#i wish i had learned how to play the flute. i know i still can but that would mean signing up for classes etc

[steeltypemutual]

i couldve learned how to play an instrument as a teenager but i was too worried about people picking on me for it, or not being around for lunch. then i was too sick. then i was too preoccupied with studying. then i was too stressed from sixth form and dealing with my ex. then i was too preoccupied with studying again. i still don't know how to play an instrument.

[queen-scribbles]

7. dancing with their hands holding onto each other [Indira/Vector]

Parties like this were dreadfully boring, salvaged only from complete indignity by the company she was allowed to keep.

"Agent, you don't look like you're enjoying yourself," Vector commented as he joined her, the words a gentle tease and warning to watch her expression all in one. He let his hand rest on her hip, close enough it would look like a lovers' tryst rather than anything else. In a way, perhaps, it was.

"This is not my... preferred environment," Indira said, taking a sip of her drink. "Though it does appear to be yours," she added dryly, studying his posture, his expression. The life dancing in his black eyes.

"We are a diplomat," he said with a small shrug. "Events like this are how we meet people, learn of their cultures, forge connections." He glanced at her. "We have met many fascinating individuals, from equally fascinating worlds, and events of this kind are a less formal occasion to mingle."

She canted her head in concession of that point. The atmosphere was indeed more conducive to casual conversation than she imagined, say, a treaty negotiation would be. It was still a more... lax surrounding than she was comfortable in. "I can tell what all of them want just from looking." Indira took another sip of her drink and set the crystalline flute on a small table. "There's no challenge to reading them."

A smile played at Vector's lips. "If no challenge, perhaps a diversion is better?" He slid his hand from her waist and offered it to her instead. "Would you do us the honor of a dance?"

Indira couldn't resist the answering smile that curved across her face. "But of course, Master Hyllus," she said, spine straightening as she rested her hand in his. "I suppose it shouldn't surprise me that you know how to dance."

"We are, perhaps, a bit rusty," Vector allowed as they headed for the dance floor. "Killik celebrations do not include many of the... aspects found in Imperial gatherings. But we will do our best."

"Which I'm sure will be just fine," Indira said, squeezing his hand as they slipped in with the other couples already dancing, her other hand on his shoulder and his on the curve of her hip. A light breeze wafted through and she gave a slight shiver as it made the loose ends of her hair tickle her bare back.

Vector nodded a greeting to one of the other couples and a smile tugged her lips again. He was so at ease here. Despite the looks his appearance--and company--drew, he was unruffled. It was a good look for him.

"What would you say is your favorite thing about parties like this?" she asked, mentally biting her lip in concentration on the dance steps. "Since you so clearly enjoy them."

"The people," Vector answered without hesitation.

"You enjoy forging connection."

"Yes." He tilted his head, studying her. For his claim of being rusty, he seemed to have no trouble remembering the steps, even with his attention divided. "It is part of what makes the Nest feel like home. We are connected in a way beyond anything we dreamed of as a diplomat."

"But you lost some as well," Indira said, recalling the message from his almost-fiancée, the people from his previous life who disapproved of his... change.

"And gained new ones that more than compensate," he said smoothly, drawing their joined hands in to kiss the heel of hers.

Indira arched a brow, but the comm in her ear crackled before she could return the flirtation.

"You have your opening, agent."

Vector had picked up the minute tensing of her posture, even as they continued to dance. "To work?"

She gave a single nod. "I wish it had better timing, but duty does call."

He nodded in return. "We will do our part and meet you on the ship, agent." His grip lingered when she started to step away. "Indira? Be careful."

She smile and kissed his cheek. "Of course."

Subtly as they could, they disengaged from the dance and set about their true tasks for the night.

---

True to his word, Vector was waiting on the ship. Still in his dark blue formalwear, though the collar was loosened, the gloves discarded.

He smiled when he saw her. "Safe and sound."

Indira smiled in return, running her fingers through the loosened portion of her hair. "I do pride myself on being good at my job." She quirked a brow when he offered her his hand. "What are you doing?"

"The others will not be back for some time. We thought we could finish our dance."

"It does seem only fair," she said lightly. She stepped out of her shoes, grey skirt swirling around her ankles as she nudged them aside. "This will be more comfortable."

"We will try not to step on your toes," Vector murmured, drawing her close enough to rest both hands at the small of her back, teasing the deep diamond cutout of the dress.

Indira's smile widened and she clasped her hands behind his neck in response. "I trust you," she whispered, and enjoyed the warmth that flickered in the comforting depths of his black eyes. She only realized as they swayed to non-existent music how much she meant it.

As parties went, just the two of them was much more to her liking.

[cheerleaderman]

A star’s curtain call

(TW- implied Abuse-)

[How Yuya getting back their memories during their overblot ]

The Curtain has opened and the show has begun

When a child was young their mom promised to take them to the aquarium when she got back. That day never came…

All of sudden the child’s life was turned upside down and now they lived with their aunts family. “Where was mom?, she coming back right” they cried but no one comforted the child. The funeral was held many tears were shed and cries shared around.

“It’s been enough time they said” “It’s time to go over they said” The child didn’t comply immediately like they wanted. Everyone knows naughty children  get punished and punished they did.

The more the child cried the more punishment they would get. “Why are you hurting me” “ please stop hurting me” they beg as they hid but it didn’t stop. They tried going Other family member some called them a liar and others didn’t believe. The Family were good people why aren’t you grateful they took you in.the eldest cousin joined in the torment the other 2 looked away .Only thing that would make them stop was compliance . The child eventually broke.

Be the picture perfect family

Be the perfect child

get good grades, be involved in many activities, smile when they need you to smile, cry when they need you to cry, help others and expect nothing in return, if you want something you’re selfish, something bad happens move past it and get over,most importantly what happens in the house stays in the house.

You’re wishes don’t matter, you’re feelings don’t matter hide them anyway deep into your heart. Learn to endure That’s how you’re able to survive 

So the Child complied, trying to fit the role they were given. Play the flute as requested, help the neighbor with babysitting or cutting the grass. crochet animals for newborns how thoughtful of you. There’s no time for friendship their to busy or the family disapprove. Get compliments on your skills it makes them look good.

Be the shooting star that everyone looks up to and strive to be.

“ You’re such bigger person for forgiving” “You’re cooking is wonderful you must give me the recipe” “Such a helpful and thoughtful child” all felt like empty words but a smile was still showed as expected.

At 14 they wanted revenge.Though they had strength they couldn’t win in a fight against the golden child.So let’s cut up some charges, few items misplaced , snapped a CD or 2. It cause tension and fights in the family. It gave them so much glee they never got caught and made sure of it. They’ll leave this place behind at 18 everything will be ok then.What’s a little pay back

Things took an unexpected turn. A 15 the child’s family was having a gathering. Everything was going smoothly they just finished up the cooking extremely tired ready to relax. Going to their room the Eldest stopped them “ I know it was you” he shouted “ what do you mean” they questioned “ You destroyed all of my games and movies” this when back and forth getting louder. Hearing Other family came to check what was happening until thud and everything going black.

Coming back to their senses they were in a hospital room? What happened ? They fighting with their cousin then what..At the hospital doctors did test and Workers asked questions this time the child was truthful. They won’t have to deal with their Aunt and Uncle anymore but others is a different story.

Being released back to the Family they gathered. “Why didn’t you say anything?” “We would have helped you” “How could this happen happened?”

Lairs, LAIRS all of you.Now that everything is out they’re trying to save face. They think I’ll just forgive as always HA!

18 you’ll be able to leave…18 you can start your life

Despise the families attempts nothing work they were going to leave but wanted to say goodbye to their mother first.

“I won’t be able to visit you much anymore Mama, I’ll be going to college soon and won’t be coming back”As much as they wish they could make up for years of not visiting. They couldn’t stay here but leaving felt so bittersweet.

“Yuya” ignore him.

“Yuya” walk away.

“Are you now running away after ruining everyone lives?” Continue to walk away don’t feed into him.

“Answer Me!” He jerks me around,why is he always like this? Can’t he just leave me alone!

When I pulled away he got violent. I’m so close I can’t let him get me now.

I saw something out of the corner of my eye while fighting….A black carriage ?

Every stopped the star is taking a bow and the sound of a child crying fills the room.

That’s the end?,Those are my memories..how anticlimactic 

Now that the curtain made its final call what now.

All that remains is the crying child.

I been dead all this time.I can’t visit my mom again, All the effort into going home was for nothing. Nothing has changed for me.I when from one bad place to another, One role to fulfill to the next why me? I wasn’t even allowed a peaceful death.What did I do to deserve this. What can I do now? Is it even worth it to change…

Is my happiness My happiness, Is my sadness My sadness or was that all part of the act? It’s all just numbness

Should I try to change this current act or should I close the curtains forever…

Every show must have its star.

[theamazingdigitalmarchingband]

The Amazing Digital Marching Band: Ragatha Concepts

Hi! Mod Hino again, and today I will be sharing some more concept sketches! This time, I was coming up with ideas for Marching Band! Ragatha Again these are all β designs for now, I’m still in the works of experimenting, but if there’s something you really like feel free to let me know! I’ll keep your suggestions in mind :)

Ragatha within this AU plays the flute! Unlike the canon Digital Circus lore, Ragatha is actually the newest addition to the band, entering the world a couple of months before Pomni. She also deals with anxiety during rehearsals, as she always wants to perform at her best and make her section proud of her. If she doesn’t, she’ll feel like she let the whole band down. Praise is the best way to fuel her, criticism is the best way to stall her. Ragatha knows and talks with Pomni the most within this AU. The two get along well and easily confide within each other the anxieties they face during rehearsals. Ragatha also helps Pomni open up and talk to the other members within the marching band. With Jax, Ragatha is the complete opposite. She despises how egotistical and ignorant the brass can be sometimes, especially Jax. He knows that Ragatha’s biggest weakness is criticism, so whenever she makes a mistake, Jax is sure to point it out loud and proud. He’s also constantly blasting his trumpet around the woodwinds, and has definitely snuck up on Ragatha before and blared a high C in her ears. Ragatha actually has been the closest with Gangle out of the cast, as the two share many classes together and enjoy creating makeup looks for their shows. Ragatha admires Gangle’s worth ethic and focus when it comes to learning the Color Guard’s duties, and loves when Gangle forgets about the world and is able to express herself through dance and performance. The two also are seen sharing gossip and giggling, as your typical girly band members would do. Much like Pomni, Ragatha doesn’t know Zooble or Kinger too well, but she admires Zooble for the same reasons she admires Gangle: work ethic and focus. She finds it amazing how easily Zooble catches on to new battery changes and diddles, and wishes she had the same skills but with her flute. As for Kinger, Ragatha is always there to console the poor guy whenever he gets overwhelmed, and also gives really helpful advice to him about playing his instrument. Kinger is always grateful for her and knows that he can always come to Ragatha with any questions he may have.

Ragatha, like all of the other members of the Amazing Digital Marching Band, are open for asks! Feel free to ask questions that you may have to the people in the group, and they will answer you when they get the time in between rehearsals! Please read the ask box guides in the pinned post before sending an ask, thank you!

[avaford2009]

Here are the lyrics of 9 original songs written by Robert Lopez and Kristen Anderson-Lopez from upcoming social media art and literature platform Dreamworks’ Princess Amelia and the Pied Piper!

Welcome to Hamelin (Parody of "Welcome to Rosas" from "Wish") Lyrics, Song by Ariana DeBose, and Citizens of Hamelin

Amelia: Welcome to Hamelin! Come on, come this way! Where the greatest creations are all on display There's no other place just as full of surprise Where your dreams and your reality can collide

You wanna dance on beat? Or to have hair touch down to your feet? Go to outer space? Well, hey, you've come to the right place

Amelia and Citizens of Hamelin: 'Cause here in the city of Hamelin You can turn all your wanting to wishing No "what-ifs" and no "wonders" Oh here, in the city of Hamelin It's unlikely that you'll be unhappy with so much to discover

A home for me, for you, and all of us The city of Hamelin

So like, we have Pied Piper as you told And he plays the flute five years ago With rid of the rats and led the Weser River to drown No, no, no, I'm serious! But he is kindness

He's even like himself with a twist

Hamelin Townsperson Female: And someone that I'd like to kiss

Amelia: Oh, dear! For a magical wish And there you have it (Poof! It's a swish!)

Ooh and hey, did I mention when you here in any age You here to part of audition in a stage And he agree or disagree, every person he acquires And once a month, he approves someone's for desire It could be you someday, or for me (Ooh, I can't wait!)

Hamelin Townsperson Man: Does it hurt?

Hamelin Townsperson Boy: Do you cry?

Amelia: Oh! No, and you won't even miss it when you say goodbye

Amelia and Citizens of Hamelin: 'Cause here in the city of Hamelin You can turn all your wanting to wishing No "what-ifs" and no "wonders" Oh here, in the city of Hamelin It's unlikely that you'll be unhappy with so much to discover

A home for me, for you, and all of us The city of Hamelin

I Almost Remember (Once Upon A December) (From "Anastasia") Lyrics, Song by Ariana DeBose

Amelia: Dancing bears, painted wings Things I almost remember And a song someone sings Once upon a December

Someone holds me safe and warm Horses prance through a silver storm Figures dancing gracefully Across my memory...

Chorus: Ahh-ahh-ahh, ahh-ahh-ahh Ahh-ahh-ahh-ahh-ahh-ahh-ahh Ahh-ahh-ahh, ahh-ahh-ahh Ahh-ahh-ahh-ahh-ahh-ah-ahh

Ahh-ahh-ahh, ahh-ahh-ahh Ahh-ahh-ahh-ahh-ahh-ahh-ahh Ahh-ahh-ahh, ahh-ahh-ahh Ahh-ahh-ahh-ahh-ahh-ah-ahh

Amelia: Someone holds me safe and warm Horses prance through a silver storm Figures dancing gracefully Across my memory!

Far away, long ago Glowing dim as an ember Things my heart used to know Things it yearns to remember

And a song someone sings...

Once upon a December

This Journey To The Past (From "Anastasia") Lyrics, Song by Ariana DeBose

Amelia: Heart, don't fail me now Courage, don't desert me Don't turn back now that we're here People always say Life is full of choices No one ever mentions fear Or how the world can seem so vast On a journey to the past!

Somewhere down this road I know someone's waiting Years of dreams just can't be wrong Arms will open wide I'll be safe and wanted Finally home where I belong! Well, starting now I'm learning fast! On this journey to the past!

Home, love, family There was once a time, I must have had them too Home, love, family I will never be complete until I find you!

One step at a time One hope, then another Who knows where this road may go? Back to who I was On to find my future Things my heart still needs to know!

Yes, let this be a sign Let this road be mine Let it lead me to my past And bring me home... at last!

Life's Too Short (From "Frozen") Lyrics, Song by Ariana DeBose and Judy Kuhn

Amelia: I came all this way today to give us a fresh start But now that you're like "wow" It's all like warm in my heart

Goldie: I'm sure glad you like it sis, 'cause this is the real me You have no idea how great it feels to be free

Amelia: We've been falling out for way too long, so let’s forget who’s right

Goldie: And forget who’s wrong

Amelia and Goldie: Okay!

Goldie: Why don’t you stay, there’s room for family in my court

Amelia and Goldie: Cause life’s too short!

Amelia: To always feel shut out and unloved by the sister I long to know

Amelia and Goldie: Life’s too short!

Goldie: To never let you celebrate me, the future queen of Hamelin of gold

Amelia: Whoa, whoa, whoa!

Amelia and Goldie: I never understood, but now I do Life’s too short to miss out on a sister like you

Amelia: (spoken by Mae Whitman) So you’ll come back, then.

Goldie: (spoken by Florence Pugh) Back?

Amelia: To thaw the fjord. It’s frozen over, no one can get in or out?

Goldie: Oh.

Amelia: Sooo....

Goldie: (scoffs in disbelief) I don’t believe you!

Amelia: What? I just assumed that you'd have to...

Goldie: That I'd shove on the gloves, that’s how your story ends?

Amelia: It does! It's just like it was, except for we’ll be best friends

Goldie: So that’s been your plan to force me back in a cage?!

Amelia: Whoa, whoa! Don’t get upset let’s get back on the same page

Goldie: Gee, thanks for coming up to see the place And showing off your mastery of tact and grace Okay! Run down the hill and spill my secrets, make a full report! Bye-bye!

Amelia: Wait!

Goldie: Cause life’s too short!

Amelia: There it is! The door you’d love to slam in my face! You did well there, for a spell, but now you’re back in the same place Kick me out if you want, but I’m the only one who Is not one hundred percent convinced the prophecy’s you!

Goldie: (gasps) You can think whatever you want 'cause I don’t care You’re a fool who married a stranger!

Amelia: That is so unfair!

Amelia and Goldie: I swear I’m through with taking your unshaking sisterly support!

Amelia: Support!

Goldie: Support!

Amelia and Goldie: HAH! Life’s too short!

Amelia: To let you treat the people down there just as coldly as you always treated me

Goldie: La la lalala laaaa!

Amelia and Goldie: Life’s too short!

Goldie: To listen to a reckless fool who only ever sees the things she wants to see!

Amelia: You don’t know me...

Goldie: You have no idea...

Amelia and Goldie: What I've been through! Because of you Life’s too short to waste another minute! Life’s too short to even have you in it! Life’s too short!

Amelia: (spoken by Mae Whitman) I've been so wrong about you!

Goldie: (spoken by Florence Pugh) You?! You've been so wrong about everything!

Amelia: Maybe you are the prophecy!

Goldie: I am NOT the prophecy!

And This Is The Thanks I Get?! (From "Wish") Lyrics, Song by Judy Kuhn

Goldie: I can't help it if mirrors love my face It's genetics! Yeah, I got these genes from outer space Peep the name, I'm magnificent I put the "I" in "omnipotent" I'm passionate, I'm not petulant Someone praise me for my benevolence Uh, just look, ha-ha I'd give the clothes off Benito's back If you really needed that I'd be the first one to volunteer Henry If your home were to crumble Or if you were in trouble

I let you live here for free And I don't even charge you rent I clean up all your messes And I'm always there when you need to vent I give and give and give and give You'd think they'd all be content And all I really want is just a little respect

And this is the thanks I get? (Da-da, da-da, da-da, da-da, da-da, da) This is the thanks I get? (Da-da, da-da, da-da, da-da, da-da, da) And this is the thanks I get? (Da-da, da-da, da-da, da-da, da-da, da) And this is the thanks I get? (Da-da, da-da, da-da, da-da, da-da, da)

"You're so brilliant" Ah, that's the least you could say There's more, admit it "You're cute and strong and bold and brave, " thanks See this kingdom? I built it up And you still complain? Ungrateful much? Mm, are you sure that you're not the prob? I'd love to see you try and do my job, oh-ho!

I granted fourteen wishes last year Come on, that's a high percent And now you're questioning your king? The disrespect I just underwent You know I always got your back Yeah, really though, it's no sweat Since the day you were born and the day that we met

And this is the thanks I get? (Da-da, da-da, da-da, da-da, da-da, da) This is the thanks I get? (Da-da, da-da, da-da, da-da, da-da, da) And this is the thanks I get? (Da-da, da-da, da-da, da-da, da-da, da) And this is the thanks I get? (Da-da, da-da, da-da, da-da, da-da, da)

I didn't wanna do this I swore I'd never do this But I'm hypnotized by how these pages flip 'Cause I refuse to have my power stripped A potion, a spell, a summon, a curse? Anything to make that light reverse To this book, I don't wanna be tethered, but Desperate times call for desperate measures Brr, where was I? Oh, yeah

There's a traitor in this town And still I remain unbent Come out now, explain yourself I'm sure it's all just an accident Well, whoever finds them first Now, that's a wish well spent Honestly, keeping you safe should be worth every cent

And this is the thanks I get? (Da-da, da-da, da-da, da-da, da-da, da) This is the thanks I get? (Da-da, da-da, da-da, da-da, da-da, da) And this is the thanks I get? (Da-da, da-da, da-da, da-da, da-da, da) This is the thanks I get? (Da-da, da-da, da-da, da-da, da-da, da) Oh, this is the thanks I get?!

I Make This Wish (From "Wish") Lyrics, Song by Ariana DeBose and Dreamworks

Amelia: Isn't truth supposed to set you free? Well, why do I feel so weighed down by it? If I could show them everything I've seen Open their eyes to all the lies then Would they change their minds like I did? But when I speak, they tell me, "Sit down" But how can I when I've already started runnin'? Oh, this is where we've been, but it's not where we belong And I may be young, but, I know I'm not wrong

So I look up at the stars to guide me And throw caution to every warning sign If knowing what it could be is what drives me Then let me be the first to stand in line So I make this wish To have something more for us than this So I make this wish To have something more for us than... this!

Hey, yeah, yeah, yeah! Hey, yeah, yeah, yeah, ah-ah! More than this, oh-ah-ah-ah!

I never knew I needed room to grow Yeah, I did what I was told when someone told me "No" Now I've got all of this freedom in my bones But I've still got the lid on, so it doesn't overflow 'Cause I've got reservations and hesitations On where I should even begin! I'm past dipping my toes in But I'm not, no, I'm not past diving in! If I could just be pointed in any given direction On where to go and what to do My legs are shaking, but my head's held high The way you always taught me to...

So I look up at the stars to guide me And throw caution to every warning sign I'm sure there will be challenges that find me But I can take them on one at a time! So I make this wish To have something more for us than this So I make this wish To have something more for us than... this!

Hey, yeah, yeah, yeah! (So I make this wish) Hey, yeah, yeah, yeah, ah-ah! (To have something more) More than this, oh, ah-ah-ah!

So I make this wish To have something more for us than this!

Let It Go (From "Frozen") Lyrics, Song by Ariana DeBose

Amelia: The sun glows yellow on the mountain tonight Not a footprint to be seen My life has been an isolation And it fits like I'm the queen

The wind is howling like this swirling storm inside Couldn't keep it in, heaven knows I tried Don't let them in, don't let them see Be the good girl you always have to be Conceal, don't feel, don't let them know Well, now they know

Let it go, let it go Can't hold it back anymore Let it go, let it go Turn away and slam the door I don't care what they're going to say Let the storm rage on The cold never bothered me anyway

It's funny how some distance makes everything seem small And the fears that once controlled me can't get to me at all It's time to see what I can do To test the limits and break through No right, no wrong, no rules for me I'm free

Let it go, let it go I am one with the wind and sky Let it go, let it go You'll never see me cry Here I stand and here I stay Let the storm rage on

My power flurries through the air into the ground My soul is spiraling in frozen fractals all around And one thought crystallizes like an icy blast I'm never going back, the past is in the past

Let it go, let it go And I'll rise like the break of dawn Let it go, let it go That orphan girl is gone! Here I stand in the light of day Let the storm rage on! The cold never bothered me anyway!

Let It Go (Reprise) (A Fanmade song from "Frozen") Lyrics, Song by Ariana DeBose

Amelia: The snow glows white on the clouds today Not a fingerprint to be seen A kingdom of isolation And it looks like I'm the empress

The chill is howling like this swirling wind inside Couldn't keep it in, heaven knows you tried Don't let them in, don't let them see Be the good girl I always have to be Conceal, don't feel, don't let them know Well, now they know!

Let it go, let it go And you'll rise like the break of dawn Let it go, let it go That crazy girl is gone Here you stand in the light of ray Let the hurricane rage on The wind always bothered you anyway

I Make This Wish (Reprise) (From "Wish") Lyrics, Song by Ariana DeBose

Amelia: So I look out at the stars just like me And I'm begging you to see this as a sign 'Cause I know that if you choose to stand beside me I'll be greater than all your magic flute combined

So I make this wish So I make this wish This wish, this wish

To have something more for us than... this

Chorus: Ah-ah-ah-ah Ah-ah-ah-ah

Amelia: I've had generations of expectations Wondering why, wondering when I'm past dipping my toes in I know it's do or die, it's sink or swim

You were confusing my promises for protection But I know what I've gotta do Hope unchanging, with my wish held high The way you've always taught me to

So I look out at the stars just like me And throw caution to every warning sign What you do in this moment is defining And I can take it on if I'll align!

So I make this wish To have something more for us than this So I make this wish To have something more for us than this!

Chorus: Oh-oh, oh-oh! Ah-ah-ah!

Coming this Fall to a social media art and literature platform near you!

[exielimon]

Guess who said was not a writer and proceeded to write another thing?? that’s right, me. So, this is-

Forest song

————————————

The night was chill and the air felt cozy, I was with the chain sitting around the fire and telling curious facts about ourselves.

“Seriously? call Epona, with grass??” The vet deadpanned to the sentence Twilight had said.

“If we were in my Hyrule I could show ya!” Twilight defends while Epona, behind him, flicks her ears at the mention of her name.

“Does it have to do with that instrument you hang around your neck?” Wind asks curiously, slightly looking up from the second bowl of soup he has taken tonight.

“Yeah, kinda”

“You can actually call her by many methods, I, for example, could play the same song with an ocarina” Time proudly states.

“Still, grass is not exactly what is expected to be included in the ‘many methods’ of calling a horse” I defend Twilight’s curious fact about himself.

“I can get the notes on a recorder. Play the song and I’ll repeat it” The traveller says suddenly taking out a wooden recorder flute from his way-larger-inside-than-it-looks-outside pocket.

“Oh- no, I can’t do that, that’ll alert m’ girl, and she’s so relaxed right now, I don’ wanna wake ‘er up” Twilight says glancing over his shoulder to Epona, peacefully resting against a tree.

“Awh, kinda wanted to learn the song” The traveller pouts, lowering the recorder and putting it aside to take another sip of his soup.

I look at the wooden object and something passes through my mind; a memory of myself playing Zelda’s Lullaby with a beige recorder flute a few weeks before getting tossed in this adventure with these nine heroes. What were the notes again? Fa, La, Mi… Fa, La, Mi… oh yeah, I remember the melody, I remember song of storms and song of healing too… damn I miss my flute… wait… “Hey, ‘Rules, do you mind if I try your flute??”

“hm? You know how to play it?” He passes it over to me and the rest of the group’s eyes land on me, which I don’t realize, for I’m too focused in my excitement, it’s been a while since I played my instruments…

I take the instrument up near my lips and stop to think what I was about to play, I know quite a bunch of songs, what can be good for this occasion?

.

..

…

The air whispers and makes the leaves dance above my head, there is a faint mist that swirls and hums a melody that is not comprehensible yet not less calming… reminds me of…

Lost woods.

So that’s What I start playing. Saria’s song; the melody that can be heard in the misty forest Time grew up in, the song that the skull kid played when Twilight arrived to get the Master Sword during his journey.

My fingers move, making different melodic sounds with ease as I close my eyes and feel like I’m back home, annoying my mother with the same song time and time again. Once I finish the song I open my eyes and chuckle at the memory.

“How do you know that song?”

I flinch at the sudden Time’s firm, deep voice, that one that people use when they’re confused and will end up in a negative reaction.

I let out a quite nervous chuckle and begin “Uh- well… history says an old hero used to play that song when he missed a certain person… it’s said that one can still go to Lost Woods and will hear the soft notes of an ocarina playing that song, along with a childish laughter, in certain place… I don’t know which, though…” That was the longest lie I’ve ever made up.

Damn I wish I could tell them the truth, but the idea of them starting to question their existence for being just game characters for me… yeah, I wouldn’t like that reaction.

Time smiles softly and lets out a calming huff through his nose —Dad Time was tense, glad he relaxed— “A good friend wrote it… along my fist journey, I could play it and I would feel like i could hear her voice…”

“Oh… that why is called ‘Saria’s song’?” time to play dumb.

“…Yes.” His face is not one hurt, nor of loss… but nostalgic. Ouch, sorry.

“Wait- a skull kid played it whenever I entered the sacred grove that guarded the master sword,” Twilight started “that lil’ brat attacked me with marionettes”

“Wait wait wait- a skull kid played it?? THAT skull kid is still alive in your era?!” Time exclaimed… the others are missing the way a faint smile is twitching on his lips…

“YOU KNOW HIM?!”

[justasecretflower]

Reader keeps Ben Drowned’s heart healed by Christ, and Ben Drowned is no longer malevolent spirit anymore. He is purified, and Ben Drowned was like Link, and Reader was like Zelda. Reader is Ben Drowned’s favorite person, Reader is like Ben Drowned’s savior and light, Also what about later on, Ben Drowned have to leave Reader towards heaven, Ben Drowned does becoming an angel and have to leave earth forever. ✝️🥀

Thanks for the request🤍

🥀+ ✝️ Ben drowned! Going to heaven 💕 invisible string

Ben x Zelda! Princess! reader

~angst.

____________________________________________

The gentle melodic rhythm of the flute plays as I press the keys, Ben looking up at me with his eyes sparkling. Ever since ben had gotten saved and the vengeance from his soul washed away he’s been tucked in a quiet forest. With me visiting him whenever I can escape royal duties. The sun peeking through the trees, animals going up to the both of us to greet us and stay for a little bit, the butterflies flying around majestically, everything was peaceful.

Ben smiled, letting out a small laugh. Leaning against me. In a way we found comfort within each other. Talking about our past experiences, learning how to accept them and find peace. My blue dress sparkled in the dewy sun and my jewelry glittered and shone. “Ben how are you feeling?” I ask, leaning back on him and reaching a palm out for a dove to land on. “At peace.” Ben’s blue eyes glowed, no longer having the blacked out eyes and instead oceanic blue ones like the ones he had when he was living. Ben pet the bird with a finger, speaking up. “Where do you find yourself in 5 years y/n?”

I think. There’s not much of a purpose for me, really. I’m a princess and I’ll get married , have children, and then die. “Married off.” I mumble, petting the soft dove as my mind fills up with thoughts about my undeniably bland future. Ben frowns a little “will you love him?” He asks. “It doesn’t matter.” I say, and it doesn’t. As long as we’re semi good to each other it won’t matter. “I think it’s important that you love him.” Ben mumbles.

I hum in agreement. Taking a daisy gently in my hand.

_______________________________________

I laugh loudly, feeling the glee fill my body up and warming me. “Ben!” I yell. Ben, who is now swinging on a random tree branch and scuffing up his hands.

Ben giggles. Hoping down with an infectious smile plastered on his youthful face. We settle down near a log. “Hey y/n…” Ben says, his voice etched with a whimsical tone, like he was so far away yet so close. “Hey Ben” I reply back, a smile still on my face.

“I’m crossing over to heaven soon.” Ben admitted. My heart tore in two; one part significantly bigger than the other. Ben was such a huge part of my life, I thought he’d always be here, his laugh in the trees, his footprints in the earthy, rich soil, his cheery voice comforting the merciful birds and the most aggressive of bears. I thought we’d stay the same forever, but youth slips through the fingers of many, no matter how tight you grip.

A tear slips down my face but I don’t even feel it, my body feeling the hurt before my brain processed it. “Not soon actually; today.” Ben almost whispered. Time was a scary thing. It’s so hard to obtain yet so easy to loose. We all want to stop it, but it never listens. In theory, time, is the most vicious thing of all.

He stood up straight, his ivory skin getting haloed by a white glow. I reach out for him, wishing that the clock could rewind backwards, that I could know him before death claimed him. “Come back” I whisper, my emotion, my thoughts, my heart lodged in my throat, like an invisible chain wrapped around my neck and was tied impossibly tight. “I hope you find what you’re looking for y/n” “I’m looking for you. Always, during the day, the afternoon, the night under the milky stars, in every life, of every second.” I plea, my voice breaking.

He was my best friend, a brother I never had, a half of my heart I thought I’d never have. I felt our invisible string teether with each passing moment that the glow got brighter. Ben teared up as well. “I couldn’t tell you before, I wanted our last moments together to be of ignorant bliss.” I feel dizzy, his body was almost fully turned into white glowing butterflies. Butterflies, their transformation similar to bens. From wishing everyday that he could be braver, to wishing everyday he could be dead, to wishing everyday he could be alive, to..peace, beautiful, warm peace.

“Keep your head up, y/n” Ben echoed.

“as time slips through your fingers enjoy the warmth of every peaceful moment, love the peace, and find the sun in the storm.”

Our invisible string, finally broke, tears slipped down, as I grasped at the glowing white butterflies, flying higher.

Im so bad at writing angst I can’t do it 💀

Tags

[rubykgrant]

If all of the Reds and Blues and Freelancers played instruments, what do you think they'd all play? All I can think of is Doc/O'Malley on violin (probably gets really into it like Devil Went Down To Georgia), Sarge on trumpet (cuz bugles but can actually play it nice too), Florida on ukulele, and Maine and Locus taking up classic guitar and cello respectively for therapeutic reasons and ending up getting really into it.

Those all sound really good!

Hmm... it depends on what kind of music they're going for. I think in general, most of them haven't had the chance to really practice much music, but in season 15, we saw some of them formed a band! Carolina sings (so good), and it looked like Grif and Tucker were both on guitar, while Caboose did drums (if I remember right).

Sarge is certainly musically inclined, in regards to how much he likes to make up songs about killing stuff he doesn't like. I'm gonna say he knows how to play guitar, generally classic-rock/folk/country with what he does, but he surprises people by listening to wide range of musical genres (he's got a big collection that includes heavy metal and hip-hop). Oh, and he rocks on the harmonica!

Grif is good with guitar, and he'd probably be good on drums as well, but I'd like to think he secretly hides a gift with piano. Like, he can just naturally do really amazing/complicated pieces with ease (but when he was younger, little jerks he went to school with called that "sissy music", so he was awkward about sharing it with anybody). He's good with a uke too, and a very nice singer (again, if he's not feeling embarrassed)

Simmons WISHES he could play something like the violin or cello... but he just doesn't have rhythm, and gets too frustrated to practice properly. He doesn't have a bad voice, but he's a nervous mess if he tries to sing in front of people. He's able to get decent on the piano (with some help from Grif), and since he's a tech guy, he finds his own niche with electric keyboards (nothing too extravagant, but still very good)

Carolina is the one who had fancy music lessons when she was younger, but she's out of practice (she used to be good on clarinet and violin). She gets back into music and singing, picking up some guitar and piano... but surprises everybody by randomly deciding to get REALLY good at the harp (just to show off, haha)

Doc and O'Malley would certainly learn to play violin and fiddle, but I think they'd also practice different kinds of unique instruments; the kalimba, the tabla, the veena, the dholak, the balafon, and various types of flutes (they both also know how to make small little instruments with woodcraft; various things that Doc knows from his own traditions and heritage). They also are very good singers, Doc being especially into acapella/using voices to simulate instruments (though, O'Malley tends to ham it up for "villain" songs~)

Kai is more into mixing music, creating beats, maybe making something new with samples, and she is a killer DJ (dance music, electronica, techno remixes, and all similar variations. she's pretty good at changing up the "tone" of a song, but still keeping the melody strong)

Church is kinda-sorta good at a few things, but nothing he's invested in/practices often. However, he's pretty good at writing songs when he can focus on it (the Fragments all help, and they have a variety of musical genres they are into)

Tex is also OK with certain instruments, but not especially passionate to play anything often (she can sing though, but is the opposite of Carolina, who tends to lean toward more energetic songs. Tex will sing lower and slower)

Wash learned how to play the recorder in middle school. He can also play a kazoo, and can shake a tambourine on the beat. That's about it... with some help, he's OK on drums (he likes to back-up sing/harmonize with other people rather than sing solo)

Caboose is good on drums, he can put all his energy into making a strong rhythm! He's also good on various horns/brass and woodwinds, and really vibes with free-form jazz

Donut gets more caught-up with performing, he loves two come up with songs, sing and dance. He mostly likes pop-rock, but gets into other genres occasionally (he knows how to play the melodica very well). His big dream is to write a bunch of musicals~

Tucker is very good at different kinds of guitar, and he's a great singer as well (he didn't think he'd be into it, but just for practice, he tries out some classical/opera, and he's actually VERY impressive, he can project his voice very well and change the tone/pitch easily, and so he plays around merging old-school stuff with newer themes of music)

Locus hasn't had time for music in years... but he learned how to play different things as a kid; quena, siku, and some percussion instruments

Lopez can play basically anything he wants. People outside the loop will think it is just because he's a robot, and is therefore "copying" music that is already recorded... but Lopez will combine two completely different instruments and use them together in ways most people couldn't think of (he also leans toward very sappy loves songs, inspired by his adoration for Sheila~)

I don't have too many thoughts for the Freelancers... but if they could have had a different life path, York would probably have done well in a boy band, and South would have been a punk-rock star~

[apinchofm]

Turtles

The Sharma family and the friendly turtles

Edwina adored small animals - there was nothing wrong with horses or elephants, they were beautiful, but she liked creatures that could hug her back.

At four years old, she is sitting with a picture book in the royal garden, waiting for Kate to finish her lesson

She picked it up. He was so small and his shell was surprising gentle to touch but still hard as her appa described. It was a protective shell.

"It is okay. I will bring you home." She whispered, feeding it a bit of leaf she plucked off a bush. She was pleased to see him eat it.

"Edwina!" She turned around, hearing her sister and saw her run to her, "There you are!" She saw the turtle and gently stroked it, "Who is this?"

"I do not know; I have not named him yet."

"He looks like a Manesh or a Raza?" Kate suggested, wrapping her arm around her and guiding her home.

"Raza." She chose.

...

Edwin was confused about what Edwina was doing. Whilst Kate told Mary of her lessons that day, his keen eye noticed her twice take some spinach from her sambar - which Mary had taken care to ask it be cut to make it easier to eat - and put it seemingly on the floor. He knew she had an aversion to greens, but this was new.

"Chottu, do you not wish to be as tall as your sister?" He asked her and her little eyes widened. He could not help but laugh, and Mary smiled at her littlest one.

"Yes, appa." She replied and spooned some dinner into her mouth, "Amma, I'm finished."

"Okay," Mary sighed. Fighting with Edwina over food was a battle they would lose. She would sit at the dinner table for hours if she wanted to, perhaps with the book she kept under her seat cushion.

"I'll help her get ready for her bath and bed." Kate volunteered. She had finished her dinner and accidentally dropped a spoon when she stood. They noticed how she quickly turned around when she stood and the two quickly left the dining room.

Edwin and Mary looked at one another, "Your daughters are up to something," He mused. She scoffed.

"My children? If I recall, I was not the one who told Kavita she could learn how to shoot at ten." Mary scoffed, stacking the plates.

"It was the only way she would go to her flute lesson!" He argued, kissing her on the cheek.

...

Edwin checked on his daughters, stepping over a doll and tea set Edwina and Kate must have been playing with.

The bath was out and Kate was trying to wash Edwina's hair but she was rather distracted by her new friend, singing to him quietly and holding him in her little hands.

"What is a turtle doing here?" Edwin asked. A sentence he did not think he would mutter, but children were there to test.

"Appa!"

He was so confused to see the turtle in the bath. And it was not a wooden toy but a rather live turtle in the bath with his four-year-old.

"Where did...?" He asked.

"I found him!" Edwina proudly told him and he sighed.

"I see that. And you brought him home?" He asked.

"Raza was lonely." She justified with a small pout that melted his heart. God, he was terrible at saying no.

He looked at his eldest daughter, who just shrugged, "He is a cute turtle and friendly. Can we not keep him?"

"We already have two cats who come and go," He pointed out, referring to the kittens his daughters were given by the Raja's wife when her Grey Persian gave birth. He doubted Mary would go for a turtle.

Edwin sighed and looked at his youngest again, "I bet Raza has an appa and amma that miss him."

Edwina bit her lip, "Just for now, then I can give him back tomorrow?"

"Alright. But he must stay in the bath." He ordered, and she grinned, nodding eagerly, and Kate kissed him on the cheek, "Help your sister get ready for bed or no book!"

...

Early in the morning, Mary was halfway between sleep and waking up when she felt what she thought was her husband.

"Edwin, go..." She murmured tiredly, waving her hand. It was when she felt something tough and bony. Not her husband's hand. She opened her eyes.

She screamed. Loudly.

"How did a turtle get in here?" Mary demanded, running down to the courtyard where Edwin was sitting with Edwina on his lap, reading whilst Kate was dressed, ready for her schooling today.

"Raza!" Edwina picked him up from the floor as if nothing had happened, petting him, "I am going to take you home today."

"I told you to keep him in the bath!" Edwin whispered.

"He was lonely," Edwina protested.

"Girls, my question has not been answered," Mary said.

"Appa said we could keep him for the night," Kate said, going after her little sister to help her dress for the day.

Edwin did not look at her until she walked in front of him, "Chellam, have I told you how radiant you look in the morning?"

Mary narrowed her eyes, "Your children are a menace." She sat in his lap, and he chuckled, kissing the side of her head, "You owe me a boon, husband. For I awoke to a turtle and not my husband.

Edwin chuckled, "I can think of many ways to repay you, wife."

[psychic-winged-turtle]

Thirteen Years Old with Seven Years Left

I remember being ten and ignorant.

Ten years old with ten years left.

Ten years feels like a long time to a ten-year-old.

It isn’t something to worry about.

I could still jump rope (even if I had to take more breaks).

I could still play (so long as no one ran).

I could still take the stairs (slowly, but surely).

Ten years is a long time.

I remember being eleven and starting to understand.

Eleven years old with nine years left.

Nine years is a long time for an eleven-year-old.

Things were getting harder but I was sure there was a plan.

I could still participate in gym (sometimes).

I could still play violin (even if I wanted to play flute).

I could still walk down the hall (you can get used to lightheadedness).

Nine years is a long time.

I remember being twelve and finally realizing what it meant.

Twelve years old with eight years left.

Eight years doesn’t feel nearly as long as nine.

The feeling of having to collect my things in a wheelchair after having to call home is one I will never forget.

The feeling of waking up on the floor and not being sure how I got there.

The feeling of playing with a basketball in the gym without worry for the last time.

I couldn’t breath.

Eight years is not nearly long enough.

I remember being thirteen and hopeless.

Thirteen years old and seven years left.

Seven years feels short, even to a thirteen-year-old.

They can’t fix the holes in my heart.

There’s two of them now.

If they fixed them, the pressures would become to much and my heart would fail early.

Seven years early.

Seven years.

I remember being fourteen and breathless.

Fourteen years old and six years left.

Six years is the blink of an eye, even to a fourteen-year-old.

Mom wants to talk about school, about college, about eventual careers.

All I can think is how my lips turn blue when I stand too long.

How my head is always full of fog.

The notes I write aren’t suicide notes, they’re goodbye notes because I don’t have to kill myself I just have. to. wait.

Six years left and my insurance won’t let me see a cardiologist.

I remember being fifteen and tired.

Fifteen years old and five years left.

Except that wasn’t true anymore.

There was a surgery, a chance, and I took it.

Fifteen years old with my whole life left.

So why doesn’t it feel like it?

I spend this year recovering, my body reconstructing, learning how to live with a heart that works.

I have a life.

Now I’m twenty-one years old.

I lived past twenty.

I’m in school, in college, training to be a nurse.

I can walk up the stairs.

I can play.

I can’t quite run, but that’s okay.

But even so, sometimes I still feel thirteen years old.

Thirteen years old with seven years left.

Even now, with a life ahead of me, I can feel that pit of hopelessness.

The forced acceptance.

The idea that it would hurt more to try and think of a future.

I remember wishing for control.

I remember the summer I spent in long sleeves even in the Texas heat because I didn’t want to die but I was so tired of waiting.

I remember the nights that I would spend staring at my pill bottles knowing exactly how much I had to take.

I still do sometimes.

Because waiting is pain.

Waiting and knowing that every second that passes leads me closer to what I feared most.

Not death.

Being stuck.

Stuck in a hospital bed, a wheelchair, my head full of fog and medication.

Of wishing for the end but knowing that my family would do everything to save me.

To keep me as long as possible.

I was thirteen with seven years left.

And I wasn’t sure I wanted them.

I remember being thirteen with seven years left and wishing for pain.

I remember the absolute apathy that would fall over me.

I remember thinking it was better that my friends left me in eighth grade because then they would never have to mourn me.

I remember having a crush in middle school and then realizing if I ever dated it wouldn’t end in marriage it would end at my death.

I remember deciding that love wasn’t for me.

I remember imagining what my funeral would look like.

I remember hating the lack of control that I felt over my life and future.

I remember taking control of everything I could.

My grades.

My relationships.

My schedule.

My body.

My weight.

My mind.

My life.

My death.

Maybe they were suicide notes.

Even now I can’t give up control.

I can’t let go of what I had because even though I’m twenty-one years old with a whole life ahead-

Even though I lived past twenty-

Even though my head is no longer full of fog-

Even though I can climb the stairs and play the games and live my life and-

I still can’t control death.

Or life.

Or love.

I think I love someone.

And I can’t control it.

And that makes me afraid.

And this is a long way of explaining it.

Of why I have to be in control

Of why I always move and work and never stop to think.

Because when I stop I feel thirteen years old with seven years left.

And control is what I need.

[dirty-xenobladeconfessions]

Admin L's thoughts on xb3 so far:

I know the other two admins are of opposite opinions so i'll try to come from a slightly more objective perspective. I have learned that by watching cutscenes alone, we are missing about half of the story because a lot of the dialogue is imbedded in text boxes as you travel. I think this game is similar to X in that it is carried by its gameplay experience and not its story, and am giving people the benefit of the doubt because being immersed in the world endears it to you regardless of any garbage surrounding it. That's part of why I enjoy L! Despite contributing nothing to the plot in XBCX, he saved my life countless times on the battlefield, and that's an experience I'm not going to have watching cutscenes alone.

I don't have the money or patience to play Xb3 myself, especially knowing how many dry cutscenes I must sit through before anything happens. If anything even happens. The story to me is incredibly boring. We've had to watch it at x2 speed and it's STILL too slow for me because it is a lot of uninspired fight sequences and faction talk. And because i'm missing half of the character interaction, I can't be bothered to care during their lighthearted moments either. Meanwhile the villain designs are atrocious so I can't take any of them seriously. Especially J who we just got to… he's 5 foot nothing, wearing a clown outfit with his whole ass out talking about "quivering with excitement" at the prospect of doing evil like… I can't do this dude

Personally I think if the cutscenes cannot hold their own, then it's not a good story. However, perhaps the full game is a good experience. I'm not going to find out.

For me, the artistic elements of a game are the most important factors for my enjoyment, and there is little I enjoy there. I hate the new lifeless anime style they've chosen to go forward with, but that's old news. Most of all I hate how they cut the culture and uniqueness out of the Machina to make them conventionally attractive. For me, the story drags on, the pre-rendered cutscenes lack the dynamic camera shot work of the original, the music packs little punch, the character designs are largely uninspired. (I like Sena's design at least!) Even the landscapes xenoblade is known for are not very visually distinct in the cutscenes. So far it all feels like a lot of franchise callbacks, visual flashiness with the mechs and flute scenes, and trying to wring heavy emotions out of a dry towel for the easily swayed, in order to make up for subpar writing. But this is all a matter of personal taste. Some people enjoy or will excuse this kinda stuff. That's fine. I don't.

I can say most of this about both 2 and X as well! This series is devoid of the charm and heart and the good limitations that the original xenoblade was built with, flawed as it may be.

All this is to say: I understand why people come to enjoy xenoblade 3, and if I actually played it, some of the characters and world might really grow on me! But as is, I personally find it is lacking in a lot more areas than people are willing to admit. I wish the story -- the driving force of the game -- didn't drag so much so I could actually watch it without feeling like I'm wasting my time. :[

[lendmyboyfriendahand]

Next bit in Unified Kano theory, follows immediately on the previous snippet where Maedhros agrees to show Maglor what Angband was like.

Rated Explicit. Warnings for rape roleplay and very undernegotiated kink. 2.4 k

That next afternoon, Maglor was naked in his brother's bed. Maedhros directed him to grasp the headboard behind him and tied Kano’s hands in place, having Kano hold the end of the rope whenever Maedhros needed to step around him. “After all, it’s your fault I can’t hold both ends myself.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Not as sorry as you will be when I’m done. Check the tightness, I want you to still be able to play your harp when we’re done.”

Maglor obediently flexed his fingers. “It seems good, but I’ll tell you later if it starts to fell odd.”

“If you do, you might not like the results. You want to experience Angband tonight, and there’s no pity there.”

“But there is respect for usefulness.”

“Sometimes, though your useful function is rarely what you wish it to be. You don’t need hands to scream in that pretty voice, after all.”

Maglor gulped, and nodded. “I understand. My hands feel fine.”

“Perhaps you are starting to, though you’ll be able to go back safely to our brothers in the morning no matter what I do tonight.” Maedhros tied one of Maglor’s ankles to the bedpost, then crouched to look Maglor in the eye. “This is your last chance to back out. After all, none in Angband cared if I screamed, or begged them to let me go, or truly thought myself on the brink of death if they gave me but one more wound.”

“I won’t go back on what I said. I want to understand you, whatever it takes.”

Maedhros nodded, and reached into the bedside table. He pulled out a scrap of fabric, and unceremoniously gagged Maglor.

“Your voice is pretty, but I’d rather you not sing the place down.” Maedhros circled the bed as he talked, voice smoother than normal, the vowels stretched long. “I’d survive of course, but my master would be so upset to lose you. With Feanor dead and his eldest stolen from me, you’re sadly the best I’m going to get.”

Maedhros ran his hands over Maglor’ body, checking his muscles like a newly acquired horse. The touch was clinical rather than passionate, arousing neither of them.

“I suppose it’s not too poor a prize. After all, the other two had such indomitable wills. But a sweet little songbird like you, I bet you change your tune quite easily. What do you think, will you sing prettily for me?”

Maglor shook his head to protest, but let out a surprised yelp when Maedhros’s hand abruptly found his ass.

“Oh, does the little prince have objections? Does he think himself too great to yield for a Maia? We can fix that, if you like.”

Maedhros said the next words in Maglor’s ear, his voice once more his own with no pretense. “There is one you’ve always let use you.”

“Your brother was so strong, so smart, so handsome. Everyone admired him; of course that included you And when he asked to touch you, how could you deny him? He was finally treating you as a peer, not just a child tagging along behind him and his friends.”

“Not that he ever really saw you as an equal. You were just a warm body to him; he fucked you so often only due to convenience. I suppose your form is more pleasant than many, and your lips practiced from the flute. A fuck toy that can hold its breath for minutes is more fun as well. But that’s all you were to him, a pretty toy. If you had asked him to marry you, he would have laughed, and left you by the wayside. By the next day he’d have someone just as pretty in his bed, and never wonder about you again.”

Maglor protested.

“What, do you think my assessment of him unfair? That I can’t possibly know? He was in my power for years. I learned everyone of his deepest desires – and he never mentioned you as anything but a desperate little slut.”

“Or perhaps you’re saying you would complain if he cast you aside. You would shout in the streets, that Maedhros was unfaithful to his brother-lover. Write a song to get every ear on Tirion on your side- or at least against him.”

Maedhros had opened up Maglor’s ass while he spoke. His caresses were mocking though, giving the sort of deep sensual touch that Maedhros usually lavished on Maglor’s cock to his wrist instead, treating his brother’s hole with all the intimacy of plopping a hat on his head.

Maedhros fucked Maglor then, not hard and fast, but reveling in his own pleasure. He didn’t avoid Maglor prostate but neither did he seek it, rutting after his own high as if the body beneath him was nothing but so much meat.

Maedhros came, and wiped his cock off on Maglor’s thighs to clean it.

Maedhros began speaking in that smooth silky voice again, as ‘Sauron’ dropped the act. “You do look pretty, with my seed in you and your cock hard as you wish for release. But not particularly unique. I think you ought to have some way to mark as you different than the other slaves, don’t you? After all, a Prince of the Noldor shouldn’t be mistaken for common rabble.” Maedhros adjusted Maglor’s appearance as he spoke, tucking a bit of hair back behind one ear, moving his arms to a more pleasing angle.

Maedhros reached the foot of the bed again, and massaged Maglor foot. He moved his hand up, caressing Maglor’s calf and groping his thigh. Then he said, “yes, here will do nicely.”

Maedhros took out another length of rope and put it around Maglor’s left arm, right against the shoulder and armpit. Then he grabbed Maglor’s knee, and raised it towards his chest. With a few deft motions, Maglor’s left leg was tied up out of the way, exposing one ass-cheek to his tormentor.

“There. Everyone’s going to be seeing you from this angle, so it’s really the best spot for a mark of authenticity.”

Maedhros turned to the table, and to Maglor’s surprises did not turn around with a pen to write insults on his bare skin. Instead, Maedhros was holding a needle.

Maedhros jabbed the needle into Maglor’s ass, making him yelp from behind the gap. Then Maedhros withdrew the needle, and jabbed it again scarcely a hairs-breadth away.

Maglor flinched and whimpered at the first line. When Maedhros started the second, Maglor squirmed in the ropes. He had not expected the pain to be tedious, but it really was.

Maedhros said, “hold still,” and poked the needle into Maglor’s balls. When Maglor shrieked and his free leg shot straight out. Maedhros waited for a moment, then resumed drawing the star of Feanor.

“It’s lucky that your father chose such a simple symbol. Something like the twin snakes of Arafinwe would require a knife, and your whole back.”

Maglor did his best to stay still, as the tedium was obviously something Maedhros had experienced as well.

At the end, Maedhros said, “There. Now you are marked as a proper whore of Feanor, a slut of the house of Finwe.” Maedhros angled a small mirror so that Maglor could see his own ass. There was indeed a star of Feanor, bright red, in some places dripping with blood and in others only inflamed. The star was only a few inches away from Maglor’s hole, still dripping with spend. Maglor was so arrested by the sight – both fascinating and repulsive – that he nearly missed Maedhros’s next words.

“Really, there’s no need for you to see anything else is there? A mark depicting your rank is all anyone who plays with you will see, and you don’t deserve to see more than them.” Maedhros got out a long strip of cloth and tied it around Maglor’s eyes. “You can think on that sight for a while”

The gag fell away, and Maglor started to ask what ‘Sauron’ meant to do next. It was clear quickly enough though, as his lips brushed against Maedhros’s limp cock.

“You’re renowned for you talented tongue, put it to use. Your appearance is hardly enough to arouse, but perhaps you do have some physical skills.”

It was not the first time, or even the hundredth, that Maglor had sucked his elder brother’s cock. The only downside was being unable to see the look on Maedhros's face, or cradle his thighs. Even though Maedhros had come less than an hour before, it did not take long for him to stir at Maglor’s tongue.

Maedhros fucked Maglor’s throat for a few strokes, then pulled out. “You are a useful slut,” Sauron’s voice said as the gag was re-tied around Maglor’s mouth. “I have been remiss in my hospitality though. Feanor’s whore ought to be used by Feanor, but I haven’t given you the opportunity to fulfill your purpose.” Maedhros’s voice changed again. “He made so many beautiful things, and used them all only for his own glory. Is it any surprise that he would use his sons the same?”

Maglor shook his head in denial. This was going too far, and surely Maedhros wouldn’t actually impersonate their father during sex?

But Feanor’s voice continued. “What, did you think I would swoop in and save you, if only I could? Don’t be ridiculous. If you cannot rescue yourself, you are nothing more than baggage that was weighing me down.”

Maglor felt something enter his hole – likely a finger, but he couldn’t see. “You are a millstone around the neck of the entire kingdom.” Feanor’s voice spoke from next to Maglor’s throat, and followed each sentence with a sharp bite.

“You pulled your elder brother into depravity, when he could have had his pick of eligible bachelors in Valinor. Your soothing songs charmed us all into a false sense of peace, rather than preparing for the war we knew was coming.” The finger pulled out, and there was a blunt object at Maglor’s rim.

“If you had been more focused on seeing the truth rather than happy little fairy tales, you would have been a better soldier. You could have saved my life.” Maglor’s hole opened around a cock as his father’s voice spoke in his ear. “And yet you were not constant even in your cowardice. If you had spoken up alongside Maedhros, perhaps Amrod might live.”

Maglor screamed for Maedhros to stop, but it was muffled by the gag. Whatever the torments of Angband had been, Maglor did not need to hear his deepest shame revealed in between Feanor moaning for pleasure.

Maedhros paid no heed, though. He kept fucking Maglor, but slower than before. Instead every thrust was as inevitable as the bow of a hammer, treating Maglor’s prostate like an impurity in the metal to be beaten out.

And Maedhros kept talking as well, still in the tones of Feanor, full of barely contained fury. “You are a failure as a king. Leader of the Noldor, the best craftsmen the world has ever seen, and what do you have to show for it? Two camps of undressed stone, the only decoration where people have written their names on their houses.”

A hand began toying with Maglor’s nipples.

“You were left in command of the grandest army anyone has ever seen, and you did nothing with it. You did not win any great victory, you did not even make any attempt. You hid behind walls while your brother was on the brink of death. You left him to be tortured and penned a polite letter to you half-uncle.”

Maglor reached out his mind to Maedhros, to beg his brother to stop the charade, but Maedhros’s walls were as solid as the earth and as smooth as glass. His cries went unanswered, and Maglor could not even tell if Maehdors heard him.

Still the voice of Feanor continued, as did the thrusts inside Maglor’s body. The hand stop tweaking his nipples, but that was no relief as it instead went lower, until Maglor felt his father’s hand stroke his cock.

“You claimed to have no crown out of honor to the dead, but truly it was because you did not dare ask anyone to craft it for you. You know that you are a weak son of a stronger father, too incompetent to forge your own jewelry, but with no respect form your people. They would not have heeded your commands.”

Maglor was weeping openly, as his father’s cock continued to reshape him, and his father’s hand brought him pleasure.

“This is all you’re good for, you know. A pleasant distraction for those who deal the real work. Your voice can relax and soothe, and that’s not always a bad thing. Nor is such a lovely body. You just need to give in, and stop trying to reach above your station. Admit that you’re useless as anything other than a decoration. Stop trying to fight or lead, and lay back where you can be used.”

Despite the insults filling his ears, Maglor couldn’t help his body’s reactions. His cock was hard under the other’s hand, and more than once he caught himself pushing his ass back for more.

“Your skin is so beautiful and golden, my son, how I love to touch thee, to split you open on my cock. Your are so obedient, every one of my commands makes you moan. Can you be a good boy for your father?”

Maglor shook his head and tried to cry out. But the voice in his ear paid no heed, and the hand on his cock sped up.

“Oh, I think you can. You’ll be a perfect little slut for me. Maglor, come.”

Maglor did with a sob. A moment later, he felt the other release in his ass.

Feanor – no, it was an illusion by Sauron – Maedhros, who Maglor had asked to do this in the first place, pulled out. He spoke in the smooth tone of Sauron now, rather than imitating their father.

“Now, was that so unpleasant? You got to spend time with your family, and you certainly enjoyed it.” A hand reached down around Maglor’s cock, painfully tight but making him well aware it was covered in his own spend.

Maglor whimpered.

“Really, you ought to be thanking me. But if I’m not wanted, I’ll leave you alone. There are plenty of trolls who want a chance at the elf prince.”

[catastrophicmind]

Get to know me (take two)

I came across this little prompt and thought we could continue sharing about ourselves. Believe it or not, but I’m invested in y’all and would love to get to know everyone! 😁

Are you named after anyone?: No, but everyone assumes my parents are huge Allman Brother fans because my name is Melissa. When I asked my mom about it, she informed me that she, in fact, hates the Allman Brothers. She just thought the name was pretty.

When was the last time you cried?: Ooh, boy. About a month ago when I made amends to my mom for all the hell I put her through. We both cried like babies.

Do you have kids?: None currently. I’d actually prefer to be a dog mom. The thought of having mini versions of me roaming the Earth is quite terrifying.

Do you use sarcasm a lot?: It’s literally the only way I know how to communicate. I absolutely love sarcasm and dry humor.

What’s the first thing you notice about people?: Physically, I go for the eyes— they’re a window to the soul. I actually can read people very well. Someone’s eyes say a lot about who they are as an individual. I normally can accurately hone in on their intentions and emotions within the first five minutes of talking to them. I’m big on reading energy. Plus, I’m a sucker for pretty irises.

What’s your eye color?: Hazel to be vague. Normally they switch between green and gold depending on my mood. It’s actually pretty cool.

Scary movies or happy endings?: Scary movies hands down. Not a huge romance fan. I thoroughly enjoy reading fluffy fan fiction, but I’m not big on lovey-dovey movies. I need to be on the edge of my seat the entire time. I get bored watching people fall for each other over a two hour timeframe.

Any special talents?: Heh. I was in concert and marching band for eight years. I can play any type of symphonic instrument you put in front of me from a flute to a tuba. I specialize in reed instruments but that didn’t stop me from learning how to play them all. Also, I play by ear. You can play any song you wish and within thirty seconds, I can pick out the key and play it in its entirety without reading any sheet music. I actually wrote a lot of scores for the football game music.

Where were you born?: Good ‘ol Raleigh, North Carolina where I currently reside. I’ve lived up and down the East Coast, but always manage to make it back home. I don’t intend to leave this beautiful area any time soon.

What are your hobbies?: I’m actually pretty boring. I do a lot of writing and reading, I’m obsessed with music (you can almost always find me with my headphones in) and other lame adult things. I’m getting to an age where all I do is work and come home to relax. I try to keep a structured life. I’m horrendous to be around if I don’t plan my day out in advance.

Have any pets?: No, my lease won’t allow it. My mom still has our family Cockapoo, Cody, we brought home the summer of my Senior year. He may not live with me, but I love him immensely. He’s like the annoying little brother I never wanted and came to grow quite fond of.

What sports do you play/have played?: I was not a sporty gal. Did four years of marching band in high school. It was intense considering we were the top band in the state all four years. We’d travel to Grand Nationals every winter and place in the semi-finals for the country. I got to march on the Indianapolis Colts stadium— that was pretty fucking rad. Had me in phenomenal shape too. I used to be able to run a five-and-a-half-minute mile.

How tall are you?: I’m five-foot-seven-and-a-half. Sometimes I wish I could be petite like other girls, but it works in my favor when I want to reach something on the top shelf.

Favorite subject in school?: History and Psychology. I loved learning about anything to do with what happened in our country and the world long before we arrived. I also adore understanding the brain and why it functions the way it does.

Dream job?: Substance Abuse Counselor. I’d love to work in a treatment center to help individuals struggling with dual diagnosis. I have personally been fighting addiction since I was twenty. I’m coming up on a year of sobriety early March and my dream is to give back what was so selflessly given to to me in my time of need. I want to bring positive change to the world for addicts that believe there is no hope. It actually gives me butterflies thinking about it.

Tagging: @the-type-a @heysatanitsyourgirl @webui1tgwensface @sentimentalslut @plutosschild @honeynotgood @duncans-unibrow

[pickingwinkles]

I've been tagged by @highponeystoney Thanks friendo!

1. Are you named after anyone? My maternal grandfather. yep I have nothing wittier to say

2. When was the last time you cried? Hmm. Today. I watched some people watch Return of the King on youtube (because that is the way in which i have chosen to fritter away my precious little time on earth) and I cried when they cried when they realised Frodo was leaving for the undying lands. basically i will cry any time i see anyone else cry even if i don't know what they're crying about. why aren't my sentences auto-capitalising on my laptop? Must I do everything myself? I am not cool enough to have non-capitalised sentences.

3. Do you have kids? I'm just going to go ahead and copy paste @highponeystoney 's answer here. No. Nor I do I wish to have any. Never had any desire. *waves to all the busy-bodies who told me I'd change my mind when I'm older*

4. Do you use sarcasm a lot? It depends who I'm with... there are plenty of people who just don't do sarcasm and I will pop it neatly aside for them. But I'm an Xennial and an Australian, it's kind of in my make-up. You didn’t survive teen-hood in the 90s without developing the skill of sarcasm. Also my sister used to call me Darlene (after the character in Roseanne) and I was obsessed with Daria. Make of that what you will.

5. What's the first thing you notice about people? Faces. General facial area. Mostly their chin or mouth because that's where I look so I can understand what they're saying

6. What's your eye color? Brrrrrrrrrrrrrrrown

7. Scary movies or happy endings? Depends. I don't like jump scare horror movies, but I like to be scared. The best ones for me never show the horror and good ones of those are few and far between. I can take or leave a happy ending. I prefer a justified ending

8. Any special talents? I can play the nose flute

9. Where were you born? Melbourne baby! In Australia, not that Florida nonsense. So, just 20 minutes ago I was looking up airports and typed in MEL--you know, our airport code because we got it first because we are the best Melbourne--and Melbourne fucking Florida kept coming up first! Excuse moi! One: we are an actual state capital and two: just no. No offence to Florida Melburnians, love ya

10. What are your hobbies? *sigh* Reading, walking, crochet, doodling, playing drums, learning, painting, needle-felting, sewing, cross-stitch and aaaaaall the other things with all the supplies in all the drawers... i just like making stuff okay

11. Have any pets? My kitty cat. She cute

12. What sports do you/have you played? Sometimes I wish I still played something, or had someone to play tennis or something with. At school I played in the volleyball, (field) hockey, and soccer teams. Oh and I was a pretty good high-jumper too… until everyone else grew taller than me. In my own time I used to play tennis, played lawn bowls a few times, and sniffed around the local croquet club. And I've done a few short (5km) runs with so-called friends who made me run. Horrific. Hate running. Actually it was kinda fun running around the zoo...

13. How tall are you? I 163cm last time the doctor checked

14. Favorite subject in school? Art, English, Maths and Science

15. Dream job? Mate, if I haven't figured it out by now I never will. I don't know. The most motivated I am is doing things for other people (literally anything... false. almost anything) and faffing about making things look pretty. So something that combines those.

I was going to tag people... and I'm still too scared to tag people. Look, I am a socially anxious nightmare okay. Just, do the thing if you got down this far and you want to do the thing, yeah? And feel free to let me know if you like to be tagged to do these things, or tag me to say you did it if you like. Not that I get many but you know, if I do. I've lost track of what I'm saying. How did my battery drop down so fast? I gotta get a snack.

[late-to-the-magnus-archives]

And Eat it, Too - Chapter Nineteen: Apocalypse Party

In which Jon suffers through the dreaded apocalypse party, learns how the Unknowing affected the whole world, makes friends with Oliver Banks, and learns that Michael may be dying...

>>> NOW ON AO3!

I can't really blame Jon for wanting out of this social situation.

(Masterpost including playlist)

*

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Wearing Elias’s clothes, wrapped in Elias’s scent, Jon steps back into the lobby.

The absolute hypocrisy of the apocalypse party slaps Jon in the face like a room-warm fish, and he nearly turns right around and goes to hide in Elias’s private shower.

He might have, if Elias hadn’t come up behind him, put his hand in the small of Jon’s back, and pushed him forward without a word.

They’re all just standing around, chatting, like they don’t actually hate each other’s guts, don’t actually want to grind one another into mulch and claim all the world’s fear for themselves, and Jon must have been showering for a while because everyone has little plates with hors d’oeuvres and little plastic champagne flutes with drinks.

It’s madness.

Jared didn’t bother with a glass. He’s walking around with a full wine bottle, scowling, and it still looks small in his hand.

Jon knows who everyone is, in this place.

The musician? That’s Alfred Grifter, avatar of the Slaughter—who can play his flute and infect people with the need for murder. He looks so out of place; half-bald, with a ratty, old brown suit that drapes around him like ill-fitting skin.

Grifter looks bored. Jon knows he is not bored.

He sees Jude Perry, Arthur Nolan, and Diego Molina, standing in a small, smoking cluster, glaring his way.

Gordon Goodman dragged himself out of his garbage-pile to see who could bring his beloved Corruption into the world.

Annabelle is here, sipping a drink, but nobody seems to see her except for Jon, and doesn’t that just make him feel sane and well-adjusted?

He does a head-count.

There are representatives of all the Fears standing in this place except for the Stranger, the Hunt, and the Buried. Well, and the Spiral; but Michael will come back when it wants.

It’s fine. Michael is fine. Michael is recovering, like it promised, and not in trouble, the way Jon’s gut warns.

Jon can’t consider any other option right now, or he’ll lose it. Just lose it, snap.

There’s a plan, he tells himself, beginning to hyperventilate. You don’t know what it is, but there’s a fucking plan—

To pull the ripcord and get out if Jon screws it up.

He closes his eyes tightly for a moment, willing away the throat-closing terror that he’s already gone too far.

When he opens them, Oliver Banks is standing in front of him.

“Hi,” says Banks with a small smile.

Jon exhales.

Elias seems to consider this good enough, and walks away to snatch a plate away from Peter Lukas and whisper menacingly at him.

He must actually be angry about the poaching, thinks Jon. “Hello. Ah—thank you. By the way. You… I heard you. In the hospital.”

“Glad to hear that.” Banks rubs the back of his head. “Annabelle asked me to do it. I almost didn’t, but…” He shrugs. “I know what it’s like, right in that moment of decision, and… I wish someone had been there to nudge me.”

“To nudge you which way?” Jon can’t help but wonder.

“The way I chose,” says Banks, and either does not care that Jon compelled him, or did not feel it at all. “I’m tired, but… it’s fulfilling. It’s the right place for me. They don’t pick you by accident, you know?”

Jon can feel his face doing something he’d rather it not do.

“Hey,” says Oliver, his eyes very wide. “Um. Don’t.. don’t cry, or… um.”

“This has been an awful day,” Jon confides.

“Successful, though,” says Oliver. “Did you know we could all feel it?”

“Feel… what?”

“When the Unknowing started for real. When they started pulling on you. Jon, it—can I call you Jon? It hit the entire world.”

Jon stares at him. “What?”

Oliver takes out his phone and shows him the news.

GLOBAL AMNESIA BLAMED ON BIOWEAPON, says one.

THE BLANK SPOT: UNRAVELING EARTH’S LATEST, GREATEST MYSTERY, says another.

TERROR GROUPS COME FORWARD TO TAKE CREDIT FOR THE GAP, says yet a third.

Jon rubs his forehead because now that he knows, now that he’s aware, the Eye wants to fill in all the lovely empty spaces with other people’s terror, and—

“Everyone forgot who they were,” says Oliver. “Or struggled to remember. Everyone except for Elias.”

“Oh,” says Jon very quietly.

“Our… patrons… suddenly were getting nothing. At least, if knowledge was any part of what they need. It didn’t feel good.” He tilts his head toward the Desolation trio, who are all glaring at Jon in silence. Arthur Nolan has a small plate. It is smoking. “And even the ones who don’t need knowledge found they struggled to remember anything. I don’t think they knew it would hit them, too.”

At least that explained Jude’s willingness to work with Nikola. As if Nikola would have ever spared anyone.

He does not mind that Nikola is dead.

Jon sighs. “But I didn’t make it happen. Why are they mad at me?”

“Your power made it worse. I mean, I don’t blame you—I get it wasn’t your fault. But I don’t blame anyone for anything, these days.”

He hadn’t even been marked by all fourteen yet when that happened. How much more could they do with him now?

Jon wants to sit down.

There’s nowhere to sit down. “He took out the benches?” says Jon, staring around the lobby.

“I think he took out anything that could be, um. Thrown,” says Oliver. “You’ll notice even the… refreshments… are sitting on shelves built into the walls, not anything loose—uh, Jon?”

Jon winces and grips his head.

Because now the whole world has brand-new horror stories, and the Beholding really wants them filtered through Jon, and Jon wasn’t asking about them, so now it’s showing him what happened when no one knew anything for a few terrible minutes.

There were crashes. Accidents. Explosions.

Death on a scale he can’t fully comprehend.

Children lost and dropped, surgeries horrifically botched, delicate chemical procedures that went all to hell –

“Jon! Hey. Come on, focus,” says Oliver from somewhere in space.

Jon comes back, following the familiar voice, though it is hard, and finds he’s crouched down, hyperventilating.

Of course, he’s crying.

Everyone is staring at him, either openly or pretending to be sly.

Now would have been a much better time for the Buried, he thinks, and laughs unsteadily.

Oliver stares. “I think you may have one of the crueler gods,” he says, finally. “I wouldn’t have said that a few days ago, but…”

“I think you’re right,” whispers Jon. “But I didn’t pick it. I didn’t.”

“Does that matter?” says Oliver in his absolutely profound calm.

“No,” Jon says, because he also knows he could never willingly leave.

He couldn’t even say why, except that it’s the right place for him, too.

That almost sets him off again. He’s shaking.

“Let’s get you a drink,” says Oliver Banks, who is an avatar of death, but somehow so gentle as he helps Jon up.

“How do you do that?” Jon says, trusting Oliver will understand what he means. “Your patron eats fear.”

“Sure. But I don’t,” says Oliver.

That’s important.

That’s…

Jon holds it in his mind, looking at it from all angles. That’s really damned important—

“Jon,” Says Elias-Jonah-Whoever-The-Fuck. “Could I borrow you for a moment?”

“I won’t leave,” says Oliver. “Go on.”

And Jon can suddenly understand why he’d end the world for Oliver Banks.

Frightened at himself, he goes.

“Peter has something he would like to say,” says Elias.

“You have got to be joking,” says Jon.

“Sorry for jumping the queue,” says Peter, utterly unrepentant, and toasts him. “May the best god win.”

A moment of awkward silence: “That’s it?” says Jon.

“That’s it.”

Jon makes a face at both of them and walks away.

Jude Perry gets in his way. “We need to talk. Now.”

Jon puts his right hand behind his back. “I don’t want to.”

“Oh, but you did before, even when I told you to stop,” she says, pouring her usual weird sensuality into the words. “And now that you’re the star, you don’t want to do it anymore? It’s your chance, Archivist.”

“To what, get matching burns?” he snaps.

“To finish our conversation,” she says with so much hate.

“I’m not doing a ritual for you,” says Jon, wondering how many times he’s going to have to have this conversation tonight.

“I don’t care,” says Jude.

And all of a sudden, he knows their plan, and desperately wishes he didn’t. Jon sputters. “I’m not… fathering Agnes Montague for you, either.”

“Why not? Could be fun—assuming anyone could control their gag reflex long enough to touch you, of course. And Agnes would never get tied to some stupid Archivist if she already has powers that match or draw from you,” smiles Jude.

They’d use him to father Agnes, then burn him alive on the pyre of her birth.

It’s not a bad plan, honestly. Fits the demented fear-logic that created Agnes in the first place, and so it would probably work—and it would make Agnes 2.0 yet another step removed from the human factor that had led to her end.

For one second, he is terrified, imagining the pain in his hand, but everywhere, followed by the tiny, hot sparks of Jude’s eagerness to hurt him, to burn him, to watch him break—

And then suddenly, it’s funny.

Jon must be going mad because he laughs. “Do you want a paranoid, weepy fire-messiah? Because that’s how you get a paranoid, weepy fire-messiah. Believe me, my inclusion is not the plus you think it is.”

The look she gives him makes him step back. Her eyes narrow, and he knows she’s seriously considering violating their little cease-fire to hurt him.

He just did it again, antagonized a walking ball of rage and pain again.

“Keep going, Archivist. I’m sure you weren’t done,” she says, low. “When the Lightless Flame takes you, we will make every moment of your remaining existence hell, and your screams will sing her into glory.” And she is picturing the smell of his flesh cooking as he dies.

Jon is saved from replying (running, puking, who knows) by Simon Fairchild, who grabs his arm and pulls him away. “Very nice, thank you!” he chirps at Jude, as though they just finished some wonderful transaction. “Not good company to keep, if you want my opinion, but then… Do you?” He pats Jon’s arm. “You already know everything, yes?”

It sounds like an honest question, not a dig, but Jon is sure it’s a dig. “If I did, I wouldn’t be here, being emotionally assaulted.”

Fairchild thinks that’s very funny.

Jon is more than happy to let the old man get him away from Jude. “She didn’t follow.”

Fairchild smiles. “Fire doesn’t work very well without oxygen, did you know?”

“Not even magic fire?”

“Not hers, certainly.”

There’s a story there, as to how Fairchild knows that, but Jon tries to push it off. He is so tired of trauma, tonight. “Why are they all here?” Jon asks, more to the world at large than Fairchild, but the old man answers.

“To watch you, dear boy, to watch you! It’s not as though we love Elias’ theory—I mean, who wants to share all that power?—but the concept does have merit.”

“Jonah… Elias would have to share power, too, wouldn’t he?”

Fairchild gives him a look that says, Oh, you know! But then smiles and continues the game. “No, Elias is right—the Eye would only benefit from supportive gods running around, bringing fear. It’s the Watcher, after all. He wouldn’t be sharing power at all. To be completely honest, I don’t even know what a world with your Eye in charge would even look like. Just like this? Everyone unconscious and dreaming hell? Who knows?”

Jon knows, and is terrified he’s going to lead to it again.

Then he realizes he’s getting actual, honest answers. “You… you answered me.”

Fairchild laughs. “You poor boy—he really has been starving you, hasn’t he? Not to worry. If we decided to take you on—if—you’d get all the answers you like. We have no reason to hold back.”

Jon swallows. “Mike did. Crew. Um. I… I’m sorry about—”

“About a Hunter who’d been murdering avatars since before you even knew we all existed? Nonsense. That was his own fault for opening the door without checking first.”

That’s a lie. Fairchild is still angry—but he’s angry at Daisy, and only hasn’t acted because he isn’t fully sure who she is.

The old man hasn’t decided if he’s angry at Jon, too, and that feels like a dangerous thing, a ponderous thing, a rage so vast and dangerous that if it turned toward Jon, it might destroy him.

Fairchild pats his arm. “Of course, on top of all of that—to resume our conversation—nobody’s sure if they like you yet. After all, we don’t know how this would work. What if god somehow goes into your body? What if you become a prophet? Would we be stuck with you? All these plans to sacrifice you to make it all happen, and no one can be sure it would even work.”

“‘Stuck with me’ is so bad, is it?” Jon says as dryly as he can (though he still kind of believes that, though the Lonely still tugs at his wounds, though the Dark still digs into them and keeps them wide open).

Fairchild smiles. “You have one of those personalities that people either really love or hate. There’s no in-between for you.” Pat, pat. “I do understand. I’m in that boat myself, you know.”

Answers, Jon thinks in spite of all reason, warming to Fairchild, answers I hate but they’re real, no games, no damnable cleverness—

Michael was right. This is precisely how to woo him. Jon sighs.

Fairchild sips his drink. “I won’t lie—this is the most fun I’ve had in weeks.”

“You mean when you’re not threatening to throw people off roller-coasters?” says Jon.

Fairchild just… smiles.

Jon has to look away. There are hundreds of years of heartlessness in that smile.

Fairchild chuckles. “It’ll all work out. Why, I lived as a jeweler, a con-artist, a thief, all manner of things until the 1930s, you know. Then I got the idea to steal a wealthy man’s life, and look at me now! I have quite enjoyed myself since.”

“Is everyone here wearing somebody else?” Jon blurts.

“You get used to it,” says Fairchild.

Jon doesn’t think he will get used to it.

“Well, it looks like your next date is here.” Fairchild still hasn’t made up his mind; Jon can feel it. “Do us all a favor and get very drunk. You’ve already had quite an auspicious debut—might as well go out swinging!” He cackles, nods at Oliver Banks, and wanders away.

“Here,” says Oliver, handing him one of those stupid plastic champagne flutes and a napkin.

Jon stuffs the napkin into his pocket, takes the glass. Starts to say thank you. Chugs the whole glass down first.

Nobody makes a comment or a joke about that, which goes to show the evening sucks for everyone.

“You should know that a few of them are actually thinking of trying to force an auction,” says Oliver.

Terror frissons up Jon’s spine, makes his skin tingle, makes his saliva taste sour. “Are you serious?”

“But it’s not going anywhere,” Oliver says, gently. “Everyone here is… doing fine, of course, financially, but—”

“Some of them can afford to finance a gods-damned fear-based space station, and that kind of filthy lucre wrecks the playing field,” Jon mutters.

Oliver smiles. “That, and Elias won’t agree to it.”

Jon makes a disgusted sound. “So what?”

Oliver shrugs. “Nobody here is going to cross him.”

That was deeply unnerving. (Every time he decides to try for you, it works). “I… I meant I wouldn’t agree to it. I’m not a… a prize cow.”

“I don’t think that matters. No one…” Oliver pauses. “It just looks like you’re a mess,” he says, somehow without judgment. “Controllable. You snip at Elias, but of course, you still give him what he wants, like everyone here does. You showed up tonight covered in mud, rescued by the Vast. It’s not a great impression.”

Jon laughs, rubs his face. “Would you believe it might still be one of my better ones?”

Oliver smiles with him. “Sorry, man. That’s rough.”

“Yeah.” Jon peers into his empty glass. “Yeah.”

“In the end, they’re just going to watch you tonight. That’s all,” murmurs Oliver. “They’re deciding if they're going to fight for you or not—and since so many of us are here, it’s not worth fighting now. Tonight’s not going to go that way. You’re safe.”

Jon thinks his definition of “safe” might not mesh with Oliver’s. “Can… can you see who’ll die? If they did decide to fight each other?”

Oliver doesn’t answer.

Which is answer enough.

Two wolves, Jon thinks randomly, one inside me that wants to see them all murdered, and the other that doesn’t want to kill anybody and just wants to hide in Elias’ secret shower.

He wonders if one wolf will eat the other.

He misses Michael.

He wants a door.

Someone pokes him in the kidney that got stabbed, and he spins.

Callum Brodie is looking at him with solid black eyes and an expression no child should ever wear. “Huh,” he says. “You are marked. Deep, too. Weird.”

It’s a child’s voice, a child’s inflection. Didn’t even crack, puberty still working its way through.

But the child is a monster.

And was before Maxwell Rayner tried the ritual to push himself inside that small body.

Jon swallows.

“Maybe,” says Callum, as if answering a question Jon could not hear. “You’d power things nicely, wouldn’t you?”

Jon doesn’t want to know how he’d power things. “Manuela said you’re hundreds of years away from building that much fear again.”

And Callum Brodie smiles. “Not if we use the power of an Archivist to make the whole world remember they need to be afraid of the Dark.”

Jon inhales. “How would you even—no. No, don’t answer. Don’t.” Jon pushes against it, refusing the plan.

“You’ll know, whether you want to or not,” Callum promises terrifyingly, and walks off to go peer with age-appropriate fascination at Gordon Goodman, who looks like he’s made of paper mache, the ends of worms, and an oozy smell.

“He’s decided,” says Oliver quietly.

“He needs a damned babysitter,” Jon snaps, which he knows is absurd, which he knows is childish—

Then he pauses.

Looks around.

Regardless of very specific weaknesses, everyone here has been given horrifying power—and they use it.

They all get their way, all the time.

There’s nothing to stop them.

The only restriction any of them come across is each other, and that’s balanced just enough (Smirke wasn’t entirely wrong) that they don’t try to wipe each other out, because it would mean mutually assured destruction.

What they need is a damned Ragnarok they’d listen to. Have to obey. Pull them in line, make sure they’re not hunting gazelles for sport but for food, keep the damned balance for once.

That is not Jon. He can’t even teach a cat to fetch a toy.

Even if he had that kind of power, he’s not sure he could be trusted to use it well.

They definitely don’t need some damned eyepocalypse, either, he thinks. The Eye didn’t care enough to control anybody. It just wanted to watch.

Jared’s shadow announces his presence. Then his footsteps. Finally, his gurgling, meat-thick voice. “Yeah, this’s not for me. Good luck, Big Deal.”

Jon turns to face him. Looks up, up, up. Does not want to face him. But people are watching. How much has he given away by being visibly afraid of everything?

Too much.

Of course, he’s trembling, and he can’t stop that. “So you don’t want a… meat-world? Meat-ocalypse?”

Jared shrugs. “Eh. Don’t really see the point. Everybody’s already made of meat.” He laughs, wet and greasy-sounding. “Seems this’d mean a lot more shit to take care of, you ask me.”

Jon laughs weakly. It surprises him. “Nobody else seems to think so.”

“Yeah, well, they’re posh, ain’t they? Never had to work for a living.” He spits. Jon ignores it. “Never had to face fuckin’ jail time. Never went hungry. What do they know? Fuck the lot.” He finishes his bottle of wine, thrusts it against Jon’s chest, and stomps off toward the rest of the booze.

Apparently, Jared wants a few more for the road.

Jon shivers, hit with story, with the reminder that Jared was a criminal, that Jared had been an underprivileged child, that Jared had done a million odd jobs to keep the lights on (a mad concept for an avatar), and had never once shown interest in a ritual of the Flesh.

Most of these people had been very successful before a Power picked them. Jared was not.

It made sense he’d have a deeply different perspective—and it seems very, very important that he can have one.

He’s still a bully, though, Jon thinks, looking at his glass in his altered left hand.

Oliver takes the empty bottle and the empty glass and puts them somewhere else.

“Thanks,” says Jon, and looks up. “You didn’t leave.”

“I told you I wouldn’t. How you doing?”

“I think I’m about at my limit.”

“I don’t think they’re done with you.”

“No. No. They wouldn’t be. Who even knows what Elias has planned, on top of—” Jon stops.

In the wall, in the shadows of the darkened public library, is a door that wasn’t there before.

The door is barely visible. It hardly looks yellow. It could have been there all along.

But it wasn’t.

He swallows.

“You look like you’re steeling yourself for something,” says Oliver, and frowns. “Whatever it is, I’m… not sure it’s a good idea.” And his gaze follows something Jon can’t see, something that seems to be attached to Jon’s feet and curl along the floor, something that leads into the library and—

Through that door.

Jon’s heart catches. “What do you see?”

“Something’s dying in there,” says Oliver.

Jon runs.

(part twenty)

[girlreviews]

Review #49: Aquemeni, OutKast

Coming in at one hour and fourteen minutes (!!!), there was this very fun time where, particularly hip hop albums really ran long and featured soundscapes between tracks and running storylines throughout. I mean I’m sure they still do but it was like, a real thing. It’s hard to imagine an album running over an hour these days.

Aquemeni is a few records in but before OutKast really were super mainstream, got burned out and quit — no Heya! here. I feel so lucky to have been growing up and listening to OutKast as they were releasing music, beginning, middle, and end. They were just interesting and different and I kinda think it wouldn’t have mattered what genre they were in (André 3000’s most recent flute record would probably agree). It had something to say about society and the world we live in, it was a relationship between two friends who had serious talent and seriously different approaches but a ton of respect for one another, and it was a ton of other musical influence. This record is so funky.

I could and might spend the remainder of this review writing about Spottieottiedopalicious which I think might be one of my favorite songs of all time. For several reasons.

One, the drums. I can’t even deal with them.

Two, the opening vocals sung by André that are, again, so funky it’s almost not right.

Three, the line “as the plot thickens, it gives me the Dickens reminiscent of Charles”. It’s really introducing the remainder of the song, which is a story, and it is fucking genius. I can’t even imagine how pleased with myself I’d be if I wrote something like that. My ego simply would not be contained. I’d just know I was better than everyone else because I wrote that and nobody else did. And rightfully so.

Four, the brass. Not a sample. ORIGINAL brass. Like, what even is this song? Move this point up to number one actually. It’s ORIGINAL MUSIC.

Why aren’t we talking about it all of the time? Why isn’t it required listening for high school students so they can play it in marching band? I’m dead serious. Okay after fussing about this on the internet for a bit I’m heartened to learn that Aquemeni, specifically, and this is amazing, is played among orchestras because of its incredible composition. Check this the fuck out! The entire album start to finish! Incredible. I am pretty sure, although I can’t find it anywhere now that I have seen a clip of at least one high school band playing the trumpet from Spottieottiedopalicious.

There was a time when this song didn’t exist, and then it did, and we should all be in awe of that the majority of the time. I don’t get why we’re not. Two people met each other and became friends and made music together and created that, and a whole bunch of other incredible music.

When I was an angsty teen, I had tickets to the some tour… I wanna say the Anger Management Tour or something like that, and I was so fucking pumped about it (I hand painted my own shirt to wear, it was the dorkiest shit ever and the less said about it the better). OutKast were headlining alongside frankly, a bunch of other subpar bands that, while I was very into at the time, have not stood the test of time whatsoever (looking at you Fred Durst). It was abruptly cancelled a few days before and I never did get to see OutKast, not at any other festival or show, which is really a huge miss. I traded in those four tickets in exchange for ten tickets to then up and coming band Linkin Park. I still remember the outfit I wore. That was a memory, and not one I’d trade for quite a few reasons, none related to Linkin Park or their music. And I do wish I’d had the chance to see OutKast live, but I can honestly say I know I wouldn’t have appreciated what I was seeing at the time. Maybe it was better that I never got to wear my DIY shirt though. I’ve embarrassed myself enough in this life.