#it's beautiful and horrific and so so poetic

[ffs-abalisk]

Lyrics:

The stars are distant as always

Still shining with the light of their grand deaths in vacant space

Let it penetrate darkness when a beast roars a final wail

Let it penetrate my heart so I can share your pain

If there is a way to collect and portray

A mood that cannot be projected into words

If there is a way to turn back and rebuild all the long lost dreams

Another branch will grow and flourish in the future

The breeze of your world will wake you up again

[can-of-w0rmz]

Being into gothic horror is wild, because you’ll look up the reviews/public opinion on a book and all the posts will be like “ugh, this was insufferable. The main character was the most melodramatic whiny narcissist cunt who’s perspective I’ve ever had the displeasure of following. When the main character wasn’t whining, it was just pages and pages of the most useless boring shit describing stupid landscapes over and over again. Boring and insufferable to read.”

And then you’ll get the book and read it and it’ll be like “Hi, I’m gothic protagonist. My entire family got brutally murdered by an unknown person and I also got horrifically abused as a child and struggle with severe mental illness, and now there’s unholy paranormal forces at work all against me, but at least I have the love of my life and my closest friends who I’d kill and die for and they’d do the same for me. Even though I’m cripplingly psychologically unwell and severely burdened with the mass of terrible things in my past, I’m going to figure out and track down the thing that killed my family and seek to destroy it, whilst poetically mirroring my suffering with the most beautiful and profound descriptions of the nature around me that you’ve ever read, contrasting the horror of nature with the beauty and goodness of it and giving you an existential crisis. This book is going to make you so ridiculously attached to these characters and change your whole perception of the life you lead.”

[ellieslaces]

CAN’T CATCH ME NOW. one

presenting: Umbrella’s Hunger Games

featuring: leon kennedy x fem!reader

synopsis: the Hunger Games, an annual show of brutal control the Capitol has over each of the twelve Districts. the Games’ number one sponsor: Umbrella Corporation, the creator of the Games’ most horrific torture strategies and nightmare inducing deaths. these games have always been cautionary, always a far away but constant threat — until you find yourself Reaped and thrown into an area full of your worst fears with 23 other Tributes, all out for blood.

content warnings: harsh language; violence; gore; class discrimination; usual hunger games/resident evil warnings

notes: please note this series will contain heavy themes of violence, gore, class discrimination, and torture. if these subjects trigger you, skip this series or proceed with caution; all the chapters will be super long, just be prepared

word count: 4.26k

now playing: enemy ; imagine dragons with JID

can’t catch me now playlist

the districts ; prologue

Spring had a poetic, two sided story. One of beauty and rebirth, flowers blooming in meadows, rain showers that brought rainbows to the end of a long day. But one also of death and destruction. Spring may as well be a double edged sword, one edge cutting away the dead to make room for the new. The other side a dangerous weapon to cut down upon that year’s newest crop of children unlucky enough to be Reaped.

Spring was a cautionary season, tales and preparations were made during the final months of long winter. Mothers being sure to hold their child close, fathers staying home from whatever jobs they were mandated a little longer in the mornings to get a glimpse at their children’s face before they went away for the day.

Though nothing could ever really prepare anyone for the possibility of their child’s name being called in the Reaping. No soothing words of how much they were loved and how strong they were would ever calm a child scared in their bones of dying — of killing. This was the reality of the Reaping Ceremony. A reality you’d been prepared for, thoroughly.

Since you were able to understand what the Hunger Games were, you’d been trained to survive them. Chris Redfield instructed you to hone your skills in combat, in knife throwing, in handheld weapons, in archery. You were skilled in just about every form of combat, of nearly any possibly thrown your way.

His sister, Claire, trained you to be smart. Not to fall for the similarity of berries, of mixing up plants, of mistaking the signs of infection, to fall into another Tribute’s trap. You were as prepared to survive any surrounding territory as you were to fight someone to the death.

Despite not really being allowed to train you as you weren’t a Tribute, the siblings did it anyway. They had no family save for each other. No parents, no other siblings. Just each other — and you.

Your crumbled, soaked form had been found by the pair when you were a mere eight. A ruthless school bully had taken your pack, jacket, and shoes. Leaving you in the rain on your way home from school.

They’d taken you home, cleaned you up and sent you on your way. It wasn’t until a few days later they realized you had no home. Not really, you were an orphan too, living in the local orphanage. So, they took you in. Despite not really being allowed to, they did. They loved you as their own family. And one of the ways they showed their love, was by teaching you how to survive.

Today was your final Reaping ceremony. Eight years of terror, eight years of worry for your life every time Spring rolled around. This was the final time you had to worry — if you were lucky. If you were lucky, you’d make it out alive, without being subjected to the horrors of the Games that the Umbrella Corporation were so proud of.

You’d heard the tales of what people witnessed — of what Claire and Chris had witnessed. Though they didn’t outright speak of their times in the arena, you’d watched clips of their Games. You’d heard rumors from the people who had seen their Games on broadcast.

The Mutts Chris had to take down by hand and sword to survive and become Victor. The horrors that chased Claire through the woods to push her and the final three Tributes into a cutthroat fight.

These were things you hadn’t experienced yourself, things you hoped you’d never have to experience. Things Chris and Claire prepared you for nonetheless. But even they knew — no amount of preparation could save you from the lingering fear of what you could see. The nightmares you’d have for the remainder of your life. The fact that every year, you’d be dragged out and forced to relive the past for the Capitol’s entertainment. And today was the final day they could ever even try to prepare you.

Your morning was spent as it usually was — an early breakfast and training. Chris had worked with you on your hand to hand combat, while Claire worked with you on your survival skills. Once training had come to a close, you were taken home to be prepared for your final Reaping.

There was no need for Tessarae, you didn’t need to put your name in more than the eight times it would be in the bowl. Chris and Claire provided for you, they never let you starve, never let you go without the things you needed. And it seemed comfort was one of those things.

“Don’t worry, your chances are low.” Claire soothed you as she and Chris walked you toward the square in District One. “And even if you are Reaped, you’re prepared.”

“I know,” you mumbled, nodding. This was the eighth time you’d heard this pre-Reaping speech from Claire. She said this every year.

“You’re strong, you’ll be fine.” And Chris said that every year too.

You appreciated their support, really. It was just hard to think about anything other than the possibility your life could come to a quick and brutal end in a matter of weeks if things took a turn for the worse today.

“I know.” You mumbled, again. And you did know. You were prepared, you were strong. You were all the things the Redfield siblings proclaimed you to be. Despite being the mere age of nineteen, you were a ruthless person, you had a human understanding of mercy, yes. But you also knew how to survive, no matter the circumstances. And anyone would be stupid to forget that.

Although you weren’t the only person who was given the opportunity to prepare for the Games longer before they were even Reaped. It was common in Districts One and Two for the children to be familiar with combat, with survival skills. Most Tributes ended up volunteering for the ability to compete in the Games. Many a sour face had come from the stage over the years a someone stole the Reaped’s chance to fight.

You’d decided long ago that if someone wanted to take your place and volunteer, you’d be happy to let them have your spot. Anything, anything to stay away from the Capitol. Or as far as you could, being from District One. But, being a part of the Redfield family — even if it was unofficial — you weren’t too far out of the Capitol’s reach. It would be the Games or your connection to the Redfield’s that would catch their attention eventually.

“We’ll see you after?” Claire’s voice brought you back to the present, her ever soothing tone causing you to look up at her. She smiled at you, patting your arms with gentle affection. “You’ll be fine.”

You nodded as Chris gave your bicep a small punch before brushing his knuckles along your cheek with playful affection. “We’ll break out that apple crumble tonight, yeah?”

His suggestion made you smile — even though you had luxuries being the family of District One Victors, they still tried to teach you some humility. They taught you to be human, to have compassion and sense and a heart.

“Okay,” you nodded, smiling a little as the pair left you in the lines to sign in for the Reaping. You watched them walk to the stage, greeting the representative from the Capitol who was sent to preform the Reaping — a short man with half shaved hair that was dyed a shocking orange.

The line moved quickly, it always did. The woman at the table pricked your finger, taking blood and registering your name to be entered eight times. Probably one of the least amount of times in the group of children here. You were ushered by the crowd to the section of fellow nineteen year olds, craning your neck for so much as a glimpse of Chris or Claire to soothe your nerves.

You were much different than many of the other around you. Some thrummed with energy, for the chance to swoop in and volunteer if they weren’t lucky enough to be Reaped. You didn’t want to be like them. You didn’t want to be a killer. You didn’t want to be another one of the Capitol’s playthings.

The video of Panem history began to play on the screens flanking the stage, the anthem ringing through the speakers. The sound of President Spencer’s voice echoed through the square with his grand speech of the relationship between the Capitol and the Districts. Peace, he called it. Compliance, he called it. No, it was control. But really, what was the difference at this point?

Once the film came to a close, the Capitol representative stepped forward toward the mic, his smile startlingly white and far too wide to be genuine. He tapped the microphone few times before clearing his throat and speaking.

“Good afternoon, District One, and happy 98th Hunger Games!” His voice matched his face — eccentric, high pitched, grating on the ears.

“Before you all claw up the stage to get your chance, I’ll start with the gentlemen’s names.” The man — whom you remembered was named Allium Copperhead — giggled at his own stupid joke before removing the mic from its stand as he shuffled over toward the bowl containing the boys’ names.

All you could think was how dumb Allium Copperhead looked trotting over toward the bowl. This was another example of the difference between the lesser Districts versus the Careers. Girls always went first, except in the richer Districts. Possibly an advantage, but not really. Boys were the most likely to try to volunteer, most likely to start a fight in the square to get their chance of glory and fame.

This particular part didn’t concern you — your name wasn’t in the boys’ bowl. And it wasn’t as if you had anyone to worry over. Allium reached his hand into the large glass bowl, his citrus orange nails grazing over the slips of paper before plucking one out and shuffling over to the mic stand once more.

“Our District One male Tribute is,” he purposely drew out the suspense, the square collectively holding its breath. This was his thing, suspense. Attention grabber — that’s what Claire called him. “Piers Nivans.”

A collective groan fell from each older boy’s lips as Allium announced who was the male Tribute. Piers Nivans was a bit of a prodigy amongst the District One boys. He was strong and level headed and ruthless as he was kind. Chris had trained him alongside you.

Piers didn’t seem all too happy though as he walked toward the stage. Chris’ eyes followed the boy, face set in an unreadable expression. But you could tell — he wasn’t ecstatic about this. No one dared to volunteer. Not because Piers wanted to be in the games. But because they knew Piers stood a better chance the any of them.

Once Piers had reached the stage and Allium shook his hand a little too excitedly, he took his stand on the right side of the stage, his eyes scanning the crowd. As if he were waiting for someone — anyone — to volunteer. To save him from this fresh new hell. No luck.

“Now, for the ladies.” Allium announced in the microphone with a giggled smile, practically skipping over to the girls’ bowl. If you hadn’t been so worried about your fate, you would have rolled your eyes at how childish this grown-ass man was.

But you couldn’t focus on anything other than the thousands of slips of paper in the bowl as he reached in and snatched one up. The square was dead quiet. You heard a girl to your right let out a sigh of anticipation.

The air was thick, the energy unbearable. Your heart raced in your ears, blood thrumming through your veins as Allium stood in front of the mic once more, unfolding the paper.

You almost didn’t hear him call out your name. Almost thought you were hallucinating. It wasn’t until he called out your name once more, all the people in the square turning to your direction that you realized you hadn’t dreamt it. You wanted to cry, throw up, beat up Allium Copperhead and claw the ridiculous make up from his face.

But you did none of those things as you braced yourself, walking up toward the stage. An entire desert ecosystem was born in your mouth as you walked up the steps to the stage. Claire and Chris’ sad gazes caught your eye. God, why’d they have to look at you like that?

You waited, prayed as Allium shook your hand — the feeling of his clammy hands against your own made you even more nauseated than before — for someone to volunteer. No one did. Not even that girl you’d seen before who seemed so eager for her name to be drawn.

No one would volunteer. Because while Piers was the boy prodigy of the District, you were his counterpart. You were the strongest girl in the District, the most capable of winning. Maybe even over Piers. No one dared to take the chance of winning the Games away from the Redfield’s top student.

You stood on the left side of the stage, looking out upon the crowd of children — some relieved not to be Reaped, others irked. How you wished you were able to go home, to not be sent away to the Capitol to kill and possibly die. Maybe, you wouldn’t even try. But you had to, you couldn’t leave Chris and Claire.

“Our District One Tributes, ladies and gentlemen!” Allium announced with a sickeningly cheerful smile. He waved a dramatic hand toward where you and Piers stood at opposite ends of the stage. “Oh, go on now! Shake hands.”

You turned toward Piers, ignoring the way Allium bounced on his heels — you wanted to rip his fucking vocal cords out so you’d never have to hear his agitating voice again. Piers held out his hand, and you took it. Being a good sport you offered a small, sympathetic yet understanding smile.

The irony, two of the strongest and most capable possible Tributes in the District didn’t want to be here. Didn’t want to kill and hurt and fight to survive. Despite being molded to do just that. Despite being the only ones with a fighting chance.

You let go of Piers’ hand, turning back toward the crowd as Allium Copperhead made his final goodbyes. Thank God, he would finally leave you the fuck alone. Maybe dying in the arena wouldn’t be so bad if it meant never having to see this crack job ever again. The orange-headed man placed the mic back on its stand before gently guiding you and Piers toward the back of the stage.

Peacekeepers took you from there, offering you a chance to say goodbye to anyone you wished to see one last time. But you had no one, other than Chris and Claire who were coming with you. So, you denied the opportunity, saying you just wanted to go to the train.

Piers took his chance, bidding a sad goodbye to his family. They were proud of him to taking it in such stride, you could see that. And you could also see how they knew that this wasn’t something to be cheering for. These Games were ruthless and they knew that their son would either return a murderer or not return at all.

Peacekeepers guided you and Piers toward the train, standing at the doors as you both walked in one after the other. The train shook as it started up, before lurching forward smoothly. You wandered into one of the cars and took in your surroundings.

Yes, you’d been raised with a certain modem of luxury. But it was District level luxury. This was true richness. Velvet chairs, patterned textured wallpapers, smooth carpet, rich wood furniture. God, it was like they were flaunting it in your face. Which they were.

“Oh my God,” you heard Claire’s voice echo through the train car and before you could even look over your shoulder, she was rushing toward you and enveloping you into a hug. “I’m so sorry,” her voice was muffled by her face pressed into your hair.

“Jesus kid, you got the Redfield bad luck, huh?” Chris grumbled as he walked in, shaking his head.

Piers’ eyes ticked between you and the Redfield sister that held you, and Chris with recognition. It seemed he hadn’t recognized you until just now.

“Chris,” Claire frowned, scolding her brother as she loosened her grip on you to hold you at arms length. Her attention turned back on you, hands smoothing down the fabric of your blouse. “You’ll be fine, we’re going to do our best to prepare you. Both of you.”

“I know you will,” you nodded, offering your best attempt at a smile. Like you even felt like smiling right now. You looked over to Piers. “At least we’ve got the best of the best.”

“Maybe we’ll have an actual chance.” Piers mumbled as Chris walked over to him, clapping the boy on the shoulder roughly.

“We’ll make sure you have a chance. Both of you.” Chris nodded as he crossed his large arms over his chest. He gave an eye roll as a cheery voice was heard distantly from behind one of the close train doors. He let out a grumble. “Brace yourselves, here comes traffic cone.”

“Chris,” Claire scolded as she narrowed her eyes toward her brother. But before he could even think of defending himself, the automatic train door opened and Allium Copperhead skipped into the train car.

“My tributes!” The man cried with a grin, clapping his hands beneath his chin — which you just noticed had a patch of bright orange hair to match the half curtain of hair on his head — and paced over to you and Piers. “I am so proud of you two!”

You wanted to move away, but the man was deceptively quick as he wrapped an arm around your shoulders and his other around Piers’ shoulders. He hugged you close, and you could see Piers physically cringe out of the corner of your eye. “I am going to be sure that your time in the Capitol is as enjoyable as it is productive!”

“All right, Allium, they’re overwhelmed right now,” Claire said with a gentle tone that held a bit of authority behind it as she raised her brows.

“Right, right! Of course,” Allium agreed cheerfully as he let go of the both of you. Which lead to you and Piers to let out a simultaneous exhale of relief. You watched the man’s eyes land on a television and he walked towards it. “We should watch the Reaping broadcast! It should be all uploaded by now.”

Your eyes widened as you looked at Claire and Chris, silently begging for them to put a stop to it. The last thing you wanted was to watch your own Reaping ceremony. Chris gave an apologetic grimace as Allium flicked on the television with a small remote. It seemed to be preset to the Capitol broadcast channels.

“Come here, come here. Get comfortable. I’ll have some food sent in, you two must be famished.” Allium waved you and Piers over with a cheek splittingly wide grin.

Of course, you much be absolutely famished because you lived in one of the Districts. He had no tactfulness. But with Claire’s nod of approval, you slowly paced over toward the small semi-circle of armchairs and a sofa that proved betrayingly comfortable. You took a seat on the sofa, Piers beside you. And much to your disgust and discomfort, Allium took his seat on your other side.

Chris and Claire sat on the armchairs on either side of the sofa. “I know you don’t really want to watch this, but it’ll be a good way to get an idea of who you’ll be up against in the arena.”

Chris was already in mentor mode. He was leaning forward, his elbows propped on his knees as the Capitol anthem played and the Umbrella Corporation logo flashed across the screen. The Reaping ceremony of District One played first, your own Reaping.

God, did you really look like that? Like a deer in headlights on that stage? Piers on the other hand looked great. Strong and intimidating. But you looked weak, like you were about to throw up and pass out. Which you’d almost done both.

As your Reaping came to a close, Allium gave a swift — and what was supposed to be an affectionate — pat on your knee. He grinned at you, nodding as you gave a weary smile back and looked back at the huge television.

District Two’s Reaping played next, a girl with long blonde hair and bangs that covered one eye stood on the stage as she was Reaped — Rachel Foley, that was her name. She was eighteen and had a menacing look on her face. The boy that was called up was Brad Vickers, a nineteen year old with a stocky build who looked a bit too relaxed on the stage.

Chris had previously informed you of the Victor for District Two, Jill Valentine. He had warned you not to underestimate her as most people did. And despite having won her games years ago and fought to prove herself in the Capitol, people believed she was weak for the way she’d won her games. However, with the glimpse you saw of her on the screen during her District’s Reaping, you decided maybe it was best to heed Chris’s warning.

District Three’s Reaping was as equally uneventful as the previous two. Though you suspected the girl tribute — Cindy Lennox — to be an immediate target for violence. She seemed too soft, too sweet to be on that stage. The male Tribute, however, looked up to the task. Steve Burnside was tall and seemed confident enough to be able to get through the arena alive.

Their mentor and Three’s most recent Victor was Ada Wong, someone that you didn’t want to mess with, as Claire warned you. She was ruthless and clever and cutthroat as she was deceiving and alluring. There were rumors around the Capitol she had ways of getting information, secrets. It wasn’t ever clear if those methods were ones of violence or sexual advances. Though no one ever questioned much. She was too beautiful to want to question.

All you could think as you watched the District Four Reaping was how fucking unlucky these Tributes were. Ashely Graham was what was called a ‘sympathy win’ in the Capitol. Meaning someone had the means to send her enough sponsor gifts that she managed to outlive the other Tributes in her games. Though her two — Jessica Sherawat and Kevin Ryman — seemed strong enough to handle themselves, so maybe they had a chance. No matter how small. Because if Chris and Claire taught you one thing, it was never to underestimate anyone.

District Five was where things got a bit dramatic. There was a volunteer for the girl tribute, Caroline Floyd taking the place of a girl who seemed to be blind. Which, in your mind, was a brave and selfless thing to do. Until you remembered there was so such thing as selflessness in the games. Her male counterpart was Billy Coen, whom Claire later told you was suspected to be close to his now mentor, Rebecca Chambers.

District Six was boring, as usual. Tyrell Patrick — a tall man with kind eyes — towered over the female Tribute, Christine Yamata who seemed entirely unemotional. Their Mentor was praised to be somewhat of a genius, despite Chris promising he wasn’t. Carlos Olivera was as cocky and unthinking as the next Yribute who wanted to stay alive.

Things were quiet in Seven, Josh Stone and Sienna Fowler being the Tributes. Chris praised their Mentor though. Sheva Alomar, he said, was trustworthy and dependable. He liked her, you could tell. Other than Jill, she seemed to be the only one he favored.

District Eight produced the Tributes nineteen year old Karen LesProux — who was rumored to have married extremely young at seventeen and then killed her husband after he’d hit one of their children, but those rumors were quickly shut down — and sixteen year old Richard Aiken who looked to be young, but strong enough to hopefully carry his own.

Their Mentors — Sherry Birkin and Jake Muller — were rumored to be cutthroat and did whatever it took to make their Tributes survive. Despite knowing that Claire had an obvious soft spot for Sherry when she’d made a connection with her a few years ago, Chris warned you it was wise not to trust the Tributes from Eight. And something about the way they looked made you believe him.

District Nine’s Reaping was quiet and uneventful as Moira Burton — a fifteen year old girl who was scrawny as she was fearful — and nineteen year old David King — who refused to speak at all — were chosen. Their Mentors, however, were the topic of conversation. Ethan and Mia Winters. Many rumors circulated around the Capitol concerning the now-married couple. Apparently, Ethan Winters had pulled many strings to get Mia — previously Mia Jensen — out of her games alive. Most of the other Mentors had been bitter and they weren’t the most popular amongst the current pool of Victors. Except for Chris, who had a soft spot for the pair.

The Tributes for District Ten were named Bruce McGivern — a charismatic looking seventeen year old boy — and Fong Ling, who looked extremely intimidating for a fifteen year old girl. Their Mentor was somewhat of a flirt around the Capitol, Luis Serra. He was rumored to be similar to Ada Wong in terms of how he survived his life in the spotlight as a Victor. Sexual favors and the payment of secrets. He wasn’t bad to look at, you had to give him that.

The Reaping broadcast was close to an end as District Eleven brought forth an increasingly devastating Tribute. Twelve year old Natalia Korda was picked from the bowl and stood on the stage, trying her hardest not to cry. She seemed to have at least some last sliver of hope though as her male counterpart, Parker Luciani, seemed to want to try and take care of her.

Their Mentors were a mix, that’s for sure. Zoe Baker who seemed determined to get Natalia out alive, and Lucas Baker who was rumored to have lost his mind after his games. Another batch of siblings — God, the Capitol loved that.

Finally — and much to your relief — the District Twelve Reaping began. Chris and Claire had told you before of the Victor for Twelve. Jack Krauser. He was cutthroat and viscous and had a bad run in his games. He’d been chased through the jungle by Mutts, Mutts that no one knew looked like but were rumored to resemble his fellow deceased Tribute. So, ever since then, he’d been hellbent on making live a living hell for all of his Tributes. Somehow a twisted revenge on the Capitol.

His Tributes, however, caught your eye. Helena Harper, seventeen years old and volunteered for her younger sister. Noble, very noble of her. But it wasn’t Helena who caught your interest. Rather, it was the male Tribute.

Leon Kennedy — nineteen years old with golden hair and the bluest eyes you’ve ever seen. He looked mortified as his name was called, like he was wanted to drop dead then and there. You couldn’t blame him. Twelve had the least advantage. There were only around five Victors to come from Twelve in the history of the Games.

But there was something about him. Some innocent yet driven nature he had that made you lean forward in your seat, eyes glued to the screen. This did not go unnoticed by anyone in the room. Chris and Claire exchanged a look, Allium thought close to nothing of it. But Piers, he knew what it was. Fascination, the way your eyes widened and your focus never unwavering from the boy your age on the screen. The way he composed himself and took his fate with stride.

Something in you — all the survival instincts that Chris and Claire had put into you — it all vanished. And it was replaced by a lingering sense of fascination for this boy. And the need to make sure he made it out alive.

Even as the screen shut off and Allium mentioned something about having dinner served, you didn’t move. Not as Piers started up a conversation with Chris about what the arena may be this year. Not as Claire decided to come and sit beside you. You knew what was coming.

“What’re you thinking about?” She asked, looking at you as you sat on the sofa, eyes still trained on the blank television screen. She knew full well what you were thinking about. She wasn’t born yesterday. She just needed you to say it.

You sat in silence for a moment, pictures of Leon Kennedy running through your mind. He was from Twelve, you were from One. You weren’t supposed to mix. It was like oil and water. But, something about that boy drew you in. Maybe the kindness in his eyes that made it so obvious he wasn’t cut out for this. Maybe the way he’d quickly recovered and took his Reaping with stride. But no, there was just something about him. He wasn’t supposed to be subjected to this.

With this on your mind, you turned your head, looking at Claire as she awaited your answer. You knew this confession would damn you, you knew it could be the reason you may die in that arena. But consequences be damned. You knew that you had to do it.

“I’m thinking about how I can get that boy out alive.”

How you can help Palestine! 🇵🇸 | daily click!

2023 ellieslaces please do not repost, rewrite, translate, or submit my work to AI or any other platform. please support your creators by reblogging, liking, and following!

[ratatouillewastakendammit]

HEAR ME OUT 😭 toga!reader who grew up with katsuki and izuku, she was always insecure about her quirk bc ppl told her liking gore was weird etc and ofc kats bullied her bc of that… until she grew older, realised how much her quirk can do, joined league of villains alongside dabi… maybe dabi takes a liking to her ^^ and he understands the need for revenge all too well… 🙂‍↔️ THATS ABOUT ALL I HAVE RN!

Wait this is so fun!! I usually try to keep the readers quirk undefined because I know some people want to insert their own but tbh I loveeee gory quirks and stuff

I'll Kill 'Em, You Hide the Body

Pairing: Dabi x Reader

Warnings: language, slightly suggestive, bullying, violence, blood (ofc), also it's been a while since I've written less dialogue heavy stuff so let me know if you have any critiques!

Word Count: 2.1k

Dabi had never been a fan of Toga.

The blonde was nothing short of psychotic, which he usually didn't mind by itself. Still, she possessed an undeniable creepiness about her that had him keeping as much as possible.

Seeing that she had wormed her way into his room to jab him for blood once may or may not have exemplified his dislike.

You on the other hand?

It was interesting how you and the blonde shared similar quirks, powers of seperate sides of the same coin with minor differences on how you used them.

It was even more interesting, however, with how much different the two of you actually were.

He remembered how you acted when you had first been introduced to the League, quiet and eyes glued to the floor, words slurred from the subtle way you tried to keep your mouth closed as you spoke. Still, your efforts seemed to be in vain, the soft whites of your sharpened canines becoming revealed the second you had joined them for a meal.

In all honesty, Dabi had thought it was dumb, how insecure you were of your quirk. He had seen mutant-quirk holders with features much more abhorrent than your barely noticeable fangs.

Spinner, the giant lizard man working along with you both was an easy example.

Shigaraki had accepted you, seemingly already knowledgeable of whatever powers you possessed when Giran had brought you to the hideout, leaving everyone else in the dark.

And while the others hadn't seemed to mind, accepting your soft spoken demeanor and mystery with open arms, Dabi wasn't exactly elated to have another weakling on the team.

How the hell would he be able to trust that you wouldn't fuck up if he didn't know what you could do?

So when Shigaraki had assigned you to his group for a mission, he had scoffed, grumbling about how you were just going to get yourself killed.

You, however, had been quite the surprise.

Drawing a small knife from your boot, you slid the blade over your palm, the metal leaving a thin line of scarlet behind. He watched as the liquid pooled over your fingers before rising in the air, leaving your skin clean and untouched.

He watched, cerulean eyes wide as he took in the horrific beauty you possessed.

Blood continued to slip from your cut, each drop falling upward to amalgamate into your dreadful creation, a vine of vermilion that trailed around a group of your opponents.

When a squeeze of your fist, the ruby liquid clotted together, wrapping around the men and pulling them together into a makeshift prison. The blood, now miraculously hardened, poked at their skin, pulling at their own plasma until it was also under your control.

You used your other hand, careful not to mix the substances, before forming the material into a scythe. If one listened hard enough, they could hear the edge of the blade slicing through the air, just as deadly and graceful as its wielder.

It was almost poetic, the way you cut through your foes with the innards of their comrades.

By the end of it, a gory havoc had exploded through the room, you, just as untouched and pristine as before all of it, standing in the middle of it.

Beckoning a finger forward, you drew your own blood back toward you, the fluid snaking back under your skin and gluing the cut back together.

Toga had been absolutely obsessed with you from that moment on, hanging off your shoulder and chatting your ear off whenever you would let her.

Surprisingly, you didn't exactly seem to mind, expression holding nothing was silent contentment, the way one may look at a younger sibling or apprentice.

Dabi, on the other hand, had only grown increasingly obsessed with figuring you out.

To say you grew up isolated was an understatement.

When your quirk had first been revealed, your parents had been happy, albeit a bit taken aback by the initial grimness of it, hopeful for the unwritten future of success you had waiting.

Blood bending had quite the potential, after all.

Similarly, your friends had been enamored by the creations of your ability, eyes wide in childish wonder as you made inanimate creatures float around the classroom, one of your favorite tricks.

Your life had started to end the first day you passed out in class.

It had been a small turtledove that time, red as rubies and small enough to fit in your hand. The avian organism flying over your head was the last thing you remembered before the world went black.

Filled with panic, your parents had rushed you to the nearest urgent care, voices laced with tension as they explained the situation, even as you woke up. The doctor had done numerous tests, each more exhausting than the last.

A few days passed, filled with fear and anticipation at each time you would faint without an explanation.

'Extremely low iron' was the first thing written on the report, letters big and angry. Still, those that followed were so much worse.

The notion of having to consume some form of blood, not only to sustain your quirk, but to keep you alive, left your family in shambles.

Each of your friends began to trickle away after the news as well, most scared by the rumor that you were secretly a vampire started by some blond a few grades below you. Bakugou was his name, that of which you had learned a few days later as the bullying continued.

Whispers lined the hallway as you walked past, each hushed syllable and scowl following you like a disease.

"She'll eat you if you let her too close."

"I heard she picks people off the streets and drains 'em."

The love for gore and scary movies you had definitely didn't help your case.

Regardless, back then, you would've easily watched some romantic comedy instead of your favorite slasher film, if only it could be done with friends by your side, giggling at the dreamy love interest and cheesy lines.

And despite your desperate yearning for companionship, maybe you would've been fine if it was left at plain isolation.

The worst of it started when Bakugou convinced some of his friends to break into your locker. They had taken your lunch box and dumped the contents out in the nearest trashcan before stuffing it back in, all of which you being completely oblivious to.

When you opened your lunchbox expecting the usual sandwich and bag of chips, your eyes had doubled in horror when they met the dead bird cradled within instead.

Home could have easily been a sanctuary for you, but it soon became just as depressing as school.

Thankfully, your doctor had been able to give you meager rations of the blood donations the local hospital received weekly. Still, you began to dread each time your parents went out to pick it up from the pharmacy.

They would hand you the bag to put in the freezer, fingers barely gripping the plastic like it was a dead animal.

As far as you knew, it very well could've been.

Their complaints ran through your ears constantly, vivid descriptions of the revolted looks the nurses would give him, followed by the scattered glances of pity they might get from other parents at the store.

Once, your mother had to excuse herself from the table, silently gagging at the ruby liquid in your cup. Soon it became a regular occurrence, both leaving in disgust until you were left to eat your meals alone, food cold and room silent.

A few years inched by before they pushed you away as well, lending you money for a small apartment on the other side of town, as far away from them as possible.

By the time you turned eighteen, they had cut you off completely, giving you just enough time for all that sadness and insecurity to meld into hate.

Joining the League was the first thing you did after moving out.

Surprisingly, it hadn't taken a long time at all for Dabi to take a liking to you, the quiet admiration stemming from his initial awe at your power, regardless of how much he didn't want to admit it.

Taunting you soon becomes his favorite activity. You were unexpectedly hard to fluster, but the way your eyes would flit to the ground in embarrassment made it deliciously worth it.

Regardless, the soft blood lust burning in your eyes whenever he would push your buttons too far had his pants tightening.

It was hard to decide which reaction he liked better.

Those were the reactions he was digging for tonight, arms crossed as he leaned on your door frame, smirking at the way you had mindlessly left the entryway to your room unlocked.

It was like you were practically begging him to come in.

He had learned of your past a few hours ago from Kurogiri, the dark mass of mist and fog easily digging out the information.

The knowledge had pissed him off, sure. In all honesty, he would've happily added another U.A. brat to his kill-list, especially once he recognized Bakugou's name, the idiot being in the same class as his darling little brother.

Still, Dabi had enough self respect to consult you first.

Or, at least, he had convinced himself it was 'consulting.' Whether or not it was more accurately 'annoying you until you did something worth the regret' was none of his concern.

And it was all the more motivation if he could worm his way into your good graces.

He definitely wouldn't mind letting you play damsel if it meant winning your affection in the end.

Maybe it was the mention of that blond twerps name, or maybe that of your parents, which had your fingers curling around your pencil, your line of sight glued to the paper in front of you.

"Get out. I'm working," you said without looking up.

"You know, fucking someone up would make you feel a lot better than writing in a diary." He walked over to where you were sitting, a smirk pulling on the corner of his lips. A hand slipped over your shoulder as he bent down, the warmth of his skin kissing your own as he whispered, "Or I know some other ways of relieving stress if you want help."

You scoffed, ignoring the heat building in your cheeks at the insinuation. "Are you always this annoying?"

"Only for you, doll."

Dabi was quite the flirt, and while you were quite masterful at hiding your own attraction to the man, each amorous comment had your defenses faltering.

"I just don't know how you can let that shit fly." His touch slid lower, hands snaking low enough to rest on your thighs, his breath tickling your ear. "If it was me, they would be six feet under right now."

"You really think I don't want to?" The heels of your chair slid across the wooden floor in an unpleasant screech, your pencil slamming against the desk as you stood and turned to face him. "I think about it all the fucking time! I just..." You swallowed. "There's no coming back from that... I don't know if I can."

Silence met your unwilling confession, clashing with the pit of embarrassment growing in your stomach. An attempt to hide from the scrutiny of his stare, you moved over to sit on your bed, resting your face in your hands as the stillness enveloped you.

"Then let me do it for you."

You looked up. "What?"

"I said," Dabi slowly crept over to you, gaze locked on your own. "Let me do it for you."

The way each syllable was enunciated with cruel ardor left you shivering, your skin prickling in goosebumps as the heat radiating off his body swept closer.

"I'll make sure to leave enough pieces behind to drain, if you want."

It was almost as if he could hear the blood thrumming through your veins, your quirk begging for the violent, venegeful release that you were being promised.

That annoyingly excitable muscle in his chest jumped at the way you looked at him, eyes dancing with a mixture of desire and ferocity.

Eventually, you gave your answer, quiet, but certain.

"Okay."

[jolieblack]

Jolie’s notes on

The Lion’s Mane (Sherlock & co podcast)

Oh, this case made me so happy. 🦁🪼⛴️

Sweet domesticity in Baker Street, then a client ringing the bell bringing a dramatic case… This is another ACD story with quite striking hidden horror. You don’t really think much about the state of the body when you read it, but when you really start thinking about it, it is horrific. And off they go, our heroes, to solve another mystery and right another wrong.

Heroes with a pension plan, of course. Because of course Mariana would have set that up for them all. I love how this show keeps finding modern ways of showing how well Mrs Hudson cares for those two crazy boys.

Heroes who drink tea with marshmallows, too. Sherlock being a big petulant child about those cracked me up.

Loved Maud‘s early reference to tentacles, too. 🦑

Archie being able to sense when people are sad. 🥹

The non-consensual bathroom sharing made me laugh, too, but can people PLEASE just stop making fun of men who sit down to wee? Housewives and cleaning staff all over the world would be so much happier if all men just did.

"It‘s a trolley stuck in a wall." 😂 Trust Jonk to turn absolutely everything into a rant against the rich. 😝

And then they’re off.

Loved this modern version of "Holmes and Watson get on another train for a case", and John waxing poetic about the countryside by night. I have looked out of the window of a night train at the starry sky in the not too distant past myself, so this scene struck a particular chord. But I‘d just love to see more of this reflective, quiet John. He hides him too well usually.

And talking of beautiful, evocative mental images, the moment when Fjara rises out of the sea mist gave me absolute goosebumps. A sight that makes even Sherlock Holmes go "oh my word" must be a sight indeed. And all that with just voices and music. Amazing work.

I also loved how the mythical aspect kinda crept in slowly but unstoppably, and I spent the longest time wondering why Maud had mentioned none of it. In retrospect, of course there was zero reason why she would have. I kinda forgot that Sherlock Holmes stories love playing with our fears of the supernatural, only to supply a completely natural explanation in the end. But that’s quite an achievement in itself! Well played, Joel.

I’m quite happy with the solution as such, too. The original story has always been a little fantastical, that the waters of the British Channel should contain one single organism who could inflict such damage on a human being. But the combination of Lion’s Mane burns, chemical burns, previous fistfight with probably head trauma and quite possibly also a touch of the Martini effect together could totally do it. I’m glad Ian Murdoch survived, btw, I thought he was going to be the third corpse.

I also really appreciated the Lion/Liona throwback to Rache/Rachel in Study in Pink (which seems to confirm to me that we have seen Study in Pink already and it won’t come back).

And the accents! I loooooved the accents. I think they’re a major part of the reason why I listened to this case three or four times before I even managed to pause the flow to take these notes.

Jonk was really taking cringe to a whole new level in his interactions with the locals, though. This is really a part of Watson’s character that they entirely made up for this adaptation and while Paul plays it to perfection, it never sits quite right with me. I’m glad John was his kind and sensitive self with Maud though.

Sherlock wading in rock pools with his trousers rolled up is a mental image that will stay with me for a long while. Check out this lovely art by @noodles-and-tea

"Sexy murderous sea demons?" - "Very, very unlikely." 😂

"We‘re cutting the engine *and* the conversation." & "You are not a priority." 😂

Poor John, nobody wants to hold his hand…

THE JELLYFISH

There’s a reason why the scene with the submarine submersible has inspired a lot of fantastic fanart. I’ll just let these speak for themselves:

Behold the Lion’s Mane by @starfruitsomething

Lion’s Mane by @abstractfrog

The Lion’s Mane Part 3 by @sealbug

The Lion’s Mane by @reibub

Lion’s Mane Comic by @abstractfrog

I’m so glad they went and found Fitzi McPherson in the end, too. I didn’t expect that and it was a lovely touch.

I may also be a tiny bit obsessed with Sherlock competently handling boats. Very happy to see this several times in this story.

All in all, pure enjoyment this time around. Story, atmosphere, humour, acting, straight As all around for the entire team. More, please!

[cheetahsprints]

Lingyi fic rec list!

In case anyone floats into the tag and needs this. Personal and without review/explanation because brain too rotted. I just adore this tragically non-canon pairing almost as much as our main guys.

💌 trust my love - panpipe - E - Chapters: 1 - Jin Ling confesses his feelings, and Lan Jingyi has to muddle through the aftermath. (The aftermath is they're in love.)

🕊️ best friends forever - varnes - T - Chapters: 1 - Jin Ling and Jingyi get engaged. Things spiral from there.

⚔️ Can’t Keep Holding My Breath - singingintheshower48 - T - Chapters: 2 -  Two post-canon snippets about Jin Ling and Lan Jingyi enduring growing pains, enduring a war, and somehow finding their way together.

🔥 how can i find the words to say (love has surely shifted my way) - annadream - G - Chapters: 6 -  Jingyi’s steely eyes blazed brighter than the flames surrounding them and in that moment Jin Ling knew he was in love with this loud, obnoxious fool.

📱 the song stuck in my head - poefucker (drbubblegum) - E - Chapters: 7 - Waiting until his third year of college to finish off his last actual gen ed class is absolutely a mistake, and Jingyi proudly admits to it. Public speaking is an unfortunately necessary evil. Or: the juniors have that college experience like the movies show us.

🧞‍♂️ over, sideways, & under - poefucker (drbubblegum) - T - Chapters: 10 -  Jingyi goes nighthunting. It should be that simple. But somehow, after a fateful encounter with a rude, runaway boy and getting trapped in a cave, he's strongarmed into bringing disaster upon the whole of the cultivation world by summoning the infamous Yiling Laozu for unknown purposes. Except now he grants wishes and is actually really funny for an evil spirit. Weird.

🙇‍♂️could someone call a referee - poefucker (drbubblegum) - T - Chapters: 1 -  The one where they go to prom.

📦 all there’s left to do is run - poefucker (drbubblegum) - T - Chapters: 1 -  Lan Jingyi helps his professor move in with his husband. The day doesn't end up like he expected.

🐇 what must it be like to grow up that beautiful? - taetaeloveschimmy - Not Rated - Chapters: 6 -  Jin Ling is in love with Lan Jingyi and he's not exactly thrilled that he's finding this out about himself. Meanwhile, Jingyi is also grappling with his own emotions and complicated history with Jin Ling, leaving both of them unsure of where they stand with each other.

📑 A Guide to Dumbasses Getting Together - Midori_99 - T - Chapters: 5 - Lan Jingyi pines, in poetic melancholy fashion like a true Lan, bemoaning his fate of falling in love with someone as difficult as that Spoilt Mistress Jin. Too bad his love would forever be unrequited and there's no way Jin Ling would ever look at him that way! Lan Sizhui and Ouyang Zizhen would like to disagree. "Mission: Get an overworked Jin Ling to rest and an idiotic Lan Jingyi to stop pining and just confess already, commence!"

📝 Jin Ling’s Heart Is So Big Because It’s Full of Bad Poetry - corduroyserpent - G - Chapters: 1 -  If Jin Ling had learned anything about love in his sixteen years of being alive, it was this: love made people crazy. Sometimes love made you do things like write horrifically bad poetry. It happens!

💝 Oh no- Jiujiu!!! - You_know_yeah - M - Chapters: 1 -  Jin Ling takes a break and fucks off to the Cloud Recesses to "study". Jiang Wanyin follows with the threat of paperwork and leg breaking. All Jin Ling wants to do is kiss his boyfriend and chill :(

🦊 Chasing Gold - albsyant (transtobio) - T - Chapters: 9 -  Jin Ling expected this to be just a regular night hunt, but it didn’t even last a day before disaster struck.

Lan Jingyi, meanwhile, had no idea what to do with the fox that seemed determined to cuddle against him 24/7. What had done this to Jin Ling, and could he please get his prickly cru-friend back?

🌧️ bending the clouds - Jenki - G - Chapters: 1 - Jin Ling's father left him destined to become a leader of the earthbending sect but he didn't leave him his earthbending skills. On the other hand, his mother's waterbending talent was the reason for all of his problems. But he had learned how to isolate himself and hide his secrets and feelings from everyone.Until one day an airbender from Gusu discovered his secret and, with the help of his friends, began to do his best to make Jin Ling feel loved.

👨‍🏫 just because you’re an idiot doesn’t mean you can’t go to college - theinkquiry - T - Chapters: 1 -  “So Lan Jingyi asked you for help to get Professor Wei and Professor Lan together. Does… does he not realize they’re already married?”

“No.” Jin Ling rolled his eyes. “Because he’s an idiot.”

[lxmelle]

Exploring the symbolism of the Tsubaki / Camellia and Gojo Satoru

Cover of vol. 26 shows us the beautiful image of Gojo on a snowy day; his breath tints white - he is surrounded by what we can interpret as Camellias in full bloom, location unknown, but we surmise it is sometime between December - March (depending on source of information - usually late winter to early spring) where they tend to flower despite the cold.

More under the cut. Please be warned: This post is littered with information, and you may interpret it freely, however you wish.

Just be mindful that I almost always have a Satosugu lens is on. Headcannon and overall reaching is all on me!

The setting is simple but poetic. It’s snowing and Gojo is standing looking at us. It’s blue all around him; a crisp winter’s day. Gojo’s birthday reflects the heaviest snowfall (refer to character birthday chart below), so in addition to flower symbolism is potentially the symbolism of dates. We know Gege is deliberate like that. Is this headcannon? You can decide!

The plant looks really beautiful amidst the snowfall. Their leaves are evergreen and lush, so looking even at the foliage, the plant seemingly being taller than Gojo as painted by Gege, it would appear to be more like the Camellia than Peonies. Very much like what tends be be planted at a Shinto / Buddhist temple gardens.

And what does it mean then? Let’s keep going:

Those pictures above are the red varieties, but they can appear very different - coming in different colours and the way the petals are arranged, colour of the middle, etc. varies. Upon closer inspection, we see two types pictured on the cover.

Behind Gojo’s head seems to be a flower in a lighter shade of pink, and akin to a lotus camellia. I’d say it’s stylistic and has symbolic intentions, and you can google to look into what others have to say about it. Generally, it’s around being enlightened, freedom and purity. All fitting with Gojo’s life (his fate at birth) and death.

Before I continue, I must address the question: is it possibly any other type of flower? Well, sure. You’re welcome to interpret it that way, it’s a drawing after all. However, based on how tall the plant is, the thickness of the branches the leaves are attached to, as well as the blossoms, it seems more like a Camellia plant to me.

Moreover, I cannot ignore the inference from the conversation we see him have with Nanami in chapter 236 - that his death was fitting, and his reflections of it were considered “old fashioned” like a commanding officer’s (bushou) view of a swift and noble death. When we consider the symbolism of the flower and the fact that it is a late-winter blooming plant... it fits.

It also fits in with Gojo’s beliefs in his conversation with Megumi when he was alive. To die victoriously because he gave it his all, in an individual sport, and also died thinking he had an ace up his sleeve.

Just to add some of my interpretation in here: He died trying to reach Megumi as well as fulfilling his ideals, despite not winning. He was satisfied.

As in my previous post on ch. 236 (see: https://www.tumblr.com/lxmelle/745848828838756352/thoughtsponderingsmusings-on-ch-236-about-gojo I feel that each expression drawn was a decision made, and can sometimes be absolutely deliberate in how it tries to convey something - so, it can be very telling.

Gege is a huge fan of using repetition to foreshadow something or draw connections to emphasise a point or relationships.

I don’t think it’s headcanon when we know as a reader that gojo is an unreliable narrator. We would be doing him a disservice. He can “whale on Megumi” because he has killed his best friend before. It is but "fighting talk".

He could do it, but with difficulty, as we know it was horrific for Gojo to have done to Geto and he put it off for as long as he could, nevermind the expense to human lives (although I doubt Geto killed indiscriminately too much as it’d draw too much attention - he probably hunted curses using those weekly “Wednesday special” shows Gege talked about in the character book as well as within his temple through visitors).

We see Gojo’s eyebrow furrow when he noticed Megumi had been taken over by Sukuna upon his release from prison realm. In battle, he also scans Sukuna for Megumi’s soul.

I digress. Sorry.

Gojo did fight with everything he had - every ounce of power - forcing his brain into overdrive… in vol 26, there are images gege drew to illustrate just how overextended he was with a bleeding brain.

Gojo absolutely surpassed his ancestors and achieved so many unprecedented things within that one battle - and died in a sudden world slash, slicing through him. It wasn't a fair fight to begin with, we know that. Sukuna used Megumi to tank UV hits and had a 3v1 setup going.

We should all be proud of his performance. He put himself on the line; and even Sukuna was impressed. He had an ace up his sleeve but didn't sacrifice himself - he burned brightest and it was his all.

Sukuna can have the title because he's practically sold his whole entire self to be the embodiment of a curse. Gojo died to a calamity. A calamity with decades of fighting experience, whereas Gojo was a mere baby compared to him, and yet already achieved so much, and his legacy will continue.

The suddenness of his passing shocked us all. This is also symbolic of the Camellia, where in the negative, it can imply a sudden death, by beheading. In the positive, it means unity - a love tied together by the way the flower falls whole.

Gojo... was killed in that way. Being somewhat beheaded. Bisected. The image above is from vol 26. Gojo died a noble death fighting with his all, in battle.

Nevertheless, one can imagine Gojo seems to have risen in spirit on this snowy day as his body has been left behind. He is smiling at... the reader, the others left living, or... at Geto? More on the latter later, as it'll enter headcanon and shipping territory.

So if it indeed is a Camellia, there were different meanings for the Camellia based on its colour.

Different counties have different meanings for the blossom, but some things appear universal. Just some examples of cultural differences. Western interpretations are more around love as a theme. Since jjk is from Japan, I’ve included these to offer a more regional and diverse interpretation for this piece of writing:

Generally speaking, the Camellia plant is admired for its entirety: its evergreen and robust leaves are hardy, in addition to its gorgeous blossoms.

We know that Gege chose pink for some reason. Gojo also smiles somewhat alike his smile in death which is a little disturbing, but may be a bit like what Geto’s body did? Or, a symbol of him actually lucid dreaming at his death and the airport scene was not real (but Gege’s approach is a bit “mystical” for this interpretation- he brought Toji back to life after all, plus all the stuff about souls and touching it etc.)

Now we take a deeper dive into the symbolism of the flower. Mind you, depending on interpretation, I may be reaching, but I honestly did not make any of this up.

I think Hanakotoba is something that Gege has an interest in, alongside playing the long game and usage of foreshadowing, mythology, religion, and popular culture). He really is a clever writer, although I’m aware opinions vary as of late due to various reasons.

And Camellias...?

Outside of hanakotoba, culturally, the Camellia also bears a potentially ominous / inauspicious meaning. To expand further and echo what’s already been said above:

Plus, the Western interpretation is quite similar, isn’t it?

And Gege really, again, could have gone for a different colour and it would still be imbued with impressively deep meaning. Red, white, but for whatever reason, he opted for pink - longing. Is he longed for? Well: Yes! By us readers and his students. Does he long for anyone? Hrmmm… let’s look at the clues as we go along. *resists shipping mode*

Another source has this to add about what pink Camellia flowers are in flower language...

What about the history of the Camellia?

The camellia was named as a priest’s helper. Seriously you cannot make this up. I lol’ed at this. It HAS to be a coincidence right?

*resists shipping and reaching* ha ha!!

Moving on…

And what does religion have to say about the symbolism of the Camellia?

Ah yes , indeed very fitting and auspicious signs for our beloved Gojo. Freedom, new beginnings, a triumphant victory for his spiritual self.

Shintoism:

This, I find it intriguing how it can also explain how Gojo was amongst flowers on the cover, and then also at the airport. Like: where are you, really? If you want to read more, here is the link: https://justaboutjapan.com/what-happens-after-death-in-shinto-understanding-the-japanese-afterlife/

Certainly interesting ; I find it poignant and spiritual in interpretation of the world. Like the concept of continuing bonds in Grief work.

Make what you will of the information! I have no idea where the airport is or where they are headed (or if they even head out to the same place… I hope they do. I guess that’s what my fanfics are for, lol).

Now. That’s already quite a bit of information, right? But you know... it doesn’t stop there.

The Camellia represents the birth flower for Geto Suguru. (And yes I checked, it is nobody else’s).

Is it coincidental? Maybe?

Yesssss we are in Satosugu shipping territory! Take it with a pinch of salt. *shrug* I’m not really going to make any apologies for my insanity brainrot.

What about other flowers, if I were to stretch it a little and bring the lotus symbology into the picture? Referring back to chapter 236 and how Gojo himself reflected on being a creature with a line drawn, and the lotuses.

Ah, excuse me!! Chastity? Purity? Being far from the one he loves?! Stop right there, Gege!!! *slaps self* okay, I’m calm now.

Back onto Camellias. Turning to the West now, which has reached international shores for decades: The story, the Lady of Camille portrays two young people in a romance doomed, within a punishing culture, marked by longing, and separated by death. It is also not without controversy, as the woman was a prostitute, but the writer depicts her kindly, as if her redemption was due to her ability to love alone. Sounds familiar?

Again, I’m not making this up. This is the cover of the novel.

And some excerpts of the novel (you can google this as I have, if you wish) that you can be free to interpret based on your own understanding:

The image that comes to mind is their reunion on the school grounds in jjk 0 where they stare at each other and then Geto fakes this cheerful “long time no see, Satoru!” And Gojo is just icy, lol.

The above would seem to apply well to Gojo as well, for various reasons, namely how he lived his life, what he longed for, and his “enlightenment” where it gave birth to his supremacy and untouchability (distance, isolation) from others. Denoting him to almost being a “creature” due to being unable to relate to the limitations that plague sorcerer and humans.

It’s Gege’s favourite type of romance. His brief journey into BL had similar themes if I’m not mistaken. It may very well mean nothing too, of course. It is just information.

One of the sites I visited while researching Camellia’s in Japan, had referred to this novel and I was intrigued by why. To me it’s not reaching terribly far to find the doomed romance theme - it’s everywhere if you look for it.

But you know : to recognise it means that you equally recognise it is a kind of a romance. At the very least a form of love / connection.

Similarly, it’s only a breakup if they were ever an item of sorts.

And, Shoko was there but “would never love either of them”... inferring that love was the only exclusive thing between them that they alone shared, that she could not give to alleviate their loneliness.

Anyway, I’m a hopeless “satosugu kaisen” shipper and I admit it. Sorry if that’s not what you’re here for. It is nevertheless quite interesting to see what one can dig up; sometimes they’re highly interesting coincidences:

Like this one. It bloody has to be, right? Lol!

That’s it from me 😉 the rest is just indulgences:

Love the cover of vol 26 or hate it? Either way, it’s here to stay...

The Camellias spoke volumes (pun intended), in terms of symbolism for how he lived, what he shouldered, how he suffered, what he stood for, and fought for up till the very end. Honourable and honourably, even if there may be those who didn’t think so. We all fight for different reasons after all. It’s ok.

Our much-loved Gojo Satoru standing proud, smiling with his eyes, looking as soft as ever - with that fresh face, sporting his handsome smile (that borders on a smirk) playing on his lips, a little dimple appearing on his cheek. He looks self-assured, as if he were smiling a warm greeting, or imparting heartfelt farewell.

And I want to maybe interject here to return to a point about Gojo thinking about Geto when his breath tinged white one year ago.

In my previous post (purely indulgent)

I pointed out that gojo has been the only one who stylistically has been drawn with his breath tinting white, aside from uraume whose skills have something to do with ice. It seems to tie in with the death of Geto, which was just one year prior. And he was thinking about said person, in his conversation with Yuta.

It’s just a connection, nothing more and nothing less. And Gege didn’t have to, but Gojo was then shown to be reunited with Geto right upon his death. Parallel with emerging from prison realm and going to pseudo-Geto? It is also fitting that they die on the same day, one year apart, and Geto’s body that was inhabited by Kenjaku, was also released through Yuta and Takaba, not long after Gojo died.

And then the flower being Geto's birthdate flower? It's quite a few coincidences, even if any one wasn't deliberate. The anime goes as far as using Osmanthus flowers to depict their “first ‘love’” or blue spring. Geto’s name having “summer” in it, birthday being the start of spring (refer to chart above) and it being generally accepted that they’re each other’s “one and only (best friend)”. To me, it does seem like Geto represents the spring for Gojo’s deep winter.

Gojo wasn’t afraid of loving someone morally reprehensible... he wasn’t afraid of being stained. His sense of self was arguably either too hollow or too firm (firmly hollow?) for it to really matter. Just like his sense of responsibility - he was just searching for who Gojo Satoru was within the role as the strongest. I can see why the symbolism of longing and love are there in representation of flower language for Gojo, and scattered deeply within the series, as it is tied to Geto - his first and last blue spring. There are countless other points of symbolism but I’ll end it here! Apologies if anything is innacurate - do leave a comment to correct me if you can.

Thanks for reading and drop me a comment with any thoughts, or hit <3 if you found it interesting!

[sencity]

yan! botanist content? i am eating this up, we are so well-fed. but dare i present, yan! botanist x entomologist darling?

hear me out… as a botanist, he does happen to dabble in fieldwork from time to time. prior to meeting you, he’s always gone out alone, but that won’t be necessary anymore, not with you around of course. and, oh, how perfect it is that you too, partake in nature research.

conducting fieldwork with him is so wonderful! he’s so knowledgeable, and surprisingly even a bit in entomology; plants and insects are crucial for their environment and one another, you know. he’s showing you all the beautiful flora, even informing you about their histories and roles in the ecosystem. while you’re studying the insects, he offers to help catch them in jars for you! no matter how many bug bites he gets, it’s all worth it for you. and how his heart swells with absolute love and adoration when you patch him up with bandaids and kisses afterwards.

nothing beats bonding over two people’s passions that co-exist perfectly–– especially when you’re in a grand field, of tall grass and little visibility, miles and miles away from any type of civilization; no one to bother the both of you, no one to take you away from him, just you two.

RAHH this man has awakened something in me…

you don’t understand how i’m tittering in my covers reading ts. my mind FLOODED with ideas bro. just… let me add onto this thought. your mind is WONDROUS.

nightmare fuel: none, unfortunately. except me not proofreading.

sen’s statement(s): link to the rest of my yandere!stinkers, let alone the yandere!botanist because why not?

it was a given that mother nature had finally answered his prayers; of course his love interest has an adoration towards insects! could life get any better!? insects are essential to plant life and vice versa. it’s the universe telling you that he needs you, and you need him! the two of you will soon flourish under each other’s love, why wouldn’t you become the butterfly to his pistil?

although you’ve forgotten about the times when he’d try to act cool for you or a little uncharacteristically, he surely goes out of his way to assist you on your projects. whether it’s collecting blister beetles in jars for your research despite the seething pain emerging in his palms or leading you into secluded fields to chase butterflies with wings that match the colors of your guys’ eyes, he’ll be there! still, you do tend to question his motives when he asks what a certain flower reminds you of and comes up with some poetic, philosophical answer to impress you. jeez, save it for the yandere!poet…

“is that right? hm, i’d assume that wisteria reminds you of your dreams… or that little starfish you’re so fond of—”

“the ochre sea star! yes, they’re nowhere near as perfect as you, but they’re lovely—oh! or plums and grapes! i love purple!”

there’s the sencha you love, the one who rambles about his simplistic passions and dislikes since he’s easily (dis)pleased. you’re here to listen to them all, even if they’re a little irrational and aimless like stick bugs…

goddamn, he can’t stand stick bugs.

even though he alters his personality to your liking sometimes (and fails horrifically, of course) he sometimes manages to appeal to your interest… by being himself. there was a time when you fixated on fireflies, wanting to study the patterns and language of their little light bulbs or what genetics causes some lightning bugs to not glow. sencha of course ran with this information and wanted to help to his best ability by insisting on you to sit your pretty self on the porch while he fetches a few for your research. you weren’t too fond of the idea of him doing the job for you, also potentially taking the fun out of it, but you allowed it this once…

you were going to go retrieve him since it seemed that he disappeared, but it just took him so long to collect so many. you would think he used the jar method again but decided that that’s not enough to truly get you to believe that he loves you, therefore he attracted fireflies with his bare hands…

…by coating his hands and forearms with sugar water in order to please the ravenous lightning bugs. primary his sticky hands were coated with tiny gleaming lights since he started off catching them with his palms, and it’s only natural for the rest of them to follow in pursuit.

“i uh, made a few friends along the way…?” he would titter unsurely as his arms expressed ethereality. he was referring to the random moths or flies that were also interested in the treacly treat, but that was the last thing you were fixated on since you were ordering him to not move so you could take pictures…

the two of you were truly an inseparable duo, a nature fusion much like leaf bugs or orchid mantises…

while we’re on the subject of orchids, the flower is one the both of you are very fond of, even though the both of you are suffering from a silly case of synesthesia.

when y/n hears the word orchid she sees a fuzzy yellow that resembles a bumble bee ever so faultlessly. she could never forget how he managed to get his hands on a bee orchid just to prove that his field of study compliments yours greatly. his point has only been proven even more when you giddily bring up that “orchid mantises” exist somewhere in the wild…

when sencha reads the word orchid, your honey-imbued lips drip onto his taste buds which awakens his sweet tooth and sends him into a sugar rush. you were a gift from mother nature, handcrafted by the goddess psyche herself. he even grew different species of orchids just because he cares for the flower so much!

normally you would adulate the bed of vibrant orchids and laborious pollinators that sprawled across the fields while pondering about those simple facts, whereas he would adulate you like how the tides adore the sand. it’s very hard to wrap around that the two of you were a match-made in heaven; he was sure to make you his once the fireflies began to coruscate …

[girlfromthecrypt]

First book I finished in 2024

The Glutton by A K Blakemore is a historical fiction novel; a reimagining of the life of the real French soldier Tarare who was said to have an unfathomably large, at times inhuman appetite. This was the first book I finished in 2024, and I finished it in two days over two long sessions. I'm normally anything but a fast reader and I actually haven't finished any of the last three books I purchased before this. My attention is fleeting, hard to be captured and easily lost.

The Glutton captured and held my attention for the entirety of its length.

I had never read anything by A K Blakemore before, so I didn't know what I was in for, but I was immediately charmed by her style. I don't often enjoy flowery language and poetic prose, but somehow, it really worked for me here. The story of Tarare is a gritty, gloomy and at times disgusting one, but even the darkest parts of this book are told in a narrative voice so beautiful that it makes them seem idyllic. This deeply unsettling contrast had me absolutely engrossed until the end, and when I had turned the last page, I was genuinely sad that it was over. Which made for a weird mix of emotions, given how disturbing the subject material was at times.

And I have to underline that it was, indeed, disturbing.

I have consumed a lot of dark literature and am very desensitized. Most of the time, I don't enjoy horrific fiction because the elements contained within strike me as senseless, gratuitive and void of substance. I didn't have that feeling with The Glutton. There was a lot of grittiness, yes, but it was never just for “the effect”. Every time the writing made me feel uneasy, it directly related to the inner world of the protagonist and the circumstances of his life, the current time period and its hardships. And even if it didn't have any kind of meaning, it was still told in such stunning prose that it almost felt romantic. Again, none of the things that happen in this book are comforting or beautiful, but with the way they're being told, it almost deceives you into believing they are.

Another thing that I loved about this was that the prose never seemed overdone or pretentious. It was more like a steady ebb and flow perfectly tailored to any given point in the story. It never seemed out of place or ill-fitting while at the same time being VERY MUCH out of place and ill-fitting, but it was always intentional and highly effective.

After I finished this book, I felt genuinely empty, and I just knew I was going to miss it. Now, a week or so later, I do. I really feel like this book is something special, and I'm definitely going to pick up The Manningtree Witches (also by A K Blakemore) as soon as I get around to it. The Glutton was not only a huge joy (though joy might not be the best word for it) to read, it actually made me want to read more. That's also why I wrote this review in the first place. I hope more people check this out and like it as much as I did.

[svcredveins]

You couldn’t even budge me. I wouldn’t trade this for the world. 🫀

Driven by dreams | Porsche

Racing is poetic, it really is. You have a hard race, have your moments, then get onto the next one without any hesitation. That’s called obsession and passion, and that is the key to success because quitters don’t ever win; they miss out on success.

It’s an exhilarating ride that always gravitates you back no matter what happens in the previous race. Chasing dreams, chasing adrenaline, and even chasing your own opponents on track is nothing but memories and the process. This is racing. It has its highs and its lows, but it all is beautiful, hence its never your last dance because of how much you enjoy it, even the most mundane moments of this sport, it always gets my heart racing.

Also I have a long file coming up soon, I’ve just been focused on other things at the moment and it’s been quite the busy weekend. Tonight is Silverstone, starting off with a qualifying ban but I’m quite happy about that considering division 1’s race was horrific on lap 1 so if anything goes wrong tonight for division 2, I’ll gain an advantage for being at the back haha

[landrysg]

Because we have become such a caricature of ourselves, we are incapable of acknowledging that some people really are fucked up, that some people really are dangerous, that some people really aren’t just different but are sick, ugly sick, violent sick, no-silver-lining sick. Not beautiful and poetic madness but drug addicted, horrifically paranoid, caked-in-shit sick. And what people like that need is to be forced into treatment to save their lives. But sunny, false notions that everyone muttering to themselves on the subway hides a sweet little self-actualized busy bee inside of them, and an impossibly myopic fixation on the abstract rights of people whose brains have hijacked their minds, has left us unable to provide the actual help the severely mentally ill need. I have found no way to penetrate the liberal consciousness on this issue. Because it’s conservatives, I guess, who complain about violence and disorder on the streets. Because lol crime. So we’re stuck. So are they. Sometimes they shove people in front of subway trains and spend the rest of their lives in prison. Sometimes they get choked to death on subway floors. More often they just moulder in plain sight, stepped over by distracted do-gooder on their way to do good, until they’re found face down in doorways and alleys. There is no feel-good social program that can save them without force; there is no political party that loves them enough to be willing to apply that force to save their lives. So much the worse for them. So much the worse for us.

[jinxthejubilee]

Let's Talk About Venus' Name and Where It Came From!

Okay, look, I PROMISE that I'll talk about Slash eventually, but I just had another great idea for Venus!

Granted, this is not my original idea, I was inspired by mad_and_thick_as_thieves' story, "Light When All Grows Dark," on Ao3. If you guys haven't read it already, I highly suggest you do. It's only 3 chapters long and insanely adorable.

But back to business! The story had me thinking of other ways Venus could have gotten her name.

As most of you know, in The Next Mutation TV show where was introduced, "Mei Pi Chi" was renamed "Venus de Milo," after the famous Greek sculpture by Alexandros of Antioch. In what is the most indicative move to describe the series overall, in a show with action fighters who are named after famous Renaissance artists, the one female fighter is named after a statue. It's almost poetic in its laziness.

So, to help combat the inherent problems with her name, I've come up with a few suggestions to establish how and why she was named "Venus," and how it adds more to her character

Here's my suggestion:

Venus was found with no arms.

The primary explanation I've thought of is that the lab explosion had, unfortunately, blown off her arms.

That, or it could be a birth defect. But I feel like the lab explosion would make more sense. It's horrific, but it makes sense.

So, like the beautiful statue she is named after, a symbol of grace, beauty, and strength, the little turtle was named "Venus."

Or better yet, as a nod to The Next Mutation (shocking that I'm referencing it, I know), whoever found her as an infant named her "Mei Pi Chi", and once she meets the family and wishes to adopt a new name, she, the boys, and Splinter agree on "Venus."

Now, I saw someone in the comments of the story suggest that Donnie would make her cool robot arms, but I have a better idea.

In my own headcanoned origin for Venus, she was found after the lab's demolition, either by Big Mama, my yokai cat interpretation of Chung I, or another magically-in tuned yokai. Therefore, I propose that Venus would create floating arms/hands herself, made out of magic.

Kind of like our buddy Rayman here!

Except light blue and magic-y.

So yeah! Venus was trained to fight with magic despite having no arms. This would show how strong and determined she is to whatever she puts her mind to, despite how difficult it may be considering the circumstances.

Once they all meet up and Venus becomes closer to the family, I have no doubt that Donnie would want to convince her to give his robotic prosthetic arms a try, maybe having them infused with her magic. That'd be pretty cool!

Obviously, they wouldn't treat her differently just because of her disability, but they acknowledge it and try to help out if they can.

Since she had to learn how to balance herself, as having arms helps to stabilize your balance, she can do anything that everyone else can do. Even so, anyone would be surprised by how incredibly graceful she is.

Author's Note: I know this one was short, but as soon as I read that fanfic, the inspiration took a hold on me. Anyway, what do you guys think? Again, I'll get to Slash soon. I haven't forgotten about him.

But for now, thank you so much for reading! I hope you all have a great day, and I'll see you guys later! Byeee! 💗💗

[moorishflower]

Hellu i have a question! I recently read i want to hold your hand and im curious about your inspiration behind the hand motifs and overall story. It sounds meaningful and ultimately very human in a way or overall something that hob would write in a journal at 3am in the morning

Hello! Okay so the very frank and honest and not at all poetic answer is that it was originally meant to be a smutty fic with fisting in it and so I started by writing very detailed descriptions of hands to set that up

But if you would like the answer that happened later as I was writing it, it's that I started thinking about how much we rely on our sense of touch to ground us in the world and to connect us to people, and how we primarily do this with our hands, because our hands are both the sacred flesh of the body and the base tool of experience. Our hands experience the most beautiful things (flowers! kisses! hugs! food!) and also the most horrific and painful and dirty (guns, papercuts, blood, etc.). And I started thinking about how, if there was someone you cared about, and you had never been able to touch them, how absolutely UNHINGING that would be. How it would create this feedback loop of connecting the act of touching to something forbidden and wrong, and how that might translate for a Hob suddenly presented with a. the realization that he's in love with his oldest friend, and b. the realization that his friend has been horrifically hurt and might not WANT to be touched. And the guilt in that, and in not wanting to be the cause of further harm because of being unable to control your own desire.

Anyways yeah it was supposed to be about fisting and then it got sad

[shiawase-rina]

I wrote my currently impressions of Virche Evermore on r/vns and thought why not post it here as well?

Vage spoilers under the cut!

I played a lot of [Virche Evermore](https://vndb.org/v29661/chars) the past few weeks!

Virche Evermore is a dark scifi Otome Game which was well known for making players suffer through 4+ entire routes full of tragic endings until you get the chance to unlock better endings for everyone. The better endings might still not be really happy tho.

A sizeable trigger warning list made the rounds long before the game came out in english and the some reviews would called the game misery or torture porn.

I really like tragedies so I had to get the game, but I kept my expecations in check. Misery can come in many forms and there were tragic endings I absolutely hated before (Piofiore Orlock's tragic end made me skip a route).

I finished 4 routes now (only Despair endings) and I can confidently say that this game GETS me. It fits my taste for misery and fucked up-ness perfectly and I'm so happy.

The only downside in that this game has some true bullshit science lol

My biology university degree certainly made a face at some relevations. So uh I just pretend it's more plausible stuff instead. Just forget all your biology knowledge at the door and you're fine...

Some thoughts of the routes:

Mathis: Mathis is the rich, socially awkward and shy guy, who swore revenge on his brothers killer.

Def not my type of guy, but the build up in his route was very well done. So much foreshadowing which get's more and more in your face as time goes on, but it was hard to 100% point the finger to what was happening until the revealed happened. This really reminded my of Il of Café Enchante's route but like 1000% more horrifying. Despair End 2 was disgusting and horrific. It plays with your hopes and the "Power of Love" only to end in the worst possible way. It was so disgusting. I was so impressed!

Lucas: Lucas is the kindhearted teacher of Ceres who is hella feminine and is already knocking on deaths door.

I heard that his route would be the "worst" in a horrifying way with lots of bad things happening.

I think that gave me the wrong expecations after having just seen Mathis Despair End 2.

It's definitely the most unfixable route. A lot of bad things did happen, disgusting things too. But it still felt underwhelming to me compared to what I saw before. The last CG of Lucas's Despair End 2 was very delightful tho!

Some moments gave me some nice shivers as well (Lucas in a ponytail is beautiful).

Scien: The human god who created the cloning technology that made it possible for the people of this cursed island to live longer than 23 years.

Scien's route felt very different from the first two. His wasn't really focused on horrific tragedy, even though terrible, traumatising things still happened. This one had a much stronger romance focus from the start. It felt much more poetic in nature which I liked a lot as well.

"How to Ruin a God?", my beloved Ceres sure did a number on Mister Emotionless God-complex.

Absolut beautiful Despair Ending 2. Stuff like this makes me want to write poems about bringing a god down. You def need to leave your feminism at the door for this one tho lol. Scien is a trashbando who doesn't treat Ceres the way she should be treated.

Yves: The man Ceres almost killed in a fire by accident when she was a child. A very friendly guy who wears a mask to hide his burn wounds and tries to see the best in anyone.

The love interest of all love interests! If The Phantom of The Opera was a good guy but still full of madness. I liked his relationship with Ceres the most. It's so wholesome, raw and selfish. So much longing and self-hatred! They are obsessed with each other. They were made for each other. I support Ceres's right to be insane. I support all her wrongs. She deserves it.

His Despair End 2 was if Power of Love lacked any plotarmor and insanity was the only thing that remained. Loved it.

Next up! Le Salut! I can't wait for more Watchmen of the Dead Ankou!

[nicklloydnow]

“Trying to explain what makes Blood Meridian a masterpiece is like trying to describe Beethoven’s Symphony No. 5 using only semaphore – you’re really best just finding out for yourself. That might not be the easiest task given how daunting Blood Meridian can appear (especially for those unfamiliar with McCarthy’s refined, almost biblical, prose that shuns most punctuation), but those willing to persevere will find a powerful tale comparable to the epics of Shakespeare and Melville. The novel tells the story of an unnamed runaway (referred to only as "the kid") who joins a group of scalp hunters operating on the United States-Mexico border during the 1840s. While they initially do this for just reasons – protecting the local communities from pillaging Apache tribes – this soon gives way to bloodthirsty and fatalistic behavior that leaves a trail of bodies in their wake, heroes and villains alike. McCarthy utilizes their nihilistic crusade to explore a range of topics including religion, warfare, and the nature of man – all told via some of the most poetic writing ever committed to the page.

(…)

But despite these issues, Hollywood has shown an almost psychotic interest in adapting Blood Meridian. And despite these issues, it’s easy to see why. The high esteem that both Blood Meridian and Cormac McCarthy are held in would inevitably make it one of the most talked about films of the year, and were a director able to find that illusive sweet spot that translated its horrific beauty into the language of cinema, there’s no reason why it couldn’t be one of the most acclaimed too. The phenomenal success of No Country for Old Men – the winner of four Oscars including Best Picture and Best Director, and now revered as one of the 21st century’s greatest films – will only have spurred on this insatiable desire. Unmade screenplays are reportedly so common in L.A. they could wallpaper every house in Pasadena, and their continued existence appears to have turned Blood Meridian into a sinister rite of passage for any aspiring screenwriter. We’ll never know for certain how many times Hollywood has tried (and failed) to make Blood Meridian, but a few have since come to light.

(…)

Indeed, it was this exact problem that killed most potential adaptations, such as a version spearheaded by Ridley Scott in the mid-2000s. Alongside his Kingdom of Heaven scribe William Monahan, Scott – never a director who had much time for compromise – intended to go all in with the novel’s violence, resulting in a gore-heavy rendition that sounds more akin to a horror film than a revisionist western. “It would have been rated double-X”, he later described it as – a statement that wouldn’t have brought confidence to already nervy investors. Scott did satisfy his McCarthy itch with 2013’s The Counselor (his only original screenplay to also get the feature-film treatment), a wordy and often bewildering watch that feels closer to an audiobook than a truly cinematic experience. Its mixed reception had McCarthy scholars breathing a sigh of relief that he was never able to make Blood Meridian, but considering how Kingdom of Heaven also mixed historical fact and speculative fiction to craft a nuanced character study amidst the backdrop of harrowing warfare, perhaps he would have been the ideal choice.

(…)

But then again, what does that term even mean? If “unfilmable” novels like Dune, Life of Pi, and Cloud Atlas can leap between mediums, why couldn’t the same also be done with Blood Meridian? McCarthy himself has rejected the idea that his opus is destined to remain on the page forever, admitting that while it would be “very difficult to do”, there’s no reason why someone “with a bountiful imagination and a lot of balls” couldn’t get it done. The simple truth is that Blood Meridian isn’t unfilmable, it’s just that everything that makes it a masterwork are so firmly entrenched in the written form that it would require substantial alternations to work in a new format, and it would take a brave filmmaker to start tinkering with the foundations of a certified classic. It’s inevitable that someone, someday, will make this dream a reality, at which point the internet can move on from debating if Blood Meridian is unfilmable to whether Blood Meridian should only ever be a novel. Until that day, we’ll have to tide ourselves in wild speculations. It’s not like we’re short on options.”

[jemsandjasper]

A quote I love so much.

“Nothing ever ends poetically. It ends and we turn it into poetry. All that blood was never once beautiful. It was always just red.”

-Kait Rokowski

Obviously this can apply to so many situations, but it reminds me so much of older people and the romanticization of war. “Back then men went to war!”, every person I’ve ever heard say that have never experienced something traumatic. Why the hell would you want to send children back onto a battlefield where they’ll see blood and guts, death and pain? I don’t understand why so many people encourage people to join the military for the sake of “glory” and “serving the country”. There’s no glory in becoming traumatized and experiencing horrific things.