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intuitive-revelations · 11 months ago

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The near future in the Doctor Who universe sure gets dire doesn't it? Especially if Mad Jack / Roger ap Gwilliam is still part of history.

I thought I'd have a bit of fun listing things out, combining as many sources as possible. Turns out he fits in shockingly well with what we know. There's a lot missing here or cut out, and for obvious reasons it's very UK / Europe focused, but nonetheless:

[ID: Scene from The Christmas Invasion showing Harriet Jones on BBC News. The news ticker reads "PM HEALTH SCARE", "Unfit for duty?", and references a "SECRET GOVERNMENT MOLE" and a quote: "BLOOD ON [HER HANDS]".]

2006-2021 (obviously the past now, but still noting for the resulting temporal and political butterfly effect) - In the original timeline, Harriet Jones remains Prime Minister for 3 consecutive terms, presumably 15 years assuming no snap election was called, referred to as a 'golden age' [World War Three]. The Tenth Doctor deliberately changes history to cause her deposal [The Christmas Invasion], leading to numerous disastrous terms in the meantime, including those of Harold Saxon [The Sound of Drums et al.], Brian Green (who tried to appease the 456) [Children of Earth], Boris Johnson (an auton host of the Nestene Consciousness) [Rose (novelisation)], and Jo Patterson (responsible for deploying cloned Dalek defence drones in the UK's streets) [Revolution of the Daleks].

[ID: Scene from Revolution of the Daleks. A 'defence drone' Dalek is used to support anti-riot police in a test, dispersing protestors with mock tear gas.]

2010s-2030s - The European Union gradually integrates further, eventually becoming the European Zone / Eurozone, a global superpower which competes with the USA through the 21st century. The UK eventually forms part of the bloc [Trading Futures].

It's likely that Harriet Jones's deposal led to this and related events being delayed or erased, with Brexit (driven by, among others, one of Jones's successors in the new timeline) reducing european unity. Most notably, Ramón Salamander's rise to power occurs now not in the 2010s [The Enemy of the World], but in the 2030s [Doctor Who and the Enemy of the World]. There are other events that are seemingly delayed by ~20 years by changes to the timeline, including future events like the dictatorship of Mariah Learman [The Time of the Daleks, Trading Futures], and yet also possibly past events like the death of Queen Elizabeth II [Battlefield, The Longest Night et al.], which may suggest something else (eg. the Time War) may be responsible.

~2030 - During a time of rising global tensions [73 Yards], Ramón Salamander convinces a group of scientists in an underground shelter endurance experiment that nuclear war has broken out on the surface. They are convinced to generate artificial "natural" disasters to fight back against the enemy. Between this and ongoing climate change, several global food sources collapse as a result, including Canada and Ukraine's corn and flour production [The Enemy of the World].

2031 - Tensions culminate in the "Great Russian War". Despite posturing, not a single nuclear weapon is fired, at least by NATO [73 Yards]. This may be later considered World War III [Trading Futures].

~2032-2035 - Following the war, tensions rise again, now between the Eurozone and the USA [Trading Futures], possibly in reaction to actions (or lack thereof?) taken by NATO during the war [73 Yards]. Both send separate peacekeeping forces to conflict in North Africa. Meanwhile, Italy is engaged in civil war [Trading Futures].

[ID: Scene from The Enemy of the World, showing Ramón Salamander.]

Over the decade, Ramón Salamander rises in power in the World Zone Authority, using his patented "Sun Store" satellite technology to aid the growth of crops by controlling sunlight over agricultural regions. In the background, he murders and blackmails officials to place loyalists into powerful positions, with the goal of ruling over the World Zone Authority as a dictator. Salamander's treachery is later discovered and he disappears [The Enemy of the World].

2037 - 2042 - Several militia declare wars of Independence from the USA. Notably, Phoenix, Arizona is destroyed in a terrorist attack. While the country largely persists after the conflicts, some territories seem to successfully secede - with, for example, a Montana Republic seemingly being in existence in 2054 [Alien Bodies].

2038 - The World Zones Accord is signed. This is later considered to have reduced the United Nations to a 'joke' compared with the World Zone Authority [Alien Bodies]. Given the extensive power it gives to the WZA, this was likely originally part of Salamander's plan, but due to his disappearance he is not around to reap the rewards [The Enemy of the World].

2039 - A group of Mexican astronauts studying minerals on the Moon go missing [Kill the Moon].

~2030s - 2040s - The Earth begins to experience major climate change effects, including "appalling storm conditions" which harm agriculture [The Waters of Mars]. The ice caps melt and flood much of the Earth [K9] with nations like the Netherlands ending up entirely flooded [St Anthony's Fire]. Some regions experience corrosive acid rain [Cat's Cradle: War Head, Strange Loops]. One summer sees Britain experience a 22 week drought. At this time, the Eurozone closes its borders to millions of North African and Baltic Sea refugees [Hothouse]. This time period may be known as the "Oil Apocalypse" [The Waters of Mars].

[ID: Scene from K9 Episode 13: Aeolian. Big Ben stands in the middle of a colossal storm of wind and rain.]

With Earth's ecosystems collapsing [Davros], humanity begin to realise it's facing extinction [The Waters of Mars]. An artificial cooling agent is spread in the atmosphere to semi-successfully combat the effects, but leads to dramatic side-effects, including freezing some areas of the globe. This is known as the "Great Cataclysm" [K9].

2041 - A three-human team, including Adelaide Brooke, lands on Mars for the first time [The Waters of Mars]. However, with this accomplishment, and increasing turbulence on Earth, Humanity gradually loses interest in space exploration [Kill the Moon].

Before 2045 - Around this time, the UK falls into a dictatorship ruled by the "Director", head of a military council that has allegedly (secretly?) controlled the government since 2028 [Britain Protests]. It is possible that this Director was previously the "Minister of War" for previous governments [Before the Flood].

2045 - The World Zones Authority evolves into a World Government, with Nikita Bandranaik being elected President. The UK is not part of the organisation [This is 2065].

2046-2050s - The Director is overthrown [Down with the Director] and the rest of the government "collapses in shame" [73 Yards]. Some of the revolutionaries celebrate now being "masters of [their] own country" [Down with the Director]. Despite the hopes of the World Government for international integration, this nationalistic streak continues.

[ID: Scene from 73 Yards. Roger ap Gwilliam, with an Albion Party ribbon on his chest declares victory on BBC News, live from Kennington High in London. Headline reads "LANDSLIDE VICTORY FOR ALBION PARTY: Majority of 92 predicted. Roger ap Gwilliam declared Prime Minister."]

Roger ap Gwilliam is elected Prime Minister, with the far-right nationalistic Albion Party gaining a majority of 92 MPs [73 Yards]. While his government does take the step to officially join the World Government senate [Down with the Director], he seeks greater independence from other nations. One of his first actions is to expand the UK's nuclear arsenal, purchasing missiles from Pakistan and withdrawing from NATO. In his term, the world is brought to the brink of nuclear war [73 Yards], likely in the pre-2050s "Euro Wars" [The Time of the Daleks].

In this time, the "Department", a (private?) multinational security organisation is born, based primarily in the UK. They gain broad powers, which they use to control populations with propaganda and use of "CCPC"s: robotic law enforcement notorious for their surveillance and brutality. Despite its recent revolution, the country is rendered practically a police state [K9].

[ID: Scene from K9 Episode 1: Regeneration. CCPCs, hulking police robots, march down a dark alley.]

2049 - The Moon starts to dramatically gain mass, causing massive tides on the Earth, flooding entire cities. In a last ditch at survival, humanity plans to try and destroy the Moon using an array of nuclear bombs. Despite the people of Earth being offered the vote on what to do by turning off their lights, it appears the decision is made on a national level, with lights going off grid-by-grid. Nonetheless, the Moon is allowed to hatch, leaving behind a new less massive egg "moon" with minimal further destruction [Kill the Moon].

[ID: Scene from Kill the Moon. The Moon hatches in the background, as the TARDIS stands by the sea.]

Humanity's interest in space exploration returns [Kill the Moon], starting a new space race. Among these projects, Australia begins constucting a space elevator, Spain a project called "SpaceLink", while Germany and Russia each begin a series of new Moon missions. The Philippines are rumoured to be planning their own landing on Mars [The Waters of Mars].

~2050 - The UK Government (ap Gwilliam's?) is couped once more, by General Mariah Learman. With the King's permission, elections are suspended for at least a couple years, with her ruling over a "benevolent dictatorship". She is later abducted and forcibly mutated by the Daleks [The Time of the Daleks]. Despite the previous description, her promotion of Shakespeare in schools is remembered as the only good thing about her rule [Trading Futures]. (Note: As mentioned prior, it's likely that Learman's rule may have been delayed as Salamander's was. This is suggested by the mention of her in Trading Futures, set seemingly ~2030s or earlier, despite The Time of the Daleks taking place around the 2050s.)

~2050s - The Gravitron is built on the new Moon. This is used to artificially control the tides and weather [The Moonbase]. It likely also is intended to study and monitor the new Moon for future changes [Kill the Moon].

[ID: Scene from The Moonbase, giving an external shot of the base.]

2058 - 2059 - Bowie Base One is established: humanity's first colony on another planet and an international collaboration between the UK, USA, Russia, Germany, Turkey, South Korea, Lithuania, Australia, and Pakistan. One year later, it is mysteriously destroyed in a deliberately triggered nuclear explosion. In the original timeline, there were no survivors. However, after the interference of the Time Lord Victorious, the true story is eventually told on Earth. Regardless "a veil of darkness" sweeps over the planet over the next few years. [The Waters of Mars], as international tensions heat up once more... [Total Eclipse of the Heart].

[ID: Scene from The Waters of Mars, showing an internet news website. Various articles appear focused on the Bowie Base One incident, including "SURVIVORS STORY - BROOKE SAVED EARTH", "THE MYTHICAL DOCTOR", "BROOKE'S HEROIC ACTIONS SAVE EARTH", and "HOW THE COUPLE ESCAPED MARS". The feature image shows the two survivors: Yuri Kerenski and Mia Bennett.]

2060s - The "Great War" breaks out on Earth, involving every country on Earth. This is likely World War IV. Details are vague, but it ultimately ends in a ceasefire, when it's realised the conflict is risking Earth's habitability [Total Eclipse of the Heart].

#Doctor Who #DW Spoilers #Doctor Who Spoilers #73 Yards #DW Theory #Canon-Welding #Long Post

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lyquynhnhu · 3 months ago

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A Tale of Perishing - analysis (part 1)

Just watched episode 4 of Zenshu and it was hilarious. To be honest, it’s since episode 2 that I’m curious about the original movie plot.

What we know is that “A Tale of Perishing” was an original anime in movie format. Just from the title it’s is expected to be very dramatic. Natsuko stated that the plot was depressing, the type of angst for angst sake.

Natsuko gets reincarnated at the start of the movie. At this point 8/9 country of that world have already perished. Only 1 city survived, the Last City.

The movie probably just introduced the hero party and soon after the enemy army attacked, like it happened in episode 1. Then Unio sacrificed himself to annihilate the enemies. This means that Unio just died before getting to know his character. However, from the bit of the movie that Natsuko watched on her computer, he was alive. Maybe Unio appears only in flashbacks.

Before Unio funeral, there is the voids attack from the sky. And somehow, Luke, who was devastated by the death of his best friend, somehow managed to defeat them. However, in episode 2, QJ stated that Luke has 3% of possibility to win. Like, in the movie he was mentally unstable but manages to win, while in the anime he was physically and mentally alright and still struggle? My theory is that Luke is able to trigger some special power under dire situation. But since Natsuko resolved it all, the condition to awake such power are not met.

So, after this attack, the city has time to held Unio funeral. There, Luke meets and fall in love with Destiny. We know that Destiny would died, but I think that happened further in the movie. In fact, I think that others of the Nine Soldiers died before she did. After every loss, Destiny stay with Luke to comfort him and give him courage (while also attracting problems). The Memmeln cult stuff probably happened in the middle of the movie. Destiny is probably the last one to die and Luke completely broke.

It’s unclear if the movie ended with Luke saving the world or the enemies winning. It’s probably the former, but it’s not totally an happy ending since almost all the cast have died.

Anyway, since it was an anime movie, the duration is limited and many parts got cut. For example, Natsuko know nothing about the choir and had no idea why Memmeln transformed in the Great Void.

As for Memmeln, she lived more than 200 years always in battlefield. But the void are supposed to have appears not many years ago. On the official site, it’s written that Luke and Memmeln come from different countries before the country falls. Since Memmeln lives long, maybe her country fell century ago while Luke’s fell when he was a child.

Memmeln says that she joined the cult recently. She realizes for a long time that her life is hard, but doesn’t consider taking her own life maybe because of her responsibility as a hero. The Nine Soldiers seems to have been chosen by a prophecy. Unio said that Luke was destined to be become the legend hero the day he was born. Memmeln doesn’t choose to be a hero, but she cares for the world and the people. If she died, void would continue to attack and the people would suffer more with one less hero protecting them. With the cult, she found people who think like her. By awaking the Great Void, Memmeln believe that the world would end peacefully and equally ending everyone suffering. Her decision is quite selfish and drastic, but her decision comes from her particular circumstances.

The cult doesn’t control the void attacks, they just want them to get the last Soul Future. Memmeln doesn’t want to create panic, that’s why transforming into the Great Void and attack Luke was her last card. But she regret it. In the anime she detransformed back because she was having second thoughts, while in the original movie she is easily defeated by Luke. Probably she didn’t even try to fight seriously.

In the movie, all her motives are cut. Nor Luke nor the audience understand this twist of the plot. No wonder the movie was rated bad. I’m quite convinced that the movie condensed the story too much. Like, there are 9 heroes, but they died without getting development. It’s already difficult to develop everyone with 12 episodes (I think Zenshu have only 12 episode, wish it had more), and the movie was 2 hours long.

I think from episode 5 to 9 the anime will introduce the remaining 5 heroes. In the preview we see the dragon who was also in the opening. Usually, in the opening should appear all the characters or at least the silhouettes. But the dragon is the only one that appears.

I really wished this anime has 2 cours.

#Zenshu

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chibrary · 1 year ago

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sources compiled: max verstappen and wsk promotion, both on youtube series: 2013, karting

charles gets third at the cik-fia kz european championship in genk. max wins.

its been a year since the "inchident" and tensions are still high on track... just two races earlier, max is forced to retire after pushing charles into the grass so hard that it causes his already struggling gearbox to fail. charles' team, artgp, decries the maneuver on track as "unfair" via a press release titled "ART Grand Prix stronger than adversities". (meanwhile, charles' fansite decides uses slightly more flavorful language in its own race summary... describing the move as "incomprehensible," simply scandalous" and "shameful" while appealing for officials to do a better job of penalizing dangerous moves. max's site ignores the race entirely, leaving no summary to memorialize his team's take on what happened in sarno. it makes sense: its a lone bad race for the dutch driver in an otherwise dominant season.)

ironically, the cik-fia would start the next race weekend the two attended in wackersdorf with a conversation to all competitors about sportsmanlike behavior.

things may not be as dire as they originally seem, however. charles and max might be ignoring each other on the podium, but they're still friends on facebook: max apparently leaves a comment-- deleted as part of his early f1 social media account purge-- on charles' post about the race.

#format:socialmedia #format:video #series:karting #year:2013 #driver:max

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shiningstarr15 · 3 months ago

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The 3 Star Trio

First official “promo” art for my fic, *Reassembled* Takes place after the end of the events of Security Breach and the Princess Quest ending. The problem is… these three, are not a family. Not at all. They aren’t even FRIENDS, save for Gregory and Freddy and even then, they’ve only known each other for a few hours under dire circumstances. And then you have Vanessa, whose guilt drives her to the point of feeling obligated to return the favor to the child that saved her (that she also tried to kill as Vanny, and berated as herself). As well as Freddy, whom she was INCREDIBLY hostile to and threaten to decommission if he was helping the child. So.. they shouldn’t even like her, right? So then how does this unlikely trio of traumatized misfits… become a family?

My take on origin of the 3 star fam, with more nuanced takes on the characters and their relationships, oh and psychological exploration :3

Important details

-this story is driven by the idea of my own “fragmented mind theory,” in which the glitchtrap virus created Vanny, the dark version of Vanessa, using a combination of trauma, intrusive thoughts, and perceived negative traits and amplifying them to an overwhelming degree. So they are, in many ways, the same person, but Vanny still would not exist without glitchtraps heavy influence

-the entire 3 star trio (pre-relationship 3 star fam) are autistic coded, and much of the actions and psychological implications is centered around this

-all of the characters are morally grey. There is no “Vanessa fully good and Vanny fully bad” shit. I’m not a fan. To me it’s way more nuanced and deserves to be explored as such

-the story will take place in 3 acts, with act 1 already complete and act 2 on the way :3

So if anyone’s interested in reading this monster I’ve poured my blood, sweat, tears, and trauma into creating. Well, here ya go

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dark-frosted-heart · 10 months ago

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Clavis’ 4th Birthday Story (His POV)

As usual, can’t guarantee 100% accuracy on this

Since meeting Emma, birthdays have become more special.

Year after year, it was a momentous occasion where I celebrated my birth as my fiancee poured her heart and soul into expressing her love for me. And not to be outdone, I too strive to make each year more enjoyable than the last—

Clavis: So you’re saying that you’re not giving your cute little brother a vacation on his birthday?

Chevalier: …

However, this year, before my birthday, my detestable older brother threw a wrench in my plans.

Clavis: Let me kill you just this once.

Chevalier: You’re welcome to draw your sword, but you’ll fail.

Clavis: Why. You’ve never harassed me like this before.

Chevalier: It’s official business.

Clavis: You can do it yourself.

Chevalier: The ambassador who caused issues is a friend of yours, is he not?

Clavis: It’s not the first time you’ve met them.

Chevalier: I made them cry.

Clavis: …

Chevalier: Give up.

(What’s the catch?)

Recently we received a report that a staff member of the embassy for a certain country was using their diplomatic immunity to commit crimes.

Although they needed to be dealt with, it wasn’t a dire situation and was something that Chevalier could handle alone.

(...Was it a miracle that I didn’t have any official duties on my birthday every year?)

(In any case, it doesn’t look like I’ll be getting a vacation)

With an impudent attitude as if to say our conversation was done, Chevalier returned his attention back to his paperwork.

(...Not only will Emma not be able to celebrate my birthday, she won’t even be able to spend time with me…)

(This sucks)

However, when I arrived at one of the royal villas on my birthday, my heart did a flip.

Emma: We have been expecting you, King Chevalier and King Clavis.

(Why are you here?)

She wore a tidy maid’s uniform and the skirt was long enough to cover her ankles, a wig that gave her a different hairstyle, and a pair of glasses.

Her voice was different too, but each move she made screamed Emma.

(This…is supposed to be a disguise)

(A surprise present?)

(I did tell her where I was going, but I didn’t expect this)

For a moment, I forgot that I was here on official business and smiled.

However, I couldn’t defy Emma’s expectations so I chose my next words carefully to not sound unnatural.

Clavis: Oh, a maid. I thought I’d have to take care of Chevalier here.

Villa caretaker: I hired a maid this year. Please understand that I’m getting too old to take care of this place myself.

(Perhaps the madam is an accomplice)

(I thought I wouldn’t be able to see her on my birthday this year…)

(You never disappoint me, Emma)

Acting as a new maid, Emma seemed ready to accompany us on our official business.

Naturally, as the original trap master, I couldn’t just stand by.

If she had a huge surprise waiting for me, then I’d need to return it with a suitable trap to not ruin my reputation.

Emma: Please wait, King Chevalier!

Emma: …The path over there is shorter, allow me to show you the way.

Clavis: Hmm…

Emma: Please wait, King Chevalier!

Emma: There appears to be something wrong with the carriage, so allow me to inspect it right away. If you can give me a few minutes…

Clavis: Oh?

Emma: Please wait, King Chevalier!

Emma: There may be a bomb planted in there, so please allow me to deal with it…!

Clavis: You’ll deal with it?

Emma: Ah, there’s also a pit trap there…Please wait!

Emma: Aaahh, there’s bananas falling from the sky so please wait!!

Emma: Wait, please wai—Aaaahhhhh

–

(Goodness, that was truly a sight to see. I didn’t know that she’d be able to see through all the traps I set for her)

Something that could only be done with love was truly a fitting birthday present.

Thanks to Emma, the hopelessness I felt a few days ago disappeared and I felt great.

However, there’s still some things that need answers.

Chevalier’s actions, as he presented a mountain of paperwork, was as puzzling as ever.

While the “new maid” was sent to get us some tea, it was time to settle this.

Clavis: What’s your goal?

Chevalier: …

Clavis: You said I was needed for the embassy matter or else diplomatic relations would’ve been severed. However, these are papers that can wait until tomorrow. Why do we have to get through these today?

Chevalier: …

Clavis: Haha, you’re not saying anything. Can’t say anything about Licht like this, you know?

(I don’t think this man would do anything meaningless)

(So this means something)

(Both bringing me here on my birthday and this absurd pile of paperwork at night…)

I casually glanced at the papers.

The pile didn’t have anything concerning national politics, but rather the Michel territory.

Since it was the family that my mother’s had served for generations, it wasn’t unusual for me to be asked to assist in managing the estate.

However, the issue was that those documents were here of all places.

(This place has nothing to do with the Michel family.)

Clavis: Why did you bring this here?

Chevalier: You think I’d gone through the trouble?

Clavis: Haha. I thought you were trying to harass me.

Chevalier: This was delivered to the castle today. It’s addressed to you.

Clavis: Me?

I froze.

(There’s only one other person cruel enough to give me documents concerning the Michel territory)

Clavis: You don’t think they went to the castle, do you?

I glanced at Chevalier and he laughed at me.

Clavis: …She did. That old hag has too much time on her hands.

Chevalier: Lucky you? You happened to not be in the castle and she didn’t have time for long distance traveling. Someone else brought this.

(...)

Though my mother had passed, I had another relative who was alive and well.

The matriarch of the Lelouch family, my grandmother—

I was currently in the midst of a private dispute over my fiancee that I didn’t want Emma to find out about.

If I had run into her on my birthday, there would be no time to celebrate.

This time I was saved because I just so “happened” to be off on official business somewhere far away.

Realizing that…I found myself troubled.

(I've been saved. By this man no less)

(No, he’s not that kind of guy. Normally he wouldn’t involve himself in something like this)

Chevalier: It was convenient for me. That’s all.

(...)

~~ Flashback ~~

Clavis: Hey, Chevalier! It’s my birthday today. Let’s celebrate this year.

Chevalier: …

Clavis: Hey!

Chevalier: Do you believe you’re worth celebrating?

Clavis: I do!

Chevalier: …

Clavis: Don’t laugh at me!

Chevalier: If you want someone to celebrate, make it worth celebrating. Then we’ll talk.

Clavis: You’re always like this. Always talking about worth…it’s not funny!

~~ Flashback end ~~

(Ahh…He’s really making me angry)

Every year, Chevalier’s the only one that doesn’t celebrate my birthday and I avoid him because I don’t want to see his unpleasant face.

In hindsight, was it really a miracle that I’d never have worked on my birthday in the past?

The foreign faction’s schedule wasn’t as predictable as the domestic faction’s.

I did have some control over it, but not complete control. Only one person did—I stopped thinking about it.

(Enough. It’s only going to make me feel miserable)

Clavis: Chevalier, I still want you to step out. I can’t stand not spending any time with Emma on my birthday. If I win, I’m done with my duties.

Chevalier: …Fine. I’ll humor you.

(He usually ignores me)

Emma: How long have you known?

After clashing swords with Chevalier, I escaped with Emma, who happened upon us, to a nearby guest room.

Emma didn’t let me carelessly calling her my “lovely fiancee” go.

(Darn it. I’m still agitated)

Clavis: Oh, so the new maid was Emma all along…!

Emma: Don’t pretend to be surprised.

Clavis: Haha, don’t pout.

Clavis: I love you, so how could I not have noticed?

I’m confident that I can see through any of your disguises.

Emma: I guess I still need to practice more if I want to surprise you.

Clavis: Yes, that’s right.

(Her expression…I guess you can say it’s a mix of happiness and frustration)

Just looking at Emma, who’s an open book, makes me feel as if I’ve gathered up all the bliss in the world.

I felt so refreshed that I almost forgot the discomfort and disappointment I had felt earlier.

Clavis: But your aim wasn’t to surprise me, was it? My lovely fiancee, whom I didn’t think I’d be able to see on my birthday, appeared before my eyes and stayed by my side the entire time. Furthermore, she showed just how much she loved me when she saw through and stopped all my pranks. Is there a man out there that wouldn’t feel over the moon by this? I doubt it. I had another wonderful birthday this year. There were some complications, but you made up for them.

Emma’s dissatisfaction transformed into joy.

(Ah…I feel like a fool)

Emma: It’s still too early to feel satisfied. The real thing’s just beginning.

Clavis: Haha, is that so?

As I stared at her intently as to not miss a single movement, Emma’s face came closer and her lips touched mine in a way that was unusually honest for her tsundere self.

(There truly isn’t anyone in this world that’s as lovely as Emma)

(...Let’s forget about everything and celebrate. I want you to celebrate me)

Taking advantage of the fact that she lacked an iron will that couldn’t resist me fanning the flames, I tickled the back of her neck with my fingers.

I kissed her several times as if looking for something, but with no signs of stopping, I continued kissing her.

Perhaps it was the understanding that my birthday happened only once a year that encouraged Emma to wrap a hand behind my neck.

Emma: Apologies to King Chevalier, but…I want to spend the rest of the time with you. I’ll celebrate you for as long as we can, Clavis.

Clavis: Yes, of course.

I pushed her down on the bed hand placed my hands beside her so that she couldn’t escape—

Clavis: I’m a man who likes to be celebrated, so I’ll let you celebrate as much as you want.

By the time I released Emma, the world was bathed in soft morning light.

Having passed out in the middle of the night, the moment she realized it was morning, Emma rushed out of the room and returned with cake and tea.

It seemed like she had made a rainbow birthday cake for me again this year, which made me smile.

(I really wanted to help, but…)

I didn’t feel like getting out of bed and propped myself up on an elbow, watching Emma fumble about.

Right now I just wanted to forget about everything and bathe in bliss.

Emma: Don’t you want to eat?

Clavis: Of course I do. But the problem is that I don’t feel like getting out of bed today.

Oh dear, what a problem indeed. I could eat if my kind-hearted, lovely fiancee would feed me.

Emma: ……

Clavis: Every year I look forward to being wrapped in your love.

Can you at least do this for the birthday boy?

Emma: …Just for today, okay?

(Hm…?)

Emma carefully set the tray with the birthday set on the bed and avoided making eye contact.

She looked embarrassed for some reason.

(I’m in the mood for eye contact though?)

Emma scooped up a piece of the colorful rainbow cake with the fork and I placed my hand on her leg.

Emma: W-what are you doing?

Clavis: Oh, would you like me to explain in detail?

Sure. I saw your exposed legs, so I thought you were offering—

Emma: Hurry up and eat your cake, happy birthday!

(Ah, how cute…You truly are adorable)

She shoved the cake against my lips, but my hand didn’t leave her leg. Instead, I began to attack the back of her knee.

Emma: Nn…

Clavis: Haha, that was a sweet sound.

(Your weak spot)

As I continued to deliberately tickle her, Emma became more agitated.

Emma: The cake’s about to fall off.

Clavis: We can’t have that. I don’t want to miss a single piece from a cake you made.

Come on now. If you keep looking away, it’ll really fall.

Fed up, Emma finally looked at me.

(Oh…)

Her serious expression was filled with allure.

The atmosphere was dizzying to the point of shattering all sense of reason.

(I know what that tsun-tsun face means)

(It’s the face she makes when she loves me so much she doesn’t know what to do with herself)

The confidence came not from conceitedness, but rather past experience.

Just like how Emma can see through all my pranks, I also know Emma pretty well myself.

Clavis: You really know how to please me, don’t you?

Emma: Do I?

Clavis: Yes. I present you with the honor of Lelouch Master. A title only you could earn.

Emma: That…

Might make me feel a little happy.

Clavis: Don’t feel so modest. You’re “very happy” aren’t you?

Emma’s cheeks slowly turned red and she tried to look elsewhere.

When I moved a finger as if to reprimand her, she returned her gaze to me as if understanding what I wanted.

(You might’ve not noticed, but the new maid would also sometimes let her gaze wander off)

(You’d look away any time I praised you for seeing through a prank)

(A habit whenever you get embarrassed. However—)

Clavis: Keep your eyes on me, Miss Accomplice.

After all, everything I do is out of love for you, isn’t it?

Not just now, but everything else up to this point.

Emma seemed to notice my implications.

Emma: Clavis, it can’t be that…all the pranks played on King Chevalier…they were—

Clavis: As expected of the Lelouch Master. You’re pretty sharp.

(If you kept your eyes on me, you would’ve noticed sooner)

(...Because I couldn’t stop smiling)

Emma: You played me.

Clavis: Haha, you still have ways to go. After Master, you should aim for Legend.

Emma: Of course, I’ll get promoted right away. I’ll reach Legend next year.

Clavis: Oh, that’s a lot of confidence.

Emma: So, um…that means I want to understand you even better than before!

(...!)

She shoved the cake in my mouth and quickly kissed his cheek.

Emma, who distanced herself, looked like she was about to start steaming from embarrassment. But her eyes didn’t leave me as quickly as they did before.

(Every time you celebrate me, I feel like I can’t lose)

(...I got saved by Chevalier this year, which isn’t good)

(I have to learn to protect myself so that Emma can love me freely)

I wanted to give Emma more happiness than she had given me.

That’s why I have this strong desire.

Clavis: Now then, let’s see what your future holds.

Can you love me even more, Emma?

(I’ll pull some evil deeds behind the scenes…so that you can love me even more)

#ikemen prince #ikepri #ikepri jp #ikepri translations #clavis lelouch #ikepri clavis

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official-dire-omens · 4 months ago

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Basic info:

Adult, student, he/him.

This is a side blog, so you won’t get likes from it, but I can reblog and take submissions/dms!

This is a gimmick blog; I don’t necessarily believe that whatever it is I’m sharing or reposting is a direct omen. Also omen is used. Veeeery loosely.

Asks and submissions are open. This is all for fun and if you’re not sure if something counts send it anyway! Also tag me in posts you think are dire omens/cursed/foretellings (all as defined soooo loosely in what I post).

I’ll tag things #dire omen (ominous things, signs, etc), #as foretold (religion and mythology posts), or #the curse (cursed objects, habits, mental health), but sorting is based on vibes and not super strict.

I follow from my more active main, @faworsley

Find my dutiful hog @dire-omen-hog !

#official dire omen #dire omen #the curse #official dire original #official dire ask #as foretold #dire convo

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talonabraxas · 11 months ago

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Sun in Gemini II (5/30 – 6/10 2024) The middle decan of Gemini is called the Hermaphrodite, after a child of Hermes and Aphrodite, who bore the external and internal genitalia of both men and women in their own body.

According to one story of Hermaphrodite, found in Ovid, he was a remarkable beautiful young man of extraordinary gracefulness and easiness of manner. A naiad, or water-spirit named Salamis observed him bathing one day, and jumped into the pool to fondle the youth who was too young to understand or consent to these advances. She tried to have her way with him, either through rape or seduction; yet the boy resisted, and Salmacis cried aloud her wish — to be united with this boy forever. A passing god, hearing her prayer, solemnly knitted them into one being — and Hermaphrodite became a god in themselves, a god of the unified masculine and feminine. They blessed — or cursed? — the spring in such a way that anyone else who bathed there would be similarly transformed.

Other accounts suggest that Hermaphrodite was an androgynous figure from birth. Roman theologians attributed the birth of human hermaphrodites to the influence of Hermaphrodite and their father Hermes’ influence. “Serious” scholars of natural history noted that hermaphroditic births were rare but regarded as significant omens of the future, while satirical authors made hermaphrodites into funny figures worthy of derision. Whether by alchemical change in a pool or divine birth, the Greeks and Romans depicted Hermaphrodite with both female breasts as well as penis and scrotum in naked depictions; I’m not aware of a statue that also shows a vagina — but it’s possible. Despite Ovid’s account connecting Hermaphrodite’s origins to female-on-male sexual assault, this boy-girl deity was highly sensualized and sexualized in Roman fresco and statuary, and was considered to be the patron of marriage. Since they united in themselves both the masculine and feminine, their feast day (the fourth of every month) was considered highly auspicious for weddings in many community around the Roman Mediterranean.

And Hermaphrodite stood in contrast to another figure, far more terrifying to the ancient Romans — that of Magna Mater, the Great Mother Cybele. She had been carried into Rome in procession in the form of a Black Stone that was said to have fallen from heaven — and she was placed in the porch of the temple of Capitoline Jupiter in the heart of the city during the Second Punic War, and spiritually married to Jupiter as the principal god of the Romans, an extra consort to be recognized alongside Juno. Her high priestess and priestesses were not scions of Rome, either, but foreigners from Phrygia in what is now Turkey — and there is symbolic evidence that Cybele had been worshipped there in some form since at least 6000 BCE. Even more than the women priestesses wielding significant power in the cult of the Great Mother, though, were the strange and androgyne priests of Cybele — eunuchs all — who had voluntarily allowed themselves to be castrated in service to the Mother. The Roman Senate, with the same kind of shrill horror that some modern US senators reserve for anti-immigration screeds, forbade any Roman man from joining the cult of Cybele as anything other than an observer.

So, here, in miniature, echoing from twenty-two centuries before our own time, we find some of the same kinds of strange dismay and fear of foreign customs, alchemical-medical recreations of the mortal frame, and ancient powers that do not seem to belong to “the modern rational world” —and yet do. Public officials have no trouble vilifying transgender people, and comedians satirize them, and preachers sermonize about the way they warn us that dire changes are coming. And yet, the presence of transgender people in the world is unnecessarily sexualized, their romance is celebrated (both their actual relationship lives and the fantasies we spin about their lives), and their presence in a community is a remarkable signpost (and perhaps talisman) that points to tolerance, diversity, and healthy community norms.

And maybe we react with such a strange mix of hope, unease, joy, and concern around transgender persons today, for the same reasons the Romans did — they’re proof that Mother Nature can bring forth a far vaster range of possibilities and potentials into the world, than our allegedly rational minds can understand. The Great Mother is truly greater, and more awe-inspiring, than we can conceive — and patriarchy has little choice but to bow down to her revelation.

Maybe that’s one of the key messages of Gemini more generally, and of The Hermaphrodite specifically. We humans want to control a lot of things: the wind, Mother Nature, the structure of sex and gender, what are the acceptable desires of flesh and heart — and Cybele and Hermaphrodite both say, “Terribly sorry, but those are not in your power to rule.”

The Dodeks of Gemini II are Libra, Scorpio, Sagittarius, and Capricorn — and they also tell this complex story of dualities turning into uncontrollable multiplicities. Libra indicates a balance between two — this exactly equals that. But Scorpio is the many-handed monster of desire, carrying both healing and poison in its stinger. Sagittarius is the human, the divine, the technical, the feral and animalistic, all wrapped up in a strange hybridized package. Capricorn is the fish caught in the moment of chan into a goat — a reminder that evolution is ongoing, for sure; but also suggesting the Egyptian crocodile, 250 million years old and counting, reminding us that there are forms of nature far more enduring and steady than ourselves. --Wanderings in the Labyrinth

Hermaphrodite in Dreams Johfra Bosschart

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allergictocolor · 11 months ago

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The Origin of the Addams Family

The Addams family has always been goth and enamored with the macabre. But did you know they didn’t always have names?

They started as recurring characters in New Yorker cartoons by Charles Addams in 1938. They were a mother, father, uncle, grandmother, two children, and a butler in an eccentric family. (Occasionally others joined them. It's a big family.) They weren’t all officially named until the 60s, when dolls were released of Wednesday and Morticia, and the TV show debuted in 1964.

Charles Addams made a LOT of cartoons in his lifetime, about 1,300 total*. Only 58 of those in The New Yorker featured the Addams family, but they are what he became best known for. He also published some collections on his own, eventually creating 150 standalone, single-panel comics featuring the Addams family.

You’d expect Charles Addams to look like Gomez, but he didn’t. He actually looked like this:

He based the father of his strange family on this guy:

That’s Thomas E. Dewey, the 47th governor of New York from 1943 to 1954. He ran for president in 1940, 1944, 1948, and 1952. He had a reputation for honesty, but he was also kind of a weirdo. It was said that he had "a personality that attracted contempt and adulation in equal proportion." Maybe that’s why Charles Addams based a character on him. Or maybe it’s just because he was funny looking.

Addams, who signed his name Chas, was only somewhat involved with the TV show. The rights to it belonged to his second wife. He earned residuals from the show, which placed him in dire straits once the show was canceled after only two years. At that point, he had come to rely on the income, and The New Yorker wasn’t publishing him enough for him to live off of.

The show had more tropey, goofy plots than their later adventures, since it was a sitcom. Charles Addams criticized the show because the characters were only “half as evil” as they were in his comics. They had run-ins with neighbors and local politicians. Gomez ran for mayor of their small town. They recommended Cousin Itt for a job at the zoo and he was mistaken for an exotic animal. Wacky hi-jinks that never rose to the heights of pouring boiling oil on carolers, as the family did in a Christmas strip Charles drew, which was later sold as greeting cards.

Still, the show expanded upon the original comics and established much of what became canon for the Addams family and its members to this day. They have a dungeon in their mansion they like to relax in. The front gate has a mind of its own. No one can quite explain where their money comes from. They try to help others, even though their help is rarely received well. And they can't understand why other people don't live like they do.

In the next few weeks, I'll be posting character profiles of the various members of the Addams family throughout the years, from what I can find of their inception up through the Netflix show. I hope you will enjoy it.

*edited to clarify that his 1,300+ cartoons were drawn in his lifetime, not exclusively for The New Yorker.

#the addams family #charles addams #addams family

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charlilovesknights · 1 year ago

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How'd each twst character get their name

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Chapter 8 of Heartybul Manga Riddle: His dad was like "Answer my Riddle 3 to get the answer you seek" when asked what to put on his birth certificate. It didn't fit so the doctor just put Riddle. Ace: Parents lost a bet with a friend (Headcanon that all the Trappolas are gamblers) Deuce: When asked for his name his dad misheard the doctor and said "Deuces" thinking the doctor said bye (His dad is a tad stupid) Cater: His mom really likes caterpillars, but his dad wouldn't let her name him caterpillar Trey: Named after his grandfather

Chapter 3 of Savanaclaw Manga (Can you tell I had to stretch it?) Leona: His parents just liked the name (After looking up what Leona means I actually really like the name for him) Ruggie: His parents wanted to manifest a wealthy future for him (Ruggie means wealth among other things) Jack: His full name is Jackie but everyone uses Jack for short

Azul's Dorm Uniform Groovy Azul: His mom really likes the color blue Floyd: When his clutter was born, he was actually named something else, but his parents mixed him up with one of his brothers when he hatched.

Jade: So fun fact eels can change their genitalia, typically male to female for mating season. It's called sequential hermaphroditism! Physical appearance can also change, which is called sexual dimorphism. I like to think she was female but changed so she could get into Night Raven. Gender is a bigger thing on the surface than under the sea, so she really doesn't care about what pronouns are used for her or what she's defined as.

Kalim's Tsumsitter Groovy Kalim: His parents wanted a regal name for him. (But I find it ironic that his name means 'The lecturer')

Jamil: His mom just really liked the name. (And oh boy it fits~)

Vil's Birthday Jacket Groovy Vil: I saw this name meaning Protector, but one source said it meant hard work and beauty. His parents were looking at Google for names together, found Ville with the first result and chose it and removed the le. Rook: His mother went into labor during hunting a Rook (it's a type of bird) Epel: His dad thought it'd be funny to name him Apple. His mom didn't want to. However, they believe that the dad should chose a boy's name, so she went with it. He accidentally pronounced it wrong when the doctor asked for the name, and it stuck. His mom grew attached to the name overtime.

From the Lesson Chats. (This is literally the only official picture I could find with both of them together.) Idia: His mom was very insistent on it; his dad didn't have a strong opinion on it. Ortho: It's a molecule at the 1st and 2nd end of a group of atoms. Mama Shroud really wanted to name her kids something science-y when she was younger. She didn't remember that dream until Ortho came along tho, so she chose to use the name for him.

From Toboso's Twitter when Maleficent 2 premiered. (Translation) Malleus: Mal is an important staple for Draconia first names. Maleanor thought long and hard about the name and once Malleus popped up in her head she loved it. Silver: Well, his is canon... But if you don't know, Lilia chose it because of his hair color. However~, When Silver was younger Lilia wanted to give him the middle name Levan but forgot he did. Sebek: His mom wanted to give him a fierce name, so she chose to name him after the Crocodile God. (Sobek) Lilia: Like under the sea, I like to think gender isn't big in Briar Valley either. Lilia might be a feminine name, but it didn't really matter to whoever named him. !BONUS! Sam: Has the same name as his great great great grandfather.(The one Lilia knew) It's a passed down name. !BONUS! Crewel: Not his origin although~... He almost didn't get hired but then Crowley noticed they have similar first names. (Divus and Dire)

SO HERE WE ARE AT THE END!! WOWZAS!! THIS TOOK LIKE 2 HOURS?!??! HUH??! I blame the fact I was also assigning baby dolls to twst characters while typing this. Plus Epic songs... Those are SOSOSOSOOS good. Underworld Sagas coming the 26!!

But anyways thanks for reading Requests are open!! Comments appreciated Have a wonderhoytastic day!

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feather-writes-shenanigans · 1 year ago

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things about abe that i have found in official material that i think are mildly funny

his response to being offered sriracha is "oh god no." (direct comic quote).

in the same comic, it is established that he's some degree of lactose intolerant.

he has fenced with a sword with professor bruttenholm on one occasion (bones of giants novel).

he likes dire straits, specifically walk of life (from the lost army, book). hellboy also states that he's into 80s pop in general, which makes me cackle.

he also likes sting. this was in the bones of giants novel, and it was not mentioned in the comic as far as i know. this is heartbreaking to me because of fucking course he's a sting fan. (did he watch the original dune movie?)

i'll add more later, but he's such a funny little guy. to me. i want to chew on him. why is the amphibian guy both incapable of handling spice and lactose intolerant? how did he fail at both?

#abe sapien #hellboy #bprd #feather speaks #feather writes #this is comics-verse for those who've only seen the movies

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babybemydownfall · 9 months ago

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The Storm and the Sunrise

Summary: Feyre and Rhys take a holiday, Rhys makes a storm and then they make a baby. Set post-ACOWAR, wandering happily off into AU. NSFW.

Chapter 1/3 (so far). (Ch 2 - Ch 3)

Notes: A few prerequisites for this story: - Set somewhere after book 3, when everyone is happy and at peace. Hurrah. - No silly thing about wings and pelvises - they will both be fine. - More to follow, including Feminist!Feyre and Rhys - because let's face it, she's not going to lie down for ten months and he's the original feminist of Prythian.

Please enjoy! Would love to hear your thoughts and any scenes you'd like to see in future.

Read on AO3 or below the cut.

It was still dark outside in Velaris when Feyre woke up one morning and she knew.

It was her breasts - they felt so tight, like they'd grown four sizes overnight. In surprise, she reached up to hold them and yelped at how tender they were. Rhys stirred next to her but didn't wake. She slipped out of bed and then out of their bedroom, pulling on her dressing gown before silently closing the door behind her. The tall clock which stood proudly at the end of the landing told her it was only four thirty in the morning. The house was still; not even the servants had arrived for work yet. And outside the tall windows the city slumbered too, as breathtaking as ever beneath a thin layer of late winter snow. But Feyre was wide awake.

And pregnant.

Bathed in moonlight and starlight as she stood alone, hands pressed into her lower abdomen, she breathed deeply and felt tears sting her eyes.

At last.

It had taken almost two years; three of those gods-awful cycles which left her in agonising pain for days at a time. The last one was just over two months ago, and she and Rhys knew from all their reading about Fae biology that she was most fertile in the two weeks afterwards. And so they got to work.

Not that it was work. Quite the opposite.

In fact, they’d taken formal leave from their Court and disappeared, putting Amren in charge and only to be contacted in dire emergency. But now that peace had fallen upon Prythian, there were no emergencies. No distractions from each other, nor the job at hand. And it was blissful. Fourteen days of Rhys all to herself - the happiest either of them had ever been.

And the sorest.

It was impossible to count how many times they made love. Firstly when they stayed in the cabin and then, in the second week, in the most beautiful rooms in the Summer, Sun and Dawn Courts. (Shielded, of course. Double shielded, by them both, because they were loud and they knew it.)

They were guests of Tarquin, Helion and Thesan, but not there on official business. So there were no formal banquets or tedious meetings with dignitaries; just private lunches with their friends, a suite in their palaces and freedom to roam across their lands, exploring as visitors. There was so much of Prythian that Feyre had never seen; so much in fact that Rhys had missed out on too, when his Court had been an enemy of most of the land for most of his life.

And they thoroughly enjoyed their adventuring, seduced by the beauty around them and, inevitably, by each other. They got naked together on the vast, white beaches of the Summer Court’s east coast, running into the ocean afterwards to wash off the sand. They picnicked in the tranquil forests of Dawn, which glowed with pink and golden light as if perpetually illuminated by the warmth of the morning sun - and feeding one another soon became a feast of a different kind. And in the mountain glades of their own Court, surrounded by winter snows, their noses were cold on each other’s cheeks as they shared body heat and breathless kisses, wrapped up tight beneath their thick, fur-lined coats.

It was the luxury of time: the time they never got to share after she accepted the mating bond. The time they’d lost before they even found one another. The time to finally relax, after the war, after the fight for peace that continued long beyond the battlefield.

It had taken Rhys a few days to really switch off, to leave behind his title and just be himself; her mate. It was the first time since he was a child that he’d let go of every responsibility, every ounce of weight and expectation which had sat upon his broad shoulders for the past five hundred years. But once he did - by the Gods he was glorious. Unglamored, his mind unshielded from her, he just smiled and laughed and played and… radiated happiness.

And Feyre found it devastatingly attractive.

“Let’s never go back,” he murmured at one point, his breathing still heavy after their latest round of lovemaking. They were sat on the rug in the cabin’s living area, leaning back against the couch, their skin heated by each other and their exertion and the roaring fire in the hearth. Outside snow fell heavily against the windows, wind howling, cocooning them in against the cold. Against the entire world outside. Safe and secure, just the two of them - so frequently intertwined they were almost one.

Feyre smiled and pulled a blanket over them. “As much as I’d love that… you would miss it.”

“Would I? I’m not sure. Not when I can have this instead.”

He pulled her onto his lap, his violet gaze capturing hers for a long moment before he kissed her mouth, then a lazy path along her jaw. The things she saw in his eyes when he looked at her like that: the haze of pleasure still thrumming in his veins. The love he had for her, as deep and ancient and unending as his power. The fiery passion, the unquenchable lust for her - for more. Always more.

She could feel herself melting into him all over again, even though the last aftershocks had barely faded from her body, her mind. “You are insatiable,” she sighed, already wet for him.

“I know.” His face was buried in her hair, his lips moving over the sensitive curve of her ear as his fingertips traced patterns on her ribs. “I still want you as much as the very first time.” Feyre moaned, her hips grinding against his renewed erection. “I still want to be inside you every fucking minute of every damn day.” He bit her earlobe and she whimpered his name. “It’s… madness. Isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

He looked at her again, his eyes black, his edges lost to darkness and night. When he dipped his head and swirled his tongue over her nipple, she rose up on her knees, positioning his rock-hard cock and sinking straight down onto him.

“Feyre,” he hissed. Rough hands held her face and his mouth claimed hers, needy and wild, as instinct made them move together in the rhythm that was theirs and theirs alone.

“Fuck me hard,” she commanded between ravenous kisses. This wasn’t enough - not yet. She needed to be owned. Split open. Destroyed. “Harder than… ever… before.”

He growled as he lifted her, as he stood and carried her to the wall beside the fireplace. But Feyre was barely aware of their surroundings as she cast her mind out towards his, grabbing him with impatient hands, pulling him in close - so close he enveloped her, smothered her, became her. Together they were the night sky, and the moon and the stars and the sun; together they were two fae bodies and two halves of the same soul and they were power incarnate.

She felt him hold her against the wall with a sliver of magic; felt his hands push her knees to her chest and then he was pounding into her and she was splintering, full to the brim with him, his cock hitting all her deepest spots. It was pleasure and stretching and exquisite, breath-taking pain, and just when she thought he might actually break her in two, she came.

And came.

And roared.

It went on forever. Her muscles clenched around him over and over as she gushed with wetness and pure ecstasy radiated outwards from her core, spreading all the way to her curled toes and her fingertips and further - bright light soaring into the world. It was so familiar and yet unlike anything she’d ever known before.

It was madness - just like he’d said.

Rhys slowed as she finally settled, just enough to reassure them both that she was alright. She managed to open her eyes and look at him; wanted to say something but there were no words. She might never be able to speak again, after that. But she knew he could feel it -everything she was. A fearsome warrior. A beautiful goddess.

A molten mess of hot, throbbing bliss.

“I love you,” he rasped, and winnowed them to the bed.

He lay over her and kissed her as he began to move again, his wings splaying out behind him. Feyre let him take her, let him lose himself inside her, powerless to do much other than enjoy. Her limbs still felt boneless, her body unable and unwilling to recover itself just yet. She knew it wouldn’t be long until he found his release. His momentary reprieve was already forgotten: he was thrusting hard and fast, and his mind was as untamed and dangerous as an ocean storm. It whipped and swirled around hers, crashing over them again and again, threatening to drown them both.

And always, underneath the chaos: Feyre. Love. Mine.

I love you, she whispered back, kissing him, holding him. I’m yours, and you’re mine. Until the end of time.

And then she took everything she’d felt just minutes ago - the indescribable rapture, the euphoria of the fall - and poured it into the bond between them. This, she said hoarsely, the memories and the feel of him right now bringing tears to her eyes. Become this, Rhys darling. Join me. Let go.

The ocean erupted.

Thunder and lightning and darkness filled the room, the cabin, the sky beyond. His uncontainable pleasure swallowed her, consumed her; the final thrusts of his hips shocked her into another orgasm, short but unbelievably sweet.

That surge of power between them was unlike anything they’d ever known before, and it took so long to recover that Feyre’s skin was entirely cold by the time she realised who and where she was again.

Rhys was lying half on top of her, his head on her chest. The light from the lamps was visible again, although outside she could still hear the rumble of his storm fading into the distance.

“What was that?” she managed to say, her voice barely audible.

He took her hand, threading his fingers through hers, and paused for a long moment before he spoke. “I don’t know. You told me to fuck you hard and then you grabbed onto my mind like that and I- I lost control of everything. Lost who I am. That’s never happened before.”

He leaned up on one elbow so he could see her. Then, realising that she was shivering, he reached over for the far edge of the duvet and wrapped it around them both. His gorgeous face, his dark blue eyes, were filled with a mixture of confusion and awe. “You never fail to surprise me, Feyre darling. You are… so dangerous.”

She couldn’t help but smile, even though she knew he was serious. “We are dangerous. Together we remade the Cauldron; remade the world. And I know it shouldn’t, but that power - it really turns me on.”

His laughter seemed to catch him by surprise, and the atmosphere changed in an instant. Feyre laughed too and reached up to kiss his cheek, his nose, the perfect arch of his eyebrow.

“I loved the storm,” she confessed, fingers sliding into his hair. “Very sexy.”

“I’ve never made lightning before,” he replied thoughtfully.

“That’s nothing compared to the way you made me feel.” Feyre pressed her mouth to his, overcome with affection. “I love all of you, Rhys,” she murmured, gazing deep into his eyes. “I love your mind and body all over mine. There is no piece of you that scares me. I want it all, always.”

He smiled at her, a truly beautiful smile, straight from his heart. And then he moved downwards, kissing her collarbone, between her breasts, her abdomen. “Do you think,” he mused, nuzzling his face into her lower belly, “With all that power… Maybe tonight we made something else?”

Feyre felt her chest constrict. “I hope so,” she said softly.

“Even if not tonight,” Rhys went on, crawling back up over her, drawing her with him towards the pillows so they could both settle into bed properly, “We will someday. I’m sure of it.”

She snuggled into his chest, taking his certainty and wrapping it tightly around herself like another layer of warmth. Now that the afterglow from the most intense orgasm of her life had finally faded, she realised she was utterly exhausted.

You were right, she told him drowsily. We should stay here forever.

He kissed her hair and squeezed her against him. I’m always right, darling. I thought you’d learned that by now.

Ssh. I’m sleeping. Goodnight.

“Goodnight my love.”

Feyre slept for a solid eight hours, and dreamed of nothing but their baby.

Back in snowy Velaris, in the quiet before dawn, she leaned back against the sink in the guest bathroom and waited. She had peed into a vial of clear liquid, which would change colour over the next few minutes as the compounds reacted with her pregnancy hormones. She had done several of these tests before, in secret in this room - always in hope rather than expectation, and always to be disappointed. Rhys never said anything, although she was sure he knew. He just held her when she was sad, and whispered that it wasn’t her fault, and that it would happen one day.

She rubbed her hands over her face and glanced at the vial.

This day.

A beautiful dark purple was blossoming there - just like the little life growing inside her body.

It wasn’t a surprise and yet Feyre still gasped; still put her hand to her mouth, trying and failing to hide her ridiculous smile. Her first thought was to run back to their bedroom; to leap on Rhys and wake him up and tell him the news between a thousand joyful kisses.

But something held her back. The stillness of the house, the calm of these solitary hours before the sun rose - she wanted to stay here just a little bit longer. To breathe deeply. To let her feelings wash over her, consume her: relief, excitement. Fear. Overwhelm.

Happiness.

The deep, soul-stirring happiness that only love could conjure. The kind that made her tremble and wrap her arms around her body, holding herself together even as she threatened to burst wide open. The kind that made her laugh, gathered tears beneath her eyelashes and shone through her skin like starlight. The kind that she felt with Rhys, with her friends and her sisters and now, with the tiny seed growing inside her - the newest member of their family.

She had wanted this for so long and now that it was real, it somehow didn’t feel real at all.

A baby.

Her and Rhys’s baby.

She wandered silently across the upstairs landing, feeling for her mate down the bond, checking he was still asleep. She sent him some reassuring thoughts: Feyre is fine; she woke up early and went to make a cup of tea. Sleep, rest. She’ll see you when the sun rises.

This lovely old house, which had been his but was now theirs. Over the past couple of years she’d added paintings, trinkets, books; an antique loveseat beneath the window which overlooked the back garden. And out there, the biggest change of all - her painting studio.

She passed one of the guest rooms on her way to the stairs; paused at the door and wondered if this would be the baby’s nursery. She would paint the walls - blue. The Bone Carver had shown her it would be a boy, and she believed him. Deep blue, like his father’s eyes, like the velvety night before the sunrise.

Her body trembled with disbelief, with hope.

A baby.

She did make tea, in the kitchen, alone. Still no servants, thankfully. Then she slipped on her shoes and opened the back door. The air was crisp and clear; the only sound her footsteps on the snowy path. She used her power to wrap herself in warmth, and then again to heat and illuminate the inside of her studio. She wondered briefly if she should be careful using it, now that she was pregnant. But then again, she was made - literally Made - from magic. It pulsed through her with every beat of her heart. And Rhys was… well. He was Rhys. The most powerful High Lord there ever was. Their child was destined to be a magical being, probably even more so than his parents. And Feyre knew in that moment that her power could never hurt him. It had created him; it already swam through his blood.

She breathed in the familiar scent of her art space, which she and Rhys had built after the war ended. It was her sanctuary: two walls and the high ceiling made entirely of glass to let in the light during the day; the remaining surfaces all white but flecked with colour and scattered with canvases and paper, with ideas and sketches and endless possibility.

Her fingers twitched. She wanted to paint. When she was full of feelings like this, it was the best way she knew to start to make sense of them. And so she took a large, blank canvas and placed it on her easel; gathered brushes and colours - just black, white and one other; a mixing palette, a stool and a small table for her tea.

And she painted.

The sun had risen when Rhys found her.

A soft knock on the glass door startled her. She had no idea how long she’d been there.

Her mate entered, a fresh mug of tea in his hands. He was already dressed in his usual black, and she realised she was still in her long nightgown and robe.

“Good morning sweetheart,” he said, replacing her cup without looking at the canvas. He always waited to be invited to see her art; she didn’t like to reveal it until it was ready. Was this ready? She didn’t know. It would take days, weeks - maybe even months - to process all her emotions. She couldn’t sit here forever.

No, this wasn’t finished but it was… a start. Just like the dawn was the start of the day; just like today was the beginning of the rest of their lives.

She stood and walked into his waiting arms. “Hi.”

“I missed you,” he murmured into her hair. “I hate waking up alone.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I understand. I’m just being petulant.”

Feyre laughed and glanced up, and he kissed her. Then his arms tightened around her back and she winced. Her breasts. Ouch.

Of course he noticed. “What, darling? Are you alright?”

“Yes. Sorry.”

“Stop saying sorry.” He met her gaze again, concerned. “Are you sure you’re okay? You seem… different.”

She felt him reach for her down the bond, and asked him to wait outside. He would know the second he was inside her mind. ‘I’m pregnant!’ were pretty much the only words in there, throwing themselves around with nervous energy.

His eyes widened but he did as she asked.

Feyre took a deep breath. Then she pulled on his hand, leading him to stand in front of the easel.

“Look,” she said softly.

Up close, the picture was all blue - shades and shades of blue, from the palest icy breath to the darkest, inky sky. She stepped back several paces, drawing him with her. And just as she’d planned, everything became clearer from further away.

The mountains of their home. The storm - lightning and thunder. Not literal, but the feel of it. The two figures, swirling around one another, light and dark - like how their minds melded, how they belonged. And in the centre, cradled between them - a flicker of white. A spark of hope.

A new life.

She looked up at Rhys. He was still staring at the painting but his breathing was heavier, his fingers gripping hers so tightly it hurt.

“Do you see?” she whispered.

He turned his head towards her and his eyes were shimmering. “Feyre.”

It was almost a question, and she beamed as she answered it anyway:

“Yes.”

“You’re…”

She nodded, feeling tears rise and spill straight over onto her cheeks. “I am. I’m pregnant.”

“We’re having a baby?”

“We are.”

The most incredible smile took over his face. “Feyre!” He crushed her in a hug, immediately making her whimper as he squashed her chest against his.

“Shit,” he said hastily, drawing back. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. I woke up this morning and my breasts hurt. And I just knew.”

He gazed at her, his expression a mixture of absolute joy and utter disbelief. Gods, she loved him so much. And then she was crying, and he was brushing his fingertips and his lips over her face, and then they were kissing and she wanted to hold onto this moment forever, to never, ever forget how this felt.

He trailed his mouth down her body, pressing kisses to every inch he passed. Then he knelt before her, knelt on his mountains and stars and rested his forehead against her belly. Feyre stroked his hair, her tears still falling.

Our baby, he said silently, reverently.

Feyre let down her shield, let him see the pregnancy test and the dreams she’d had that night in the cabin; let him feel her excitement, her elation, her relief.

Our baby, she echoed.

She sank down to the floor and into his arms, and they held onto each other for the longest time.

“You know,” Rhys said eventually, his tone light - but she could feel the waves of emotion crashing down the bond, every so often making him gasp for breath. “I was right. That night I made the storm - I told you we’d make a baby too.”

“Oh, so this is all about you?” she teased.

He kissed her again, smiling against her lips. “On the contrary, Feyre darling. This is all about you now. I just like to get credit where credit’s due.”

She laughed quietly and held his face in her palms. “You are insufferable, and ridiculous, and the most handsome and loving and wonderful thing in the whole world. And you are going to be the best father to our boy.”

He blinked. “You believe the Bone Carver?”

“Don’t you?”

He nodded slightly. “I do.”

And he seemed speechless again, so she stood up and pulled him to his feet. When he looked at her questioningly, she grinned and tugged him towards the door beyond which the new day’s sun was shining down, already melting the snow.

“Come on,” she said brightly. “I’m cancelling all our plans and sending the servants home. I want to spend the whole day just lying with you, and daydreaming about our baby, and maybe even recreating the night he was conceived. If that’s okay with you?”

She started to lead him back down the garden path, but didn’t get far.

Her delighted screams filled the winter air as he scooped her up and carried her straight to their bed.

TBC

#feysand smut #feysand fanfic #feysand #feysand pregnancy #feyre and rhys #feysand fic

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daisynik7 · 2 years ago

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Pairing: Takashi Mitsuya x Original Female Character

Rating: Mature - MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Genre: Romance, Canon-Divergent AU

cw: switching POVs (2nd and 3rd person), explicit language, angst, hurt/comfort, non-canon compliant, canon-typical violence, fluff, slow burn, eventual smut, eventual time-skip

Summary: Student, big brother, sewing expert, and Second Division Caption of the Tokyo Manji Gang. Takashi Mitsuya is an 18-year-old boy who wears many different hats. With graduation approaching in a few short months, he must decide what path he wants to follow into his future: continue his life as a delinquent or live in normalcy, a concept he’s never been familiar with, an idea he’s only chased but never captured. Until one day, he meets Hana Shimizu, the very definition of ordinary. That’s what he thinks, at first. Little does he know that this “ordinary” girl would change his life.

Author's Notes: I binged all two seasons of Tokyo Revengers within the past two weeks and I'm OBSESSED with Mitsuya! He is absolutely husband material, so I was inspired to write this, I hope you like it! It's my first time writing a female original character, but I'm keeping it formatted like a reader-insert because I genuinely enjoy writing in that style. Heads up, she does have a name and a few distinct qualities - she has hair and is chubby (similar to me!), but it's not the main focus of the story. Likes, reblogs, and/or comments are always appreciated! Thank you for reading!

Chapter Title and Summary (spoiler-free):

Chapter 1: Cut From the Same Cloth - Takashi Mitsuya has always lived his life being true to himself. Despite being the proud Second Division Captain of the notorious Tokyo Manji Gang, he never hides the softer side of him: He cares deeply for his two younger sisters and enjoys spending his free time sewing. When a classmate, Hana Shimizu, approaches him, asking for lessons in sewing, he agrees, not seeing any downsides to having some company.

Chapter 2: On Pins and Needles - Hana babysits Luna and Mana for the first time. Mitsuya catches up with Draken before attending a short, but tumultuous Toman meeting at Musashi Shrine.

Chapter 3: A Stitch Ahead - Mitsuya is asked to create jackets for the newly appointed captains, to which he reluctantly agrees. When the deadline arrives and he still hasn’t finished, he enlists your aid to help him complete his task. The same day, the two of you make dinner together for his sisters, leaving Mitsuya with a lasting impression.

Chapter 4: Cute as a Button - Mitsuya skips a session of sewing lessons, attempting to keep his distance after realizing his growing feelings for you. You’re left wondering where you stand with him, confused by his behavior the last time you saw him. Soon enough, you both realize that these feelings are too intense to ignore.

Chapter 5: Bursting at the Seams - You and Mitsuya make your newly blossomed relationship official. To commemorate this special occasion, he invites you to his house for breakfast, where you meet his mother.

Chapter 6: Heart on a Sleeve - You and Mitsuya make your budding relationship public and things only continue to grow from there. The Tokyo Manji gang successfully absorbs the Leviathans all thanks to the efforts of new captains Tetta Kisaki and Shuji Hanma. Despite Mikey’s praise for them during this month’s meeting, Mitsuya remains wary of the two. His suspicions only increase when he runs into them while on a date with you.

Chapter 7: Reap What You Sew - A dinner with you, Mitsuya, and your parents quickly goes south. Mitsuya makes a decision that could lead to dire consequences.

Chapter 8: Hanging by a Thread - After leaving the Tokyo Manji Gang, Mitsuya feels like his life is on the right track. They have their fearless leader Mikey back to his usual self and Mitsuya’s relationship with Hana grows stronger day by day. They graduate, ready for the next big step in their lives. But with everything said and done, the past will always haunt the brothers of Toman, for better and for worse.

Chapter 9: A Rough Patch (tbd)

Chapter 10: Mending What's Broken (tbd)

Please do not plagiarize any of my works or translate without my permission! Thank you!

#tokyo revengers #takashi mitsuya #mitsuya takashi #mitsuya x reader #mitsuya x you #mitsuya x y/n #mitsuya x f!reader #tokyo revengers mitsuya #mitsuya smut #mitsuya fluff #mitsuya x original character #tokyo revengers x you #tokyo revengers fanfiction #tokyo revengers smut #tokyo revengers x reader

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mariacallous · 2 months ago

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The other day, I flew to New York, an event that normally occasions an elation only briefly dampened by the humming trepidation of flight anxiety. Flying scares me, it’s true, not that my Instagram profile or frequent-flier status show it. Recent events, though, have ratcheted that worry to something more acute. On January 29th, American Airlines Flight 5342 crashed into the Potomac River in D.C., after colliding with a military helicopter, marking the deadliest airline accident in the U.S. since 2009. Two days later, a medevac flight operated by Jet Rescue Air Ambulance nose-dived into a Philadelphia neighborhood. These tragedies, whose causes are under investigation, followed decades of deregulation of the airline industry, and understaffing of air-traffic control sufficient to give even fearless fliers pause. Our reinaugurated President, meanwhile, was scything the payrolls of federal agencies, including the Federal Aviation Administration. As I brushed my teeth the day before the flight, my dread coalesced into the shape of a meme: Does anyone know if we have airline safety tomorrow?

The meme, in its original form, features an image of a bandanna-clad boy taking a serious-faced mirror selfie, given voice in screaming font that asks, “DOES ANYONE KNOW IF WE HAVE TO BRING OUR BACKPACKS TO THE FIELD TRIP TOMORROW.” With some slapdash editing—slapdashery is part of the charm—others have turned the child’s straightforward query into a template for expressing a memeable malaise, for example, “DOES ANYONE KNOW IF WE HAVE January TOMORROW,” posted during the doldrums of that seemingly interminable month; or, perhaps, alluding to the current Administration, “DOES ANYONE KNOW IF WE HAVE federal government TOMORROW.” Presented without the expected interrogative mark, these questions suggest a tossed-off despondency, retaining the anxiety of the child who seems unprepared for tomorrow’s excursion. The meme’s humor lies in its shallow expressions of deep feeling: existential problems otherwise worthy of metaphysics or high literature here flung out as low-res Internet flatulence.

I doubt anything bad would have happened had I posted my little joke; a few likes, that precious currency of attention, may even have come my way for the trouble. At worst, friends who saw the post might have clucked at my show of poor taste in the face of tragedy and then moved on with their lives. Nevertheless, I didn’t post it. The line felt dumb and flaccid, derivative in an irritating rather than with-it sense, and lacking the transgression found in good gallows humor. What productively blackens such humor is its embrace of dire circumstance, the way it holds terror to its bosom like an old friend. This was not that, nor is much of sociable humor these days, however much it may purport to highlight our frightening moment. Cheaper laughs run rampant, invoking and evacuating seriousness in one limp gesture, smothering any thought or feeling at risk of requiring fortitude. Irreverent is not the word. This strain of humor is not too cool for school; it’s desperate. It says, LOL that’s crazy, emphasis on the LOL, before moving along.

This posture of unseriousness pervades institutional and individual channels alike. It’s Duolingo, the language-learning app, siphoning cachet from the statutory-rape allegation against Drake teased on Kendrick Lamar’s Record of the Year by inviting users to “learn how to play A minor in our music course.” (Drake denies engaging in underage sex.) It’s the State of New York, responding to President Trump’s elimination of congestion pricing with a cutesy message on its official X handle: “beep beep babes we’re taking you to court 🫶.” It’s the countless jokes leaning into the President’s screwy supposition (which one, you ask?) that D.E.I. was to blame for planes falling from the sky. It’s the chatty true-crime podcast “My Favorite Murder” cultivating fans who call themselves “murderinos.” The proper first response to anything is laughter, it seems; nothing impugns one’s taste quite so completely as being told one is “taking it too seriously.” A critic, professional or otherwise, found too solemn in her critique just doesn’t get it. Jokes are safer, forestalling opinion—and thereby contention—by forgoing one. And this attitude rather suits the powers that be in media and entertainment, for whom attention of any kind suffices. (How much of what appears on, say, Netflix is a joke?)

LOL that’s crazy once felt apt as a response to our media environment, a quasi-absurdist means of palliating a 24/7 onslaught of slickly mediated information. But it shows its wear. I have to thank Ethel Cain for noticing. Last fall, the singer-songwriter posted to Tumblr that she felt “constantly bombarded by jokes,” adding, “listen, i LOVE to laugh and i love funny shit but like. we are in an irony epidemic. there is such a loss of sincerity and everything has to be a joke at all times.” Though the post was soon deleted, screenshots found a wider audience among people, myself included, who agreed with her read on our current climate. Our unfunny times are nonetheless rife with laughter, and it’s a laughter that seldom offers relief. When did everything—everything—become ha ha ha? What kind of laugh is this?

Comedy and tragedy have been involved in a long and fruitful two-hander; a faith that the best of one leaves room for the other undergirds the rhapsodies of Shakespeare and “The Bear” alike. The twin pillars of the American comedic sensibility, Black people and Jews, burlesqued their people’s conditions to hysterical effect throughout the past century, metabolizing the times as they went. When Lenny Bruce threatened to piss and Richard Pryor opened his ass, they served up the very shit from which postwar America sought escape in the cleansing assimilation of the suburbs—“a flight from industry and business and money and filth,” as the literary critic John Limon has put it, as well as “a flight from the power of jokes” and all their lowly associations. But people were laughing at what the standups had to say, long and loud and among fellow audience members who were (at least according to America) different from one another. Limon, who is credited with composing the first serious study of standup as an art form, is as fascinated by this collective laughter as he is by the comedy itself. The comedian curls the viewer into the drama of his own debasement, Limon theorized, and the relationship is christened, if the joke works, with a laughter that amalgamates the many into one. This became the hope, and the promise, of comedy as standup exploded in popularity in the latter half of the twentieth century, its cadences absorbed into other realms of American entertainment, from late night to the sitcom. “This eventuality—the comedification of America,” Limon writes, “is the most astounding fact about the American sensibility from 1960 to 2000.”

Limon was writing, incidentally, just a year before the nation would profess to have its sense of humor upended. On September 11, 2001, the Twin Towers came down and broke our funny bone, or so it was said. Comedy made a brief retreat from national life; late-night and comedy institutions such as The Onion went dark. The vacuum was filled with eulogies to irony and cynicism. The thought was that the U.S. had been irrevocably jolted out of a late-twentieth-century posture, an irreverence fomented by an age that understood irony “not only as a sneering overused pose of detachment,” as the literary critic Michiko Kakutani put in a piece for the Times, “but also as a potent weapon for delineating a fractured and frightening world.” Yet any viewer of the nineties film “Reality Bites,” with its scene in which Ethan Hawke coolly recites the definition of irony, knew how available and thus threadbare the term had already become. In an essay from 1993, David Foster Wallace had ascribed the “trendy sardonic exhaustion” among his peers to the increasing sophistication of television. Writers strove to position themselves as more cynical than the idiot box that knew itself to be an idiot box. The effect was “not liberating but enfeebling,” Wallace wrote. Even before 9/11 was said to have killed it, irony was no longer confrontational in its address. It pointed out everything while standing neither for nor against anything in particular. It said, as Wallace ventriloquized, “How very banal to ask what I mean.”

When humor returned to the mainstream post-9/11, it was not irreverent or edgy but grating, jingoistic, and racist, complementing the nation’s earnest reclamation of its tragedy to promulgate American values, which is to say war. “I’m here to give you permission to laugh,” Rudy Giuliani, the so-called Mayor of America, said at a charity event a month after the attack. “If you don’t, I’ll have you arrested.” Har har. America needed to laugh. Laughter was proof of coping, of winning. Laughter was American. It is telling that when “South Park�� returned to air, after a hiatus, the show, previously impudent toward the establishment, now joined the rest of media in mocking Arabs and Muslims, and ended the episode on an earnest cheer: “Go America!” The thought was that to meet something with a laugh was the same thing as defanging it, a fearful humor inflated with American self-importance.

As media outlets wrung their hands over the utility of humor after tragedy, though, a burgeoning Internet culture lent no such consideration. Indeed, the digital world persisted as an all-hours laugh factory, with 9/11 providing “an impetus to a new genre,” as the sociologist Giselinde Kuipers wrote, of “cut-and-paste Internet jokes that were shared and spread around the world through e-mail, newsgroups, and Web sites.” Slipshod, crass, and sick, these jokes, dialling in from abroad and at home, were distinct from the humor that had followed other U.S. catastrophes. Their authors didn’t seem touched by the events they digested. The person who created an image of Teletubbies jumping to their deaths from the World Trade Center, evoking Richard Drew’s harrowing 9/11 photograph “The Falling Man,” wasn’t doing so through tears, presumably, nor was anyone who passed the image along. The jokes that proliferated did not seem to be working through a singular grief. Nor were they “difficult and painful, and productive,” as Wallace lauded the “rebellious irony” of postwar fiction that exposed bureaucratic hypocrisies.

No, humor of this sort, as it flourished online, was juvenile and unfeeling. It was smug, resembling the latter-day irony that Wallace associated with TV. So it makes perfect sense that it would be further propagated by the next big thing in telecommunications, the social Internet, where nobody had to be who they said they were, let alone own what they said. Maybe you meant it, maybe you didn’t. Everyone was trying stuff out—a good thing, in life and in comedy, but any speech can get rotten, especially speech one never has to claim. The Internet—that is, the Internet as carved up by billionaires—didn’t invent shock-jocking; it only gave it a better alibi than it had on the radio. Online, jokey provocations feigned a detachment from real life. If friends were calling each other “mein Führer,” it did not make them Nazis. That was just their sense of humor, a dose of online irony poisoning. A decade ago, one such friend, a firefighter trainee named Dirk Denkhaus, set fire to a refugee group home in Altena, Germany. On his phone were racist memes and xenophobic articles and the phrase “mein Führer” used among pals. His lawyer, as reported by the Times, argued that Denkhaus had otherwise displayed no prior anti-refugee sentiment: “It was only online that he’d dabbled in hate.” The irony-poisoned spew the most darndest and heinous things not out of conviction—or so we’re meant to assume—but just for funsies, until evidence shows otherwise.

The diagnosis of online irony poisoning tends to understate the extent to which social media’s rightward drift regulates so much else in life, establishing the terms and the tenor by which we enter that bustling intersection called discourse. The comedification of America has become the memeification of America. Take, for instance, the ultimate Internet troll, Elon Musk, appearing a few years ago as a host of “Saturday Night Live,” a coup that seems quaint, in retrospect, now that Musk is leading Trump’s gutting of the federal government as the head of an agency that he renamed after a meme. The puerile hasn’t confabbed with the establishment so much as replaced it, with the latter’s permission. Jokes mingle with cruel and lethal austerity measures. At the podium during a rally held after the Presidential Inauguration, Musk raised a stiff right arm in what looked like a Nazi salute yet it was laughed off by the Anti-Defamation League as just an “awkward gesture.” This month, Musk briefly changed his profile name on X, the social platform he owns, to Harry Bōlz, a brilliant display of homophonic potty humor that prompted a surge in an obscure cryptocurrency by the same name. This is where America lives and what America does. Nothing is funny, but everything is. And therein lies a sense of impotence, because our ability to discern the consequential ghoulishness of this nation’s policies–LOL that’s crazy!–doesn’t in and of itself constitute resistance. Those who feel they can’t do, laugh.

The inverse of falling Teletubbies and deniable Seig heils might look like a sincere attempt to meet the moment. But audiences, even for art-house entertainment, have gone feral with laughter. Two years ago, I went to my favorite movie theatre in Chicago to see Todd Haynes’s “May December,” a film that is funny in the way that melodrama, in its overdrawn intensity, can be. I enjoyed the movie. I laughed. Others did, too. But it did not feel like we were laughing together. The room was too loud, out of proportion with the film. Toward the end, the character played by Charles Melton attempts to confront his wife, played by Julianne Moore, about the fact that their two-decade-long relationship began with statutory rape; he was thirteen and she was thirty-six. “I’m saying, what if I was too young,” he ventures, to which she replies, indignantly, “You seduced me.” There is something farcical in the retort—an older woman playing child to the man she coerced into sex as an actual child. What was comical about the exchange was the very thing that made it disturbing. In the theatre, though, peals of laughter drowned out Melton’s cries and the scene’s devastatingly anticlimactic end. The tragedy was lost to the comedy, rather than being thrown into relief by it.

Not long ago, the same theatre released a statement about an incident that occurred during a showing of David Lynch’s “Blue Velvet”; instead of treating the film’s “darker material”—including a bizarre, voyeuristic rape scene—“with respect,” the theatre said, patrons had been “loudly mocking abuse on the screen.” There have been similar reports of excess laughter among Broadway audiences at “Cabaret,” especially during “If You Could See Her,” the ridiculous duet with a gorilla that ends on the thud of an unfunny joke, a dose of antisemitism that is meant to jerk the audience back into the realities of late-Weimar Berlin. In each case, humor is proper to the unease—one cannot have their expectations (of a publicized scandal; of an American suburb; of a German night club) unsettled without first getting too comfortable. But each of these works asks audiences to attune themselves to on-the-dime shifts in atmosphere, to the psychodramas thrumming beneath the rituals of ordinary life. And, in each case, the audience seemed to only see a joke.

Laughter is both the easiest and the hardest thing to critique—easy because it is a conspicuous target, hard because taking issue with humor can put you in league with a bunch of pearl-clutching losers. The person accusing another of not taking something seriously might herself be too serious, missing a point best apprehended through the shoulder-shaking discomfort of an inappropriate laugh. In December, when the C.E.O. of UnitedHealthcare was gunned down in midtown Manhattan, an outpouring of online tomfoolery unfolded alongside the news story itself. Humorless pundits in the media were aghast at the crime in a way that seemed out of touch with the grand joke that is American health care, through the fault of people such as the man shot dead. “Fortunately the bullets were classified as preexisting,” a user quipped on Reddit; another declared, “Thoughts and prayers are out of network!” To some observers, the incessant joking was the sort of heartless mirth that social media had been running on for decades. But I have to admit that, for me, the laughs were productive. The death of Brian Thompson and the hilarity that followed placed greater focus on health care than did our last Democratic President, who refused to plainly say whether he would veto Medicare for All if it came across his desk. Rather than holding the thing they referenced at arm’s length, these jokes brought ugly truths close.

In a recent lecture on the visual artist Hamishi Farah, the writer Tobi Haslett wondered what role laughter can play when institutions unmask themselves. Farah had been commissioned to create an art work for the Transmediale festival, in Berlin, which then balked at Farah’s submission: a tranquil portrait of Joe Chialo, Germany’s senator for culture and social cohesion, who has, in lockstep with Western cultural institutions, endeavored to ban criticism of Israel from cultural life. The festival’s withdrawal of the painting, presumably out of fear that it was a work of ridicule, was, Haslett wrote, a laughable “irony of ironies” best appreciated in his contemplative, principled read of the situation. Laughter, Haslett went on, remains “a political question, but also an art question, which is to say that it’s a matter of everyday life.” Laughter does not speak for itself. We must ask after it, and when we do we might find that it has things to say. We ask the universe, as one memesmith did, “DOES ANYONE KNOW IF WE HAVE TO maintain our senses of kindness and empathy despite the world constantly trying to destroy the individual and destroy feelings in impersonal society TOMORROW.” We laugh, but the joke’s on us until we answer, resoundingly—with thought and action, with politics—yes.

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