#it’s so silly to me asinine but very silly

[imageingrunge]

I’m old hag aged on TikTok but when I stay w my mom on Easter she still gets me a silly little Easter basket w chocolate bunnies 🤧

[glitter-stained]

I keep seeing posts about how Jason should have chara development that makes sense regarding his morals and stop killing because of that rather than because Bruce told him to stop and like - it's not like I disagree. Of course, that would be great. Of course I want him to be written his age by writers that like him and have development that makes sense and work with Bruce and Dick and evolve on his own as a person.

But the thing is.

A few weeks ago I saw a critique of His Dark Materials that was so absurdly daft it made me want to peel my skin off. For context, His Dark Materials by Philip Pullman is a children/young adult book set in fantasy worlds that doubles as a retelling of Paradise Lost in which Lucifer wins, and criticism of christianism is preponderant in it. (This will spoil a good part of book 1 of HDM btw). I'm far from a HDM fan, I saw a few episodes of the adaptation and read it once when I was ten and thought the characters and world was fun but the rhythm in the 2nd and 3rd books was off and I didn't like the ending, so like it was fun but I definitely not a re-read for me. But the point is, this critique clearly had a degree in not getting the fucking point, because his arguments against the books clearly stemmed from an inability to shift his viewpoint out of the christian framework (I promise this is still a Jason post). One of his most ludicrous argument was the lack of character depth in HDM. This is particularly silly because one of the main characters, Mrs Coulters, is one of the most interesting complex characters I've ever seen in fiction. Now Mrs Coulters is interesting because she is a bad guy. Like, tortures and kills children level of bad guy. She doesn't magically grow to sacrifice herself in the name of martyrdom to repent for her sins or something silly like that; but still, she sometimes does very good, helpful things for the characters, because the tension between her character is between her ambition (and her faith though that's more questionable) and her motherhood, as she truly loves and cares for her daughter, one of the protagonists, and wants a better, safer world for her. Now the critique claimed that there was no character depth because there was no concept of sin and no redemption arcs in the books- but those are utterly Christian concepts, so of course they wouldn't be endorsed by a book that challenges their validity. Just because Mrs Coulters doesn't have a redemption arc doesn't mean she isn't deep; and the fact that she does good things not out of morality but out of love is what makes her a fascinating character.

So, thinking about that asinine critique, I was suddenly struck with the realization that Jason is somehow similar to Mrs Coulters in that he is a very loving person who tends to put his personal connexions above everything else (of course, he doesn't experiment on and torture children, that's not what I'm saying). My point is, I don't think why we shouldn't have a Jason who evolves not moved by his morals (though he has them and they matter) but by his love. The point of Death in the Family is Jason wanted to be loved and have a family and trying to shield Sheila's body with his and telling her he loved her. The point of UTRH is Jason doing horrible things in the most theatrical, strategically planned mental breakdown as begging for proof of love because he can't reconcile being loved in a different way that he loves and because he can't understand someone putting their moral code over love. And as much as RHATO #25 fills me up with dread, I have to say I love Jason's behaviour in that final stint. "I am my father's son" holy shit what a line. Jason is Willis' son and because of his filial love, his loyalty demands he avenges him. Jason is Bruce's son and because of his filial love, his loyalty demands that he does not kill. Jason almost murders Willis' murderer with a blank bullet and then when Bruce beats hims halfway to death he doesn't defend himself, doesn't fight back (like, one punch but come on, we've seen him fight, he just gives up). That right there? Hate to say it with how questionable RHATO's Jason is in general, but that's peak characterization. The conflict is entirely about Jason's conception of love, family and worldview, and it's deep and interesting and has nothing to do with morality. I want Jason storylines that explore that. I want Jason to work with the batfam in stories that make sense, I want the writers to acknowledge him as a victim and trauma survivor and allow him to grow from there instead of demonizing his mental illness, I want him to stop killing out of love and I want him to allow himself to love in healthier ways and for the width of his love to spread exponentially and for that to affect his behaviour and worldview.

And that's not just because I like Mrs Coulters and dislike the idea of holier than though moral characters! The christic symbolism Jason is crystal clear (especially in Lost Days), but it's not just about Jason: Talia is associated with Mary (which makes sleeping with him that much more obviously incestuous and horrible and ooc), Joker is the Devil and Bruce, of course, is God (which begs such interesting questions about the Holy Spirit - Robin maybe? To explore at a later date). Now, everybody's experience with Christianity differs wildly, but the way I learnt it growing up in catholic culture was basically God being an Authority of Judgement and Law, strict and all about morality; while Jesus is about love, unconditional love, even and especially the sinners and the damned (and as for the devil Lucifer is a fallen angel who fell after losing to God, and Satan is the demonic incarnation of temptation ain't that interesting). So I would argue that by having Jason kill or not kill out of love for his family, Jason is already his own character with autonomous thought process, independent morals and original interesting values that are a breath of fresh air in the world of superhero which is all about moral codes. Additionally, I think it's interesting and full of potential (and hope) that that very thing is why Jason and Bruce are held in opposition so often when in christianism they are two sides of the same coin.

TLDR: Jason going through character development that doesn't involve an evolution of his moral code is a great idea and if executed properly should give us fascinating stories with one of the most interesting characters in the DC universe, I used to think he should get a sort of "redemption arc" after UTRH where he questions his moral code but now I feel like I'm stuck in the same Christian/superhero framework as the pedantic guy who didn't understand His Dark Materials and I refuse to agree with them about anything so now I'm a hardcore "love over morals" Jason girlie. Obviously I still think moral code development would be a good and interesting storyline and better than anything DC is giving us rn, but I think we could do even better without it.

(also Star Sapphire Jason ftw)

[baronessvonglitter]

The Haunting of David York

Dave York x ghost!reader

Word count: 2.6K

Summary: It's a typical Halloween night for Dave. The last thing he expects is for you to come back and get your revenge.

(Spoilers below the cut, so resume with caution)

WARNINGS: Rated M; Dead Dove Do Not Eat; mentions of wet work, murder, brief gore, threats of violence towards family, major character death (don't hit me)

Author's Note: this fic is for @mermaidgirl30 Jamie's Halloween Writing Challenge 👻 thank you for hosting this lovely fic challenge!

The idea for this started out as a random discussion about why we're afraid of ghosts if they can't really hurt anyone.. then I wanted to add our favorite suburban murder daddy to a ghost story and got some inspo from watching old school stuff like Creepshow and early seasons of AHS. (I haven't written horror in a very long time, so gimme a little break)

Shoutout to @yorksgirl for the Dave chit chats-- there will be a sweatpants scene in another fic, promise!

"Dave, not again!" Carol whines from the front steps.

"What?" he asks innocently, hefting the human-sized 'body bag' consisting of garbage bags stuffed with leaves and tied up with duct tape to fashion a corpse decoration in the yard for Halloween. Dave has been working on them all day. He's now up to seventeen.

"The HOA is going to complain," his wife shakes her head. "We got away with a warning last year. This time they'll definitely fine us."

"It's worth it to see the looks on everyone's faces," he insists. "Besides, I'll have them picked up and out of sight by the end of the night. I promise."

Dave doesn't love Halloween, but neither does he mind it. People dressing up to be anything other than themselves for one night only? Try doing that 24/7.

He doesn't get to parade around the Mr. Hyde aspect of his life. He doesn't get to knock on doors while in tactical gear, sniper rifle resting in one arm while he sticks an orange jack-o-lantern bucket out to get a handful of tooth-rotting sweets. He doesn't get to wake up on November first and pretend it was all for fun.

It's a silly holiday, but he likes scaring the shit out of the neighbors with the decorations. And his kids love planning their costumes months in advance. Alice is going as a zombie cheerleader (he never understands where these ideas come from) and Molly is some type of Pokemon Dave thinks is a squirrel but she insists is something called an Evoo or Evie or something completely asinine.

Carol usually insists on taking them out trick-or-treating, dressing up herself in a last-minute Minnie Mouse getup, a red sweater and black leggings, and a headband with sequined mouse ears to complete the look.

"You'll be okay here by yourself?" she asks, putting the finishing touches on her mouse whiskers and nose with liquid eye liner in the hall mirror as the girls wait impatiently to leave.

She asks that every year, as if something bad will happen on his watch, as if he can't hack it alone for a couple of hours.

"Unless Michael Myers or Pennywise show up, I'm pretty sure I'll be fine," he says, giving the girls a quick kiss before they go.

"What's Pennywise?" Alice asks as Carol herds them out the door, and she shoots her husband an annoyed glance.

There aren't as many trick-or-treaters this year, and Dave regrets that he'd bought so much candy. He dips his hand into the large tub of mini chocolate bars and fruit-flavored chews that stick to one's teeth and selects some Nerds, eating them straight from the tiny box. With barely concealed disgust he finds the candy corn, plucking the small packets of the hated sweets out from the bowl. He doesn't know how anyone can eat these. These can go to the next kids who ring the doorbell. When the next round of costumed kids come around he gives out huge handfuls. The less sweets they have in the house, the less sugar-fueled meltdowns he's likely to experience from his kiddos.

When there's more of a lull he relaxes on the sofa, mindlessly unwrapping a chocolate bar as the Halloween song hums from the TV, The Nightmare Before Christmas playing where the girls had left it on:

Boys and girls of every age wouldn't you like to see something strange? come with us and you will see this, our town of Halloween

He finds his glass of Macallan pairs nicely with a mini Hershey's Special Dark chocolate that he knows the little trick-or-treaters won't appreciate. The candy rests on his tongue as he savors the lingering taste of the scotch while the movie keeps playing. He absorbs a little of it, a now thirty-year-old film that came out when he was his kids' age. He watches idly, letting the scotch lull him into a nice semi-rest.

This is Halloween, this is Halloween pumpkins scream in the dead of night this is Halloween, everybody make a scene trick or treat, 'til the neighbors gonna die of fright

Enough of the singing. He changes the channel. There's postseason baseball on TV, but his favorite team isn't in the playoffs, and the announcers are annoying. Click. Of course there's a horror marathon on every channel. All the Scream movies, which he can appreciate for their ingenuity, Psycho, Shaun of the Dead, the entire Friday the 13th franchise even though it's Thursday, the 31st.

He flips channels, mindlessly, watching tidbits of each, digging into the leftover candy once again when he hears a thud.

With feline alertness he mutes the TV and sits up straight in one swift move. He zones in on where the sound came from, waiting, his racing heart the most audible sound in his ears.

Most people listen for a sound and relax when they don't hear it again, chalking it up to the house settling, or a rodent in the attic. But Dave knows better. He's been on the opposite side of this type of situation countless times. He doesn't relax and just chalk it up to mundane things like other people, because he knows there are guys like him out there-- becoming one with the shadows, as silent as possible--

It's coming from the back door.

In stealth mode, he grabs his gun from the safe in his study and quickly, skillfully, loads it. Adrenaline sings in his veins, carries him towards the danger. He flips on the light switch for the patio and the lights glare into the dark, lighting up nothing. His gun is still in his hand as he slowly opens the door, listening for footsteps.

Quiet.

A little disappointed that he's gotten riled up for no reason, he sighs as the rush of adrenaline dissipates and leaves him weak for a brief moment.

He keeps the gun in the holster at his side as he returns to the sofa, a little more on edge. It could be just teenage assholes playing pranks out of boredom, but he doesn't want to risk it.

He shuts the TV off and the silence becomes the largest thing in the room, even louder than his thoughts. He's taut as wire, not allowing himself to relax just yet. He's listening for more sounds. Most are explainable: a slow drip in the kitchen sink that Carol told him about just yesterday, the notification pings on his daughter's tablet that she left on the dining room table.

"Fuck!" he curses in surprise as the TV turns on, The Nightmare Before Christmas still playing where it left off:

I am the one hiding under your bed, teeth ground sharp and eyes glowing red I am the one hiding under your stairs fingers like snakes and spiders in my hair

Dave quickly snaps the TV off, removing the batteries from the remote.

It's just some electrical glitch he tells himself. And then the power goes out completely.

"Shit," he mutters, using his phone to light the way to locate the real flashlight. It's not in the cabinet beneath the kitchen sink where it's supposed to be left. Carol must have moved it. He checks the garage. Through the windows he can see the neighbors still have power, so he grabs the trusty flashlight and checks the breaker box. After fiddling with it, it won't reset. The flips do absolutely nothing.

Heaving a frustrated sigh, he pinches the bridge of his nose, taking out his phone from his pocket. The battery shows 1% before fizzling out to a black screen with the gray spinning wheel before dying.

"You've got to be shitting me," he grumbles. With another curse, he shoves the useless thing back in his pocket, letting the flashlight guide him out of the garage. He may as well get the keys and go try to find Carol and the girls, who are probably several blocks over by now, maybe get them to stay at her mother's place while he gets things sorted out with the power issue.

And then..

he hears the sound of his name spoken, a sharp. accusatory whisper, as if it's right next to him. It's so real he can feel the cold breath against his ear. It makes him jump out of his skin.

Alert, his body tense and ready for action, his eyes dart around the room as he begins to get his bearings back and his heart goes back to its normal rhythm.

Stupid.. he curses himself, sitting upright again. Annoyance colors his face.

But the sound of it.. of your voice still rings in his ear. And he'd know your voice among a thousand others.

Now he knows he's imagining things, because it couldn't have been your voice at all.

You're dead.

He doesn't want to think about that day, a cold autumn day just like this. In fact it'll be one year exactly on November 14th. The last day you saw sunlight, the last day you ever breathed.

It's not that you were bad, you were just in the way. There was no room for you in Dave's perfect, clock-precision life. He tried to make your end painless, make sure you didn't see it coming.

Some secrets don't stay buried forever..

Nobody knows he assures himself. It's impossible.. He'd even kept it from his teammates, and they knew nearly every damn thing about him.

No, this particular job.. the handling of you, had to be done on his own.

Casting a glance at the backyard patio again, the light from his neighbor's back porch glows eerily, spotlighting the patch of earth Dave had avoided until finally he'd caved and erected a bird bath with a small garden, a surprise for Carol's birthday. His wife never suspected that you were buried there, beneath her gift.

Without thinking, he's already walking outside, gun in one hand, flashlight in the other, leading the way to your grave. He never comes out here anymore. The guilt has become too crushing and he's not a man who dwells on guilt. He does what he has to and revisits the issue if problems arise.

You won't arise, though. When he closes his eyes he can still see the bullet hole in your temple, the blank look as the light left your eyes.

Forgive me, he'd thought, unable to speak it aloud as he stuffed your body in a bag and placed you in the dirt on a moonless autumn night.

When he reaches the stone path that leads to your innocent-looking grave marker, he has to process what he sees:

there's a hole in the ground, where some of the rocks and flowers around the bird bath have been upheaved, and in the breeze his flashlight shines on a tattered, empty black body bag. The scent of death greets his nostrils as he pales, trying not to vomit.

He goes back to the house, immediately on the defensive, irrationally expecting to find you there, clothes dirty and hair caked with mud and blood, a specter of his own paranoia and guilt.

It's still shrouded in darkness, the home that is supposed to be his shelter from such dark things as yourself. It's his domain, his castle, and in this trouble, without his family, he feels like less of a king.

"There's no fucking way," he mutters, stomach roiling with fear and suspicion. He opens the patio door and steps inside.

The whole place smells of death, of the grave.

You're in every corner, quiet, waiting, watching. But not impassive.

He feels you everywhere, himself made small by your ubiquitous pall. The gun in his hand feels useless, and this makes him angry.

You feed off his anger. You love it. It's the only thing you can feel anymore. Pure, unadulterated hate.

You slither towards him, wicked grin growing bigger as you approach him. Dave gets the chills down his back, not knowing just how close you are to him.

"Boo" you whisper lightly, ghostly breath caressing the shell of his ear.

Your cackling thunders in his ears as he whips around, eyes wide with fright. You delight in the fear he's giving off. The scent of it it so intoxicating. It's the only good thing about being dead.

"I should make your death as nice and quick and clean as you made mine" your voice echoes all around the room. Dave looks equal parts pissed and afraid as he tries to track you.

"But I won't."

You've been waiting for this night, this one unholy night where you'd be allowed to come back, to gather the unearthly powers granted to you. Halloween: the one night of the year when the living come back to haunt the dead.

And the son of a bitch had the gall to kill you in November. You had to wait almost a whole year for your revenge.

Gonna make it sweet.

It takes a lot of energy to assume something of a human form, but as you grab onto the fear he's giving off, as you use the most ancient of forces to pull your corporeal parts together, it gets easier. You don't feel afraid. You haven't, not since he killed you.

"Consider yourself lucky it's only you I'm after. If I had my way your family's blood would be splattered on these walls along with yours."

Dave shivers violently. "Please, don't!" He's not used to begging or pleading. He's actually on his knees. He tries not to look at you; your visage is too grotesque. Your flesh is falling off your face and your eyes are sunken into your head, giving a ghoulish appearance.

You force his gaze upon you with the ice-cold touch of your hand. "Your family is safe. For now. Hell, there's always next Halloween."

With the cracking open of his ribcage and the spilling of his guts you reach into him, finding the fullness of the heart, the organ he uses the least.

All Dave can do is scream and scream and scream.

The next day Carol sits at the dining room table, two detectives with her. Her coffee has grown cold, barely touched. She still bears the remnants of the makeup she'd put on to complete her costume last night. The girls are upstairs. She couldn't bear sending them to school, having them apart from her. Not while Dave is missing.

"He was fine last night. Normal," she adds, shrugging as she dabs at her eyes with a Kleenex.

Because of his position as a government agent, his disappearance is being taken very seriously. Officers are en route, dispatched to start searching the area, especially the nearby woods, which Carol has always feared.

Dave's gun is there, his wallet, phone, and keys also left behind.

One of the field officers comes in (there have been many people coming in and out of the house today) and motions to the backyard. "Halloween decoration?"

"Yeah," Carol sniffles, smiling just a little. "Dave likes to shock the neighbors. He promised he'd put them away before the morning.. but he never puts them out back.."

Out of guilt, or maybe just to give herself something to do, she gets up and goes to put the decorations away. The detectives follow.

Funny. There's just one.. she thinks, looking at the lone body bag on the lawn, tossed haphazardly next to her bird bath.

It's heavier than she expects. She's too petite to pick it up. Sighing, she kneels, the crunch of the fallen leaves beneath her knees. She'll just take the leaves out and throw the bag away.

Ripping it open with her nails she's stunned a moment, not processing what she's seeing before she lets out a bloodcurdling scream.

Wrapped up in the duct taped body bag is what's left of Dave.

dividers by @saradika-graphics 👑

tagging @almostempty @itwasntimethatdidit40 @milla-frenchy @salingers @zascal

[writer-by-the-sea]

Can I ask for a gender neutral drabble request about farmer feeling insecure and asking Elliott if he thinks they’re sexy and he admits to thinking about them when he touches himself? 🥺

“Have you ever just felt so unattractive that you don’t even think a turtle would be interested in you?”

Elliot startled beside me, I forgot that we hadn’t spoken in a few minutes… Or was it more than an hour now? I wasn’t sure. We would often hang out at the beach together after Elliott finished his yoga for the day. I’ve even joined him a few times, but honestly I stretch enough getting eggs out from under the chickens little bums that I couldn’t bare to do one more damn ‘triangle downward pose’ even if I wanted to.

“In your defense,” Elliot began. “I don’t believe turtles can be sexually attracted to humans.”

I snorted. Of course he would reply with the facts. And it was a silly question to begin with, the man looked like a bronze god sitting next to me. Shirtless and wearing those god damn red shorts that have me drooling in my sleep. “Never mind,” I replied with a laugh. “It was a dumb question—“

“No, it wasn’t.” Elliott’s voice was firm as he stared at me, his frown actually making me feel bad for even asking. “And, for the record, you’re very good looking.”

Um.

What?

I said nothing and just stared back at him, his eyes soft and caring as he gazed back at me. He had a single elbow propped on his knee, smiling now as he watched me— waiting for me to say something, anything in reply.

“I think about you,” Elliot said before I could manage to mumble out literally anything. “As in, when I’m in bed, or in the shower…” He paused, pressing his lips together as he thought to himself. “In the bathroom at the pub once, it was the day you walked in after being at the mines and the monsters tore half your clothes off...”

Hang on.

WHAT.

I held my hand up, stopping him from continuing and shook my head as I tried to process what the hell he was saying. He thought of me? In the shower? In bed? At the pub? What the hell did that even mean—

“I cum so easily when I think of you.”

Well there’s my answer.

Elliott was so relaxed as he spoke, shrugging after he just dropped a bomb on me as if it was nothing at all. “You’re very good looking, I never saw myself fantasying about the only farmer in town. However, it’s become a daily event now.”

“Elliott,” I paused. How does one even reply to this? Sure, the question I asked may have been a been asinine— but! To reply, and to reply so causally. “Ar you— are you saying to jerk off to me?”

“Everyday, yes.”

I dropped myself into the sand, uncaring anymore about the hot sand as it burned the back of my neck and arms, my hair was going to be a real bitch to wash later but I couldn’t even think about that right now. Elliott, the hottest guy in town, who writes poems and short stories with ease, who does yoga on the beach, who laughs with me at Gus’ pub, who is actually a dork that’s obsessed with Star Wars—

Jerks off to me.

Every. Single. Day.

Elliott laid down beside me on his side, worry painted all over his gorgeous face. “Farmer? Do you want me to stop?”

I laughed, just amazed at the entire situation. “No, you don’t… no.”

“Thank goodness,” Elliot said with a sigh and rolled to his back. “I don’t think I would have been able to stop. Especially after today.”

“Elliott,” I said and sat up, looking down at him with narrowed eyes. “What on earth would have happened today that would make it any harder to stop?”

“Well—“

I gestured down to myself. “I stink like chickens, my jeans were so beat up I cut them into shorts, I’m wearing an old hole filled white tank top— none of this,” I took a beat to gesture to myself one again. “Would give you the material needed to jerk off to.”

“Your shirt is absolutely soaked from the swim you took earlier, I can see your nipples.”

….

I looked down and groaned. “Elliot!”

“They’re very sexy nipples.”

And I could die.

[princelylove]

Synopsis: In which Enrico Pucci has some thoughts on his situation.

Warnings: Directly quoting the bible, general yandere content, spoilers for part three + six

Enrico tapped his finger on his own arm, unsure of what to do.

Ever since he met you, he’s been distracted.

Two.

He thought of what was written for him- what could only be written with the intent for him to see- and only grew more frustrated with himself. What was he doing here? What was his plan? What was his goal?

“He must be someone who can control his desires. Someone without a lust for power, honor, wealth, or sexual gratification. He must be someone who puts the laws of God before the laws of humans. Will I, DIO, meet someone like this one day?”

‘What a disgusting display,’ he thought to himself. Everything he was doing in this moment, every single one of his feelings, was a plague. It was a disease upon his very nature, the man he must be, yet he persisted. His mind turned traitor. 

Three.

Enrico often wondered what you were doing instead of handling the task at hand. He never understood Perla in his youth, despite supporting and loving most of her decisions. He had never been in love before. It seemed… silly. Frivolous. Like it was just something to pass the time, or something to keep humans from going extinct.

He would just say his feelings are fond. Affection is different from love. So is adoration, so is admiration. Enrico doesn’t know how to place his feelings for you. 

Perhaps it was best to leave them unspoken.

Five.

He made a promise, once. A vow. His feelings on the matter are insignificant. He was to continue DIO’s plan- at all costs. He wasn’t feeling love, he was feeling lust- and he is no sinner. 

Oh, if only he were that type of man. That isn’t the truth. Truthfully, he’s fine with sinning. Using the argument of sin against his wants was futile. It’s all just a means to an end. He would sin if he truly needed to- he has and Enrico will, again. His morals aren’t a part of this equation and, to be honest, they never will be.

He would have to find something else to discourage his thoughts of you.

Seven.

He thought of Psalm 23. 

“The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.”

DIO was all he needed. It’s asinine to think otherwise. 

“He makes me lie down in green pastures, he leads me beside still waters. He restores my soul. He leads me in paths of righteousness for his name’s sake.”

Perhaps he was wrong. Perhaps this is what DIO wanted- to test him.

“Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for You are with me; your rod and your staff, they comfort me.”

DIO has never led him astray. DIO has never failed him. Even in death. 

“You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies; you anoint my head with oil; my cup overflows.”

Or perhaps this is exactly what his lord wanted for him. Something for good behavior- a reward for his loyalty. For his continuous struggle. 

“Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life, and I shall dwell in the house of the Lord forever.” 

Yes- that’s exactly it. Of course it is. This is the little bit of indulgence Enrico will ever get in his entire life. It’s just puppy love. It’ll go away. Surely he just needs to embrace it, and it’ll leave him. His obsession-, no, his infatuation would eventually pass, as all infatuations do. He’s merely fixated on your beauty like any other would be. You’re like something in the Louvre- something to be admired from afar and never to really touch. 

Eleven.

Love is not an option for Enrico Pucci. He only has one calling, and he loves Him like he loves God.

He will not have another- he cannot have another, regardless of the type of love, and the intensity. He has no family, as far as he’s concerned. He’s too old to have a crush.

He’s a failure to his Lord if he cannot meet the prerequisites set by Him. It was right there DIO’s diary- DIO needed someone who wouldn’t succumb to foolish urges such as love. 

With DIO’s death, it’s too late for Him to bet on another player. Enrico must do what he has to do. In Heaven, he’ll find love. He’ll find you again in eternal paradise. 

But admiration is not a hindrance. Appreciation isn’t going to get in his way. 

Thirteen.

“Do you believe that I am able to do this?” He mutters, to no one in particular. The person it’s intended for has long since passed, but it’s almost as if the universe laughs in His place.

The thought does not comfort Enrico in the slightest.

Seventeen.

The sound of a disc being ejected from a cd player is the only sound you can make sense of. Your head feels as if it’s splitting in two, and your vision is getting blurry. 

Enrico shushes you, both of his hands firm on your shoulders, slowly trailing down to your upper arms.

“Be not afraid.”

The whirr of the disc being ejected plays again, and you feel yourself losing consciousness. 

“The thought to harm you hasn’t even crossed my mind.”

Nineteen.

[sgiandubh]

You really have an interesting blog and I really enjoy the cultural tidbits you weave in. I have to say though that the constant focus on Mordor is a bit much. I get that certain topics require to reference them, but it feels at times that you are just a Mordor monitoring/call-out blog. Maybe that's your goal and I just had different expectations, then I apologize for "criticizing" your content. Maybe it just feels so overwhelming to me, because we used to mostly ignore the other side. Anyway, I hope you don't hold a grudge for this feedback. I will keep an eye out for your cultural remarks.

Dear Culture Anon,

Telling me you read this blog for the 'cultural tidbits' is like me telling you I am watching OL for the Scottish landscapes: a sweet, silly lie.

I shall be, as always, brutally honest with you. My prerogative, since this is my page and everything that happens here does so on my own terms, and nobody else's.

This is your opinion, Anon and I have to respect it, which does not mean I have to abide to it. You are not the first one 'gently suggesting'. Others, including in this shipper community, have been way more virulent, publicly and privately questioning my identity, my gender, my nationality, my integrity, my career. From 'not new', to 'PR plant', to 'fraud', to ' where do you live, this is not enough to be clean' (in comments) to 'I know people ', to 'toxic content', to 'lunatic', to 'nutcase', to 'idiot', to 'impostor', to 'liar', to 'bitch', to 'manipulator', to '[insert name/handle of past/present shipper luminary here]'... I have heard just about it ALL.

Did I feel insulted? Yes. Did I feel disgusted? Yes. Did I feel overwhelmed and sick with it all? Yes. But you know what, Subtle Anon?

I NEVER FELT AFRAID.

Because I never lied to anybody about anything. Because you cannot force me, bind me, pay me, buy me. When I was wrong, I immediately corrected. I tried to remain polite and civilized to anyone in this shipper community, even when people ended up by lying about me in public. I shall still be polite and civilized to these same people: my morality, my profession and my beliefs prompt me to do so. But I am not deaf, nor dumb and certainly not a saint: judge you, I will. In my own privacy. You do exactly the same as far as I am concerned, for sure. So, we're even.

When I started to blog in here, my first feeling was this was an intimidated community. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe you do not need anyone to tell you that you are read and loved and respected. Maybe you're fine with being constantly called out and insulted and seeing your beliefs ridiculed by bullies without a face. But you know what? I am not even sorry to try and change the state of play, as long as I am speaking just in my own name and taking the whole brunt of asinine insults everyday on my own behalf only.

So I am afraid this blog is not rising up to your expectations, Anon. It is a written by a person (me) with very strong opinions, who simply refuses to turn the other cheek to bullies. And also by a person who sincerely thinks that her life experience can bring a bit of clarity in some difficult to grasp, complicated situations, where it is easier to manipulate for shits, giggles and clicks. Finally, by a person who simply loves to share her favorite music, favorite paintings, favorite places on Earth with people who became quick friends - the 'cultural tidbits' you are looking for, Anon.

So, if this is too much for you, Anon, by all means, do not read me anymore. I am sure you will find other blogs in here, where you will feel more comfortable. This is, after all, a formidably intelligent and compassionate community and this, Anon, is my jam.

I will understand you, Anon and I also think I will survive this loss.

Let's say farewell with one of my favorite Baroque motets, Anon. Nulla in mundo pax sincera means that we should not expect any honest peace in this troubled world, of which this fandom is but a pale reflection. As much as I discount Vivaldi, thanks to his abuse by all the elevator companies of this world, this is one of his finest:

[mdhwrites]

My Biggest Problem With TOH Fight Scenes

So first I just want to say that for as much as people laud TOH's animations... Its fights aren't good. I'm not saying they're poorly animated but as fights, they're not interesting. There's rarely much in the way of back and forth, the choreography is just okay, it usually is really floaty and slow, in part due to how TOH does its bigger budget animation. Some of the ones counted as fight scenes really shouldn't as Grom would be the best fight scene of the series... But it's not. It's really just a small dance routine without the opponent involved and then a super move and that's not a fight. It's much closer to a curbstomp if anything, especially with how powerless the leads are before then.

But all of those explain why TOH's fights are kind of lackluster and how that fuels a general feeling that TOH just isn't a very good adventure series which is kind of rough for an adventure/comedy series. No, my biggest issue, and part of why Covention is easily the best fight in the series to me (Eclipse Lake is second and the rest are... There at best) is a lack of personality to these fights. A lack of a personal touch that should make them more memorable. Feel like who is fighting matters beyond skill set, especially in a show with magic.

But what do I mean by personality? After all, in a fight your goal is to beat the opponent. Where is the room for personality? If you're asking that then WOW where have you been to have missed the Superhero boom of the last decade? Then again, plenty of those movies fuck this up too. It's effectively how you make sure Spider-Man punching someone feels different from Captain America punching someone. Through body language, how they treat the fight, the creative ways they get the opening to land their blow, etc. like that. More straightforward thinking people will use more brute force while smarter characters will use their environment to their advantage and silly characters may use jokes and the like both for amusement and distraction. How brutal are they in taking down their opponent, do they hold back, etc. etc.

In TOH though... Everyone just brute forces everything with maximum power all the time. My go to example of this is how smart, studious Amity's go to weapon in S2, all of S2, was an abomination fist. Despite having the second most versatile and expressive type of magic in the show, Amity decides to always go for just punching a bitch or literally throwing a fist (or she's not actually really a part of the fight). Why? What part of her character, besides the asinine element of her once being a Grudgby Captain, would make you expect her to be some sort of brawler? To want to get up close and personal with her very own fists? She should be summoning minions, setting traps, ensnaring and debilitating her opponents... And instead she keeps punching people or using the gauntlet as a projectile which isn't even used as a joke for "I cast Fist" which would at least lightly play into her being a nerd even if that's much more a line that should come from Luz.

But even worse is Gus actually. He's not a part of a lot of fights but when he is, how does he use illusions? Literally the most expressive magic there is in almost any setting? The coven that does magic with pizzazz as he puts it? With basic ass clones that aren't even in silly poses or costumes, darkness and mind jacking. The one time he actually makes an illusion to use as an illusion in a fight is very tenuously Looking Glass Ruins. Even then, it's not as a distraction or the like or even coded to who Gus is as a character for the most part. It's more of a trap/set piece than any sort of fight and the level of horror it goes to feels honestly out of character for the most light hearted comedy character in the show. Otherwise though... Where's the pizzazz?

It makes most of the fights in TOH just blend together. It makes the magic feel like everyone is just using energy blasts and vines. I mean even Willow always goes for the most aggressive, brutal approach she can to put down a threat with as many vines as possible. Why? Why does she behave, even when calm, much closer to how you might expect Hunter to since he's actually trained to kill and fight?

None of this is helped either by the fact that I think the first monster Belos fight is really the only one that actually has talking during the fight. Every other fight, the characters entirely shut up until there's a pause in the action. That may be more realistic but it still implies that none of these characters are afraid or panicking or coordinating or anything like that. Even during the ones I can genuinely recall, it's always the villain who speaks. The heroes are too busy just trying to destroy the threat to say anything. It makes how short the fights are a weird sort of blessing because hey! Now the actual story and characterization can continue instead of having a pointless, fluff piece of a fight going on.

So now they don't just feel floaty, they don't have narrative weight either. None of them are a clash of ideas because that only happens once there's a victor. That's less interesting than letting what's being said also follow the eb and flow of the combat itself. It's probably part of why TOH's longest fight is like a minute long.

Then again, if I want good fights then I could just go watch Rise of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles because they have throwaway fights that are better animated, better choreographed and have better personality than either TOH's or Amphibia's best fights. Like seriously: If you've seen clips of that show's big ticket fights, I promise you that it's not a once a season occurrence that they have a great fight. That show is incredible with how silly and fun and GORGEOUS its animation is and I still want to know how the fuck they did that on a tv show budget.

But TOH's fights? I can absolutely see how they were done with a tv show's budget and they don't lean into character or creativity enough to make up for that.

======+++++======

I have a public Discord for any and all who want to join!

I also have an Amazon page for all of my original works in various forms of character focused romances from cute, teenage romance to erotica series of my past. I have an Ao3 for my fanfiction projects as well if that catches your fancy instead. If you want to hang out with me, I stream from time to time and love to chat with chat.

A Twitter you can follow too

And a Kofi if you like what I do and want to help out with the fact that disability doesn’t pay much.

[thecooler]

Cheering Up Kiriona

As far as Ianthe was concerned, Kiriona was like a sad, lost puppy that you might find in a rain-sodden box on the side of the road. Or: Exhausted by Kiriona's constant moping, Ianthe elects to take control of the situation by inviting her fellow Prince along for some good old fashioned retail therapy.

Fandom: The Locked Tomb

Pairing: Gideon Nav as Kiriona Gaia / Ianthe Tridentarius

Additional Tags: Retail Therapy, Friendship Bracelets, (Ianthe typical) Dubious Consent

Word Count: 2,389

AO3 Mirror

As far as Ianthe was concerned, Kiriona was like a sad, lost puppy that you might find in a rain-sodden box on the side of the road. The type of thing where, because you’re seven years old and stupid, you bring the little mongrel home and beg your parents to let you keep it. The difference between Kiriona and this allegorical puppy was that Kiriona wasn’t taken out back once Ianthe was tired of the way she nipped and sulked and acted altogether unpleasant, because daddy dearest had gotten attached, and so now Ianthe was forced to share her space with a mutt, and, worse, forced to admit that this mutt was the best company she had.

But let it never be said that Ianthe Naberius couldn’t make the best out of just about any situation. She’d always been resourceful, and she’d had more troublesome projects than her fellow Tower Prince. Arguably, Harrowhark had been more of a project, but dear Harry was a great deal more fun to tease, and whatever asinine thoughts boiled inside the little nunlet tended to remain buried in the recesses of her lobotomized brain, or were spoken in a low grumble that Ianthe could pretend to ignore. Kiriona, meanwhile, seemed to have no problem airing any and all thoughts that crossed her mind, loudly and with unearned importance.

“This is fucking stupid,” Kiriona said, her arms folded across her chest. She stood like that a lot, presumably because she was self-conscious about her horrible gaping chest wound, as she called it. Ianthe considered it one of her more attractive traits, not that Kiriona ever heeded her opinion.

“Oh, come now, Kiri,” Ianthe said, holding up a flannel button-down. “You can’t always be wearing that uniform—“

“I don’t. I wear pajamas sometimes.”

Ianthe rolled her eyes, “Try this on. It’s very you.” She’d never quite gotten the appeal of the cavalier body type, though she supposed Camilla Hect wasn’t awful on the eyes, if she wasn’t completely off her rocker. But all that muscle always seemed a bit pedestrian, uninspired, and then they got a big head about how strong they were, as though even a body builder wouldn’t crumble under the touch of a skilled flesh magician.

“What’s that mean,” Kiriona asked, looking over the garment. She pulled at the sleeve a bit and said, “I don’t know if these’ll fit my arms,” which, in retrospect, Ianthe probably could have predicted would be her meat-headed response.

“Won’t know unless you try,” she drawled, “maybe you can flex them off for some nice cohort bimbos.”

“Don’t threaten me with a good time, Tridentarius.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Kiriona looked down at the garment, then at Ianthe, then over her shoulder, where the clerks were keeping their distance. “Um,” she said, “when you say try it on—“

“Sorry!” Ianthe said, throwing up her hands, “silly me— I forgot you grew up under a wretched little rock. There’s rooms specifically for changing in. Now, stay with me, I know this may be a lot for you—“

“I seriously fucking hate you,” Kiriona said with a hint of that lopsided smile that might do something for her sister, but mostly just caused a flare of annoyance in Ianthe, which was only amplified when the other Tower Prince added, “no offence.”

“Get into the change room, you ass,” Ianthe said, giving Kiriona a solid shove on the back, which earned her yet another cuss, because Kiriona was a hog.

After a fair bit of kerfuffleing around in there, Kiriona emerged with the shirt folded neatly— if incorrectly— over her arm, and a frustrated furrow to her brow. “Didn’t fit,” she said, placing it back in Ianthe’s hand. Then, again: “this is stupid.”

Ianthe sighed, “Look, Kiri, my darling, my darling, my life and my sister,” at this, Kiriona mimed vomiting, “Sulking and moping and yearning, those are all good for the first month.” At this wonderfully accurate summation of her recent activities, Kiriona looked so angry that she couldn’t form full sentences, which wasn’t too far from the ordinary for her. “But I’m bored, and trust me, I can think of things to do that you’d hate much more.”

Kiriona looked her over, seeming to consider for a second. She placed her hands on her hips and let out the long-suffering sigh of someone who knew the types of things a bored necromancer might do to entertain themselves. Then without a word, she turned and began examining a rack full of graphic tees. She pulled one out that was clearly too small and looked it over, pressed it against her torso, then put it back.

Ianthe elected not to tell her how to check size tags, because it was almost cute watching her struggle, and if she was lucky, maybe Kiriona would even swallow some of that pesky pride and ask for help. Oh, that would be delightful.

After a couple more failed attempts to understand how shirt sizes worked, Kiriona pulled out a shirt, pressed it against her torso, and grinned an utterly repugnant lopsided grin, “Yeah, this is good,” she said, then turned the shirt to face Ianthe.

Faced with the fashion choice before her, Ianthe briefly considered the allure of impaling oneself on a fence. It was a black short-sleeve with a decal of a large, blue pen thrust between the words, My Pen Is Huge.

“Puke,” said Ianthe, which only seemed to reaffirm Kiriona’s desire to have the shirt, because she went back into the change room without prompting, and came out a few moments later wearing it proudly. Infuriatingly, she didn’t look terrible. The shirt was still an atrocity, but even accounting for taste, Ianthe was not too proud to admit that the other woman’s arms were her best asset. It was obvious now, in the way the shirt’s sleeves hugged her beloved biceps. They were a work of art in their own right, even if, again, not the most inspired, and not that she’d ever say so out loud— John only knew that the brat didn’t need a boost in her ego. She’d clearly spent many boring years on the Ninth doing arm exercises of different varieties. Push-ups, and... others. Whatever, she wasn’t a cav, so she didn’t need to know. The point was—

“Acceptable.” She said, “we can find a couple more like that, then we should get you some formal wear, and, if you’re good, we can look for something more recreational, if you know what I mean.” Kiriona obviously knew what she meant, but because she was a bore, she didn’t entertain Ianthe’s quips. “Now, take it off.”

Kiriona said, “At least buy me dinner first,” but retreated back into the change room, reappearing with her Tower Prince garb not long after.

“Great!” Ianthe said, then clapped her hands twice, “come with me, over here,” and Kiriona padded along obediently behind. The poor employee that John had enlisted to bring and organize the garments aboard the ship scrambled to stay just within earshot of them, so they could help if necessary. Which, since Ianthe inevitably knew more than they could hope to, meant their job was just standing around.

Kiriona was looking through blazers, brow furrowed in concentration. She didn’t talk much, presumably because her questions were moronic, and she knew they were, even if she didn’t know why. Dear Corona always asked her stupid questions, just because she loved to hear herself speak. She’d come out of a dressing room with her tits half spilling out of the top of her shirt, asking if it fit. She did this on purpose, on the rare occasion she managed to coerce Deutros into coming, but other times she simply wanted Ianthe to tell her off. She’d always been a masochist that way.

“That’ll look ghastly with your hair,” Ianthe said as Kiriona half pulled out a stiff Cohort-red blazer. The lout frowned and let out an animalistic grunt, like a pig.

“I was just looking.”

“Well, look away. And don’t touch anything grey, either. It’ll only highlight your,” she gestured vaguely towards Kirona’s face, “deathly pallor.”

Kiri loathed it when someone other than her brought up her relative dead-ness, which was horribly hypocritical. It was all blah, blah, megadead, blah, blah, corpse prince, until someone else said it, at which point, as she was doing right now, she proceeded to mope uselessly about with a plain black blazer pressed to where the hole in her chest was hidden away. “This’ll work,” she said, clearly pouting. Honestly, she was like a petulant child. Ianthe hardly had the patience for it. She flicked her hand dismissively, “Fine. Get a blue one— no, the darker one— there you go. Now come on, we’re done here.”

Kiriona, as she had expected, visibly stalled, glancing over her shoulder towards the assortment of undergarments that adorned the leftmost side of the pop-up shop. “I thought—“

“That was your first mistake. I said, if you were good. You spent the whole time pouting. Now come on, I have another idea for what we can do.”

----

“You know,” Ianthe said as she wove strands of string over each other, “I haven’t had a proper slumber party since I was ten. My father said we were too mature for them, which was code for we don’t want Corona whoring herself out, not that she needed the excuse of a slumber party to do that.” Her sister didn’t entertain more than chaste kisses before she was fifteen, and even then it was usually in vain attempts to make Judith jealous. But if they’d been allowed to continue with sleepovers, she probably would’ve fallen into someone’s bed sooner, admittedly.

“Is she really that bad?” Kiriona said, not glancing up from her own shoddy craftsmanship, then, “I’ve never had a slumber party.”

Yes, obviously, she didn’t say. She also didn’t say, Corona was drooling over you at Canaan house. Because she’d heard her sister refer to the Ninth House Cavalier as yummy far more times than she would like, and the last thing she needed was to hear Kiriona preen about it. She already thought she was the most important person in any room, which included when she was sharing a space with God.

“Harrowhark would be terrible at slumber parties,” she watched carefully at Kiriona tensed, as she always did when her dearest chew toy was brought up. So long as things didn’t get too risque though, she was usually happy enough to play along. “Can you imagine truth or dare?”

This actually got a laugh out of Kiriona, “Yeah, you’d be like, what’s your dirtiest thought, and she’d go,” and here she pinched the bridge of her nose to give her best nasally impression of the Reverend Daughter, “my fingers often become filthy with the dust on my favorite bone books-” then, louder, “no, not like that Griddle, you ingrate!” she flopped back onto the bed with a hearty laugh, even though what she’d just said wasn’t funny at all. Ianthe didn’t point that out, because a Kiriona who was laughing at her own asinine attempts at humor was better than her moping about being told off for the thirtieth time today.

“You’d dare her to take off her shirt and she would, only there’s a bone corset and three more robes underneath,” Ianthe said, and that set Kiri off again.

She was almost cute when her face was lit up with laughter. Her lopsided mouth was almost charming, that bright orange hair very traditionally beautiful, by Third House standards. Maybe Ianthe was just desperate though— it had been nearly two years at this point since she’d been allowed to fool around, despite her many attempts with Harrowhark, and one very ill-advised attempt with Mercymorn.

She set the half-finished bracelet to the side and crawled over Kiriona, who stopped laughing abruptly and stared up at her, golden eyes wide. Had she the capacity to, Ianthe reckoned her warm brown cheeks would be darkening. “Uh-” she said, with about as much intellect as Ianthe assumed she could muster.

Ianthe hummed and brushed her bone fingers along Kiriona’s collarbone, prompting a wholly unnecessary swallow. The top two buttons of her nightshirt had come undone, allowing the top of her chest wound to peek through. She’d considered earlier that Kiriona’s best assets were her arms, but that wasn’t true. No— her best features were typically hidden from the world, beneath tightly buttoned tops and a ridiculous scarf she insisted on having tied up around her neck. The tip of one golden-gilded finger brushed the top of the wound, evoking a full-body shudder from the woman beneath her.

“Stop,” she breathed. Ianthe paused, but didn’t move her hand.

“I thought you liked it when women took an interest in your holes,” Ianthe said.

“Shut the fuck up,” Kiriona said, reaching out to grab Ianthe firmly by the wrist, “don’t touch it.”

“What— saving that one for marriage?” Ianthe purred, and reached her free hand to brush the side of Kiriona’s neck- not touching the wound there, but grazing within an inch of it. Kiriona’s grip tightened around her.

“It’s none of your business. I said no, so drop it, Tridentarius,” and then she shoved Ianthe back and buttoned her shirt back up.

Ianthe groaned, “Honestly, I never took you for such a prude. All that posturing about being hot shit, and when a woman is actually horny and into it, you get frigid. It’s embarrassing, honestly.”

“Maybe you’re just not my type,” Kiriona said, arms crossing over her chest.

“Oh, I’m pretty obviously your type. I have tits and a pulse.” Kiriona glared daggers at her, which Ianthe took as a win. Feeling encouraged, she added, “plus, my body type isn’t dissimilar from dear Harry. Sure, there’s the height, but if you closed your eyes and used your imagination—“

“Oh, fuck off,” Kiriona growled, “God, you’re such a bitch. Get out of my room. You ruined everything, as usual.”

Ianthe shrugged and stood, but paused before departing. She turned back to Kiriona and propped herself up on the mattress with her flesh arm. With the other, she tilted Kiriona’s chin upward. “You’ll come around,” she glanced down, then back up, meeting Kiriona’s glare with a coy smile, “when you’re desperate enough. They always do.”

[davidchiemcore]

transcript for DRDT Prologue Episode Five

Xander: All right, we did it! We introduced ourselves to everyone, Ms. Teruko!

Teruko: To be honest, you did most of the talking. I didn’t say too much; I’m not very good with people.

Teruko: Anyway, it seems like no one else has a clue as to what’s going on right now.

Eden: What do we do now? Should we just wait here?

Charles: Obviously not. What would that accomplish?

Hu: Perhaps we should explore the building further. Most of us came directly to this room.

David: I agree. If we look around, we’ll probably find some more clues, if not an exit.

Rose: What if we’re stuck here forever?

J: Don’t say that! How can you be so sure?!

Whit: I think we should all just lie down and take a nap. Kidding.

Ace: Let’s find whoever’s responsible for kidnapping us and beat the shit out of them!

Teruko: …Seems like we can’t even reach an agreement on what to do next, much less find a solution.

MonoTV: Puhuhu!

Veronika: What was that strange laugh, just now?

MonoTV: (＃°Д°) Sorry to keep you all waiting! I just wanted to make sure you all got to know each other first!

Levi: I believe the voice is coming from the speakers of that big screen.

Teruko: As we all turned to look at the source of the noise, the screen flickered on.

Min: “A brand new tv show… Danganronpa: Despair Time.” Are we doing some sort of TV screening?

MonoTV: ＼(＾o＾)／ No, silly, you’re going to *be* in this show! You are all the participants in an up-and-coming, super-exciting game show, broadcasted to the entire world!

Xander: The hell are you talking about? I’ve never signed up for any such thing. We were supposed to be at the entrance ceremony for Hope’s Peak Academy, so what the hell is going on?!

MonoTV: o(=ω< =)ρ⏜☆ Sorry kids, but your class is canceled! Aren’t you glad you don't have to go to school? No need to thank me!

Charles: This is completely ridiculous. Did you kidnap an entire class of Ultimates to coerce them into performing for some sort of asinine show?

Hu: There must be someone speaking from behind the screen. If we could find that person, we could ask them our questions directly.

MonoTV: (*￣m￣) No need to look for me, I’m right here!

MonoTV: Introduuucing–! The most important character in the cast, MonoTV! That’s me!

Teruko: …

Arturo: What is that ugly object?

Whit: Issat one of those old TV things?

Arei: It’s on some sort of weird pedestal. And it’s on, even though it’s not plugged in anywhere.

Nico: …Oh!

Teruko: Is something the matter?

Nico: ……It’s a cat.

MonoTV: Wrooong! I’m very clearly a dog.

Rose: Umm, you don't look at all like a dog. Aren’t you obviously a cat?

MonoTV: No way! Absolutely not! Could a cat do this?

MonoTV: ………………………………………………woof

Xander: Alright, this situation has got a little too ridiculous. I’m probably having a crazy dream right now. Can someone pinch me awake?

Arei: Okay, if you say so!

Xander: OW! I didn’t say to punch me, that hurt!

Xander: Wait, we’re getting distracted from the real issue at hand! Just what the fuck is going on right now??

Xander: First we all wake up in some weird building, find out we’ve missed the Hope’s Peak entrance ceremony, then this thing shows up and tells us that we’re going to film a TV show?

MonoTV: …

David: Are we not going to get an explanation?

MonoTV: The thing is…

MonoTV: I had this whole bit prepared, where I would explain everything about this premise, in a long and dramatic fashion…

MonoTV: Then I realized that that would take way too long! Besides, the audience has already seen this kind of explanation a bazillion times over, it would be so boring if I dragged it out any longer!

Ace: What the hell are you talking about?

MonoTV: So, I’m just going to explain you guys’ circumstances here as concisely as possible. 

MonoTV: First things first. You guys aren’t going to Hope’s Peak. You missed both the entrance ceremony and your school year by a long shot. A few years, in fact.

MonoTV: You can’t leave this building that you’re currently in. So, get comfortable with the fact that you’re going to live the rest of your life in this confined space.

MonoTV: Don’t worry, there are facilities for everything you need.

MonoTV: If you so desperately desire to escape this place and return to the real world, you can kill someone else here, yadda yadda yadda.

MonoTV: Then you have to do a class trial and get away with your crime or whatever. If the murderer is caught, they get punished.

MonoTV: If they get away with the crime, they can leave this place and everyone else is punished, whatever, same old stuff. Sorry I have to explain all this, workplace requirement.

MonoTV: Weeell, I think that’s it. Are there any more important things I forgot? Otherwise we’re all good to go.

J: Hang on just a sec, you just glossed over a bunch of important things!!

Veronika: If I understood your explanation correctly, the main takeaway is that we can’t leave this place unless we kill someone else.

Ace: W-W-WHAT??? Murder?! There’s no way something like that is gonna happen, right?

MonoTV: Yup, you got that right! The reason you all were brought here was for the filming of the “Killing Game TV Show.” Like it or not, you guys are only here to start killing each other.

Eden: There’s no way any of what you said is true! I refuse to believe it!

MonoTV: Refuse to believe it all you want. You’ll have plenty of time in the next few days to confirm the truth of what I’m saying.

MonoTV: Trust me there’s no avoiding your fates. No escaping outside, no ending to the TV show, no finding a way around this. The killing show is going to happen, whether you accept it or not!

Arturo: You piece of garbage… Do you think you’ll get away with this?

Arturo: People will notice that we’re all missing, and then the police will arrest you!

Rose: That’s right… I don’t think the outside world is going to miss 16 Ultimates.

MonoTV: Puhuhuhu. The outside world?

MonoTV: I said this was a TV show, right? So who do you think is watching it?

Whit: Uh, snuff film enthusiasts?

MonoTV: Everyone in your precious, so-called “outside world” is going to be watching this TV show. They’re gonna watch you all brutally murder each other, and they’ll be fine with it!

MonoTV: This is high entertainment, after all!

J: You’re kidding, right?

MonoTV: I’m just going to be honest with you guys. Y’all have been missing from society for a real long while! And the world’s changed quite a bit! Everyone’s totally ok with watching you all die!

Xander: No way… No way…

Xander: No way anything that you’re saying could possibly be true. I’m still dreaming, aren’t I?

MonoTV: Your participation in this show is not contingent on your acceptance of this situation.

MonoTV: The faster you accept it, the faster you can acclimatize to your environment, so I would suggest that you come to your senses soon.

MonoTV: Well, this concludes my explanation! You are now free to do as you wish. Return to your suites to sleep, explore this building, go to the cafeteria or a snack, whatever you want!

MonoTV: And remember, if at any point you tire of this life here, there’s always that one way out!

MonoTV: Farewell!

Levi: Wait. I just have one question for you.

MonoTV: Hm?

Levi: Are you the one responsible for this situation? Are you the mastermind?

MonoTV: Yup, I’m pretty much the boss of this place! I control everything, from the filming, to the production, to even the 30 second commercials that I’m gonna air on every other channel!

MonoTV: You’ll need a Danganronpa Prime Subscription if you want to skip those commercials!

Levi: I see. In that case…

Levi: Stop talking.

Teruko: Suddenly, Levi lunged at MonoTV and grabbed him high off the ground. He moved so fast; I didn’t even notice that he had moved at first.

MonoTV: YAAAAAAAHH!! What are you doing? This is harassment! Put me down at once!

Levi: If I were to destroy you, this whole “killing game” operation would shut down, right? You are the root of this problem.

MonoTV: Wait! Don’t do it! If you do…

Teruko: …Oh no.

MonoTV: If you do…

Teruko: I have a bad feeling about this.

MonoTV: You’ll be punished.

Teruko: …

Teruko: LEVI, WATCH OUT!!

Levi: ?!

Levi: …

Hu: What just… happened?

Teruko: …

Nico: Y-You almost… almost died…

MonoTV: Do you understand the situation you’re in now?

MonoTV: I enforce the rules around here. Fail to abide by the rules and you will be punished.

MonoTV: There is no escape from this death game.

Eden: N-no…

Eden: Please… I don’t want to hear this anymore… Just let me out…

MonoTV: Sorry, no can do! If you want to get out so badly, well, you know what you have to do for that, right?

Xander: Like hell any of us are going to commit murder! We’re not going to follow your stupid plan!

MonoTV: Say that all you want, but sooner or later you’ll crack!

Levi: Even if I can’t destroy you, I have faith in my classmates that we’ll remain together and not succumb to such a desperate act.

David: Mr. Levi’s right! We’re all going to work together! We’re not going to fight each other like you want us to!

David: Do you really think we’ll lose hope because you say we will? Give us more credit. We are Ultimates, after all.

MonoTV: Whatever you saaay~! Keep telling yourself that!

MonoTV: Well, that’s my cue to leave for real this time! Do whatever you want! After all, you’ll be here for a while. So why not have some fun?

MonoTV: Upupupu!

Prologue - Surviving Students: 16

MonoTV: Oh, one more thing I forgot to mention.

MonoTV: Even if you can find a way to destroy me without getting killed, it’s not going to do anything. There’s someone controlling me, so I’m not the source of this.

MonoTV: You said you wanted to trust each other? Try this one on for size:

MonoTV: The real mastermind is one of you.

MonoTV: Take that information however you will!

MonoTV: That concludes the prologue of this little show! Don’t forget to stay tuned in for chapter 1, dear viewers!

[txttletale]

could you elaborate on what you don't like about mastodon exactly?

all your DMs/privacy are in the hands of the instance admin, who is Just Some Guy. and people are often saying 'oh but a twitter admin could also read your DMs' in resopnse to this, but 1. twitter is a big fucking website and so it's very unlikely that a twitter admin would have any interest in your DMs specifically unless you're a public figure, unlike mastodon, and 2. if a twitter admin leaked your DMs or whatever they would probably be, like, fired. i mean realistically probably not but there are at least nominal consequences and incentives for them not to do that.

i constantly see these admins enforcing CW policies and other shit that seems perfectly reasonable as like community management but that i think goes 100% contrary to the point of Having A Social Media Account. if someone told me to content warn for politics on this blog i'd beat them to death with a stick

the fact that instances can block each other is very thoroughly silly. i mean yes theoretically it does let you like, mass protect yourself from nazis or other brigaders but it also runs totally contrary to the point of social media to have huge decisions about what swathes of posts you can interact with made for you.

saying 'oh but if you simply choose the correct instance none of this is a problem' is asinine. if your social media requires you to do research before you sign up it's not a good social media platform. 'well its less convenient but you have more control' is a good value proposition for something like linux, where that control is over something actually fucking important. not for Posting.

the UI is shit. just absolute dogshit. just fucking horrendous.

tldr: mastodon seems like a fine place to go and actively engage in a specific niche community or hobby topic. it's a perfectly good unicycle. but it doesn't do anything that twitter does well enough to be a plausible substitute

[measuringbliss]

what have you been into these days? I've seen a lot of comics and hot guys floating around but I'm afraid it's all rather gone over my head!

oh gosh

sorry my mind is reeling, today was not a good day for my country holy hell (far right getting 40% of the votes at EU Parliament votes, the president proceeding to disband the National Assembly and setting the vote for later this month... a lot happened!)

So where I've been is... I've been reading Spider-Man comics, reached 1982 and it seems that after around five years of publication just not being great, it turned around, but we'll have to see.

I finally fell victim to the 911 propaganda and watched season 7 mostly as it aired as soon as a character was revealed to be bisexual. I have Thoughts™ but I'm not sure I should share them. Started the show from the beginning, currently at episode 3. I'm very slow.

I'm also still in the middle (well, near the end) of S3 of Star Trek DS9, so far keeping with one season per year, which is silly. I also continued Interview With the Vampire, and by continued, I mean I finally watched Episodes 2 and 3. Also I'm vaguely following the spoilers Twitter throws at me. They help make me hyped.

Was obsessed over the movie Challengers, watched it 3 times in theaters and one more time outside of it. Still not over it. I love that movie.

I wrote a lot and finished basically nothing.

I'm also doing A LOT of fan translation for visual novel players who can only read my native language. I'm publishing a patch later this month (on Stonewall day!) after working on it for, what, 2-3 years (and after a major hard drive failure that made me lose a lot of data). I'm also working on correcting 3 game translations and translating another one.

Did I mention that summer is the busiest time of the year for my profession? I'm not the sharpest tool in the shed but whatever. YOLO!

I also proofread a scientific paper and utterly failed to make my boyfriend understand that I'm not the right person for this (I haven't done science in 8 years, honey! I don't even know what a compound is!). Turns out most people seem to be convinced you can simply translate words by other words and you don't need to understand the text you're translating, which explains many asinine takes online but also jeeeeezus.

Aaaaaah I'm sure I missed tons of stuff but whatevs!

What about you?

[detroit-grand-prix]

okay i am watching DTS in order and am feeling the need to liveblog but maybe i will do it by episode?

sure. okay. i will keep it under cuts for containment purposes and spoiler purposes

ep 1: money talks

lawrence stroll fills me with such a strong revulsion. i realize he's a good dad but that does NOT help his image.

zak brown saying something about the assholes he works with as the intro to lawrence stroll is so funny.

as is zak saying "he's not everyone's cup of tea"... like, that's the most diplomatic way of putting it

lawrence stroll makes me think of that one line from the (american) office: "he eats his yogurt like he's punishing it for disappointing him". he did not eat yogurt in this episode but that's just what he looks like all the time.

guenther saying that things can't be fixed in two years like... i mean, they can if you throw money at it like lawrence has, which gene won't do

the scene from the aston martin DB12 launch in antibes where the staff was very insistent on toto wearing the silly little event wristband but then they're like, oh, no, mr. stroll doesn't need a wristband. i laughed

toto and fred ribbing each other in french, adorable

lance telling alonso he was going out on his bike that weekend. images taken seconds before disaster

WHY IS DANICA PATRICK HERE. WHY. WHAT VALUE ARE HER CONTRIBUTIONS ADDING? WE ALREADY HAVE WILL BUXTON FOR THE "STATING THE OBVIOUS FOR NEW FANS".

claire williams appearance!! oh, claire. you might be an asinine thatcher stan but i miss you.

alex saying 'we're not meant for two wheels' to fernando's face (containing his jaw that was rebuilt after a bike accident just two years prior) was hilarious

i'm sorry but when lance said he "overcame adversity" i could NAWT have rolled my eyes any harder. like. i get it, driving an f1 car with two broken wrists is incredibly difficult and i can't do it anyway but like, what a WAY to phrase that with an episode featuring exactly how much family wealth he has. like bro you just had one of the best orthopedic surgeons operate on you at a moments' notice so you could get back to your job driving a race car for the team that your father bought you? like, yes, it's a rich guy sport but... idk there's like, levels to it. it just seemed very out-of-touch, which, sure, he grew up like that so that's just Normal for him. i feel like disliking Lance isn't en vouge these days but i just Do Not Care For Him and I don't think I ever will

"yes! bye bye"

toto was Mad Mad in bahrain. sheesh. also it was the last time we had bespectacled toto because he got his eyes lasered after that

[symbioticsimplicity]

In Another Life

Shuake quick fic based on this post by @arcsin27 thanks for passing on the brain worms!

As the door swung closed behind Maruki, an oppresive silence filled the little cafe Akira had long since begun thinking of as his home. 

It wasn't the first heavy silence he and Akechi had shared, but he was all but sure it would be their last.

The thought filled his head with noise, thousands of thwarted plans and half uttered pleas coalesing into static behind his eyes. Trapped, just like every other feeling he kept locked behind his teeth. He'd kept hundreds of things to himself by now, he was pretty sure he was an expert.

And yet, when those glaring red eyes turned back to him, that tightly held control freyed.

"Don't tell me you're actually considering taking that asinine deal." Akechi scoffed, as though the mere idea were beneath discussing, as if he weren't going to--

"If we don't you're going to--"

The sharp stare his rival sent him cut the words off at their knees.

"If you fold to such a trivial threat, perhaps you were never worthy of being my rival in the first place." He near spat, "To think, the famed leader of the Phantom Thieves would be so easy to manipulate."

Akira clenched his teeth, all those unspoken words piling up in his throat until he felt choked with them. He wanted to argue, to rage, to do something other than just stand there and let Akechi win. But everything he could say wouldn't tilt the scales, no if anything it would only convince Akechi he was truly in the right.

"I--" His voice broke, and he couldn't figure out what to say anyway so he left the sentence there, glancing away as if the future was looming just behind Akechi's head.

"You are." Akechi snarled, as though the thought alone was enough to insense him, "Kurusu, I'm aware you hardly listen to anyone, but if ever there were a time, listen to me now."

Akira couldn't bring himself to look at him, but that didn't seem to be stopping Akechi.

"If you take this deal, you will be going directly against my wishes."

"You want to die?!" Akira snapped in an uncharacteristic show of anger.

"I think I ought to!" Akechi growled back, "You're the only one who doesn't seem to agree!"

Akira reeled back as though struck, but quickly recovered, "Of course I don't."

"Right, of course, how silly of me to forget. You're the hero, you don't think anyone should die, no matter how monstrous." Akechi rolled his eyes, "You're half as deluded as Maruki."

"Is it...is it really so wrong?" Akira whispered, unable to utter the words with his usual confidence, "To want a second chance?"

He forced himself to look back to Akechi, finding him scrutenizing him with that stare of his. The one that made Akira feel like a bug pinned to a wall. 

"I know you've thought about it," He continued when Akechi made no move to speak, "What would have happened if we'd met sooner. What we could have been like if not for--"

Akira's hand sought his hair but ended up pressed against his forehead instead as the thought tried to sweep him away. It wasn't a new fantasy by any means, in fact it was probably the very one Maruki had plucked out of him that saw Akechi standing here right now. 

It changed every time, whether they were playing chess or in the debate club together, from rival schools or fast friends, it hardly mattered. Akira just wanted to be by his side, to compete with him because they wanted to, not because God or Fate or whatever was forcing their hands. He wanted the same quiet evenings they'd already shared, and the kinds of outings he had with the rest of the Thieves. And in the small hours of the night, he could admit he may even want something more...

"It doesn't matter." Akechi's cool voice shattered the sugar spun daydream, "That's not for us. It isn't who we are, Akira."

The use of his first name hit like a physical blow, leaving Akira reeling as he looked back up into Akechi's eyes.

He looked tired, far more so than Akira himself felt. Resignation was etched into every shadow falling across his face, in the looseness of his muscles and the blank stare he met Akira's own startled one with. 

"But it could be." Akira breathed, desperation curling around the syllables like a living thing all it's own.

Akechi's eyes closed and for a moment Akira could have sworn he heard him pray for patience. 

"No, it couldn't. No matter how good the lie, it would still only ever be that." His contempt twisted the words until Akira could feel the barbs of them digging into him, "Would you really rather swallow some shallow immitation than to-- than live with my memory?"

Akira heard what he didn't say, of course he did. It was something he'd noticed about him early on, when he'd first realized how much of Akechi's outer self was a mask. He spent so much time editing himself, trimming away the pieces others would doubtlessly find objectionable, forcing himself to condense into the narrow box he was expected to fill, until he had a well contructed front he could use to fool the entire world. Everyone except Akira himself. 

If he took Maruki's lie it would be like he was putting Akechi back in his cage himself.

He wished they were at the gym so he could throw a punch or something. 

Instead he swallowed down the ugly neediness bubbling in the back of his throat. 

"You're right." The words tasted like the bitter herbal tea Takemi had given him to help him recover from one of her harsher clinical trials, "It wouldn't be the same."

Akechi took a deep breath but looked no closer to being relieved, "Then you've come to your senses?"

Akira nodded, "I know what needs to be done. I'll do it but-"

Akechi's eyes narrowed, his frown deepening instantly, "But?"

"I'm not strong enough not to be a little selfish." Akira said to his shoes, "If this is going to be it- would you stay with me tonight? Please?"

He knew Akechi would hear what he didn't say, the same as Akira had for him earlier. 

Don't make me let you go without ever having had you to begin with. 

For a moment he only stared. Akira could see the thoughts racing behind his eyes, could almost hear them as he read each micro-change in his expression. It was an art that had taken him a long while to learn, but it had been worth every moment. 

Finally he sighed, some of the manic energy that clung to him disappating as his posture sagged infinitesimally. 

"I suppose I do still owe you a duel."

Akira's knees nearly gave out but he managed to keep that little bit of dignity intact and nodded instead.

"Thank you."

"Don't thank me, I have every intention of winning this time." Akechi smirked, "Unless of course, you enjoy the taste of pavement, in which case, you're welcome~"

Akira heard it for what it was, an offering of a distraction. One Akechi could more than likely use just as badly. Selfish as he was being, Akira could at least recognize how hard it had to be to argue for his own destruction. 

So he took a deep breath, and let Joker rise to the surface to meet his rival.

"If you can, I'll personally write you a Thank You note." 

The fire that had been absent Akechi's eyes since he walked in rekindled, redoubled even. Without the vineer of civility he'd affected for so long, his expressions were much more extreme. Akira would be hard pressed to describe this one as anything short of 'bloodlust'.

"I'll take it with me to hell." Akechi growled.

Akira winced, but only just barely. He himself was guilty of making light of his own 'death', he could hardly fault Akechi for doing the same.

"Inokashira Park?"

"Thought you'd never ask." 

They fought until the sun went down. 

It hadn't been hard to find an isolated spot, not with the weather so cold. There was hardly anyone around, and even fewer who seemed to care about a pair of teenage boys roughhousing. 

Despite this fight taking place outside of the metaverse, neither boy had taken it any less seriously than their first. If anything, Akira felt like Akechi was fighting harder than their first time. It reminded him of the first time they'd played billiards without Akechi using his non-dominant hand. He was always good, but unleashed he was a force of nature, all snarling teeth and vicious blows until Akira could hardly keep up with him. 

It was beautiful in the same way bloodspatter could look like a painting. Not something most people would ever see, or appreciate if they did, but Akira couldn't help but to be in awe of him.

When he found himself pinned to the pavement, just as Akechi had promised, he couldn't even find it in himself to be disappointed.

The other was above him, panting and a little brused, grinning like a coyote with a fresh kill between it's jaws.

"Ha!" He crowed, "I knew those healing spells were the only thing keeping you-"

"You could have killed him." Akira interrupted.

Akechi's smile didn't fade, but confusion crept into it, "Whom?"

"Shido. You could have killed him. You're stronger than he is, even in his ruler form." So why didn't you?

Akechi flinched back, though the action caused him to sit heavily on top of Akira's stomach, nearly knocking the wind out of him a second time.

"I wanted revenge, Kurusu, not mearly to kill him. It wouldn't do to let him escape into the comfort of death before he knew why exactly he was being targeted in the first place."

Akira nodded, "So it's because you're a drama queen."

Akechi looked so affronted Akira raised his hands to block the blow he was sure was coming. A good thing too, as Akechi's knuckles connected with his wrists seconds after he'd raised them.

"Shut the fuck up, that's not it at all!"

"It sounds like it from where I'm standing."

"You are not standing!" He hissed back, grabbing Akira's offending wrists and pinning them down beside his head, "You are lying on your ass, soundly defeated and you ought to have more respect for your current predicament!"

Akira could have wiggled his leg out from beneath Akechi, barred it across his stomach and kicked him off of him, but that would have required higher thought, which he was sorely lacking. His focus had been stolen by the pressure on his wrists, across his hips, against the tip of his nose where Akechi's own was currently pressed as he growled at him. It was the closest they'd ever been, Akira was sure, and from here he could even see the light clumping of the mascara he hadn't previously been aware of his rival using. 

His breath came hot against Akira's cheek, his pulse thundering where his palms met Akira's wrists. He was just so alive it made Akira's heart ache all the more to remember that soon, too damn soon, he'd be gone.

"Goro..." He whispered, his voice pitching oddly as he struggled against tears, "I don't think I can do this."

He could see recognition fire in Akechi's eyes, could see the effect the use of his first name had in the way his nostrils flared, his teeth gritting. He could also pinpoint the moment he decided to toss it all to the side.

"You said you would." 

"I know."

"You aren't allowed to lie, you're supposed to be the hero."

"I know."

"Then promise me, instead." Akechi didn't move back, but to Akira's surprise moved closer, "If I give this to you, you'll do what needs done without hesitation."

He swallowed almost compulsively, his eyes rivoted to Akechi's as if pulled by magnets. Despite the rage that seemed to have made a permanent home there, his gaze was still steady enough to be calming. The center of a maelstrom, a river in a desert. 

"I..." Akira was not weak, nor was he selfish, despite how desperately he wanted to be this time, "I promise."

The words were little more than a breath, but he could feel them bind to something deep in his heart. It was not unlike when he made a deal with someone, and the realization had tears pricking at the corners of his eyes.

Akechi must have felt it too because for a moment he softened, as if Akira's promise truly brought him peace. It was stupid, worse it was evil that something like this could make Goro Akechi smile genuinely for the first time in months.

Akira didn't have long to bemoan it however, as seconds later that smile was pressing against his own lips. 

The most shocking thing was that it wasn't shocking at all. It felt like a foregone conclusion they simply hadn't had the time to discuss before, but one that was inevitable nonetheless. From Akechi's hands cupping Akira's face, to Akira's finding Akechi's waist, it was almost as though they'd finally found their way back into their own narrative, the one they'd been forced to abandon all those quiet nights ago. The natural conclusion of a perpetual motion machine designed to stop on doomsday. 

Akira didn't notice he'd begun to cry until he could no longer breathe through his nose and had to pull away.

"Goddamn it." He swore, tucking his face against Akechi's shoulder, "Goddamn it!"

"I would point out that that seems to be part of the problem, but it seems redundant." Akechi sounded no better than Akira, his own voice straining to stay scathing and failing miserably.

"I hate this." Akira allowed himself the honest admission, "Why'd it have to be like this?"

"Born cursed." Akechi muttered, his own face buried in Akira's neck, "I've always been unlucky."

"One more thing we've got in common." Akira squeezed his eyes closed, "At least...at least I'm not going to have to wonder."

"Would you have spent your nights sleepless otherwise?" 

It was supposed to be a joke, but neither had it in them to make it one at the moment.

"Yeah." Akira's hold tightened, "Already have."

"Over little old me?" Akechi chuckled, but the sound was humorless, "I would have thought the great Joker would have far more important things to occupy his thoughts."

"You overestimate how much I actually plan." And underestimate how much I care about you.

"It's... it's comforting to know at least one person will miss me." 

Maybe was because he knew Akira couldn't see him, or maybe it was the impending eleventh hour getting to him, but the admission was so heartbreakingly honest Akira could hardly stand to hear it. While he knew Akechi didn't have family, and he saw how quickly he disappeared from the public's thoughts, it had yet to register that he may be the only one to actually mourn him. 

"I'm going to miss you for the rest of my life." Akira held him as close as he could, feeling Akechi's heartbeat thudding against his own ribs from the other side despite the layers between them, "Who else is going to keep me on my toes?"

A wet laugh broke from him, messy and honest and a little deranged, "Selfishly I hope you never find an answer to that."

"Me too." Akira agreed, "I'd rather just wait to see you again in the next life."

"Disgusting." Akechi's tone sat in opposition of the way he finally relaxed against Akira, "Do you really believe in that nonsense?"

"I've ridden around in a bus that was also a talking cat, rencarnation doesn't sound that implausable."

"Touche." 

"I hope it's true." Akira answered anyway, "I'd-- I'd like to live beside you. For real this time."

Akechi didn't anwer, but his hands clenched tighter where they were bunched into the fabric of Akira's jacket. 

Akira didn't mind the silence this time. It was heavy, but it wasn't oppressive this time. He'd found an emergency exit for the things he'd long left unsaid, and though he was no closer to feeling at peace with any of this, he did feel less regretful. 

With Akechi's shoulders now relaxed, Akira could see the sky above them. It had gotten dark, with a few of the most tenacious stars fighting to be seen through the city's light polution. It looked the same as it ever did here, murky and washed out, not like the sky back home. Yusuke would have said something about the way beauty could still be seen even in the least condusive circumstances, but Akira wasn't put together enough to attempt the thought. 

"Akira?" 

"Yeah, Goro?"

"Earlier, you asked me if I wanted to die." The words were so subdued, if he hadn't been holding him, Akira would never have thought they'd come from Akechi, "I told you that I thought I deserve to."

Akira didn't say anything, but Akechi wasn't looking for him to.

"I've done a great many horrible things in my life, most without remorse, as they were all in service of my ultimate goal. I still don't regret most of them, even those perpetrated against your friends. I'm a monster, and I know that. I've made peace with it. I always thought I would die at the end of all this, pragmatist that I am, I never made a single plan for what I would do after Shido was dealt with." 

"Where are you going with this...?"

"I'm not a man with a future, I never have been, so when you asked if I wanted to die... the answer was obvious to me. Of course I should die. But...that isn't what you asked." Akechi breathed out a long, heavy breath that made Akira's neck tingle, made his eyes flutter a little, "I don't... I don't want to die."

He sounded so small, so young, so unlike himself that it made Akira's chest ache, made him yearn to comfort him. There wasn't a thing he could say to make it better, for either of them, so he turned as he usually did, to action when words failed him.

He pressed a kiss to the top of his head, then to his temple, then his forehead as he could reach them. He was trembling, or Akechi was, but he couldn't tell the difference at this point.

 He wanted to tell him that dying wouldn't fix the things that he'd done, or that he'd only done them because of Shido, or a million other platitudes he'd see right through. But even if he could make his mind connect with his mouth again, he knew Akechi well enough to know any of those would only sound like pity to him. The best he could do was to hold him while they processed the latest addition to their heaping plate of misery. 

"This second life of yours'..." Akechi eventually spoke again, "What would it look like?"

"A lot like this." Akira managed to force through his choked off throat, "But, you know, happier."

Akechi hummed, his hands now mindlessly rubbing against Akira's sides in a way that made him suspect the only thing he regularly showed affection to were probably dogs.

"You'd still want to fist fight me in a park somewhere?"

"Definitely." Akira nodded, "You need it."

"I need it? If someone were not there to kick down your ego every so often, you'd never fit through a door again."

"Same goes for you, Mr. Ace High School Detective." Akira nearly snorted, "If I had a ten yen coin for every time I heard a group of girls screaming about you, I could have just paid off Kaneshiro outright." 

Akechi rolled his eyes so hard his whole body moved with him, "I think they mistook me for an idol."

"You're pretty enough to be."

"Have you always been this shameless a flirt, or is this some new feature I've been unlucky enough to uncover?" Akechi sounded exhasperated, though Akira could feel his face flush from where it was still pressed against him.

"Yes."

They continued on like that, trading barbs and bodyheat until it was too cold to stay out any longer. Akira nearly managed to put tomorrow from his mind when Akechi allowed him to take his hand as they walked back to the train station. 

The world had a sense of vertigo to it that had little to do with the liminal space of a late night train ride. There were too many factors for Akira to pick just one, but it resulted in a subdued ride that faded into a subdued walk, broken only by Morgana's screeched complaints about how long they'd been gone. If he saw their hands, still entwined at their sides, he kept blessedly quiet about it.

Well, until Akechi followed Akira into Le Blanc.

"What is he still doing here?" Morgana groused, "Go home, tomorrow is going to be busy."

"I was invited to stay." Akechi said archly, dropping his jacket over the back of one of the barstools. 

Morgana threw a betrayed look at Akira who was busying himself making them each a bowl of curry, as they'd missed dinner.

"Uh, earth to Joker?" Morgana hopped up onto the counter in front of him, "That's a terrible idea! In case you forgot, he's literally shot you in the face before!"

"Don't care." Akira easily answered, hip checking the fridge closed.

Morgana couldn't have looked more shocked if he tried, contrasted sharply by Akechi's sharp smile.

"Oh, I like this side of you." He needled, "Rebellion suits you."

"Thanks."

"Hold on, back up, wait wait wait!" Morgana shook his head, "What's gotten into you, did he brainwash you?!"

Akira set down the food, taking a deep breath to calm himself before turning back to the black and white cat. 

"No. He didn't. I know the risks, Morgana, thank you." He replied evenly, "But you heard Maruki earlier. This...this is probably the last time I'm going to get to see him."

"You should be doing cartwheels about that!" Morgana shouted, big blue eyes wide with disbelief, "I know you're sentimental but jeez!"

"He was my wish, Morgana." The words came out a bit sharper than he meant for them to and he forced his usual calm to come to him, "Out of all the things Maruki could have used to try to keep me from fighting him, he picked Akechi. Think about that for a second."

It took almost a full minute, in which time Akira got both himself and Akechi dished up. He was opening a can of tuna for Morgana when a slow, pained 'Ooh' reached his ears. 

"Okay. I get it now. I can't say I understand or...approve, but I get it."

Akira hummed to himself as he sat down beside Akechi.

"Wait, where is he sleeping?"

Akira looked down over his glasses at Morgana, taking a purposeful, slow bite of his food.

"Right... I'm going to Futaba's." 

With that, the little cat popped up and all but ran to the door, jiggling the handle down to let himself out. 

"I had no idea Morgana could be so considerate." Akechi chuckled, "I think you may have scarred him for life with those insinuations of your intentions with me."

"Who's insinuating?" Akira took another bite of his food. 

Akechi froze mid bite, but recovered himself quickly enough that someone else likely wouldn't have noticed it at all. As it was, Akira was paying enough attention to even catch the light blush that painted itself across his cheeks.

"Bold of you to assume I'd be so easy, Kurusu." Akechi quirked a brow, his expression otherwise flat.

"Bold of you to assume I couldn't win you over anyway." Akira retorted, bouncing the verbal tennis ball back into Akechi's court. 

"You have that much faith in yourself, huh? You of all people should know how stubborn I can be."

"You want to make this a bet?" Akira fought to keep his expression as neutral as ever. 

Akechi's smile flashed across his face, like a knift glinting in the sun. 

"Generally a safe manipulation tact, but you're going to have to do better than that." He sat back, folding his arms.

Damn.

"Before we get into this arguement, I'm going to need you to be sure you can handle the reprocussions of losing it." Akira countered, mimicking Akechi's posture but with the addition of folding his legs at the knee.

Akechi's brows made for his forehead in a brief moment of shock, but he quickly brought them back under his control. 

"I think I can handle anything you throw my way. Surely if nothing else, I've proven that by now." 

Akira nodded, a smile gradually blooming across his face as he sat forward.

"Alright then." 

[helenewate]

Going on another slightly pretentious tangent and I don’t even care

It’s actually just a little obnoxious to squish Patti Smith’s Just Kids down to a “thought daughter” or “radical femme” (puke) type of book. It was one of the most bare, intimate, and poetic pieces of writing I’ve ever read. To share such a wonderful and nuanced relationship like the one she shared with Robert is a privilege to read and come to understand. And you have to think of the difficulty she probably endured reliving those memories with such a once-of-a-kind person (and those, in the true meaning of the term, are very hard to come by) after he had passed.

So to boil it down to the same vein and give it the same treatment as The Bell Jar, to me (even as a Sylvia Plath fan) is just asinine. The Bell Jar is a piece of fiction that, quite honestly, while lovely and certainly good in every sense of the word, can’t even hold a candle to this kind of naked truth intertwined in every single event accounted for in Just Kids. And I’m not saying anyone is claiming these books are the same or comparing them, but I see Just Kids included in a lot of those “thought daughter” blah blah bullshit and I just think it’s silly! It’s so much bigger than that!

Robert Mapplethorpe had an almost insurmountable influence on basically everything we’re doing in visual art today. All that perverted religious art you loooove to reblog on tumblr? Robert Mapplethorpe was one of the greatest pioneers of aestheticizing the depraved and perverted vision of what tumblr fucking fuels off of right now.

Like, idk. It just has such larger influences and meanings in the scope of queer art and just art in general and how people approach artistry these days and I just hate seeing it being placed into such a small box and not talked about for what it is.

[warrior-of-waistbands]

what if I~~~~~~~ post a scrapped wip for a fic I gave up on because Cap's voice eludes me

----

Every superhero has an origin story. They don’t just happen out of nowhere.

Heidi knows this. Every superhero movie she’s ever watched has told her so. A radioactive spider, a deal with a deity, a tub of alien ooze, a doomed home planet. Every hero has to come from somewhere.

Captain Underpants didn’t just come out of nowhere.

Heidi knows things Harold probably doesn’t want her to. She knows where he hides his report cards. She knows about the time he broke one of their mother’s prized china plates and tried to bury the evidence in the backyard. She knows that he pretends he’s talking to an audience when he thinks he’s alone.

She knows when Harold is hiding something.

And Heidi doesn’t know what a coincidence is but she does know it’s mighty interesting that the superhero Harold and his friend have been making comics about since they were her age just happens to be a real person.

No. He has to come from somewhere.

----

It’s almost fitting that she’d find him in the treehouse, of all places.

It was a Saturday. Harold had left early that morning to meet up with George at the park. He’d told Heidi to stay out of his room, but he never said anything about staying out of the treehouse. And Heidi knew that that’s where he kept the best art supplies.

She thought she heard something up there as she was making her way up the ladder, but, no, that was silly―who else could possibly be up there right now?

She’d pulled back the curtain.

The Waistband Warrior himself was standing in her brother’s treehouse.

He didn’t seem to notice her frozen in the doorway. No, he was too busy rummaging around the shelves and boxes, skimming through their contents, humming the tune to a popular cartoon theme song. And Heidi had seen him on TV before, sure, but now he was here―here!―in person and it was like catching a unicorn in the wild. Or spotting a shooting star.

Heidi had said, “Excuse me.”

Captain Underpants jumped, inadvertently hitting his head on a shelf and knocking over the figurine placed there.

“Ow….”

He’d turned around and that’s when he saw her, clearly not expecting to, if the way his eyes widened and he took a skittish step backward was anything to go by.

“Oh, uh….” He’d tried to play it cool, nervously resting a hand to the back of his neck. “Um, hello there, young citizen!”

“What are you doing in my brother’s treehouse?”

“Your brother’s…. oh. OH….”

He looked around apprehensively, like he was thinking very hard about what to say next that wouldn’t sound completely asinine. His eyes landed on the felled figurine on the floor and he stooped to pick it up, avoiding the question for a precious few seconds longer.

He’d held the toy in his hand and simply stared at it. Hard. Fidgeting with it.

[damistrolls]

Ketzan and Nedizu mayhaps.. 🗣

several months too late, heres a ketzan and nedizu thing :)c

(go here for better readability)

—

First Lieutenant Nedizu Chiura was nothing if not observant. He saw the signs early on, and simply felt as though he were counting down the days before his captain vanished. 

Nedizu had initially thought about raising his concerns to a higher authority, but it was quite frankly a pointless endeavor. Whether he was removed from service and harshly punished, or left on his own accord, they would still be losing a captain. The details of these circumstances mattered very little to Nedizu, and thus, even as his superior waxed poetic about his dreams of taking to the high seas with nothing tethering him, he said nothing. Each time it came up, he would dismiss it, and bring up something more relevant to their current situation, such as scheduling concerns or fatality lists. 

But this time, Captain Adaire’s flowery words were followed up by a question that initially caught the lieutenant off-guard. 

“Would you come with me, if I asked?”

Nedizu hesitated visibly, pausing his writing and staring ahead with mild confusion as if gauging whether he had even heard the man correctly. 

“... Sir?”

“Barring all the complications regarding the Empire such a thing would imply, hypothetically, would you join me if I left the fleet?”

The captain’s question felt no less shocking even after he rephrased it. Nedizu thought he would have more tact than this, to ask a man with clear, hard-set loyalties whether or not he would go against what he believed in, and for what? To act upon someone else’s silly whim? It was just asinine. 

“There is no way to bar all relevant complications from such a suggestion,” Nedizu replied coolly, looking down at his clipboard again. 

“Hypothetical suggestion.”

“Right.” 

Does Captain Adaire really think calling it hypothetical would save him? If Nedizu brought something like this to Admiral Ripmaw, hypothetical or not, it would be the end of his career as a captain, and potentially even the end of his life. Nedizu had known the man to be frivolous, but his tactical prowess was what caused him to end up in such a high rank. Captain Adaire was not stupid. So then why was he asking something so blatantly treasonous to a man known to be loyal? 

Either his captain was more foolish than he originally believed, or he knew that Nedizu would do nothing to stop him, despite his beliefs. 

“So?” The captain urged. 

Ah. He really was awaiting an answer. Nedizu had thought his previous response would be enough to dissuade Captain Adaire from pursuing this line of questioning any further, but he apparently seems to want a direct reply. The lieutenant gives a light exhale, tapping the tip of his pen against his page. 

“... Permission to speak honestly, sir?” Not that Nedizu even need ask for permission. Insubordination was not something his whimsical captain tended to worry about, but at least one of them here had to acknowledge rank on occasion. 

“Granted,” Captain Adaire replied with a gracious wave of his hand and a toothy, yet ever-charming smile… A charm Nedizu was quite immune to. 

He tucked his clipboard under his arm and stood straighter, gaze cold and aloof as he stared ahead, looking past his captain. 

“I’m frankly appalled. Your suggestions of desertion from the fleet prove that you are weak and unfit for the position of captain, echoing a belief I’ve long had about you, and if you continue on this line of thinking, it will rightly cost you everything,” Nedizu explained, voice filled with a cold, robotic indifference. The weeks of listening to his captain fantasize about a life serving no one but himself have not done anything to move him. 

Out of the corner of his eyes, Nedizu could see his captain straighten up too, the man’s smile slowly fading away as a realization finally dawned on him. He did not have the sort of relationship with his lieutenant that he originally thought. 

Despite everything, the Empire came first, and they definitively were not friends. It baffles Nedizu that it’s taken his captain this long to figure that out. 

“If it is found that these are not just hypotheticals, but actual plans,” Nedizu continued on, “it will be taken as a treasonous action that, at Admiral Goraxe Ripmaw’s discretion, could call for reeducation or even the termination of your life. It is my responsibility to alert the relevant authorities on this potential rebellious activity, but as your first lieutenant, I am willing to overlook it just this once, if you rescind your previous ‘hypotheticals’ in lieu of something more appropriate for a troll of your rank and standing.” 

That was the only grace he was willing to grant the man, and it was already too generous. But the look on Captain Adaire’s face made it obvious that he wasn’t grateful. Not in the slightest. 

Silence hung over them for several seconds, as Nedizu awaited his captain’s response. 

“... You are dismissed, Lieutenant.” 

Funny. This might be the only time he sounds like a captain. 

“Yes sir.” 

... Expectedly, that was the last time Nedizu had ever heard from the man. The Deserter had slipped out later that day, with a brand new title.