#its so viscerally horrifying to me

[august--and-everything-after]

How can anyone see photos of people recovering from plastic surgery and think "yeah I want that"

[odd-lee]

Just saw Dune II for the second time and I'm really obsessed with the rebirth we see throughout the first two movies. The first time Paul kills a man, Paul Atreides dies and Mau'dib Usul is born. In his visions in the first movie he sees himself stabbed, killed on Jamis' blade. Because Paul Atreides dies when he kills Jamis. And Jamis' death heralds forth Mau'dib Usul, and quite literally guides him forth. Mau'dib dies when he takes the water of life, and Paul Mau'dib Atreides, duke of Arrakis is born. He is their Lisan al Gaib now, and he is no longer fighting it. Chani loved Mau'dib Usul, but she leaves behind Paul Mau'dib, because he is not her Paul any longer. And the final rebirth is what really gets me. When Paul Mau'dib Atreides, Duke of Arrakis, becomes Emperor Atreides. In that moment, he dies on the blade of Feyd-Rautha. Feyd-Rautha was supposed to bring forth the god emperor with Paul, and in a way, he does. His blade is what brings forth the final rebirth of Paul. And this final form of Paul is so alone. He stands alone (except for the women in his life, they're the real powerful ones here and always have been) while everyone kneels, he pulls the blade from his own shoulder and nobody moves forwards to help him, he has ascended into a complete and lonely godhood. Because that is what he's made himself. It's SOOO good. AUGH.

[zapsoda]

i know im like predisposed to mental health issues. and this is entirely my own hubris. but i just cant imagine myself getting post op depression after top surgery

[headspace-hotel]

Symbiosis isn't just mutualism. Parasitism is symbiosis. It's uncomfortable to confront parasitic relationships if you want to see your human ideas of good and bad reflected in Nature.

But gazing into something huge and utterly Other, being uncomfortable means you're engaging your mind with it. "Uncomfortable" is actually a whole spectrum of emotions that become a vivid and satisfying rainbow.

There was a post a while back with some artwork of Dendrogaster, a crustacean that parasitizes starfish, and its body is like this branching fractal of fleshy lobes made to fit inside the body of the starfish mirroring its structure, and I was absolutely horrified to look at this, and this horror was the same emotion as a strangely visceral wave of sympathy for this parasite.

Creative works about parasites often invoke the horror of bodily invasion, which is visceral and strong for me, but this artwork inverted that horror, instead showing the horror of being made so perfectly for fitting within someone else that you lose everything you are and become unrecognizable.

I also think of the post about the cowbird chick. It's awful that the bird pushes its siblings out of the nest as it grows, and the mama feeds it because she instinctively must feed her chick, but the cowbird is just a baby. Was it wrong for him to hatch, to be alive, to be hungry, to be a baby and to need love?

Symbiosis is intensely beautiful, and sometimes it's beautiful because it's grotesque and terrible. Of course, the symbiosis between two organisms isn't an allegory for a relationship, it just is a relationship, but looking at the way organisms become entwined feels like you're seeing things that, if words described them, would also be human experiences.

Being invaded by a parasite is a horror of powerlessness and loss of autonomy, but being a parasite is also defined by powerlessness. In many cases, the parasite will die without the host, but the host can live without the parasite. I wonder why it is expected to sympathize with one and not the other.

Your immune system fights against internal parasites like a tapeworm...Imagine being a tapeworm. The body of your host is your universe. Do you find your world to be kind? Benevolent? Does your god love you?

Sometimes people call disabled people "parasites." When I think about my future sometimes I'm uncertain and afraid.

But when a rare non-photosynthetic orchid blooms in the forest, this is not the forest's weakness and failure, but its crowning glory.

[jaybirdscoffee]

forever thinking about how the magnus archives really fumbled the Flesh. there was such potential there beyond just meat and whatever jared hopworth’s deal was. there’s the body, there’s the lack of control over it, there’s changes against your will, and sometimes hatred for it. there are uniquely horrifying bodily experiences that could have been explored that expand on it wholly. to me, the Flesh is the one fear i think never got enough development.

as a trans person, i identify with the flesh. i’m sure i’m not the only one, but the idea of a trans exploration of the Flesh and its nuances has fascinated me since i first listened to MAG 111, when we first learned about smirke’s 14. i would’ve loved (and still would) a trans or trans-coded Flesh avatar (because jared hopworth just does not cut it for me). jared’s flesh garden is something i think about often, though. the way the plants are tended, groomed and transformed into something else, people twisted into flowers comprised of their entire beings, still able to feel and exist with the horror of living as something you are not, something this world has shaped you into. i think a lot about a Flesh avatar with a similar premise, too. someone who saw themself transforming into something - someone - they couldn’t recognize, instead taking hold of it, molding their own flesh, cutting away and adding pieces, in an eternal state of visceral metamorphosis. and they wouldn’t have it any other way.

to me, the flesh is more than just meat. there are so many angles to look at it. the idea of feeling your emotions so viscerally they only manifest as bodily sensation, as nausea, as bruises and bleeding and bile, and you don’t have any idea why this is happening to you, because you’re fine. you’re fine, aren’t you? your mind is fine. sure, your head is pounding and your stomach feels like it’s a burning hole within you, and your bones ache so much you can’t move, but you’re fine. (for me, this is a big part of my being autistic. my feelings tend to register in my body before they ever do my brain). your body is turning against you in new and horrible ways, and you don’t know why. and the Flesh feeds on that confusion and pain. it loves it.

the Flesh genuinely had so, so much potential, and i wish there had been more on it, something that made it truly horrifying, especially since i think a piece of TMA’s fanbase found something in it that scratched their brains from the beginning.

anyway, yeah, i have feelings about the Flesh.

[strlingsav]

Dark

– Simon Ghost Riley x F!Reader

— You're afraid of the dark.

Warnings: Mentions of panic-attacks, hyperventilating. Explicit/potentially triggering content under the cut. Read at your own risk.

The lantern beside you flickered, a deep buzz plateauing before it shut off completely, enveloping the barren room in darkness. You were already on edge, in the middle of enemy territory, residing in a run-down safe house.

You flipped over on your makeshift bed- a thermal sheet and wool blanket placed over the floorboards. With a quiet sigh of irritation, you reached your arm out, slamming your hand down on the battery-powered light a few times. It flickered again.

"Don't think that'll help," Ghost's monotone voice cut through the silence.

"Better than nothing," You shot back, eyes focused on the lantern.

You watched as the lantern finally decided against working, and shut off completely. Only the dull light of the moon offered some relief.

"Fuck me," You groaned.

"Shut your eyes," Ghost said gruffly.

You peered over your shoulder at the white skull, about an arm's reach away.

"How's that gonna help if we're ambushed?" You asked, finding his nonchalance frustrating.

"You've got your goggles," He argued.

You were quiet for a moment, deciding whether or not to argue. Panic had nearly set in. Your experiences with the dark, over your entire career, hadn't been kind. Every time, you were brought back to the cold, unwelcoming embrace. The screams, the blood. You recalled the horrifying memories with a shaky sigh, hand coming to your forehead in an attempt to grab some semblance of yourself for reassurance.

"Not good enough," You said finally. "Piece of shit." You grabbed the lantern, throwing it across the room. It landed with a crash, surely damaging something in its wake.

"You afraid of the dark or somethin'?"

"No," You tried to be resolute, firm.

"Sounds like you are."

"Piss off," You replied, letting out a huff.

"There are worse things than the dark."

You knew he was right, knew you were overreacting, but the visceral reaction you felt quickly settling into your body made you think otherwise. Your heartbeat thumped loudly in your ears, jugular pounding in your throat. You could hear your shaky breaths in the quiet of the air, and knew Ghost could too.

You did shut your eyes, only for a moment, pursing your lips while you let out soft exhales. It was a feeble attempt to calm yourself down, before you were driven over the edge of panic. You'd experienced it before- without interference, it could be ugly. Sweat covering your body, quick, heavy breathing, shaking so hard your body ached, nearly shattering your teeth while clenching your jaw.

Disassociation followed close behind- after that, you drowned in the deep end.

You couldn't count how many times you'd talked yourself down on other missions, but it felt different now- harder to ignore. Maybe it was the idea of humiliating yourself in front of your Lieutenant. In front of Ghost; whose body was so far, yet so close. And ordinarily you'd be equipped to run, to avoid his gaze, shrug from beneath the spotlight. But now, you had no choice, all your cards on the table, vulnerable.

"Still got your eyes open?" He asked.

"Yeah."

Your voice barely trembled, which would go unnoticed by most, but not your lieutenant. Not with his fine-tuned observational skills.

"C'mere," He said quietly.

You swore you felt your heart stop. Ghost, beckoning you to move closer, to lie with him as you fell asleep- the warmth in your stomach interrupted your heavy breathing. You wondered if he knew how you felt, how your blood ran cold whenever he looked at you, touched you, spoke to you. Body devoid of all warmth, aside from the heat settling between your thighs. You didn't know whether he offered for his own safety or yours- or something different altogether.

But as your heart resuscitated itself, you couldn't resist the temptation of moving closer. You wanted the physical contact. Anything to remind you of where you were, and in truth, Ghost's offer was even more enticing because it was him.

There was a history of longing stares, fleeting touches on a shoulder or back between the two of you. You couldn't deny the facts. But those were moments of weakness, derived from being without intimacy for so long. Flirtatious encounters between battle buddies; it happened to everyone.

Did it feel like this for everyone?

"I ain't askin' you to marry me, hurry up." His voice interrupted your overthinking, a twinge of impatience in his voice.

You obliged, moving closer, eyes focusing in on the white of his mask. You felt his large hand grip your arm, turning you over. His heavy arm dragged you in, resting over your waist. You let out a sharp exhale when you felt his chest against your back, the warmth shooting goosebumps all over your body.

You didn't take Ghost for a man with much compassion, empathy. You weren't even sure he truly cared for anyone outside of those he had command over. The moments you shared, you knew were insignificant, or at least you'd convinced yourself they were, but as he squeezed you around the middle- once, then twice, for reassurance- you knew that wasn't possible. It made your heart race.

"Feelin' better?" He asked quietly, his voice in your ear.

"Yeah," You breathed.

A little white lie, told to save face. Now pulled back from the brink, you did feel better. You still couldn't breathe, but that was all Ghost's fault. And you'd never admit to the fondness festering for him in the back of your mind.

"Thanks."

"Been there."

"I'm still working on it," You mumbled.

"Takes practice."

You shut your eyes, trying to drown out the feeling of the weight of his arm around you, the pattern of his breathing in your ear, his chest moving softly against your back.

He shifted, letting out a sigh. You took a deep breath, clearing your mind of all sinful thoughts. You moved, trying to get comfortable on the hard floor.

It was nearly impossible.

You stirred again, finding yourself unable to sleep with Ghost's body against you. The undeniable tension was palpable. With a quick stretch, you tried to snuggle back in under the covers, relishing in the warmth that welcomed you back in.

"Stop movin'," Ghost said, a bite in his tone.

"Sorry," You whispered. "Thought you didn't sleep?" You said.

"It ain't my sleep I'm worried about," He replied gruffly.

You didn't reply, but your eyebrows drew together in confusion. Deciding against pushing for answers, you let out a sigh, relaxing your body. You fell in closer to him, your ass flush with his hips. He grunted softly.

Feeling something against you, your eyes flew open. It had to be his pistol- you tried not to allow yourself to think anything else. Mostly, because you didn't know what you'd do if he was aroused. Maybe nothing- but maybe something. The idea alone set your whole body on fire.

Your throat was dry, body rigid as you weighed the pros and cons in your mind. Maybe it was the delusion of your racing heart and frenzied thoughts, but you felt the desperate urge to feel him. Not a new feeling, but stronger now than it had ever been.

You firmly decided you needed to know. Wanted to know. You couldn't ignore the feelings you had for him, regardless of how badly it could end. The bitter taste of hopeless yearning was getting old. Watching from a distance, his hands ghosting your body at every opportunity. You were tired of being left in the dark.

"Did you put the safety on?" You threw your head back, trying to look at him in the dark.

Your question came across as genuine, an innocent tone in your voice. Regardless of how pathetic you felt asking, you were determined.

"What?" He asked, confused.

"Your pistol," You clarified. "It's still in your holster. Did you put the safety on?" You knew better. You knew it wasn't his gun. You just wanted to hear him say it.

"That ain't my pistol. Like I said, stop movin'," He answered, monotone.

Your eyes widened, the shock of him admitting it rendered you speechless.

"Oh," You said, breathing in deeply.

"Can't blame me," He said. "You're practically ridin' me."

"You offered," You shot back.

"Talkin' about you ridin' me makes it worse."

Your heart raced, his low, raspy voice made your stomach flip. Your mind darted to images of Ghost beneath you, gripping your thighs as you dragged your hips against him, burying his cock inside you. You sighed, trying to cleanse your imagination.

"I'll move over," You answered, reluctant to leave his grasp but you didn't want to make him uncomfortable.

His hands trapped your waist, tugging you closer.

"Didn't say I didn't like it. I'm alright if you are."

You felt your cheeks flush, body heating up. His statement shot straight to your abdomen, your stomach in knots. Your eyes darted around in the darkness, searching for what to say next.

"It's fine," You replied.

It was more than fine, actually. You felt your womb ignite, burning with desire. Wetness began to gather in your panties, pussy flinching every so often when you rubbed your thighs together.

"You're movin' again," He said.

"I know," You answered. "Can't help it."

He hummed in response. The hand draped over your waist moved up, fingertips tracing the dip between your ribs and your hips. You shut your eyes, savouring the way his calloused hands felt against the soft skin of your torso. He was moving at a torturously slow pace, fingers seemingly caressing whatever part of you was accessible.

"Ghost," You whispered, voice quiet, laced with pleasure and impatience as you urged him to touch you. You finally had your answer, closure, at last. You weren't going to waste it.

Unexpectedly, his hand drove up your shirt, meeting your bare skin. Surprised, he grunted in approval. His warm hands reached further up, cupping your breasts. His fingers brushed over your nipples, erect from the cold. The smallest bit of relief washed through you at his touch, finally seeing a small glimpse of pleasure. You sighed, his touch rousing the desire in your abdomen. You needed him elsewhere.

You gripped his forearm, pulling it from your shirt before gliding his hand along your stomach, to slip down past your pants waistband. His fingers crawled from your pelvis to your core, feeling the wet patch on the seat of your panties. He groaned softly, almost silently, rubbing your pussy through your panties.

"You're soaked," He said in your ear. "Barely even touched you yet, love."

You didn't answer, only shifting your hips to entice him, begging silently for his fingers to move more.

"Please," You whispered, head turning to meet his gaze.

He let out a soft breath, his middle finger pressing against your clit from over your panties. You breathed out in frustration, body writhing under the light pressure. It wasn't enough, not nearly enough. You wrapped an arm around his neck, pushing your hips into his fingers.

"Bloody fuckin' hell," He grunted, his eye contact unwavering as he watched you ride against his fingers.

He seemed to be motivated by your actions, and gently pulled your panties aside. Running a finger up and down your pussy, he groaned as the wetness spread between your folds. You gasped softly, goosebumps spreading across your body when the pad of his finger hit your clit.

"Fuckin' sight you are, sweetheart," He whispered, lips finding your throat.

You moaned even more now, as he added another finger to run circles over your clit, and kissed the soft skin of your neck.

"Yes, Ghost," You whimpered, the hand around his neck grabbing at his balaclava.

You could hear the wetness between your thighs, vulgar and loud as Ghost worked his fingers against you.

"Take 'em off," He ordered.

Pulling his hand from your panties, he undressed himself while you stripped out of your shirt and pants, panties around one ankle.

Suddenly, the lantern exploded with light, illuminating the small room. You watched Ghost's eyes, trailing over your naked form, half covered with the thin blanket. Your hand between your thighs, the other over your breasts, attempting to cover yourself.

His gaze flipped to your eyes, licking his lips when he found you, cheeks flushed, eyes half-open, hair strewn on the blanket beneath you.

"Christ," He whispered.

You took your time running your eyes over his body; large biceps, abs that flexed every time he moved, his pecs. The muscles that ran down his torso were magnetic, drawing your eyes in. His body glistened with a thin layer of sweat, tattoos highlighted against his skin. You pulled your lip between your teeth, pussy now aching for him.

"Please, touch me," You said, barely above a whisper.

He didn't waste any time, his hand running down your body to the familiar crease of your pussy. Fingers continued where they left off, but shortly after, he slid a finger into you. You arched your back off the ground, turning your head to lock eyes with him. Your lips parted as you panted.

"Pussy is so tight," He said, through strangled breaths. "So fuckin' wet, sweetheart."

His long finger was able to reach the sweet spot inside you, curling them gently to simulate you further. He added a second finger, watching you writhe on his palm. The calloused part of his palm rubbed against your clit, and you couldn't help the airy moans that left your lips.

"Oh God- Ghost," You cried, your abdomen tightening with every movement.

"Say my name sweetheart," He goaded. "My real name. Y'know it," His other hand reached up, lifting his balaclava up past his lips.

He craned his neck to run his tongue over your nipple, taking the soft flesh between his teeth and tugging softly.

"Simon," You said, a whimper in your voice as you began to come undone.

"Cum on my fingers, F/N."

You were riding his palm at this point, calves aching as you flexed them, thighs burning. Your stomach and hips tensed, your body enveloped in a rigid stance before your climax erupted. You let go, your muscles relaxing as you came over his hand. The back of your hand lifted to your lips, biting the skin as you indulged the remaining traces of your orgasm.

"Atta girl," He whispered, lifting his head to press his lips against yours.

You were still panting, but allowed him to run his tongue along yours. You breathed into his lips, nose exhaling against his face. You savoured the warmth his tongue offered, biting at his bottom lip.

Teeth clashed together, your kisses were sloppy, still reeling from your orgasm. Your body was desperate to feel the rest of him. Your hands ran down the back of his neck, then flat over his chest. He groaned with approval, the way your soft hands felt against his body was euphoric.

His fingers left your pussy, and when he lifted them, your face burned. Sticky juices coated his fingers, stringing between his fingers.

"Jesus Christ," He groaned.

He knelt between your thighs, kissing your lips again before he left a trail of soft, wet kisses down to your pelvis, thighs shaking as he parted them. He made himself comfortable, his tongue suddenly pressing against your clit. His first moan, loud, as he tasted you, then his second as your pussy clenched around his tongue diving inside you.

You were still sensitive from your orgasm, unable to sit still as he devoured you. His hands were pressing against your hips bones as he kept you locked under his grip.

He moaned, lifting his gaze to watch you. "Pussy tastes so fuckin' good."

You shivered, shutting your eyes as your hand ran through your hair. Your other hand fondled your breasts, teasingly tugging at your nipples.

"Do that again," He demanded.

You obeyed, gently rolling your nipples between your fingers. He moaned against your pussy, and the vibration lit a fuse up your spine. As he kissed and sucked at your clit, you felt another climax build. You were inconsolable, shivering under his touch as he stimulated your clit. It didn't take long before you came again, thighs clamping around his head, thrusting yourself against his mouth.

You sucked in a sharp breath through your teeth, hands roaming your body.

He sat up, kissing your lips softly before he let his hand run up and down his cock. Your eyes shifted to see him, and his impressive length. Your eyes widened when you really took in his size.

"Think you can take it, sweetheart?" He asked, hips jutting into his hand.

"Yes," You nodded, biting down on your lip.

"Turn over," He said, watching you as he massaged his cock.

You obliged, rolling onto your stomach. You crossed your arms under your head, letting your cheek rest on your forearms. Arching your back, you got on your knees.

His hands gripped your ass, roughly grasping the soft, supple flesh in his hands. You could hear his breathing, fast and loud. He spread your pussy, cock pressing against your entrance. He took his time, introducing his cock slowly.

Soon, he was buried inside you, head thrown back as he savoured the way your pussy felt around him; slick, nearly dripping, hugging him tightly. The angle was nearly torture, so deep, so full, it knocked the air from your lungs.

"Shit, Simon," You croaked out, lifting your head to see him.

"You feel so good, love," He said, leaning forward to kiss your shoulder, teeth biting gently into your skin.

Shivering, you moaned into your arms, biting down as he began to move. His hips hit your ass, cock massaging your walls as he ground his pelvis into you. You couldn't help but clench down, desperate to feel him even more. Your breaths became faster, whimpering as his cock filled you, kissing your cervix just enough to make your body twitch.

His hands came down, landing on either side of you. You could feel his pants from above you. You looked up, eyes meeting as he thrusted into you. He nearly broke watching you move with his thrusts, lips parted with pleasure, nails scraping against your own skin.

One of his hands came up to grip your throat, keeping your eyes where they were while he fucked you. He enjoyed watching you, but wanted to make you feel good.

"Ah, shit," He exclaimed, his other hand slapping your ass.

You gasped, letting your hips thrust back.

"That's right sweetheart," He grunted. "So fuckin' good."

You could hardly breathe, his grip on your throat cutting off most of your oxygen. You didn't mind however, as his gaze was locked on yours, unflinching. It turned you on even more, giving you the push you needed.

"Let me ride you," You said, breathless.

His pace slowed, and he pulled out, grabbing your waist as he laid down. Your thighs spread to land on either side of him, catching your breath as you got yourself situated.

You sat up, pushing his cock back. He took himself in his hand, finding your entrance and helping you slide down onto him.

Your head fell back, sitting still on his cock. Your hips moved back and forth, wanting him as deep as he could get.

"So beautiful," He whispered, his hands sitting on your waist.

You hadn't the mind to answer, only beginning to move your hips forward. He tensed, his head falling back on the floor when you rolled your hips. It wasn't enough, however, and you wanted to feel him, stretching you out.

You lifted your ass up, gliding back down on him. You did this over and over again, until your rhythm settled and you found yourself gasping for air.

His hands flew up to your breasts, moving to your waist, fingers landing on your clit as you bounced on his cock.

"God, love, thas' it, ride this fuckin' cock," He said through his clenched jaw.

His large hand enveloped your ass, helping you up and down as his fingers worked back and forth on your clit. You were breathless, moaning shamelessly as you felt another orgasm working it's way through your abdomen.

"Cum on my cock," He groaned. "Wanna feel this pussy cum on my cock."

You gasped, your hands planting on his chest as your thighs and ass flexed, giving you the extra leverage to take him deep inside. You choked back a sob, your orgasm ripping through you, letting out a loud moan as your body continued to ride him.

Your orgasm wasn't quite finished when he sat up, his hands gripping your waist. He thrusted up into you, his eyes watching you as tears gathered in your eyes. Your body betrayed you, and you grasped his shoulders, trying your best to grind your hips against him.

"'M close, sweetheart," He whimpered. "Where do you want it?"

You shivered, feeling nothing but pure desire.

"Inside me," You breathed. "Cum inside me, Simon."

He groaned, leaning forward to press his lips against yours. His hips faltered, and he moaned quietly into the kiss, fingers bruising your waist as he buried his cum deep inside you.

You shivered again, sitting still for a moment while he recovered from his climax.

"Christ," He whispered.

"Yeah," You said back, with a huff.

You didn't notice when the lantern flickered off again, Ghost wrapping his arm around your waist, flush with your body. His large hand engulfed your breasts, and he couldn't possibly be closer if he tried- he liked it that way. And so did you.

Moments passed, finally finding warmth and comfort. You were so close to sleep, your body relaxed against his.

"Dark's not so bad, is it?" He asked, the timbre of his voice stirring you from your drowsy state.

You cracked a smile.

[chiisana-sukima]

Out of all the arcs where one of the choices of readings is Difficult Health Care Proxy Decisions (and it's truly weird exactly how many of these there are), I find Dean's decision-making in s6 the least #problematic of them, in that it's the one closest to technically correct on a real world medical ethics level.

In the most Dean-is-doing-the-right-thing reading, when he beats Sam into unconsciousness at the end of 6x06, he would have correctly deduced from previous events of the season that Sam has some kind of supernatural illness/injury, that he can't trust Sam to cooperate honestly, and that Sam is potentially dangerous both to others in general and also to Dean specifically. Given that and that Sam wakes up in 6x07 tied up and being questioned by Cas in search of a "diagnosis", the beating at the end of 6x06 can be read as Dean simply subduing Sam, and Dean's decision to re-soul him as an (appropriate, given this reading) proxy exercise of competent!Sam's most likely wishes--that his not-competent body shouldn't be left walking around in a dangerous state potentially hurting people, including Dean. This is almost certainly what competent!Sam would want. There are some questions about whether Sam-while-Soulless truly is incompetent to make his wishes known--he's honestly not that much more violent than Sam and Dean are on a regular basis--but it is at least a reasonable and defensible position.

For both better and worse though, spn isn't the Intro to Medical Ethics show, it's the Family Is Hell show, so even here, where Dean's decision can be read as "the correct one", the show goes out of it's way to problematize it. The camera focuses in 6x06 on how brutal the beating is, how angry Dean appears, and how much longer than necessary it seems to go on.

Not the usual portrayal of a man compassionately delivering medical treatment ^

The scene where Cas determines Sam is sans soul is so obviously OTT violently sexualized that it warrants it's own fandom name, the Belt Scene, and even people who ship rival ships sometimes call it one of the hottest scenes in the show. And while Cas is doing the work, it's Dean who is in control here. Cas is there to do his bidding.

Sam is literally being fisted; lets not pretend we don't know what this is ^

And in the scene where it's Death's turn to fist Sam (while Sam is handcuffed to a bed but, alas, doesn't get a belt to kinkily stifle his screams this time), Sam starts by begging Death but ends up begging Dean. Death has a little black doctor's bag, and he at least is dispassionate, but it's still what Dean earlier classified in 6x03 as "torture" and didn't want Cas to do to a teen, even at the cost of continued murders. And the only argument that Sam is incompetent to refuse consent (which he is vigorously doing throughout the scene) is he has been less compassionate at trolley problems without his soul than he usually is--i.e. worst case, more murders.

None of this beating and sexualized torture is necessary--the creators could have established the rules of soul medicine however they wanted. They did it this way specifically so it would be sexualized torture. The "Dean is doing his best with the ethics of a difficult medical-like choice" is undoubtedly an intended reading. But the other reading is blatantly, clearly, obviously intended too. It's not a situation where to some viewers it feels like abuse, but they're wrong and the trappings are all necessitated by the preexisting spn world. Not to be flip but I'm sure fentanyl exist there, for example, so soul-fisting could be done painlessly if the authorial intent were not that it be tortuously painful. It feels like abuse because it is. Both readings are intended.

one brotherlook per ep -> 6x10 ❝ Caged Heat ❞

[ddejavvu]

pairing: anakin skywalker x reader

summary: you think anakin's scar is sexy // based on this post and the line, "during heated moments of course, when you dig your nails into his face as he prompts you to 'give me another one, baby. cut me open, make me bleed.'"

cw: smut, minors dni. blood/gore (she scratches him and draws blood), don't like don't read.

Sex with Anakin is a bloody thing; the rush of it through your ears and the tang of it on your tongue as your spit runs hot. Though it mainly stays beneath your skin, rising to the surface to splotch you purple here and there, it occasionally surfaces due to the harsh bite of Anakin's teeth.

He's latched onto your shoulder now, some base instinct he doesn't bother to combat. He grunts against your skin as he ruts into you, teeth digging sharply into your skin. He hasn't broken it, but he will if he clamps down harder, and there's no telling what he'll do.

"Fuck, Anakin," You wince at the pain that's boiling your blood, sending shockwaves of its heat to your core, "Be- be careful, you're gonna leave a- mm! - a scar."

He exhales through his nose; you feel the breath against your shoulder.

His pace doesn't slow, but his teeth unlatch from your shoulder, leaving strings of spit behind, and his lips press there lazily.

"You and scars," He hums thoughtfully, almost amusedly, "You fuckin' love 'em, don't you?"

"Hm?" Is all you can manage as Anakin latches to your jaw now, his lip a tight, sucking ring.

"You love my fucking scar," He accuses, licking a hot stripe of saliva up your jawline and over your cheek. It puts the aforementioned scar in your view, and you admire the way it cuts jaggedly close to his eye.

He's right; it's hot.

"I do," You breathe, really more of a moan as Anakin's dick prods deep into your sensitive cunt, "I- It's so pretty, Ani."

"Yeah?" He asks, breath hitting your face, "Give me another one, then."

"What?"

"Give me another one," He repeats, breaking the bruising seal that his hand has had over your hip since he'd first laid over you. He lifts his hand to take your own, bringing it up to his face and setting it over his eye. Your nails rest gently against his tan skin, and his breath shudders when he exhales over your mouth.

"Dig your fucking nails into me, baby. Give me another scar- cut me open and make me fucking bleed."

"Anakin!" You protest, momentarily horrified, "I- I can't do that! I can't hurt you!"

"You can," He urges- no, begs, his hips snapping faster and faster into yours as he smashes your hand to his face, feeling the bite of your nails, "Do it, baby, fucking- fucking do it, give me another scar!"

"Anakin-"

"Do it!"

You let the heat of the moment seize you, and, though all five of your nails dig into his skin, one breaks through. You scrape your middle finger so harshly against his eyebrow that it draws blood, a crimson streak that lays lopsided and not quite parallel against his now-healed scar.

The burning pain that accompanies your nail's sharp edge is enough to push Anakin over the edge, and you feel yourself succumbing to your own orgasm as he begins to fuck his way through his inside of your spasming cunt. When the height of it takes him he nudges your hand out of the way and rubs his face against yours, leaving you with a gory smear of blood against your own eyebrow.

Something about it makes you sob; not sadness or anger, but perhaps sheer viscerality. Anakin's blood on your face feels cosmically binding, wrought from the edge of your nail at his heated insistence. He feels the shake of your chest as he collapses above you, his dick still inside of you though it softens now that he's spent.

"Shit," Is all he can offer, and you agree.

"Does it hurt?" You ask curiously, knowing that an apology will be dismissed; he'd begged for it, after all.

"A bit," He shrugs, eyes shut despite the crimson stain just left of them, "I've had worse."

"It'll scar," You note, perhaps stating the obvious but acknowledging it now for the first time.

"Yeah. Now I've got double the sex appeal," Anakin nods absentmindedly against your chest, more focused on regaining his breath, "And every time you see it you'll think of how you gave it to me."

[a-dauntless-daffodil]

options for if vaggie and alastor found out about each other's dancing skills

Alastor better at dancing than Vaggie and everyone can see it - Boring. - Changes and challenges nothing. - A crime against Alastor simps and Vaggie simps alike.

Vaggie and Alastor both better than each other at dancing their specific preferred dance styles but no one else can tell - Better. - Both get a chance to show off and get shown up. - Unwillingly bonding over being the only ones at the hotel who can fully see the other's skill and being a little nauseous over it.

They're equally matched in everything and both know it. - Getting juicy. - Dance off of increasing frustration. - Everyone can tell they're hating every minute of it and are only trying to beat the other but also no one can get them to stop until Charlie literally steals her gf away.

Vaggie is slightly better but only Alastor notices - Yessss. - Vaggie can tell he's getting even more high strung and dramatic than usual but they're literally just dancing so what the fuck. - Alastor casually announcing that was the most unpleasant dance of his life and one he will NEVER be repeating again while Charlie steps in for the next dance with Vaggie very confused bc her gf is a great dancer??? What?

Vaggie is clearly better than him and everyone sees it - ITS A M-M-MENTAL BREAKDOWN!!! - He refuses to accept this outcome and keeps asking (challenging) her to another dance. - Great B-plot gag potential, Vaggie's exasperated, Alastor's cheering himself up by annoying her about it, by the end of the night Vaggie stalks out of the ballroom firmly telling the radio demon No! You stay! STAY! Don't follow me! while he trails after waving her forged dance card with his name rewritten all over it.

Vaggie is WAY better than him, sees how much that unsettles him, and is SMUG about it - A quiet Alastor is a Alastor who's going through it. - Husk is not quiet, Husk is CHEERING. - "viscerally disgusted at the thought of anyone actually being his superior in anything" Alastor meets "always the follower who rarely gets shown any damn respect even by herself" Vaggie - Vaggie switching between using Alastor like an inanimate prop and uno reverse guiding him into steps he has to stumble through, smirking the whole time. - Alastor says nothing until the very end, where he bows politely and askes who or what VAGGIE uses dancing to try to forgetting about. - Charlie doesn't hear that part but does see her gf hurry outside right afterwards and goes worriedly after her, which Alastor watches before going to sit quietly at the bar and get drunk while a now terrified Husk pretends not to exist. - Heading upstairs later with an extra few bottles Alastor passes by a partly open door and catches a glimpse of chaggie slow dancing inside in the dark, with Vaggie's exorcist wings out. - he leaves them one of the liquor bottles before moving on - Up in his radio tower Alastor puts on a record labeled mother's favorites and has it on repeat for the rest of the night. - Vaggie handles complaints the next day from demons banging on the hotel door screaming about being driven half out of their minds by the looping broadcast that affected every audio device for several several city blocks around the hotel last night. - She tells them all it was a hard night for some people and to get fucking lost. - Vaggie dropping an empty bottle off at Alastor's door with some black coffee and a note reading "thanks for the hangover asshole" - he puts the note in the bottle and keeps it. probably in the mouth a decapitated deer head. - Alastor and Vaggie and the horrifying idea they might have more than a love of dancing and multiple murders in common. - Charlie changes their official hotel status on the official hotel enemies / frienimes / alliances chart board to "FRIENDS!!!" afterwards and they both physically cringe back at seeing it.

[lostlegendaerie]

nah this gets its own post:

imagine that someone comes up and compliments you on something - maybe it's your hair, your voice, your clothes, whatever. And you thank them and plan to move on. Then they ask for a little bit of your hair and you go, "okay fine, it's not gonna really hurt to give that" so you give them a couple strands. you'll grow more. whatever.

next week they come up to you again with a clone of your body that they can control like a puppet. "I liked you so much I wanted my own version of you so I can see/hear/talk to you whenever I want!" you would react with horror, right?

Art is inherently a personal creation; the things that you feel, the things you have lived through, your emotions and your skills and your past will affect what you make and how you make it. There is a bit of 'you' in everything you make, and the analogy above is what generative AI feels like to me as a creator. And I'm just a writer/artist. My art isn't a direct representation of me. If I was a supermodel or a voice actor or anyone in the public eye, my analogy is even more spot on with how viscerally horrifying it is to watch someone make a "you" that they can get to use to make whatever they want. say whatever they want. be whatever they want.

and then you have to listen to the people who make or use the clones brag about how much time and money they're saving by making all these clones (who they don't have to treat like people and who can't say no) instead of asking you to do the thing you're best at, at enormous environmental cost to create and power the damn things, all so they can make profit with no effort selling a thing wearing your face...

... so, yeah. I get a little mad about generative AI sometimes.

[falloutcaldera]

Open Letter To Nukapedia

I have been informed me posting to tumblr is being assumed to be me trying to incite shit & assuming bad faith. As this was not my intention, here's the little good faith I have left:

I wrote that last message with the intention of leaving due to finding the situation unconscionable, while on a call with my disabled coauthor and friends who were equally as distressed as I was that someone like that had been not only allowed back into the server, but had been allowed to claim they had not said anything eugenicist. I then went to leave the sever only to discover it was no longer in my list - meaning I'd been banned before I could even leave. And then I had to learn the reason for my ban from a third party.

So my assumption was Not GreatTM. I was a little emotionally compromised! Let me elaborate as to why:

That user had called disabled children an 'empty resource sink' and a detriment to society in response to an ongoing conversation (one that I freely admit I had gotten frustrated with - what appeared at the time & what I am now almost certain was - sealioning - and thus been rude, and apologized for that) where I was attempting, in good faith, to explain contemporary fight for disability rights in the United states. I had previously mentioned IN SPECIFIC growing up autistic and seeing the murder of fellow autistic children being called 'mercy killings'. This user had previously in the course of this conversation specifically mentioned 'high functioning conditions' such as Asperger's being different from ones they considered debilitating.

(Its notable that this diagnosis has since folded into ASD, and with the name being considered controversial due to being named after Hans Asperger.)

This user then said that the 'mercy' of 'allowing' some people who 'could not function' to die was morally correct TO THE FACE OF A SPECED AUTISTIC PERSON WHO HAD JUST MENTIONED PEOPLE LIKE THEM BEING KILLED SPECIFICALLY.

From my perspective this is not even a fucking dog whistle, it is a whistle at best, more like a bullhorn. It is full on mask off 'actually people (who you say are like you) SHOULD die, if they cant ~contribute~'. It is directly saying people like me & my coauthor are justifiable losses. It is rhetoric which has directly killed people like me in recent memory.

It is so viscerally horrifying and evil of a rhetoric that I immediately felt their restored presence was an allowance. Even this I might have taken in good faith - except they (and the user supporting them) had Literally Stated What They Said Was Not Eugenicist. A mod Saw This, said 'drop the topic' - it is not a topic to drop, from your own commented policy after the first incident and for the safety of others, it is a instant ban situation - and moved on silently. From my perspective this was a giant red flag saying 'this is now a eugenicist bar'.

I am not exactly inclined to extend good faith when the fact is, we are currently in a wave of ableism rhetoric from the transphobic alt right especially against autistic and mentally ill people.

A former US president is well known for having mocked Serge Kovaleski's disability, and when then-12-year-old JJ Holmes protested this, he encouraged his followers to harass them, resulting in people shoving the boys wheelchair & sexually harassing his mother. Autism Speaks spokespersons talked about wanting to murder their children while they were still in the room. Dr. Phil openly platformed the attempted killer & mother of Izzy Stapleton just 10 years ago. We still face organ transplant discrimination, immigration discrimination, and we STILL to this day are being tortured in ABA 'therapy' that is based on the same attitudes that Ivar Lovaas's applied in his 'Feminine Boys Project', a series of abusive conversion tactics which led to the suicide of Kirk Murphy - a 'doctor' who once said "[autistics] are not people in the psychological sense."

That same former president was just alleged by his nephew to have said "Those people [...] The shape they’re in, all the expenses, maybe those kinds of people should just die."

How am I SUPPOSED to assume, in this political climate, good faith from 'empty resource sink' being allowed to be defended in any capacity, as a disabled person? Or hell, just as a person with disabled friends & loved ones. As a human being.

It is not that I am extending bad faith to your platform, I do not feel safe on your platform.

My coauthor did not feel safe enough to join your platform, my girlfriend would not feel safe on your platform, my friends do not feel safe on your platform. My THERAPIST read these messages and recommended I do not ever come back to your platform! I did not post on tumblr with the intention of causing problems but of protecting fellow disabled people from harm.

I have OCD & actively avoid posting issues outside of private chats because I have severe paranoia about being part of internet pile-ons in any capacity, to the point I STILL have avoided showing any user names or profile pictures. Yet this was still such an egregious situation that I felt I would be actively allowing people to come to harm if I didn't speak up.

I am not returning to the discord. I no longer feel comfortable talking about disability or queer representation in fallout in a space where people brushed off that rhetoric, and acted like it was an overreaction to be horrified - even momentarily. I am frankly unsure if I would feel safe even if everyone who did so was banned.

If you genuinely think I am overreacting, acting in bad faith - understand this comes from TWO DECADES of seeing people like me killed by caretakers every day and then hearing THAT & seeing people defend it.

Postcomment:

Hi. This is Ren, second author of Caldera and multiply disabled young adult. I proofread and editted this post as well as being present during a lot of this situation - either from being the person Cilantro stepped back to when they recognized they were getting emotionally intense about a situation or being on call with them during the incident in question, and I want to make some things clear.

I am absolutely Furious at the way my peers and loved ones have been treated during this time. Both directly in nukapedia itself and in the, haha, fallout that has followed.

You might ask why I have not been directly involved if I feel so strongly about it, the answer is simple. My absence Was an attempt at good faith. Through Cilantro's talks on what the atmosphere was like, I learned there would almost definitely be situations that lead me to feeling defensive, stressed and frustrated- emotions I admit to struggling to process. So I made the executive decision that I did not feel I could safely belong there and stayed to the sidelines.

Cilantro has never claimed perfection- and has multiple times apologized for allowing emotional reactions to lash into conversations and stepped away. And it is infurating to see their (and several other of our peers and friends) characters attacked like this. Own up to your own failures in protecting your members, or it will not be just our trust you have lost.

[st-kitten]

707 pt.3

← previous chapter christmas special

A/N: um... i've got two small special effects for this part, sooooo see if u can use them at the right moment :")

WARNINGS: trauma, implied death by accident, a good cry honestly, violence (intended IM A GIRLS GIRL BUT SOME THINGS ARE OKA-), that shlong, sloppenheimer (kidding: oral sex, both receiving), age gap (newsflash 😒) (reader is obv 20+ and toji is idk 38?)

"can we call y/n? for cake?" asked megumi.

"i'm not sure she wants to see anybody today, kid," replied a distressed toji

"but it's my birthday..."

toji couldn't resist megumi's puppy eyes. but he figured that if there was anyone you'd listen to, it would be him. it was worth a try.

both of them stepped out of their apartment, hearing music coming from your apartment. toji felt his breath returning to his lungs. music meant you were okay. or at least alive. your singing got clearer as the two of them stood outside your door. he tried knocking but it was left unanswered. toji wondered whether it was just a recording playing, so he pressed his ear on the door. no, that's definitely her. open the fucking door, y/n!

all toji had as a sign that you were inside were was you were singing.

[mention: easy on me, by adele, again for the lyrics ft.]

"i know there is hope in these waters..." is she crying?

"but I can't bring myself to swim, when i am drowning in this silence..." your voice croaked in the end. she's definitely crying. what the fuck did i do...

toji looked around the lobby. seeing it empty, he grabbed your doorknob and pressed hard on it, tearing it apart, breaking it. he gave it to megumi. he barged inside your barely lit, dark living room, only to find you sitting on the floor, head against the sofa, looking at the ceiling. broken glasses and torn papers surrounded you as you sang at the top of your lungs, voice overcome with some kind of pain that toji couldn't understand, but just feel.

"you can't deny how hard I've tried i changed who I was to put you both first but now I give up..."

"i was still a child..."

"so go eas-" hearing the door blast open, you stopped, whipping your head in its direction.

you were about to bark at toji when you saw the look on his face. fear... then you saw megumi, holding your doorknob, standing behind his father.

toji saw your grief-stricken face. the haunting melody of whatever heart-wrenching song you were singing still echoed in his ears, reaching out from the walls like a desperate cry for help. your disheveled hair clung to your face, a stark contrast to the carefree spirit that used to reside next door.

"w-what are you d-"

"what happened?"

toji treaded carefully around the broken glass, telling megumi to wait where he stood. he knelt down beside you, pushing away the small shards.

you sat there, too horrified to say anything. why is he here? a small shaky breath left your mouth, the rest bubbling up like lava, ready to erupt.

"i don't know what i did baby, but i'm sorr-" toji's apology went unheard as tears streamed down your face and a cry tore through the air like a wounded animal's howl. it was guttural, unrestrained, and laced with a pain so visceral that toji felt it in his bones. the sound wasn't pretty; it was raw and unfiltered, like the ugly side of life laid bare for anyone in earshot.

without a second thought, toji enveloped you in a tight embrace, pulling your trembling shoulders into him. he sat on the floor next to you, one leg folded down and the other tucked to his chest. he felt an involuntary shiver run down his spine as you sobbed into him.

"it's okay..." was all he could say. even he knew that it wasn't about fixing everything; it was about being there in whatever storm was raining down on you. he looked at megumi, unsure about how his son would take seeing you break down. the child stood a silent witness to all of it, his eyes glistening slightly.

"why is it okay?" you muttered. "for parents to be your first bullies..."

"what... stopped them," you sniffled, "from just listening to me?"

toji held onto every word that came out of your mouth. a part of him was relieved that this wasn't about him.

"i didn't want a fucking cake... i didn't want a cake, i just wanted them..." your breath hitched.

"you spend half of your life raising a child in the cruelest way... your last words to each other end up being an argument and... your last words to me were nothing..."

toji felt a knot in his stomach. he watched megumi leave and go back to their apartment. he was torn between his kid, disturbed on the eve of his birthday and the woman he was cradling, on her birthday...

as the echoes of your cry faded, they left behind a heavy, oppressive silence. only your shaky breath could be heard. he sat beside you, his eyes searching for the right words as you wiped away the tears that had traced down your cheeks.

"birthdays are supposed to be happy, ya know..." he whispered to you, as gently as he could. as if the wrong words would shatter you.

"they're also supposed to be spent with family apparently..." you said, gritting your teeth. toji didn't know what to say... he wanted so desperately to talk to her. but how do you even say something at a time like that?

megumi's small steps echoed in your living room. both of you looked at him. you felt like bawling your eyes out and toji simply smiled at his son.

megumi carried a small plate with a loaf of bread sitting atop, two tiny candles buried in it, their flames flickering in the dark room. he stood in front of you, holding out the plate to you with his tiny hands.

you held the plate, placing your hands on his. you glanced at the clock, which was seconds away from midnight. you blew one candle, covering the other with your palm. and when the clock struck 12, megumi blew the other candle out.

"happy birthday, gumi," you put the plate down and hugged him. he wrapped his tiny hands around you, resting his head on your shoulder. "happy birthday, y/n," he said softly.

hours passed by as you talked to toji about your unforeseen disappearance. megumi had fallen asleep in your lap and you stroked his head. you told him about your 13th birthday, your parents death in a car crash... you left some things off the conversation. oh, how toji felt each word you said. he knew how ruthless families could be. his own was never kind to him. he told you about his scar in return, and how he felt insecure about it.

"it's kinda hot, if you ask me." seemed like you were back to being your normal self.

toji smirked. "i know. you wouldn't stop kissing it last night."

you smacked his chest with the back of your hand. but it brought you two to that conversation. toji wanted it off his chest.

"i like ya."

you looked at him, taking a shallow breath.

"not just 'cause we made out yesterday. i'm the worst person to talk about feelings and shit to, but... i got 'em. for you." toji was done with it. he didn't want to stretch it any further. not after the day you'd had.

you opened your mouth to speak but he cut you off, "sit with it for a while. ya don't need to answer me right now."

toji picked megumi up from your lap, carrying him in his arms. he pressed a soft, patient kiss to your lips. "belated happy birthday," he said against your lips, got up and left, leaving a large hole in your door.

[ambient song y/n might vibe to: jeene mein aaye maza, by ankur tiwari]

you wandered aimlessly in the convenience store, picking up things and putting them back where they didn't belong. you circled the whole store thrice until the cashier asked you if something was wrong. paying for cheap beer and rice crackers you didn't even want, you left the store.

you walked home in the evening, head in the clouds. (a cloud shaped like toji)

he liked you. his words hammered in your mind like construction workers at the crack of dawn. girls usually felt giddy after hearing a boy confess to them. the fuck were you feeling? and why was it some kind of diarrhoea? you mind went back to how you'd kissed and how good it felt. there was no doubt that you found him attractive. you liked spending time with him. but did you like him? what even would you do if you did? date him? be his girlfriend? mother to his child? how did one go about dating an older man? if anything, he'd end up with another child.

you walked by a park, watching children playing (mostly falling), building sandcastles in the pit (and falling on them), running around chasing nothing (and falling), scurrying into their parents' arms (guess what).

did you want to be that to megumi? because being with toji meant being with megumi and being responsible for him.

you sat down on the pavement, sipping on beer that tasted like toothpaste, pondering over what kind of life you'd build for yourself. you were not interested in hook up culture. committed relationships were made to sound like life imprisonment sentences. the titles didn't apply to you and especially him. what would being with toji even look like? once your little quinn project comes to an end, what then? would he grab the cash and bolt? would he stay? would he stay anyway?

the more you sat and thought about it, the more things blurred. you thought it best not to overthink it. he did tell you to not rush an answer. but you were not the most patient of all people. the one thing you disliked was how things get awkward every time someone confesses their feelings out of the blue and the other has to be the dealbreaker.

you decided to do the rest of the thinking at home. the city was twinkling with christmas lights and decorations. it was always a wonderful sight to see. it made you want to travel to a quaint countryside only to realise your long lost love for the holiday season and family values as you broke into song about reuniting with your childh-yes, that hallmark movie.

when you entered through the gate to your building, you spotted megumi near the postboxes. a very uncomfortable megumi... in the arms of a woman you'd never seen. she looked rich. fur coat, pradas, sunglasses that covered her whole face like a covid shield. megumi so didn't want to be held like that. your gaze fell on toji, who... drumroll... had the exact same expression as his kid. as you walked in that direction you could hear the conversation.

"he likes me, don't you think?" PLEASE that's what rich people sound like?

"just put him down," toji sighed.

"no, i'm gonna steal him!!!" she giggled, shoving her face into megumi. he flinched and pushed himself away from her.

"aww, he's so playful... toji, why don't you invite me over for a drink?"

megumi wiggled like a worm in her arms, trying to escape her grip. he twisted like a pretzel until she had to put him down. but she held onto his hand tightly. that didn't go unnoticed by toji who was growing angrier every passing minute.

"come on... it'll be fun," she sneered.

"i gotta look after my kid." that was all he said.

"i'm sure he won't mind... right meggy? you'll let daddy and i play for a while, right?" megumi tried to pry her hands off, but she tugged at him harshly.

suddenly, all the diarrhoea made sense. the blur cleared. your eyes narrowed as you observed the audacious scene unfolding before you. something in your head snapped and you took purposeful steps towards her, and offensive gaze locked, devoid of any remorse.

swatting her hand off of megumi's, you put the kid behind you protectively. in a millisecond, your hand swung with conscious thought, as you smashed the beer bottle on her head. the glass shattered on her scalp, cutting through the background noise like a warning shot.

"not. your. kid."

caught between shock and appreciation for your sudden defence, toji covered his curled mouth with his palm. he looked at megumi, who stood behind you, holding the ends of your jacket. the kid looked back at his father, smirking mischievously. toji turned his cackling laughter into an asthmatic cough.

the woman couldn't take a hint even when it hit her in the skull.

"who do you think you are?"

"how dare you hit me? do you know who i am?"

"i'm talking to you!!! hello!!!??"

you let her run her mouth. you weren't interested in what she had to say. you looked down at megumi. you could see the faint red strip that circled his wrist. you knew how manipulative it was to use toji's kid as a means to get to him. you already befell his threat. but you understood it all of a sudden.

the honest urge to protect your kid.

the woman eventually stomped and left, mouthing cuss words at passersby.

"so... care to explain what that was?" asked toji, folding his hands, looking at you with fascination.

"my answer," you said with a smile as you held megumi's little hand, rubbing the back of it with your thumb.

toji smirked proudly.

"what happened here?" asked the building watchman, who heard about the act of violence from others who witnessed it.

"nothing interesting,"

"they're saying you harassed a woman," he was quick to throw an accusing glance at toji.

"nonsense! just some personal drama," you interrupted. "that's the father, this is his son."

"and that's the unholy spirit..." toji mumbled to the guard, earning a death glare from you.

the three of you walked towards the elevator. you handed megumi the rice crackers you bought and he wasted no time in digging in. toji put his arm around your shoulder, pulling you closer as he whispered in your ear, "what does a fella like me have to do to see you smash another bottle again?"

"flirt with another woman and i'll gladly smash one on your head."

toji's deep chuckle vibrated in your ear.

megumi dragged you inside their house to show you his new sketches. he'd really outdone himself. he'd also made his father hang all the small drawings on the christmas tree they had in their living room. toji was glad that he'd found something to occupy himself with. not that he didn't want to spend time with the kid, but seeing him not get overly attached to a single parent relieved the giant weight on his shoulders.

"mmm! gumi, i have a gift for you."

megumi trotted to you like a puppy, eyes twinkling like stars.

"you're gonna spoil him."

"correct."

you gave him a cd. "i wrote you a song." megumi clutched the cd like a prized trophy. he opened the case and showed his father the cd. you'd chased down your producer's sales guy to put one of megumi's sketches as the cd cover.

"when did you even have time to do this?"

"last night. and today morning."

"you didn't sleep?"

you looked away from him, perfectly expecting a fatherly scolding. instead, toji just chortled. he left megumi to listen to your song on a loop as the two of you went to your apartment. (sorry megs, but this is a toji x y/n)

you closed the door, swearing that the hole where your doorknob used to be was getting bigger by each minute. not a moment later, toji had his arms wrapped around you, his mouth on yours. you dropped the grocery bags on the floor and threw your hands around his neck. bumping into nearly every piece of furniture along the way, you sauntered into your room, lips glued to each other. he kissed you like it was the last thing he could do in the world and you kissed him like it was the first thing you wanted to do before anything else.

"mmm... hold on," toji pulled away momentarily and said, "promise me one thing."

"what?"

"you don't disappear when shit hits the fan. you come talk to me."

you felt guilt churn inside you, recalling how you'd left toji and megumi to wonder what 'they' had done wrong to make you go distant.

you nodded. "i promise."

toji held you in his arms for a while, taking a look at your face. he tucked a strand of hair behind your ear and you winced.

"ow! careful, i just got my ear pierced."

toji raised his eyebrows. he pushed your hair aside and saw a helix piercing, the edge of your ear pink and slightly swollen.

"that looks like it hurt."

"oh, it did."

"then why'd ya get it?"

"i always get piercings on my birthday."

"why?" toji honestly didn't understand this form of self-harm.

"what can i say, buddy, i love getting stabbed..." you said plainly, backing away and took your shoes off.

toji snorted a laugh at your comment. "masochist."

"aww, big man uses big words now..." you said, keeping your shoes under your bed. toji simply slapped your ass.

"sadist."

"by the way, i added some background noises to our recording. it sounds so good!"

"oh? let's hear it then," said toji, sitting down on your bed. he was glad to see you be your usual confident self. last night had him tensed with worry. even though he wasn't the source of your pain, he couldn't imagine how lonely you must've felt spending your birthday crying as life wickedly toasted to your parent's death, scarring the one day you were supposed to own with pride.

you made him listen to some excerpts, but ended up talking over them anyway, excitedly telling him how smartly you had edited some things. he just watched you with a small smile. whenever you turned to face him, his eyes fell on your piercing. he counted how many you had. nine. marking nine years of an anniversary nobody would want to remember like this. four piercings on each ear and one in your nose. did you really need the pain to validate your broken heart? did it make you feel like you deserved it?

he dismissed those thoughts from his head. it was your decision. and you bore it like an ornament, and not a scar. plus, he now that he fully took your face in, he couldn't deny hot incredibly hot those piercings looked on you. the thought of you sitting through that and showing off your piercings made his stomach flip. seriously, how much more hot could you get?

as if to answer his question, your recording played in his ear, some scene at a party with your characters failing to keep their hands to themselves. his voice blended with yours like the perfect duet. the way you spoke, changing your tone, pitch, hell, even your little laugh to suit your character made him feral. he wanted to hear you more. but not for some recording. he wanted to hear you for himself.

the moment the recording ended, toji pounced on you, grabbing your neck, careful not to hurt your ear as he kissed you roughly. you gasped, but melted on the spot. you liked where this was going anyway. toji moved his lips along yours, nibbling at you mouth. he let you catch a breath, before shoving his tongue inside, only for it to hitch again.

he pushed you into your bed, immediately hovering over you. he let his hands run up and down your legs. you hummed under his touch. he felt you shuffle underneath. he pulled away for a moment to watch you sneak your phone out of the pocket, finger pressed on a red dot.

"you wanna give your fans a show, baby?" he murmured.

"nuh uh, this is for me," you panted.

toji smirked. "gotta make this good then..." he peppered kiss on your neck, sucking on your skin. he could smell that god awful coconut perfume. to ease the weight his humongous body dumped on you, he shoved his knee between your legs, hoisting himself over you properly. you practically moaned in his mouth at the feeling of his knee rubbing against you. you had no idea what to do with your hands, so you just let them stay on your stomach lifelessly.

toji broke the kiss once more, chuckling at the whine that escaped from your mouth.

"so needy..." he growled, taking his shirt off with one hand. your jaw hung open as you took him in. the way he towered you even when sitting on his knees made him seem almost... monstrous.

toji only it thought it fair to get rid of your clothes too. he held your waist and pulled you to him, hoisting you on his lap. he took your jacket off, throwing it on the floor.

"be careful with the shirt. it's vivienne westwood."

"strip then."

slowly, taking the sweet time of your life, you pulled the shirt off, turning it right side up and neatly folded it, placing it at the far end of your bed.

"you done, sweetie?" he cooed in your ear.

"done."

"lovely. put your hands to use." he had you folded under him, back on the bed, kisses getting rougher, wetter, messier. you clawed at his shoulder, back, neck, chest, every part of him that you could touch. he licked a particular spot just under your ear that made you mewl in pleasure. like a vampire, toji bit your neck, causing you to moan softly.

his free hand unclasped your bra and tossed it away.

"would it kill you to not throw my clothes here and there?"

"thought you liked it violent, baby..." he murmured in your ear, biting a hickey on your neck. he kept switching between kissing your lips and sucking at your neck while he played with your tits, squeezing them, pinching them, kneading them like dough. he was right. they did fit in his hands perfectly. he latched his mouth onto one, making you squirm under him.

toji was absorbing your body. he felt bold; bold to take what he wanted from you. well, what he wanted was you. your body, your hips, your mouth, all of it. he wanted to show you just how desirable you were to him.

the hand that roamed your waist slowly trailed down your cargo pants. you didn't even realise when he took them off, but it was good anyway. less is more.

at an agonisingly slow pace, the tips of his fingers teased you over your panties. toji took a look at you, covered in his marks, lips pink and swollen.

he chuckled, "just how many of these stupid panties do you have?"

"I FUCKING KNEW IT. PANTY THIEF!" you smacked his abs.

"they're mine now," toji murmured as back away, spreading your legs apart with his hands, grabbing at your thighs. he kissed your inner thigh languorously making his way down to your wet cunt. he took your panties off, once more putting them back in his pockets. he dipped two of is fingers inside slowly, as if he was learning about your body. he watched your every reaction, every quiver, every hitched breath as he took his time and prepped you for himself. he curled his fingers at an optimal spot and like a cat on heat, you mewled and your legs shut tight around his hand.

"uh uh uh, i need these legs wide open, darling." he knew how much you liked it when he said that. when you didn't spread them, he smacked a hard slap on your hip, causing you to gasp and giggle as you did as directed.

"don't be a brat."

"or what?"

toji didn't retort. instead, he dove straight into your cunt, painting your insides with long strokes with his tongue. he paired it with his forefinger running up and down, inside and out, pushing against your clit. hearing you whimper and pant just made him want to tease you. recording all those dirty audios with you had him gain a mind in the game. like an illusionist, his hands disappeared and he pulled away, making you pine for him.

"toji fushiguro, i will smash a bottle on your head if you ever take your mouth off me like that again..." god, you sounded so sexy.

"ya know... it makes my dick hard when you talk to me like that."

you crunched forward and grabbed his hair, pulling him back to your pussy. toji chuckled, resuming eating you out like a man starved for days.

"oh i bet it does," you said breathlessly, throwing a few more slurred taunts his way. toji extended his free hand and shoved two of his fingers in your mouth.

"put that mouth to use, brat." he groaned in pleasure feeling your tongue swirl around his fingers, sucking them, gently biting them whenever he lapped at your cunt the right away. even with his fingers stuffed in your mouth, he could hear your muffled moans loudly. he sped his pace, slipping his fingers in and out of you, lapping at your core. he felt you clench and he took it as an open invitation to increase the pressure. you let out a long, stretched moan as you gushed all over his chin.

"is this what you ladies call girl dinner?" toji took his fingers out of you, licking them and tasting you, smacking his lips.

you laughed, throwing your head back.

"ugh, shut up."

"make me," you commented, practically waltzing into the man's next plan for you. toji's hand wrapped around your throat as he pulled you up as if you weight nothing. he got off the bed, standing in front of you as you were on all fours.

"gladly," toji slid his pants and boxers down, freeing his hard-as-a-rock girth.

"this isn't fair, toji," you cried at the size of it.

"i know, baby..." he gripped your chin with his fingers, nearly crushing your jaw. you looked up at him and seeing you on your knees for him lit a fire within him.

playfully you licked his wet lip like a kitten...

"cute. but that's not gonna cut it, sweetheart."

"i'll have you know i won the popsicle eating contest in my college..."

toji chuckled, holding his cock out to your face and smacked it against your lips. "gonna keep me waitin'?"

you took his head in your mouth, swirling your tongue around it, letting the tip run between the faint slit. you bobbed your head a few times, adjusting to his length and width. you'd be grateful to have a jaw left by the time you've sucked him dry. you took his length in your, stroking what you couldn't. you felt his cock twitch and pulsate in your mouth.

"god, you're doing so well..." toji reached forward, accidentally thrusting more of his dick in your mouth, making you whimper. he picked up your phone, which had been recording every lewd sound you made and he held it by his hip. "you sound so... fucking perfect, baby... gagging over my dick like that."

he pushed your hair aside, gripping it tightly as he pushed your head further in, moaning at how good it felt to have you take damn nearly all of him.

"fuck... shit.... s' good" toji let a buffet of grunts and moans spill out of his mouth. first, because he you took him that well, and second because he wanted you to get off to his voice, just like he did to yours. he began thrusting into your mouth faster, feeling his release creeping its way up. had he known how easy it was for him to come just by getting a quick blowjob, he'd have put more work into the foreplay. but fuck, he loved every damn moment of it. how your mouth was wet and warm, how your pointed tongue knew just where to lick, how your cheeks hollowed to pull him in.

"keep going, baby... i'm almost there," he panted, closing his eyes and letting his head fall back, hips moving at a brutal pace. his mind went to you eating a popsicle for some reason and he laughed, paving the way for a guttural moan that rumbled through his mouth as he came into your mouth. you closed your eyes, letting the uncomfortable feeling pass away as you managed to swallow the barrel full of cum he just shot into your mouth.

toji pulled out, feeling euphoric. he was completely obsessed with you. he wanted to take your right there. he wanted to be inside you. fuck, he wanted to see how loud you could get for him.

a knock on your main door and a small voice calling out to toji snapped you back to your senses.

"what a cockblock," toji sighed.

you threw a pillow at him. "that's your adorable birthday boy you're talking about!"

toji changed back into his clothes, refusing to give you your panties back, earning another pillow to his face. he looked at you to make sure you still didn't have second thoughts about him. but there you were, effortlessly moving around the room, picking up the pieces of clothing he'd tossed here and there. he loved how much fun you had doing all these things with him. it made the experience twice as much worth it.

you changed into your pyjamas and led toji out of your bedroom.

"does it say 'juicy' on your ass?" he said, reading the glittery text on your pants.

"ya bet it does," you smacked your own ass, proud of your sense of fashion, no matter how ridiculous it was.

"gonna fuck that ass someday."

"fix my door first." you peeked through the hole in your door, looking at the top of megumi's hair.

you opened the door to see megumi standing in his pyjamas, holding his demon dog, yawning.

"awww, sorry for keeping your dad for so long."

megumi yawned again, nodding.

"she sang a song for me too, you know..." said toji, picking up his sleepy kid, giving you a wink. you kicked his ass, making him stagger out of your house.

"good night."

"good night..." you smiled at the two.

ଘ(੭ˊᵕˋ)੭* ੈ✩‧₊

TAGLIST: @kaininety2 @ruixrei @chicken-fifi @mrsfush1guro @szillx @queendessi24 @sillysillygoofygoose @shadowmoonlight0604

[ketsuarting]

Thinking about Transistor and how, even though I was Obsessed with Hades, it always paled in comparison for me.

Wanna point out the objectively Hades is a much more developed title, but something about the mood struck within transistor just hit me so much deeper. With Hades I at some point start to feel how much of it is a 'game', meanwhile in Transistor I can literally replay in thrice in a week and it'll still have me in a vice. (Speaking literally, here I just cried and then immediately felt uncomfortable at the alternative voice line that you get for Recursing again. I feel such visceral emotions every time)

I kinda knew that it would end up like this from the beginning too. When I heared that Hades (the first one) was coming out from the same people that have made my favourite game ever (discounting paper mario 2 because that only trumps transistor bcs of nostalgia) I was disinterested because I knew it wouldn't be the same, because what makes Transistor so uniquely horrifying to me (in a good way) is what many would call flawed in game design. The way that it tells it's stories (plural) withing the containment of only 10 enemy types, two human models (+Sybil???), 3 ½ voiced characters... The level design and art style.

Such a short and linear story too.

It was clear that every rough edge that I liked to glide my hands over would be sanded down with future games.

I am glad that I did eventually check out Hades, it's impressive in its own rights and I thoroughly enjoyed that one. 90 hours I think., which is about four times the time that i spent on transistor. and I've already spent 30 hours in Hades 2. Some hardcore gamers might scoff but I don't spend more than 100 hours ona game, if I reach that marker I tend top drop the game. Even if I am far from actually done.

I was never very consciously aware of developers until playing Hades so I wasn't particularly familiar with Supergiant, and I do still keep my distance from interviews for personal reasons, but I've been thinking about playing bastion and pyre too now. A little anxious though.

[waldosakimbo]

OH MY GOD Heretic (2024) has me by the throat. I feel like this one is definitely worth rewatching, because it TELLS you so much, it advertises SO MUCH right away, and it's sinister how it plays out!

Does Sister Barnes have faith? Does Sister Paxton actually believe she's seen evidence of god from, hilariously, some amateur porn? You're given the idea Sister Paxton believes more but she has no converts and no baptisms. Sister Barnes is questioning, but she's more successful. Why is that? (Is it the big sad eyes?) When they spot the teenagers in the street and Sister Paxton earnestly says "I love them," they immediately betray her. She loves the world. Its cruel. She wants to save this man. He's cruel. Faith and cruelty. Iterations. The butterfly image. The dead moths coating the window. Belief and disbelief and god damn it's tasty. Quick aside, did anyone else think he drugged those drinks or not? I worried initially, but I think it was genuinely just another one of his tests for later. Also it's insidious how Reed tells them "truths." He tells them the walls and ceiling have metal but they don't know that would block cell phones. He tells them the front door locks by a mechanism timer that doesn't come undone until daylight, (but he can switch it off). He tells them the house is wired weird. He tells them he put the aromatic pie there, he tests them, and it's so. Good! So when he tells them about religion, his motivations, his study of theology, and the challenge from Sister Barnes (the faithless? Who choses Belief and stands up to him? Who has her throat slit as the sacrificial lamb? Beautiful, tragic) is the other side of that. The flipside of the coin. Hugh Grant is AMAZING in this, because he's Hugh Granting it up but instead of a comedy, it's a horror. Unsettling to the max. Why? Because it's just the power of humanity and faith. It's JUST. The power. Of humanity. And Faith. It's nothing supernatural. It's using knowledge, history, the arts, humanity and psychology. As a weapon. Longlegs fell short for me because it was eventually supernatural and I thought it clunky and mishandled in the second half. This one? It's just humans. It's just an evil man. And it's visceral. More grounded, which makes it Terrifying. Even when faced with a miracle, we learn it's false. It's a magic trick. Even when we could pray, we're told BY THE PERSON. WHO IS FAITHFUL, that it means nothing, but sometimes it's beautiful to still pray for someone. Which brings me to the point where Sister Paxton was stabbed and praying in level...three? of his twisted Dante's inferno house? Actually, quick aside to that, I love the back and forth of quoting Spider-Man or Voltaire. Quoting Virgil or the Swamp Thing. It's again putting them on opposite sides, another mirror. But also showing the house itself as a labyrinth, yes, but specifically I think that was Dante's Inferno poster in his office, making Paxton Virgil, travelling the levels of Hell to the frozen pit/horrifying chamber of cages where he keeps other pious women, going Through to get Out. "Sister P" Is praying even though she Just said it does nothing. Reed crawling towards her, his own throat slit. But there's this moment where he's draped over her, sobbing or choking, looking for the warmth of her prayer, I think trying to feel her belief because he's been searching for it for so long and he's left empty. Before he can find peace (or kill her, did he have his knife to her throat to kill her? I think he would, but I still think he had this moment where he wished he could believe to find peace with someone, especially after seeing that interview where Grant stated backstory of Reed that he was a lonely man who lost someone dearly to him and he searched through religions to find comfort and couldn't) he's killed. He's smashed in the head with the McGuffin from earlier. Victory. Did Barnes come back? I think she was saving her strength and had one final moment to help her friend. And then that fucking ending. Is she dead? Is she alive? Was the butterfly real? Did she believe? Is it only her belief, her butterfly, or is a final hallucination before she passes? Did she make it out of Hell? Anyways, I'm going to have to see this again soon. Delicious. Horrifying. Loved it.

[ayakashiz]

Thoughts on Alien Stage FINAL Round

This is gonna be more of a word salad of my raw, biased feelings after watching R7 (with some leftover R6 thoughts) rather than a coherent, comprehensive analysis. Till’s death so far has been the most devastating to me, because I fail to see the meaning or reason behind it, story wise. Sua’s death was a catalyst to shatter Mizi’s rose colored glasses and open her eyes to the cruel reality of their world.

Ivan’s death was the climax of his character arc, both meant to show us his mask finally breaking and a release of his true emotions, and to be a turning point for Till to move forward (I will get back to this). It was also a sobering reminder of the dangerous and unforgiving system the characters live in, shattering the false sense of security built up during All-in and therefore raising the stakes for the upcoming rounds. 

Even Hyunwoo’s death had a similar effect as Sua’s on Hyuna. It fundamentally changed her, exposed her to the ugly side of Anakt Garden and Luka’s true nature (also a direct product of said abusive system).

But who or what did Till’s death change? What did it tell the audience that it hadn’t been told before and what purpose did it serve the plot? His death traumatized Mizi and brought her back to reality, but we had seen that before with Sua. It highlighted Luka’s absolute command of the stage, his power-play and the joy he gets out of asserting dominance over his competition; but that point had already been made very clear in R5. He even used the exact same tactic to win.

I love tragedies, and the beauty, the climax of tragedy is the catharsis it provides. It’s defined as “the process of releasing, and thereby providing relief from, strong or repressed emotions”, and this is what R6 managed to accomplish perfectly. Granted it still left me with many unanswered questions, but the purpose was clear. 

Till’s death in contrast left me feeling empty. It lacked buildup and catharsis, and in my opinion it stripped the previous round of its initial impact in the overall story (bear with me).

I was excited when I heard about vivimeng’s interview where they stated (very paraphrased) something along the lines of Alien Stage being a story about love and grief, and how the living are affected by those that they have lost. 

We see the way the grief of Mizi possibly being dead affects Till to the point he loses the will to keep fighting for survival in R6, and then we see how shocked and horrified he appears while witnessing Ivan’s death, not as a concept or possibility but something tangible happening right in front of his eyes. This sets the audience up to wonder how that grief (and Ivan’s actions) will affect him, how it will make him question his assumptions about Ivan’s goals and intentions, because they were never able to understand each other in life.

And don’t get me wrong, I did love the way his trauma from Ivan’s death was shown in such a raw way in R7, the memories of him filtered crimson red and Ivan’s hypocritical mocking of Sua coming back to bite him, because unlike what he assumed Till did care, so much so that it ironically contributed to his demise.

What I didn’t like was that, because R7 happened immediately after R6, Till never had time to sit with that grief, never even had time to process it. He didn’t get a chance to look past the visceral image of a friend dying in front of him and question why Ivan acted the way he did, why he decided to throw the round. (Even if Luka’s provocation scene still went the exact same way, it would have hit so much harder if we had some context as to why Till’s reaction is so strong to the point of a nosebleed, beyond the obvious shock and stress of a life or death situation.)

I would have loved to see Till do some introspection, even if it concluded in anger, frustration and confusion. And possibly regret, in some form. Regret is an overarching theme in Blink Gone’s lyrics, full of cheerful proclamations of living in the moment and forgetting the burdens of the past, while Till is clearly still haunted by it. And yet, such regret isn’t shown anywhere. 

This would have been the perfect moment to learn about Till’s POV of the meteor shower scene. Sure, it was an event that affected Ivan more deeply, but I find it very hard to believe that Till (arguably the one who was tortured the worst being in segyein captivity) doesn’t reminisce about it, doesn’t ponder about what would have happened had he made different choices, especially after Ivan’s death. Even the lyrics of the song “the dark crimson air embraces us, lifting our spirits, and the fiery thrill blazes out to the sky” are a blatant callback to it, so I’m surprised none of it was utilized visually or narratively.

Of course, it’s a short video and perhaps challenging to cram everything into a single round but alas… that wouldn’t have been an issue if Till hadn’t been killed off right away. 

Another regret to explore could have been how he was never able to get close to Mizi when he had the chance. He expresses this in his yearbook message to her, and we know he wants to, but his own shyness and perhaps inability to see Mizi eye to eye rather than put her on a pedestal was ultimately his biggest self-imposed obstacle. I would have also loved if Till lived long enough to realize this. Grief (over Ivan and Sua respectively) could have been a vehicle for Till and Mizi to truly connect as friends. I was really looking forward to how their relationship would develop once Till was able to look past his idealized version of Mizi and see how she has grown from that bubbly, sheltered little girl he knew in Anakt. He witnessed some of this in R5, but I don’t think it ever truly sank in.

Overall it was such a missed opportunity to show us Till's perspective and inner world outside of his adoration of Mizi, which is the only POV we ever get from him (I know we might get a comic with his thoughts the same as Ivan and Sua, but this will no longer influence the main story or be acknowledged by the remaining characters either way).

And while the same could be said about Ivan’s character, and I definitely have many questions left about him (which I hoped would be answered via Till), it makes more sense for his POV to be so Till-focused because the nature of his love is obsessive. Through Ivan’s POV we also learn a lot about his inner world, how he sees himself in comparison to others, his self hatred, how his fascination with Till stemmed from finding in him what he thought he himself fundamentally lacked, how he carried a strong desire to connect and be acknowledged by Till but his ability to form attachments in a normal way was stunted from the way he grew up, how he regretted this as an adult, how his near-death experience cemented his masking and complacency as a survival mechanism and how this very thing that helped him survive ultimately kept him isolated, etc etc. A lot was shown about him as a character in two MVs.

And even if Till’s feelings for Mizi had a more innocent, boyish nature (as stated by vivimeng), I would have liked to get a deeper insight into how they began, how and why Mizi became his light and muse and driving force. Of course it’s easy to come to a conclusion, but this is something I wanted to learn from Till himself. There’s also this whole untapped potential and exploration of his most brutal, explosive side, the one capable of turning his former classmate into a sacrificial lamb with zero regret for the sake of expressing his feelings, the one wild enough to risk death or punishment breaking an alien guitar just to get Mizi’s eyes on him. The genius. The mad artist.

There was such a huge buildup of Till being a wild card, the one to finally threaten Luka’s unshakable number one place because of his unpredictability, the one pet to challenge the status quo. I wish the trauma of Ivan’s death had awakened some of that madness, too. 

Rather, the progression of his emotional state struck me as a bit confusing (at least before Mizi showed up). Nothing had changed for the better after R6 and on the very contrary, things had just gotten exponentially worse. Not only was Till already in a depressive state over Mizi, he just watched Ivan die, assuming R7 took place only hours after R6. And yet at the start of the MV he appears very much in control and fairly unbothered up until Luka’s taunt throws him off balance and the reality of his weakened mental state comes through.

There was no narrative progression to how he went from point A at the end of R6 to point B at the start of R7.

I’m not sure if the intention was to show Till being in denial and trying to drown out his feelings but not only did it not come across as intentional but that would also be such an un-Till thing to do. He’s officially described as the most sensitive and emotional of the cast, and he isn’t good at or I think even capable of masking or hiding his feelings to the degree Ivan does.

It also feels like a step back for Mizi’s character development. She spent weeks (months??) with the rebellion and now knows how to use guns and grenades, what it takes to sneak past security and the risks of being seen. Yet when she reached for Till’s hand in the crowd she was back to R1’s blind optimism, rather than the anxiety she showcased before setting off to the rescue attempt.

Even if she had managed to pull Till off stage before the bullet got him, they would still be alone and unarmed (or not nearly sufficiently armed) in a crowd full of segyein. It was far from a victory yet.

I do LOVE how there was a role reversal though, with Mizi fiercely trying to protect him the way Till spent his whole childhood doing, refusing to leave him behind even if that compromised whatever Hyuna’s main plan was (which has been confirmed NOT to be a rescue mission from the start). I reckon also that she was probably so desperate and relieved to see the last of her friends still standing after losing everyone that for that moment she lost sight of the harsh lessons she had learned previously.

There are many wonderful things about the MV too. The art direction is INSANELY good, the use of the flashing colors of the stage to match with Till’s emotional state, the incorporation of the instruments, the beautiful quality of the animation that keeps getting better with each release, and the way they managed to make it so emotionally gut-wrenching despite the absolute banger that is the song. 

I’m glad that Till at least got to die in the arms of someone he loved and felt safe with, being cradled with the gentleness he was deprived of his whole life.

That said, the episode still left me feeling quite empty and disappointed, personally. I’m disappointed that Till’s character was discarded so early. Even if he was to be killed off in the end, I would have wanted them to postpone it a bit longer, give us a bit more time to watch him grow and learn about him and make his death something more meaningful than shocking. 

I’m disappointed that his death was the last nail on Ivan’s coffin, because Till was the only other character who could have carried his memory and give the audience a different perspective from Ivan’s extremely black and white, biased one. I’m disappointed that those answers that the audience was eager to learn were just left as a footnote on Patreon, which makes me feel like they never really planned on elaborating on it in the main story. Though who knows, maybe we’ll get a comic or supplemental material in the future.

I know the series is unfinished, and a lot can still change. I’m still deeply invested in finding out what will happen, especially since Hyuna is one of my absolute favorite characters (who now I’m also terrified for).

Many of my opinions may change with the new releases, but this was my impression now, with Blink Gone as a stand alone MV. I also wanna reiterate that I’m extremely biased because Till is a character very dear to me and I feel like he brought so much life and spunk to the story, so it just seems a little bleaker without him in the picture. 

To be honest the more I marinate on the thought, the more I’m inclined to believe that Mizi was always intended to be the last one standing, and that the plot just took a turn different than my expectations. Either way I’ll be along for the ride and wait for all new updates on Friday.

I refuse to put on my ‘Till is alive’ tinfoil hat because I just cannot handle more heartbreak, lol. But there was that tidbit of information about Sua having a loyal fanbase demanding her revival, so that tells me it is possible in the ALNST universe. There’s also that ‘joke’ comic on Patreon with Mizi spoiling the whole plot (iykyk). So we might actually get to see at least some attempt at Sua’s revival. Who knows!

Anyways I have yapped even more than I did after R6, so I’ll leave it here. If you made it this far, feel free to share your opinions or predictions!

[lakesbian]

it's the moment like 4 of you have been waiting for:

i finally rotated pact creature design in my brain enough to post about it. to all the people who sent me asks wanting to hear my thoughts explaining Why Pact Creatures Are So Good this ones for you.

the core of pact's monster design boils down to one very good fact about pact's worldbuilding: in the world of pact, the universe canonically loves a good story. magic literally runs on themes and ideas. subsequently, strong themes aren't the end result of pact's monster design so much as they are the most fundamental aspect of it--meaningful themes and narratives are such a textually important part of how pact monsters work that one bogeyman outright tries to start a conversation with blake by, upon noticing the birdhouse in his soul (tm), asking if birds are important to him.

what really seals the deal on this being fascinating is that pact monsters aren't invented wholesale--a lot of the book hinges on offering its own explanations for preexisting folklore or urban legend. pact takes a variety of common threads in the way cultural myths & monsters are presented, picks out the conceptions with compelling implications, and distills them into one design so thematically coherent and clarifying that it makes you go "ohhh, why aren't All ghosts/dragons/fae like this? this is Exactly What They're Supposed To Be."

like, we all know that ghosts are dead people, and oftentimes the appearance and/or behavior they're written as having is either implicitly or explicitly based on reenactments of their past life/how they died, and sometimes they're depicted as lucid but more often than not they're depicted more like broken or warped remnants of a person, and sometimes they make things colder/give off Bad Emotional Vibes/etc. those are generally true assertions about how ghosts are often culturally presented.

pact takes that and explicitly declares that ghosts are what happens when something so bad happens that an imprint of the resultant misery is left on the fabric of the universe. some ghosts appear horrifying because their appearance is warped and exaggerated beyond what's realistically possible to match how awful whatever happened to them felt. some ghosts are more lucid because their imprint is more recent, or has been strengthened and fed by human attention instead of left to decay. some ghosts are less lucid because they were forgotten. when ghosts make the atmosphere feel awful to be in, that's because the ghost isn't just the imprint of the person, it's an imprint of the awful thing itself. incredibly interesting! it feels so very much like the absolute heart of what ghost stories are about--about the grief and horror of being impacted by the ever-present echo of something terrible, about something so viscerally wretched happening that reality itself cannot forget it, about the emotionally powerful interactions between someone still-living and the memory of someone already long gone.

(pact also gives an aside that, in very rare scenarios, neutral or arguably even positive occasions which leave a sufficiently strong enough impression can also become ghosts. genuinely fascinating expansion.)

& the thing here is that pact does this for creatures like ghosts that are already richly thematic and iconic, but it Also does it for creatures with less obvious theming. how do dragons work? what's pact's underlying explanation for their position as immortal, powerful, regal, fire-breathing* fantasy monsters?

*&, depending on the media, sometimes ice-breathing or poisonous or whatever else

well, you see, dragons are recursive loops. "dragons are recursive loops" is perhaps one of the Top All Time sentences in the entire book, and the delightful thing is that, in addition to sounding excellent, it makes sense.

that's how they generate and spit out so much of whatever their element is. they're snarls. they're ouroboroses. they're something feeding into itself, self-sustaining for thousands of years, drowning anything which threatens it in torrents of whatever the self-feeding element is--fire, sometimes, but it could be poison, or ice, or whatever else, and that's why you've probably heard of ice dragons in addition to classic fire dragons. Dragons Are Recursive Loops. recursiveness is, after all, a form of immortality.

or, like, fae? we all know that faeries are incomprehensibly old/outright immortal Tricky Little Bitches who like to manipulate people while posing in an inhumanly/horrifically beautiful fashion and going "teehee." pact takes that to a fantastically surreal level of extreme artifice, one that's almost grotesque in its dreamlike nature--they have all lived for so very long that, to them, boredom is worse than death, and so they have complicated social games spanning centuries, and speak in the most practiced of misleading wordplay, and perfectly curate their forests so that even the smallest pebble is an intentionally-chosen setpiece for their play. they graduated from handjobs a couple dozens of millennia ago--now they're more into erotic-poetic descriptions of full-body degloving. you will not notice when a faerie steals and replaces your child, because you are very young and stupid compared to them, and playing-pretend at being your child is only the briefest of trifles in their unfathomably long lifespan.

the other good bit is that pact explicitly acknowledges that faeries run on what is colloquially deemed Bullshit--the universe likes a good story, and faeries have gotten very good at telling it a moving story. if a faerie tells a good enough story about having a sword that breaks the laws of physics, then that is what their sword will do. and so the way to combat faeries is not to out-bullshit them--because no one is out-bullshitting a being with thousands of years of bullshitting practice--but to say "no, that's fucking stupid and made up" until their implausibly long sword acts like a sword of that size actually should and shatters on the spot.

& all of these writing decisions feel so naturally truthful to what these creatures are Supposed to be--they're really not wholly new takes, they're a presentation of preexisting ideas in a way that gets why those ideas appeal to people and goes full-throttle on all the most thematically rich or otherwise narratively interesting parts. It's Good Writing. I Like It. you could spend an entire essay breaking down the presentation of literally any single one of pact's creatures, it's that compelling in its reflection and organization of Ideas About Creatures.