#no sense of self preservation unless its silly

[dcviated]

clothing/body prompts :: open

send a symbol for a thinger

@dinomites sent: 👃 to hong lu from aelia teehee. 👃 - Poke my muse's nose.

Like a light switch, as soon as the finger poked into the nose heterochromatic eyes slid open. The mellow smile characteristic of the sinner follows soon after. They flit hither and thither around the strange environs before falling on the child.

"Aha! You're not actually an assassin, now are you? Huhu~" With a small grunt of effort Hong Lu sits up from where he had fallen. "It wouldn't be the first time that happened. Hm." After a moment of consideration his own finger reaches out, a gentle tap to Aelia's face.

"Perhaps I'm dreaming again. What fun."

[blingblong55]

All I can think of now is a proper what we do in the shadows! 141 AU, where the gang are a coven of vampires and there’s a documentary crew following them around. 🫧

Price is the oldest, perhaps a famous outlaw from over a thousand years ago. He views his coven as his children.

Gaz has been his companion for the longest. He was a knight or a soldier. Price has fought in a few wars to give himself something to do over the years, but couldn’t stand the thought of his new comrade and pseudo-child Kyle getting killed. He was far too young to die, so Price made sure he wouldn’t.

He met Ghost next when he was running one of his many criminal empires (again, he wanted something to do). Ghost had joined as a low level thug but quickly worked up the ranks to become one of his inner-circle. He was a cold blooded killer with little remorse - or so Price thought. Once he’s come to know of Simon’s upbringing and life, filled with hardship and pain, John knew he couldn’t just leave the lost soul alone. He deserved a chance to heal and make real, lasting connections with people who wouldn’t hurt or leave him, so Price turned him.

Soap and Grim are the newest additions to the coven. One of them probably became his familiar after being dared by the other, and they quickly worked their way into his unbeating heart. Price worried a lot for his two youngest children and they were giving him grey hairs after thousands of years without (how could be not worry with their love of explosives and lack of self preservation?) so he decided that, so he could keep a good eye on them and make sure that they didn’t get hurt, Johnny and R/n should join him and his older children in undeath.

Price was wary of the crew filming this ‘documentary’ about them, but his two youngest just seemed so happy to have new friends to play with, so he allowed it. Ghost would be the most guarded, happily taking care of a few of the crew who got too close, thought it would be funny to come to work with a crucifix in their pocket, or made a snide comment towards one of his family. Gaz is cheeky, friendly, and happy to joke around with them, and probably gives them the most actually useful information. He’s the only reason the documentary can actually be called factual or educational. Soap and Grim are happy to have new people to mess with. They like to jumpscare the crew by flying in their face as bats, appear out of nowhere, hypnotise them and convince them to act silly, and stage nerf gun wars with everyone in the house - cameramen included.

hear me out!

Graves is Simon the Devious (ironic ik)

The cameramen never get used to this, never. Price, oh that poor man, he wishes at times he didn't have a soft spot for his children but then again, this is what he chose

I would also like to introduce the two dumb little young vampires, Johnny and grim, not only did they both dare each other to become familiars but their dumbasses didn't know the other was going to go through with it!!! They end up finding out when Gaz introduces them to each other...

Three days into being familiars, they set off a bomb, nearly kills them but father senses tingle and Price finds them in time.

Five days into being familiars, they nearly die in six explosions, 2 car accidents and one orea choking accident, so that's when Price decides its time to make them vampires, he knows they are unkillable unless they step into the sun, which they almost have....14 times so far-...make that 15 times

[otterandterrierwrites]

For the fic writer asks: 3, 14, 19, and 25!

for cinematic overture to a lifetime together -

3. Did the idea change at all by the time the fic was complete?

Yes. I've been trying to write a honeymoon fic since 2017. The original idea was that Han reminded Leia before their wedding that they hadn't planned a honeymoon yet, and she was like "oh no but I'm too busy, I can't", and he talked her into it. It also had a bit about Han joking about having a special request for Leia's wedding night attire, and Leia joking back about wanting to see him in leather underpants. Then it had the beginnings of a scene about their wedding, and some scraps about the honeymoon, which was also going to be about them stumbling into shenanigans. And I had also an idea that they would choose their destination by closing their eyes and picking at random.

But I could never seriously get back to it, there was always something blocking me from picking it up. So when I saw the prompt of a honeymoon fic that didn't go smoothly, I decided to give it a serious shot, but starting over. The idea of Leia being such a workaholic that she dismissed the possibility of a honeymoon didn't sit right with me anymore, especially not when that was what TPATS already did. I thought that, while she would still struggle, there would have to be growth. I also didn't think that picking planets at random was very smart for them; I wanted there to be deliberation and meaning there - but I made Leia believe that was what was going to happen. And in my original draft, when they stumbled into a situation where people expected Leia to be on work mode, she agreed and it caused friction with Han - again, something TPATS did and that I didn't want for them anymore, so that had to go. I also didn't use anything from the wedding scene I'd written.

19. While editing, did you kill any darlings? What were they?

Answering this one first because it ties into the next. Yes; I was going to start with a proposal scene, because I wanted the whole works - proposal, wedding, honeymoon. but as I wrote it I realized it was becoming its whole thing. So I was like "I'm losing sight of what the fic is about, I have to refocus", and I just shoved that into a separate doc and started over. I... guess I have another proposal fic to share now?

14. Talk about the fic’s opening scene & how you approached it

With the proposal scene out of the way, I had to figure out how to ease into the concept of Han and Leia forgetting about their honeymoon, and I thought the logical way in was the wedding. Now, forgetting that you're supposed to go on a honeymoon after getting married is kind of silly… unless you're two highly unusual people who haven't led very normal lives so far. So that's how I came up with the idea of Leia thinking about "normalcy", how their wedding was as normal as they could get, but then immediately seguing into the revelation that they'd forgotten about this other very normal thing they were supposed to do.

25. Share your favorite line

I'm going to cheat and share a whole paragraph:

But there’d be something left at the bottom of the barrel after he’d say that. A scrap of longing, pinned to the truth from which his words bled: that he didn’t believe he could ever have that, and so he chose to reject it. He’d never been able to rid himself from that feeling, that wisp of longing that flickered at certain points of his life, after he’d met someone who stayed. And it’d done more than flicker with Leia, flaring up until it threatened to burn him, his sense of self-preservation making him recoil at times, begging him to pull his hand away from the fire. Only when he didn’t, when he knew he’d burn to keep her warm, he realized that that wasn’t the end of longing. That he would also keep himself warm for her, if that was what she needed. That if that was what Leia wanted, it was all that mattered. He’d had no choice in falling for her, but he chose to love her whether it burned him or kept him warm. And, for once, eventually, he let himself long for all he thought he might yet have. A permanent home to go back to. A person to share his days with. Being known and knowing someone in their entirety; learning that freedom could also be found in their company.

Thank you!

send fanfic asks!

[loquaciousjampire]

More rainworld ramblings: DP spoils under cut

I may get hate for this hc but it's my headcanon not yours, and if you believe otherwise good for you.

Again I don't expect anyone to read these it just makes me happy to ramble.

After reviewing all SRS dialogue with Pebbles and NSH, its pretty clear they really don't get that their actions affected more than just their life. I mean they only mention Moon a few times, and usually it's because NSH brings it up.

I don't hate SRS as a character, they're written really well to make me feel so strongly about how bad of a friend they are to NSH and FP. And I still think they're a silly lil dude despite being, a terrible friend.

I'll review what we know.

First Offence: Spearmaster's pearl

The message seems really sweet at first glance and you think, man FP is being such a douche right now. And well he is, but he's also really young, and he's in pain, being cyberbullied by UI, and upset. Sun's approach is not very good for his current mentality, they come in preaching things FP already knows about, they berate him for not doing the experiment right and acting rashly despite him being in pain as his insides are getting eaten, and they know, him they know that he's emotionally immature and probably really upset, and they chose to send him something they knew would just make him more upset.

Second Offence: Watch in Horror Broadcast

-

[LIVE BROADCAST] - PRIVATE Seven Red Suns, No Significant Harassment SRS: I'm in noticing you are becoming more defensive. This obviously wasn't the end result I was aiming for, you know. SRS: Please respond to my messages. I don't want to leave it like this. I need someone to talk to. NSH: I don't mean to be cold, I'm just very worried. NSH: The activity I'm seeing from Moon's can is becoming increasingly... concerning. NSH: Our available options are rapidly diminishing, and I feel helpless to do anything. NSH: I can just watch in horror. SRS: ... NSH: You should have sent the messenger to Moon instead of Pebbles. SRS: Do you think that would have helped anything? NSH: To be honest, no... I'm not sure that it would.

Suns gets on NSH's ass for being upset Moon is dead. There is no, I'm sorry for your loss, or even comforting NSH. It's just "I need someone to talk to" it's about SRS, and how SRS feels. Not how NSH feels. And this is more apparent in the other broadcasts because it's just about Suns and how they feel about Pebbles or about Spearmaster.

Third Offense: Humiliated Broadcast

[LIVE BROADCAST] - PRIVATE Seven Red Suns, No Significant Harassment SRS: I'm just so frustrated. SRS: I feel like I've doomed not one. but two iterators. SRS: And in the whole process I've lost a great friend, who won't even let me help him. NSH: We make mistakes, it'll be okay. You know Five Pebbles really looks up to you. SRS: Yes, I know that, but... NSH: I think he's scared. Scared, and humiliated. Unparalleled Innocence spreading the news probably made him feel even worse. SRS: ...I think you're right.

this one is actually not bad, but still the conversation is about SRS, they don't ask how NSH feels despite being Suns' therapist friend this whole time.

Fourth Offence: Tragic and Big Setback broadcasts

[LIVE BROADCAST] - PRIVATE Seven Red Suns, No Significant Harassment SRS: I just don't understand... why hasn't Moon done anything about the situation herself? SRS: She was appointed as Pebbles' superior. She has the power to stop him. NSH: I've been very close with Moon, and I can tell you she is incredibly caring. NSH: And while her kindness is one of her greatest attributes, it is also to her detriment. SRS: Isn't this excessive, though? Surely she at least has a sense of self-preservation. NSH: I'm sure she convinced herself that she could help Pebbles. That she could bring him under control with words rather than forced action. NSH: She's probably still trying that now, unless her systems have degraded past the point of even allowing that. NSH: That's why this is so tragic to me. [LIVE BROADCAST] - PRIVATE Seven Red Suns, No Significant Harassment SRS: I remember talking with Five Pebbles not too long after he was first put online. He had a bit of defiance, even back then. SRS: It was an odd situation, to be certain. Its quite rare for one iterator to be made the administrator of another. Just as rare as them being built right next to each other. NSH: His lack of appreciation used to bother me. Moon was a great big sister to him! SRS: Yes, absolutely. However. Five Pebbles had a very strong drive for independence. He was never one to want to be told what to do. NSH: I think a lot of us were like that in the beginning. I remember being in that phase a very long time ago. It takes many iterations for our world views to develop and for us to realize the flaws in those lines of thinking. NSH: Unfortunately, from what I've seen, Five Pebbles seems to have plateaued at that phase. SRS: No, that's not true. I was helping him to get past it. We were making good progress, actually! SRS: The current situation, however, is going to be a very big setback...

I don't like the way SRS explains Moon to NSH despite him being closer to Moon than Suns is, you know Pebbles, NSH knows Moon.

And I just hate the whole big setback chat, seems like they're (NSH and SRS) objectifying Pebbles and treating him like a project rather than a person. Also feels like they're forgetting that he's younger than they are so he's still growing.

AGAIN despite saying all this I enjoy SRS's character, their role in the story and their dynamic in the group feels good, and real. It's exactly how a friend group like this would work. It just confuses me a little how people depict Suns often as a caring person when they are really never shown to be considerate of anyone's feelings like Moon or NSH is. I don't think SRS was a good influence on Pebbles, and might be the reason he's the way he is.

This entire thing is partially why I also don't really ship sunstone, but yk I still enjoy the Sunstone art and stuff. I don't waste my time chasing people I don't agree with. You've got your ideas I've got mine, I bet your art/story is beautiful it's just not for me.

[abimee]

(manifets at your door) hi bestie talking abt xiv music. what would u say are the bangers of all time - either by expansion or in the game as a whole

hold on i want to do best songs per expansion cause i got a lot to say about soken and co's discography of the game but i have to start out of order to let everyone know i think Wayward Daughter is a mediocre track and the actual best Stormblood track is Seven-Hundred and Seventy Seven Whiskers FOR GOOD REASON

Seven Hundred and Seventy Seven Whiskers stands out amongst every song in Stormblood to me purely because of the Namazu themselves --- the Namazu 777 Festival is obviously based on the Obon, and the music that plays is meant to be music played during the Bon Odori/Bon Dance, and you can even hear the sound of the Namazu dancing to it in the song with the squeak of their feet :]

But what makes this so special is just the story of the Namazu, how their people lost their way and culture and how after one sees a vision of their people being destroyed unless they hold a festival and how everyone involved seems genuinely invested in reconstructiong their culture and being a ''people'' with rituals and beliefs again, rather than simply chasing coin like a lot do when you first meet the Namazu. And when they come to the Azim Steppe to make a spot for their cultural festival, they take the time to learn about the Au Ri cultures around them, and even though its often shown that the different Au Ri people consider the Namazu odd, them wanting to learn traditions from the different clans and incorporate them into their own festival is never framed as a greedy or ignorant ploy, but the Namazu genuinely wanting to learn and understand these traditions. The Namazu are even incredibly respectful to the Uyagiri people, where when they hear that they refuse to come to the festival due to their own religious beliefs about indulgence, the Namazu never berate them or say they should ''just leave their cave'' like other clans on the Steppe do --- instead, the quest is that you make a very simplistic offering, a doll iirc, to give to the Uyagiri as offering since they cant come. The Namazu genuinely try and even though theyre often played off as being stupid and for slapstick theyre never played off as like, ''oooh look at these fish disrespecting a culture because they wanna mimic it haha!"

And its really sweet with the fact that the Namazu story itself is about finding meaning and religion in what you do, and even if others see your beliefs and traditions and habits as ''uncessary'' or ''unworthwhile'', if it means something to YOU, if doing it makes you feel closer to your people or your religion, then it is worthwhile --- they see the festival as worthwhile, as crafting and gathering as worthwhile, and in reconnecting with their traditions they do avert a genuinely life-threatening future of mass exctintion, not because they actually appeased some sort of god threatening them, but because these traditions were grounded in a sense of preservation, that though they seem silly to others they were how the namazu lived and thrived!! and now to mention how the Namazu story touches on the concept of sort of recognizing that the God you worship isnt real with the fact that the Great One is sort of just implied to be not real, just Earthquakes in the ground, with not only it being based off a real legend but also the fact that the Namazu can't/dont summon a primal of it. And once again wrapping back around to the concept of religion always having been a means to self preserve, and whether a god truly exists or not is not what matters, but the community and safety and preservation that comes with religious worship and rules and etc etc. Anyway the Namazu are really good i think they steal the show for best track in stormblood ✌️

ANYWAY. A REALM REBORN. DREAM'S ALOFT genuinely one of the first MSQ songs to hit me in the gut. As a Kingdom Hearts fan and not an ff fan hearing this song did in fact make me feel like i was in Traverse Town again and meeting Cid highwind from my childhood. But also meeting Cid while this song plays and we're up in the airship really did feel like one of the first ''big moments'' in this game to me, so whenever I hear this song I think of my sprout days and how simply being up in the air felt like the most magical thing ever

second to it HAS to be Edda's theme. No reason for ARR to randomly scare the shit out of me with a cool and emotional side story. I think FF14 does really good with brief moments of horror, cause Edda's plot really did chill me to the bone but it didn't overstay it's welcome or become ''too much'' --- which is where I think ff14 begins to fail in its ''scares'' sometimes. This game does best with like, Halloween campy spooky bullshit and nothing genuinely meant to be ''horrific'' and i think it needs to return to Edda-esque side quests more.

and Through The Maelstrom for third place. If you dont think the buildup to Leviathan in ARR and the sound of the guitar kicking in after that first slapdown was the coolest, most ''oh shit this is REALLY dire'' then you can get the hell out of my house cause this was when the game hit that OH SHIT factor for me. Scariest and Coolest Primal to date fuck everyone else

other notable mentions: Oblivion ofc, Limsa Lominsa's day music and Ul'dah's night music, and Camp Bronze Lake's music :]

my pick for Heavensward makes me sad cause finding out they took out Steps of Faith and therefore nobody gets to experience Faith in Her Fury to the most dreadul march of your life is so sad to me. I can't even tell you why Faith in Her Fury sticks in my mind to the point I recognized in EDW, I think it's just a really good introduction piece to Heavensward and made for a good backing track to a fun marching fight

number 2 for Heavensward has to be Slumber Eternal. I've described this as ''music they'd play in a period movie where a fight breaks out between union busters and coal miners where people definitely die'' and i mean that in a complimentary way. This song really does make you feel like you're fighting up a literal fucking mountain and everything is trying to stop you and i think this was a cool as hell dungeon. I listen to this on repeat so often its not even funny

also shoutout to Painted Foothils because they share the same tune. Leiftmotif and all that

Alexander. Rise. Everyone agrees. it has a fucking time stop mechanic built INTO THE SONG!!!

other notable mentions; Baelsar's Wall music Another Brick is good dont let the haters tell you otherwise, Locus, Heroes Never die, and Relics

Stormblood :/ Omega has bangers in it at the very least i know mags already heard me say it but the music that plays before you fight M/F is literally the most ''final fantasy music'' music ive ever heard

WAIT back up. Soken's stolen beat is really good also. thank you soken for stealing this

I have to put The Twinning here somewhere because this is literally the song that made me play this game. This is what made me download this game after months of going ''ill get a better computer and then download it''. When they refferenced a version of the meme at Fanfest i scrummed

Amaurot.

theres a 10 video limit on posts but you know im not fucking finished so ill be back

[poltergeist-coffee]

WHY DO THINGS ONLY HAPPENS WHEN I LEAVE THE STREAM???

Is the third time, man

First that time when TazerCraft got arrested my phone died and when I came back there was just a fire (and Morse code? I don't remember rn)

Second was when the eggs disappeared and Forever was losing his mind, I WAS ON THAT STREAM FOR 6 HOURS AND CUCURUCHO ONLY SHOWED HIS FACE QHEN I LEFT HECAUSE I HAD TO PUT MY PHONE ON THE CHARGER

And now I had to leave because it was 1am and I was taking a shower

The lore hates me

Pacman duo enjoyers don't have a easy life

Timezones be damned

But I think is fun to think about them, Etoiles is the person everybody trust when it come to fight, he's basically the champion of the island, the first one in the lines of fight, the island's first line of defense(which is what made that time he lost a fight to the codes hit so hard)

And Pac? Well, among the Brazilians, he is the fighter. But if something would need someone to sacrife themselves, he would be the first to offer himself. He has a lack of sense of self-preservation honestly, he would sacrifice himself without hesitation if needed. He's scared, he's traumatized, and mostly, his miss his family being complete. When Forever got drugged he risked himself to find a cure, even if he wasn't sure if he would be okay, and when Bagi and him were talking about bbh being suspect and was giving him cake and by his point of view it looked like he was going to be kidnapped? He ate the cake regardless, Wich Bagi had to come and get him(bbh didn't even know the cake would make him sleep but from Pac pov it seemed so much like he was going to be kidnapped)

At least for me there some similarities between them and they are a fun duo in any case

The day Bobby lost his first life in the air ship I was watching Roier and Jaiden's stream. I had left to go wash my hair and I remember hearing my brother yell at me from outside the bathroom that bobby died KJNSAJKAVNS I was so confused until I got out

Most time lore happens now I miss it unless it's on a weekend because I'm a fulltime student TT the qsmp lore hates us fr, plate anon

Whenever I think of pacmanduo i think of when a bunch of the players were fighting in that ice dungeon. I remember seeing a clip of Pac being SUPER CALM like he was so chill and just chatting with etoiles like it was nothing while fighting off all the enemies and everyone else was SCREAMING jndvkas i want to find the vod to watch it again because i wasn't watching either of them when that event happened

I think its interesting that Pac is such a strong righter but like no one really mentions it? I think yesterday Etoiles mentioned that like he's on the same level as him, Philza and Roier in terms of like PVP? idk hes such a silly guy he just needs to recognize his self worth <//3 HIM AND QETOILES BOTH WITH THE SELF WORTH ISSUES!! qetoiles thinks he's nothing if he can't protect the islanders + without his code weapons and stuff. qpac is also the same that he thinks if he were to die it would be the best? like the Favela/island would lose less because he's not as valuable as the other players WHICH ISN'T TRUE!!! QPAC PLEEEEEASE!!!!

-holding them both gently in my hands- i love them. i also am never forgetting how qpac use to always flirt with qetoiles because it amuses me so much. hes so cute he's a silly guy who likes attention (qpac)

[sytokun]

What's your opinion on characters in RWBY casually speaking real world languages like for example, Ruby and Yang speaking Chinese in certain situations? I'm sure they could just call it a Mistral language since Mistral is so heavily based on real world Asian countries, but I'm not entirely sure.

I think given the kind of world Remnant is, that's the "correct" thing to do.

Most of its named characters are based in part on historical, mythological or fictional figures from our world, and that includes their naming conventions, so to include languages in that basket makes sense.

I would headcanon that Remnant's origin is partly born from some sort of collective unconscious from Earth, a parallel dimension to it or its distant future, where only whispers of its true origins survived and wove its way inseparably into Remnant's DNA. The very first words spoken in Episode 1 supports such a flagrant notion.

"Legends. Stories scattered through time. Mankind has grown quite fond of recounting the exploits of heroes and villains, forgetting so easily that we are remnants, byproducts, of a forgotten past."

This is just my internal giant comparative mythology nerd speaking, btw - the idea that the world's mythologies share common elements and point to a unified origin in humanity's distant past, written in our blood and our subconscious memories as a species.

So in this case, I can somewhat justify having Mistral be an amalgamation of Asian cultures, because that's actually what it is - a gestalt of ancestral memories that we can tell apart, but no one in Remnant is old enough to distinguish - unless maybe, you're Ozpin. Or Salem. The only people in the world who actually know what the Wizard of Oz is, or Little Red Riding Hood, or the true name of the world before Remnant.

And perhaps Ozpin, being his usual Ozpin-y self, influenced Remnant's culture and got everyone to name their descendants after childhood tales and legendary figures as a way to preserve the memory of a world he once knew and lost. How cool would that be?

Or, you know, it's just flavour and an easy worldbuilding method that we shouldn't look deeply into at all. And the world before Remnant is just a generic magical fantasy world that also just has vague copies of real-world cultures for no reason. Silly, silly me~

[remsmoonlight]

— title : candy coated promises

— word count : 2.6k words

— pairing : daryl dixon x reader

— summary : a chance conversation between you and daryl leaves you realising just how much of a sponge daryl’s mind is when he comes back from a run with an unexpected gift.

— warnings : mentions of alcohol, light mentions of deaths of loved ones

“ Daryl x reader. Daryl comes back from a run and has found readers fave chocolate and keeps it hidden all day until they have watch together then surprises them with it and gets a big awkward hug from them, making him blush like a tomato on the outside and feeling happy on the inside. “

            ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*   requests are open ! / requested by @phoenixblack89  *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

A rugged backpack is slung lazily over the shoulder of Daryl after a successful run , as relaxed as Daryl could find himself those days, the stress and alertness still molded every inch of his body as if they’d been there since day one. Perhaps they have been, he contemplates. After all, growing up, his life had not been a beautiful, tangled mess of fairytales and light, rather it had been the inspiration for nightmares. Still, he doesn’t dwell on that life unless he has to, the world has chosen to live a different life and that does not hold space for past memories.

For him? The past can be a painful reminder of a way of living that has long since been deceased — focusing on what once was is the best way to take away the focus of living in the present.

Only a few days had been spent at the prison, the majority of the time had been spent making it somewhat fit for purpose, despite no life being there to tend to its upkeep. They’d been burning through what little the group had of their stockpile of supplies, preferring to stay inside the barbed wire fences. To enjoy the moment, how little it may be. He couldn’t remember the last time they’d been able to just rest without the need to tread into a dangerous path .. perhaps it had been at the farm? It feels like it has been a lifetime since they’d had somewhere to regroup, to rebuild their strength to its optimum.

Being cooped up with his group, as much as he thought of them as family, he had slowly began to feel suffocated by the prison’s metal gates — even in the apocalypse do they still do their job well, even a day away has given him the much needed space his soul craved to breathe. Respite that had sorely been needed.

Daryl’s mind wanders off to a conversation had a few months prior, something so insignificant to you yet it stuck to his mind like glue.

“ If I knew the world was gonna end and we’d spend the rest of our lives trying not to get eaten by walkers, I’d have stocked up on my favourite things. “

The hunter turns his eyes to you strangely, almost in confusion as it inks itself into his features as he continues to stare at you. You understand why he’s so confused, it had rather come out of the blue since you had been enjoying the company of the other — a language without words that you are fluent in when the other is around.

“ Huh? “

“ Well, “ you begin, your eyes widen momentarily as you shift to face him, your knees complaining silently at the movement. “ Life is difficult as it is, but you know what makes it a little less hard? “

“ Booze? “ he guesses immediately, his shoulders shrugging with little liveliness.

“ Okay — ! You got me there .. technically ? “ you pause, your brows furrowing as if to allow your mind to thoroughly work through that answer. Your mind retreats back to the days where you spent nights where you should have been studying, to parties where the alcohol appeared to flow without a limited supply.  “ But, your favourite things make this nonsense easier. “

“ Same shit. “

“ You’re no fun today. “ You complain hopelessly, a wispy sigh dancing off silently in the summer’s breeze never to be seen again. Again, you shift your position and allow your chin to rest on your knees.

Night shift of being on watch had been left to the two of you, if anything you enjoy taking the night watches. Your heart takes comfort in a certain tranquility the night brings, leaving time for you to gather your thoughts and to reflect on the day and everything it had brought. The empty space the farm brought only adds to the charm.

Many of those watches had been accompanied by Daryl, in the beginning he’d seen you as nothing more than a nuisance who couldn’t keep quiet. Of course, with the movement of time brings change. You’d found a wavelength where there was less and less venom sent your way. Edges that had spent more time bathed in a haunting concoction of hatred and hurt began to dissolve little by little as he spent more time above air, an understanding had been reached.

“ Ain’t much to be laughin; ‘bout now. “

“ Hm, I suppose you’re right. “ You nod to yourself, your eyes scan the endless horizon of the farm, following the eerie trail the moonlight leaves as it grazes the Earth below. “ Still, I would kill for my favourite chocolate bar. I’d stock up on them if I ever get the chance. “

“ Yeah? Wha’s that? “ He questions you lazily, carrying on the conversation while turning to face you momentarily.

You tell him the brand, going into specific detail as you try to replicate the taste on your tongue from nothing, itching for a momentary break in a world painted red with the blood of the living and the dead. It’s a silly belief, yet anything that helps you to build a fog of a perfect illusion for no matter how long is worth it, the human brain can only take so much darkness surrounding it before it takes a hold that feels as if it will never succumb to the light.

“ Keep y’eye out. Y’might get lucky one day. “

“ Luck is a rare thing to have nowadays, Daryl. “ you whisper, more to yourself than the man who sits by your side. A twinge of pain buried deep within the arms of your words, though not hidden enough as Daryl spots it swiftly. “ It’s becoming rarer each day. “

“ Guess y’gotta make y’own luck then. “ He offers lightly, unknown that his mind has already stored the information away.

He’d developed a fondness of you, his original opinion had been turned on its head and he hated to see even the slightest hint of suffering penciled into your features — unspoken, he’d decided, even in this world, you were made to smile. He’d seen the light and joy that you brought to others, it’s only right that you should experience the same. Even over the smaller things, which is why he would promise to himself he would be on the lookout for the very chocolate you have your heart set on experiencing once again.

Heavy thuds punish the gravel beneath him as he treks back to their new home, observing the complete transformation in their expressions. Even after going through a lifetime’s worth of trauma with these people, realising people who are genuinely glad about his presence returning, even happy to have him there, is still something that he’s to get used to. Every time he finds himself faced with this situation, Daryl recognises the uncomfortable prickling sensation that begins in his fingers and inches outwards, under the veil of self preservation. But Daryl knows better. He has been the fool to such emotions before and that has only left him lost in a sea of silent distress, powerless. No longer does he listen to that mischievous voice in the back of his head that gorges greedily on his self sabotage.

Searching for your whereabouts had been the original plan on his mind, but he’s quick to rid that thought from his mind. Unable to bring himself to just be ready for the surprise on your face.. Or lack of. The conversation had been so long ago that he wonders if it had been no more than a passing wish, left forgotten as a passing fancy that holds more weight to him than you.

The day romantically dances with the dusk that slowly rolls the night on, stars shining so bright without the bright glare humanity brought with it.

“ You’re on watch tonight, they’re already up there. “ Rick informs Daryl with a pat on the back, of course, the smirk that paints his mouth so gleefully is hidden in his retreat.

Steps to the peak point of the guard tower felt as if they have shrunk, the distance feels lesser than normal, he notes to himself. Better now than never, he silently remarks. The confectionary lays safely tucked away in his side pocket, he’d have physically clipped his ear himself had he forgotten to bring it, he’s warmly thankful of his memory in this case.

“ Daryl! “

Closing the door with a lone click the noise alerts you to the presence that joins yours in the darkness. It feels like months since you’d laid your eyes on him, when in reality it had been little over a day. But when you spend twenty four hours with people you now call your family, even the hours you do not see them, time flows at a hauntingly slow pace. Had you your way, you would turn those hours into minutes.

“ When did you get back? “ You ask with a beam, your eyes more colourful than ever.

“ A few hours back. Got ‘nough supplies till a group can go out. “ Daryl answers simply, moving to lean against the railing of the guard tower.

“ You know, you could have taken one of us along. “ You offer, hoping the need is left out of your voice.

Uttered only to Maggie, you’d divulged your fear of losing people. The fear of never seeing those you’ve grown close to clouds your senses, the beating of your heart unable to rest until they are in your line of sight — a thought that if you go with them, you can do something constantly swirls in your vision. Of course, you know that won’t always be the case, but it’s all you can think of when your family temporarily misses a few members.

Winter had brought many challenges, and there had been times when you’d see them come back with scrapes and bruises that would leave your heart aching.

“ Nah, needed to do this by myself. “

“ You sick of us already, Dixon? “ There's a coating of humour as you question him, a smile accompanies your word hand in hand to assure him there’s nothing but humour.  “ I’m telling you now, you’re never allowed to be sick of me at least. “

“ You’d be the first person I’d have’ta get out of my hair. “ He answers back with a gruff, his hand reaches up to ruffle your hair slightly.

“ Don’t be so mean. “ You whine, pushing his hand back with a short burst of laughter with a richness that could rival the purest of golden honey.

A silence overtakes the two of you after the rare display of playfulness that you know most would not associate with the rough looking hunter of the group. It’s in these moments you find yourself looking up and feeling your heart full to the brim with an intense amount of gratitude, that he’s comfortable enough around you to allow you to peek into a different side of the man. This is not something you will ever take for granted.

“ You come back with much today? Or did it look like vultures have hit the spots? “

“ Wasn’t too bad. “ Daryl responds, shaking his head as he speaks. “ We got enough for a while, till we can get a group out. “

“ Hopefully we can make a home out of this place, I don’t think I can take any more of this moving about. “ You confide weakly, your nails pick at each other as you remember the time between the farm and the prison.

Daryl agrees with a huff, the winter had been hard on everyone in the group. The more he studies everyone in the group, the more differences he can see between them and those who had been on the farm. No one is the same as the people they were months prior. Daryl argues that is for the better, a certain amount of ruthlessness is now a tool required to breathe for an extra day in this world.

“ Ain’t my idea of home, but beggars can’t be choosers now. “

“ If we weren’t, I’m sure we’d all be in one of those huge mansions now. “ you sigh heavily, yearning for all the comforts you had come accustomed to. They are long gone now.

“ Y’know, I came back with sumn’ for ‘ya. “ Daryl starts, rugged fingertips descend to reach into his pocket, touching the plastic wrapper that protects the sweet treat. “ ‘Don’t know if y’want it though. “

Your eyes light up at the possibility of a gift, they rival the stir of the stars in the night sky that illuminate the darkness with their might. They may as well cower from the blinding shine as they witness the colourful wrapper come into your view, the audible crinkle brings out a quiet giggle with the grace of a ballet dancer as it twirls away into the air.

“ This is for me? “ You confirm, your hand hesitantly reaches towards his as if waiting for him to tell you that he is playing a silly joke on you.

Only that doesn’t occur.

“ Yeah.. I remembered a while back y’said that ‘ya wanted one. “ Daryl explains as he hands you the chocolate bar, the other hand reaching back to rake his nails against the back of his neck — almost as a distraction technique. “ Thought y’might’a forgot. “

Your teeth plunge deeply into our bottom lip, attempting to quell the grin that is moments from overtaking your features. Even if he’d been unsuccessful in apprehending the chocolate, even the thought that he remembers such a trivial conversation is enough to send a burst of adoration further than any galaxy reached by the heart of a dying star.

“ Daryl.. “ A whisper is spoken as you begin, turning  your sight upwards to meet the man. “ You didn’t have to. “

“ Wasn’t any trouble. “

“ Thank you. “ Gratitude is expressed, you speak with a warmth in your words as you do. “ I mean it. “

Daryl doesn’t speak, it’s not a case of having nothing to say, but rather what he should say. His actions are not done with the intent of receiving appreciation, he does it because he wants to and in his mind, is what’s right. He shifts his weight from one foot to the other, unable to take in the intensity of the affection sent his way.

The attention of the hunter is lifted back into reality as he feels a weight against his, arms tangle themselves behind his back and strands from a headful of hair tickle his nose as he realises you’re currently hugging him. The change is slow as he tentatively relaxes into the action, it’s so faint the two of you barely realise it’s happening until a weight sits lightly on each side of your body. He has never realised until now how much he has needed human contact that comes with no ties until now, a connection that doesn’t hinge on the deal of giving and taking as a nothing more than a cold transaction. A content breath of air slowly tiptoes away into the weak breeze that blows through the prison at a leisurely pace, of course, the air does nothing to suppress the heat that burns the cheeks of the man.

“ ‘S nothin’. “

“ Daryl, even if you came back with nothing, you still had the thought there. “ You stress from your position, your grip tightening on the man. “ You wanna share this with me, or what? “

As the night marches on, you wonder if the chocolate could ever be sweeter than one Daryl Dixon. Though, in your heart, you know that may be a fight easily lost against him.

[amjustagirl]

Chapters: one. ~ two. ~ three. ~ four. ~ five. ~ six. ~ seven.

Wordcount: 3.6k 

Masterlist link here

AO3 Link here

Genre / Pairing: Romance, Akaashi / Reader

Summary: 

Loosely based on the anime filme ‘Your Name’, also known as Kimi No Nawa.

Akaashi Keiji catches glimpses of another life in his dreams. He dreams of fields of endless gold, of constellation of stars that light up the night sky. He hears the echo of birdsong in her laughter, her songs to the gods in the wind.

Author’s note: This fic is a little different from my usual work, so I’m a little nervous about publishing it. If you do like it, would love if you leave a comment / reblog / anything!

Pro tip: Italics denote scenes in Akaashi’s dreams / past.  

If you’d like to be included in the taglist, do drop me a msg/ask!

He is seventeen again. 

Practice is hard especially with his new captaincy, with first years to train and a mountain of paperwork to clear, but even as each jolt of the train home settles exhaustion further into his bones, he’s more concerned at the sustained silence from her. His phone is empty of her text messages - no funny stories, no silly jokes, no pictures of sun drenched flower fields - but he tells himself she’s fine, she’s probably occupied herself with something vaguely illegal that she’ll tell him later about and laugh away his disapproval.

He’s in the middle of dinner when his father turns on the television to watch the news. It’s just background noise, newscasters droning on about which dignitary is visiting Tokyo this week, how the stock markets are doing, when monsoon storms are forecasted to sweep across Japan, but his interest is piqued when the newscasters mention ‘the tragedy of latchkey kids - the death of a schoolgirl in a rural Hokkaido town’.

It can’t be, he thinks, swiveling around in his seat to stare at the screen. It can’t be, he thinks, in frozen shock, as the screen shows a familiar wooden house in flames, broadcast live on national TV. 

‘The police are investigating this tragedy as an unsolved murder -’

(It can) 

‘The victim was seventeen years old -’

(It is) 

‘Calling for any witnesses to step forward -’

(She’s dead) 

‘Keiji, what wrong?’ he faintly hears his mother ask, and he looks down. His chopsticks lie slack in his hand, the other hand clenched and trembling so hard he’s knocked his bowl over, rice spilling onto the dinner table. 

‘Sorry - I don’t feel so good’, he mutters, stumbling his way into the bathroom, his stomach retching at the horror tearing down his throat like acid. Even as he clutches the cold porcelain with shaking hands to empty his stomach of its contents, his gut burns from the realization that she’s gone - there’s nothing he can do about it. 

Wait a minute. 

He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, sprinting to his bedroom to snatch up his omamori, before bursting out of the door, deaf to his parents’ worried shouts. He doesn’t stop running, doesn’t even stop to take a breath until he’s leapt up all twenty six steps to the shrine where he first prayed to the gods to grant his wish for more time, a wish binding their souls together in a fated knot. 

(Except that’s not true anymore, because she’s dead, she’s dead, she’s dead - unless he can use their bind to twist fate and bring her back from the dead)

His hands are numb when he claps them together, his head spinning as he bows, fingers barely able to grasp as he scrawls another prayer on the ema, hanging the wooden plaque on the wishing tree. 

‘You’ve already upended my life by tangling it up with hers. Please - please  grant my wish and I’ll give up anything, including what’s dearest to me’, he silently pleads, closing his eyes in prayer. 

But the gods stay silent. The shrine remains still.

The shrine attendant chases him out when it’s closing time, and he fends off his parents’ concerned looks by feeding them a lie about forgetting to help one of his teammates with homework, shutting himself in the room.

But the problem is he can’t seem to fall asleep, not when the image of a white sheet draped over her cold body is branded into the back of his eyelids. Not when he can still hear the echo of her laughter as she teases him about his old fashioned book recommendations that she still ends up reading curled up under a tree. Not when his soul has traced the constellation on her back, the crescent dimple in her right cheek -

Damn it all - he needs to fall asleep to have any chance of waking up in her body in her yesterday or is it her today - he’s not sure, doesn’t dare look at the clock for fear of chasing sleep further away, why can’t he fall asleep - he’s done this countless times before, waking up in her body in her yesterday while she wakes up in his today which resets when he then wakes up in his own body tomorrow - 

Time flutters through his fingers like fallen petals scattering in the wind and he can tell from the growing sliver of light through his curtains that it’s almost daybreak - so he stumbles desperately into the bathroom to break into his mother’s medicine cabinet, swallowing twice the recommended dosage. It’s dangerous he knows, but he can’t bring himself to even think twice about it. 

A prayer is still on his lips when his eyes finally drift shut and sleep finally overtakes him. 

 He cracks his eyes open. 

Ah, he’s in her living room. She must have just reached home from school because the irori only emits thin ribbons of smoke, flames licking the kindling in the heath. But that doesn’t explain why he’s lying face down in the dust - 

Then a dull pain hits him. Copper pools in his mouth. Hot liquid drips down his forehead. 

He curses the gods for their sick sense of humour.

‘What are you doing here, Keiji?’ he hears her whimper. ‘You aren’t supposed to be here, he’s going to end up killing us both.’

‘Let’s not jump ahead of ourselves. Tell me what happened’, he answers, trying his best to inject a commanding tone to cover up the fear seeping into his words. 

‘Hana-chan must have told her father I managed to get records of whatever awful shit he’s been doing to her, because he was waiting for me when I came home from school. I refused to give the recordings to him and tried to bite his hand and I guess he lost his temper…’

‘We need to have a conversation about your lack of self-preservation when we get out of this mess’ he points out, terror building up in his throat when he’s suddenly aware of the way his arms are twisted behind his back, cloth rope binding his wrists together in place. But before he can even try to struggle against the binds, he’s pinned in place by a knee on his back.  

‘Awake already, little girl? I would’ve thought you would stay asleep a little longer considering how much you bleed from a silly little smack on the head.’ Nakamura chuckles, threading his cold fingers into his hair, and with a swift flick of his wrist, slams his face back against the floor. 

Crack. 

Akaashi gasps for air, dazed at the pain that blooms across his face. 

‘You’re not as pretty as my little Hana-chan, but it would be a pity to smash your face in. So are you going to tell me where you’ve hidden your dirty little recordings, little thief?’ Nakamura coos, and Akaashi can feel the hair at the back of his neck rise in alarm. 

‘Don’t give in to him’, she shrieks, her panic echoing in his mind. But Akaashi’s in the driver’s seat this time, and he’ll be damned if he lets her die on his watch - not when he already knows the pain of losing her once before.   

Think, Akaashi. You have a brain, think!

‘It’s on my phone in my bedroom’, he mumbles thickly, keeping his voice weak. ‘You can go get it yourself.’ 

Nakamura relinquishes his grasp on his hair, brushing the dirt from his pants onto him. ‘I’m glad you have some sense at least, little lady. But if I find you’ve been wasting my time, I’ll make sure no one even recognises your face by the time I’m done with you’. 

Akaashi waits for his footsteps to fade.

Then he rolls his body across the flow, tipping himself straight into the irori. This probably ranks as one of the most reckless things he’s ever done in his entire life, but it’s not as if he has many options with both his hands and feet bound. It’s also possible he’s been infected by her particular strain of insanity. It’s the only way he can think of to break loose from his bonds, using the flames to singe through the rope binds, but it hurts to place naked flame directly on bare flesh, blisters forming and popping and he bites down on his lip so hard it bleeds because oh gods it hurts, it hurts, it hurts – 

Thank the gods it works, he’s able to wriggle free - not a moment too soon because he can hear the door to her bedroom crash open. Between the daze from the concussion and blood loss, he’s not going to be able to outrun Nakamura to get to safety, especially not when he’s in her body, what the hell is he going to do – 

‘Store room’, he hears her gasp. 

He grits his teeth as he crawls out of the heath, mentally calculating the distance to the back of the kitchen, divided by the blistering pain in his hands and feet. 

’Move, Keiji!’ She shrieks, the thud of heavy footfalls resounding through the house ominously. 

Adrenaline and terror floods his blood. It’s barely enough to fuel his sprint to the storeroom. He doesn’t dare to look back when Nakamura snarls - ‘what the fuck are you doing, you piece of shit’, only stops to breathe when the lock clicks in place. But he doesn’t get a moment’s reprieve, the door shuddering with the weight of a deranged man’s rage. 

‘It would be easy for me to burn the house down with you in it. No one would question any foul play if a wooden house goes up in flames. Or would you prefer it if I wait for little Toya-chan to get home and bash his little head in? It’s your choice, bitch.’ 

‘What should we do?’ he asks her desperately. 

‘You’re going to think I’m crazy... ’ 

‘Let’s not waste time on foregone conclusions, thanks.’

‘Right. Remember how I told you fire is life?’

 It’s a testament to how well he knows her that he knows exactly what she means. ‘You’ve got to be joking.’ He breathes, horrified. 

‘Do you have any other ideas?’ she retorts.

But she’s right, they’re essentially stranded on a flaming shipwreck, there’s nowhere else for them to run. Cursing the gods over and over again for their twisted sense of humour, Akaashi scrabbles around the store room, grabbing the ingredients to light this powder keg of an escape plan. 

‘Ready?’ 

‘Ready when you are.’ 

‘Okay’ he says, taking a deep breath in a futile attempt to keep his anxiety at bay. ‘Okay’ he repeats, loud enough for Nakamura to hear him through the door. ‘I’ll unlock the door if you leave Toya alone’. 

‘Smart girl.’ He can hear the menacing chill in the older man’s voice, but there’s no time to second guess his decision as he unlocks the door. He lets Nakamura make the first move, lets him yank the door open, and with the benefit of years of setting experience (thank you, Bokuto-san), he flicks his wrist to send a perfect arc of an entire bottle’s worth of liquid petrol splattering against Nakamura’s front. 

‘Stand back or I’ll set you on fire’ he threatens, holding her ridiculous pink lighter like a weapon as Nakamura splutters in shock. 

But the man only shakes off his surprise with a menacing laugh, slowly straightening into his full height, leaning against the door. ‘You don’t have it in you, little girl, you’re just like my Hana-chan. She used to put up a fight, always trying to scratch my eyes out but now she’s learnt that little girls should be good and docile - ‘

He can feel the brewing firestorm of rage from her. It’s not unwarranted, not when he’s seen through her eyes the abuse Hana’s suffered at his hands and in a spurt of impulsivity that shocks even himself, he surges forward to grab the man’s shirt, the naked flame from the lighter mere millimeters away from his face. ‘How dare you, disgusting pig - she’s your flesh and blood’, he spits.

Nakamura grins, deranged. ‘Exactly. She’s mine to use, and you’re going to regret ever trying to get in my way.’ He slams his head against Akaashi’s already broken nose (or rather - her nose) and  - oh gods pain bursts across his face and he trips, falling onto his back. Nakamura doesn’t waste any time, climbing on top of him, fingers digging into his throat. 

‘Let go of me’, he rasps, his vision starting to blur. Nakamura only tightens his grip, nails digging into the tender flesh of his neck.

But even with air being choked out of his lungs, her refrain ‘fire is life’ smolders in his mind. The gods must feel some pity for him today because Nakamura is so intent on going for his throat that he’s left his hands unchecked, so he closes his eyes in prayer and desperation, twisting his face as far away from his target as possible and presses his thumb on the lever on her lighter -

Everything goes up in flames. 

Nakamura screams, stumbling away, and the sound should spark a sense of cruel satisfaction if blinding pain exploding in his face weren’t a more immediate concern. There’s fire everywhere, and it hurts, it hurts, it hurts -  but he already knows what hell feels like, this is nothing compared to the nightmare of her dying, so he gathers the last of his strength to fight against the ash suffocating the oxygen from his lungs, stumbles out of the backdoor to drop and roll in the mud until the flames on his clothes recede. 

He’s alive. She’ll survive. 

But it's at a high cost - the white hot pain of blistering burns all over his - well, her body slamming into him like a freight train when adrenaline recedes. Gasping in pain, he welcomes the gathering darkness at the edges of his vision. He tries not to think of the survival rate of burn victims, nor the risk of infection should medical treatment not be administered soon enough - this is as far as he can possibly go. He lies on his back, completely depleted. 

The grass rustles. The wind blows. 

Toya stands over him, eyes wide. ‘Nee-chan, what’s going on?’

Oh. Thank the gods. 

‘Toya. You have to run and get help, ok?’ he manages to rasp before darkness finally devours him, swallows him whole. 

He opens his eyes and finds himself back in the forest shrine. 

It takes him a split second to gather his bearings before he leaps to his feet, his lungs still burning from the taint of smoke, his mouth still acrid with the bitter taste of ash, and he doesn’t know if either of them are alive or heaven forbid - if he failed and she’s dead – 

‘Keiji, you idiot!’ He hears her shriek as he’s tackled from behind, crashing face first into the forest floor. 

He’ll thank the gods again and again for the rest of his life because -she’s alive, she’s alive, she’s alive - 

She throws herself into his lap, crying as she beats her fists against his chest. ‘You fool! You dummy! You scold me for being reckless, but what if you died when your soul was stuck in my body –‘  

‘You’re alive’, he breathes in disbelief, cupping her face in his shaking hands, letting the warmth from her cheeks bleed into his skin. 

She flushes, burying her head into the crook of his neck. ‘You’re not getting out of being scolded but yes, I think so’, she mumbles, her words muffled. 

 His heart grows cold. ‘What do you mean you think so?’ 

‘Where we are isn’t real - is it?’ 

She motions for him to be silent, to listen. There's the faint beeping of a hospital monitor, barely discernible over the whispering of leaves. ‘I think we’re in my mind for now. Or my consciousness, I’m not sure. I woke up to a bright light that beckoned me to follow it, but I saw you lying here and wanted to wait for you.’ 

Fear grips his heart, the spectre of black smoke and white sheets haunting him anew. ‘Don’t follow it’, he demands, latching on to her shoulders. ‘I’m not losing you again.’ 

‘I’m not going anywhere’, she promises with a smile, the sight quenching the fear in his heart. ‘I’m here, Keiji. I’m here. You said you wouldn’t let anything happen on your watch, remember?’ 

‘That was before you got yourself killed when I wasn’t looking’, he retorts dryly, though he’s unable to fully smother the smile blooming on his face.  

‘It wasn’t my fault!’ 

‘I told you not to get caught in the first place!’ 

‘Yeah - but you came for me nonetheless’, she says, eyes sparkling. ‘You came for me, like Perseus saving Andromeda from her shackles, snatching her from the very jaws of the sea monster.’

He chuckles, amused that she remembers the stories he tells her. ‘Nakamura was definitely uglier than a sea monster, so I’m sure that’s an accurate comparison. ’

‘Stupid!’ she laughs, raising her hand to playfully smack him again when he catches her hand in his. He steals a moment to marvel at the constellations in her eyes, wondering if the stars in the sky are jealous of her light. He wants to bask in the spotlight of her warmth and songs and laughter forever and oh gods -

He’s in love with her.

The realisation strikes him like a hammer blow to the chest. 

Has it already been a year that he’s spent mapping out the infinite breadth and depth of her soul? A year that he’s spent watching her wield her kindness like a sword and a shield. A year that fate has spent trying to smother her fearlessness to no avail - she still burns like an undying flame in the night sky. A year of unwritten poetry buried in spring flowers, stanzas of the wind echoing her songs to the gods. A year's worth of lessons in patience and exuberance and laughter, reminding him that life is a miracle to be treasured and not to be dismissed as a mere series of goals.

It is only now that he understands why his heart crumbled into dust, why his soul tore itself apart when he found out that she died -  because he loves her, this silly scrap of a girl.   

Her eyes widen as he tugs her forward to lean his forehead against hers. For once she’s at a loss for words. 

I love you  –  he wants to whisper against the rosebud of her lips, wants to shout it loud enough for the whole forest – nay, for every speck of stardust in the galaxy to hear. His mouth moves to form the words, but suddenly his tongue grows thick, his mouth goes dry. 

His heart stutters to a painful stop. 

He can’t remember her name anymore. 

He tries to say her name again, tries to spell out the syllables with his tongue but it’s no use, his mind remains stubbornly blank. It can’t be. He must have said her name a thousand times in this lifetime, recited each syllable like a sacred verse. 

How could he have forgotten her name?

‘What’s wrong?’ She pulls away, noticing the horror taut on his face. 

Beep. 

He looks down at his hands. Flesh and bone start to fade to dust.

‘Keiji’, she calls, and he can hear the Kodama in the trees echo his name. Keiji, they call. Keiji, she calls again. 

Beep. 

‘I’m starting to forget you’, he whispers, heart breaking anew as despair dawns in her eyes. 

‘No - ’ she cries, desperation in her voice, repeating his name again and again - Keiji, Keiji, Keiji and he wants to respond with her name, but he can’t, he can’t, he can’t -. 

Beep. 

His memories of her are golden hued and bathed in starlight, but slowly they all wash away into shades of grey. He tries his best to grasp onto them, but it’s  hopeless -like trying to capture the sea with his bare hands. 

Beep. 

He thinks of her, dancing in grassy meadows, with moonbeams as her lone light. 

Beep. 

He thinks of her, singing to the gods in the shadow of the forest shrine. 

Beep. 

He thinks of her, brimming with laughter and joy and kindness and love - and gods - 

Beep. 

How is it even be possible to forget the birdsong in her laughter, the blossoms in her cheeks - 

Beep. 

‘Keiji! ’ She reaches desperately for him, tears spilling from her eyes.

Beep. 

 His time runs out. His soul starts to fade into the night.

Beep. 

Her eyes shine bright, the constellations liquid silver in her eyes. 

‘I’ll find you, Akaashi Keiji - even if it takes me a hundred lifetimes, even if I have to wait a thousand years. So you better be ready for me when I find you, because - because I love you -  I love you, you fool.’ 

Beep. 

It’s the last memory he forgets of her, her vow losing its light in the darkness of his mind. 

Beep. Beep. Beep. 

He wakes up with a gasp. 

He is twenty five again, lying on the forest floor with a halo of fireflies dancing above his head.

It’s been almost a whole decade since he was seventeen but finally - he remembers her. 

Taglist

@animeflower26​ @forgetou​ @kageyamakock​ @underrated-fruit-tarts-official​ @bongofrito​

[greenninjagal-blog]

Fool Me Thrice

Hey guys! My three day spoiler free band is up so now you guys get to see what I did immediately after that new video (FwSA) came out! 

Summary: The aftermath of FwSA but Virgil was actually Janus in disguise the whole time. (featuring: Janus breaking down to tears and Roman being really confused.)

Word Count: 4734

Quick Taglist:@alias290 @chelsvans @coyboi300 @dwbh888 @glitchybina @faithfulcat111 @felicianoromano @harrypotternerdprincess @holliberries @jemthebookworm @killerfangirl3 @mrbubbajones  @musical-nerd18 @nonasficcollection @stricken-with-clairvoyancy @the-sunshine-dims @themagicheartmailman @thenaiads @treasureofpriam @vianadraws @welovelogansanders  

Read on Ao3 || My General Writing Masterlist

“DON’T TELL ME TO RELAX!” Janus yells, but the incessant bubbling in his stomach causes the edges of his lips to quirk up anyway. It’s a ridiculous, intoxicating feeling, and it’s curling around his insides like a snake coiling around its prey. He wants to smile. He wants to jump. He wants to sing.

But Virgil doesn’t do any of those things unless under threat and pressure and Janus has to keep-- he’s still pretending-- Janus is impersonating Virgil.

He’s not doing a very good job of it, and he knows. Ever since that stranger at the food court, that stranger who might be gay, that stranger whose name is Nico Flores and happens to write songs-- Ever since Nico uttered those silly, little words, and Thomas’s Heart and Creativity had swamped the controls, the more….intellectual sides were finding it hard to….think.

Everything’s fuzzy and blurry and Janus keeps trying to hit back that buzzing between his ears that comes every time that Roman and Patton team up and get lost in their contagious excitement. Virgil, certainly, is probably docile by now, flooded with the warm feelings that make it hard to panic over anything for at least another hour because he’s too busy riding that high of the “honeymoon” phase of dating-- before he remembers that it's possible that Nico might be a Serial Killer who lures his victims into relationships before slicing their throats and hiding their bodies in the woods.

He doubts that Logan’s having fun either: he hadn’t even bothered to show up when they had first spotted Nico across the cafeteria, not even to throw out that suggestion of saying “I see from your stickers we have similar interests. Let us discuss the possibility of future copulation now.” Which, of course, spells all sorts of troubles that Janus is going to have to fix later.

Later which seems to be now, because Thomas is jittery from the excitement flowing off of Roman and Patton and he is going to text Joan all about it which requires none of Janus-Virgil’s help.

It’s a flawless escape. Janus smiles inwardly, at the gooey feeling of pride in his stomach. He did it! One whole video, completely undercover! 

It figures that Virgil would be the key. 

Of all of them...well, Janus has always known Virgil the best. Anxiety and Self Preservation have gone hand in hand since Thomas was in diapers still. Janus grew up watching the curve of Virgil’s tense shoulders, watching the flickering of his eyes watching the entry points of the room, watching Virgil’s smirk curl and his eyeshadow bloom and--

And Janus knows Virgil hates him right now, even underneath the gooey layer of good feelings Patton is pumping through all of the Thomasphere. Janus even thinks that if he pops in to check on the little ball of nerves, Virgil will come back to his senses and start a murderous rampage on his way to stop Janus from ever impersonating any of them ever again. Which is definitely what Thomas needs right now. 

Whatever. He can celebrate his victory privately.

Thomas is happy. That’s all that matters right now. The rest can wait until the good emotions in Thomas calm down and Janus can think clearly again: he’ll get out his fermented grape juice and pour it in a glass so he can feel fancy and then he’ll figure out how to deal with Logan, listen to Patton’s emotional-gushing-that-ends-in-overwhelmed-tears, entertain the Duke’s R rated fantasies with a polite smile, congratulate the Prince for his victory, and then after all that he’ll send Virgil a card via messenger dove to thank him for his...bravery.

And then he’ll go to sleep for two hours, and hopefully when he wakes back up Thomas will not be on fire.

That’s… that’s a reasonable hope, right? He’s not asking too much of the other idiot sides, right?

The buzz between his eyes sharpens for a second, as Thomas shakes his hands some more, with a grin that Janus would absolutely die for. It's almost regrettable because if anyone took a moment to look at him, to look at the way he looks at Thomas, they would see immediately what his weakness is: Janus is Self Preservation, Self Importance, Self, self, self. 

He’s weak for Thomas’s smile. The gut force that drives Virgil to do things is protection, so he tries to make Thomas recognize everything as a threat; for Roman its creation, so he tries to push Thomas to achieve all of his dreams. For Janus it's Thomas’s id wants, so he does whatever it takes to keep him happy.

A smile on Thomas’s face means that Janus is doing good, that he’s doing right by Thomas. Who cares if in the end he’s the villain of the story? Who cares about him when there’s Thomas?

Thomas thanks him again-- actually he thanks Virgil, but Janus' face flushes anyway. The feeling in his stomach washes over him, leaving his knees weak and his lips smiling. Is this what being giddy is? He suddenly understands, suddenly, why Patton subscribes to that whole “Thomas is morally and objectively the best” philosophy; It’s a nice feeling, even if it makes it hard for Janus to concentrate on keeping Virgil’s eyeshadow the right color.

Thomas rushes by him-- almost close enough to touch again and wow Janus’ hands were still tingling from that; He forgot that Virgil was always able to touch their host-- and runs up the stairs to go scream in a pillow and text Joan the brilliant news and Janus takes that as his cue.

Time to wrap it up and go. (to sleep. Oh god, he can hear his bed calling for him already.) 

But when he turns back to the last side in the room, Roman is pressing his knuckles to his lips and staring at the blinds in Thomas’s living room like he can set them on fire with his mind.

“Princey?” Janus asks, his own smile slipping. “What’s up?”

Roman snaps over to look at him-- to look at Virgil, whom he trusts and likes and appreciates and who is definitely not Janus at all. Despite that, the way that Roman is looking at him with furrowed eyebrows that would sing of a scowl if Patton had been doing his job just slightly not as well as he is currently, forces Janus to check to make sure he’s still wearing Virgil’s appearance.

“I can’t figure it out,” Roman says, looking like he just caught his best friends in the middle of decorating for his surprise birthday party. “Why?”

Janus squeezes his eyes closed trying to focus on what Roman was talking about. He knows that he missed at least one thing that was said in the hullabaloo all day, but he didn’t think it was something that Roman of all sides would be upset about. Why, what? Roman got the guy. What was so complicated about that?

Actually asking why is more on brand for Virgil.

For a ridiculous second Janus wonders if that was Virgil wearing Roman’s outfit and pretending to be him the way that Janus was pretending to be Virgil. But Janus is decently sure that Virgil can’t resist insulting Janus for more than five seconds at a time, and they’ve been side by side for hours now.

(And hadn’t that been nice? If Janus had just closed his eyes, he could have imagined the grateful smile Roman had given Virgil had been meant for him.) 

“I don’t know what you’re on about, Ro,” Janus shrugs. “But I’m gonna go. All these good emotions are like...disgusting.” He sticks out his tongue that way that he’s seen Virgil do every time that Thomas has to eat the carrots his mom put on his plate just to sell the act, but Roman’s jaw sets.

“Why did you do that?” Roman bursts out before Janus can get all the way out, “Why? Janus!”

Janus should have run then, should have pretended that Virgil hadn’t heard him at all and let the other sides argue with each other, but his name is so new and shiny and no one ever uses it. The words vibrate through the air like needles and the next thing he knows is that he’s pinned in place, frozen, and Roman is looking very not-happy anymore.

Ha, so he knew. Looks like Janus can’t get through a video without being outed.

“I know it's you, you slimy snake,” Roman says. “Will you stop wearing Virgil’s face already! I want an answer!”

Janus’s tongue flicks in his mouth, rolling over the back of his teeth as he tries to think of the best way to handle this when all of his thoughts have to process through the molasses that is the gooey happiness Thomas is feeling and his own exhaustion.

“I have no idea what you mean,” Janus says, as blase as he can make it.

Which is….maybe not his best idea. The buzzing in his head makes the rest of the room go blurry for a second, in and out of focus and it’s so very helpful. 

Roman’s face goes red, stuck somewhere between being angry and being insulted. He reaches out and Janus’ legs do that thing where they don’t work so when he throws his weight back, away, out of reach, his body goes plummeting to the foot of the stairs as well.

Roman yelps, leaning forward for a moment maybe with the intent to help him back up but Janus throws up a hand to stop him before he knows for sure. His eyelids are heavy, he realizes, and he’s tired and he really doesn’t want to have a fight with Roman right now.

“I had fun, Roman. Thank you for the... entertainment this evening.” He says, dropping the last of his stellar Virgil impression. He wonders how long he had Roman fooled, if he had him fooled at all for any point. Does he dare wonder how many of those smiles were given knowing that it was Deceit in disguise?

(He doesn’t and he resents the implication that he cares what the others think of him.)

“Congrats on wooing the boy or whatever.” Janus climbs back up to his feet and brushes imaginary dust off his tunic. Or it could be real. He’s not sure considering that he’s so tired he can’t see anything in front of him.

“You fiend!” Roman snarls, “What did you do to our Stormcloud?”

“Why don’t you go find out?”Janus suggests, with a half-assed flourish, even by his own standards, “Or better yet, don’t. In the meantime, I’ll be in my room.”

But Roman snags his arm and holds him up and Janus is acutely aware that sinking out with another side is troublesome and takes so, so much focus and energy. (And Romans touch is scalding. It’s burning. It’s white hot and Janus wasn’t aware he had been freezing before.)

“I’m tired of this game, Snakes and Ladders!” Roman says. “Tired of not knowing what you’re up to! Tired of not knowing what Thomas wants! Tired of getting backseat to self care and morality and-- and I’m Tired, Janus! Why do you keep doing this to me?!”

And hooooooo, does that strike something in Janus! The soft feelings in his chest burn right up in an anger he hadn’t even known he had been feeling. But it must have been there for a while because it boils right through him, leaving his chest smoldering and his mouth tasting like ashes.

“You think you’re tired?” He snaps, burns, blazes. There’s something in this throat, and it makes every word catch fire when it comes out of his mouth. And even Roman has enough sense to know that fire is dangerous and that he’s going to be cremated if he doesn’t step back.

“You think you’re tired,” Janus repeats, taking a step forward so that they’re nearly toe-to-toe and he can see the way that Roman’s Adam's apple bobs. “What about me, Roman? Don’t you think I’m tired? That I’m exhausted? That I know I’m going to have to sink back down and figure out what is wrong with Logan and listen to Patton and keep Remus busy and make sure that none of you morons overpower the others and drive Thomas directly into the ground? That I haven’t slept a full night since the whole start of these videos and moral dilemmas and whatever else? Every time I turn around Thomas is making another lie: to his friends, to his family, to himself! Don’t you think that I… that I…”

Roman is staring at him.

Janus’s head pounds. The room around him sways and he thinks that maybe...maybe the reason he can’t think straight right now doesn’t actually have anything to do with Patton’s elation keeping Thomas busy.

“Oh,” Janus says because he blinked and now he’s on the floor. 

He blinks again and Roman is right next to him, looking concerned-- how ridiculous. Roman being concerned for him. Ha.

“Janus…” Roman’s voice is low, which makes Janus aware suddenly that everything else had been so loud all this time. He grits his teeth when Roman waves a hand and magics up… what are those, tissues? Why would he--

Oh.

Janus is crying. He reaches a hand up tentatively rubbing away the tears, and has to swallow a laugh. Oh, he's crying. When was the last time he cried? When was the last time he cried in front of someone else? 

He's so, so tired. And that's the reason-- the only reason, mind you-- that when Roman scooches closer, a centimeter, an inch, a foot, and then rests his hand on Janus' shoulder, Janus doesn't push him off and immediately sink out to his room. It takes too much energy to lock a room, even his, from the others and Roman would surely follow after him and demand answers.

Roman’s touch is a shaky, changing warmth. Janus noticed it earlier when Roman had said the word “Bravery” and Janus hadn’t been able to form an actual response because he was so busy wondering if this was how all touch was supposed to feel. But now he thinks he can count every single atom that is touching him and the awareness hums in his veins in a way that shouldn’t be possible.

He sucks in an equally shaky breath and tries not to look like he’s leaning into the feeling. His stomach rolls around, twisting and churning to the point where it hurts. He might be able to blame this on a stomach bug. The other sides probably wouldn’t look farther than that. They don’t like him enough to look farther than that.

“Janus,” Roman says again, calling him by name and Janus wants to tell him to stop. He sounds like he cares and Janus knows it’s a lie. He thinks it’s a lie. He’s pretty sure it’s a lie.

It’s hard to tell right now, especially when his own inner desire is yearning for it not to be. He can’t trust himself when he’s like this. He always ends up doing something stupid.

Like sitting at the foot of Thomas’s stairs crying in front of Roman.

“Fuck,” Janus says, and laughs, like this was part of his grand master plan that definitely exists. He ignores the tissues Roman places at their knees and uses the back of his palms to get rid of those pesky, unprofessional tears. “My most humble apologies, my dear prince. Too much fun today I suppose--”

“Janus,” Roman cuts him off, and Janus wishes his sharp inhale was a little less noticeable. “Are you… Did….”

Janus can feel how Roman’s thumb is rubbing his shoulder, slow circles like a loading screen while he tries to weave together a sentence that makes coherent sense.

“Why?” Roman decides. “Why are you...why did you help Thomas meet Nico? Why did you force him to do it naturally without any lies? I thought you liked when Thomas tells lies!”

Janus snorts, which is a bad decision because his nose is runny and, god, now there’s snot all over his face, which just makes the lump in the back of his throat grow larger. He snatches up the stupid tissues and tears open the pack.

“I don’t--” Janus wipes away the snot, and tosses the tissue into oblivion. “I don’t want Thomas to lie all the time. Do you think I’m crazy, Roman? I have to manage every lie Thomas tells himself! It’s… It’s… imagine if you had to make a new video script every single day.”

Janus can see Roman’s confused look. It's adorable really, like a puppy that just got told to “Stay.” He recognizes that Janus is saying something, that Janus is talking to him, but the full meaning of the words is lost on him.

“If it's so taxing, why do you do it, then?” He asks, like it's some sort of choice and not his job.

“Why do you make video scripts? Why do you help Thomas practice his lines? Why do you take him on daydreams when he’s bored?” 

“Because he asks me to,” Roman answers without a single hesitation. “Wait….”

Janus leans forward pressing his chin to his knees. His eyes close for a moment, two, three while Roman struggles to understand what Janus isn’t blatantly saying.

“Imagine if Thomas asked you to make a new video script every single day. Do you think you could say no to that?”

Roman makes a wounded noise from deep in the bottom of his soul. It resonates in the air between them, like an elephant neither of them wants to admit is there. Janus breathes in deeply, and wards off the fresh round of lovely wonderful tears that come from his lovely wonderful headache.

“I’m sorry about the court case, Roman,” Janus says. The words feel dangerous, like throwing knives and Roman flinches back, leaving the spot on Janus’s shoulder painfully freezing. “I wanted-- I wanted Thomas to do what he loved. I wanted him to stop lying about wanting to go to the callback and I thought that if I just made it so that only you could make the decision it would be easier! I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

Janus breathes in, but somehow it seems that all the oxygen in the room had dissipated without their knowledge. He gasps a few times, trying to get a steady rhythm back but the white noise in his head and the itch behind his eyes keep throwing him off. 

There’s laughter-- it takes him a moment to realize it's his own. Which is just great, just fantastic, just what he needed. He finally got the sordid apology out and now he’s laughing. 

But Roman is looking at him not with a scowl, but with some other emotion Janus can’t quite name through his blurry vision. For a second he thinks it might be fear-- which is even more funny than the idea that Virgil had been pretending to be Roman this whole time. In the safety of Thomas’s apartment, when Thomas had just gotten the boy of his dreams, when Janus was on the ground out of secret agendas to hide, what is there for Roman to fear?

“I just--” Janus gasps one more time, ignoring the sharp pain in his chest. “Thomas deserves a win. You deserve a win. That's why I wanted to help with Nico.” He feels like his head is going to pop right off. Maybe if he asks nicely Roman will get out his sword and do it free of charge and relatively painlessly.

“So I...ha, so I spent all day playing dress up,” Janus hates the wobble in his voice. “And now I’m a day behind on managing all my work and now Patton’s going to want to talk about what happened today, and someone needs to listen to Remus and Logan is obviously not doing too well so I have to check on him-- and Virgil too even though Virgil will probably throw something at me but I have to….And then Thomas is going to need me and I have…. I have to…”

“You really… you really do all that?” Roman says in a small voice that doesn’t suit him at all. “All by yourself?”

“Well, it’s not like there’s anyone else to help, Roman.” Janus says before he can stop himself.

“I’ll help you!”

Janus freezes. Because, well.

He’s heard those words before, hasn’t he? Not all that too long ago. When the divide between dark and light was more defined and Thomas hadn’t started posting videos with them in it and Janus wasn’t afraid of the purple door in the middle of the hall.

He knows how this conversation goes all too well.

But Janus apparently can’t learn any new tricks because he still says, “No, I can do this myself.”

(“You’ll kill yourself from stress, Jan!” Virgil had yelled. “Then where will we be?”

“I have everything under control, Virgil! I don’t need any help! Just drop it, okay?”

“Thomas and the Light sides are running you ragged and you want me to pretend like it isn’t hurting you? Are you crazy? They need to stop lying so much!” 

“No! I can handle this!”

“Janus!”

“Virgil!”

“I can’t let you keep doing this,” Virgil had said, “If you won’t do something I will.”

“Don’t you dare!”

But he had. And now he was a light side, an accepted side, everyone’s favorite side. And he was slowly convincing Thomas to stop lying by turning Janus into something to be feared and avoided. How quaint. How trademark.)

Roman is staring at him. Janus can feel the weight of his eyes on him, and somehow that's worse than his hand on Janus’ shoulder. It’s heavier. It’s harder to just shrug off. It means something more.

Because Roman isn’t talking. And Janus isn’t hiding.

And if the words weren’t so hard to say, he thinks that maybe Virgil was right, and he should apologize.

“Huh,” Roman says after the silence threatens to swallow them both. He clears his throat and mercifully looks away, staring at that painting over Thomas’s couch. “I didn’t think you were stupid.”

Janus hisses at him, at the idea of him. But Roman flicks his fingers.

“Oh come on, Ouroboros,” Roman says. “You handle all of Thomas’s lies, and then you’re out there looking after each of us sides as well? I think after 31 videos we can all agree that one side being entire in control of Thomas is a bad thing! So why are you still trying to do everything?”

Janus has a very good answer. The best answer. 

But Roman’s elbow reaches out and nudges him and all his thoughts scatter into the air. Maybe that was intentional, but Janus can’t find the energy in himself to really be angry about it. 

“I…” Janus says, “I just want Thomas to be happy.”

“So do the rest of us too, Snakecrates!-- Get it? Like Socrates?-- Not gonna lie, your way to make him happy is truly… the foulest of methods, but at the end of the day we’re all a part of him.” Roman says. “Maybe instead of trying to puppet master this you could...try working with us? Like showing up as yourself instead of using Virgil’s or Logan’s face again?”

Janus snorts again. The backs of his eyelids shoot bright red stars across his vision. “As if. None of you would listen if I did things that way.”

Roman nudges him again. “It's just a suggestion, Slitherous Snape.”

“How many of those do you have?”

“Nicknames?” Roman pauses, and Janus guesses that he’s counting on his hand. “Dunno. A lot. I never get to use them because you show up in someone else’s clothes and I don’t realize it’s you. All the more reason you should listen to me and just show up as your usual self!”

Janus must have made a noise, but his brain is too preoccupied with the fact that the carpet in Thomas’s apartment is actually really comfy and if he buries his head in his knees the room is actually dark. His headache is a dull repetitive thob, like a drum beat that if he doesn’t focus too much on becomes a noise he can fall asleep to.

“I thought you hated me.” He admits, in a quiet tone and only partially hopes that it was too low for Roman to hear.

“Fool me once,” Roman says in a soft tone, humming like it's a melody. “Shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me. Fool me thrice…”

He sighs deeply.

“And I think that means we need to actually think about talking out things like adults.” Roman nudges him again, and then places his arm around Janus’s shoulders. “But not right now, when you’re half dead from exhaustion. Let’s get you to your room, Jan.”

There’s a cold feeling around both of them, washing over Janus’s muscles like a flood, as they sink down. His eyes open briefly just in time to make out his own room surroundings before Roman drops him on his bed.

Oh, it’s really comfortable. Has his body always sunk into his mattress like this?

“Get some sleep, Deceit,” Roman says.

“Wait... Logan…” Janus definitely does not whine.

“I’ll handle the nerd.” 

There are so many reasons why that’s a bad idea-- Janus knows there are a bunch of reasons because he wrote them down on flashcards to study in between grieving Virgil leaving the dark sides and managing the lies Thomas tells day to day and the ones he had going on forever and the ones that sides told each other and--.

But before he can say any of that, Roman sifts a gentle hand through his hair and Janus loses the ability to think again.

(Janus really doesn’t remember when Roman gained that power.)

He curls up almost unintentionally on his bed, and Roman makes a noise that could have been a laugh, if Janus cared enough to check.

“Sweet dreams,” Roman says softly.

“W…wait!” Janus gathers the last bit of his energy, the residue from the gooey feelings Thomas was harboring, and surges after Roman before he can leave all the way. “How did you... know it was me? And not…”

“Virgil?” Roman offered. “You kept messing with the eyeshadow, Janus. He has that angsty charcoal color on twenty-four-seven. You kept changing it to purple. I mean I liked it, but that’s not his style.”

Janus frowns. “No….he has the purple when he’s happy. I know he has the purple… He only started wearing the black...when he was trying to freak out Thomas.” He sighs and settles back into his pillow. “It glows...when he’s happy…”

Janus has plenty of memories about that, too. They were some of his favorites: Virgil on Christmas morning when the prospect of presents was more scary than the idea of all Thomas’s relatives coming over, Virgil on late nights watching cryptid history shows with Remus and talking about marrying Mothman when Thomas got older, Virgil right after he first appeared to Thomas, glowing in all senses of the word because their host knew who he was. 

Janus remembers being a little upset when Virgil covered it up, because it was another lie then: Virgil was hiding part of who he was and the three of them had always agreed on no lies between them. 

Besides Virgil had always looked younger with the purple, looked more happy, looked more approachable. He looked like he was excited to see Janus and not like he would rip out his throat if they ended up in a room alone together. 

Virgil was purple long before he had been black, and Janus thinks he might have been in love with him even before that too.

Who had he been talking to, again?

Janus gets the distinct feeling something is wrong, but his pillows are comfy, and his mattress is soft and he’s been running on fumes for far too long. He’s fast asleep before he realizes that Roman is still in his room, frowning, and wondering if that meant Virgil had never actually been happy around the Light Sides at all. 

[libralita]

The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes

Suzanne Collins

Summary: Ambition will fuel him. Competition will drive him. But power has its price. It is the morning of the reaping that will kick off the tenth annual Hunger Games. In the Capitol, eighteen-year-old Coriolanus Snow is preparing for his one shot at glory as a mentor in the Games. The once-mighty house of Snow has fallen on hard times, its fate hanging on the slender chance that Coriolanus will be able to outcharm, outwit, and outmaneuver his fellow students to mentor the winning tribute. The odds are against him. He’s been given the humiliating assignment of mentoring the female tribute from District 12, the lowest of the low. Their fates are now completely intertwined—every choice Coriolanus makes could lead to favor or failure, triumph or ruin. Inside the arena, it will be a fight to the death. Outside the arena, Coriolanus starts to feel for his doomed tribute . . . and must weigh his need to follow the rules against his desire to survive no matter what it takes.

Rating: ★★★★★

Review:

So, this is a bit of a “disclaimer” or more of an interesting fact: I’ve technically never read The Hunger Games Trilogy. I had to read the first book for my English class, and it was a time where I hated being told what to read so I used SparkNotes. We also watched the first film in that class but that doesn’t really matter because A) that was like 8 or 9 years ago and B) it was for my class so you can bet I wasn’t playing attention. So, for all intents and purposes, I have not read the Hunger Games. Now you may be asking why I decided read this…seemingly controversial book rather than the much beloved original trilogy. Cuz my friend said I should, the audiobook sample intrigued me, and when are you going to see a review of this book from someone who hasn’t read the original trilogy?

Before I go into spoilers with this book, I just want to say as someone who has at best a surface level understanding of the Hunger Games trilogy, I think people are being a little bit harsh about this book. This book made me completely understand why Coriolanus Snow went down the path that he did while also not glamourizing it or making excuses for it. I genuinely felt bad for this young man who has delt with so many hardship that no one would should suffer through. However, he still does horrible things and the book recognizes that he does horrible things. It is a fascinating character study with a bit of background on how the Hunger Games came to be. Perhaps my opinion will change once I read The Hunger Games trilogy (which I intend to do) however at this point I think this was an amazing book and you should give it a fair shake. Now, onto spoilers.

The only flaw I found with this book was it was a bit too on the nose with a couple of things. First some of the names. Gaul. Satyria. Highbottom. I know that Collins started off as a middle grade writer and these feel like very middle grade character names. They just describe the characters a little too perfectly. In YA, it’s more popular to make characters where their names’ meanings give an insight into their character. Not a huge problem but a bit silly.

Second, I’m a little conflicted on the political talk. On the one hand, holy shit a YA book that talks about political theory? In an intelligent way? That’s not just screaming about real world politics? Oh my! On the other hand, it’s a little too on the nose. Gaul having Coryo write about the Social Contract and then this conversation:

“‘I do. Unless there’s law, someone enforcing it, I think we might as well be animals,’ he said with more assurance. ‘Like it or not, the Capitol is the only thing keeping anyone safe.’ ‘Hm. So they keep me safe. And what do I give up for that?’ she asked.”—Page 434

Hobbes would swoon over Coryo. It wasn’t bad just on the nose. And to a degree, I get it, I’m working on getting my masters in political science and I’ve read Hobbes and Rousseau whereas most the intended audience probably hasn’t. So, I call this a nitpick for me

Other than this book being a little too on the nose, I found very little fault in this. Maybe the Post-Games story line was a little less interesting but it still wasn’t bad by any means.  This book is a character study of Coriolanus Snow, so I’d like to talk about him and his dissent. While reading this, my friend asked me if I hadn’t known that Coryo would one day become President Snow, if I could see it coming. And, while it’s hard to tell exactly, I think Collins manages to balance both Coryo being sympathetic and showing how he could become the person that he is in the trilogy. There are three…phases or Coryo’s life that really illustrate how he becomes President Snow. First is his life during the War. Second, is his life During the 10th Hunger Games. Then his life Post-Games. Collins does a wonderful job of portraying what it was like for Coryo during the war. The horrors he had witness of enjoying the life of luxury at an early age and then his world crashing around him. Of his family dying. Of the struggles to survive. Of him witnessing his friends’ parents restore to something horrible like cannibalism. It’s brought up a lot because it’s something that scarred him.

Now his During-Games life/the first half of this book. Coryo and the people around him are clearly dealing with the PTSD of growing up in a war zone. He’s essentially starving through most of this section during the book and on the verge of losing of what little he’s held onto since the War ended. I feel really bad for him. There was a part of me during this section where I hoped along side him that Lucy Gray would win the Hunger Games, he could go to University and continue his relationship with her. Maybe they could have changed Panem for the better. And while in this section he was no pure angel, you could see Gaul and Highbottom pushing him to become a worse person. You could also see the red flags that become worse in the Post-Games section.

There are two major red flags I picked up on during this read through. First, is his relationship with Lucy Gray. He’s very possessive of her and he gets very jealous when she sings about another guy during The Hunger Games. This made the relationship slightly uncomfortable for me…though let’s be honest if Sejanus was pining after Lucy Gray he would be acting no different from any other YA love interest (shots fired.) He actually reminded me a lot of Jace from The Mortal Instruments. The second red flag is his treatment of Sejanus. In a meta sense Sejanus is your typical hero and the fact that Coryo is using him (and really anyone besides maybe his family?) is a giant red flag to me as a reader. He doesn’t like Sejanus or Mrs. Plinth. He just wants to use them. Which is really sad but shows that is eventually dissent into Post-Hunger Games Coryo is foreshadowed.

Now, let’s talk about Post-Games. I took a break once the Games ended because I was a little unmotivated to keep reading. I didn’t know if I would like Coryo leaving the Capital. I liked seeing the political maneuvering of the Games and his dynamics with his classmates. However, watching his dissent was great. His relationship with Lucy Gray went from slightly concerning to full blown toxic. His possessiveness of her really amped up. Coryo also isn’t really happy to see Sejanus because it’s a friendly face, it’s because there’s someone to recognize his status and for someone he can use. Again, another moment of possibility of where Coryo could have let Sejanus and maybe Lucy Gray escape and he could have gone off to become an officer. Work his way up and become the President. However, he didn’t take that path.

It was so heartbreaking to see Sejanus die, there was still a glimmer of Coryo’s humanity where he genuinely felt guilty but you could see his self-preserving nature showing its ugly head. And then his journey is cemented when he can’t handle being out with Lucy Gray so he may or may not have killed her, then he goes back where his family pictures are ruined and his mother’s powder is mush. The only thing left his is father’s compass.

Speaking of his father, one final character I’ll mention is Dean Highbottom. I wish we got a little bit more of him because his view of Coryo is interesting. It seemed like Collins gave a very subtle story about how Highbottom was worried that Coryo would turn out like his father. But Highbottom ended up created the monster he wanted to prevent. If he had shown Coryo compassion and understanding, he might have turned out differently. This ended up getting Highbottom killed which was a great way to end the book. Sad but great.

Overall, I think this is a great story. I loved seeing all the different roads Coryo could have taken and how things could have turned out differently. I am planning on buying the Hunger Games trilogy so it’ll be interesting to see how this changes things for me.

[a-robin-among-thorns]

Show Your Work

Word Count: 1,592

This started out as a little rambling inspired by a cute tumblr post but ended up being something cathartic during my own finals week. Either way forgive me for not being very present lately. 

Of her reasons for attending the college what had thus far borne the most apparent fruit was Chise’s desire to experience the normal life of a girl her age. Well, as normal as life could be in an underground secret facility of Alchemist, Inhumans and talking cats. And she was currently facing down perhaps the greatest equalizer of all academia: Finals. 

The gauntlet thus far had been fierce. Latin and economics had left many victims in its wake at the start of the week, herself only just managing to scrape by. She was given one day of sanctuary before having to return to battle for Magical Theory earlier that evening. The final trial awaited her in the morning. 

It was Thursday night while she ate dinner that evening. Although she had given a convincing performance of appearing unaffected, her current motions of dinner where all a front to appease the Silver One’s rath. If given the choice she would have holed herself off to study until the late hours of the night, her tummy too restless to allow food, but the entire manor had made their displeasure with the said course of action well known. She was forced into self-preservation whether she liked it or not. 

At that thought she huffed a small grin around her soup, a sound quickly picked up on from her worry wort mage across the table. He eyed her curiously as he often did when a matter of human interaction was just out of his understanding. Fragrant orange soup silenced the action as it slid past her lips and down her throat. Chise did not wish to belittle Elias’ questions, but her energy would be needed elsewhere in the coming hours.   

Her spoon clinked gently on her napkin. “Thank you for dinner Silver.” Chise praised as she tidied her mouth with a napkin. “I’m going to get ready for bed.”

The curiosity Chise had hoped to distract in Elias’ eyes, instead bloomed and refocused. His head swiveled to the clock, confirmed his suspicions, and returned to her. “It’s awful early for bed, is something wrong?”

“Nothings wrong!” She answered a bit too eagerly for her liking, “I’ll just be leaving for class early tomorrow.” Chise said across the dinner table.

Taken aback Elias placed his teacup on its saucer, focusing his complete attention on Her. “Why is that? I had thought your exam didn’t begin until 10:30?”

Chise sighed, “it does but I want to get a few good study hours in beforehand.”

“There is no need to strain yourself.” He urged gently. “You’ve studied plenty and you’ve done well in chemistry thus far.” 

“I know, I know” She sighed knowing on some instinctual level that he was right and she was being silly, “but I’m teetering right at 90 percent. I don’t want to make a mistake and fall to a B.” She stood to avoid further questions and quickly placed her plates in the sink. She shouted goodnight over her shoulder and hurried up the stairs. 

“Are you sure you’re alright?” Ruth echoed in her mind. His desire to ensure his master was not straining herself permeated his mental presence, nestled alongside his desire to finish her uneaten carrot stew. “I am,” she assured uncertain if he had been convinced. But feeling the odd sensation of carrots and ginger intermingling among her senses as she brushed her teeth, Chise chose to believe Ruth had found some peace with the decision. 

As she opened the door to the bedroom she blinked in surprise. At the bed’s edge stood Elias buttoning up his nightshirt. “What are you doing?” She asked dumbfounded.

“Preparing for bed.” He answered still absorbed in the task at hand. 

“How come?” Chise rose an eyebrow, Elias rarely went to bed past midnight. 

“So I can come with you tomorrow.”

“Oh,” she rose her hands defensively, “You don’t need to do that, didn’t you already present your final today? You should enjoy the day off.”

The last button slipped through its hole underneath the shirt collar. “Now how could I do that if you weren’t here?” He said missing the bloom across Chise’s face. “Besides, you can study in my quarters. It’s more comfortable than the student lounge. And fewer distractions I’d suppose.” He finally turned, fully acknowledging her presence in the room. “Unless you don’t want to, of course.”

Guiltily, her eyes searched the room aimlessly. “No, it’s not that I just...planned on leaving very early, before sunrise…” Chise’s words were swallowed down her throat as Elias crossed the room taking her cheek in hand.

“I can deal with an early morning if it means ensuring your safe arrival.” He nuzzled her temple affectionately. 

“Well...ok,” She relented. “...but don’t feel like you have to.”

——

A musical tune that would have been pleasant under any other circumstance jostled Chise out of her warm sanctuary of sleep and blankets. She snapped her eyes open quick to grab her phone off the nightstand and silence the alarm. Breathing deeply she forced herself to sit upright in darkness untouched by sunlight. Beside her lay Elias’ still comatose form, his back rising and falling to the rhythm of a gentle rumble. She knew what he said last night but still couldn’t bring herself to break him out of his slumber needlessly. 

Slowly she pulled back the comforter and lower herself lightly to stand. The bed creaked as her weight left the bed and she froze. Elias’ breathing hitched dissolving into a grumble. Chise stood still hoping he would fall back asleep, to no avail. Elias rose to his elbows yawning loudly. “G’ morning, Chi...se. Give me a couple...minutes I’ll get dressed.” 

A tight line formed on Chise’s lips. “Elias...really, you don’t have to..”

“I know but I…” He yawned again shaking his head as he stood, “want to.” 

All further attempts at protest met similar counters until Ruth glaring up from his restful spot in Chise’s lamplit shadow finally silenced her.

Groggily they got dressed and downed the tea and toast Silver had set out for them. Soon they were off through the countryside, through the phone box short cut and walking into the college. The artificial sun that rarely reflected an accurate time of day burned their eyes as they made their way to the professors' quarters where Elias’ private room resided. 

Chise had to admit that Elias was right that his room was more comfortable and quiet than the study rooms. Despite the early hour, they had already come across a handful of sleep-deprived students chattering and cramming in the halls. There was still one distinct problem though, the only surface suitable for Chise to study on was Elias’ desk, where he had already sat down. 

“Um, Elias may I…” 

He patted his knee in invitation. Not what she meant but she didn’t have any objections. She sat down on his lap where he immediately wrapped his arms around her waist in what was now familiar affection. She located her textbook from her bag placing it open on the desk. She went over the practice problems, an anxious jitter set in her knee and fingers. 

“You are tense,” Elias stated causing Chise to jump. “You have studied well,” His hands caressed her belly fondly, “You have nothing to worry about.” 

Chise sighed, “I know, it’s just...I can’t help but worry about it. Even though I know I’m prepared and I’ve done well before.” The words Elias and others had told her in earnest attempts at comfort found their way onto her tongue. She wasn’t upset that they had tried to assure her, quite the opposite. But she felt shameful that despite her efforts the words had reached her brain and not her heart. “I suppose I’m just scared that I won’t be able to do well again. That my success so far has been a coincidence. I have a hard time believing I can do it.”

The gentle rumbling that often signified that Elias was carefully weighing his words vibrated against her. “Students far less driven and talented than you have succeeded before you. I should know a handful have taken my course.” Chise snickered despite herself. “Besides,” He angled his skull onto her shoulder, meeting her eyes sidelong, “even if you fail, the exam does not determine your worth. Neither as a student nor a person.” 

Chise’s hand stilled at his words.

“That said, you know the material better than you think, just review and…” His words were cut off by a snore as his head slumped against her shoulder. The lights of his eyes snuffed out like birthday candles. Chise snorted. “Thank you, Elias.” She cupped his cheek, nuzzling affectionately before she returned to her practice problems. The clock ticking was much less foreboding while surrounded by the comforting weight of her husband embracing her punctuated by his steady breath.

—— 

Come 10:30 Chise was standing outside the chemistry classroom. Her fingers still fretted nervously, but her feet felt grounded and firm. She looked down the hall where Elias and Ruth stood. Ruth flashed a thumbs up, although he still appeared somewhat grumpy that familiars were not allowed in the testing area. Elias waved as his eyes curved in a smile. Chise waved back before a creak broke the silence in the hall. The door opened and students poured into their desks reading the board instructions briefly before diving into their papers. 

Chise read the first question and smiled to herself. He was right, she did know the material better than she thought. 

[skullssales]

Costume: The Language of Fashion

Welcome to the unending Knot! As we put together for Halloween, lets take a appear on the customized of costumes. Costume and customized are eventually the identical word, costume being only the custom of how one dresses, however these two varieties of the phrase got here into English by way of extraordinary paths. Each are from Latin consuetudo which means custom, dependancy tracing its source back to a Proto-Indo-European root which means oneself, which also offers us the words self, suicide (killing oneself), idiom (ones possess means), and ethnic (a band of people dwelling together). At bottom, then, costumes and customs are approaches we outline ourselves. So Im going to take a seem at one of the most language of fashion, and also at how trend can perform as a language, communicating your status, background, identity and more to the arena round you. Customized came into English first, in the 13th century, through Anglo-Norman French within the feel of ordinary apply. Costume however came by means of Italian after which French to arrive in English within the seventeenth century as a technical time period within the quality arts to consult the type of portray or sculpture of a unique historical period.

Costume step by step came to refer to garb rather, now not handiest in the basic experience (as in bathing costume), but in addition the specialized feel of apparel of a special tradition or time (think custom), as in a national costume. Of course the feel of costume we are inclined to believe of first is the outfit worn for specific events reminiscent of Halloween, Mardi Gras, or a fancy gown celebration. A further contemporary phenomenon is cosplay, a eastern portmanteau of the English phrases costume and play, where contributors dress up to recreate characters from a sort of media including comics, video video games and films. Cosplay is extra than just hanging on a dressing up, thoughit has developed right into a highly complex tradition with specified subgroups, in which the choice and variety of costume indicators allegiance to a certain fandom, may also be an outlet for creativity and for difficult stereotypes and cultural norms, and also can point out facets of your price method to different contributors of the group.

However its no longer simplest what we think of as costumes that can participate in this operate. Fashion has continuously been principal in marking ingroups and outgroups, equivalent to whether youre a part of a unique social, religious, or political motion, if you happen to belong to a unique subculture, or effectively how cool you’re. One severe example of this is the macaroni. In and across the 18th century it used to be fashionable for younger guys of way to go on the so-referred to as Grand Tour to Europe to absorb the finer features of European culture and history. Within the 1760s a bunch of such vacationers grew to be enamoured of Italian tradition, as a result the macaroni membership, and took to carrying outlandishly exaggerated patterns of apparel and fashion, with bright colours, much lace, gold embroidery, and comically oversized wigs.

In succeeding generations there was once both an outgrowth and a backlash to this trend known as dandyism, led partly by way of essentially the most noted dandy Beau Brummell, which used to be equally obsessive about matters of sort, however as an alternative moved closer to a incredibly refined look with dark colours, exquisitely tailored clothes, long trousers instead of breeches, and difficult neckties. This kind set the trend for the formal mens go well with that we still know at present. These trend traits grew to be immortalized within the track Yankee Doodle, wherein the uncouth American, most likely not part of the ingroup, rides into city on a pony as an alternative than a horse, and considers the mere ornament of a feather in his cap adequate to qualify him as macaroni making him a Yankee Doodle dandy! Now, its no accident that costume and custom come from the same root, as we are able to inform by means of watching at a parallel pair of words, habit and addiction. That is, dependancy meaning custom and dependancy that means clothing, as in a nuns dependancy. The phrase, which etymologically means what one has, comes by way of French from the Latin verb habeo that means to have.

Both the English addiction and the Latin habitus might refer to the outside, so ones appearance or in different words garb, and to ones interior or persona, and from this develops the feel of ordinary behaviour. Latin habeo goes back to a Proto-Indo-European root this means that to provide, acquire (observe the reciprocal nature of this phrase), and correctly gives us the phrase give, though fairly not the phrase have, although the 2 roots do share a an identical semantic development indeed behaviour, concerning have, mirrors addiction within the sense of routine action. While the word dependancy used to consult clothing frequently, today its customarily restricted to the apparel of monks and nuns.

Another detail of a nuns dependancy that used to be fashioned to ladies mostly was the wimple, a form of material that covered the pinnacle and neck as much as the chin, as it was once viewed immodest for a lady to show her hair. Of course trend changes and the wimple was once dropped by means of every person except nuns, and instead different adornments had been observed for the necks of females, such because the gorget or gorgias, a style of throat protecting which derives its name from the French phrase for throat. This new apparel used to be considered so fashionable that we get the word gorgeous from it. Unless you consider the alternate conception that the phrase is a reference to the Greek thinker Gorgias who used to be apparently really into luxurious and displaying it off.

He was mainly recognized for praise rhetoric and wrote a reward piece for Helen of Troy, whose gorgeousness kicked off the Trojan conflict, exonerating her from any blame. A further neck masking that became standard within the later core ages and early today’s durations was once St Audreys lace, so known as in view that it used to be offered at St Audreys fair. St Audrey, or to offer the long-established Anglo-Saxon variant of her name thelthryth, used to experience necklaces in her early life, and when later in life she bought a horrible tumour on her neck, she took it as divine retribution for her self-importance, a story acknowledged through the Venerable Bede in his Ecclesiastical historical past of the English persons. So i suppose these St Audreys laces have been thought of as modesty preservers. Best as soon as again, trend alterations and by the 17th century these laces came to be inspiration of as inexpensive and gaudy, and so St Audrey used to be shortened to our pejorative phrase tawdry. Bad Audrey, what a legacy! But getting back to those wimples, the source of the word wimple will not be distinct, however it’ll come from a Proto-Indo-European root this means that to turn (as in a cloth wrapped around the head), a root which also gives us the words wipe, whip, and vibrate.

This root additionally gives us the word gimp. No no longer that gimp, however a kind of braided twine used for trimming fabric and in lace–like St Audreys lace, I suppose. Although speakme of that other type of gimp (to not mention whips i assume), this would remind us of yet another part of fashion, apparel fetishes, though perhaps the less stated about that the simpler, notably within the context of nuns! Getting back to these nuns, at the same time they had been covering their hair for modesty, the monks were doings whatever altogether distinct with theirs.

Tonsure, from the Latin for barber, is the shaving of some part of the hair in order to exhibit religious devotion. Extraordinary devout traditions have different patterns of shaving, like for illustration in the Roman church where the very prime of the top is shaved. The Irish church within the medieval period, alternatively, had another pattern of tonsure, a point of so much competition. Certainly the Venerable Bede (don’t forget he wrote about Saint Audrey) connects this difference to the corresponding change between the Roman and Irish approaches of calculating Easter, and the fine climactic second of victory in his historical past is when the English definitively adopt the Roman practise over the Irish. An instance the place coiffure rather did make a decision ingroup and outgroup! No person now really knows what that Irish tonsure used to be like as descriptions are vague, however one suggestion is that the hair was shaved at the front ear to ear however allowed to grow at the back.

So business within the front, celebration within the again? Genuinely there may be a different candidate for the medieval mullet. In the 6th century Procopius wrote of this coiffure in Constantinople where it used to be known as the Hunnic appear. Incidentally, the modern day word mullet for the hairstyle seems to go back best to the Beastie Boys 1994 tune Mullet Head, although some sources additionally point to the 1967 movie Cool Hand Luke wherein the time period mullet head is used, though its not absolutely clear that this is a reference to shaggy hair. The expression mullet head goes again to the 19th century within the feel a silly individual, and springs from the fish mullet, whose title can most likely be traced again to a root that means black. So clearly hairstyle like garb is an essential marker of fashion and thus costume and custom. There had been of path many top notch hairstyles over time, many with fascinating etymologies.

Famous might be are sideburns, named after the the united states Civil warfare normal Ambrose Burnside. Within the seventeenth century when King Louis XIV of France started to lose his hair very likely as a result of syphilis, his donning of a wig kicked off a trend for wigs. Even folks who werent thinning on prime began to put on them. That is what we could now call a celeb fashion pattern. A equivalent trend trend sparked through sickness round that equal time was once the fashion for wearing synthetic beauty marks, at first to hide scars left through smallpox, however soon as a fashionable item in itself. An additional superstar hair fashion was once the pompadour, named in honour of Madame de Pompadour, mistress of Louis the XV. This trend trend would ultimately return some 200 years later on the heads of the greasers in Nineteen Fifties the united states, most famously exemplified by way of Elvis Presley. Well developments do come and go. Of direction clothing as a marker of tradition has been around ever on the grounds that it moved beyond the in basic terms realistic, however the swiftly moving fashion pattern had to wait except the late core a long time and early modern day period to relatively take off. Official tailors commenced to appear in Europe in the 14th century.

And although the button had been round when you consider that ancient instances, believe or no longer it wasnt unless the thirteenth century in Germany that the buttonhole was once invented, permitting the button for use as a fastener. Both of these traits, the tailor and the button, resulted in extra form fitting garb, as a substitute than the loosely draped type of earlier eras, and this used to be the real impetus for trend trends. Moderate variants in reduce and form would exchange quickly, going inside and outside of type. Maybe the primary first-class runaway trend craze is slashing, in which cuts are made in an outer garment to disclose the lavish materials of the garments underneath. This development began off with Swiss squaddies, after defeating the forces of Charles the bold, duke of Burgundy, threading bits of material taken from the tents and banners of their enemies by means of the holes in their possess ragged clothing.

After they again home, the kind caught on and soon unfold by way of Europe. This displaying off of additional fabric is an example of conspicuous consumption, essentially showing off your wealth, like the prominently displayed fashion designer trademarks of at present. Of path to be competent to show off by means of clothing you had to be of the higher classes. Actually throughout the core ages and early present day interval, legal guidelines have been handed to prevent curb class men and women from dressing above their stage.

You see right now there used to be the upward thrust of the middle type all of a sudden non-nobles had disposable earnings, made out of alternate and manufacture as an alternative than the land owning of the noble classes. So these so-referred to as sumptuary legal guidelines have been handed proscribing what people might wear at one of a kind levels of society. This wasnt of direction the first time such restrictions existed. In ancient Rome, for example, best Roman citizens, in different words free-born Roman men, were allowed to wear togas. It used to be a marker of repute and rank. I someway dont think these Romans would approve of the toga celebration! Speaking of which, that institution tradition started it appears in 1953 at Pomona tuition, and later grew to be noted within the movie country wide Lampoons Animal residence. Nevertheless, before this there is a narrative of First girl Eleanor Roosevelt throwing a toga party to spoof the criticism of her husband FDR as being like a Caesar. As soon as once more, the politics of trend. As for apparel as a marker of repute, even after those sumptuary laws were dropped, it wasnt relatively unless the advent of competent-to-wear clothing, with standardized sizing that you would purchase off the rack with out want of tailoring, that fashion really started to be democratized.

Eventually the center category could be trendy as well. Despite the fact that those outstanding clothier trademarks of today, and the whole haute-couture world, show us that fashion and status are quite still a factor. Getting back to France, the dwelling of trend, a further fashion-setting elite used to be Marie Antoinette, spouse of King Louis XVI, who is the ultimate illustration of excessive extravagance.

It seems that she preferred being known as the queen of trend to the queen of France. Her designer Rose Bertin, who is the primary noted fashion clothier, created the trend doll as a way to disseminate the in trends to Marie Antoinettes loved ones and friends, and this was form of a precursor to the fashion magazine as we know it at present. Really the very first fashion publication was once Castilgliones The guide of the Courtier from the early 16th century, which dealt with etiquette at court docket. The magazine Mercure Galant from the late seventeenth century began to offer advice concerning the trendy tendencies, and by means of the late 18th and early nineteenth century there have been numerous such publications in general with trend plates demonstrating the styles. Marie Antoinettes successor as fashion pattern setter was once the Empress Josephine, wife of Napoleon Bonaparte. Rejecting the lavish styles of Marie, Josephine took a web page from the neoclassical developments of the day and wore attire an identical in variety to the peplos of old Greek females, cinched excessive above the waist.

We now comprehend of this because the empire waist in honour of Empress Josephine. Additionally to being belted on the waist, the old Greek peplos used to be fixed on the shoulders with broaches often called fibulae. Without a doubt the fibula is similar to the modern day defense pin. The protection pin was reinvented in ultra-modern instances by using a man named Walter Hunt, whose other important fashion declare to fame is inventing the lockstitch mechanism that makes the stitching desktop viable. The stitching machine is honestly the mixed work of a number of different inventors coming together. The one to quite make it sensible, viable, and popular was Isaac Singer, who put into practise the today’s manufacturing facility creation approaches to mass produce the machines. Singer was subsequently sued for the patent by way of inventor Elias Howe, who had designed his own lockstitch mechanism, Walter Hunt having declined to patent the thought as he used to be afraid it might put seamstresses out of labor.

But in the end, it was Singers stitching machine that helped to democratize trend, not best making manufacturing of garments more cost-effective and less complicated, however making it possible to do the work in the home. As for Elias Howe, his other fashion claim to status is developing with the primary automatic, steady clothing closure in different phrases the zipper. Unusually, Howe made so much money from his lawsuit in opposition to Singer that he on no account stricken to market his zipper, and it wasnt until the thought used to be later reinvented by way of Whitcomb L. Judson at the finish of the nineteenth century and additional developed by using Gideon Sundback that the general public got the zipper as we know it today.

Incidentally, the word zipper initially talked about the boot it was once designed for, no longer the fastener itself, but the term soon transferred over. At present the zipper is the fastener of alternative on many other forms of garb, such as jackets and probably on trousers, besides on buttonfly denims, the place the button remains as a quaint holdover of days previous. Speaking of jeans, this staple of brand new trend was invented for the nineteenth century gold rush, as the miners wanted tough durable trousers for working in. The tailor Jacob Davis had the proposal of setting up trousers with rivets to make stronger the seams. He bought the hard denim material from wholesaler Levi Strauss, and eventually the 2 went into trade collectively, and Levi denim denims were born. However the language of this fashion predate this invention and is derived from far afield. Jean is an ancient sixteenth century word that comes from the city identify Genoa, and came to consult a rugged variety of fabric that came from there.

The word denim is derived from the French de Nmes meaning from Nmes, a city in southern France. And to high it off, dungaree, one other identify for jeans, comes from the identify of a village in India, Dungri. So this icon of american fashion actually comes from far and wide the sector! And indeed as the globalized 20th and 21st centuries have become more and more fragmented and uncentred we can now not speak a few single trend, and there are some distance too many trends, styles and subcultures to say right here. But probably one of the most hanging that borrows from the prior is the goth style.

Combining retro Victorian patterns with the gloominess of gothic horror fiction, the development used to be taken up via these feeling isolated from and wishing to rebel in opposition to mainstream tradition. And that brings us properly back to Halloween costumes. There seem to be a quantity of traditions that contributed to dressing up in costumes at Halloweenwhich I discussed in some element in my video on Jack-o-Lantern. One part of this practice is that it offers licence to misrule, dressing up in taboo costumes, and breaking average social boundaries. In additional latest years there’s the unfortunate pattern of dressing up in the (regularly stereotyped or caricatured) country wide costumes of other cultures, decreasing these cultures to a type of costume that may be placed on via any individual. Additionally theres the sexualized costumes, chiefly where it creates a pointy contrast, as within the attractive nun costumes. Far from that modest wimple! If trend is a language, might be we should feel about what we’re saying with these costumesand no longer make a habit of it! Thanks for observing! If youve loved these etymological explorations and cultural connections, please subscribe to this channel or share it; you can also signal up for electronic mail notifications of recent videos within the description under.

And verify out our Patreon web page, where which you can make a contribution to help me make more videos go away a remark or query, or tweet @Alliterative; which you could additionally read more of my thoughts on my web publication at alliterative.Internet .

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Source: https://skullssales.com/

[curly-q-reviews]

FLIX FROM THE NET

Bird Box, 2018 (dir. Susanne Bier)

SPOILER WARNING THERE WILL BE SPOILERS DONT READ IF U HAVENT SEEN IT YET AND WANT TO

[TW: SUICIDE, MURDER, VIOLENCE, BLOOD, GORE]

well fuck its been a while!!  happy new year y’all hope u had a Fun and Safe time!!!  i for one was at a party where we started playing Shrek at exactly 10:39 PM to see if Smash Mouth’s hit song I’m a Believer started playing right at midnight and to my utter disbelief and elation it did!!!  move over times square ball drop a new arbitrary way of celebrating the start of a new calendar year is here and it involves a large green monster with a scottish accent who really loves his onions (#me am i right ladies)

WELL ANYWAY heres a fun new series ive been thinking of starting cause ya girl watches a lot of netflix movies and has many opinions about them.  i think i’ll do a separate post about the whole Netflix Original Film trend in general and how its changed the film industry at a later date but since i just watched the above movie not too long ago i wanted to get all my thoughts out there right fuckin now!!

netflix is without a doubt the OG king of streaming services, they were really the first to get the ball rolling and then dozens of other companies scrambled to latch onto this money train while it was rolling on the tracks full steam (or should i say.... stream EL;KGHS;EKFSH; please end me) ahead.  it started out as a rental subscription service where u could pick out three movies at a time to rent and then they were sent to u in the mail (like blockbuster but now you never have to leave your house ever again to get that sweet sweet rental content).  and then the decision was made to actually start online streaming, no physical DVD’s required!  ISNT TECHNOLOGY GREAT

well whoooo boy this shit swept the nation, people couldnt get enough of such a convenient and relatively affordable service and netflix started really raking in the dough.  and at some point they got rich enough to say “hey fuck it!!!  lets make our own movies baby!!!!”  and here we are now with Netflix Original Movies and TV Shows, which means a new player has entered the movie game in a very novel and innovative way.  why pay money for a movie ticket and leave your house to go to a theater when cool new movies are being released on a subscription service u already own to watch movies you already know and enjoy?  and then u can sit butt-ass naked in ur bedroom alone stuffing ur face with cheese puffs like an insatiable cheddar beast and see something new and fun and interesting

ok so.  Bird Box.  here we have a movie based off of a book (so i guess this also counts as a Book Movies review but I DIGRESS) starring hollywood powerhouse sandra bullock, featuring Supreme Lesbian Overlord Sarah Paulson and Resident Crazy Old Man John Malkovich, directed by a relatively unknown but competent female filmmaker Susanne Bier (who also directed Things We Lost in the Fire in 2007, a moving drama starring Halle Berry).  this one definitely has a lot of proimse compared to what netflix has offered so far in terms of their original movies (im gonna get into Dumplin’ at a later date cause jesus christ what a mess) and i went in with pretty high expectations

did it deliver???  well uuhhhh yeah sort of i guess!!  we got some pretty strong performances from our leading lady bullock who really does deliver it every time, a few strong supporting roles like newcomer Trevante Rhodes of Moonlight fame (his energy on screen is just so compelling and soothing), not overly obnoxious child actors which is really all u can ask for, and overall a solid story. 

now heres where i gotta say that i couldnt help comparing this film to another movie of its kind, directed by the notorious M. Night Shyamalan.  y’all remember The Happening?  cause i remember The Happening.  i remember that it was total shit and that the twist was that it was the fucking plants making everyone kill themselves.  the PLANTS.  and i also remember mark wahlbergs dumb-ass confused face that he used in every single shot no matter the context, im AMAZED i remember zoe deschanel in this movie cause she may as well have been one of the killer plants with how little she emoted, and i remember mark wahlberg yelling at a fake office ficus and apparently i was supposed to be scared while watching this clusterfuck. 

the way that this movie was described to me by friends who had seen it before me was basically that Bird Box is a slightly better The Happening, and no truer words have ever been spoken.  we basically have the same premise going on here:  unknown force is causing people to off themselves, our lead(s) have to try and find a way to escape this unknown force without even knowing what it really is, and theres some sort of “sanctuary” they gotta try and get to (which is a common plot point in really all apocalyptic and post-apocalyptic films).  now whereas The Happening’s rules for this scenario make entirely no fucking sense (how in the fuck are u supposed to be able to out-run WIND???), Bird Box has some rules for dealing with this Unknown Thing that make slightly more sense.  when u open ur eyes while outside, the chance of the Thing making u kill urself in some horrific way is extremely high, so wear a blindfold when ur outside and keep all windows covered when ur inside.  makes sense!  thats something i can believe and get behind which makes me more immersed in the story!

unfortunately like The Happening there are still some little things that kinda dont make much sense and take u out of it.  apparently some people when they see this unknown entity dont wanna die, but instead find it absolutely beautiful, which makes them want to make everyone else look at it to see how beautiful it is.  and its insinuated that these people are mentally ill or have some sort of psychiatric issue.  i get that this adds more stakes to the situation and ups the ante, but it doesnt really sit well with me that once again, mentally ill people are the villains in a horror-type story.  and i also dont really understand why theyd then wanna go around and make other people see the thing??  unless the thing has them in a mind-control state or something and is making them do its bidding but that seems kind of a weird thing for an all-powerful evil formless entity to do. 

and that leads me to the next issue i have with Bird Box.  if ur gonna have an apocalyptic scenario where people do something as serious as kill themselves due to an unknown cause, it almost seems a little cliche and cheesy to have it be some sort of mythical celestial god-like or demon-like entity thats doing the damage.  i actually really liked where The Happening was going with its source of all the chaos being something naturally made, like the Earth deploying some sort of self-preservation mechanism or something.  the idea of that to me is actually loads more frightening than some invisible boogeyman that u cant look at.  and then Shamalamadingdong had to go and make it stupid by saying that it was fucking plants trying to kill people by releasing pheromones or some shit.  like why cant we have the best of both of these??  something naturally-occuring that maybe has even happened before in the planets history (maybe it wasnt a meteor that killed off the dinosaurs after all??), that isnt FUCKING PLANTS, and that doesnt do cheesy shit like make ur eyes turn grey and bloodshot and like whisper to u telling u to take ur blindfold off (i swear that happens multiple times it was pretty silly)

thats another thing, this movie’s tone is all over the place.  there are some moments where a more light-hearted tone is needed to break up the tension, for sure, but it almost as if the writing and dialogue werent really taking this serious of a story as seriously as they should have.  weirdly placed jokes are all over the place, there were some moments where the dialogue made me cringe cause it was so awkward.  bullock’s character gets to have some good breakdown moments which help bring the tone to the level of somberness and despair it should be at, but all the other supporting characters dont really get the same space to process whats happening to them, so it kinda comes off like they arent really affected by, say, their wife throwing herself into a burning car right in front of their very eyes. 

overall i’d still say this is a worthwhile watch, especially considering its a netflix movie.  if you’ve ever wanted to see a not-as-horrible version of The Happening that has some deeper metaphorical stuff going on about motherhood and family and shit than this is for you.  the production value is overall pretty solid (though when it comes to cinematography i actually prefer The Happening from an artistic standpoint) and sandra bullock knocks it out of the park.  go check it out if this seems like something thats up ur alley!!

ok bye for now hopefully it doesnt take me six months to write another review but we’ll see!!  my brain is a mystery and time is an illusion HAPPY 20-BI-TEEN Y’ALL

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Friday, 7th of october 2005

I saw posters and panel advertisements for the International Film Festival when I descended onto the platform at Roppongi station. This marks the eighteenth Tokyo International Film Festival. The poster design hasn't changed a bit. Every year it’s: MOOOOOOOOOOOVIE!!

When I look at the poster I compulsively count the number of O's in the elongated word MOVIE. There are eleven O's. It's the same as always. The constancy relieves me. I suspected them of adding another O each year, but they are too busy for silly jokes like that.

We feel the transitions between seasons variously. We notice the usual changes in temperature and the crisping of the leaves, yet we have other ways of knowing that the year is passing. Our ancestors and contemporaries prepare cultural events that communicate their sense of the seasons. Here is proof that humanity can express the spirit of autumn alongside nature.

The Tokyo International Film Festival has become one of our autumnal signs, as well as the athletic and cultural festivals in the schools.

I wonder if I will finally be able to attend the Tokyo International Film Festival this year. I am eager to watch Park Chan-wook's film Sympathy for Lady Vengeance. It's the final installment in the Vengeance trilogy. I met Director Chan-wook in Korea during February's filming. I wonder if he will attend the festival in Japan.

I'm also excited to watch Nick Park's latest, Wallace & Gromit: the Curse of the Were-Rabbit! I'm a huge fan of Wallace and Gromit.

I want to see Night Watch at the Tokyo Fanta.

In the train I saw a hanging poster-advertisement for SPA! magazine. The text on the ad read: "Men in your twenties and thirties, will this be you in ten years? 57% will be clinging to their company… 69% will suffer failing health."

I am so bothered by the implications of this headline. I can't think of anything else. Yesterday I actually bought the recent issue of "SPA!" at the Nasu-Shiobara station.

The front page article concerns itself with corporate men in their twenties and thirties who live without personal dreams. All of the article's information was gathered through polls and questionnaires though, so the poster-ad's key phrase "in ten years" makes more sense.

Everyone feels anxious about the future and where their lives are headed. That's OK. I was disturbed by the train advertisement because of the implied self-absorption. "Will this be YOU…?" As individuals we worry for the future. More importantly we should worry about the future of our society and of the larger world.

My generation cared about these larger issues when we were in our twenties and thirties. Will the Earth exist in ten years? Will we suffer war? What about the twin threats of meteorites and aliens? Perhaps viral disease will erase humanity?

One of modern civilization's hallmarks is easy access to hot water. We have it in most of our homes now. How long will this level of civilization hold? We live bordered by anxieties. Menaces are everywhere: war, pollution, radiation poisoning, environmental destruction… even aliens.

Even though it is natural for us to care about personal futures, we must also consider the society among whom we live. We have no future without society. We shall remain unhappy unless we achieve an organized peace.

What will the world look like in ten years? What about our nation and society? Everyone shares a common stake here. Our future depends upon our answers to these questions.

Terrorism and civil wars consume us. Blood and lunacy overwhelm human order. We court the ideals of national and emotional security when we should concern ourselves with political and personal inner peace. We don't work toward nuclear disarmament and anti-war diplomacy; we fetishize emergency responsiveness. Does anyone consider the panorama that exists beyond the blinders of "our personal futures"? Who can claim a personal future without creating society's future in the process?

The advertisement terrified me. Twenties and thirties… where will you be in ten years…

My wife stopped me as I left home this morning. "It will be warm today," she said. I took her at her word and left without a jacket. God, it's cold! So cold!

Tokyo is not usually as cold as the northern regions, but the climate here is just like Nasu's. I only wore a long-sleeve shirt today. My heart feels vacant and my mind feels scored… it isn't a good time for my body to feel cold.

I must identify with the inner character of my location. I need to become intimate with the coldness; I must love it. If I cannot bond myself to my context, I cannot bind myself to my presence. Yesterday's training will have been wasted.

I considered buying a shirt at the Hills but I didn't have time. I still felt cold, so I pulled on a MGS2 T-shirt that I found in my work booth beneath my long-sleeved T-shirts. It smelled a little weird, so I tried perfuming myself. Now my work booth smells rank.

At lunch I had Rigatonni with cream and bacon at the Italian restaurant Piatto Piatto. I visited the bookstore afterwards but nothing caught my eye.

I checked the video sequences for the Existence disc. I reviewed everything left on the roll of film, and then I started from the beginning and worked to the end. I gave it to the staff that synthesizes the final mix.

The whole video lasts three and a half hours. I can't change this. It has to be this way. My adjustments on the length of the film make a little trouble for the sound designer. My stress has infected Mrs. Yamanaka, too.

I attended the unveiling of new technology. When new console technology is in development our work methods are inevitably interrupted, redirected, interrupted again, and so on. When new technology is revealed, new problems arise in our work methods. The cost in labor and time increases, but that cannot be avoided.

That is not the real trouble. The clarity of detail and specificity in images has been augmented. We need to figure out what to do about the fragments and elements to which we haven't paid much attention until now. We need to work this out as soon as possible.

The imagistic world that we create using CG requires more intense attention and detail. If we do not care for these nuances then we will discover that some less detailed images stand out. They will appear incongruous against the whole work.

Let me give an example. In MGS3 I asked the voice actors to use their talent fully when delivering their lines. I didn't consign them to synchronizing their delivery with visual images. I next asked the motion capture actors to learn the timing and delivery of the voice actors' performances before we filmed the motion capture scenes.

When we make a storyboard the character models are made from scratch. We use Shin-chan's drawings for reference. After we decide on a given scene's camera angle, we work through the characters' facial expressions.

We have chosen our method of narrative development in order to make evident the superior qualities of our voice actors (such as Akio Otsuka who plays Snake). This is how we have chosen to cultivate our energies. We created the cast for our mold by blending digital media's unique design elements with our best talents: our voice actors, our visual artists, and our motion capture actors. We wrapped the digital skin of virtual reality around the living heart and muscle of our talents. This is how we created the Metal Gear Solid universe.

Our work method will be difficult to preserve when we move to the next generation consoles. Physical forms and facial expressions will need to appear in-game exactly as they appear in reality. We will need to rely upon one single actor for our four main ingredients: facial model and texture, motion acting, facial expressions, and vocal performance. I'll also need to worry more about the adaptation from a Japanese language version into English. Facial and vocal expressions always differ between the two. I will need to prioritize either the English or the Japanese version if I make my games like a movie, with subtitles and voice dubbing. I will need to develop the game to its best form within the context of only one language.

I have always approached MGS with the attitude that I am emulating reality from a distance. Each character is a collage of many different people. One lends his voice, another his facial expressions, another his body movements, and still another his character design ideas. Each character has been the composite of each person's best qualities. Future game development will require one actor's voice, facial expressions, performance, and embodiment of character design. As in a movie, we will only be able to use one actor per character.

I won't allow MGS to turn into something so conventional and unimaginative. I'll develop a better method. That's a game designer's job.

I received a gift from a close friend tonight. It will no doubt comfort me when I am lonely. I'm fine… I'm really alright. No one needs to worry. I can no longer depend upon kindness from others. This is my life, and I am the only man living it.

I drank a few glasses of wine with Murashu at his regular bar last night. We discussed the future of HIDEOBLOG.

I begin writing every blog entry in the morning. I finish writing retrospectively at home. I proofread what I wrote the previous day on the following morning, amend the text if necessary, then give it to the webmaster.

It is important that I continue writing this blog. Last year's Kojima Diary started and stopped on the same day. I don't want to repeat that, but I am tired.

That is why I have called upon Murashu. I explained the blog's significance to him. Unlike me, he should be able to handle the work. He will step up as my pinch hitter.

Murashu's blog titled Murashu Trek will begin next Tuesday. I may not continue HIDEOBLOG.

Murashu and I parted as midnight brought us across Thursday's threshold into Friday. Rain beat down upon my umbrella. Cars choked the streets. In the time that it took for me to hail a cab, I could have listened to a whole CD. The rain crashed down. The cab's windshield wipers slapped epileptically back and forth. Even so, water sheathed the windshield into a total cataract. It was almost like a full blown storm.

The driver and I didn't know each other, and we were stuck together inside the car. I didn't even know his name. I felt anxious. I tried to focus myself on the energy wavelengths around me, but I couldn't blend myself into the tidal undulations.

I saw that the television show 24 was on when I arrived home. This may be the final HIDEOBLOG. Is this good enough for my public 24 hours?

Behold a day in the life of a game designer. This is my blog.