#it wasn't meant to be a trick but the pride people are taking in their cleverness is EXACTLY WHERE FAE BEINGS THRIVE

[swan2swan]

I am still astonished at just how many people are instantly taking the fae deal of "a thousand dollars" and bragging about how they will use a straw to solve the "glass" problem, without considering that the trap is in the currency.

[laswells-ashtray]

Can we please get more Price with daddy issues and what his childhood looked like?? 😭🙏

This is more about how even as he's older, John is a product of his environment and the way he was raised. Oops, my bad. Didn't realise until close to the end.

John doesn't talk about his childhood, he doesn't see the point in it. he knows people with childhoods a lot worse than his and it seems stupid to him to complain that his old man was a little heavy-handed in comparison to the shit Simon told him about his childhood.

Besides, there were benefits. He'll never be one to lounge about in bed feeling sorry for himself when he's sick. He threw up on his bedsheets once when he was six and he got the belt, after that, he figured out how to work the washing machine and where to put the cleaning products he'd need at a height he could reach.

He might be a bit weary but he's still as sharp as ever, John's more than aware of how to function while ill. And yet no one seems to stop fucking grating on him about it.

Simon had let slip a comment about him looking like shit and for once the cheeky prick meant it. Fine, he was a wee bit peely-wally but he wasn't fucking terminal. He had waved the other man off but he'd been subjected to what Gaz referred to as "the Riley bullshit eyebrow". Simon could take his disbelief and let Soap gargle it.

Soap had offered to help him with anything he needed throughout the day and was pushy to the point of irritation. Did John look incapable? Was he a damsel in distress? No, he didn't need help. He needed a bit of fucking peace.

Gaz was far more subtle, but he knew it was the sergeant who left the tea on his desk. He always made it a tad too light - baby tea. He'd drink it anyway, at least the lad wasn't doing his fucking tits in.

Contrary to popular belief, John was fine. He wasn't a pansy who needed fawning over like he couldn't help himself. It was one of the only things his old man had ever expressed pride over, John was resilient and adaptable. The bastard might be dead and the world might be better off for it, but the thought lingered in the back of John's mind. Sometimes it'd hit him out of nowhere like the leather of a belt, and he'd make a point to ignore how he braced for impact.

Maybe he was a little inattentive compared to his usual self, he wasn't on the field so it didn't matter. Mindlessly filling in paperwork was an art he'd perfected long ago. He wasn't his perfect self but he wasn't a fucking bawhair off of it.

He didn't have to be vigilant when someone stepped into his office, he'd memorised the sound of Nikolai's footsteps years ago so there was no need to greet him for the sake of formality.

The Russian wasted no time in parking his arse behind John's chair and leaning over his shoulders, wrapping himself around John like a thick coat. He leans back into the touch before he can think about it, Nikolai is warm and he smells good, sue him.

A large hand presses itself against his forehead and he almost wants to shut his eyes, sink into the feeling and fall asleep. He doesn't, instead with the effort of an army he pulls back from the hand and turns to glance at his partner.

"What's that for?"

Nikolai looks down at him through narrowed eyes that remind him far too much of a cat about to pounce on something. His back is still plastered against John's shoulders and it feels heavenly but he can't dwell on it overly much.

"You are sick."

It isn't a question, it's a fact. Nikolai doesn't do beating around the bush after that long together, he's blunt and to the point. Exactly what John prefers in every situation but this one. It's almost a trick statement, no matter how he answers he's fucked and not in the face down, arse up way he typically is with the Russian.

He keeps his expression blank to the point of almost looking bored as he responds. "What about it?" That type of response would've earned him a backhand over the jaw when he was hip height.

He very briefly thanks God that his chair has wheels on it because if it didn't then the floor would end up scuffed with how Nikolai steps back and hauls John's chair around to face him.

The way he radiates disapproval should be studied, John's starting to get why the muppets all hold a healthy amount of respect and fear for Nikolai. He would if he hadn't spent lazy mornings with his face between the other man's tits, snoring away.

Nikolai's hand grips his jaw, turning his head as he inspects John and his apparent fatal illness that is going to kill him off in the next two minutes if everyone doesn't jump down his fucking throat about it.

"You are sick and you are working, again."

John sighs, batting away the other man's hands and rubbing his own hand over his face. Maybe if he blinked hard enough then he'd get rid of that gritty feeling behind his eyes.

"Is that all you're here to talk about or is there a purpose to this, Nik?"

He's being a cunt, a self-aware cunt but a cunt nonetheless. He had a reputation for being irascible when he felt off, it was no secret. It's the only reason why instead of looking hurt, Nikolai just rolls his eyes and mutters under his breath.

He knows what "сволочь" means, Nikolai knows that he knows. It wasn't the first time his partner had called him a bastard and they're both aware that it's far from the last.

"You're going to bed."

John blinks at him before he can quite comprehend the statement, as the words register in his mind he immediately jumps to protest only for the hand that was pressed to his forehead to be slapped over his mouth.

"You are going to bed, Ghost is going to fill in any of the forms he can and you're going to complain about it, from bed."

He shoots the pilot a half-hearted glare that's more of a subtle attempt to squint at the lights that are half-blinding him as he looks up.

"Yes, I know. I am terrible. Do forgive me."

Nikolai makes no attempt to hide his sarcasm and John considers biting the hand over his mouth.

"Bed, now."

[myokk]

Eloise fucking Babbit.

Her name - her full name - kept replaying in his mind over and over as he practically ran through the castle in a furious haze. The other students parted around him with ease, clearly not wanting to get in his way. It was so obvious. How had he missed it?

Why did she have to be a Babbit? Why couldn't she just have had Hubert Abbot or...or Valerius Prince as a brother instead? He thought that he could deal with her having an absolutely boring Hufflepuff or even a Gryffindor as a sibling instead of Leo Babbit.

Yes, yes. Slytherins stick together, and all that. They were supposed to show a unified front against the rest of the houses. But some people were just so insufferable that he had a difficult time remembering that one specific unspoken rule.

(But he wouldn't think about last year, now, would he?)

Seeing her next to them, the family resemblance was clear. She looked just like her brother. The same unruly hair, hazel eyes. They could be twins. But...instead of seeing those hazel eyes filled with barely controlled hatred, today they had been looking at him warmly and mischievously and with trust. Maybe that's how she had tricked him into letting his guard down around her. How she had somehow hoodwinked him into not realizing who she was.

Sebastian had always prided himself on his astute observation skills, his intuition, his quick thinking. It wasn't pride - at least that's what he told himself. (If it was pride, it was well-earned.) He didn't think it was necessarily a bad thing to be aware of his own strengths and acknowledge them. Not like those stupid Gryffindors, for example, who were extremely prideful (the bad kind) and yet falsely humble at the same time. Who preached morality and good without even thinking of nuance, who thought of themselves as above the rest just because they weren't willing to push the limits of what magic was capable of.

It didn't matter that Eloise had frozen in her tracks as soon as she'd heard her mother's voice. Or that flash of fear he'd seen in her widening eyes when she looked up at him. Or the look that she'd given him as her mother had dragged her away from him. Or the twinging feeling he'd felt in his chest at that look.

Or or or.

It didn't matter. She was a fucking Babbit and he knew what that meant. He couldn't trust her. He had even told her about Anne. Anne. Maybe it was a good thing Eloise was a Babbit, after all. He had let himself forget about his sister's curse for a small while, back when he was talking to Eloise on their walk to Hogsmeade. Never mind that it actually felt kind of nice to just talk without those thoughts lingering in the background of his mind. He needed to stay focused.

Sebastian blinked and realized he'd ended up in the Undercroft. He hadn't entered it since last term and the emotions he had felt all of last year threatened to overwhelm him. That obsession. The fear and uncertainty and urgency that shadowed every moment. He let the feelings wash over him again, using them to his advantage to push all thoughts of Eloise to the back of his mind. Yes, it was much better that she turned out to be Babbit's sister. He had almost let himself get distracted today.

He took some calming breaths and then sat down and began to scour through the books he had piled up in the Undercroft, looking for any and all mentions of shrivelfigs and taking meticulous notes.

Shrivelfigs:

Native to Abyssinia - unclear when they were first discovered due to the traditions of passing down knowledge orally

Hardy plants that can thrive in virtually any condition, including subzero temperatures (note: research growing conditions in relation to healing)

Used in the Shrinking Solution, Elixir to Induce Euphoria, Thunderbrew…

(escorting Eloise to Hogsmeade had been the most fun he'd had in ages)

Egyptians have the first recorded use of the shrivelfig in their experiments (note: not the first uses…)

They recorded its medicinal properties, which include:

Removing pain - properties in the leaves (note: unclear if truly gets rid of pain, or just the perception of pain);

When its purple juice is combined with any part of the billywig, has the property to induce euphoria;

Cannot be mixed with powdered horn of a bicorn in any way (note: examine the arithmancy charts for these two ingredients to see just why they cannot be mixed)

Egyptians first introduced the shrivelfig to the Greeks

(he hadn't even minded being bested by her in the duel)

Alizon Pendragon (note: relation to Merlin?) cursed his children and used shrivelfig properties to cure them. Unclear what else he used in these cures…(this part underlined and starred and what else…what else…)

Sebastian stopped writing and stared at his notes. His handwriting was small and precise and neat: another thing he was proud of. His parents had impressed upon him and Anne the importance of education and his mother was very strict with how they wrote. But thinking about them made his insides twist up and his heart burn so he quickly put his quill back to the paper and worked on his notes.

He really did try to be engrossed in the research. He had taken out the shrivelfig and placed it on the desk before him as he worked, as a physical reminder of what he was doing. However, as he moved on to the arithmancy charts for the shrivelfig (quite interesting, really), he found he couldn't concentrate like he normally did.

His traitorous mind kept wandering back to her.

Last night, contrary to what he had said, he hadn't really paid attention when the new student rushed in and caused a stir among the students. As was becoming a more often occurrence, he was in a terribly awful mood.

Saying goodbye to Anne for another year was almost more than he could handle. It was just another mark against him, more proof that he was a failure. Even his twin was telling him to stop stop stop trying to find a cure. That she'd accepted her fate. He should, too.

Utter bullshit.

(But really, did she think those empty words were good enough? Hadn't she known him her whole life? Was it a lack of respect that made her think he would believe her? That she actually thought he didn't know she was trying to fool him? She had been poisoned by him. Giving up because of that man's words.)

Anne tried telling him that she'd accepted her fate. That she could see how his newest obsession was slowly ruining his life. And wasn't it horribly unfair that as she was slowly wasting away, that he, the perfectly healthy twin, was doing it to himself, too? Of his own volition?

Obsession. What a funny word. When Sebastian was younger, it was a word used fondly amongst his family. For his whole life, there had always been something. Something that would keep him occupied and have his interest. As a child, he remembered when it was the magical creatures living around their hamlet. One summer, when he and Anne were eight, they had spend days on end staking out a bowtruckle nest in the little copse next to their house.

Their parents had been charmed by their nightly updates, and had bought them books on magical creatures and empty notebooks to jot down their observations and draw. Every night, they would gather around the notebooks and he would watch in wonder as his father pulled out his wand to enchant the drawings to move and -

(No. He had already told himself that thoughts of them were off limits.)

He had truly noticed the new student when she was already sitting on the stool with the sorting hat on her head. Ominis would later tell him that she had caused quite the entrance. (He wouldn't know, stewing in his own fury and disgusting self-pity as he had been). The Great Hall was completely silent, everyone watching the spectacle that was a new fifth-year be sorted.

She sat there for five minutes.

Nobody sat there for five minutes.

When they hat finally shouted out "SLYTHERIN!" nobody clapped. Whispers everywhere. They all stared at her - had her name even been mentioned?

And Imelda, of course it was Imelda, had called her over because of course she couldn't sit with the first-years. Maybe in a different year at a different time, Sebastian would have been the one to notice and call her over. He had always been good at that sort of thing. Before. The girl was one of them now, after all. Slytherins stick together and whatnot.

The girl - Eloise - was quiet at the dinner table, seemingly more content to listen than to speak. Sebastian could just tell that she was hiding something.

Ominis had given him a look (how did he even do it?) and Sebastian had tried to make an effort. Although he couldn't have remembered what he said that night even if he were being threatened at the end of someone's wand. He did remember reminding her to eat, as lost as she was in her thoughts. What was making her so melancholy?

Ominis and Anne, working together to try and restore Sebastian back to the boy he had been before.

Everything was supposed to be normal.

Except, it wasn't.

Still, Sebastian was content to play the role assigned to him, content to try and make this a good year. He knew it was futile and when that bitch Victoria just had to go and mention Anne...well. Sebastian wasn't stupid. He could feel the limits of his patience beginning to crack and wasn't it better to just get up and leave rather than stay and curse her?

All in all, he thought he had done just fine for the first night of the second year without Anne.

Sebastian blinked blearily at his notes. He had been working on the shrivelfig arithmancy charts - maybe there would be useful information for him to be found in them. He was doing the advanced charts - that included more precise measurements and more complicated methodology. NEWT level. Sebastian had always had a head for numbers, though. He supposed that they were another of his obsessions.

Calm nights, crickets chirping, a floating candle behind them as Sebastian and his mother worked through arithmatic equations. The smell of bread baking, the click of knitting needles making sweaters. He was always very curious as a child, and his mother very patient with him and his endless questions. She would give him equations to work on while she was at school teaching, and every night they would work through the problems together.

(No. Focus on the arithmancy).

Numbers were comforting. As was dueling. With both, he had complete control and knew what the outcome would be. He wasn't the best duelist in their year without reason. Maybe he was strange (definitely), but he loved the comfort and rhythm of a good duel. It always followed a certain pattern, a code of conduct.

That was the second time he saw her and the first time he truly noticed her. Eloise.

For some unfathomable reason, Professor Hecat had put Sebastian against the new girl. He, the best duelist in their year, possibly the school, against a girl whose was gripping her second-hand wand so tightly her knuckles were white. She seemed nervous, but of course he said that he wanted to give her a proper Hogwarts welcome and god why had he even said that, but he had to stick to his word and so he sent out a hex towards her as soon as he heard Professor Hecat say they could start. Maybe it would be better the quicker she was defeated.

But she blocked his attack and gave as good as she got.

He hadn't felt so thrilled in a long time. Maybe not in over a year. Maybe not ever. As they fought, the rest of the students faded into the background and it was just the two of them. A brilliant game of cat and mouse...but who was which was the question that needed answering. Staring into her unfathomable hazel eyes (how had he not recognized them?) and answering and responding to every jinx and hex they hurled at each other. It was exhilarating.

In the end, Eloise beat him using an underhanded trick. Maybe if Sebastian had been a Gryffindor he would have called foul and demanded a rematch but he was a Slytherin and couldn't help but admire her for it. Truth be told, he almost wished that he was the one who had thought of it, but he had been enjoying their duel so much that even if he had thought of it he wouldn't have done it.

When she smirked up at him and said, "Slytherin," his stomach did a weird little flip and he felt his face flush. He needed to get to know this girl better. How had she learned to duel like that?

(Of course, now he knew the answer. With a family like that...it was a wonder she even knew how to smile. Or pretend warmth).

Like a stupid little puppy, he followed her after the class, desperate to keep talking to her. Even inviting her to be his guest at Crossed Wands. But every smile Eloise directed at him made him feel warm and she was like the sun and he thought that maybe if they fought together or even against each other again, maybe he could figure out what it was that was so mesmerizing to him.

In the library after that class, he had kept replaying their interactions with each other, not being able to help the stupid smile that grew on his face. Even letting his guard down, and not noticing when Madam Scribner started walking over. He supposed that he was being suspiciously quiet, and she did have good cause to be suspicious of him as he had forgotten to charm the cover of the book he had opened to something more innocuous.

But, miraculously, he had been saved by Eloise and yes, maybe he had been a little theatrical with his escape. Sebastian couldn't explain why, but just seeing her again and waiting for him and knowing that she had chosen him had made him smile despite himself, and it seemed the most natural thing in the world to grab her hand as they escaped together.

She was more intriguing the longer they talked, not least because she could also see thestrals. When she opened up to him about the dragon attack (in hindsight just a tactic to get to him no doubt) he felt a surge of protection previously only felt towards Anne.

When she had fallen into the crates after being hit by the troll he couldn't help the emotions that were twisting up his insides and making his heart start beating at an insane pace. Had she been killed? Oh god please - He was worthless. He had failed her.

But then - faster than his mind could even comprehend - she had somehow gotten up and before he could reach her the troll had been completely and utterly destroyed. He couldn't help but be in awe of her power - this girl who didn't look intimidating and who seemed so unsure of herself until she was fighting - but then she was shaking and hunched over in pain and what could he do? Another reminder of his failure to protect Anne - no, Eloise - and those fucking aurors were nowhere in sight.

(Had she ended up going to the Hospital Wing? He hoped so.)

Ominis found him that night still in the Undercroft. The candle floating behind Sebastian had almost completely extinguished, and the long shadows flickering through the huge open space gave it an ominous feeling. He had started analyzing the meticulous notes he had taken to look for something, anything that could help his sister. His friend slowly made his way forward, guided by his wand, and put his hand on Sebastian's shoulder.

"Sebastian? I heard about the troll attack. Are you fine?"

Sebastian looked up to Ominis, relieved that his friend couldn't see the desperation in his face. He hated himself for not being able to keep it out of his voice, though. "Did you know?"

Ominis sighed. "I think there is more to her than meets the eye. I know -"

"Stop." Sebastian hated how strangled his voice sounded. He rubbed his eyes with the palms of his hands and cast a tempus charm to check the time. It was much later than he had thought, and Ominis had probably come to accompany him back to the Slytherin dungeons before he could get detention for breaking curfew.

He didn't bother tidying up the desk before getting up and following Ominis out of the Undercroft. Sebastian couldn't be mad at the other boy - he knew him too well, and knew that Ominis had kept the information to himself for some strange reason known only to him.

That night, Sebastian dreamt of chasing after something just out of his reach and the sound of crickets and the smell of baked bread and remembered nothing when he woke up.

He had always been an early riser. Even after many late-night forays into the restricted section of the library the year before, he had never had the ability to sleep in. Maybe he could head to the Great Hall early - eating breakfast alone was his favorite start to the day.

Walking up the stairs leading out of the boys' dormitories, he saw that the main fire in the common room had already been lit. And - she was sitting by the fire, curled up with a huge stack of books by her side. Sebastian froze - why did she have to be awake right now? Eloise was leaning against the arm of the sofa, her cheek resting in her hand as she read the huge tome in her lap. Her brow was furrowed in concentration. It was her pink lips that his eyes went to, though, her teeth biting the lower one as her eyes moved across the page.

He hated that he was drawn to her like a moth to a flame.

He told himself that it was just because he was curious about what she was reading, especially after their conversation the day before.

As Sebastian approached, she sighed dramatically and shoved the book in her lap to the side. She rubbed her eyes and grabbed the next book from the stack next to her.

"I'm assuming that isn't one of the interesting books we talked about yesterday."

"Sebastian! What are you doing up already?"

"I could say the same to you," he replied, sitting down next to her and nonchalantly grabbing the book she had just discarded. He made a sound of disgust as he flipped through the pages, stopping at one in the middle. "'A good hostess is always aware of what is being said at her party; no topic of absorbing interest must be admitted to polite conversation.' What is this dribble?"

Eloise snatched the book away from him, a deep flush sweeping over her cheeks. (The flush was not bringing out the green in her eyes and he did not notice it). "For your information, that book was lying there because I found it completely and utterly boring and it's hard enough staying awake right now as it is. This one isn't much better, though." She sighed and threw the book she had just opened, A Wizarding Society's Guide to the Pureblood Customs, to the side. "My mother's making me read all of these so that I can have a smooth introduction to society."

"Ah yes, you're a Babbit," he said, sitting back and putting his hands behind his head. Even if he wanted to, he couldn't stop the words coming out of his mouth just as he couldn't stop the bitterness seeping into every word. (She deserved it, after all, for tricking him). "Ominis told me last night that he'd known all along." He shook his head. "Why he didn't think to tell me before we had our little adventure yesterday, I'll never know."

"What's that supposed to mean?" asked Eloise angrily. Her hair was starting to escape her braid and puff up around her head. He vaguely thought about how she had obliterated the troll yesterday and maybe it wasn't a good idea to provoke her but instead of being silent he just had to keep speaking. Because he was angry. Because he felt betrayed. Which was completely ridiculous because he barely knew this girl.

"It means," he retorted, "that had I known, I wouldn't have let you get under my skin. I would never risk my life for a Babbit."

Eloise looked so shocked by his confession that she didn't say a single word in defense of herself. He saw her start blinking furiously and her breathing became shallow. (Was he wrong about the situation?)

(He couldn't stop talking.)

"And now," he continued, "I understand why you beat me yesterday in our duel. You've probably spent your whole life practicing."

Eloise stood up quickly and furiously and looked down at him. Her words came out in an angry hiss.

"For your information, I never wanted anything to do with my family. They thought I was a squib and until a few days ago, I was at a muggle finishing school, being prepared to be married off to the most advantageous buyer. I was burned off my family tree when I was eleven. The shameful secret that nobody outside of my family had ever heard of until now. And now, they come back, expecting me to fulfill their image of the perfect daughter." She spat out those last words. (Maybe he had been wrong). "So no, I never practiced dueling because I've spent the last five years living with muggles. I spent my whole life in shame because I never had magic. And now that I finally have everything I wished for my whole life, Ranrok is trying to murder me and has already almost been successful twice. I don't know what sort of problem you have with my family but I assure you that I have no part in it whatsoever. Haven't you learned yet that I'm not to be judged by your faulty assumptions, based on small pieces of the whole picture?"

With that, she turned on her heel and stormed up the spiral staircase, leaving the Slytherin common room and an awestruck Sebastian in her wake.

Sebastian really hates Eloise!!!!!!!

Chapter 7 of my fic, where you get to see his first impressions of her😇😇😇😇😇😇😇

[murdockmeta]

A Human Fly: The Importance of Daredevils Before Daredevil

I've recently watched a video on "human flies", a social phenomenon that peaked in the 1920s-30s, where people would go out and do death-defying tricks literally just because they wanted to. (At first. Money became involved later, of course.) They were called human flies (sometimes human spiders, human lizards, etc.) for their ability to climb up the walls of buildings so easily. They weren't just called human flies, though. They were also called daredevils.

The video I watched talked about how this phenomenon was so popular because of the role it played in displaying masculinity. Most of these daredevils were men, and at the time being seen doing these death-defying stunts was the height of manliness. And suddenly, while learning all this new information, all I could wonder is if that at all was related to Stan Lee's motivation behind the creation of Matt Murdock. Anyway, here we go.

Okay, so, gender roles and how they functioned in society around the first half of the 20th century are similar but also different from what they are now. There were stiffly set rules to what it meant to be a man that was entirely unrelated to genitals. These same standards are echoed in the modern day. I don't think it's a coincidence that Matt falls outside of those rules.

Obviously, Matt's blind. Disabled. And, as a fictional character, that had really heavy (negative) implications before the disability rights movement became more popular. You even see that reflected in the comics themselves. There's the implication that Matt is expected to live out his life unhappy, unmarried (which extends to not having children), and is helpless to such a fate. That is the complete opposite of what being a man in US American culture was in the 1950s and 60s. Matt exemplified what it was to not be a man.

Stan Lee, when co-creating this character, takes these concepts that absolutely oppose one another and he smashes them together. It feels like spitting in the face of standards and expectations. He says, "Oh, look, a blind man. A man that can't be a man. I'm going to take him and I'm going to turn him into something that is undeniably manly." Lee does this through this phenomenon that links back to human flies.

Being a human fly was about proving to the people around you that you were a man among men. That you were capable of physical feats that others only could wish to accomplish. And Lee grew up in a time when he was surrounded by these types of people as a child. Most of these people would travel to New York City, where Lee grew up, just to perform these stunts.

How masculinity was defined in that age was rigid. You had to be strong, you had to be capable, you had to have the ability to provide for your family. There were certain elements that also took away from your masculinity. You couldn't be too smart or bookish, you couldn't be too skinny, you couldn't be disabled. And being able to fit into these standards wasn't just about pride, it was about social status.

These human flies were often referred to as daredevils by newspapers. It doesn't seem like much of a reach for me to think that they could've possibly related to Lee's creation of Daredevil.

This strip is from the second issue of volume one.

It was revolutionary* (asterisk), to an extent, what Lee was implying with his creation of Matt's character. That you could be disabled and still be fully capable of accomplishing what society has deemed impossible for you or deemed you unworthy of. That you could represent the peak of masculinity (meaning you could be perceived as an equal to those around you) while having supposed qualities that strike you from it.

I'm not saying that that's a goal that every disabled/blind person has or should have. In fact, under a modern lens, I think it's very counterproductive. But, I think the social and cultural context surrounding the character's creation is important to understand. I think it's important to know why implying those things at the time was important to disabled representation.

Many people don't like or struggle to read older comics due to them aging badly. While I don't blame them, I think there would be less resistance if people stopped trying to interpret those comics through a modern lens.

Context is important. History is important.

(asterisk) *This is in relation to the time-specific era of disabled representation. This is not to ignore the problems with the representation of Matt as a blind man. I'm not saying or implying that there's nothing wrong with the original comics, in fact, they are incredibly ableist. I am simply focusing on the importance of that representation at the time of the issues being published.

Thanks for reading.

[ascorpiosramblings]

Too Late

warnings: Angst, absent parenting mentioned

"A bit late" that is what Jolyne said to him. He didn't know what it meant back then, but now with a bullet wound in his body he realized it now. It is too late for him to be a father to Jolyne.

He could feel the warmth of his blood trail down his hands, his breath getting shallower by the second. Warmth. it had been quite a while since he felt that. The last time was when he saw her tiny feet carry her to him when she was an infant. The faint tip tap of her little feet going from her crib to his desk. It was so warm, her little babbles enchanting him in every way.

Soon he had to part with that little bundle, without the arrows secured the world wouldn't be safe for her. After that all he remembered were calls and fights. "Why wouldn't you come home to Jolyne?" "what's so important that you couldn't even visit for Christmas" "Jotaro where are you ??" "What was so important that you can't even come when she needs you" . If only he could have told his wife about the danger out there. But his wife, or well, ex-wife wasn't a stand user, telling her was too dangerous. Jolyne needed him. But he couldn't come. He didn't come. He was a terrible father and he knew that much.

The time he almost died at the hands of sheer heart attack he wondered if Jolyne would be alright. Bleeding out, all he thought of was the girl he wouldn't be able to see grow up. As if he was seeing that anyway. This life was cruel. Or maybe it was an excuse he made for himself to feel better about being a terrible father to the little girl who needed him. He didn't know, all he know was that in this life he would have to live with this failure

Seeing Jolyne in prison was hard. Part of him wondered if he was wrong, if all he had to do was give Jolyne all the love and affection in the world so that she didn't steal a car at 14, so that she wouldn't get tricked by the wrong people, so that she wouldn't be in the trouble she is in now.

Now she was all grown up. Her stand was deflecting his assailants bullets. He couldn't help but feel a wave of pride seeing her masterfully use her new stand to protect him and her. She wasn't the fragile little girl who would cry after falling anymore. She was a force to be reckoned with now, an opponent that you'd be a fool to underestimate. She was his world, a world he wanted to keep safe. Seeing her fight with the flame of determination in her eyes, he know that she needed no protection.

But a part of him wanted to wrap her in bubble wrap and toss her to the safety of the submarine. He wanted to take care of any enemy stand user by himself and spare her the bloodshed of a fight. He just wanted to take any bullet coming her way. He wanted her to leave him alone and safe herself. She meant the world to him, and he wanted to keep his world safe.

It was too late now just like Jolyne said. Too late to hug her and tell her how sorry he was for not being better, too late to start over and come home when she had a fever, too late to reprimand her for stealing a car, too late for everything. So he did the one thing he could do.

"I want you to know, you were always incredibly important to me"

[tamaruaart]

AUGHHHHHH the unyielding urge to redesign Lucifer and Adam from HH cause what.

I've heard Adam's design is 'good' and it's supposed to be simple because he was the first man and is supposed to look like the average guy.

But I will ignore that if/when I redesign him because that is stupid.

It also goes in the topic about how HH romanticized Christianity in the show (a problem most shows have when they depict Christianity but I digress)

The reason it especially annoys me when hazbin is in question is because HH and HB want to focus a bit more on the characters and lore of the bible. And instead of trying to depict it correctly they just choose to romanticize it.

You hear this argument a lot with Greek myth as well. The Greek gods were assholes, so don't romanticize their actions PLEASE. (Ex: Disney's Hercules)

But the difference between Hercules and HH is that Hercules was always supposed to be a family friendly movie. While HH is of course ment for mature audiences.

Which means there's no reason to romanticize it like they did. And when I mean 'romanticize' I mean generally how they depicted heaven with all the pastels and how the cherubs are depicted in HB which all dials down to the art direction.

Also what they did to Saint Peter. Unforgivable.

If it's meant for mature audiences I'd also like to see a more mature representation of the Religion you're depicting.

Also the plot doesn't really make sense when you think about it? Like purgatory is right there?? Please acknowledge your source material lol????

It honestly shocks me cause all this time the purgatory hasn't been mentioned ONCE in the show. So does it even exist??

And if it doesn't... Well, that's just stinky writing-

And for the 'romanticizing' of Christianity (in the art direction more specifically), they could've done that. However in that case they shouldn't have focused so much on religion??

If heaven was only going to be mentioned here and there then sure you could do that. But if you're going to focus SO MUCH on it and going to make it so important to the lore then please treat it with respect?

And with Lucifer- I mean, that just shows how little the writers actually care about depicting the source material semi-accurately.

You give me the literal personification of evil and make him an uwu short king with depression.

I mean that just leads me to think Lucifer is really pathetic as a character when you know a thing or two about him in the bible.

When Lucifer TRICKED Eve into taking the fruit, he wasn't doing it to give her knowledge or something. He was doing it because he wasn't supposed to, because he wants to screw Adam and Eve over. Because he's bad.

I get that's whole thing about HH's Lucifer but still. Lucifer is not HH's character. He's much more than just a character at that.

And that type of approach is also in all honesty pretty disrespectful. You took the being that ruined humanity, that screwed it over, and turn him into... Whatever you call HH's Lucifer.

Like- I mean- Look at these two people and tell me they're supposed to be the same character

The Lucifer on the right looks intimidating and hateful while also being beautiful. Lucifer was the most beautiful angel so that makes sense. Not to mention the Lucifer on the right looks like someone who could kill you in a second.

Whilst the Lucifer on the left is a short, skinny, blond uwu-ass boy. I could take him a fight smh.

And yeah, short people aren't that intimidating I said it. I mean, I wouldn't be scared of my foe if they're the size of an eight year old-

Also, no, I'm sorry but this isn't intimidating at all

It's such an easy fix too. Just make him a bad but helpful character. Make him rude, let him do terrible things and be sadistic, that's the whole point of Lucifer. However, make situations where he has to help Charlie, not because he cares, but because he's too prideful to be made a fool of by heaven.

BOOM! A good way to make Lucifer an actually decent anti-hero of sorts.

Not to mention Lilith isn't an actual character in Christianity. She's only a character in Jewish Religion. Which is like- Yikes-

Please do not mix religions when interpreting them in a media, because that is really easy to do wrong and it's just generally something you shouldn't do.

Now keep in mind:

THIS IS JUST MY OPINION AND MY CONCERNS ON HAZBIN HOTEL. YOU DO NOT HAVE TO AGREE WITH A WORD I SAY.

If you like Hazbin that's genuinely awesome! I'm glad you found something you enjoy, continue doing that!! And honestly everything I say is just the art of adaptation.

These are just my personal takes that I can't keep to myself since I'm the type of person that can't keep shit in her head and has to voice everything-

Tam out-

[lukecastellanshandholder]

I happened to think of that one Read Riordan article where they said that Hermes really did "love and care for Luke" and now I'm upset, so let's talk about that.

How did that ever get greenlit to be posted on a website that people look to for additional canon content? When through out all of the main series there are so many examples that show that Hermes didn't really genuinely love and care for him.

The first example is at the very beginning of Luke's life. Luke was about a year old when May tried to become the new Oracle and was instead driven insane by the curse of Delphi. It was when May had the first vision of what would happen to Luke, what his fate was. Now up until that moment, it's said that May, Hermes and, Luke lived together as a family for the most part. This could've been because Hermes loved May much like Poseidon loved Sally and Hades loved Maria. However, given what he does later, I doubt that. I have the feeling that Hermes could sense something different about Luke. He could've been able to tell that Luke would grow to be a strong demigod, a perfect Hero to fight for him.

Then he found out about Luke's fate and just... Left. Stopped coming around as often and then not coming back at all. After he learned that there was no way to cure May of her madness, he just gave up to wallow in self pity. Leaving Luke with someone who was mentally unstable.

That's not what you do when you genuinely love and care about someone.

He left Luke alone to take care of his mother until it was too dangerous for him. Until he had to run away out of fear of his mother's episodes.

Even after everything Luke still prayed to Hermes, pleading for help or guidance. Anything. But he got nothing in return. Then after years and only meeting his son once, Hermes sends Luke on a quest. A quest that was just a fools errand and that had already been done before. A quest that really wasn't necessary in the slightest.

And that's supposed to be Hermes genuinely caring for him? He sent Luke on a dangerous quest with no significance, just to show that Luke is his "pride and joy?" He would've showed that he cared more if he would've just left Luke alone and let him grow up peacefully. There was no need to unnecessarily risk his "beloved" son's life over a stupid apple.

Unless, Hermes sent Luke on that quest to try and keep him under his thumb, or to maybe get Luke killed. He knew the prophecy. He knew Luke's fate. It really wouldn't be too far fetched to believe Hermes wanted to stop it by any means necessary, even if it meant letting his son die.

That's not what someone does to their "pride and joy".

Then there is later in the books, mainly when Hermes would talk to Percy and manipulate talk Percy into helping and trusting him.

One conversation that strikes me is the first one that Hermes has with Percy in SoM. You know, the one where Hermes literally says, " My dear young cousin, if there's one thing I've learned over the eons, it's that you can't give up on your family, no matter how tempting they make it."

Now that's really funny coming from the guy who literally abandoned and gave up on May and Luke. His family. It's obvious upon reading the rest of the books, that Hermes didn't mean what he said. It was just a tactic to appeal to Percy's loyalty and sense of family. And it works. He tricks Percy into believing that Hermes still really cares about Luke because he loves him. When in reality, he only wants Percy to stop him because Luke has become inconvenient for him. For his reputation that he cares so much about. I mean hell, they even make it a point to drive home the fact that Hermes is very vain and cares an annoyingly large amount about his image. It might be used as a comedic tactic, but it really is showing of Hermes' true disposition and what he cares about most.

Then we come to the very end, the last book of the series. There is a part in there where Percy goes off on Hermes, accusing him of never caring about Luke. Asking why, if Hermes cared about Luke so much, then why did he abandon him instead of being there for him?

And Hermes' response is to get mad at Percy. This is also all because Hermes gets mad at Annabeth for not running away with Luke and taking him away from this fate. Hermes is so obviously trying to blame others for what he did, for his mistakes, instead of possibly ruining his image. Trying to make others feel guilty, when the only one that should have any true guilt about all of this, is Hermes. This is a manipulation tactic if I've ever seen one.

And back to Percy's point, if Hermes really cared and didn't abandon Luke? They wouldn't have been in this situation. And it's absolutely true.

Nothing that Hermes does throughout the series shows or even hints that Hermes may genuinely love and care for Luke. It shows that he only cared about what Luke could've accomplished, and the things Luke could've done to serve Hermes and better his image. And that is not genuine and unconditional love. Not in the slightest.

But even with all of that evidence? Yeah, "Hermes really genuinely loved and cared for Luke".

Give me a break 🙄

[allfillernothriller]

Yard Act (+ Murkage Dave) @ Cabaret Sauvage, Paris, Dream Job Tour, 05.04.24

I made 4th-5th rows! Which isn't bad at all considering how tiny the Cabaret Sauvage is (there's no barrier, the front row's at the foot of the stage. From the 4th row, I wasn't further away from the stage than I was back when I was front row at Ally Pally for Jamie T).

I was once again rewarded for my decision to NOT listen to Murkage Dave before going. Hearing new stuff for the first time live slaps, that's why I love festivals and support acts. Successfully set myself up for a nice surprise ✨

I took a shit ton of videos, kept the parts that were decent enough, and compiled them in a montage like it's 2013. Here's the link:

[YouTube description:

[CW eyestrain: flashing lights @ ppl prone to seizures, proceed with caution]

Disclaimer! I can't afford a fancier phone and I'm no pro. Not to mention the fact that I will NEVER sacrifice my live experiences over footage. So yeah, it's shaky, but again, if I feel like dancing, I'll do just that; and if I'd rather keep my eyes on the band than make sure they're in the frame, that takes priority too. I guess what I'm trying to say is that those are primarily there for me to relive the memories, they weren't meant for aesthetics. Buuut, that doesn't mean I can't share them with you, does it?

Dropping this collection of excerpts from the gig like barging in your living room with a stack of pics from my latest trip. Look, I'm no film editor either, and evidently my brain was stuck in 2013, so that cringeworthy montage will have to do.

I know it's a shame I didn't record Payday & Dark Days (among others), but what can I say? I was too busy moshpitting.]

The atmosphere was incredible. There was a respectful vibe in the audience that made me feel safe. I actually partook in a moshpit wilfully and without fear for the first time in my life and that is a HUGE deal to me bc I'm usually too big of a wuss to try and on the rare occurrences I got caught up in one, people pushed too hard and some wound up hurt. Not this time. No one pushed too hard, no one tripped over, it was all friendly, benevolent horseplay and I HAD fun!!

A few complementary anecdotes:

When they played Land of the Blind, someone from the front row handed James a coin for the 'magic trick' part of the song. Who was this anonymous hero? Was it a spur of the moment decision? Did they just happen to have a coin in their pocket? Did they plan this??? So many questions. Defo in my top 3 most wholesome moments I've witnessed at a gig.

Most of my fellow croissants didn't know the words (I mean apart from The Overload and 100% Endurance bc they're from the 1st album; or they knew the words but couldn't pronounce them? Idk, point is, they didn't sing much), which was to be expected, but there were a few expats & brit tourists here and there, and throughout the concert, after a coupla moshpits & crowd movements, nearly all of us english speakers ended up gathered in a single group and we all sang along together: that was mint.

James pointed at everyone he could see wearing a trench coat and I was among them 🥰

Once again, not so many ppl knew the words, especially the newest songs. And there was me, who's obsessed with song lyrics, singing along nearly the entire time. The look on James' face when he made eye contact with me during When the Laughter Stops, Fizzy Fish and A Vineyard for the North, and realised I was singing too was priceless. He had the same reaction all 3 times lmao. The man was a mix of surprise, confusion, pride and amusement, he's such a sweetheart 🥲 I'm always a tad apprehensive when I get caught singing by the artist bc I don't know how'll they react, they all tend to feel differently about audience participation (e.g. Jamie T loves it so much when we sing along, I suspect it's one of his favourite things about going on stage and Brian Molko didn't pay it much mind, like it made not much of a difference to him lol) but James didn't seem to dislike it (I've heard there are artists who hate it but no one I've seen so far). I posted the bit from the video with the caption "backing vocals from the pit" to my Instagram story mentioning them and they shared it to theirs, so I take it they're okay with pit choirs.

James asked us to make some noise and when he saw how responsive we were, he had us do it 5 more times like he couldn't help himself and his giddy giggling made it impossible to be annoyed with him tbh

I love them. I love them so much.

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

Bonuses

One thing I didn't include in the video

The mandatory pre-gig youth hostel mirror selfie to show off my fit

Turning my trench coat into an Ace Trench Coat™ with merch

[sergeantnarwhalwrites]

Hey! For the kiss prompts:

14. starting with a kiss meant to be gentle, ending up in passion

Hope you’ve been doing well! ✨

Thanks for the prompt/ask! Been a while since I worked on any of my stories. XD So I hope this comes out decent. Quick note this is one of the first times Green has kidnapped Peace, she did so as a paid job. A lot of the times she gets kidnapped by Green that's the case.  

Green and Peace- Robots & Gardens 

Peace leaned back against the wall, grumbling beneath her breath. Allowing it to support her as she slowly slid down to sit.

I mean situations like this were bound to happen. Especially when you ditch your only job and take on a new role as a protestor. And even more so when you can get other jobless and homeless people to side with you. Though that wasn't just Peace's doing. It was bound to happen eventually. 

"I haven't done anything wrong." Peace called out, slamming her tied hands back against the wall. 

"Obviously dumbass." A gruff voice carried out through a cracked door. 

Peace leaned her head back against the wall and huffed, attempting to use her hair as a makeshift curtain. She had been panicking on the ride here but she learned quickly who had stolen her. Especially the way her captor had banged their head against the window as their helpers talked. It calmed the panic but fueled her with a mixture of emotions. And unlike the soda she was sipping on before this whole incident, this shit sucked. 

The woman possessing the gruff voice stepped out. The door creaking loudly on it's hinges. The woman not bothering to squeeze through the space. 

"Peace. When I hadn't heard from you I didn't think that would mean I'd have to kidnap you for a job." The woman leaned down, quickly removing the knife from her holster. 

"Green. Since when do you kidnap people for money? I thought your whole thing was thieving and destroying property." 

"Don't limit my abilities and don't limit what I'd do for cash," Green carefully slipped the knife beneath the rope restricting Peace's arms, "Now stay still. You get cut, it's your fault." 

Peace rolled her eyes, of course it was about money. She begrudgingly remained still. The freckled protestor sighed relief as her arms were freed. Rolling her shoulders and wrists. 

Green remained perched on one knee. She admired the woman, lips pressed into a firm line. 

"You should've called. You know I would make space for you." 

"Green you're a busy woman. You'd never get them anyway—" 

Green slapped the woman's hands. Pointing the knife's blade at Peace's chest. 

"I don't have a mobile phone yet. But I told everyone in my group to let me know who rings the group phone okay? I might not respond to them on time but I will answer." 

Peace grabbed the hand Green was using to hold the knife and rose an eyebrow at the woman. It had obviously conflicted Peace more, it was all over her face. How was big and scary Green, well she was little compared to Peace, showing something that wasn't pride or anger. 

"If it makes you feel better. My phone got wrecked a couple weeks ago. I wouldn't be able to contact anyway." 

An aggressive sound managed to slip past tightly pressed lips. 

Peace found herself chuckling at the worry that had formed creases on Green's forehead. This was a new look for sure.

"I'll play along this time. My protestors have this handled. You get that money and you've got me for the next couple days," 

Peace reached her fingers beneath the hair tie struggling to keep the opposing woman's hair up, snickering when the hair band popped.

"If you don't let me go after that. I'm beating your ass." Peace added, her fingers detangling a couple locks of Green's hair.

Green tried not to let the joy overcome her face. The light filtering into the room illuminating the two. Her eyes damn there brightened in excitement. Currently unbothered by her busted hair tie lying on the ground. She'd probably join it soon enough anyway. 

"Tricking the man who paid me to kidnap you. Who would've known I'd taint your mind in such a way." Green gave a crooked smile 

Peace tilted the woman's head up and placed a soft kiss on chapped lips. She broke it shortly and slipped the knife from Green's distracted hand cutting her legs free. 

Green slipped into the woman's lap, holstering her knife. 

Peace chuckled, "Am I forgiven for worrying you?" 

Green rolled her eyes, "You fucking wish. What even makes you so sure I was even worried." 

Peace tipped the woman's head up once more and allowed their lips to meet. Her own grin easing it's way into the kiss. Peace's skin flushing at Green's sneaking hand.  

Green had managed to loosen a few buttons on her own shirt, laughing breathlessly when Peace separated for air. Green tugged the woman down by her collar almost immediately, humming at the contact. Both huffing breathless murmurs into the kiss. 

[apocryphalfiles]

Static. Part 4

Kikuei   "Mystery, hm...? Is that how it seems to you?" Well, it wasn't like she couldn't understand at all.

...

A group of people in black cloaks stood around a still pool of red water. They were various shapes and sizes, but it was impossible to make out anything else about them. The pool was at the bottom of a long stone staircase.

Altera descended the steps with a peaceful expression. Her hands were clasped in prayer against her chest. She looked different than normal, but she was still unmistakably Altera.

"...I'm sure this was selfish for her, too. She was never a saint." Kikuei spoke from Keita's side. The two of them were wearing the cloaks, unable to move from their spots. "But even so... somebody convinced me that when Altera said she'd take on any burden to save the world, she was doing it to punish herself. That worshiping her was the same as assisting in her suicide. That it was nothing grandiose or beautiful, but that... small and sad thing."

Keita suzuhara He stood next to Kikuei, staring over at Altera with dull eyes as he watched her walk by with her precision. He could feel a lonely pang in his heart as he watched her walk by.

"... Sheesh. Only a teenager... Would thank that about herself. Think that she'd have to punish herself endlessly over all the sins she's committed in life. Become a martyr. Talk about self important."

He didn't speak with any scorn, more so pity that she'd be driven to coming to such a conclusion.

"Altera doesn't need to go to such herculean lengths. Where did she get that idea from..."

Kikuei   "That's why we wanted to stop her. That self-importance... maybe it fits after all if you're trying to be God. That was how Altera convinced people to worship her. She really seemed like she was divine. And I'm sure she really meant what she said about saving the world. But for her, even that was just a means to an end."

"Altera was a clone who rejected herself from the moment she was born and rejected the world she was born into, too. Instead of to her own self-interest, she was loyal to a corpse. That was her greatest pride and her greatest shackle. She was always pretending around everyone else, so when she realized that it was possible to grant her wish by becoming God, she shifted to playing that role to get what she wanted. That was... I believe it was to bring back Mira Kano to life in her place and redeem her existence, although she gained some more goals as she went on with her campaign. But a few of us didn't agree with her. We didn't want to use 'God' as a way to help Altera kill herself."

Before Altera reached the bottom of the stairs, Kikuei ran out ahead of her blocked her path. The black cloak flung off her shoulders, and all that was left behind was her, wearing the school uniform of Tenshi Academy that she hadn't taken off since she died.

"Altera, you still don't know what it's like to live as yourself. That's why I'll make a world where you can live- and Mira Kano, too, and everyone else. I don't want to die, but I've already had a full life. I've lived as a normal girl surrounded by love. So I'll take your place. From now on, please keep on living. Just remember me as your friend."

With a sad parting smile to Altera, Kikuei kicked her feet off of the steps- and fell into the red pool.

Keita suzuhara

To him... In his opinion... This girl before him felt more divine than Altera ever did. Altera never struck him with a sense of true divinity. It wasn't something he could accept. Divinity didn't come to one who wanted to be a god. You could trick others into worshiping you, but you wouldn't hold a truly divine spirit.

In his opinion... Those who became god didn't become god to absolve their own sins... It was out of necessity. A purely selfless act. Something somebody didn't want to particularly want to be.

Who cared if Altera was a clone? What did the meaning of your birth matter?

From the way it sounded she wanted to do more than just save mira or save the world. She couldn't accept another god. If she truly had selfless goals she could accept that. Which means... Keita didn't see her as a divine entity. Just somebody lost and confused, being thrown into a position that they couldn't control.

He would let that other girl fall into the red pool. He watched as she sacrificed herself for Altera...

Then he understood the truth of their relationship. Kikuei's reasons for sacrificing herself... Were far more resoundingly pure. Honestly it disgusted him a little bit too.

He felt bleeding on his hands and feet again. But-

He sensed something more special about this girl than Altera. Altera was somebody who felt like they fit another path... But he also couldn't see her living another life. She still was being wracked with guilt. It felt like forcing her to live an ordinary life was akin to suicide too.

As Kikuei fell into the red pool he rushed towards Altera.

"If that's the case... I won't let her Waste that life! After all, I'll need people to help me with my crusade, right?"

He ran down the steps, reaching out to Altera in her school outfit, attempting to grab her.

   "...Sorry. I'm so sorry. This isn't what I wanted. But I'm the one who lost. If this is what you want to do with me- it's not my place to refuse." After resigning herself to living, and without noticing Keita, Altera fell back, stumbling, and then, after wiping her eyes, stood up again, ready to walk away-

Before the back of her head exploded, and behind her, on the steps, Before them was that man who Keita recognized as his reflection, yet wrong in every way, carrying a smoking gun. He walked slowly to Altera's twitching body, which had fallen onto her face, and Keita, as though he was the shade himself, couldn't interact with this scene no matter what he said or tried to touch, and his hand just slipped through other bodies without coming into contact with them.

"...I'm sorry, but this is the only solution I can see." With slow, measured steps, he approached Altera, kneeling at her right side, and pressed the barrel of the gun against her skull just above where it had splintered into bone fragments and blood and bits of brain matter scattered across the grass. "This isn't anything against you personally, dear. It's not because I thought that only you should have died after all. Ahhh... if you disagree, please, resist! Fight me with all your strength! Show me your spirit!"

Altera tried to rise up, to throw him off; she grabbed for the gun, only to scream as her right hand was blown off next. He wasn't speaking loudly at all in contrast, yet his words were easily heard over her shrieking. "I'm just so, so anguished-" Tears ran down his cheeks. "-to see you breathing." Again, Altera raised her left hand to claw at him, and again, it was blown away, and pieces of her fingers and tendons spilled onto the stone steps and tumbled down before losing inertia and stopping.

"I hate it. Your breathing. Your stomach acids. The blood pumping through your veins." Still, the body underneath "Skinner" tried to move, but it was overpowered without any contest. The hand holding a shotgun tossed it away, through Keita, into the pool, and pulled out a ceremonial knife, gouging it into the top of Altera's skull and twisting until it reached her left eye and mangled it. "It offends me. Your laughing offends me. Your crying offends me. Stop existing, please. I can't allow it. It makes me sick."

Stab. Gouge. Crush. Each time he sorrowfully mocked her impotence with hollow encouragement, she struggled again, and another part of her was destroyed. Her hands. Her eyes. Her tongue. Her spine. Her ribs. The lively flesh was subdued every time it writhed, until it finally fell still, a pile of blood and guts and bone that used to be a human, and couldn't speak again.

And the other part of Keita stood to his feet, slouched forward, and walked down the steps until he reached the pool, passing through Keita himself as he did. He crouched at its edge, reached his hand inside, and pulled out the head of Kikuei Torifune, detached from her body at the neck, her eyes closed in eternal slumber.

"Please, don't look so sad. I only want to see you smile. I want to take away every last thing you gave your life to protect, but that's no reason to give up."

As if the water in the pool was acid, the flesh on Kikuei's face began to gradually dissolve, sloughing off of her cheeks and jaw and exposing the bone underneath.

"Try a little harder. I'm so unfairly overpowered that not even Izanami could touch me, but hey, if you just tried a little harder, maybe you could convince me not to destroy everyone you love and the place built with all the passion of your flesh and soul."

Kikuei's eyes turned to soup in their sockets and dripped back into the pool.

"Is this all you can do? Come, now. If this is really the extent of your resistance, why, I'll think that you didn't really care about everyone after all. I'll grant you a boon, a way to defeat me, so-" He offered Kikuei the ceremonial knife and frowned when she didn't take it. "Please, my dear, give me a smile."

He finally dropped Kikuei's head, a drape of silky black hair hanging from a fleshless skull, and it spilled back into the pool with a splash that rippled out to the edges where he stood.

Keita suzuhara

Pure unadulterated malice swallowed him whole. He felt the absolute hate and nihlism radiating off of the man. Kikuei would suffer and fade to nothing. Altera would suffer and fade do nothing. None of their lives meant anything.

They were all nothing. Everybody was nothing. They were all disgusting creatures that needed to be exterminated for a peaceful, loving reality.

After all... Could it all just be a painful facade? Keita himself didn't matter here. He was nothing but a shadow himself. Just some kind of fake void.

A pointless entity.

A pointless creation.

It'd be best to just lay his arms down now at such a malevolent, heartless force.

The two girls had been redoced to a puddle of gore, never to live again in the normal world. After all, when something is gone it's gone. When something is dead it's dead. Only a hopeless black void was left in it's wake.

That's the cruel reality.

Death comes for all, hope comes for none.

.............................................................................

"STOP SHOWING ME SUCH BULLSHIT FUTURES ALREADY! I ALREADY TOLD YOU I REJECT THAT!"

SLASH SLASH SLASH SLASH SLASH SLASH CUT SLASH CUT SLAH

The  film real was disposed of.

A rightious holy fury would tear into the world. A cry for the sorrows and losses of the past, was ripped to shreds. Keita suzuhara would find hismelf manifested into the room, sailing towards his shadow, his blade high, shining a crimson red hue. Darker and more violent than the shade it shines on default.

A new function had been unlocked within the formation.

The ability to slaughter nightmares when activated.  An esoteric ability if there ever was one, one that'd have no practical use in reality.

Still, his heart was burning. At the despair of seeing Altera and that kikuei girl so horribly tortured after their sacrifices.... A burning hope tore through it. If some blonde bimbo with a dumb stuffed bear started rambling on and on about how hopeless the world was he'd cleave her in two with his hopeful blade of fury right then and there.

"I don't care how FUCKING overpowered you are you pompus foppish asshole. You could be the strongest god of all and i'll punch you in the face, after all, I ain't gonna lose to nobody even if I ain't a fucking god!"

If somebody hit him with the 'nah i win' he'd just beat them anyway. That's the kind of mood he was in.

"Ahhh. Go right ahead, my other half. Tear through me, even though there's no meaning to doing so. After all, this is just-"

The image of "Stephen Skinner" was torn in two. His two halves ripped like paper and dissolved from the cut like cotton candy in water, leaving nothing behind.

A vision, he mouthed, and disappeared.

Keita suzuhara

He pointed towards the water, the wind blowing his scarf as he did so.

"Like hell if I care if this is some kinda vision or whatever. Point being this is just rehearsal. Except I ain't lettin nobody dying in reality. Especially to a punk ass like you."

Kikuei   When Keita's sword sliced the nightmare in two, it shattered, and all that was left behind was its true face: an empty bedroom and that familiar high school girl whose name Keita had already forgotten, crumpled onto her knees, crying alone with her head in her hands. All of that, every horrible image, it had a meaning and purpose that was necessary for Keita to see and feel- and, at the same time, it was always only ever her alone, a ghost's frightened, hateful, sad wailing.

Keita suzuhara

HE dispelled his blade in a glitter of blue. Kneeling down he offered the girl a hand, looking down at her. He decided to treat the wailing spirit with some kindness.

"Hey... It's gonna be alright, no crying right?"

He said softly, toning down his harsh language.

Kikuei   "...It won't ever be all right." The girl didn't look up, but she did stop crying. "It hasn't ever been. I wanted to at least see the good in this world, despite everything. And now I can't even have that? H- Hahaha..." Broken laughter spilled from her lips.

Keita "... Hell no, it's going to be okay. Even if the world is a shit, you're still going to see all the good in it, alright?" He asserted, pointing at her.

Kikuei   "At this rate, it- it, and everything else, it'll all collapse on itself before that can happen. If that was how it was going to be, then what did I do all this for...?"

Keita "Because you wanted to. That's why. Just because somebody comes by swinging his dick around doesn't mean you should just not keep on trying. No matter how powerful he is."

He looked down at Kikuei.

"... Let me be your saint then. you're the goddess or whatever right? I dunno, that's what I could gather, listening to your history."

He clutched his hand together.

"You don't got a savior. I hate taking on the hero role, but if nobody else is gonna I will for you."

Kikuei   "...!" The girl finally raised her head and looked at Keita with wide eyes. He didn't remember her... but she hadn't expected that.

After some time of deliberation that was impossible to quantify- she took Keita's hand.

"Then, from now on, you'll be my chosen saint to fight for this world. You can call me..." She opened her mouth, and then, hesitating, closed it again, and answered: "Izanami."

[honestlyno]

Prologue

A life one as myself doesn't deserve.

Being know as a kindhearted human i often couldn't bring myself to tell the truth or show what people would describe as the "real" you. But isn't reality just the thing everyone claims they see? I too know of this reality they all see, and my struggles to blend in it seem all the more real and at the same time fake. I kept my head high for the longest time only to crumble under each word that esaped my mouth. That often brought me to the pits of depression as thoughts of suicide and a fast exit of this hellish experience that is life made me turn in bed until the early hours of the mornings. I gradually came down with insomnia as sleep was something i simply decided i didnt need.

I started preparing what to say early before the day would begin. The night before i would spend awake in my bed simply going over every possible scenario for the following day. Weeks later nothing could possibly surprise me as i have thought of everything. Or so i was taking my time to think, bathing in the heavenly showers of my own pride. Arrogance has always been a strong suit in people and yet i would always be surprised at myself for saying something out of the lines of the "appropriate" behavior. These things gradually started changing as i became older. They weren't just casual slip-ups everybody did from time to time, they were a full time job for me. Reading the mood of the room, slipping on purpose, showing pride and arrogance at the same time. Lying.

When did lying become so easy? I found joy in it. Tricking human beings into believing you, then turning around and knowing all their secrets brought me joy i shouldn't have felt. But i did and if that is a sin, so be it. Let God judge me for what I've become and let him torture those who turned me in this. Or does that sound hypocritical? There's of course always the possibility of me torturing myself and making myself come out as the victim. That would only mean I can't escape my own lies as they are starting to eat me whole and drown me in their endless showers.

That doesn't sound as a bad thing. I find myself imagining what drowning would feel like, when my lungs start burning from the water invading my lungs. Would i feel the same pain all those people before me have described. There was only one way for me to possibly find out for myself. I always loved experimenting with my own self and drowning didnt seem like a hard task. Of course i didnt want to die, i just craved to feel something different from numbness and that emotionless state i was in.

We had a tub in our old apartment. I loved taking my baths in it, soaking to the bone and relaxing in the soft touch of the white bubbles. Everybody knew i loved it. That's precisely why it would in no way look suspicious if i was to lock myself in the bath and try this foreign burning feeling in my body. That's of course if the circumstances would allow.

And they most certainly did.

I dipped my head without taking air in first. The oxygen wasn't as much as i thought it would be in my body for me to perform this exercise but I couldn't possibly give up. Staying under the water felt good enough for me to not want to get out. I waited patiently for fhe burn everybody describes, only feeling the need for oxygen grow in me. I was fighting with everything i had to stay under water and feel the burn. Was this considered self harm? I would never know, I've never been interested. This was simply an experiment, like I've always called those things. Being in this situation was the result from my experiment and soon enough the body beat the mind and i found myself loudly panting and trying to gulp down as much air as possible. My resolve wasn't strong enough, it may seem, i realised i was a weak person.

Because of this newfound weakness of mine i got too engross in trying to decipher it. It meant nothing, by the end i was done with figuring myself out and just let myself be for the rest of my miserable life.

But for me to tell all the readers how i turned out this way I'm required to start from the beginning of things. Letting the reader decide whether i was turned or simply self-made was the greatest idea i had ever had for a while. That's simply because i wouldn't usually let myself think those things over. They would bring me headaches and often trigger my insomnia, sentencing me to a night with little to no sleep at all.

[brooklynislandgirl]

"Maybe not contortionist but definitely a decade or more of yoga under my belt and some double joints." Ben likely meant it as a rhetorical question but she felt the tiniest bit of pride in herself for the structure, the discipline, and yes, being able to tease him about it. She does feel his confession is sweet but doesn't point out that for some strange reason, she is quite the opposite. Plants and animals always thrive around her. "I'll keep your secret." She time-shares between his face and his hands, the corners of her lips twitching as she fights off an appreciative smile. She recognises the movements if not the final product. Some day she might tell him about the thousands of cranes she made once upon a time. She finds his commitment to books, the enthusiasm for Dumas, endearing beyond explanation. Bites back the urge to say that most serial murderers are. "My question is how you kept yourself from smothering him in his sleep. I mean that's pretty egregious a crime. Right up there with Andy-" Beth stops herself short. She hoards memories of her brother like the greediest of dragons. "Maybe I'm basic, but my favourite was always Henry V. Macbeth of course, oh and the Tempest!" She half lowers her lids and gently clears her throat. "Not a soul but felt a fever of the mad, and played some tricks of desperation. All but mariners plunged in the foaming brine and quit the vessel, then all afire with me. The King's son Ferdinand, with hair upstaring then like reed, not hair- was the first man that leaped; cried 'Hell is empty, and all the devils are here'...." Once quoting Ariel, she chuckles with a hint of shyness in her tone if not features. "But...I'll take your background into consideration and absolve you of blame because...your dad." The blossom smiles fully, showing him hints of teeth and crinkles at the corners of her nose. Maybe it's the story of his mother. The sweetness and kindness of a woman sharing art with her son. Maybe it's the idea that they in turn encouraged their son to bring brightness to sick children. Beth always lauds paediatrics and the work done for children, has a soft spot for people who care about kids. "Has anyone ever told you how wonderful you are?" The question holds not a single trace of sarcasm. The sound of his laughter and the way it shapes his face sinks down into the pit of her belly and warms her through the core of her being. "I don't believe you've ever had a bad hair day. And I think letting it be a little longer than average is totally a power-move. Huge part of your rizz, as the kids say." Despite every urge to lean across the space between them and help him mop up is strong, she also knows that the last thing he needs is an extra pair of hands. It doesn't stop another laugh from escaping her, more sympathetic than mocking, and has her muttering a gentle apology between the delicate wind chime sound.

It's his turn to enjoy her own mirth tinted surprise. Delicate fingers splay out to cover her lips but the subsequent snerking sound is anything but graceful. Her lips tremble and a blush leeches into her face. Half a heartbeat later she does rake him with a smouldering look from his mouth to his knees then back. "That would be such a tragedy." She can't help but twitch when he jerks. A sense of guilt rises up to cushion the not quite bruised feelings further softened by understanding. Andy used to complain about her tactile nature but never enough to break her of the habit. What she wasn't expecting though is that he then returns the touch with one of his own, or how she finds herself wanting him to do it again. A ghost of his thumb lingers. Then is given company by his other and she can't help but notice how easy it feels, how natural, to be held between them. "I don't disagree, though sometimes... It's hard to keep that in mind when it feels like you're driving in the dark without a road-map." She's only vaguely aware of the intimate portrait they create remaining so close, so intertwined ~the side of her knee now nudges the space between his, only a little more space than their hands. Within the moment, Beth finds herself wondering if it would be so bad if she simply became Ellie forever. She smiles as he answers her with a refreshing honesty not depicting himself as a silver-tongued Casanova as many would without fear of being caught out. That makes Ben much more charming and that much more human. Relatable. She harbours no ill-will toward the historical Jess for bringing Ben good memories to look back on, for helping him figure some part of himself out. There are other things though that bloom into desire; to know how or why it had ended. What did he take forward from it, what helped him survive the heartbreak even if he had been the one to instigate it all. Had she gotten on with his family? Had his brother welcomed her at the very least? But Ben isn't a novel and she isn't entitled to answers. Maybe if he brings it up some day, then she'll have more solid ground from which to ask. Her other hand lifts. Past the swan/crane, past the drying drops of coffee on the table. Her wrist brushes his cheek and brings with it the faintest hint of something sweetly floral. She tucks a lock of hair behind his ear. "My wish for you, then, is that if and when you feel it again, and you will...you deserve to, that is brings you just as much happiness, just as much tenderness."

"Bendy? Am I dealing with a contortionist here?" Chuckling, Ben pulled a napkin from the dispenser at their side, then absently started folding it into the shape of a triangle. "As for my 'pisceside,' it's wholly innocent. I can't seem to keep anything alive for more than a couple weeks."

Keeping his eyes on his "hard work," Ben kept folding until his napkin resembled a kite. He hummed along at Ellie's alleged "short list," pleased with her choices. However, once she mentioned one of his own personal favorites, he could no longer remain silent. "Oh, Dumas!" he exclaimed, pleased. "I, too, was fond of The Count of Monte Cristo growing up. It was actually on a different summer reading list than mine, but I decided to...well...read all of the assigned materials for every different course level." He scrunched his nose, purposely crossing his eyes. "Did I mention I was an odd child? In fact, I recall Samuel teasing me by intentionally pronouncing Dumas 'dumbass.' The inference with that one was pretty clear."

Chuckling, Ben pulled up the thinner end of his napkin to reflect a neck shape. "As for me, you're probably unsurprised to hear I'm a fan of Shakespeare. Twelfth Night and The Taming of the Shrew are my favorites, though I've often revisited Othello and The Merchant of Venice, as well." Creating a Z-shaped crease, Ben continued folding with verve, never lifting his eyes. "Anyway, I suppose I should share something modern that I enjoy...Tolkien and Gaiman are certainly good choices -- I enjoyed Stardust -- and I also love C.S. Lewis. My father's a preacher, so sue me."

Finished with his fiddling, Ben set an origami swan down in front of Ellie, pleased that the napkin hadn't been so flimsy that it couldn't retain its shape. "I also had a craft-loving mother who taught me a number of things to while away the hours -- when I was around fifteen, my dad would take me to the local children's hospital so I could teach the kids to make these. I've made hundreds, so I could probably create them in my sleep."

When Ellie spoke of glamor being responsible for masking her "inner troll," Ben laughed, his eyes crinkling warmly around the edges. "Well, remind me to give you a call on my bad hair days, because your glamor is really working." Though once she referred to his flaming sword, he'd tragically been taking a sip of coffee. The quip caused him to backwash into his mug, nearly slopping the dark liquid over said pull-over.

Using a fresh napkin to wipe up the mess, he grinned, sheepish and eyes shining. "I've never refused a dare in all my life, El, so those are dangerous words... Though whether for you or myself, it still remains to be seen." Setting his coffee off to the side -- better to be safe than sorry -- he wryly agreed, "I may do the occasional sit-up, but I certainly don't have a washboard going on under there, and I have to disappoint you by saying the sword isn't flaming. Otherwise, it'd burn a hole right through my slacks."

Ben didn't want to talk about "the other girl." High school growing pains were precisely that: pains, and none he wished to relive despite them mostly being harmless. Instead, he focused on the gentle movement of Ellie's mouth, soft and supple, and shining with the remnants of her own beverage. A part of him wished to wipe it away -- to cup her face, to hold her hand -- but the deeper these thoughts traversed, the more he physically curled away from the idea. Or rather, until Ellie reached for his hand of her own accord.

At first he jerked, startled by the contact, before idly skimming his thumb over the ridge of her knuckles. Ben listened to her speak, but just like before, his eyes kept darting toward her mouth, taking note of how hushed her words were and how this time, there was a mournful tension in her lips, almost as if she were physically trying to swallow back the confession.

Lonely? Yes -- yes, yes, he was lonely too. Unbidden, he curled his free hand over top of their interlocked ones, gently squeezing. "Those impulses aren't always wrong," Ben softly offered. "Sometimes, we're drawn to certain people for a purpose...out of fate."

Ellie remained curved toward him, edging closer still. Her eyes locked with his own, and a peculiar tickle formed in the pit of his stomach, much like the freefall on a rollercoaster, or momentarily losing one's balance. And then she asked that, and God above, his purposeful thoughts came grinding to a halt.

"I've...yes," Ben stammered, his mouth dry. "Once." Why had he admitted that? Wincing, he somehow kept his eyes on her face, a bloom of pink curling along the edge of his cheeks. "Her name was Jess. We met my first year of college, and she was just so...different. She never told me I was strange, and she actually seemed interested in everything I had to say. I'd never really had that before." Smiling, a hint of shyness bled into his gaze. "She had this cute little quirk where she'd play with her bangs any time she wanted to kiss me. I'm not sure why that was a correlation, but once she started fidgeting, I was compelled to reach for some breath mints."

Expression softening, Ben lifted his head more fully, appraising Ellie with a gentle openness. "I can't describe what she made me feel...just that when I was with her, I felt safe and free to be myself. I never thought I'd feel that way again." The unspoken words until you came along lingered on the tip of his tongue, incomplete and needling him, burning him to the quick.

[bumblingbabooshka]

YOUNG TUVOK: I was sent against my will. VULCAN MASTER: Then I suggest you leave. YOUNG TUVOK: I'm not a prisoner? VULCAN MASTER: Only of your emotions, or so I have been told. YOUNG TUVOK: My emotions free me.

[bonesandthebees]

Since Stars is being updated tomorrow I really gotta do the final part of my analysis (been putting it off because I'm anxious in a good way about that cliffhanger)

Phil's pride in that final scene captivates me, just thinking about it. It takes on a double meaning once the boys get up in the air, surrounded by enemy ships that Phil knew were there.

The first meaning, the surface level meaning, is the one that Wilbur gleans immediately. Phil is proud that Wilbur has finally outplayed him. Wilbur has been lying and tricking him since he arrived, and Phil sees that as a trait to be admired. This, already, is chilling enough. This is my favorite aspect of their dynamic. You've said before that neither of them are good people, and in the past, I've taken that at face value. Yeah, of course they're not good people, they're entitled royals. Phil is the leader of a galactic superpower and Wilbur's a jerk to everybody around him. Yet we love them anyway.

Now I understand. The moral complexity runs deep into the very core of Phil's belief system. Phil actively believes that deception, trickery, and manipulation are values that a successful leader needs to cultivate.

That's the first meaning, and I still think that it is true. I think that Phil was proud for a lot of fucked up reasons. The double meaning comes around when we realize that Phil knew the boys were going out into danger and he has no ability to stop them. Phil knew this, yet he was still proud of Wilbur. The question is, why? He was certainly feeling a great deal of distress and fear. Why did the pride overpower Phil's fear for Wilbur?

I'm going to be keeping that question in mind as I read from now on. I think I have a pretty good idea of what's going on with Phil, but I want to wait and see.

-🔥

yup, when I say that they're not good people, I don't just mean it surface level. this is a complicated world with complicated people, and the ideas of what's good versus bad really don't apply here.

also, I want to say that the idea that deception, trickery, and manipulation are inherently 'bad' traits for a person to have is a modern concept (probably rooted in christian morality because most of the modern western worlds morality is contingent on that). as a bit of a tangent, the first chapter of the stars and their children is titled, 'sing to me muse of a boy of many turns'. this is based off the first line of The Odyssey, which is usually translated to 'sing to me muse, of a man of many turns' or something similar. the phrase 'many turns' is meant to signify that the protagonist of the Odyssey, Odysseus, is a man of cunning and trickery. I took some classes in uni on the classics, and during one of them my professor explained that traits like deception, cunning, and trickery were considered very admirable and valuable traits in Ancient Greece. Odysseus is an admirable hero because of how cunning he is.

I didn't title the first chapter what I did just as an easter egg reference to the Odyssey. this is a story about complicated people and situations, where cunning and deception are valuable traits to have. phil and wilbur are both like this, and that's not a bad thing. it's the kind of world they live in.

now as for why phil's pride overrode the fact that the boys were flying into certain doom, it was mostly just that phil was so focused on the Voice reveal that he was temporarily distracted from what they were about to do. he wasn't happy that they were flying into a really bad situation. he was just focused on the pride he feels for wilbur with the Voice reveal.

[bclletragedie]

𝐈𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐎𝐍𝐄 thing juliet and niko could agree on, it was finding solace in the light as well as in the shadows. fame certainly came with fortune -- and with fortune came the ability to bathe in endless luxury. she had grown up in wealth, sure, but it was never a factor in her motivation to sit at niko's side -- the ship captain's loyal bird perched upon her shoulder. ready to strike with a moment's notice, drop the part she was playing ( the irony of it all -- she wasn't just playing carmen, but the delicate young ingénue ) and fight for their message. down with the old guard, amidst the ashes rises the new. wasn't the earth meant to evolve as it spun on its axis? its people were not meant to be set in their ways, not meant to find peace in the monotony of every day. the gangs of yesteryear were inhaling their final gasps of air as it was, all that was left was to watch as their blood colored the streets a brilliant shade of crimson red. it was coming, but juliet didn't know how much longer she could await it. the final moment, when they would emerge the rulers from the rubble. for so long, the banshee had awaited the clock's toll, the very moment she could do what she did best -- scream. how were the white crocodiles to recover, their steady stream of income disrupted directly under their noses.

" they may be the old, but they know tricks that we may not. " despite the strength they possessed, they were still shiny and new. there was some amount of beauty that came with tarnish, while others turned their heads in disgust. they could not be too confident, believe that their eternal youth in the grand scheme of things would carry them through. youth was often associated with naiveté -- and that was something they were not. innocent, naive. " .....are there some we should worry about? " she asks, her voice betraying her for a moment as she speaks. no. they have come so far, they cannot fall now. all due to one's potent overconfidence. of course she sips from the tea, the warmth of the beverage coating her throat as she swallows. her adrenaline is still present, she can hear it in her ears. there is something about praise from her levithan, the way it brings the sun into a dark and twisted world. her care for niko extends far past the confines of the lair they are inhabiting -- in fact, she wonders at times if bounds even exist for it. niko is her strength, the one who keeps her feet trudging forward when something in her tells her she can't anymore. her deepest, dearest friend.

everyone has them, friends. but there is a part of niko that almost feels like it has become one with juliet -- that she carries niko with hr no matte where she goes. and while it was she who brought her towards the light, allowed her to see who lie beneath the sickening silk pink bow that tethered her to her childhood. " i inspire you? " she asks quietly. it comes as a shock, considering the pedestal the terrors had hoisted niko atop of. her words are dripping with both shock and genuine pride, face displaying a disbelief. " it's always been you who has inspired me, you know? i've come into my own through you.. through us... " that us being the terrors. it had been amidst their ranks that she had finally found her true calling, in both life and in love. her adeline. while she knew that she had built herself back up from nothing, fallen so far -- it had been niko who offered the brick and mortar. " it's not just for our ranks i fight for, niko. it's for you. and as excited as i am to see the mighty finally begin to fall.. i know they won't go down without a fight. " the songbird pauses before taking another hefty gulp of her tea. the burn on her tongue is invigorating. " it's like that childhood game.. jenga, right? we're pulling out the pieces of the foundation -- until the final, glorious fall. but the tower can still stand.. that is, until the foundation can no longer hold it. "

Anonymity had never sat well with her.     She wanted a name.    She craved one    —    ever since she was a girl and a hunter.     Out beyond the city,   where the ocean was muddy and there were no devils to guide back into the black waters.       Where she was part of the moss and the soft waves of the sea.    Where there was nothing inside her growing and it was all at a standstill   —   like a town before a thunderstorm.     That ripple of humidity,    that leaching of static.     With the Neon Pariahs she had still felt unfulfilled.    A satisfaction that remained out of her reach.    Restlessness plagued her.     She needed a meatier ambition to sink her canine teeth in.     She needed the gods and the devil to worship her    —   with her skin off and with her throat open.     Let the world see what’s inside her.     Let those who she leads find their own god inside them and with it?     Their monsters.    Their hungry fates.      That appetite that others would look to eradicate    —     it blooms here,    among the wolves of her organization.       Juliet,    her banshee,     was pulled like a moonbeam towards the Leviathan.      She was filled with hopes and fantasies.     No masks here,   no performances of darkness.      Niko always encouraged the truth to the surface.    Let it bubble up to the top and devour those who no longer deal in principles of evolution.     The time of tradition is over.        She listens to her banshee speak,    a small hint of a smile itching at her lips     —    enjoys that passion.     Some days she feels older than the pavement outside.     It is moments like this one that she is reminded of the thrill the future brings.      “You’re right    [ … ]     we can’t get ahead of ourselves.     They will want to retaliate.    They shouldn’t be underestimated.”       She sets the porcelain teacup back onto the white napkin,    the rain pattering against the floor to ceiling windows of their conference room.      She sits with a thigh crossed over the other,   spine proper and stiff,      chin jutted out with the pride of a lioness.      Still,   the gears are always turning   —    a pragmatic result for an attack of an organization would be a requital.     They must be prepared,     and not let arrogance set them back a few goals.     She nods to the other woman’s untouched tea,    a silent demand to drink it.      The index finger of her right hand taps on the napkin underneath her own cup,    half-absent,    deep in thought.      “The Terrors are like a large body working together as one.    We all have our duties and we all have our place.       If one of us becomes too comfortable in the reputation it will put us all in danger.”      A pause,       she leans towards her friend here,     brows raised and her expression faintly firm in encouragement.       “You are beaming here,     querida.      I want you to keep this passion.      You can be very inspiring    [ … ]    especially to me.”    

[elendil-sama]

I feel like people underestimate the impact Ali's death had on Sang Woo, and more generally the later's personality. We were all devastated by the events of episode 6 and we put our anger on Sang Woo, but we didn't stop to see, really see his reaction to it.

But let's go back to the first game and how Sang Woo's boundaries shifted with each episode.

Game 1: Red light Green light

During that game, there was no actual player-on-player killing, people's survival depended on their own skills, their own actions, or lack of. At this stage, Sang Woo is as shocked as everyone else and he seems to have the same moral standards as Gi Hun (who is set as the show's moral compass, just by the simple fact that he's the one we're following). He helps Gi Hun by giving him some advice and telling him to get up. He wants Gi Hun to survive at this point.

He also is the one who suggests they all stop the game.

Game 2: Dalgona

At this point, everyone is back with the full knowledge of what the game is about. Sang Woo just tried to kill himself in the bathtub because to him it was the only solution left. I believe that, for someone like him who is smart and bears the pressure of his reputation as the Pride of Ssangmun-dong (see how uncomfortable he is when Gi Hun keeps praising him), the humiliation was too much for him to bear.

So when they restarted the game, he was set to win. And that's why he didn't tell Gi Hun about the second game. He did look conflicted when he saw him go for the umbrella, but he reigned himself in. Better have Gi Hun die early in the game than have him suffer all the way to who knows what level just for him to die anyway. I don't think he believed Gi Hun was smart or strong enough to finish or win the game, so he wanted him to have a quick death. In his arrogant mind, he may even have seen it as a mercy to his old friend.

Game 4: Marbles

I think the reasons he chose Ali was because it was the safest choice for him. Ali was strong and obedient, so he would be a great tool and would listen to him. He was also the most trustworthy person in the game, so he wouldn't have to focus on a potential betrayal from him.

When Ali starts calling him after he realizes he tricked him, Sang Woo stops right before walking through the door. This is an important symbol, because once he's past the door, it's officially over for Ali, and I think part of him just couldn't take that final step while Ali was still alive, because it meant actively killing him, which is something he yet wasn't ready to do. So he waited until the guard killed Ali, until he heard the voice announcing his death before moving on.

They don't show us Ali's death, but rather Sang Woo's reaction to it. He doesn't seem cold or happy, he really looks like he's impacted by this, and it is the same shot they used for Gi Hun and Sae Byok, the 3 of them walking away while their friend gets killed.

This is when we see a radical change in his behavior. I believe that this game was what made him go to the other side emotionally. He had tricked and get the nicest, kindest and most naive person in the game killed. There wasn't much he wouldn't do at this point of no return.

Game 5: The Glass Tile Game

This game is where everyone's inhibitions fell off. We are closer to the end and people are getting desperate. Several people are killing each other, dropping bodies in order to advance.

At this point, Sang Woo has tried to 'mercy kill' his hyung (remember this title that Ali gives Sang Woo and that the later gives Gi Hun is a mark of respect for older people, like calling them 'Big brother') and he killed Ali, so the 2 people who are the closest to him in the game.

So why should he care about killing someone he doesn't know? Someone who, in his mind, would do the exact same thing in his shoes? The old man had kept precious information to himself which resulted in the death of others, which is the same way of thinking that had driven Sang Woo until the Marble game. The old man probably thought that withholding information that resulted in death wasn't actually killing, just like Sang Woo had done in the Dalgona game. Besides, there was 1 set of tiles left and it was either the old guy or him. He knew Sae Byeok wouldn't do it. Gi Hun probably would at some point, but there was no time left. So at this point, killing him was what made the more sense.

I liked that he was not hypocrite about his actions, and I understand why Gi Hun and his high morals rubbed him the wrong way. In his mind, Gi Hun (along with the guy who killed his wife) were both hypocrites for trying to appear all righteous and make people like him feel bad. They had all come back to win the game, and to do that, everyone else had to die. At least he had the courage to say it.

(Look how he can't really turn around to face Gi Hun here, he knows that what he did there is unforgivable.)

Game 6: Squid Game

I think this was Sang Woo's worst case scenario: to end up in a 1 to 1 with Gi Hun. He was the only one who knew him, he was his hyung, his childhood friend, the proud big brother. But at this point, he was too far gone, he couldn't go back, he had to go all the way, so it would mean something. So that every horrible thing he had done would not have been for nothing. And if the ultimate price was to sacrifice his friend, then so be it.

But in the end, when Gi Hun offered to stop the game, I think he went back to his former self, like he was propelled out of his deadly spiral.

Seeing Gi Hun try to save him, him, after all of this, made him realize that the best solution would be to let him win. Because he knew Gi Hun would take care of his mom if he asked.

"I'm sorry Hyung." he said.

So yeah, Sang Woo did terrible things, but I don't think he was a monster, or cold blooded and unfeeling.

Nobody can tell what their reactions would be in a setting like that, and I think his character was the best written of all.