me, but I can’t be so sure…”

His legs inadvertently parted, weakening upon your implications, a heat radiating between them that he wished was due to your body being between them. He was trying with every atom that built him to keep his hands in a neutral position on his thighs, but so desperately wanted to alleviate the growing strain in his slacks, “Terrible, indeed… I think you’re not truly allowing Him to touch you, darling, letting Him resonate deep inside you…” His veiled smirk ought to run laps around his entire face as he shuffled through his deck of delirious innuendos. He just enjoyed the theater of it all as his hands clawed at polyester.

While his acting was laughable from a more rational perspective, you were too intoxicated with want to mind and his prods were becoming too potent, “You may be right, Father,” You hoped to any higher power that calling him that was fucking with him. Not being able to see him was making you spiral, the need to merely touch him was stacking as you were beyond yourself before even making it to the church. Being that his voice was all you knew, you were sure that should he actually graze your skin, you’d be all the more susceptible to his antics.

As much as he likes to indulge in teasing you, he so badly wanted to drop the act that you’ve both rehearsed so many times before and insist that you meet him on this side of the screen. Your honeyed voice is always shredding him to dust, his mind disintegrating at the thought of how reprehensible it’d be to take you right here in the confines of the confessional box. Look him in the eyes from your precious, kneeled perspective and tell him how far from God you’ve fallen, how your repentance can only be properly demonstrated on his cock. Your delectable moans would drip right into his ear as he takes you, making your sex the only sacrament you’ll ever require.

“Father?” You called to him through his mental escapade delicately, his silence unsettling in several ways, though it seems you’d successfully wedged your way into his head.

“Yes, darling.” His ability to respire becomes all the more taxing, the facade threatening to shatter as he almost forgets his role for a moment.

“Could you… Do me a favor?” Curling, winding, your vague presence was constricting around him so deliciously.

“What is it…?” You already had him at the heel of each consonant. You debated in your fantasies what you’d lose yourself over more: Being told what to do, or telling him what to do… Did you have to choose?

You bared your fanged will, “I know you want to touch yourself desperately, if you’re not already…” You began, confident in your assumptions as you heard an eroded breath tumble from his lips, “Could you do that for me…?”

His brows collided in a furrow, dumbfounded with how forward you were finally being, “Of course, darling…” He easily committed, “Anything to bestow God’s love, even to the undeserving…”

He didn’t care to hold back his heady exhale upon finally kneading a palm into his already well-hardened cock, cuffing it now and then to outline the silhouette through his pants. You, too, let him in on your movements, ensuring he heard your sweet, lofty mewls as your fingers padded your clit ever so slowly.

“How do you feel, Father… Tell me…” You sang to him, oh how he wished he could see your flushed face, how you urged him to pleasure himself.

“I know it wouldn’t compare to your vile little mouth.” He groaned through another wavered exhale, “I would go as far as to guess you were wet before you got down on your knees, before you got to this Church, thinking about how badly you want to be fucked in such a sacred place…” Saying this knowing damn well how his body faltered at the sight of your name being rightfully branded on his list for another confession.

“Maybe that’s just how I show my devotion, Father…” You bit your lip as your clit gradually stiffened with need, cycling just the right spot, hardly able to resist rutting into your hand.

“Fuck, and you keep calling me that,” His grip tightened, though he’d not let himself free from his constraints yet.

“Is that not what you are? Or are you, God forbid, hiding something?” You pressed him in unison with your hand.

Him revealing his true identity would benefit no one, including you, but something about being able to fuck you as his true self set him ablaze. His expression tightened into one of brief apprehension, he could feel the knocking of his heart in his throat– There’s no feasible way you’d know who he is…

“Of course,” He assured himself more than anyone else, “But when you say it the way you do, in that sickening little whine of yours… It’s too good, darling, too much.” You reeled as you could hear the grin that tugged at his lips, though the struggle to maintain composure between you is what spoiled you.

“Are you moving… Fast or slow?” You forced him to elaborate, though your voice only continued to dwindle.

“Painfully slow…” His hips instinctually rose and fell in his vice grip, “I wish it were any part of you, darling… Your hand, your pretty mouth… Maybe you’d be sitting in my lap…” He mused wickedly.

You hummed in a whisper, “I wish I could touch you…” You decided to admit, “What would you want me to do to you, Father…?” You dug your interrogation into him as you wandered to your cunt, overflowing with slick need as two fingers dove inside in a curl. How you could have his cock pushing through you right in this moment but you both opted for this pitiful demonstration instead…

He adored how you were tearing yourself apart for him, desperation infecting your words, “Perhaps I’d want you to start with your hand in place of mine so you could realize how utterly insane you make me feel… How hard I am for you with just your voice alone, darling.” The rhythm of his breaths was becoming more hasty, the timbre of his voice growing more tangy as his lust snuck through the confines of his weakening dignity.

“Fuck, I really just wanna feel your hot lips wrapped around me, that filthy mouth of yours… Your flattened tongue running against the underside…”

You egged him on with a moan of approval, his mental painting distracting your movements from exceeding a slow massage inside you, “That sounds so good, I want to be the one making you feel good…”

On that note, he found himself needing to corrupt you. Requiring it. It was a perfect setting to do so, beheld in the eyes of sanctity at its most intense. It made him want to rip his own heart out, how this feeling ravaged his entire being. He wanted to be the only one who could make you feel like you served a purpose, symbiotic destruction as he’d fuck you until you could recall nothing else but the sensation of his cock filling you to the most dizzying brim. As much as he wanted you to worship him, he found the prospect of making you ascend with pleasure more gratifying.

“I bet you’d be the kind to get off on me fucking your mouth, neglecting your aching little cunt…” He loved denying himself the raw contact with his cock, but it was becoming quite the task to uphold as he moved to fumble with his belt buckle.

Your face managed to insulate itself with a blush that, should he have seen it, he would’ve taken you upon first notice, “I’d want you to grip my hair, forcing me to keep eye contact…”

“Good, darling, now you’re imagining… How I’d make you gag looking right into your eyes, as that’s only what you deserve for punishment’s sake.” He managed to free himself from his slacks, with no patience to adjust himself beyond his length protruding through the opening of his fly. Your shallow pants were so close to his ear, through the fine holes of the screen he hallucinated a face to imagine. He watched the apparition of you sway and twitch as you were barely able to remain upright while your fingers pumped inside you.

“Do you often touch yourself in prayer, darling?” He ventured.

“Only if it’s to you… Your voice truly haunts me, especially when you tell me all of this worthless shit, I just… Can’t help myself, Father.”

“I think of you all the time, how close we are right now, how I could fucking destroy you but we continue like this anyway.”

“Why don’t you come out of your little box and fuck me then?”

His damned laugh that drove you up the vaulted cathedral walls sounded once more, wondering how long he could be stowed away like this. It is Sunday after all, but perhaps this schedule 10 minutes before mass was intentional. Dottore was adeptly full of himself as he’d not mind if your screams were heard over the choir, in fact, that’d be ideal. While the confessional wasn’t in the main hall, it wasn’t secluded enough to dampen how his hips would assault the skin of your behind as he took you…

Your offer was too divine to refuse.

[tozettastone]

I wrote the opening to the hypothetical sequel of the fic I haven't finished and which may not end the way this opening suggests. What luck. What a treat. What a highly productive way for me to operate!!

It's mildly NSFW (sexual activity discussed but none depicted). Here you go:

--

"It's unprecedented!" Kisuke says in evident delight. "Who knew it was contagious? My, my, think of the possibilities. Is this how it spreads between hollows, too? Is Grimmjow-san developing these symptoms as we speak?"

Shinji wants to strangle him. He's nothing as bad as — he's heard — Ichigo was, but he really has been getting unusually short tempered lately.

Mostly, his problem isn't violence, though.

Mostly, it's the, you know, unrelenting priapism.

"If Grimmjow is developing these symptoms, there are at least five pretty arrancar girls out in Hueco Mundo to fix him," he points out, through his teeth. "He's not going to come knocking for your help."

Unlike Shinji, is the inevitable subtext.

If it is contagious — and it's looking like it must be, because it's happening to Shinji for the first time in a century of hollowfication and all he did was breathe near Ichigo — he can't in good conscience go and ask any of the other vizards to help him out, because he'll just make all of them stupid too.

He's hoping Kisuke has come up with some kind of chemical solution in the intervening weeks between Ichigo's horrible little adventure and now. But it sounds increasingly like Shinji is probably looking at months of quarantine instead.

"And what a shame that is. I'd love to compare and see the differences between case studies. I think we in Soul Society really had a poor understanding of how oestrus works for hollows, initially. We saw it — anecdotally — as a kind of extended mating instinct, but experience with Kurosaki-kun showed that to be false."

"Uh-huh," says Shinji. From where he's (very uncomfortably) sitting, it sure feels like 'an extended mating instinct.' "So what's your new theory?"

"I'm not quite sure yet. I think Mayuri-kun brought a number of unfounded assumptions to his analysis. He should have focused on what hollows are."

"...Empty? Heartless? What?"

"Hunger. In all its many and varied forms." He smiles. And then Kisuke, with his usual respect for others' bodies, leans in and yanks out several strands of Shinji's hair.

"Ow."

It actually does kind of hurt. Every part of him feels absurdly tender and sensitive. The sex would probably be mind-blowing... if Shinji was gonna have it

As it stands, the only people he wants are the ones who feel good to his senses, which seems to mostly be defined by how much eerie hollow corruption is leaking from their passive reiryoku. Beautiful young ladies have no impact on him — not even ultra-cute, slightly deranged little Hinamori, or Matsumoto's mouthwateringly bathykolpian figure, alas — but he can smell Lisa from several divisions away.

Yeah. Lisa.

Part of him (the stiffest part, obviously) thinks that might be worth it.

That part...

That part is an idiot.

"Don't be a baby," Kisuke says mildly. Even the tiny phlebotomy needle hurts, somehow. He takes phial after phial, six of them, and then retreats to his bench and tosses a canister at Shinji's head. "Bring me a semen sample, too."

Shinji snatches the canister out of the air before it hits his nose. "Really?"

"Yes?" says Kisuke, without so much as glancing up. He's already doing something with the blood, droppering it out onto coloured paper and beginning to feed it through a hulking, blinking machine that struggles to life with a mechanical growl. "Don't you want as much information as you can get? I'll need urine samples too. Perhaps skin?" He does look at Shinji briefly, then. "Do you have time for a biopsy today?"

Shinji is sure Ichigo didn't endure half of this.

Kisuke really takes a kid-gloves approach to Ichigo. He might like Shinji, but that's basically just self-defence after a century of exposure. Kisuke likes Ichigo on purpose, an affection stemming from a mix of guilt and the weird truth that Ichigo is highly likeable despite himself.

Shinji kinda wonders if the kid is aware that Kisuke is incredibly partial to him — as a person, and not just as a pet project.

Hmm. Probably not.

"I've got three whole months, apparently," drawls Shinji, heaving himself up from the chair. After days of stiff dick disease, the impact of every footstep makes him want to flinch. "So I guess that's time for as many invasive tests as you like."

"My, my. Aren't you resigned? I'm sure we can find you some help, don't you worry."

I'm not fucking Grimmjow, Shinji almost tells him, but it might be tempting fate to say it aloud. That blue-haired psycho was apparently absolutely irresistible to Ichigo, after all.

He hobbles off to go make Kisuke's sample.

He doesn't think that much about it again. He's mostly hiding in Kisuke's basement and ignoring all comments about his freeloading — he's going to expense it, obviously, he's a captain — while he reads through every book in the man's cluttered little house. This includes all of Tessai's boring historical romance novels and half of someone's extensive porn stash. He'd tease Kisuke about the prevalence of bad tempered short women with no tits, but he's pretty sure it's actually Yoruichi's. He's bored enough to start on the (definitely Kisuke's) million back issues of the SSRD's biochemistry journals by the time the trap door opens and a familiar orange-headed body is pushed gracelessly through it.

"Figure it out!" Kisuke calls down after the crash, blindingly cheerful. "I don't want one more call about how vital Hirako-taicho is to daily operations. It's your fault anyway, Kurosaki-kun! Take some responsibility!"

Slowly, Shinji puts his porn down. "Eh? Ichigo?"

[keouil]

as long as the sun remains the sun

"rise and shine, boys!" mattsun yells over the drowsy first years, banging pots and pans together. "rome wasn't built in a day!" "we're japanese!" tsukishima barks. 5k. iwaizumi/oikawa/kageyama. camping!au. also on ao3.

Asahi is the one who breaks first.

“WHAT THE FRICK!!” came a decidedly shrill, possibly embarrassing, surely pathetic scream from over all the way at the other side of the camp that had Iwaizumi snap his head in that direction and Oikawa inch closer to him almost imperceptibly.

"Don't tell me—" Suga shakes his head at the same time Daichi curses low under his breath, "What now."

A dozen things happen at once in rapid succession.

Noya sprints to the direction of the voice, Hinata close on his tail because he was basically His Tail. Ennoshita scrambling after them after Suga hissed at him to not just stand there and follow. Yahaba quirking an eyebrow at the elementary choice of a curse word, Narita catching his judgment and getting all up in his space until he apologized, Tanaka acting as his back-up.

Daichi, who had so far been in the middle of a passionate rant detailing Karasuno’s dependability when it came to these things—What things, Mattsun interjected. Roughhousing and getting our hands dirty, Suga supplied proudly—when Asahi all but debunked it in less than the time it took for Makki to count heads as soon as they arrived at the campsite.

“Your kid is missing,” Makki comments, looking over the list of attendees.

“Ours?” Oikawa asks, at the same time Daichi stands up, “Probably mine.”

Makki looks back and forth between them, suddenly feeling unsteady on his feet and fumbling around for an out. Iwaizumi knows exactly the reason why, and voices it out loud for everyone to hear: “It’s Kageyama.”

Again, a dozen things happen at once.

Daichi gasps out in horror, head whipping around the campsite.

Mattsun palms his forehead, already dreading the absolutely normal reaction he was absolutely going to get from Oikawa.

Suga decides he wants to permanently end Iwaizumi’s life for the multiple grave offenses he’d been committing against his soul throughout the day: getting the last window seat on the bus, being a loud snorer, breathing near him and making it his problem, choosing gluten-free marshmallows at the rest stop like a deranged psychopath. He told him as much at check-out, You’re a deranged psychopath and I don’t trust my first years with you, Suga admonished. Likewise, Iwaizumi replied, looking menacingly down at the copious amounts of sugary pastries in his basket. And you’re not feeding my first years this shit.

And really it was that bold and unfounded sense of entitlement that had Suga adding another box, more out of sheer spite than anything as he passed him, glaring, Watch me.

"We've been here less than an hour," Makki looks around in confusion, exasperated. "How have we already lost one of them. What exactly could have happened in less than an hour."

Suga and Daichi look at each other.

"Hinata," they say at the same time. 

-

They find Kageyama lost in the woods.

It’s Iwaizumi, best tracker on the team and just generally more adaptable to wilderness survival, who finds him holding onto his duffel bag for dear life under the bark of an ancient looking tree. He apparently challenged Hinata to a race on who can get to the campsite first and got thoroughly sidetracked by the similar looking trees and having ostensibly no sense of direction or self-preservation, huddled in an open area easily accessible to rain or wild animals.

Iwaizumi sighed and mentally noted for later: Teach Kageyama basic life skills, that he then revises to, Make Sugawara teach Kageyama basic life skills.

“Kageyama,” he says, approaching the clearing. Kageyama’s head snaps up and the look of such open relief on his face tugs at Iwaizumi’s heart a little, because it really was so easy, to slip into a senpai complex for someone like him. “You okay?”

Kageyama blinks. "I-Iwaizumi-san," he starts hesitantly, standing up on shaking legs. "I—"

"Got lost," Iwaizumi answers for him. "I know. We've been looking for you for a while."

Kageyama flushes. "You have?"

"You mean you haven't been hearing your vice captain call your name bloody for the past hour?" Iwaizumi tries for a joke. Only it's not really, because Suga was swearing himself raw, if not for Daichi reminding him to preserve his voice for later. 

But Kageyama still just blinks, still so disoriented, still so wet behind the ears no matter the facade he puts up.

"Right then," Iwaizumi clears his throat, beckoning him over. "Let's go."

Kageyama all but trips over his feet to follow after him, clutching his bag even tighter to his chest as he hangs off Iwaizumi’s every word.

“The next time you find yourself lost in the woods,” he starts explaining. “Try tracking the movement of the sun.” When he looks over to check if Kageyama was listening, instead notes the absolute gobsmacked expression on his face in return, amends just as quickly: "Oh, he says. “You can just — follow the sunset.”

Kageyama begins vehemently nodding, scrambling to get a notebook out and listing all the other things Iwaizumi was rattling off about when it came to Camping Survival 101. Don't eat this, he points to a patch of enticing ivy. Only drink from fresh water sources like rivers or streams, he adds. But if you find yourself in a pinch, carve out an opening from a tree and wait for the water to follow.

By the time they make it back to camp, Oikawa has half the Karasuno team—and some of Seijoh—in a formation line much like a militant officer does with its army lines, barking out orders to fan out across the different areas of the campsite. Go to the forest, ordered Oikawa at Noya. Try the trail behind the waterfalls, he yelled at Kyotani.

Daichi and Suga sported uniform looks of indignation as Oikawa looked an hour away from splitting his hair out in frustration.

“If someone doesn’t get Tobio back by midnight,” he warns the rest. “I swear to G—”

Iwaizumi coughs.

Oikawa doesn’t turn, doesn’t even acknowledge his return. He senses it, Iwaizumi knows, the change in the air and the very real presence Kageyama takes up in any space. So instead his shoulders just stiffen, tilting his head their way just so.

“I mean,” Oikawa coughs, loudly and not at all awkwardly. “Tobio can sleep in the rain for all I care!” he claps. “Right then, back to unpacking!"

-

Naturally, as with all order of things, sleeping arrangements go by as smoothly as everyone expects.

“No.”

“At least look at it.”

“No.”

"You didn't even look!"

"I said no."

Yamaguchi looked like he was tempted by the devil himself to throw a log Kunimi’s way. “Oi,” he hisses, growing annoyed. “What’s so wrong with this sleeping bag? It’s the same as everyone else’s.”

Kunimi cast a bored glance at the pack Yamaguchi was holding up, all neatly folded and prepped for use. “It’s orange,” he deadpans. “I hate orange.”

“It’s just a color!” yells Yamaguchi. “It functions exactly the same!”

“Then why don’t you use it?” Kunimi lifts a brow. Behind them, they can hear Hinata yelling at Kageyama to move his sleeping bag by the outskirts of the camp, his longer than usual pack taking up half the space designated for the first years. Kindaichi looked equally awkward trying to fit himself and his belongings in what little space they were allowed to take up. “If it’s basically the same thing anyway?”

Yamaguchi breathes once, twice. “It’s not for me,” he explains slowly. “None of our sleeping bags fit Tsukki. He needs a longer one like Kageyama’s.”

Kunimi crosses his arms in defiance. “And that’s my problem because?”

Yamaguchi has half the mind to call out for Daichi, or Iwaizumi, or literally anyone else who could demonstrate even a modicum of empathy so clearly lacking in Kunimi. 

"You don’t even need it!” he gestures wildly to the mint green one by his legs. “You can use the large one like everyone else’s! Tsukki can't use anything else but extra large!”

Kunimi huffs, brushing past him. “I’m not like everyone else,” delivered in the same cadence as a main character in a 2000s romcom who finally decides she's better than everyone and doesn't need a man to fulfil her needs both emotionally and physically. 

"What the fuck," Yamaguchi swears under his breath as he stared after him.

He turns his head in time to see Hinata and Kageyama running around and demanding Kindaichi to share his insect repellant spray, along with some of the manga he brought, telling him to not be so selfish and stop hoarding all the survival items. Iwaizumi stops them all with a glare and forces Kindaichi to share, Hinata to shut up, and Kageyama to let him know if he needs anything else. 

"What the fuck," Yamaguchi swears under his breath as he stared after them.

-

By the time dinner rolls around, everyone is either pissy (first years), amused (second years), or elated (third years). 

They were all lounging about the makeshift campfire that took all afternoon to build, the warmth of the fire lighting up everyone's features along with the moonlight streaming in through the gaps in the trees. It was unusually cold that night, a breeze in the air that began from deep in the forest until it tapered out to just north of chilly in their site. But even so, the expressions on everyone's faces felt far more frosty.

Oikawa is the first to pick up the tension.

He leans over to whisper as much to Daichi, who was busy arranging the logs in the fire. “I think,” he starts curiously. "Something is going on."

Daichi looks up to survey around the camp, taking stock of his own kin and then some.

Hinata and Kageyama are, predictably, huffing and puffing and very pointedly looking away from each other because God knows what and who has the time. Yamaguchi has been apologizing for the better part of ten minutes, very nearly close to begging to a Tsukishima who hasn't even so much as glanced his way, because God knows what and who has the time. Kunimi and Kindaichi are the only ones who at least look mildly cohabitative, but then again Daichi thinks he’s never seen them be anything but bored and nervous, respectively and in equal measures.

His eyes trail over everyone—in various states of pissed, amused, elated—before giving up and shrugging, “God knows what and who has the time.”

But evidently, Suga and Iwaizumi do.

“Well well well,” Suga cooes, straddling up to where the first years were, sensing turmoil between Yamaguchi and Kunimi. "What say we turn those frowns upside down?"

"Oh god," Yamaguchi audibly groans into his hands. "Please stop."

Kunimi looks on in horror at a grinning Suga, slowly inching away from the fire before Iwaizumi clamped a hand on his shoulder, "Not so fast."

Yamaguchi and Kunimi lock eyes in a rare moment of unity. There was an internal conversation happening in the span of a second, before both of them, as if on cue, break open.

"HE WON'T GIVE ME HIS BAG!"

"HE WON'T LEAVE ME ALONE!"

Iwaizumi puts both his palms up. "Bedside voices, boys," he chides, stern. Suga instinctively took a step back at the sound, but rights himself on time as he comes up next to Iwaizumi. "Yes yes," he agrees. "What he said."

Across the crackling of the fire, Daichi looks on impassively as Oikawa sports a drool.

"Think we should do something?" Daichi nods to the almost ridiculous scene of Yamaguchi and Kunimi both kneeling by the dirt, heads bowed low in shame as Iwaizumi rattled off about team camaraderie and the importance of communication. Suga was animatedly agreeing along to whatever he was saying and sporting his own That's right! That's right! comments from time to time. "We are technically their captains."

"Captains, shmantains," Oikawa mumbles distractedly, and when Daichi turns to look, notes in annoyance his attention wasn't even directed at the scolding but more so the matters of Iwaizumi's backside in shorts. "We do enough. We work hard. We earned this."

Daichi coughs awkwardly. "Earned what, exactly."

Oikawa doesn't even budge, stars shooting out of his eyes as he gave possibly the most obvious and inappropriate once-over Daichi has ever seen in his life. And he's seen Tanaka with Kiyoko.

"This," he says, gesturing to Iwaizumi and in Oikawa's words, "glorious display of aesthetic athleticism."

-

They threaten everyone with suicide runs the next morning.

If there was anything at all both third years unanimously agreed on—aside from their perverse sense of ownership over exactly who it was that raised Kageyama, with Iwaizumi putting up a surprisingly good fight—it was the equally perverse sense of joy they derived from torturing underclassmen. The sun was glaringly bright, the blue of the clouds so open, and the ringing voices of their seniors all the more jarring.

"Rise and shine, boys!" Mattsun yells over the drowsy first years, banging pots and pans together. "Rome wasn't built in a day!"

"We're Japanese!" Tsukishima barks, putting the covers back up on his head. 

Suga just yanks his blanket from his sleeping bag, earning him a death glare he expertly deflects with a smile that was deceptively way too chipper for someone he swears he heard yelling at Daichi during Golden Week to shut his phone up or he was going to hurl it across the Pacific Ocean.

"Japanese, Yappanese," Makki strolls over to shake Kageyama and Hinata off of their matching sleeping bags. "Today, you're all under our command."

Hinata just rolls over Kageyama. 

Kageyama just lets him.

Makki curls a brow, a single foot raised to kick them before Oikawa gets there first, pushing him away. "I got it," he says. "Jesus Christ, Makki, they're children."

"We're sixteen!" bites out Tsukishima again, who was now being forcibly dragged by Mattsun along with Kunimi and Kindaichi to the shower stalls. "And we have legal rights! My brother will hear about this!"

"Your aniki will be glad someone finally put your spoiled ass in place," Daichi declares, trying to separate Hinata from their tangle of limbs. From his peripheral, he can see Asahi gently trying to get Yamaguchi to stop mumbling in his sleep. "He sends his regards by the way! Saeko-neesan too, Tanaka!"

"Tobio," Oikawa crouches, rocking his sleeping bag. "Tobio," he says again, shaking his shoulder. "Tobio," he hisses directly next to him. Nothing. Oikawa breathes once, twice, before standing up and very pointedly bringing a leg up to stamp on him before Iwaizumi, too, beats him to it.

"What the fuck," he swears, putting a hand out to stop him. "So much for them being children!"

Oikawa has his mouth open to retort, before a ball of orange fur snowballs its way past them and lumps itself together again with the black mass that was Kageyama. They hear Daichi stomping over the next second, cursing under his breath at Hinata for once again getting past him. 

"Kageyama.." Hinata mumbles into his hair sleepily, and to their horror, sees Kageyama actually melting into the embrace almost unconsciously. "Think... someone's calling.. Let's.. ignore.. if.. Tsukishima."

-

By the time they wrangle everyone awake and slap water on their faces, Daichi and Oikawa are only too happy to introduce them to the 10-km hiking trail everyone was required to complete.

"Mind," recalls Oikawa, looking over his nails in boredom. "We heard there were some snakes in the more woodsy areas."

"Bears too," adds Daichi, grinning.

"Bears too," affirms Oikawa, also grinning.

Kyotani and Tanaka try to run. 

Iwaizumi hauls them both back by the necks of their shirts, all pearly white teeth in the shit-eating grin on his face when he dumps them back on the line. Hinata shudders and rapidly gets his phone out, shaking hands wobbly typing out his last will and testament to an incoherent text meant for Kenma; when a hand shoots out to yank it out of his hands. Mattsun, grinning down on him like a feline cat, as he then began patting everyone down and demanding they surrender their electronics. Next to him, they can hear Yamaguchi pleading for his life to a bored Makki. 

Suga doesn't answer to a single one of their cries for help.

Asahi just hid cowardly behind him.

Daichi whistles to get everyone’s attention. 

“Alright then,” he grins over the growing crowd and uses their agony to fuel his adrenaline higher. Oikawa was doing the same. “With this, we formally welcome you to the Annual Karasuno-Seijoh Summer Teambuilding Camp!”

Oikawa’s smile fades a little at that. “I thought we agreed on Seijoh-Karasuno?”

“Are you perhaps a secret fujoshi?” Daichi asks innocently.

Oikawa blinks. “I—” he starts, unsurely, ignoring Suga chuckling behind him. “I don’t particularly think so, no.”

“Then it doesn’t matter,” Daichi snaps, turning his attention back to their first and second years who were only growing more creative with their complaints and vain attempts at getting out of the day’s torture activities.

"I sprained my ankle," whines Hinata.

"You're our fastest runner," rebuts Suga.

"I'm allergic to trees," pipes Kindaichi.

"Not a thing," offers Mattsun.

"My sister said no," weeps Tanaka.

"You wanna try that again?" warns Daichi.

Iwaizumi clasps his hands together. "Enough!" he booms. If Oikawa inched closer to him in turn, everyone has the good foresight to keep their mouths shut about it. "Are we doing this or what?"

"Y-yes, Iwaizumi-san!" the first and second years chorus.

Now both Oikawa and Daichi's faces fell.

"Why do they always only listen to him?" wonders Suga, falling into step with the third years at the rear of the line. The first years were ahead, yelling and grovelling and swearing all their seniors rotten. It was music to their ears. "Is it like an alpha thing?"

"Most definitely an alpha thing," muses Makki, who also falls into step beside him. "Have you seen the way even Oikawa looks at him? Omega ass behavior."

-

They take their first break after three hours. 

Or, maybe it was more accurate to say, Tsukishima wouldn't stop grinding everyone's ears about the asthma condition he conveniently picked up within the first thirty minutes despite Suga knowing from Kiyoko no one on the team had such an autoimmune disease, that then suddenly morphed into an apparent life-threatening mutation that was going to kill him and everyone around him if he didn't let his body pause to take a break now, right now, this instant; that had Daichi snapping at everyone to take five.

"Oh thank god," Tsukishima wheezes, falling to his knees. 

"Tsukki!" came Yamaguchi's predictable cry of concern no sooner.

Most of the first years are sprawled out on the ground, chests heaving and breaths coming out in pants. The second years look as equally insufferable, but are too prideful to show any form of weakness to the third years who all but look like they just came out of a sports magazine photoshoot. There wasn’t a sliver of disorientation or a hair out of place. Iwaizumi even passed around the loot bags they had apparently so lovingly, out of the goodness of their hearts, prepared for them while they were all sleeping the night before.

Only the best for our cute kouhai! singsung Oikawa gleefully. 

Be thankful we even remembered to bring snacks for you forgetful brats! scolded Daichi sternly.

Hinata gingerly brings himself back to life, dragging his aching bones and his pack to where most of the first years converged purely out of a symbiotic survival instinct to band together against exploitative seniors. They were already angrily in a discussion about something, something that sounded much like plotting for the demise of Oikawa.

Or Daichi.

Or both.

"Do you know what they're feeding Goshiki right now?" Hinata seethes in a low voice, eyes darting around in alarm. "Fresh bread and crepes. Crepes. And what has Iwaizumi-san fed us so far?" he frowns down at the loot bag. "Fish crackers. Frog legs. For nutrition. Jesus Christ."

Kunimi grimaces, rubbing at his sore neck. "Welcome to the club."

"Have they always been this insufferable?" groans Tsukishima, angrily munching on a fish cracker.

"Oikawa? Yes," Kunimi replies. "Iwaizumi? Also yes." 

"Oikawa-san is usually nicer," Kindaichi offers, breaking off a piece of a protein bar he snuck into his pants that morning to split with Kageyama and Yamaguchi. "But Iwaizumi-san is a dictator, yes."

"Can confirm," Kageyama adds, after mumbling his thanks.

"Shut up!" Tsukishima hisses, yanking his share of the snack and shoving it in his mouth. "They basically pamper you!"

Kageyama points to himself incredulously. "M-me?" he stammers. "Daichi wouldn't give me another blanket because he told me children in third world countries didn't even have a roof over their heads and to not be so selfish, Kageyama. We raised you better than this, Kageyama," he mimes hotly. "And I'm the spoiled one?!"

Now it was Hinata's time to be annoyed. "Remind me again who was it that Oikawa-san made sure to get extra servings of rice last night."

Yamaguchi was only more than happy to pile on. "And who Iwaizumi-san made sure got warm water for his bath."

Kindaichi, surprisingly, also joins in. "And who warned me and Kunimi a day before the trip to be nice to Kageyama."

"Can confirm," is all Kunimi says, stealing Kindaichi’s insect repellant spray from Hinata's pack.

-

"A little more to the left, Kunimi."

...

"More."

...

"More."

...

"Are you an athlete or what? Tilt further and higher than that! More!"

...

"Daichi-san," Kunimi starts slowly, struggling to hold up the fishing pole that was already struggling to break with how brittle it was. Behind them he can hear Oikawa and Iwaizumi using far less harsher words to Kageyama and Hinata.

"This," he croaks out, "is my more."

They were somewhere by the open river, honest to gods fishing for their keep because someone—aka Iwaizumi—got it inside Daichi's and Suga's heads that real men should earn their keep and not wait to be fed. Nevermind all of them were literal minors and had literal permission slips signed to delegate these seniors with their lives in the event something should happen. Nevermind all of it was legally binding. Nevermind the second years didn't even bat an eye as soon as Iwaizumi got the fishing poles and worms out, apparently already expecting this method of torture from the previous year.

Tsukishima of course put up a riot.

He sputtered out and about as he rallied for the perfectly good rations they had back at the campsite and even volunteering himself for cooking duty if that was the problem. Makki and Mattsun were only too happy to tug him along to the deepest end of the waters, hunking him down and forcing him to wield the longest fishing pole they had. Might as well use that height for somethin', Makki quipped, Rather than just bitchin' and moanin'. Yamaguchi was tasked with the gruesome chore of feeding the live worms to his bait, his features squeamish and disgusted. Y-you can do it, Tsukki! 

"Ease up on him a little, Daichi," Suga teases some ways near them, helping Kindaichi keep a line steady.

"I will if he would just tilt to the left," Daichi warns, arms impatiently pointing to the side. Kunimi groans again, digging up some of his reserves to wield the stubborn line that wasn't budging this way and that. "It's really not moving!"

"You're just not tilting hard enough," demands Daichi.

"I am!" cries Kunimi, a bead of sweat trailing down his jaw. 

"More!" barks Daichi, insistent. "Unless you're okay with Kindaichi one-upping you?"

Kunimi's head snaps to Kindaichi, who was raising about a 15-inch slapjack hooked to his pole, along with the world's most shit-eating grin he wants to wipe off. Suga was beaming up at him proudly and yelling out his accomplishment for all of them to see and hear. Cries of congratulations and envy are volleyed throughout the stream. He sees foam rise out of Kageyama's ears as he huffed and rolled on his line even more fervently, an amused Iwaizumi telling him to go slowly and Oikawa taunting Hinata to do the same. 

"Let this be a lesson to you boys," Suga jeers across the field. "If you have a good mentor, the rest will follow!"

All the third years lock eyes.

They dine on the entire sea that night.

-

The training camp ends with an old-fashioned bbq party.

Iwaizumi was on the grill with Daichi and Asahi, moving in a routine that’s far smoother and more amicable than the rough patch they started with. They find out Iwaizumi is particularly adept at manning the grill and flipping the meat over, all grunt work and being the only one of the two who actually followed through with his verbal warnings to any of the first years who kept trying to sneak an early bite. 

I wouldn't do that if I were you, he warned to a stunned Yamaguchi. Unless you want this knife aimed somewhere lower.

Daichi, in charge of seasoning and Asahi with prepping, deft and nimble hands making quick work of both; don't even bat an eye when they see Iwaizumi set aside three plates he starts unceremoniously piling up with the leaner portions of meat.

Kunimi and Kindaichi are a given—Daichi pleasantly surprised to see him gentle somehow where they are concerned—but it's Kageyama who still comes as a surprise.

"Are they related or something?" Asahi whispers, oiling some of the grill grates. "Maybe cousins? Kageyama does look a little like him."

Daichi shakes his head, rubbing a thin layer of salt and pepper to a piece of chicken thigh. "I don't think so," he admits. "Just former teammates, I think."

Asahi nods along. "And Oikawa?"

"What about him?" pipes Iwaizumi, having overheard part of their conversation as he transfers some leftover charcoal Hinata brought to the pile. "What about Oikawa?"

Asahi flushes a little. "Oh," he says. "It's just that he's — well —"

Iwaizumi gestures for him to go on.

"He seems—" Asahi continues, unsurely. "I don't know. Like he wants to both kill Kageyama in his sleep and feed him until he fattens up like one of those kids from Hansel and Gretel."

Daichi suppresses a laugh.

Iwaizumi just looks amused. "Actually," he surmises. "I think you got everything right. Definitely the feeding part, at least. It’s why he’s threatened me to set aside all the leg parts for Kageyama since this morning,” he chuckles. “But we're working on the killing part."

Everyone is only too happy to be fed normal food for once.

The sun was just shy of setting around the campsite, hues of golden orange and pale yellow streaking the place in a healthy, lovely glow. The sounds of birds chirping and flitting about the pine trees are a welcome break from all the yelling, the wind at just the right temperature to be breezy and warm.

Hinata, especially, is overjoyed with all of it. "Waaa!" he gushes, all bright eyes looking up at Iwaizumi who handed him his plate he filled with extra enoki mushrooms. "This looks soooo good, Iwaizumi-san!"

Iwaizumi blushes, looking away. "R-right," he stammers. "Yes. Um. Eat—well, then."

At his side, he can feel Suga eyeing him knowingly. "You can say it," he says, setting up the drinks. "Hinata is very cute and will feed your senpai ego well."

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” mumbles Iwaizumi, assembling the next plate.

The rest of the afternoon goes swimmingly. The sounds of easy laughter and open conversation flowing seamlessly throughout, seniors and juniors alike mingling. Asahi manages to hold a conversation with Makki and Mattsun that doesn't end with him sweating buckets at potentially overstepping anything he says, the Seijoh third years only too happy to know he was also a fan of the Sendai Frogs and was he looking to go pro after highschool, they wonder? 

Tanaka and Noya were in a heated discussion with Yahaba and Kyotani, both parties having very spirited opinions on whether Kubota Sayu or Fujino Ryoko were the representatives of 2000s actresses for Nippon cinema. Daichi was giving even more pointers to Kunimi about fishing, Kindaichi not even bothering to hide he was listening in and Suga only too happy to use his distraction as a way to funnel more meat into his plate.

Oikawa was busy fussing over Kageyama in his usual roundabout way, frowning down at the lack of vegetables in his plate and blaming Iwaizumi for sabotaging the child's health intentionally. I know he's our rival and everything, Iwa-chan , Oikawa chides. But doesn't he deserve nutrition too? Iwaizumi gave him an amused look, perhaps knowingly, Oikawa not budging an inch. Iwaizumi relents and goes back to fetch an entire plate full of hijiki seaweeds and cucumbers and seasoned radishes.

Kageyama flushed at all the food and attention, but where those two were concerned, he's long since learned it was best to just let them have their way unless they argue and make it everyone's problem. Again.

Towards the end it's Daichi who approaches Oikawa first, two cups of yuzu in hand. "Think we did okay?" 

Oikawa looks over at him, smiling in a skittish way, before accepting the drink. "I think," he takes a sip. "We did better than okay."

"Stellar endorsement from The Great King," Daichi teases. "Want to do it all over again next year?"

"There won't be a next year," Oikawa reminds him, an inflexion of something to his tone.

"Ah," Daichi blinks, and then: "Right."

Oikawa bumps shoulders with him. "But there's still be the next spring, and summer, and winter."

"Tsukishima might actually kill me if I even suggest we do something like this out in the cold," Daichi is quick to stop him. "Like actually kill me this time I think."

"Kageyama doesn't do well during winters either," Oikawa finds himself saying almost reflexively.

Daichi catches on, because of course he does. "Right," he says, smirking knowingly. “Of course.”

Oikawa blinks, unable to look at him. "R-right," he coughs awkwardly, before gesturing to the rest of the crowd. "Well then. Just as long as you stop threatening to make fishermen out of my players, I guess we can clear our schedule for you."

"And just as long as you stop trying to claim my first years as yours," Daichi's spread grins wider. "Then we would be more than happy to do this with you all over again, Oikawa-san."

[thegreatestfilmnevermade]

The 1975 Concept Album (Detailed)

'A Sight For Sore Eyes' by The 1975

I did the 1975's job and came up with some (lots) of ideas for their sixth studio album. Coming (never) to stores December 2024!

Covers + Tracklist + Details about each song, story, genres, etc BELOW

Tracklist

The 1975

Bite The Bullet

Spilt Milk

Clíodna

Make Me Immortal

Stand Out (In A Crowd)

Please See My Lover

Crocodile Tears (Interlude)

Stop Making Sense!

FYI!

Best For Me

My Final Bow

Pistol (In My Hand)

Covers

Would be shot somewhere in London or Manchester. Think (What's The Story?) by Oasis. I sketched other versions but couldn't make it look pretty for Tumblr :(

Ideally, it would be a guy in a black coat walking through a park, this kinda shot like the image below on the left. And the back of it would have the band in a park in the middle of the night, sitting on a bench with a street lamp right next to them. Healy would be leaning against the lamp, the rest of the band would sit on the bench, with one of them lying down in their laps. They face away from the camera. The shot would like the image below on the right.

Story

This, in my deranged, delusional head, is a concept album that follows a single narrative from the perspective of a single person. 

It follows a rockstar who can't remember the day before, permanently in a state of amnesia, but felt entirely compelled to create, perform, and fall in and out of the obsession. He falls in love, obsesses over a muse, yearns to be remembered, to be immortalised. Over the course of the story, he explores his relationship to art, sex, politics, drugs, the ephemerality of life and music, and optimistic nihilism. 

The story is linear - with him finding meaning in the lack of meaning.

Track by track & inspiration

Playlist for direct reference:

Every song has specific inspirations! Most tracks have a specific inspiration from one of their (The 1975's) songs, and another one. Most are inspired by the sound not the lyrical content. Another note: Ideally, they would all transition perfectly into the next, but be able to stand well on their own as well.

The 1975

Song inspiration: The 1975 (Being Funny In A Foreign Language) by the 1975 + Thirteen by Big Star

Guitar driven, slow start. 1/2 bass/drums come in & choir. Build up, and transition perfectly into track two.

Set the scene, as usual. Re-Introduce, welcome back! We're in for a ride! Essentially a prologue.

2. Bite The Bullet (Note: This would be the single!)

Song inspiration: You First by Paramore + Sex by The 1975

Fresh, nostalgic rock sound.

Story starts...The protagonist is in a bad state. He doesn't want to perform, but thousands are waiting. He's resentful to everybody. He owes it only to himself to prove that he can do it.

NOTE: This would have a music video, in my head I picture Harris Dickinson, with like 5 minutes straight of dialogue directed by Noah Bombauch. Looks very A24. Each band member would make a cameo.

3. Spilt Milk (Yes, this is a reference to Milk)

Song inspiration: Antichrist by The 1975 + Scott Street by Phoebe Bridgers

Strings, drama, cinematic quality.

He can't remember who he is, he doesn't recognise anybody he loves. He awakens with no memory, and then meets her. He must create.

4. Clíodna (Reference to Celtic goddess of the sea, the Otherworld, passion and love, and deep beauty)

Song inspiration: Nothing Revealed / Everything Denied by The 1975 + Jackie and Wilson by Hozier

Gospel, bluesy, rock-funk, choir, piano.

He's confused by everything - except for her. He clings to her, he is desperate for a muse. Someone to idealise. He hates himself for it, his self-awareness getting the better of him, but not enough to stop himself from putting her on a pedestal.

5. Make Me Immortal (I don't know why this title, don't question it)

Song inspiration: All I Need To Hear by The 1975 + I Wish I Knew How It Would Feel To Be Free by Nina Simone

Soul piano ballad, jazz, gospel, blues.

He must compose, he must write. He must be an artist. He starts expressing his deep seated need to be remembered, despite his own lack of memory. He wants to be heard in an endless crowd and be understood. He faces his mortality, his mighty imagination, and even considers religion. Things get really political and confusing.

6. Stand Out (In A Crowd) (Every song title from here on onward is totally random)

Song inspiration: Playing On My Mind by The 1975 + Virgin Veins by Coma Cinema + Landslide by Fleetwood Mac

Stripped back, calm, vulnerable, acoustic.

Away from the crowd, he returns to his muse. His muse doesn't recognise him anymore, but he hasn't changed - she has. He is stuck permanently, forgetting himself, the world, not quite growing up. Who is he without her? Who is he?

7. Please See My Lover

Song inspiration: Please Send Me Someone To Love by Fiona Apple + Buddy's Rendevouz by Father John Misty and Lana Del Rey

Jazz ballad, blues, strings.

She's gone. He turns to alcohol and dreams of memories that never happened. if he can't have her, he'll have materials, substance, and he will be remembered. Commentary on people's dependency on materials and lack of connections.

8. Crocodile Tears (Interlude)

Song inspiration: When I'm On My Own You Are On My Mind by Labi Siffre + Interlude: I'm Not Angry Anymore by Paramore + That Funny Feeling (Cover) by Phoebe Bridgers

Acoustic interlude, fast-paced guitar driven, end with quiet strings and real external audio (of family, friends, news, etc)

Observations of the world, questioning his place as an artist in the grand scheme of things. Does this even matter? He's trying to move on from her. He sees the hope in people, humanity, but where is it in him? Is art selfish? He doesn't know. He knows we don't know either.

9. Stop Making Sense! (In reference to The Talking Heads)

Song inspiration: Can't Behave by Courtney Jaye + Murder On The Dance Floor (triple j Cover) by Royel Otis + Spiderwebs by No Doubt + Fisrt Date by blink-182 + Me & You Together Song by The 1975

90s-2000s pop-rock, country inspired blues rock

Alright, so there's hope. But right now, he's pissed and wants to dance. No more muse, falling out with his family, friends and he hates every song he writes - the star has turned to further substance abuse to cope. It's cool, though. Doesn't this guitar riff sound sick?

10. FYI!

Song inspiration: Get It Right The First Time by Billy Joel + The Louvre by Lorde + UGH! by The 1975

Funk, synth-pop (hints of disco/electro), new wave (rock)

Drugs and alcohol are epic! Who cares he can't perform for a crowd (or in bed??) anymore! Bigger things to worry about. He feels insanely unloveable in a world of mass communication. Anyway, life sucks, but at least materials are cool. Capitalism doesn't suck all the time. The government has failed us and we've become desensitised, ignorant pricks. Next club?

11. Best For Me

Song inspirations: Real Love Baby by Father John Misty + Sincerity Is Scary by The 1975 + Tired of Being Alone by Al Green

R&B, neo-soul, gospel choir, jazz ballad.

He's wondering how she's doing. He can't remember how it all went down. He just remembers the feeling. He's starting to think adulthood is getting worse - drugs and aging are making it harder to make new friends. Was it always this hard making friends? He starts to reminisce of home, childhood friends. Do they remember him? Do they think of him when they see his name? Does he remember them?

12. My Final Bow (I hate this title so much)

Song inspiration: Movin' On Up by Primal Scream + About You by The 1975 + ARE WE SITLL FRIENDS? by Tyler, The Creator

Britpop, shoegaze, cinematic, pop-rock ballad.

On stage, vulnerable. This might be the only place he feels truly loved. No matter how much he forgets, he will never forget the feeling, the pure thrill, of performance. He pleads to the crowd to love him forever. Immortalise him. He reveals he has been hiding a new muse (he doesn't remember her), he won't make the same mistake (he doesn't know what it was).

13. Pistol (In My Hand) 

Song inspiration: Lostmyhead by The 1975 + I Always Wanna Die (Sometimes) by The 1975 + Babe I'm Gonna Leave You - Led Zeppelin

Britpop power ballad, cinematic, hard-rock, slow buiild.

He's back where he started - not wanting to perform. He's crashing from the intense substance abuse. He wants to remember. He can't remember how it feels to be hugged anymore. This time he doesn't bite the bullet, and doesn't go out. He wants to call his dad.

Ends on a voicemail to his dad because he isn’t remembered.

END OF ALBUM.

Anyway, this was all for funsies. I'm excited for whatever album they'll release next, I am really pulling and praying for a bluesy/rock album. Get religious and political, have some epic references to mythology even, you know? Whatever they do, whether it's another 80s synth party, or electro ambience, or heavy metal, I'm sure they'll smash it out of the park.

I have put way too much time into this so: Logging out!

[hauntedwizardmoment]

I feel like someone is gonna beat me to asking abt the ending of LSOP fic. That first. Anything abt the scene with peregrine if I got beat to that. And lastly if both of those got covered pretend I gave you a gimme instead :)

HIII okay obligatory shameless plug for his tomb by the sounding sea also thank you for always indulging me in my derangements <3 under the cut because it's. long.

so a major thing right up front w/ LSOP is the complete lack of control jace has over the situation which is like, a blessing and a curse. he doesnt need to worry about anything anymore:

In hindsight, it’s nice, being owned.

but he's also like, in a really vulnerable and existentially terrifying position because he's so entirely at porter's mercy. and the lack of stimulation is driving him crazy and eroding his already tenuous grip on his sense of personhood.

jace in blood and turpentine especially is kind of like. defined by who he becomes for other people, a la Cool Girl thesis. hence:

He’s never had much of a spine, always malleable and pliant and willing to change himself for anybody who looks his way long enough. At least here, he’s rewarded for it.

he's the Chill Side Stage Boyfriend for his college ex, a convenient rebound and emotional affair partner for peregrine, a constant thorn in aurora's side, porter's fuckbuddy-turned-lover, and by the end of sounding sea he's his god's plaything. and he's convinced himself he's happy about it.

it's why he turns vicious and asks porter to kill the rest of his old party. they meant something to that version of him, but porter doesnt want to see that. he's the god of conquest, he wants control over jace in his entirety.

The visits have only ever had one real purpose, though: reaffirming Porter’s dominion over his body and soul.

and jace knows that. hence:

Jace hopes, blasphemously, that their deaths were quick, that they received the only kind of mercy Porter’s capable of. 

also i HAD to include a callback to love's never meant much to me (i can't leave it be) and burn away the goodness, you and i remain with jace getting choked at the end/the memories that brings up of him dying at porter's hand. except here:

That should send him into a panic, but any thoughts of the last time Porter did this to him are distant. Instead, all he can feel is how much Porter cares. He’s kept here, protected and cherished, able to exact any vengeance he can think of, so long as he behaves himself, gives Porter what he wants in exchange.

even his memories of the worst moment of his life aren't fully his own. he cant even let himself react negatively to reliving his death. everything gets filtered through the lens of Being Porter's. he's still contorting himself into whatever shape will get him through the day. because:

Heaven is Porter, wrapping his hands around Jace’s throat and holding him down, forever.

there is no escape from the torment nexus!! no exit!! does anyone else feel the dread? i feel the dread. i had so much trouble writing this fic because of the dread. character headspaces that make you feel slimy and nauseous all over.

[spacehostilityy]

rewatch nnt with me s2ep13-18

Hey boiz this is a draft from the summer but i want to enjoy interests again so it's getting published (ps i have an even cringier sideblog now @sillyspacehostilityy where i can rb things and not clog up y'all's feeds heehee)

it’s going by so fast 😭 BUT im gonna reread/actually finish the manga so it’s fine

“what do you think youre doing with her???” he’s making out with her Jericho, it’s kinda obvious

“I don’t think i like you. 😕” kwjfnlfsfighskfgl lollll

NEW INTROOOOO my second fave theme song too hehe

also the angst on this one is so good

there goes ban’s shirt. again

I honestly love Elaine’s rage, i wish they had left her just a tiny bit more fucked up. bc he exploding like that makes sense after all that she’s been through

cat fightttt. this does NOT pass the bechdel test

“asleep or awake, you’re the only thing that man thinks about” ouchie

mmm mind control anguish delicious

ban hearing that meliodas is the “traitor of the demon race” and just rolling with it<3

“Oh wait that was two! sorryyy i lost count” such a sassy little man i love him

ban has a pure and beautiful soul🥺

catch me crying over melban hahahaaaa

hendy looks cute in the tavern uniform tho haha

:(

im just glad they kill galand quick so zhivago can return to his son in a peaceful death

the “dad” KILLS MEEEE

im in love with deldry. which i guess is her whole thing

deldry and arden tho... 👀👀👀

actually so impressed with Jericho

galand liking golf is canon. do with this information what you will

IM SO EXCITED FOR ESCANOR HEEHEE

wait how did i forget Escanor’s tavern is called my sweet glutton thats so cute🥺🥺

escanor is so babygirl i love him so fucking much

i love them so much too

IN ENGLISH ESCANOR SAYS HE’S FEELING CHARITABLE FOR LETTING MELASCULA GO BUT IN SPANISH HE SAYS HES FEELING FEMINIST LOLLLL

Ban and King brother in law relationship is actually the funniest possible relationship in this show

Diane constantly wanting to eat hawk sparks joy

gilfrost kinda hot, sad that hes literally just vivian :/

howzer saying “that’s our diane” after she uses double hammer and she winks at him...

theyre just rlly cute im sorrry

no bc why does sir nanashi seem like a western portrayed japanese stereotype in japanese media?

arthur and meliodas are so cute i want to see them interact more !!

I LOVE MELIODAS AND BAN SM their funny little deranged rituals are so cute 🤪

rip to arthur tho he looked terrified lol

im going to cry like a bitch when they get reunited in purgatory

why does meliodas call Hawk “bovine bastard”? Bovine means cow or beef. As someone from Texas, i am intimately familiar with livestock classifications and i am CONFUSED. it should be porcine

tiny griamore is so fucking cute on hendy’s back😭

but ban looks fucking terrifying what is up with his face lol

I cant believe escanor almost got fucking taken out by gloxinia lol hes so much stronger than him

the start of arthur and nanashi’s friendship !!

gloxinia’s substitute looking like gerheade 😭

shes so beautiful 🥺

I love the implication that Elaine WAS in fact going to kill them lol

Ban: I KNOW you didn’t just call me a baby *hand gets torn off*

Meliodas: uhh Ban, what just happened to your hand??

Ban: don’t you change the subject >:/

king is about to die from being too horny damn

bro why is dreyfus so fucking ripped bitch got me blushing like DAMN

[scrollsfromarebornrealm]

Free Day #3: Built

-----

Neyuni frowned, pressing herself as close as she could to the wall. Normally she could hear very well, but ever since Riven and her friends had arrived, it’d become hard to pick up on conversations. A frown crossed the little Hhetsarro’s face as only muffled noises came though. Getting up, she moved over to the sealed door and...ah!

“-sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry.” Mathye said. “If anything, I should be the one apologizing. I should have been able to sense what’s been going on, but—”

“Mat, you said it yourself. The machina and the regulators play merry hell with your white magery. Unless you and Halone picked up another skill that we didn’t know about, none of us expect that you’re able to see what’s going on with the soul.” Augustine interjected.

“Just the fact that you were able to pick up on ‘wrongness’ I would think is pretty commendable.” Reinhardt added. He sombered. “But to think Zoraal Ja went this far, just to try and replicate us…”

“Do you think Sphene knew?” Riven asked. Mathye snorted.

“Knew? She was probably up to her little machina head in it!” He replied, his tone acidic. “Damn the so-called First Promise! Here’s even more empirical evidence that he wasn’t fit for anything, dabbling in affairs that were far beyond him!”

“Also the possible fact that our kind is unique amongst the reflections.” Sebastian said dryly. “As if we needed more proof that Emet-Selch was completely and utterly deranged.”

“Not just the reflections.” Augustine’s gaze flicked to Yaana. “You and any other fighter that are…for lack of a better word, my apologizes—” He made quotation marks with his fingers. “pure Turali, so to speak. Your bloodlines may have never been tampered with. That’s probably the primary reason why there have never been Dominants and Eikons on this side of the world.”

“Tampered with?” Yaana repeated, tilting her head in confusion. Then she blinked as a thought occurred to her.

“Wait, I do remember you all talking about this when the tournament was going on! You said that your bodies have been designed for your sou—I mean, Eikons! That’s not just limited to you lot?!” Neyuni’s eyes widened.

“No. High-aetherical bloodlines are extremely common in both Eorzea and the Far East.” Mathye said, gesturing. “The body that houses an Eikon needs to be able to hold and channel a vast amount of aether—without giving out. Millennia ago in Eorzea, every single race—Hyurs, Lalafell, Viera, just to name a few—all were subjected to enhancement and breeding programs by the Allagan Empire. The goal was to create powerful bloodlines in almost all the population—essentially ensuring that Eikons could endure from generation to generation.”

“A few millennia later, three warring nations only added to what the Allagans had started.” Sebastian added. “The Mhachi, Nymians, and Amdaporians considered high aetherical ability to be an extremely attractive trait in a person. Not only did they breed for powerful spellcasters, but also for their own Dominants and Eikons as well.

“So, you lot are quite literally built for this.” Yaana breathed. She looked at Mathye. “Is this something that can be reversed?” The group looked at each other, and Riven was the first to speak.

“Maybe?” She offered, shrugging. “The problem is, the idea of reversing the process is still very new. And now there’s a general push for our kind to repopulate, especially since in certain cases we are the only ones that can fight and defeat certain…creatures.”

“Which is a tall order if I ever heard one.” Reinhardt muttered.

“Repopulate?” Yaana repeated. “Wait. I thought there were more of you?!” Her eyes widened as the Eorzeans shook their heads.

“The Garlean Empire did a very good job of exterminating our kind.” Augustine said softly. “Wiping out entire bloodlines and damaging the Eikon to the point where all they could do was rejoin the Lifestream, so that their aether could disperse into the great flow.”

“There’s been a few instances of a distant-enough relation and the remnants of the Eikon are able to rejoin, but they won’t be as powerful as they once were.” Riven inhaled, remembering what had happened in Sharlayan shortly before Wuk Lamat’s arrival. It had been discovered that there was a surviving member of one of the Hingashi Eikon bloodlines living and working in the city as a researcher on the Ragnarok. That distant connection had been enough for the Eikon associated with the emperor’s family, Yahata—to manifest in the newborn the survivor had given birth to.

Not to mention, some Eikons don’t follow bloodlines…they follow the soul. Valefor being one of them. Then there had been the events involving the Twelve—those who had stayed behind were still working on reestablishing their connections to the planet.

“That might be something worth talking to the Vow of Resolve and the Vow of Reason about.” Mathye’s voice broke into Riven’s thoughts. “Zoraal Ja wasn’t the first fool to try and replicate an Eikon/Dominant pair, and he won’t be the last. If someone was motivated enough to cross the sea and try to get their hands on a turaal vidraal…”

"More artificial Eikons.” Sebastian finished. Riven frowned, turning her head towards the room’s door.

“Little ears.” She said. Neyuni gasped.

[freakartack]

how do you get Inspiration for your art?

love this question. Visually, everything on this list has a chair in the council of my brain.

Spiritually, i am inspired by a lot of things. #1 is my own damn life. Warioware is a series set in 200x, which, as someone who grew up in 200x, makes it easy to apply my own experiences and people i've met to my writing. Donut Disturb was probably the most direct example of this, as was the infamous Wah-kplace Harassment Training (which was actually inspired by me and a friend joking about if wario led our own required training at our job), but all my comics include elements of this to an extent. Obviously, i've never had wario tell me to harass people at my job, but the fun part about doing stuff like this is that I get to meet the source material halfway. We've all gone camping before, but now I get to imagine how a deranged cast of characters would respond to situations i've been in. They're so larger-than-life that sometimes the jokes write themselves.

Speaking of jokes, it would be remiss of me not to list the things that permanently damaged my sense of humor. Once again, jim henson is huge here; I love the character-based humor that the muppets and its ilk excel in. Every character is so genuine and fleshed-out, which makes it all the more delightful when they butt heads with each other. Homestar runner also had an indelible impact on my brain for much the same reason, in addition to its unique brand of absurdity. (I've had people bring up strong bad on many of my comics, which i wholeheartedly embrace.) Also, I grew up on both Peanuts and Garfield, which basically taught me what humor was in my larval state for better or for worse.

Artistically, as distinct from visually, I am both inspired by things that are Really Really Good and Really Really Bad. Some things that really inspire me to create even though my stuff is very different from them are really surreal animations, like the works of sally cruikshank and everything about peewee's playhouse. Unfortunately, I can only dream of being so ingenious as to create something even slightly on the same level as Pee-Wee's Playhouse, but the nexus of electric creativity and love for the art is something that, similarly to the muppets, inspires my very soul. On the other side of the coin, the writing in shittier cartoons also inspires my very soul, because while I unironically enjoy many things that suck, they also kind of make me feel like this:

If "now i know how a meatball feels" can make it on live TV, I can do anything i want. And so can you!!! Free yourself from the shackles of perfectionism, and MAKE BAD JOKES!!

[yourlocalabstraction]

your soul design is so yumilicious I need all the details now on my dinner plate

fr tho I want to know all the soul design lore how did you create such a creature /vpos

OKOKOHHHHHHOKOK BUCKLE IN. YOU’RE GONNA GET THE FULL DESIGN PROCESS

I struggled the most with Soul ngl. I couldn’t really think of anything I could add that would differentiate him from the fanon standard. I’m a lil upset I couldn’t think of something more original, but nonetheless he turned out quite lovely !!!

I started with the color picking. I was very insistent on making everyone’s colors proportional to eachother. The main colors should have (about) the same saturation/brightness, contrasting colors that are the exact opposite hue of the main color, respective black/grey/white values (soul’s ‘grey’ color is more teal bc color theory but yea), shit like that i guess. The final palette is on the right, it’s what I use today.

Soul never got fully fleshed out concept sheets like the other two. I guess my brain just filled in the rest of the gaps without having to draw them. (I apologize for never finishing these btw. It’s been months man. I hope the blorbo doodles in the corner make up for it) The second image was done a lot later than the first btw. Idk if that matters but I’m bringing it up anyway.

His fit inspo came mostly from Pinterest. I just compiled a bunch of shit I think he’d wear. Plus a majestic cape because it makes him look plenty more epic.

OK MOVING ON. I decided that his main gimmick would be my take on his shaded side. The idea was to make it represent dissonance, and how it affects Soul. The shadow is basically just this fuckin void. It has no physical form, and you can just stick your hand in there if you’d like (he sometimes stores the trident there). However I wouldn’t recommend it. The feeling is indescribable, but very uncomfortable. The void has a life of it’s own in a way. It does not stay confined within the Soul’s physical form (or in my case, his lineart). When conflict is at a high, like, tridential regicide level high, the void will get very close to fully overtaking him. It only fully disappears once true concord is reached, and starts reforming when the next cycle starts.

Also, the mask !!!!! Throughout cacophony, Soul is having a huge fucking identity crisis and shit. He doesn’t really have a physical organ like the other two. He doesn’t know why he’s here, or what he did to deserve this, or why nothing he’s trying works, and just. What is he if he’s failing at his main purpose???? I think because of this, he doesn’t like showing his face around the other two. He needs to assert is power, and thinks that showing his face will make him come of softer and less of someone to obey, if that makes sense. He only really takes it off when he’s alone in his room or pocket dimension (still trying to decide if they have a mock ‘apartment’, or ever did at one point). But once he has the character arc in Two Wuv, it permanently comes off !!! Wahoo!!!!!!! If only the next cycle weren’t to start, resetting his newfound self image to its previous state !!!!!!!!!!

Ok this is getting long im putting a read more thing

This image was very helpful for designing the tine shapes!! Guess which one is Soul’s !!!!!! (Spoiler alert, im pretty sure its either the 2nd or 6th ones in the 2nd row. However i genuinely dont remember. This may not even be the right image)

Soul also has a strange tie with eyes. If the halves have pissed him off to the point of no return, he does this fuckin analog horror stare that freaks the shit out of them (although heart cant see he remembers it very well. Plus, he just k n o w s that extra eye is there). I haven’t really played around with this, but I like the idea of a freakishly absurd amount of eyes hidden within the shadow. I should maybe like. Draw that sometime.

Also, expect a Soil patch update in the future!! I’d like to make his fangs more deranged, and maybe add an earth pattern to the cape. Right now, he has no symbols on him that represent him in the astronomy metaphor.

Uhhhh i hoped this helped??? If i missed anything you were hoping to know about, do let me know !!!!!!!