#it’s a rather belated sort of thinking

[egregiousderp]

3am thoughts are Skuun’s law of poly: if two people love the same person, they will love the same person in different ways. And learning the ways someone else loves the same thing as you can be intoxicating enough to produce its own form of love for the parallel lover.

[sharkylass]

HAPPY HALLOWEEN!!!

(It's not belated what are you talking about-) With the spooky day I bring...

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--------------------------------------- There's A LOT OF ART under the cut, however it's A LOT OF SPOILERS.

ESPECIALLY FOR THE ACT 6 ENCOUNTER/TWO HATS, EVERYTHING IN THIS POST IS DEPENDANT ON THE FACT YOU KNOW ABOUT THAT ENCOUNTER.

(The dandelions are frozen in time) (...) (You envy them, but you think that's sacrilege, so you move on.)

The gif takes forever to load, please bare with me-

ALRIGHT, LET ME INTRODUCE YOU TO ROBORO.

Roboro (it/they/he) is cold and calculative. It spent so long trying to get out of the loops, that a lot of their tact and bubbliness gave way to their cynicism and bluntness.

They exhibit more of their younger traits. Extreme smarts and avoidance. However, they still carries themselves tall, and aren't afraid to speak their mind. Most of the time, they simply choose not to.

The decision to make him cold and distant, rather then manic and erratic, actually came from Loop themselves. Loop is very actively trying to be the opposite of Siffrin. They act chatty and cruel because that's how far they've been driven, that's how they choose to hide themselves now.

Roboro is the same, in the sense that it's supposed to appear the very opposite of Isabeau.

"Why is it a Dandelion?"

From what I've seen, most people lean on the space idea for the guides, and I find that super neat-

But as an exercise (before this AU was even an IDEA in my mind-) I tried to design Mira, Odile and Isa as guides.

I tried the space theme, and felt really limited with it.

So instead I decided to design them based of ways to wish

Mira was a fire (candle)

Odile was a coin (throwing a coin in a fountain/well)

And Isabeau WAS in fact a dandelion (blowing on a dandelion)

And I guess that idea just stuck around in my brain until I got to making this au.

Their Dynamic With Isa

The two's dynamic isn't too dissimilar to Sif and Loop. Isa still tries to be his loud positive headstrong self, and Roboro sees past the bullshit, and grinds Isa's gears

(Fun fact for that second one: Roboro knew Isa wanted to be called "good boy" cause it probably would have wanted to hear it too-) As time goes on, the two learn to get along if only a little. Isa starts to appreciate the bluntness of Roboro, together with the helpful tips. Roboro meanwhile, seeing Isa's descent starts to feel a spark of empathy for the guy (which sucks for ACT 5 whoops.)

Silver Coin Equivalent

The equivalent is called "Lucky Pencil". Isa is a pretty superstitious guy, despite knowing better logically. So I thought he'd totally be the type to carry around a lucky charm of sorts!

(You recall.) (Before you lost yourself to time, you tried to become a defender.) (You got so tired of being the lone kid, the one people would not see, or think about.) (You were smart, but you were invisible.) (Sure, you were quiet, but you had good grades! You were getting by!) (Even your own family didn't think much of your solitude.) (And yet, you were so scared to open your mouth, to even answer questions you knew the answers to-) (It was hard. Suffocating even.) (When teachers started giving you good grades without you even having to try-) (Something had to change. You had to change.) (And you did! You became stronger, resilient, reliable. Became the very antithesis of what you used to be.) (Left everything you were behind.) (But it was worth it! You could finally!!! Talk!!! You could bring smiles to people's faces! They'd smile when you entered a room! And each time you felt pride. Pride in who you were.) (You tried talking with your family more, being more open, loud-) (They still didn't see you.) (Smart kids turned away, uble to face you, see their fears embodied. Fears that if they wanted to belong, they had to leave their brains for brawn.) (It was better. You were happier. But you still didn't belong, either.) (In hallways filled with people, you were still just there.) (…) (You tried really hard for you Defender exam. You exercised to near faints. Only really ate and slept cause you knew it would make you stronger.) (Buried your nose in reading and studying to avoid thoughts of doubt. And when they'd reach you anyways, you'd go for a run.) (You know it wasn't the best for you. You're supposed to be stupid, not unwise. "Just until I pass" you told yourself.) (… You were exhausted on your exam day. As your nerves heightened, so did your "coping". You were ready!!! You just, needed a little help.) (So you opened your drawer, filled with old papers and textbooks and notes. You don't like looking in there too much, but you took what you needed.) (A beaten up pencil. Your little lucky charm!!! Sure, you always knew the answers, but it was easier if you believed this pencil was helping you, guiding you.) (It was silly to think it would help, but you weren't taking chances.) (…) (Even after all that time, you couldn't leave that part of yourself behind.) (You still can't.) (You're the only one that can't.)

ACT 6 FIGHT

The ACT 6 encounter would... go about as well as you'd expect. Not only did a version of you win- it's the version of you that pretends to be a meat head, the one that's preoccupied with being nice rather then thinking ahead. How did he get to win when you, you who's changed, you who's given everything you had, everything you wanted to simply get out?

Why does he get to win? Why does this loud mouth, emotional, explosive guy get to win? He's learned nothing!---

I have more stuff to draw for this encounter, including the "I'm sorry/ thank you" pictures. I leave this one off with the knowledge that Isa used to tug on his hair as a stress stim. Guess is stuck around huh.

______________________

Post Loops Roboro

Roboro, once again, Changes! This time to resemble a yellow dandelion, rather then a white one. The family is long gone by the time Roboro wakes up again, and first thing's first- It has to find clothes. It doesn't like the weird looks people give him.

So, he goes to the House, braves the looks and gasps and confusion. It's trauma be damned, it's gonna talk to that Head Housemaiden finally.

He meets up with Euphrasie, and she quickly catches on what must be going on.

She's readily willing to give Roboro one of her old dresses-

Problem being- 1. They are too big on it (he may be Tall, but not EUPHIE level tall-) and 2. It wouldn't be the most comfortable wearing a dress around.

So, they figure they should make some adjustments. Euphrasie is willing to make the adjustments, it would only take her a day or two.

However, Roboro kind of... wants to try to do it themselves. There's no rush, it has nowhere to be. Maybe... maybe learning to re-engage with an old hobby could be good for it...?

Euphie excitedly lets it stay at the House, figure out what it wants to do- to take it's time changing!

Obviously, Roboro has trauma from the House. The walls, the cramped space- it terrifies them. But they also don't want to stay at anyone's home in Dormont, the awkwardness would kill him, if feeling like a nuisance doesn't do it first.

So. Roboro stays at the rooftop.

Roboro does some sewing on a new outfit, at the top of the House. At the very end of everything.

It's a bittersweet reminder that it's over, so it's as good as it could get while staying at Dormont.

I have a whole comic about this in particular, but this is already a massive infodump so I'm gonna stop it there for now-

Roboro travels around a while. It and Isa agreed to meet up eventually, but there was no rush to it.

He went around a while, re-familiarized itself with life, with people, with hobbies, with existing-

Probably made some friendships along the way. Those are probably the people who pushed it into reconnecting with the family.

I'm not gonna go into detail about everyone's dynamics and stuff, this is too long, and I'm still writing that stuff anyway.

I can however leave you with this:

(I might change how Post Loops Isa looks in the future, I haven't quite figured it out yet)

______________________

PHEW

THAT WAS A LOT

IT'S NOT EVEN EVERYTHING I HAVE, I HAVE SO MUCH STUFF AUGH,,,

Anyways, I just wanted to thank you all for the support on the first post, I didn't expect it at ALL Just know I appreciate it :]

[eiightysixbaby]

just some brief belated valentine’s nonsense with older!eddie

“What’s a pretty thing like you doing alone on Valentine’s Day?”

His voice comes out with a deep rasp, his hand coming up to light the cigarette he places between his lips.

Your mother always taught you that it’s rude to stare, but in this instance, you can’t help it.

The man beside you must be in his forties, curly brown hair going ever so slightly gray. Salt and pepper scruff decorates his face, giving him a sort of rough-around-the-edges look. His eyes though, soft pools of rich espresso brown, they tell you he might not be as gruff as he first appears.

He’s gorgeous. And you remember that he’s waiting for an answer.

“Guys suck, that’s why I’m here alone,” you tell him, a scoff escaping you. “I’m tired of wasting my time.”

Your response is true; you’re tired of putting up with games, tired of being strung along. You need a man, not a boy.

He’s nonchalant, perched on the barstool beside you. Black leather jacket with black jeans to match, a ring on the smallest finger of his right hand and the index of his left.

“Good for you,” he says, tipping his beer glass out towards you. “Guys aren’t mature enough at your age, promise you it ain’t worth it.”

“I’m twenty five. I’m not, like, fifteen,” you say, finding his comment interesting.

“Yeah, sweetheart, that’s what I assumed. My point still stands.”

You quirk a brow at him, sipping from your glass of wine as you regard him in your peripheral vision. You try not to think too hard about how glorious sweetheart sounded in his subtle drawl.

“If you want a man to treat you right, you gotta go older. Even in their twenties, they have plenty of growing to do.”

He’s not even looking at you as he says it, still feigning that complete nonchalance. Like he didn’t just sit his pretty ass down next to you and suggest you date an older man — someone more like, say, him.

“Oh, really?” you ask, trying to hide your amusement. “How old, would you say?” You twist your body so you’re facing him, your skirt riding up dangerously high on your thighs.

A flood of heat rushes through you when you notice his gaze snag on that very spot, where the fabric ends and the meat of your thighs is exposed.

His dark eyes look up to meet yours, finally. A slight smirk graces his lips.

“I’d say about my age.”

“You know, if you wanted me to get naked with you, you could’ve just asked. We’ve wasted all this time talking back and forth when I could be on my knees in that bathroom already,” you reply bluntly, making his eyes widen slightly. He wasn’t expecting you to take the bait so boldly.

He recovers quickly, though, running a calloused palm over his scruff.

“Oh, sweetheart. That bathroom?” he asks, motioning towards the dingy one in the corner of the bar. He tsks. “You want someone to treat you right, don’t you? Surely you’d rather be spread out on my bed than getting those pretty knees dirty on that floor.”

You swallow, feeling heat pool in the pit of your stomach at the way he looks at you.

He lets his cigarette hang from the corner of his mouth, awaiting a response from you. Suddenly you’re not sure your brain works anymore.

But you want this. You’re sure of that. You want him to take you home, and you don’t even know his name. Screw it though, you deserve to have some fun.

“Inviting me into your bed already? And they say chivalry is dead,” you muse, enjoying the huff of air that leaves his nose in amusement.

“Come on, darlin’,” he says, standing from his seat and extending a hand to you. “Let’s get out of here. I’m gonna show you how Valentine’s Day is really done.”

[vivid-bad-brainrot]

Present Apologies, Belated Apologies

Akito & Kohane

➔ After costing Vivid BAD SQUAD a win at a battle event, Akito’s guilt is evident but he’ll keep it inside himself to feign strength around others. Well, that’s what he would have done if Kohane wasn’t so adamant that he shouldn’t be sorry.

★ Wordcount: 2,129

☆ Fic takes place earlier in canon, probably a bit after bout for beside you

★ /p, can be interpreted as /r if you please

“Shinonome-kun, you always tell me I apologize too much but…” Kohane fumbled around with her fingers, attempting to find the right words to say, as if she were treading a tightrope rather than solid pavement. She met his gaze again, “I do find it a little hard to take you seriously when you do it even more. The thing is, you don't expect forgiveness. At all.”

Akito nearly stopped in his tracks entirely, “What?”

She smiled at him sheepishly with a subtle shrug, “I just…I don’t think you’ve said a sentence without the word ‘sorry’ in it since we left the venue.”

“Well, I am.” He huffed, looking at the road ahead of them again. “I totally screwed things up back there. Is this you trying to take the blame for it? I told you to stop doin’ that.”

His steps were undoubtedly heavier on the ground, it wouldn’t take a genius to notice that. With a grunt, he attempted to fix his composure so as to not look weak. Of all people, he didn’t want Kohane to see that side of him.

It had been strange lately. Kohane was his fuel, watching her improve so rapidly pushed him to reach for greater heights. Despite their differences in experience, oddly enough Akito felt this need to…impress her? No, not that. He wanted her to see him just as he saw her; someone who’s resolve was infectious, someone who you couldn’t bear to imagine pursuing your passions without.

Along with her developed confidence, Kohane had also grown unrelenting with time. With that, a sprinkle of stubbornness was always sprinkled into her speech. “It’s not fair of you to take the fall.”

“Well, who’s fault is it?” He attempted to keep his tone level. The last thing he wanted to do was to lash out at her. Kohane didn’t deserve that, just like he didn’t deserve her. How she somehow stayed by his side (even if it was just because of Vivids and BAD DOGS merging) despite how much of a prick he used to be towards her was beyond him. Kohane was the type of person he didn’t think had ever gotten angry in her life. He thought it would be good for her. Especially if she got mad at him. It was something that would suit him right.

“No one’s!” Kohane tried, sounding a little desperate. Screw Akito and his awful perception, sometimes he didn’t want to be able to tell what others thought about him. Sometimes, he hated that he even cared about trivial things like that in the first place. Those kinds of worries wouldn’t bring him any closer to surpassing RAD WEEKEND. They anchored him in the past.

He sort of regretted offering to walk her home after the event. Kohane lived the furthest away from Vivid Street out of them, closer to Miyamasuzaka for reasons that probably had to do with the proximity to her school and all. This meant that Kohane had ample time to refuse to accept his apologies. And it gave him an even longer time to mull over things.

As they reached a crosswalk and waited for their signal to cross, Kohane tugged on his sleeve to garner his attention, as if it was on anyone but her in the first place. The look on her face was so sincere, Akito honestly thought his self loathing was warping how he processed things. She should be mad at him. “Shinonome-kun…If it were me who had made that mistake during the show, what would you say to me?”

His voice had cracked during one of his solo parts, at the end of the prechorous where the hype had the strongest potential energy. It was so obvious, too, that he felt as if BROWN simply shouldn’t have let him in there in the first place. As a result of his complete blunder, it had costed Vivid BAD SQUAD their victory and shattered their winstreak.

The MCs would always set Vivid BAD SQUAD up as these teenage hotshots who’s talent rivaled long-time performers. In the couple months they’d been a team, they’d already built a name for themselves. Everyone had to do their part to uphold it. It was that reputation that allowed them to get into more famous livehouses were they could stand on the stage and walk in the footprints of the legends who had built Akito’s dream up from the bottom simply with the memories they had paved Vivid Street with. He couldn’t go out and destroy it, make them look like a liability to certain livehouses. Maybe a part of him was somehow attatched to the time he and Touya had spent performing together as BAD DOGS, when all sorts of livehouses would invite them to perform as some sort of sick comedy routine. To see some kids try to perform, expectations unfairly low.

Music was more of a battlefield than the soccer field could ever be. Music had taught him how to fight. It wasn’t until he had found Vivid BAD SQUAD and the vocaloids that it had taught him how to love.

Noticing how he completely zoned out, Kohane seized his wrist lightly (although he was sure she was holding him as tight as she could muster) and pretty much pulled him across the crosswalk. Oh, he needed to stop his pity party right now, because at this point Kohane was practically walking him to her house—not the other way around. He couldn’t waste her time like that.

They turn a corner, onto the street where Kohane lived. He hadn’t answered her question yet, but she wasn’t at all pushy. Not expectant that he answer it right away and still not mad at him for some reason.

If it were Kohane who had made his mistake…

“I would tell you to tough it out.” Akito said simply, “And not to go so hard on yourself if you were upset about it.”

“You would say that me,” She grinned at him and held her hands behind her back curtly, brown eyes nearing amber in the gold of the setting sun, “You’d say the same thing to An-chan and Aoyagi-kun, and you’d still find a way to shift the blame over to yourself.”

Akito halted and turned to face her entierly. He probably looked like he was drowning on air. Maybe it would have been better if he was.

“Why cant those words apply to yourself as well?” Kohane asked. “Why do you have to be sorry?”

“Because I…uhm—” Akito suddenly hated the fact he decided to wear so many layers. They had never felt so suffocating or that they were heavy with absorbed sweat (ew). He wavered for a few moments.

Now that he thought about it, usually he’s the one being blunt about the other person's problems, like An’s. She had been so stressed out about Kohane, so Akito decided it was his apparent right to help her discover how she actually felt about it all. But now, it’s as if the roles were reversed and now he was the one getting a slap in the face of a reality he hadn’t realized he’d be living in.

Hypocrite.

And it was Kohane who was telling him all of this. He never looked at Kohane—back when they had first met and she had her hair long and his face was in a permanent scowl—and ever once though they’d actually grow this close. Where they’d be having this conversation and Azusawa Kohane of all people could read him like a book. He didn’t even wear his heart on her sleeve like she did; she just knew him. A part of that was terrifying.

“I just….” He trailed off, at a loss.

“I hope it’s not coming off like I’m trying to dictate your emotions or anything—It’s really important to feel things!—I want you to know…it’s not just your burden anymore.”

“So, why aren’t you mad at me?”

“Eh?”

“Kohane, you have every right to be angry at me,” Akito breathed, looking down at the sidewalk under them. “I don’t understand…why you’re so good to me.”

Kohane’s face wrinkled in confusion as she tilted her head at him.

“I never apologized for being an asshole to you, when I questioned your resolve every chance I got. I never apologized to you for calling you a shrimp and all those other things. You deserve so many apologies. It’s why I tell you not to apologize to me over stupid things. ‘Cause I should be the one apologizing to you instead.”

Kohane blinked. “What?”

“I’m sorry. Im sorry for everything—“

“Shinonome-kun.” She said firmly, sending an unfamiliar jolt up and down his body. She placed her hands on his shoulders and huffed, “When you said all those things to me, that wasn’t the you I know now. And, um, if you ask me, you said those words to a completely different person, too.”

“That doesn’t excuse anything I did, though.” Akito protested, and Kohane shook her head.

“You and An-chan are always preaching about moving forward, right? ”

“Yes…” Then, Akito realized, “Oh.”

He wasn’t the type to get so in his head about little things—especially if they were far behind him. But Kohane…she brought out this side of himself he hadn’t realized existed…or maybe the parts of himself he had been trying to shut out. He was a big proponent of the idea that if you couldn’t go back in time to change things…there was no point in worrying that much about it. Like most things, it was far easier said than done.

“Besides,” Kohane removed her hands from his shoulders at last with a heavy breath. She ran a finger through a pigtail, “I think I forgave you the moment I cut my hair.”

Kohane started walking again so Akito followed along like a lost puppy. They stepped onto her front porch just as the sun dipped under the horizon.

“Will your parents be angry that you’re coming home so late?” He asked, knowing it was his fault for keeping her out later than necessary. “Touya’s dad gets real pissy when he’s out late, so…”

“They’re used to it by now.” Kohane replied with an airy laugh, bending down to lift the doormat up and grab the key from under it. “My dad says for every hour past curfew I stay up, I owe him one picture with my camera.”

“Oh.” Akito scratched his nape. “I’m sorry for keeping you for so long.”

“Shinonome-kun, it’s really rude to ignore everything I’ve been saying.” She crosses her arms indignantly, but her face tells a completely other story; a lighthearted one.

He didn’t know why after all of this, he still wanted to tell her ‘no’.

So close to the door, they might as well be stalling time to stay in each other's gazes, like it was an honor to be embraced by the attention of the other. “Even if you forgave me…that doesn’t mean I deserve to be forgiven.”

“You do.” She said earnestly. “When it first happened, I really…was hurt by it all. But, we both watched each other as we grew into better people. And I hope we continue to do that by each other’s sides.”

She looked down, suddenly shy and twiddled with the key in her hands, watching the porch-light be reflected on the metalic material. “I really admire you, Shinonome-kun. So, I want you to be able to forgive yourself as well. Can you promise me you’ll try to do that?”

I admire your courage to be so forgiving, he thought, but settled with, “I’ll try. I…” he wasn’t the best at verbally communicating how he felt, so he probably sounded strained as he told her, “I admire you as well.”

She looked a little surprised. Even he was a little bit. He was normally as blunt as a knife, but when it came to…emotions, his edge was dulled with ease.

“That settles it, then.” Kohane decided. She opened her arms up, but quickly glued them at her sides with the flush of her cheeks.

“Go ahead,” He said, even though he felt a little embarrassed at the prospect of giving someone the clear to hug him. Kohane echoed his feelings, but eventually wrapped him into a hug. Huh. It was a little strange they’d never hugged before…

Instead of saying sorry, he uttered a small, “Thank you,” Into the crown of her hair. “For giving me a chance to grow as well.

She whispered into his shoulder, “I think you’ve been feeling really guilty for a really long time.”

“Maybe.”

“At the end of the day, we’re not that different from each other. We both just want to prove ourselves. It drives you mad, too, doesn’t it?”

[qin-qin16]

Harsh like a cat's tongue

Summary: All Color had to do was turn his back for Killer and Delta to jump on each other's vertebrae, but things ended up getting out of control in this not-so-friendly game.

words: 1.4k

cw: Color x Killer, queer platonic relationship, hurt/comfort, Killer is our favorite punching bag, Delta is here, but not for the comfort part, violence (the girls are fighting!), protective Color… 

note: Consider this a belated birthday present. Happy birthday again @howlsofbloodhounds! Hope you enjoy this one (since it was inspired by one of your posts lol)

"Look, I won’t be able to be by your side all the time, so try not to get into trouble, okay? I can sort it all out later, just… don’t start anything.” He can almost feel Color’s fingertips gently brushing down his face, cleaning the remnants of black lines left around his eye sockets.

The words echo in Killer's mind, and he barely registers the same sweet, patient tone from Color that he first heard. So why? Why is Killer ignoring this simple request? Is it just for fun? Or is he indifferent to the impending danger because he misses that despair?

Yes, he grins, perhaps that’s the reason. 

Killer barely manages to dodge the punch Delta throws close to his face. It’s clear that Killer must be rusty, as he didn’t notice the orange figure as easily as he used to.

Color may have eased his defenses, but that doesn’t mean the others — especially the other Sanses — will be equally merciful with him. Not after everything he has done.

“Over my dead body! I’ll kill you before you even think about living here!” Another punch is thrown in his direction. Luckily, this time he manages to dodge it more effectively, paying closer attention to Delta’s aggressive and impulsive attacks.

“It shouldn’t be too hard to step over a pile of dust,” Killer retorted, his mocking smile widening further at Delta’s furious snarl. 

They had been in this aggressive dance for a while now, and although Killer felt his bones vibrating with excitement and his magic simmering with anticipation, he continued to focus solely on dodging. It was unusual for him to be on the defensive side, rather than the attacker.

But no less fascinating.

“Ha! You’re the one who’ll end up as a pile of dust!” Delta, too, seemed to be enjoying the furious dance between them, even if all that hatred was coming from him alone.

As for Killer, the round target on his chest made it clear that this was all just an experiment for his amusement: how much longer could Delta tolerate Killer’s presence in the Omega Timeline?

The results were hardly surprising. As soon as Color left, they both went at each other's throats, or at least tried to. Until then, they hadn’t made physical contact — only attacking and dodging in tight circles, confined to the small area around them.

“I wonder what Color would think if he saw his little friend beating up his roommate. Poor little Color,” Killer said with a scoff, raising a barrier of bones just in time to deflect Delta’s kick. Without the blue magic, it would have definitely landed squarely on his ribs.

“It’s not like he’ll miss Nightmare’s pet!” Delta sneered, watching Killer’s smile waver. “What’s wrong? Did I hit a nerve?” He chuckled.

How could Color be friends with someone like this? As Killer pondered this, a gap in Delta’s defense suddenly appeared. Seeing an opportunity for an easy defeat, Killer summoned one of his bones behind the skeleton with orange gloves, poised for Delta to make a mistake and impale himself on it.

How could Color be friends with someone like this? Color. Color's friend. As the thought crossed his mind, the newly summoned bone vanished in an instant, leaving behind only a brief wisp of gray smoke.

Killer staggered back, still bewildered by his own instinct to consider the consequences of Delta’s death. Would Color forgive him, or would he see him as the ruthless killer everyone claims he is? Before Killer could dwell on the question, the tip of Delta’s shoe struck his jaw with a sharp impact.

“Don’t be daydreaming on me now!” That was the last thing Killer heard before a hellish buzzing filled his head, mingling with Delta’s harsh curses and death threats.

Killer didn’t even attempt to brace himself as he fell, accepting the inevitable impact with the dirt floor. Delta was clearly someone you couldn’t afford to let your guard down around, not even for a moment.

He felt something lodged in his throat and, struggling, began to cough. He turned his face to the side, spitting out the vile black goo onto the floor, along with what little dignity he had left. The buzzing in his skull persisted, a relentless, irritating monotone like the beeping of a dead heart monitor.

Piiiiiiiiiiii

It echoed and echoed, filling his mind with its insistent, rhythmic drone.

Even without the single eye light in one of his eye sockets, Killer felt the pain twisting through him, spreading from his jaw and radiating through his skull like a slow, agonizing shock. For a moment, everything went dark. Then, the faint glow of his soul illuminated his vision, casting everything in a crimson red.

Before his vision fully returned, Killer first felt something on his face — an unknown gentleness, caressing and touching him like he was made of glass. He tried to speak, to push it away, feeling he didn’t deserve the pity of whatever was comforting him. But all that escaped his teeth were a few incoherent grunts.

“It’s okay, I’m here,” a voice assured him gently, urging him to stay quiet.

Killer felt all his bones relax instantly, and his soul, which had been twisting in agony, finally settled in front of his chest. He recognized that voice, so sweet and familiar.

“What happened to you?” Color murmured, carefully wiping the black streak that dripped from between Killer’s teeth, as if even the slightest touch might cause him pain.

Don't talk to me like that, Killer hissed in his mind. Don’t be gentle after I broke your promise.

“Shit, Color, I ca-”

“Shut up.” Killer had never heard Color growl with such controlled intensity, as if he were suppressing a hidden rage to avoid frightening Killer more (even though that anger wasn’t directed at him).

“I don’t want to hear a single word from you, or I’ll say things I’ll regret later.” Killer’s vision shifted from a yellow light to a brief flash of orange, before settling into a soothing light blue.

He then realizes that the light is coming from the fervent flames emerging from Color’s skull, casting a beautiful display of colors that illuminates both his face and the surrounding area.

Killer didn’t hear any response from Delta; he was either as stunned by Color’s aggressive stance or had simply decided to comply with the harsh order. Either way, Killer didn’t care. What mattered was seeing Color’s eye light focused on him only, carefully scanning for any additional injuries on his face.

“Can you talk to me, Killer? Please?” The aggressive tone from before melted away, replaced by a pleading and patient voice — the one Killer knew so well.

Wanting to reassure him, Killer managed a smirk, despite the pain in his jaw and numbness on his tongue, “I’ll survive— ouch!”

He chuckled, “Heh, if you’re already talking nonsense, then it can’t have been that bad,” Color said, half-jokingly, though his voice carried a note of genuine concern.

Killer simply grunted as Color’s hand moved to his spine, traveling down to his shoulder blades before helping him into a more comfortable sitting position.

Even though he turned his face away, trying to hide the shame he felt for disobeying Color’s "order" — even though, deep down, Killer knew it was just a request — he couldn’t help but imagine the disappointed expression on Color’s face.

“Look, I know I messed up, okay? You don’t have to look at me like that…” he whispered, fearful and aware of the consequences he might face for ignoring such a simple request as avoiding a f-

“It’s alright,” Color said, with a calmness that surprised Killer. He looked back to see concern in Color’s eye and the blue flames on top of his skull glowing more gently. “We’ll talk about this later. First, we need to take care of you, okay?”

Killer trusted those words completely. He allowed himself to be comforted by Color’s promises, lightly headbutting Color’s face as a simple, silent apology.

He felt Color’s hand give his shoulder a reassuring squeeze, as if he understood Killer’s remorse — not for getting into the fight or for getting hurt, but for breaking one of the few promises he had made to Color.

“We’ll talk later, Delta. Don’t even think about running away from me.” Killer couldn’t help but smile smugly, imagining Delta’s anxious expression, clearly terrified of the lecture he would face later.

Tagging the people who want to throw rocks at me for this

@toffeebrew @unamzi @what-have-i-unleashed

[vanderlesbian]

141 dating a civilian

hii!! this is a self indulgent belated bday gift to myself (im 20 now...) but i hope u guys enjoy it!! also feel free to leave requests in my asks bc i am so bad at thinking of prompts but ive been wanting to write so bad LOL

writing this had made me realize that i love writing gaz content........i am obsessed with him.........

gn reader! no warnings :)

masterlist

captain john price

- price loves being around you—you bring a sense of normalcy that relaxes him. when he's home, he enjoys doing domestic things around the home. he offers to do the laundry, he'll make you tea in the mornings, he feeds the dog and cat you two raise together and will go with you on any errands you need to run. when he's with you, he never thinks about work, which makes you happy because you hate to see him overworking himself.

- i feel like you two would meet through laswell. a mutual friend, you and price would meet one another at a pub or something of the sort. immediately, the two of you take an interest in one another, and laswell would catch onto that rather quickly and finds it endearing. when getting to know one another, you mention the fact that you live alone, which gives price the excuse to hand you his number. "in case you need anything", is what he told you, and you could've sworn you saw laswell snickering behind him. regardless, you ended up texting him a few days after that, asking him if he knew how to fix cars.

- loves going on vacations with you!! when price has a decent period of time off, he'll ask you if you want to go somewhere, to which you always answer yes. road trips are his favorite, because driving for long periods of time is something calming for him and he enjoys the fact that it's just the two of you traveling. maybe you'll go camping, or perhaps you'll drive a country over to spend a few days in a different city; whatever it is, you and price always have a nice time. while he gets to travel a lot, he recognizes that you don't have the same opportunity, so he loves to take you places as see your reactions to things. when he's deployed, he's always on the lookout for places to take you later.

- one of your favorite things to do is visit price while he's in the office. you usually bring him a meal, whether it be home made or take out because you know he's going to forget about grabbing himself something to eat. he always thanks you with a kiss, then you linger for a moment to speak to him, giving him time to eat and take a break from his work. while you're visiting price, all of his attention is on you, and if a soldier knocks on his door and asks to speak to him, he'll use his captain voice to tell them to come by later unless it's an emergency.

- price is very proud to call you his partner. although he tries not to bring you up too often at work because of privacy and professional reasons, he likes to mention you casually every now and then, especially with laswell or the other 141 members. he's proud of the work you do, no matter what your career is; he's just likes to brag about his amazing partner. he will do his signature v shaped smile whenever someone says in surprise,"oh, your partner is a/n [occupation]? how cool!"

simon "ghost" riley

- ghost is a listener, not a talker. and boy, does he love listening to you ramble on about your day. he finds it cute; the way you complain how expensive your coffee was that morning, or how you couldn't decide what to wear to simply go pick up a snack from the store. his responses include a lot of "oh really?", "i bet", and some snarky comments when you bring up a coworker that you don't particularly like. ghost is quiet, but his little responses show that he's well invested in your stories.

- just like everything else in his life, ghost keeps his relationship with you very private. it took him quite a while to even tell any of the other 141 members that he was in a relationship, simply because he didn't feel the need to tell them. he also wanted to protect you; not that he didn't trust the other members, but he was scared of your name accidentally being said to the wrong person. you were innocent, and ghost didn't want to ruin that innocence with the dark realities of his job and put you in danger.

- listen; meeting him at a music store. you would definitely be the one to initiate things, so when you saw a tall, handsome man flipping through records beside you, it made you look for an excuse to speak to him. "that's a good album", you would then finally speak up after watching him pull out a vinyl by the doors. ghost would honestly be taken aback; no one ever really strikes up conversation with him in public. "yeah" would be his response, but the dryness of it didn't stop you from continuing the conversation. after you two begin dating, ghost will often bring up how you were insistent on speaking to him, which never fails to bring a shy blush to your cheeks.

- you think it's amusing to have such a "scary" looking boyfriend. he tags along behind you whenever the two of you go out, and you often forget how large and intimidating he looks to others, especially because he always wears dark colored outfits and a face mask out in public. imagine ghost lingering behind you like a lost puppy while you mindlessly look through clothes at a store. when you're at the register, you notice the cashier glancing behind you, forgetting that ghost is looming over you like a bodyguard.

- speaking of others reactions, you love showing ghost off to people. you'll be spending time with friends, family, coworkers—whoever, and you get so excited whenever they ask if you have a boyfriend. you think it's funny to see their eyes widen when you pull up a photo saying "this is simon, he's deployed right now but (blah blah blah)". you had asked ghost for his permission to show photos of him to others while he wasn't around, and at first he was hesitant, but after hearing about the reactions he gives people, he doesn't care anymore. people think "that's their boyfriend?", which makes ghost smile to himself because yes, he's all yours.

kyle "gaz" garrick

- you two have this thing where the moment he opens the door after coming home from a mission, you'll sprint into his arms and he never fails to pick you up off your feet and squeeze you tight. gaz greets you like he hasn't seen you in years, covering your face and neck in kisses and spinning you around in his arms for what feels like forever.

- loves to facetime you when he's away. sometimes you'll be in different timezones, but both of you will be willing to stay up at 3 in the morning jusst to talk to one another. gaz always gives you room tours of whatever place he's staying at while deployed, or he'll call you while he's out shopping to ask what souvenir you'd like best. sometimes the other 141 boys will pop in to say hello, or gaz will shove the camera in their face to ask if they have anything to say to you.

- i feel that gaz would easily become jealous, especially because he can't be with you all the time. while he's away from you, you'll text or call him about an encounter at work or while you were out and about where someone tried hitting on you, earning a snarky remark from gaz. they always make you giggle because you're aware how protective he is of you, and they're often silly remarks like "they're lucky i wasn't there" or "should've told 'em your boyfriend is 6'5 and a wrestler"

- gaz is younger, so i feel that you would be a university student or something of the sort when you first met him. working part time at a local coffee shop at the time, you vividly remember gaz complimenting you the first time you served him. "you're very pretty/handsome, by the way" he said confidently, but quickly walked off before you could thank him. after that, gaz came in as often as he could, learning something new about you each time he came in, and it got to a point where you would simply give him a drink or pastry for free each time he came in. eventually he would ask you out, offering to take you somewhere after your shift, to which you immediately agreed to.

- when gaz visits your place, it's always like a silly little sleepover. the two of you will watch comically bad movies, make homemade pizza, play those couple's card games and he'll listen to you talk about any gossip you have. when gaz is with you, he takes it as his time to just be himself because he's so comfortable in your presence. he doesn't have to worry about being formal with you, and the two of you are equally as silly as you spend time with one another.

john "soap" mactavish

- soap doesn't like to bother you with his work. when he's with you, he'll always be so upbeat and playful, but you've learned to be able to notice when he's particularly stressed or tired. he insists that he's fine, telling you that you don't have to worry about him as he tries to play it off. he's a bit stubborn about it, so sometimes you have to bother him just a bit before he finally gives in and tells you what's up, or simply agrees to laying down and having a rest.

- okay, picture this. you meet soap at a dog park. i think he would have a german shepherd...which is besides the point, but when your dog and his both stop in their tracks to be friendly with one another, both of you feel that it's only natural to make conversation, right? the two of you quickly hit it off, to which you credit mostly to soap for being much more extroverted than you are, and the two of you talk about your dogs for a bit before the conversation focuses on yourselves. smoothly, soap would ask for you to join him on another trip to the dog park sometime, using the excuse that your dogs seemed to like each other.

- soap loves to text you while he's away, and other than gaz, he would be the one to text you the most out of any of the boys. he mostly sends a lot of random pictures of things he says reminds you of him, but will also update you on a bunch of random little things he's doing. "just shit in this french bathroom" "johnny i don't need to know that" "had to tell somebody"

- will leave plenty of his clothes for you to wear while he's gone, and it's practically all you wear during that time. you'll leave the house in an outfit completely made up of your boyfriend's clothes because they're just so comfortable, and it makes you feel less lonely having his scent lingering with you. even when soap is home, you still constantly wear his clothes, and 90% of his wardrobe is practically yours.

- soap would love to visit YOU at work. you forget your chapstick? he's on his way. you text him that you're hungry and forgot to pack a meal? he's bringing you your favorite fast food. although he's busy and can't stop by all the time, soap tries to stop by as often as he can, and all of your coworkers have learned to recognize him. "here comes johnny" one of them will point out, making you quickly whip your head around to look.

[hatosaur]

i realized that i hadn't said anything here so this is a bit belated but i'm super unhappy with the casting choices of tlou hbo, and just the general direction it's going toward.

in abby's case, it's been well-pointed out at this point her body type is a narrative device, a catalyst for showing just how her dedication and obsession with tracking joel down and killing him. i don't doubt that kaitlyn dever will be working out for this role but i can only imagine she'll end with a sort of lean muscular physique that will hardly illustrate the point of the body type, rather than one that takes fat into consideration. dever is far too small to achieve it, and what's more is, i think it's super unethical to bank on someone working out in order to fit a role. the announcement of the casting came about a month after the trailer for that new kristen stewart movie, the one where she falls for a bodybuilder, came out. there are fully actresses who lift and bodybuilder and have similar body types, and yet their choice leaves us wanting.

dina's case feels a lot more sacrilegious. isabel merced isn't jewish, nor has any of dina's defining features. granted, i'm well-aware that neither cascina caradonna, her face model, nor shannon woodward, her voice actor, are jewish, but i feel like this is what made the casting choice matter all the more. dina's a character whose heritage matters to her character, and there was such a clear chance to have her be portrayed by a jewish actor.

like a lot of people, i think that they chose the more palatable route, considering the massive backlash against both abby's body type and dina's more prominent features, which is both incredibly sad to see but also infuriating. particularly with the issue of neil druckmann's batting for jewish rep under the veil of his allegiance with israel. i obviously can't speak for the feelings of jewish fans but i imagine to pull the rug out from underneath us on a character that he has said is a connection to his jewish like this would be like spit in the face.

the whole thing has just made me disinterested with season 2 of tlou hbo. there are already issues with the games' representation of people of color, and seeing as i could tell there was a small (i cannot stress how miniscule) attempt to "fix it, i'd held out hope prior to this but...no.

IN ALL HONESTY, i'd already been content to not engage with s2. i was skeptical enough from the get-go when it was announced, but truth be told, too many red flags are cropping up. obviously, there's the zionist stuff that i think, right now especially, literally everyone can do without (though i'm sure neil and craig are rubbing their hands together over how the people NEED a great "both sides are bad, completely and totally biased view of the conflict in palestine" story), but even to like pirate is a no-go for me.

all of this to say, since i've already gotten some people asking, you shouldn't expect me to draw or indulge in any of the content from it.

[deathmetalunicorn1]

Hi hello happy belated birthday!!

May I possibly request a ror fam x Corazon reader?

Basically they adopt both reader and their sibling things happen and they(reader) basically save a child from their sibling and basically everything that happened to Corazon happens to reader? If this is too difficult to understand I can message you to explain more!

Drink water eat something and rest!!!

-You were an odd character. You had all sorts of strange quirks, from being extremely clumsy, to not talking, being extremely tall, and dressing in odd clothes, and being part of a crime family under your brother.

-Those in Valhalla didn’t really know what to make of you, as you were sitting on a large wooden box, smoking quietly as Law, the young boy that you rescued from your older brother with the intention on finding him a cure for his rare disease, White Lead Disease.

-Unfortunately, you both perished when your brother caught up to you, killing you both, thinking that you were betraying him, only to find the truth out as you smiled up at him, telling him goodbye, speaking to him for the first time in years.

-Law came with you to Valhalla, and when you both arrived, the doctors were easily able to find a cure for him, which was a relief to you as you were tired of setting hospitals on fire.

-Speaking of fire… “Y/N you’re on fire again!!” Goll quickly ran over, panicking as she and Law started stamping on the fluffy feather coat you were wearing, which had caught fire.

-You had stood to remove it, before slipping over nothing, falling back over the box and onto the flaming coat.

-Brunnhilde sighed, exasperated as she came over once you were put out, now sooty and dirty, your lip quivering slightly like you were going to cry as Law patted your head, looking more like the parental figure rather than the other way around.

-Despite your oddball quirks, you were a very loving and doting person, mainly only to Law, but there were a few, gods and humans, warriors, that you got along with as well.

-You encouraged Law to learn more, despite not knowing what he was learning, and you would always pat his head, silently telling him that you were proud of him, as you didn’t talk much in Valhalla.

-Law was usually exasperated with you, mainly when you hurt yourself or something like that, but those rare moments where you were the one to comfort him, putting him on your shoulders, giving him a higher outlook on life- while he would never admit it to you- he adored those small moments the most.

-Except for when you would slip over nothing, taking him down with you, then he would proceed to yell at you for about the next ten minutes, then hold your hand while you were the one crying, rubbing your eyes with the back of your hand.

-The friends both you and Law have made couldn’t help but smile, seeing the oddballs that you both were.

[fortisfilia]

Promised Part 8 - Tom Riddle x reader

Info: This is a rewrite of a story I've posted on my old account years ago. If it sounds familiar, that might be why :)

Summary: In this story, Tom didn't grow up as an orphan, but with his grandfather and uncle. Reader's sister got very sick and the Gaunts offer their help. But not without asking for something in return.

Warnings: Arranged marriage

Word count: 3.1k

Masterpost | Masterlist | Part 7 | Part 9

Part 8 - Slughorn's Party

Returning to Hogwarts after the Christmas holidays was far less stressful this time. Now that Elsie was better, it was much easier to concentrate on your studies. Maybe you could also focus on Tom. Both things seemed equally important somehow. And the fact that you could see Camille again added to the good things Hogwarts had to offer.

You were sitting on her bed in her dorm, telling her everything that had been going on during the last days. The Gaunts who had wanted to force you to do an unbreakable vow, their fight with Tom, that Tom had stayed for a bit, the book he had gifted you and everything in between. 

“I can’t believe you got him a snake,” Camille laughed. “What do you think his family said about that?”

“I couldn’t care less what they think of it. I hope they’re mad at me.”

“Do you think Tom got in trouble for it?”

“I don’t think so. He knows how to stand his ground.”

“And the book he gave you? Do you think that it means something? It’s some sort of family heirloom after all.”

Thinking about it, you lay down on your back next to her. “I’m not sure. Do you think that was some kind of secret message from him?”

“Maybe.”

“I’ll have to look into that.” You rolled over to face her. “And what have you done these days? Tell me all about your presents.”

“Well,” Camille said with a smile. “The presents weren’t the most exciting part of my holiday, to be honest.”

“Let me guess. You met someone! A guy?”

The smile on her face widened. “I didn’t meet him. I just kept in contact via owl.”

“Oh, Merlin! Who is it? Someone from school?”

She nodded.

“Go on, tell me!”

Her expression suddenly changed. “You have to promise not to be mad.”

“Why would I be mad?”

“It’s someone you don’t exactly like,” she said, a thick tone of guilt in her voice.

Then you knew. “No. Don’t. It’s Ben Hilt, isn’t it?”

She nodded slowly. “Yes.”

“Oh, Camille,” you sighed and needed a moment to sort out your thoughts. “Why?”

“He is a very charming boy.”

“He’s a year younger than you.”

“So?” she giggled.

“He wanted to tell on me to the Ministry, so that I wouldn’t be able to marry Tom. Sticks his nose in everybody’s business.”

“He just wanted to help. He thought you were forced to do it. And you have to admit he wasn’t exactly wrong about that.”

“Have you told him about the pact?”

“Of course not! I would never. I told him right from the start that if he’s only after me to get information about Riddle and you, he could piss off.”

“And?”

“He didn’t piss off,” she smiled. “He’s really nice. We never talked about you and Tom after I had made it clear it was none of his business. He didn’t even bring it up to begin with. I did. I would never date someone who would want to harm you, I swear.”

“Ugh, I know,” you groaned. “You’re too good. For me and for Ben.”

“Shut up,” she said as she nudged your shoulder.

“Wait. Did you just say ‘date’ someone? Are you official?”

“No. I guess not. But maybe someday. Now, what are you going to wear to Slughorn’s party?”

Slughorn’s annual belated New Year’s party was one of the few exclusive gatherings happening in school. Students could only attend if they had gotten a personal invitation, from Slytherin’s headteacher Horace Slughorn, who would invite his favourite pupil, or rather, the ones he thought looked best in his trophy collection. 

Camille, Tom and you had all gotten Slughorn’s owl. You had not mustered up the courage to ask him about it. Even though you were going to marry him, that didn’t mean he wanted to go to the party together. Together, as in, on a date. It had felt too delicate talking about it directly, the fear of being rejected too present. So you had danced around the subject, trying to find out if you were on the same page. Until he had finally said what you had wanted to hear. He had asked when to pick you up as if the possibility of not going there as a couple had not even occurred to him.

Seven o’clock, as arranged. It had arrived so soon. You hastily fixed the small wrinkles on the hem of your dress with a spell when you heard him knock on the door. Tom looked very posh in his black suit, politely offering his arm. And off you went. Together.

The guests at the party were students from years six and seven, as well as some teachers. Camille, who had brought Ben with her, looked absurdly pretty in her golden dress. Ben couldn’t have been more proud. He talked to Camille continuously and just seemed head over heels for her. Right next to them stood two of Ben’s friends, looking all out of character in suits. Avery and Lestrange came without dates and seemed awfully nervous for some reason. They whispered to each other every time you looked their way.

And then there was Freda Morris. Hogwarts’ head girl, who had her eyes fixated on Tom from the moment you had entered the room. Had she even noticed you next to him? Was she aware Tom was spoken for? Everyone knew by now that you were engaged after all, the ring on your finger being a testament to that. Either she didn’t know, or she didn’t care. The expression she sent you, after carefully staring you up and down, told you though, that she was absolutely aware of your relationship. She looked like she wanted to throw you out the next window.

“What in Merlin’s beard?” you muttered quietly to yourself after she had finally turned away from you.

“Pardon?” Tom asked and came closer so he could hear you better.

“Nevermind. Let’s go over to Camille and Ben, shall we?”

Tom’s gaze fell right on the two. 

“Your friend came with Hilt?” he asked sternly and began to walk their way. 

“Um, yes. About that,” you said, pulling lightly on his arm to stop him. “They’re dating. Kind of. They’re not official yet, but, you know, it could lead somewhere.”

He looked like you had just given him the world’s most unnecessary information. “What are you trying to tell me?” 

“That we have to be nice,” you answered and gave him your best fake smile, demonstrating what you wanted him to do.

“Nice?” He gawked so blankly at you, it was almost comical. “You want me to be nice to Benjamin Hilt? After what he’s done?”

“Well… Yes.”

“Why?” Tom asked, genuinely not understanding what you meant.

“Because Camille is my best friend. And she likes him.”

Tom sighed.

“Answer me this,” he said. “Camille knows a lot about you, yes?”

“Yes.”

“I assume she knows about us.“ He started talking more quietly. “Our pact?”

“She does.”

He rolled his eyes. “That’s what I thought.”

“So?” you asked.

“Isn’t it clear? He’s sweet-talking her to get information.”

“That’s what I first thought too. But Camille swore she wouldn’t tell him a thing. And she said she had made that clear to him from the beginning.”

Tom was still eyeing Ben sharply. 

“Come on,” you said and pulled him their way. “I trust Camille. It’ll be fine.”

“It‘s not her I don’t trust,” Tom said under his breath. “At least he's a true Gryffindor if he goes after her now. Either completely daft or actually courageous.” Your eyebrows lifted in question and he ducked his head grinning. “Remember I told you I’d take care of him when Marvolo sent his letter?”

“Yes?”

“I sort of did.”

Stopping in your tracks, you asked, “When? And what did you do?”

“A few weeks before Christmas. I just pulled him aside and talked.”

“Talked?”

“Well, I talked. He didn’t say much to be fair.”

“Tom, where did you take him?”

“The weather was nice so I took him outside.” 

Short answers again. This story wasn’t going to end well. “Where?”

He still feigned innocence, squinting his eyes as if he struggled to remember. “The whomping willow.”

“The wh- Tom! What in Merlin’s name were you thinking?”

“I said I’d take care of him, so I did!” He held his hands up in defence. “Also, he was only up in the air for a minute, okay? I held back.”

“I can’t believe you’re telling me this now,” you sighed, your fingers pressed against your forehead.

He shrugged. “I didn’t deem it important. For me, the issue was settled.”

“Okay.” Shaking your head, you started walking towards them again. “Since it’s settled, we can give him another chance. And vice versa.”

Tom didn’t answer, following you silently. 

When you greeted the two, Camille hugged you and gushed, “You look so beautiful! And you both know Ben, I believe.”

Of course, you did. Whether Ben wanted anything to do with you after what Tom had done was a different question. You offered him your hand and Ben shook it, despite it all, with an honest smile on his face.

“Fresh start?” you asked.

Ben nodded and turned to shake Tom’s hand as well. Tom looked at him seriously for a moment, inspecting his hand as if it was covered in Dragon Pox, until you nudged his side with your elbow, urging him to accept, which he reluctantly did.

Slughorn called for dinner before you could talk more, so you all went to the big oval table on the other side of the room. Ben sat down left of Camille, you to her right and Tom on your other side. Slughorn talked openly across the table, asking his students about their holidays, while dinner was served. Freda, obviously trying to impress, mentioned that she had been to France with her family, which didn’t have quite the effect on Slughorn that she had hoped it would.

“Pathetic,” you mumbled and Camille chuckled.

“Mean, aren’t we?” Tom whispered, a grin forming on his face.

“Me? Never.”

He exhaled a laugh and slowly grabbed your hand beneath the table, taking you by surprise. You looked at him, your fingers wrapping around his hand, then pulled them upwards and rested both his and your hand on the table. 

“Now you’re just cruel,” Tom jested when Freda looked over and saw the two of you.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” you answered, biting the inside of your cheek to prevent yourself from smiling. “I’m merely holding my fiance's hand. That’s not an act of violence, is it?”

“Fiancé, huh?” Tom asked.

“Aren’t you?”

“You’ve never called me that before.”

He was right. You had never called him that in person, or when you had talked about him to anyone else. If you didn’t know better, you could have sworn that a crimson haze was creeping up his neck and across his face.

“Well,” you swallowed, feeling a wave of heat on your cheeks as well. “It’s what you are, whether we like it or not.”

Tom nodded and held your hand a little tighter while glancing down at the table. “Fair.”

After dinner, the guests spread around the room, chatting and drinking punch while they waited for the first dance of the evening. Slughorn had pulled Tom aside a while ago, asking about his opinions on different things concerning Potions, politics and the news. He visibly hung to Tom’s every word, clearly awed by his favourite student, nodded and agreed to most of the things Tom said. You turned your back on them and faced Camille and Ben, still hearing the two chat behind you and thinking of how well-spoken Tom was. He knew how to lull in every teacher by heart. Each word that left his mouth seemed carefully crafted for Slughorn’s ears only and made him react just as Tom wanted him to. Impressive. 

Having engaged in conversation with Camille and Ben, while still keeping an ear on Tom behind you, you heard that Slughorn finally set him free and wished him a nice evening. Tom would be joining you, no doubt, even though he still didn’t like Ben when suddenly an all too familiar voice started talking to him.

“Hello Tom,” Freda Morris said, sickly sweet. “How are you? How were your holidays?”

You shot Camille a look, to which she automatically checked the people behind you, eyes wide in disbelief when she peered back at you. 

“What are you going to do?” she mouthed silently.

“No idea,” you mouthed back.

Ben stared back and forth between Camille and you, completely confused until he finally noticed what you were whispering about. 

“Oh,” Ben snorted. “Someone’s looking for trouble.”

Alright. Freda had not given up on Tom yet. There was a knot in your stomach, pulling bitterly and twisting your insides. You tried to ignore it, took a deep breath and decided to listen to them first. Maybe you were overreacting. Jinxing her later was still an option.

“Oh yes, Paris was wonderful actually,” Freda enthused and had pronounced ‘Paris’ in a weird French accent. “It’s so cosy there around Christmas, you have to go someday.”

“Sounds nice,” Tom answered, rather casually. “Well, if you don’t mind, I-”

“Oh, Tom, actually,” she went on. “I wanted to ask you. Don’t you think we should open the first dance together, as head boy and girl? It’s a tradition, after all.”

Tradition? You had never heard of such a tradition before. Camille and Ben, now eavesdropping too, were as dumbfounded as you. Camille was sincerely shocked, while Ben’s mouth was open, half laughing, half speechless, like a fish on land gasping for air. It seemed that you had not been overreacting, so you turned around, now facing Tom and Freda’s backside.

“I don’t know if that’s actually a tradition, Freda,” Tom said, looking back at you briefly, one side of his mouth pulling upwards.

“Philip Elms and Eve Sterling opened the dance at last year’s party,” she huffed. “They were head girl and boy too.”

“Correct,” Tom agreed. “But they were dating at the time, weren’t they?”

Freda didn’t answer.

“And since we are not dating, I have to politely decline,” he said, again looking at you. “Now excuse me, I have to talk to my fiancée.”

Tom left Freda standing there and the four of you watched her wandering off. No one said a word, Camille was holding her breath until Ben burst out laughing. “Mate,” he chuckled. “That was… deadly.”

Tom didn’t laugh, squinting at what Ben had just called him, but nodded appreciatively before he turned to you, offering his hand.

“What are you doing?” you asked.

“Opening the dance? The music has just started and Slughorn told me I should do it.”

You shook your head smiling, took his hand and let him take you over to the dance floor.

“For someone who accused me of being cruel, you’re doing a very good job yourself, you know,” you said, keeping an eye out for Freda, in case she planned on hexing you. Better safe than sorry. 

“Ah, she’ll be fine,” Tom assured. “Or would you have preferred if I took her to dance?”

The question didn't need an answer, so you just gave him a knowing look when you arrived on the dance floor, where you got in position. Tom placed his hand on your waist and took your right hand in his other one, holding both of them upright below shoulder height. All the guests had gathered around the floor, waiting for you to start dancing. Luckily there wasn’t enough time to get too nervous. It had all happened in a matter of moments.

“You know how to waltz, right?” Tom asked.

“It’s been a while, but-”

“Doesn’t matter, I’ll lead,” he said and took the first step, spinning in circles in three-four time.

Tom was a good dancer, which wasn’t surprising. He probably had taken courses some years ago, just like you, upon your parent’s request. You kept up with him quite well, only taking a wrong step every now and then.

“If I had known, I would’ve practised…”

“It’s alright, people will join in soon. You’re doing well,” he reassured you and lightly squeezed your waist.

The fact that you had never been so close to him for more than a few seconds became more apparent the longer he held onto you. Suddenly the spinning felt faster, all eyes focusing on you, burning holes right through you. The only thing steadying you was Tom and his hands. You spotted Camille in the crowd, who was smiling at you, holding up her hand and giving you a thumbs up. That made you feel a bit more at ease, so you let Tom lead you round the floor, twirling away from people’s stares. Finally, halfway through the song, pairs of people joined in and filled up the dance floor, leaving not much room to be glared at.

Tom looked at you, a proud smile adorning his face, his eyes softer than you had ever witnessed before.

“What’s that I’m seeing there?” you asked. “A genuine smile? Certainly a rare sight.”

He swallowed, not changing his expression. “Camille was right.”

“She usually is. But what do you mean?”

“Earlier, when we went up to them. She said you look beautiful. You do.”

People’s faces around you seemed to blur and you couldn’t hear them properly anymore. The only thing you saw was Tom’s face and how his eyes still stared into yours. It felt as if you weren’t dancing anymore, but rather floating above the ground, a swarm of butterflies emerging from your stomach. Your hand went from Tom’s shoulder behind his neck on its own and pulled him closer. Closer, just a tiny bit closer, so that you were able to view every single one of his eyelashes. His chest bumped against you and his cologne tickled your nose. You let yourself sink into the smell of bergamot and lemon, feeling how his hand squeezed your waist a bit tighter by the second.

Closer, until you both shut your eyes and your lips met in the middle, kissing Tom right out there on the dance floor. You were the only people who had stopped spinning, even though it still felt like you spiralled around a hundred miles an hour. Butterflies turned into aeroplanes, rotating and crashing gently against each other, just like the two of you.

Masterpost | Masterlist | Part 9

Tags: @ariachaos

[literary-illuminati]

2024 Book Review #62 – Mammoths at the Gates by Nghi Vo

This is the latest in my now-extremely-belated attempt to read all the nominees for Best Novella from this year’s Hugos (only need to hunt down a copy of Seeds of Mercury somewhere now!) It was a well-done, enjoyable read – nothing to change your life but, frankly, would have been far more deserving of the prize than Thornhedge was.

This is the fourth in the Singing Hills Cycle, following the itinerant archivist-monk Cleric Chih as they travel across a vaguely Chinese fantasy setting collecting histories and folktales to be collected into the monastery archives. After nearly three years walking the earth, they return to the titalur monastery itself to discover Cleric Thien, a very senior cleric and their own mentor, has died in the intern. Of more pressing concern, two members of their family are outside the gates – one of them a corporal in the Imperial Army with her command of two war-mammoths – demanding their body turned over to buried with their family and ancestors instead of interned in the monastery catacombs. And if that wasn’t enough of a complication Myriad Virtues, Thien’s companion neixin, has been driven to self-mutilation and a total withdrawal by her grief. It is, needless to say, an eventful funeral.

For all that, it’s not a particularly exciting novella, let alone an action-packed one. It’s very much, and very consciously, About Grief in a few different ways. Compared to earlier stories in the series, the narrative is far simpler, with none of the playing around with framing devices, unreliable narrators, or stories-within-stories that have kind of been the cycle’s trademark until now. The freed up space is instead used to make Chih far more of an actual character than they have been previously, rather than just a cipher to experience the narrative happening around them.

I do find myself slightly annoyed at the book because having set out such a genuinely messy and compelling conflict – both on the level of ‘who gets to decide what funerary traditions to follow and where the body is kept, the religious institution or the aristocratic family?’ being the sort of thing that has absolutely started wars, and with ‘who decides how someone should be remembered and grieved, their family or the people they choice to build a life with’ being a theme with a certain amount of contemporary resonance even without the whole thing where clerics are universally refereed to as they/them and Thien’s granddaughters kept insistently referring to them as a man – the book gave itself an easy way out on several different levels. But that’s just me being irritated it isn’t a different story entirely – this is a gentle, elegiac story; the central emotion is the melancholy of quietly organizing a loved one’s things after they’ve passed. On that level it works quite well and is even beautiful at points.

I’ve said before that this series would adapt near-perfectly into a high budget miniseries with a 40-60 minute episode per novella, and I stand by that. If anything, it feels like it’s only getting more true. It does feel like a bit of a loss, though – maybe I’m remembering it as more than it was, but I think Empress of Salt and Fortune had a level of thematic and narrative ambition that all of its sequels have kind of lacked. This and Into the Riverlands especially feel like they exist in a different and...shallower? Simpler? Clearer? Register than the first two entries in the Cycle.

Ah well. It would have to far a long way before it was even in the conversation for most disappointing book I read because of a Hugo nomination. On balance, lovely read with a dog cuddled up beside you on the sofa.

[vestaclinicpod]

Audio Drama Sunday - 20th October ✨

The first thing I thought when I woke up this morning was ‘Oh, no! I missed Audio Drama Sunday!’. So, please, have some belated audio drama appreciation:  

🧳 Travelling Light @monstrousproductions (36+7) I listened to ep 36 immediately after my exam his week because I knew it would bring me some comfort. What lovely timing for an ep about self-care. Ep 37 had me feeling things about humanity. I hope the crew who encouraged those plants to flourish had some way of seeing their success! 

🎙️WTNV (255&256) God, I wish more people in my real life listened to this show so I could quote: ‘like a raccoon, with distemper’ to them all the time. 

🧋@hinaypod (20&21) I did have a suspicion that our fave Dogman might make an appearance at the campsite!! Also, Murphy, if your fave boys are fighting, that might be something you wanna like . . . address . . . sooner rather than later. And DONNER  whAT are you doing??? This polycule, it’s gonna be the death of me. And, ooh, so happy to have Evelyn back! And the story she is investigating is delightfully creepy! Very Longlegs (2024).  I think the gang are going to be very interested in hearing about a puppet master!! 

🦋 @remnantspod (12&13) Oh, gosh, these eps were a lot to take in. I really, really need a red string board for this show. There were so many names here that I remember but I feel like I’m missing so much detail! Also, Sir needs to sort his attitude. 

🖥️ The Magnus Protocol (What If #1) Ew, what on Earth has been going on with Teddy? There was something so sinister in the way he was behaving in this episode!! Sam, these spooks are coming for you, no matter what, it seems! 

🦠 Apollyon (8) I can’t imagine how frustrating it is to want to follow the breadcrumbs that have been dumped on your door and consistently being told no!! I hope Savreen gives us more answers in the next episode! 

🌨️ @thewhitevault (11) LET’S GO!!! We picked up right in the midst of the drama with stunning performances from the VAs. I LOVE hearing from Dragana, she’s like the Ellen Ripley of TWV, if anyone can sort this out, it’s her. And, oh, Dís is going to go off script in a big way and I literally have my popcorn ready!!! 

Have a great week, everyone! 🫶🍂

[a-shrieking-cloud-of-bats]

DF Posting: KingChannels - Year 3

Here we are again. Much belated on account of me having an awful head cold for most of the past two weeks.

The beginning of the defensive layer, which, as time has gone on, has only gotten less solid. Regardless I think having room to retreat behind corners when archers come a knocking will be helpful.

We left last year with the trade depot Almost complete, and the defensive layer, starting up. Happy to say we made a lot of progress on both, but a lot happened so we'll start from the top.

Early on the elven caravan arrived; I personally have no abnormal distaste for the elves (even if selecting everything in a bin except the bin is obnoxious), but we didn't have any trade goods because I'd not decided to, you know, make any, on account of sheets being wanted next year. So we didn't really get anything, not that they brought much. Not even very many animals. Very dissapointing honestly. Didn't even get a screenshot.

Our starter library. We probably won't need it anymore after we start getting the tower constructed but that could be a while. I set a scholar to work here after I made it as well, and installed a table later on.

In the meantime we made a starter library for our scholarly pursuits to begin in earnest, rather then waiting for the tower to start construction. It's small, but it'll work. We assigned Ingish Arzesidan as scholar, our old woodcutter. She honestly loves it and is constantly getting good thoughts from debating and pondering, though these are somewhat offset by her bad thoughts from not practicing a craft. Thems the breaks. Around this time I also started making clothes from our pig tail fiber, to ensure our in fort child would have clothing. Also so anyone whose clothes rot off can get a new set.

Our first scholar.

After all that hubbub we almost immediately got a migrant wave; 9 dwarves, 2 melee dwarves for the military, and a High Master Surgeon, very nice. This reminded me we needed to make a hospital. My idea is to build it on the ground floor, likely near the cistern, hopefully out of the way of any trouble in the event anyone needs to be brought to it during combat. It'll also make getting the water from the cistern to the nearly required hospital well less of a pain in the butt.

The first two are our melee dwarves and the last is the surgeon.

Around the time of the migrant wave we got another Child Strange Mood; it finished around the time we finished sorting otu the migrant wave as Ablel Regezar only grabbed two apple wood logs. He made, adorably, a toy axe, Desiszisang. During the course of this year I caught several dwarf children playing with it so at least it's getting use!

The fort's most popular toy. And... only toy, now that I'm thinking about it.

Of note; all this happened in Early Spring. This was a very rapid fire series of events, but things slow down a bit henceforth. Not before finding a mysterious vomit trail from the trade depot to the first floor of the fortress entrance. Probably a dwarf that'd been underground long enough to get cave adapted. I didn't see any sign of combat, anyway, so it's not an injury at least. Regardless the fort now has its first streak of green mess. There will be many more.

Every fort, by the end of the run, is usually just covered in blood and puke. This is small potatoes.

Taking up the next large swathe of time was mostly me digging to find ores, rather then for fortress construction, with the completion of a stockpile I was digging near the metal processing area to store ore and coal. During this time I'd noticed unhappy dwarves were looking pretty intimidating, I think it hit a high of 16 which is more then a third of our fort. You've gotta nip this in the bud so in a mostly ineffectual attempt to do that I made some meals. Mostly quarry bush leaves, but higher food quality = happier dwarf. Unfortunately we don't really have a lot of edible wildlife, I've only seen ravens and they're too small to butcher and a pain to catch besides. Maybe one day we'll be eating raven eggs, but it seems like a bit too much trouble for now.

all of my mining floors start like this. I want people to be able to move through them well in the event I use them for something more important then burial site.

We hit Lignite and Iron shortly below where I started digging exploratorily. Very good sign; if we can find flux we've got steel, which is fantastic. That'll handily take care of most of our fortress defense needs, at least as far as we can hope for. We also found kaolinite which will make us some high quality ceramic stuff when I set it up. I also intend to use the exploratory digging tunnels for most of our burial slabs; it just feels appropriate to me.

During all this, the work on the defensive layer was moving along. The windows on the left are Gem windows, and we'll be layering some fortifications over hte front of them to ensure noone just breaks in through those windows. Eventually patrols or watch animals will keep an eye out through there to let us know when goblins or kobolds are skulking around. Hopefully, anyway.

It was around this time I realized my military squads had Never Stopped Training. I looked into a bit of stuff regarding the new UI and it turns out they've been on manual training, never stop mode, for like a year now. That's probably why everyone's so pissed off. I fix that and indeed the bad moods at the fort start dropping, thankfully. THe summer migrant wave also hit, 8 dwarves. A high master metalcrafter, a high master furnace operator, and a middling papermaker. Normally the papermaker would be on hauling duty, but given we're making a library... hmm. Two randos from the wave got drafted into our military squad making an even 10. Training can Really start now. Especially now that they're doing advanced training and teaching and sparring and such. They don't do that on manual evidently.

Once more, oru new Local Celebrities. I also assigned another dwarf to scholarship around this time I believe; Kadol Usenvabok. We'll probably worry more about the scholars when the tower goes up because if I keep posting dwarf thoughts we're gonna hit the image cap.

Seconds after this migrant wave the high master metalcrafter enters a secretive mood. Looks like we're getting a legendary metalcrafter. Honestly sort've stinks; he was allmost there anyway. Regardless, he goes to work. After some livestock butchery, he makes an Artifact Silver Chain out of Horse Leather, Chert Blocks, a Silver Bar, and cut bloodstones. Pretty nice sounding, and we can definitely find a use for it somewhere. Probably put it in a well, but maybe we can find some sort've novel use for it in the tower. It Is silver after all.

Pretty Good.

As we moved into autumn, I realized we were running out of food for some reason. Had the realization we weren't growing any plump helmets in autumn for some reason, so I fixed that. Also set about to making another still, as the population was getting quite hefty and a single still probably wouldn't be cutting it for much longer. As time went on it stabilized, and later in the year restocked itself so we're good again. Crisis Averted.

Shortly before the caravan arrived there were officially enough farmers in the fort to qualify for a farmer's guild. I immediately set about making one of the rooms I Dug out for specifically this purpose into a farmer's guild, and everyone was happy about it. Farmer dwarves will talk about farming in there, along with just generally socializing. It'll slowly increase their skills in various farming aptitudes. It's great.

The Dwarven caravan arrives annnnnd I forgot to make trade goods. God damn. I quickly hammer out some rock rings and buy some iron bars, using them to make a weapon for the militia. Need stuff sooner then later, and we're not exactly short on iron. The liason requested Amulets, which is great for us and I Immediately set on that to avoid this problem next year. I make our standard selection of military grade metals and silver.

Around this time enough work on the cistern got done for me to be comfortable draining the pond, finally. I wanted to get constructed stuff in there sooner rather then later because... I like constructed stuff. No dirty hole water here.

the top floor hadn't been walled in yet but I did take care of that over the rest of the year.

I love a bit of fluid mechanics in DF so this excited me. I've actually not done a lot of it, but I love the concept. We'll probably need another pool or two before it'll have enough loaded in to make its way to the hospital well, but it rains all the time here, so it shouldn't be too long. Since we've got enough standing water in the cistern too (about a full z level), we can just dump in whatever we can get and it'll be stored too, so that's nice.

Anyway the autumn migrant wave hits annnnnnd we got two dwarves. I forgot I had the migrant cap lowered to a pitiful 50 due to a previous fort I ran, so that's my bad, Yet Again. I raise it to 100. The two dwarves were not notable in any way. I also assign a scribe to our library to copy the books we do have.

As we trundle on towards winter, a child is posessed, which has become a commonplace enough occurrence that I honestly wasn't particularly interested. More livestock died to feed the leather requirement, and he got wood, bones and leather.

Before he finished his artifact, however, a werehare broke into the depot. He immediately bites down on Logem Urvaddatan, our freshly recruited high master surgeon, and shakes him to bits.

So much for that hospital. KingChannelses first fatality. Brutal.

There were two militadwarves nearby at the time so they immediately set to attacking the werehare (with picks?? why do you people have picks equipped you're not miners), and he goes down pretty unceremoniously, being an unarmored, roughly human size, enemy.

During the scuffle however, a militadwarf was bitten. This means they are now a werehare, and they Will be hostile to their fellow dwarves when they turn.

The bitten militiadwarf on the left, Iden Eshtanmubun and more competent combat on the right.

Me, not willing to create isolation chambers for bitten dwarves, and not wanting to have to deal with this guy popping off every quarter of a year, elect to banish him. Iden Eshtanmubun has no family in the fort, so nobody is going with him. He's upset, but what's he gonna do, come back as a werehare to take revenge? Hopefully not. He was actually also a aprt of the wave the surgeon came in on, so I guess the wave was just cursed. We'll have to keep an eye on Ablel Dumatdeleth, I Suppose.

After all of the drama and our first death, the child finishes his artifact, a horse bone pick. Maybe someone will actually use it. I kind've don't care right now kid I'm sorry.

I am normally quite happy about equippable artifacts, even if they're shit, but a pick is pretty hard to equip on purpose and they all behave the same regardless of material.

After processing all this I realized our defensive layer is pretty much done, our wall is done, our trade depot is done, it's time to build that overhang. I don't think the werehare climbed in over the wall but better safe then sorry. Unfortunaetly, while trying to do this, I realize my wall is too close to the edge of the map to build an overhang. So we have to rebuild half of it. Ugh.

In the shadow of death we find.... more menial labor. As usual, I guess.

I immediately stat making another layer of the wall on the relevant sides inside the fort. We'll worry about tearing down the outside layer later. I'd rather have a wall people can climb over then no wall at all. This in and of itself takes about til the end of the season, so we'll carry on with other stuff, though the death was the last major event of the year.

Other then some boring logistical stuff (we ran out of chert I can't color coordinate until I mine more rarrrr), the rest of the year was pretty quiet. We found some Green Jade, a 20 value gem, which is Very nice, we found more iron on the living floor, while expanding it for future waves, which I mined out, and our scribe made a copy of our one book, The Way of the Path of the Moon. Or whatever. It was something like that.

As the year drew to a close, the baby born in fort grew to a child and learned to walk on his own. He is no longer at risk of being used as a shield by his mother, and they ran out into the snow and immediately got pissed off about being snowed on. Thanks kid. She can now harvest and haul stuff, so she'll be a minor help for the next.... 15 years. Frankly if we see her grow to be an adult that alone is a fantastic run.

Baby Lolor Rimtarilir, like all dwarves, immediately knows where the clothes are upon gaining locomotion. She's also pissed off because of the snow. Get in line Lolor.

Along with the baby becoming independent, our initial Scholar, Ingish, became an astronomor. He's officially studied the book about the moon's path enough to gain a title. Our mental pursuits are looking up.

A monumentous occasion given the goal of our fort. We need more eggheads. They're chopping a tree right now but rest assured they are very intelligent.

And that's that. A death, a lot of construction and a working cistern; that will continue, but we are pulling up on the end of Surface construction not involving the tower, at least, maybe another couple of years? Hopefully we'll have sterling silver production in hand by then.

Next years goals are finally get that cistern loaded up with water and giving our dwarves an indoor well, Finish The Damn Wall, and hopefully find flux and start steel production. Also hopefully we find silver. I guess if we can't find any silver on site a ceramic tower might be good. And very silly. Same color anyway. We'll see.

Until Next Year. Our fortunes rise and fall together.

[bonzos-number-1-fan]

TMAGP 22 Thoughts: Couples Therapy

A really great episode. Everything about this one was so well done and I don't think I've got a single complaint. Not that I often have those but still. It'll be interesting to see how much of this is deeply plot relevant and how much is just a fun spooky time too. This is another belated post on account of a hospital visit, and a half-written draft getting deleted. Hopefully we'll be back to our regularly scheduled posts for next week.

Spoilers for episode 22 below the cut.

Lena is just the best, isn't she? Unfortunately we just learned that she's married and so I've got no shot, but still. Lena is great in every scene she's in and I'm really glad we get so much of her and Gwen as they have stellar chemistry. I'd be interested to see if this ministerial visit goes anywhere. I'm not 100% whether it was a plot hook or a convenient way to not fire Gwen. She's obviously not in Lena's good books so she this could be a way to explain away not firing her so she can leverage that position for something and avoid the firing.

Augustus incidents are always such a treat. This one probably wasn't maybe my favourite of them for the incident itself but it was for the sound design and the music. They really hit it out of the park for this one IMO. Unfortunately this is likely the last Augustus statement of the season if it's sticking to the 1 per act cadence. Of minor note this does disprove that .JMJ errors herald Augustus in some way.

Okay, onto the statement proper. Hans Berger and Dr. Richard Caton are both real people, and the information within this statement is largely factual. Berger did invent the EEG in 1924, held off on publishing his research due to the reaction he presumed it'd received, and when it was later published a lot of the scientific community at the time was ready to discount it. It took quite some time before what he'd managed was really appreciated. But don't feel too bad for him as he also worked with the Nazis. So coercing a patient into getting their brain ejected from their skull isn't the only sin of his. Caton is similarly accurate here and the two of them had similar fates with their research. Without Caton's work Berger likely wouldn't have been able to create the EEG and Berger was one of the few people to give Caton's research much attention at all. It came very close to being forgotten about. Ursula was very real too and did start as Berger's assistant before they got married. Although not mentioned in the incident is that she was a baroness.

Okay, so the big thing in this one is obviously the experiment itself. I've heard quite a few theories on what's actually going on here. Lots of talk about it being Freddy or JMJ. I generally think that's a massive stretch that doesn't really mesh with anything in the text of this, nor the historical context of Freddy and JMJ. The incident predates both Freddy as software and JMJ appearing as voices by not insignificant margins. It's obviously entirely possible that something was floating in the void waiting for a host PC but in context to the text of the incident I don't really see how that's a logical conclusion. The incident was about a secondary or true self within a person that can be accessed through the hemispherical bridge. Which is sort of exactly what we see here. It's also generally how it works IRL, split-brain is a fairly well researched topic for what it is.

Which is all to say I think this one is fairly literal. Herr Schmidt isn't a psychic gateway to Freddy but that's not to say I don't think these things are related. I very much do but I think it's foreshadowing and metaphor rather than literally the same thing. But of course I think that because I've been talking about this idea of a homunculus JMJ for a bit. You can read about it in an essay entitled JMJ: Frankenstein; or, the Modem Prometheus. It's a short read for my standards and my favourite pun of all my essays, so check it out. The dream is a little more likely to be a psychic event but it's also pretty literal for a dream as the imagery goes so there isn't much to say on it.

A very fun incident all around. As mentioned the main subject matter of callosal syndrome (split-brain) is a very real phenomena. I'm not going to get too into it but if it's something you want to dig into I'd suggest looking into the research of Michael Gazzaniga as well as Roger Sperry. The latter won a Nobel Prize for their work on this too.

I don't have much to say on the last to sections. Both conversations Sam has with Alice and Celia, respectively, are pretty explicit. Although Sam's mention of Alice being controlling does give us some insight into a likely reason they broke up. He's also very right that Alice has made a pretty quick turn around on all this and is now actively working against it despite not buying it at all.

Then it was something about a Marvin and Jason, I think?

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

Incident/CAT#R#DPHW Master Sheet and Terminology Sheet

DPHW Theory: 4488 sounds about right. Not a load to say on that one IMO.

CAT# Theory: 13 is somewhat interesting from the Person/Place/Object theory. Mostly because it's another that's a really big stretch and also doesn't help anyone know anything. There wasn't really anything out of the ordinary here as far as people and objects go, and in either case flagging that doesn't really impart any useful context. So it's just another one of those largely redundant data points.

R# Theory: Another old letter by an old man at BC. Love to see the consistency as it lines up very well with my ideas here.

Header talk: Experiment (Brain) -/- Imprisonment (Existential) is a somewhat interesting crosslink assuming it's correctly filed. Your second self being literally imprisoned in your head at all times is pretty wild.

[complicitsacrilege]

So like... I need people to cry with about this with me because I was making some (belated) pysanky for the first time in YEARS and made myself sad. Therefore others must also suffer with me.

Spoilers for The Vampire Armand I guess??

So for context for those who haven't read TVA and then some discussion

So just after Armand is turned, he and Marius go back to Ukraine to find his family. He wants to see them one last time because he never got to say goodbye. At first, he thinks his mother doesn't recognize him, but Armand finds out that his father is not dead. Rather, he became the town drunk (though he was once a very respectable hunter) basically because he feels responsible that he couldn't protect Armand.

But! His mother did recognize him and followed him to the tavern. She finds him on his way out and brought a pysanka egg and the painting he had gone out to deliver the day he and his father were attacked. He refused the painting, telling her to keep it, but took the pysanka.

Then he kept the egg with him in his coffin until Santino stole him again.

And like... in the cultural context of pysanky eggs, his family most likely would've made a new one every year to protect him if he was still alive or act as an in memoriam of sorts. Usually there's a big exchange of pysanky for Easter each year and everyone makes some for their relatives - both living and dead. But pysanky are also placed at the graves of loved ones and even placed into coffins with the dead.

It just hurts my heart SO MUCH that the pysanka Armand's mother gave him when he returned to his home (the one and only time after he was turned) was most likely the egg she likely made in memory of him. And then he keeps it in his coffin, as though his mother had placed it with him in his grave.

I'm fine. This is fine. I totally didn't cry about this for like 10 minutes while de-waxing an egg.

[marshmallowgoop]

Hi! I've read a handful of your blogs here and I wanted to say I really like them. Even though I haven't seen for myself any of the shows/movies/etc you've talked about, I love how passionate you are, especially about the things you love.

Which brings me to Kill la Kill - my only experience with that anime is literally a couple of clips I watched when I was a teenager, and forgot about a couple of weeks later. Now I (sort of) know the gist of the overall plot by reading about it. But having read several of your essays on it, how invested you are kinda rubs off on me despite not having actually watched the show XD - like, I can feel how much you love these characters.

With that off my chest, I had a question in mind regarding the ending. Again, I don't know every little detail about the story as a whole, but I know that Honnōji Academy is destroyed at the end.

But do you think it would have been cool if the academy was reformed rather than destroyed?

I mean, Satsuki ran the place with an iron fist, and if she reformed, I don't see why the academy couldn't. Imagine Honnōji being a place that ran on cooperation and nurturing of each other's strengths rather than ruthlessness.

Think that's a good idea, or do you think it wouldn't work?

Oh my gosh?? I'm absolutely blown away that my writing can capture interest even without knowledge of the media (and am so curious about how you found me!). Thank you so much.

As to your question: hmm! That's a really good one that I've been pondering for a while (my apologies for the very belated response). One question that comes to mind in response is what a school (or any place) truly is. Is it the location? The building? The people?

If it's the people who made Honnouji Academy what it is, then Satsuki reforming is, in essence, the place reforming. The physical building isn't what made the school what it is.

But I think there's meaning in the inanimate. I'm reminded of an episode of Batman Beyond, "Shriek," where Bruce fights to keep the place where his parents died preserved. Terry wonders why—wouldn't it be best to tear it down? To forget the awful memory? But Bruce throws back at him, "Do you want to forget what happened to your father?"

In Batman Beyond, Crime Alley is left in tatters. It's abandoned, it hasn't been refurbished, and Bruce actively doesn't want it to be. There's meaning in leaving it as it is; it's a reminder of why Bruce became Batman and why the work he does is important.

Perhaps similarly, Honnouji Academy itself doesn't totally disappear. It sinks to the bottom of Tokyo Bay and becomes less immediately visible, but it still exists, and nothing is rebuilt on top of it. The memory of what Satsuki had done, and what she must never become again, lies just beneath the surface. And, because it's just beneath the surface, no one is going to try to make it into something new like the attempts with Crime Alley.

That said. I can also see worth in making a place once known for causing harm into a place that fosters love. Things can change without forgetting and disrespecting what came before.

But maybe there's a "line"? And I could see Honnouji Academy as crossing that line, where keeping it and trying to transform it does a disservice to the atrocities that occurred there, and that's why it ultimately sinks.

[steddieasitgoes]

@eddiemonth prompts for Oct. 3rd: School and a belated Oct. 2nd: Observant cw: mention of food read on ao3

Ms. Click’s first-period class isn’t the worst place Eddie can be — that spot is reserved for Ms. O’Donnell’s sixth-period Algebra class. And yet, he can still think of a million and one places he would rather be than sitting at his stupid desk in the middle of the room, like under the covers in his bed or smoking a joint while leafing through his latest Dungeons & Dragons campaign. 

Hell, if it wasn’t illegal and immediate grounds for expulsion, Eddie might just light up right here. Maybe a little weed will make the dates of Lincoln’s presidency finally stick in his damn head. At the very least, it might distract him enough from the dramatic sighs and pencil tapping his fellow classmate Robin Buckley is currently doing. Maybe she’s the one who needs a joint. 

He knows he should be listening to whatever Ms. Click is saying, but his ears are tuned in to Buckley’s pencil and the horrendous beat she’s tapping. Isn’t she in band? She should have better rhythm than this, he thinks. Having had enough, Eddie leans forward in his chair and taps Buckley on the shoulder. 

His feather-light touch startles her and she jumps, knee thunking against the underside of her desk. The pencil rolls off her desk when she lets go of it in favor of rubbing at her knee. 

“Sorry, Buckley, but that tapping was driving me insane,” Eddie says, whispering as best he can. 

“You could have just asked me to stop,” she snaps, bending down to retrieve the pencil. 

Eddie hums in agreement but doesn’t lean back in his seat. Instead, he stays hunched over, elbows hanging off the edge of his small desk. Head practically on Robin’s shoulder when she comes back up, he takes in her point-of-view of the classroom. It’s mostly the same as his. A view of Ms. Click with her back turned to them, scribbling out some timeline on the chalkboard. His classmates trying to copy it into their own notebooks. Except, there is one key difference in their seats because, from Buckley’s vantage point, he can see Steve Harrington in all his glory working his way through his breakfast bagel. 

Of course, Eddie thinks. That’s what has her heavily sighing like some old English housewife. 

“Buckley,” Eddie tsks. “Don’t tell me you’ve fallen victim to Harrington's charm. I thought you were better than that.” 

Robin whirls around in her chair so fast the entire thing nearly topples over. If it weren’t for his own quick reflexes, she’d be overturned on the floor, and everyone would be laughing at her. Something Eddie absolutely does not want to happen. He may not know her, but he knows what it’s like to be on the receiving end of their classmates’ laughter. And it’s definitely not a fun place to be. Ranks right above Ms. O’Donnell’s Algebra class. 

Her scowl is deep, the kind that would totally be shooting him with laser beams if that sort of thing existed in this world. It’s a good thing it doesn’t. But there’s something else at play behind those blue eyes of hers. A tension. It’s as if she’s debating how to respond to him. 

It’s interesting. 

Very interesting. 

“I don’t have a thing for Steve,” she sneers, barely above a whisper. Thankfully, Eddie has good hearing because he’s pretty sure no one else would even realize she’s talking. “I just…” she hesitates as she gazes over her shoulder in his direction. 

They’re not even on Steve’s radar. Hell, they could probably be screaming his name back and forth, and King Steve wouldn’t even pay them any mind. And it’s not like Steve’s diligently taking notes or anything. He’s more enthralled with his bagel than anything else. Ripping it into smaller bits before chewing on it with an open mouth. Crumbs strewn across his desk and the floor. Fingers covered in cream cheese and butter. 

Eddie wonders if he’ll ask to go to the bathroom to wash up when he’s done or if he’ll just brush the crumbs aside and wipe his hands on his jeans. Wonders what else Steve wipes away on his jeans when his hands are messy. Before the thought can spiral too out of control, Buckley’s talking again. 

“Why does he eat his bagel like that? He’s making a mess! There’s bagel crumbs everywhere!” she complains, turning her laser-beam scowl on Harrington’s profile. And then, even quieter than before, she says something Eddie knows he’s not meant to hear. “She’s covered in them, and she thinks it's cute. He’s not even looking at her. Why does she like him?” 

Oh. 

Oh.

It’s easy to put the pieces together after that. The erratic tapping, the frustrated sighs, the fight brewing in her eyes when he alluded to her liking Steve. The familiar, do I pretend or do I deny and possibly raise red flags argument he knows all too well. 

Shit, he thinks, she does need a joint. Maybe even more than him. 

“Hey,” he says, tapping her shoulder with a featherlight touch this time. She huffs and redirects her attention over her shoulder where Eddie sits. “I know you band kids pretend to be all high and mighty, but if you ever you know,” he trails off, mimes lighting a joint and inhaling it. “Come see me. Free of charge.” 

“Oh,” Robin says, surprised. A good kind of surprise this time; a smile tugging at her lips. “You know my parents were hippies, right? I’m pretty sure they have better pot than you do. No offense.” 

For a brief moment, Eddie forgets he’s sitting in Ms. Click’s first-period history class and laughs as if he’s sitting in the back of his van with his friends. The noise earns him a firm scolding from Ms. Click and a few curious stares from his peers, but he shakes them all off. Offers Ms. Click a half-assed apology before begging for her forgiveness with his hands clasped together. It’s only when she rolls her eyes and returns to the chalkboard does he tap Buckley on the shoulder one more time. 

“Well, shit, Buckley,” he chuckles, quieter this time. “Hippie pot, huh? You better bring me a sample.”

“I’ll see what I can do, Munson.”