#other than I had the idea of spirit mob struggling to get back into his body

[mtndw-whteout]

can’t get back.

[creativenicocorner]

Hello! I'm really curious what Starry Starry Night is about?

♡(o˘◡˘o) Thank you so much @disorganised-thoughtss for asking! ♡

This is another fic I'm excited to sink my teeth into when I get the chance!

"Starry Starry Night" is heavily inspired by the manga Insomniacs After School by Makoto Ojiro.

I plan on having it be very Tome centric, taking place nearly directly after the events of the Reigen Manga. As a result of Rusty-chan, the forest, and Roshūto, Tome develops a really bad case of insomnia and really struggles to sleep. Making her snap a little more than usual, and causing a bit of growing pains in terms of inserting herself into Spirits and Such.

The following is a super rough bit of back and forth during some brainstorming. I'm always fascinated by the thought of either Tome or Teruki feeling ... complicated feelings as (what they feel to be but aren't) 'replacements'.

Idk I'm not married to this bad and forth, but I think some version of this will perhaps exist in the finished product:

"I know why you really don’t want me here.” “Yeah?” Challenged Reigen, matching jeering tone with jeering tone. And then Tome straightened, right and serious and deftly to the point in the only way teenagers can: Terrifyingly. “You’re just mad I’m here instead of Shigeo." A fiery whine tinged her voice with emotion. Tome hated it, hated how her eyes felt prickly with potential tears. "You wish he were here, instead of me.” Reigen’s eyes widened, then he looked away, unable to meet Tome’s challenging eyes. Mostly because, in that moment, he was too ashamed. Dreadfully so. She was right…in a small sense. He did miss Mob, but he had grown, and that's okay. Reigen just didn't realize how much he'd miss him until the moment Tome pointed it out. And it made him feel wretched. He had no idea Tome felt this way... did Teruki as well? Or any of the other gaggle of teens? Reigen took a measured breath while Tome pointed at the act as if exposing condemning evidence. "See!" Tome continued her jabbing motion. "I knew it!" Serizawa looked between the pair of them, unsure how to help. A growing silence was filling the restaurant as fellow patrons turned to watch the scene in curiosity. Reigen and Tome ignored them. "Alright," said Reigen, resigned, and painfully honest, "…yes." "HAH!" Tome jumped, and nearly caused the table in their booth to jolt. "I do miss him," continued Reigen, ignoring her interruption. "But that doesn't mean I expect you to replace him. You're your own person Tome, and he is his own person. No one can replace another. People aren't things, it doesn't work like that. Which means you are irreplaceable in your own right, Tome-chan." The dagger straight point of Tome's index finger transformed slowly into something less sharp. Serizawa smiled, and politely passed Tome a tissue. With fumbling hands she accepted Serizawa's tissue gratefully. Then looked away from Reigen's knowing look, "shut up." Reigen nodded. "Allergies, huh?" "Whatever." Reigen and Serizawa shared a smile. Over the sounds of Tome blowing her nose, Serizawa said cheerfully, "I wonder what they have to offer for dessert."

Anywho... Instead of sitting around at home, staring at the ceiling waiting for a sleep that won't come, Tome starts spending her nights wandering Seasoning City alone which is interesting, until not safe/risk of getting caught by a bicycle cop.

During one of her nightly escapades she runs into Takenaka (who struggles with insomnia for different reasons. Wanting to take advantage of the night as one of the few times the world is a little quieter for the telepath. Making it one of the few times he doesn't need to use his headphones). Shenanigans ensue, but also a far deeper friendship than before.

One night they stumbles across Reigen as well, (likewise still experiencing after effects of dealing with Rusty), but his insomnia is something he had been dealing with since before dealing with Rusty. Words of wisdom etc and encouragement for Tome to learn astronomy. Among other Tome and Reigen shenanigans as I love them as a bombastic chaotic duo.

Somewhere down the line Tome manages to convince Reigen to chaperone for school sanctioned nightly escapades for night time photography.

Serirei things happen in the background, sometimes mirroring Tome's own navigations of the heart (she WILL be a disaster bisexual because I DO make the rules of this fic haha). And perhaps exploring what it is like to be in a fresh new relationship with each other (serirei)?

And uh, yeah! I have a very vague idea, but a barely there outline, and am filled with vibes. I'm very excited for this concept though! I think Tome developing a love for astronomy and star gazing feels completely natural considering her love of aliens. And yeah, I want to see more Tome and Reigen scenarios/shenanigans, as well as explore her relationship with Takenaka more

We'll see how these vibes grow haha

(♡˙︶˙♡)Thank you so much again for the ask!!

[sadistic-kiss]

🐺House of Alphas Chapter 53: Let There Be Light🐺

(Jujutsu Kaisen Omegaverse )

Summary: Waking up in a world that was not your own was problematic enough. Being the villainess was another. However, the possessive alphas might take the cake.

Disclaimer: Angsty but I ain’t Gege

Omega!Reader x Alpha!Sukuna x Alpha!Gojo x Alpha!Toji x Alpha!Nanami x Alpha!Getou

~

…

Shadow Curses.

When you fight them, an ominous tune begins to play. A grueling symphony that has you both fearful for your group and perplexed by the daunting harmony.

Shadow curses were more aggressive and stronger than the others. The regular curse spirits were simple mobs that you killed. Some of them range from different strengths and levels depending on where you are, but for the most part, they were just dirt off your shoulder. Sometimes you tried to run or avoid them because you didn’t want to deal with them.

There were also of course the curse bosses such as Jogo, Hanami, Dagon, Mahito, and Rika, but those were bosses.

Shadow curses were like the updated trash mobs you fight when you are getting to the more difficult part of the game. You try to avoid them just because you don’t want to use too many supplies and they are trickier to fight. More of an annoyance, until you learn Divine light. Then it’s easier.

You first come into contact with them one random blood moon and after that, it continues to persist throughout the game. You meet Priestest Utahime who helps you strengthen your light magic and teaches you the special move Divine light.

One thing that you are learning now is that shadow creatures consume dark magic to get their strength. You thought all of its power derived from Kenjaku or the blood moon. Now you realize this fight here is what gives it to them. The witches’ home is their feasting grounds. You could feel the abundance amount of energy flowing through the floors alone. The energy that courses through this place is insane. If you don’t do something…the monsters will get stronger and much too powerful for even you to handle. If that happens they will consume your pack. It was like a ticking time bomb. Your curse energy was the timer. Once that runs out…

Fuckity fuck- you rubbed at your throat, your voice growing hoarse from all the screaming. Your alphas still persisted as you began to drown in uncertainty.

One episode down and you are already dealing with high-level mobs. You thought all of this was going to be a cakewalk, you planned so carefully but you keep coming into contact with shit you shouldn’t be fighting so soon. Your light magic isn’t anywhere where it needs to be. You mainly used it to heal not fight. You didn’t think you would require it till later.

“It’ll be okay, don’t stress out.” Toji rubbed your back gently, sensing your discomfort.

“We will keep you safe.” Nanami added.

“I’m going to attack the barrier, there’s only so much it can handle, step back.” Sukuna rolled his shoulders as he took his true form, ready to charge.

That was a silly idea. “No Sukuna, you could hurt yourself.”

“That’s why I have you to heal me back up.” Sukuna got in a crouch, as the others pulled you aside to safety.

“Can we just wait a minute-“

“There’s no time-“

“We can take turns too if need be “

*BAM!*

There was a loud slam, followed by scuffing and shuffling as if someone was dragging themselves along the wall. Your eyes darted to Mai who struggles to get to you, a deep scowl on her face as she bores you with the most scornful expression. Her body looks bloodied and abused. Like she had a wild dance with rocks.

“You!” She hissed holding her gun up. “How are you doing this!?”

“It’s not us!” Gojo scoffed.

“Let me-“You put a hand upon Satoru and gave a look to your alphas before you rested your gaze on the beta. “Mai… those creatures are of the shadow realm, your magic can’t kill them and the witches are only feeding them, making them stronger.” You hold up your hand as it shines with white light, “I can fend them off Mai please-“

“This is a trick! To let you out!” Mai thrust her gun forward making your alphas growl and try to stand between you and a possible bullet.

You push them aside, “Mai! My betas are out there! I would do nothing to harm them! Do you understand?! And Nobara-Maki- and Todo! They are my friends! I don’t want to see any of them get hurt! You have to believe me!”

Mai’s hand trembled and you heard more screams- and then it was silenced with a loud crunch. That was another life… gone… you choked on a sob, “Mai! They can’t defend themselves! Please! There’s no time for this!”

“You’re lying!”

“I-it’s not me! If you don't let me out, they will all die fuck-“ You duck down to grab a sharp rock.

“What are you doing-“

You didn’t allow your alphas to stop you as cut your hand. Thrusting it out you offered it to Mai, “I will make a blood oath with my life-“

“The hell you will!” You gasped feeling Nanami snatch your wrist back, you didn’t mean to activate yandere Nanami but here you are, “Do you know what a blood oath is little girl?” He growled out rather upset with you. Your other alphas looked to share his sentiment.

A blood oath was more than a pinky promise. Think of it like a contract you cannot rip up. By the laws of nature, you will be held accountable.

“I-I don’t know what else to do!” You whined.

“I’ll make the blood oath.” Getou took the rock from you.

“No, me!” Gojo stepped forward.

“Enough!” Mai shouted at you all. “Just…just save them please…” She slid down the wall and with one last ounce of strength she tossed the key toward you.

Sukuna caught it with ease, turning it inward as he unlocked the gate.

“Don’t you ever do something so reckless again.” Nanami gave you a pointed look, not letting you go until you agreed.

“Yes sir…I’m sorry.” Pleased with your answer he released you. You stepped out and then pointed to Mai, “Can one of you carry her, I’m going to need to save as much of my light magic as possible.”

Sukuna shook his head, “She will slow us down.”

“Yes, we will remember her noble sacrifice.” Gojo saluted, “Thank you, Megan.”

You rolled your eyes, “Someone pick her up and let’s go!”

...

~

*Read More*

[briarandhissecretgarden]

Dionysus and Apollo Thoughts (MC ocs)

This is a continuation of my V/Illager talk. This pertains to my ocs :0)

Now, onto my ocs n such bc i am thinking abt them. I have two that are an Evoker and a Witch. Evoker is named Apollo (early 30s|he/him) and the Witch is named Dionysus (mid 30s|she/her). Dio runs a small tavern/inn on land she owns, she's made it a very clear safe space for all non-human mobs. Any mob, peaceful, neutral and hostile may come and stay, no fighting though.

A simple witch brought up in a somewhat well off family. They lived humbly and dedicated their lives to an Illager cult that granted them protection if any monsters were to approach them. However, as time grew on and Witches began to get hated more and more in some circles, a massacre took place, Ancient Builders destroyed the landscape of Dio's home and she was left orphaned from a very early age. Illagers quickly came by and brought her to a woodland mansion where she struggled greatly to interact with the other children, making her an outcast. Although she felt alone, she used her emotions as a starting point to learn magic and witchcraft. By the time she was older, she had become the most powerful witch on Raid Divisions. Dio had even made an Evoker friend, Apollo. He struggled much like her, so as thanks for the friendship and to help someone who was suffering the same fate as her, she helped teach him magic. Eventually they had enough of the cult-like living spaces in the Woodland mansion and escaped, being exiled by the Illagers. They were hunted down for a while afterwards, but knowing that Dio had her own private land that was cursed to tread upon (witch superstitions exist in this world too. Witches are said to be blessed by all 3 divine spirits [knowledge/action/foresight], making their land [passed down by family] incredibly valuable, but dangerous to those that are unwelcome) they decided to give it up and let them go free, but they were both banned from ever joining or making deals with Illager kind, and that Apollo (an evoker) was essentially dead to them.

Dio is an incredibly powerful witch too, but chooses to keep things low key unless trouble is rising. She's happy and bubbly and tends to talk everyone's ear off, loves performing magic acts and singing and dancing at the tavern too!!! She struggles a bit with dealing with angry customers or those that come to cause trouble, though she can usually see right through them and cast a spell so they can just chill. She is in LOVE with the Nether and loves the wildlife in that dimension, but struggles with the heat a fair amount so she can never stay too long.

Apollo is Dio's bestest friend in the whole world. They were both assigned to Raids when they met, and Apollo was already disliked amongst Illager kind. His mother was a Pillager, but his father was a Villager, and that set many of his group against him. Even so, he was blessed with very good skills as an Evoker. He struggled to gain the same respect as one though, and Dio offered to teach him different ways of using his magic, but Witches weren't permitted to talk to Evokers unless given an order to. So they met every night and trained in the Dark Oak Forests that surrounded the Mansion Apollo lived in. After a long while Dio brought up the idea to escape from that way of life, however, Apollo only would agree if he was allowed to make the plan. They talked for weeks but it was all for nothing as their captain, a Vindicator, had seen them meet before. Seeing no other means of escape other than their plan, they decided to just go for it and see what would happen!! They would up being free from the cult-like Mansion they once lived in, free from all the turmoil and harassment.

Even so, they were hunted down for a good while, they were traveling constantly to get back to the safe land Dio's family once owned. A beautiful swamp/mangrove biome. With them both settled and excited to build a new life for themselves, they were officially exiled from their former lives. Content with their new ventures ahead of them.

That's all for these guys right now!!! if you have any questions please ask :0) meant to post this last week but i didn't finish their refs until this week so yeah :0

[freakingoutthesquares]

Discord of the miners' strike influenced a musical journey

By The Newsroom (Yorkshire Post) 25th Mar 2010

AS a 22 year-old graduate fresh out of university, Russell Senior seemed to have the world at his feet. Instead, when he returned home to Sheffield in 1984, he found the city on its knees. "A lot of factories were closing and there was a palpable air of gloom. My dad was a steelworker [and had] been made redundant. I was quite political at the time and I was angry about what was happening," he says.

"The Government had a go at the steelworkers first, then the railway workers and then the miners who were always going to be the toughest nut to crack. So when the miners' strike started, I went to the NUM headquarters and volunteered my services and said, 'What do you want me to do?'"

He was seconded to Nalgo (National Association of Local Government Officers) which ran minibuses through the night taking people to the picket lines and spent the next 12 months as one of the flying pickets. "I was there from the first day to the last when the miners marched back to work with their heads held high," he says.

Senior, who went on to spend 13 years with Sheffield indie band Pulp, is one of the guest speakers tomorrow on the final day of a conference hosted by Leeds University, discussing the consequences of the miners' strike. Several of Pulp's songs are featured in a documentary, The Beat is the Law, which charts the Sheffield music scene during the '80s set against the backdrop of the strike.

For Senior, it was a pivotal time in his life as 1984 was also the year he joined the band. "The two dovetailed, so I was in what was at the time a small band and by night I was out supporting the miners. It was an odd kind of life," he admits. "It was a privilege in a way to be there and at times I felt like Woody Allen's character Zelig, who appears at different historic events, because there were occasions I'd find myself sitting behind Arthur Scargill on a coach heading to a picket line. It felt like an important struggle."

As a frontline picket he witnessed numerous clashes between police and miners, the worst of which was at the infamous Battle of Orgreave. "You could tell something was going to happen. The police formed this shield wall and it was like witnessing a scene from a medieval battle. We'd not seen anything like this in Britain, it was the kind of thing you'd associate with Pinochet's Chile. The way they set about the miners was quite frightening. I was brought up to respect the police, but I changed my mind that day."

When the strike finally ended in 1985, Senior focused on his musical career. "I wanted the band to be world beaters and it was a full-time job, I wasn't just pootling about. The same kind of angst that went in to supporting the miners' strike went into the band."

But although Pulp, and in particular charismatic frontman Jarvis Cocker, went on to enjoy huge success in the '90s, it was a long, hard slog. "It was fairly grim in the early years when we were desperately trying to get off the ground. I've played more concerts to 50 people than I have to 10,000," says Senior, the band's former guitarist and violinist.

"The best bands often have quite a lot of tension and that was the case with us. We didn't really fit in with other bands and it was only when Britpop started that we found some other kindred spirits." But just as the band was at the height of its popularity following the release of Different Class, Senior decided to quit in 1997. "I liked the idea of ending on a high, I didn't want to slowly fade away."

Senior is still on friendly terms with his former bandmates, but these days the 48 year-old, who lives in Sheffield with his partner and two children, prefers a quieter life and is concentrating on writing his first novel.

However, reflecting on the miners' strike he believes that only now – a quarter-of-a-century after it finished – is it being reassessed. "The miners were portrayed as this brutal mob of football hooligans," he says. "Someone said at the time that in 20 years they will tell the truth about this – when it's too late."

The Beat is the Law available to buy here.

[cdroloisms]

Dream tried to stop Wil from creating L'Manburg, Phil tried to stop him from blowing it up, BOTH value people over items and builds, Phil has said that they're replaceable but people aren't, Dream traded spirit for his best friends fishes (we kno he's not someone to talk abt feelings:[) BOTH were kind and selfless but used by almost if not everyone, BOTH were ready to be THE VILLAINS if it meant everyone else could live better after. ONE of them always had someone there, ONE didn't. Intentional?

aaaa sorry for the really inconsistent posts ,, im gonna try to post a little more in the next few days. i have a few things written up, so look out for them? maybe? for now, have this *gestures vaguely* thing ,, it’s kinda a mess but *shrug*

phil is such a fun character, anon, especially for all the reasons that you mentioned in the ask!! he’s a really fun character with a lot of complexities that go (sadly) overlooked by a large portion of the fandom, but he’s super cool even tho i havent analyzed him too much. hope you enjoy (and i hope my interpretation of c!phil isnt too ooc lmao) 

tw: mentioned blood, injury, implied torture/abuse, starvation, trauma, mentioned death, prison arc/pandora’s vault

When Techno first brings Dream back from the prison, Phil doesn’t quite know what to think.

“I don’t trust him either,” Techno assures him, but there’s a flickering anger in the backs of his eyes, one that had emerged ever since he came back from the prison with the other man in his arms, and Phil knows his friend well enough to know that the words are empty in the face of the piglin hybrid’s particular brand of to-the-death loyalty. He shakes his head in reply, refusing to voice his thoughts for Techno’s sake, at least, but the look that the other slants at him suggests that he’s caught onto them all the same.

At first, the work is thankfully mindless; even if Phil has reservations on the man that Techno has more or less dumped into his house, he would hardly wish the clear suffering he’s been through on anyone. The first few days pass in a flurry of brewing potions, wrapping and rewrapping dressings, stitching up cuts and setting broken bones straight. The damage is extensive; Phil has to take more than a few breaks to just leave the house and breathe - he’s far from a stranger to blood and carnage, had received the title of ‘Angel of Death’ for a reason, but even he had never been particularly familiar with this form of cruelty. Torture was a level of violence that extended beyond what even he was willing to bestow - his hands may have caused many deaths, and the weight of each one would continue to haunt him for the rest of his life, but even those had the mercy of being a quick end. The wounds and scars that ripple over Dream’s skin, thin and stretched tightly over his bones with little muscle and fat left to cushion them, speak of horrors that were anything but merciful.

“I didn’t know they were capable of all of this,” Techno says, once, as they huddle of Dream, wringing towels in cold water to wipe his feverish skin. Techno’s hand reaches for the ribboning gold-filled scars that remain from the execution - carefully, Phil raises his hand to let his fingertips brush over them as well. “I mean, I knew he was dangerous and all, but-”

“I know, mate,” Phil looks back at Dream’s face, tight even in unconsciousness, at the darkened, hand-shaped bruises that remain around his throat, at the scar that runs over his left eye, clearly meant to mirror the same one that makes its way down the duck hybrid’s own face. “You said that Quackity and Sam were working together?”

“Yeah,” Techno’s expression darkens, eyes focused somewhere on the wall, seemingly very far away. He said that nothing happened to him in the prison, and he seemed relatively unharmed when Phil activated the stasis chamber, but ever since he came back, sometimes he’ll have moments, and Phil can’t help but - wonder. “Quackity does the dirty work, Sam gives him the way in and out, probably also the tools to do it. It’s-” he huffs a short, self-recriminating laugh. “It’s bad, Phil.”

“Mate-”

Techno shoots him a look, and Phil cringes, knowing already that he’d used the wrong tone. Even with the execution, Techno had been adamant to hide all traces of his own terror and fear away from him, masking it all with fury for Phil’s own sake. He knows, just from the way his old friend looks at the ribboning scars that remain sometimes, that he is far from as over the whole ordeal as he acts, but Techno never wants to talk and Phil never knows the right time to ask and they smooth it all behind plans and explosions and hope that the TNT can blow apart the trauma, too. He’s got a sneaking suspicion that the same thing is going to happen, here.

“As soon as we can,” Techno starts again, pointedly shifting his eyes away from Phil’s face, “we’re calling a Syndicate meeting to figure out what we’re going to do about the prison. Like- come on, man, you couldn’t make a more transparent abuse of institutional power if you tried, really-” he looks over, uncharacteristic uncertainty warring over his features. “If you think that’s good, I mean-“

“Of course, mate.” Phil’s voice softens. “Whenever you’re ready.”

‘Whenever he’s ready,’ as it turns out, is easier said than done, becoming even more evident when their charge wakes up from his days long spell of unconsciousness. The worst of his injuries have, under their careful care and the benefit of many potions, healed enough to no longer directly threaten his life, but the vast majority have quite some time to go before being healed completely. Being as the goal was torture and not death, most of his injuries weren’t made to be life-threatening, but rather to cause as much pain as possible - from the grimace that twists Dream’s face when he struggles to force himself awake, they’re doing their jobs.

“Hey, mate, slow down,” Phil murmurs, pressing the man down by his shoulder when Dream weakly tries to push himself up and off the bed, and his struggling only lasts for a few more minutes before he gives up and slumps against his pillow, eyes cracking open and seeming surprisingly lucid.

“Where-“ his voice is wrecked, and Phil reaches for the glass of water at the bedside as Dream coughs. “Where am I?”

“You’re at Techno’s house,” Dream’s eyes widen and then slip closed as he processes the information, a wrinkle forming between his eyebrows as they knit together. “We broke you out, after Techno escaped with a stasis chamber with your book. Do you remember?”

Dream gnaws on his bottom lip. “Um- yeah. I think.” His head turns as his eyes crack open again- “Techno-“

“He’s out, right now. He’ll be back in a bit.”

“Oh.” Dream falls back into the bed, strength seemingly sapped from the short conversation. His breathing stutters, then steadies. “Okay.”

Recovery is slow. Phil doesn’t actually find himself seeing the man very often; now that he doesn’t need around-the-clock care anymore, he’s moved back into his own house, letting Techno do most of the work when it comes to rehabilitating the escaped convict crashing at his house. As he begins to spend more of his time awake and aware, he brings a whole slew of new problems; Phil catches him screaming one day, blurting harsh, angry words as Techno reads, unbothered from the other side of the room, and he stops in his tracks standing awkwardly in the doorway.

“Um-“ he winces when Dream curses, smashes something against the floor, and then curls into himself at the sound. Techno doesn’t even flinch. “Am I interrupting something?”

Dream stomps away, face flushed, arms wrapped around himself. Techno raises an eyebrow.

“You lookin’ for something, Phil?” he asks, and the unpleasant knot in Phil’s chest refuses to unwind.

The episodes, unfortunately, don’t seem to get much better. Though he’s rarely outright violent, Dream looks constantly murderous, usually muttering underneath his breath about something or another while he stalks the grounds of Techno’s house. It’s not too long before Techno sends him out to work around the house instead of just moping within the cottage, which also means that Phil sees him a lot more - tending to a small farm behind the house, feeding the dogs, hacking away at mobs, and usually complaining the entire time. It’s unnerving, even as injured and unarmored as the man is, to see him walking around like this; despite his rather pathetic appearance, swamped in sweaters that dwarf him thoroughly and thin enough to look like the slightest breeze will knock him over, his eyes are flinty and intelligent and bubble with promises of revenge.

“FUCK!” Phil turns to see him slamming a shovel into the snow, stomping away into the woods, and his hands tighten around his cup of tea. Next to him, Techno shrugs.

“Nerd’s got a few issues,” he drawls, and Phil laughs shortly.

“That seems like an understatement.”

“He’ll ease up in time,” Techno sounds surprisingly confident, completely content despite the muffled curses that come from the woods next to them. He’s probably used to it, with Chat and all, but Phil can’t quite seem to find the same calm.

“I just don’t know, mate,” Phil shakes his head. “You sure having him around is the best idea? He doesn’t seem...stable.”

Techno looks up at him over the rim of his cup of coffee. His head tilts, considering, but there’s a small smile on his face that tells Phil that Techno, inexplicably, doesn’t share the same sentiments. There was always a part of him that was, for the lack of a better word, softer than the rest of the server for his self-proclaimed rival, a sort of understanding that Phil could hardly hope (nor would really want to) understand.

“Don’t worry, Phil, if he tries anything I can always just tie him up in the attic or something,” Phil huffs a small laugh, amused, and nods to concede the point. “And- well, call it intuition. You could really try talkin’ to him, you know. He reminds me of you, sometimes.”

The words stick in his head despite his best efforts, rattling in his skull when he tries to sleep, lingering when he catches glimpses of the green-clothed man stalking around their properties. He can’t imagine what would’ve prompted his old friend to make the comparison, can’t think of a single thing (besides their affinity for the color green) that would mark him as similar to the - from what he’s heard - deranged menace with a particular penchant for destruction (not that his rants and fits of anger are doing anything to correct that impression). Even so, Techno had sounded so sure when he’d made the comparison, the words offhand like he’d thought them a million times before, like it was a simple observation that held no more weight than commenting on the color of the sky. Phil watches as Dream lugs a pile of logs behind him, huffing at one of Techno’s dogs that comes to chase and nip at his feet and grumbling loudly before faceplanting into the snow. He just...can’t see it.

Days later, Wilbur comes to visit, a grin on his lips as he dramatically recounts his newest exploit: a nation by Las Nevadas, a supposed safe haven away from the glitter and glory of Quackity’s city; it sounds brilliant, it sounds lovely, and more than anything it sounds stupid, and Phil tells him as such immediately.

“You’re being reckless,” he rants at his son, wings flaring outwards and only barely noticing Dream watching from the corner of his eye, “What are you doing- picking fights with Quackity? Starting another nation- didn’t you see what happened to the first two you made? You’re going to get yourself killed, Wil!”

“Well, I’ve already seen what’s on the other side of death, and it’s really not that bad-“

“You’re my son!” The words are angrier than Phil would’ve liked, and he knows that he looks ridiculous and overbearing, criticizing the actions of his fully grown son, but all he can see is Wilbur’s face, slack with pain and grief, stained with ash and soot as his eyes flutter to half-mast in the midst of the rubble of a country he loved and destroyed and destroyed him in turn. “I can’t lose you again, Wil!”

Wilbur doesn’t quite storm out, but it’s a near thing, leaving with a clipped goodbye and leaving Phil seething on his doorstep. He spends the rest of the night pacing around the house in a sort of mad frenzy, wings stretching and folding over and over. Not for the first time, he longs for the sky, to feel the air through his wings and let the world fall into pinpricks below him; it’s this that leads him to the roof of his house, staring stubbornly at the clouds as the sun sinks down to the horizon.

“Hey.”

Phil startles; there, down below him, is Dream. He rocks back on his heels, seeming awkward, before clambering up the wall (Phil rolls his eyes at the ease with which he scales it, the feeling in his chest almost fond) and settling himself on the shingles at Phil’s side.

“Hey, mate,” Phil shakes his head. The fondness leaves, and the irritation that had risen at Wilbur’s words, earlier, comes back full-force. “Sorry- Wil came to visit, we talked. I just needed some time to think.”

Dream hums in acknowledgement, and they fall into a comfortable silence, watching as the sun dipping down past the mountains in the distance.

“You know,” Dream starts, sudden, “I told him the same thing.” He looks up at Phil, eyes faraway with old memories. “Wilbur, I mean. When he made L’manburg- I told him he was being reckless.” He shrugs. “I guess he never listened.”

Phil pauses, Techno’s words ringing in his ears. He reminds me of you, sometimes.

Dream looks surprisingly normal up close - face no longer reddened with fever or pale from blood loss, even the scars fail to really take from the boyishness of his face. He bites his lips, eyes falling away at Phil’s scrutiny, golden blond hair flopping over his forehead, newly trimmed to be something a little closer to his old length, at least in the front, the back pulled into a small ponytail. He’s young, and shockingly awkward, teeth worrying his lip, hands fiddling with each other, shifting his weight from one foot to the other several times a minute. He looks like a kid.

“He never does,” Phil lets himself smile, watches as Dream smiles back, almost like they’re sharing a joke. He wonders how well he really knows the man behind the mask. “Want to come in for some tea?”

Dream smiles wider, and something old and worn in Phils chest, knocked loose ever since he felt his son fall limp in his arms with his own sword shoved between his ribs, falls back into place.

“That would be great,” Dream replies, the words almost hopeful, and they go inside.

[96thdayofrage]

Black photographer reflects a year later on capturing the Jan. 6 attack

Mel D. Cole said he remembers feeling panic set in as the rioters made their way to the Capitol.

Last Jan. 6, photographer Mel D. Cole had only recently turned his lens from musical events to political ones. That day, he simply planned to capture President Donald Trump’s rally near the White House. He had no idea how the day would unfold.

His compelling images show rioters struggling with police, tending to their pepper-sprayed eyes, forcing their way into the Capitol and dragging an officer down the building’s steps.

“In no way, shape or fashion did I expect people to do what they did that day,” he said. “Some people got in [to the Capitol], there were fights, there was craziness. It was the craziest day of my entire life.

Cole remembers feeling panic set in as the rioters made their way to the Capitol after Trump’s speech at the rally.

“Walking down to the Capitol building,” he said, “that’s when I started to fear for my life.”

The pro-Trump mob descended on the Capitol that day, many with weapons and Confederate flags, emboldened by Trump’s instruction to flock to the building just moments before. Cole, 45, said he was among about five photographers there, and one of a handful of Black people — though the others were likely Trump supporters, he said. After taking photos of the rioters swarming the Capitol, Cole said he knew he had to leave when he saw police working to control the situation with flash-bang grenades, tear gas and more pepper spray.

Before the rally, Cole had spent 2020 documenting Black Lives Matter protests where, he said, he’d been punched in the face, arrested and beaten by police. But nothing could compare to the “traumatic” riot at the Capitol, he said. Cole went home that day and shared his experience on Instagram, shedding tears and dancing. Anything, he said, to lift his spirits.

“It wasn’t therapy in the sense of what therapy is. But, for me, it was therapeutic hearing people tell me I’m loved and that what I’m doing is amazing,” Cole said. “It kept me motivated.”

The rioters marched to the Capitol, and broke through police barricades to storm and vandalize the building in an effort to stop Congress from certifying President Joe Biden’s electoral victory. The fallout of that attack has lasted an entire year and is far from over. More than 700 people have been charged with federal crimes related to the riot, with 165 pleading guilty, mainly to misdemeanor offenses. Trump has been at odds with federal courts since then. Last month, he asked the Supreme Court to block the National Archives from turning over records from his time in the White House to the House select committee investigating the attack. A study from the University of Chicago found that 93 percent of the Capitol riot participants were white, with a majority being members of pro-Trump far-right and white supremacist groups.

As for Cole, his photos of the Capitol riot and other events are featured in his recent book, “American Protest: Photographs 2020–2021.” One photo shows a Black Trump supporter after being pepper-sprayed; Cole described the shot as a “beautiful, antagonizing” image. Other photos showed rioters, police and counter-protesters clashing. The collection also includes images from Cole’s year capturing Black Lives Matter protests, Trump rallies and other demonstrations.

“To put out this body of work, it was emotional to relive all of the stuff I had been through, trying to pick out the best of some crazy stuff,” Cole said. “It was difficult at times to look back. For me, to get those photos out there, it’s history. It’s something I want to be around forever to be studied. It’s an important part of history.”

Before he began shooting protests and riots, Cole spent decades as a music photographer, capturing images of hip-hop and R&B stars, including Kid Cudi, Snoop Dogg, SZA and Kanye West. Cole compiled some of his favorite images in “GREAT: Photographs of Hip Hop in 2020,” and has developed relationships with legendary stars like The Roots drummer Questlove, who praised Cole in a foreword for the book, writing, “Photographers are correspondents in this war documenting every battle. ... Run DMC & The Beastie Boys had Ricky Powell and the Roots had Mel D. Cole — or should I say Mel D. Cole had us?”

Cole decided to shift his focus away from music and to Black Lives Matter protests across the country following George Floyd’s death on May 25, 2020. Music events were canceled because of the pandemic and Cole hit the New York City streets to capture the social unrest following Floyd’s death.

“It changed my life,” Cole said of making the switch. “I kept saying to myself, ‘If not me, who? Who is going to see these things and document them?” He said he photographed largely in black-and-white, an homage to one of his favorite photographers and filmmakers, Gordon Parks. It was “different,” Cole said, to go from music events to political ones, but it wasn’t a challenge.

“There’s nothing that can match up to telling the stories of why Black folks are protesting,” Cole said. “There’s nothing I’ve done that can compare to that. But the similarities are that they’re so action-packed; you never know what’s going to happen for the most part. I want to always seek out the stories that are going to inspire people, whether to change or be better. Whatever it is, I want to be there to help.”

[crashingmeteorz]

rich kid runaways (ft. yuexzukoxtoph friendship)

for my 100 Followers Celebration - credit to @aroacebitchboi for this amazing idea!

zuko faces his father in the agni kai, and when he is told what he must do in order to be welcome in his homeland again, he just says “fuck this” and runs away.

he’s not sure where he’s gonna go, just that he has to get out, and fast, because his dad’s gonna kill him. like. for real. so he stows away on a fire navy ship headed Literally Anywhere Else (and maybe the soldiers don’t care! because he’s 13 and hurting children is a disgrace! maybe they sneak him food and blankets idk!)

yue, meanwhile, in the north pole, has just been told she is going to enter an arranged marriage for the good of her people when she turns 16. respectfully, she asks her father what exactly this marriage will do, politically speaking. the north isn’t at war with itself, in fact they’re more united than ever. maybe if it were a southern water tribe boy, sure, but no, it’s going to be a northern boy.

her father just tells her it’s imperative to the stability of the tribe that they uphold tradition. yue, realizing this is bullshit, even at the tender age of 13, says “fuck this”, and runs away.

she is all but screwed without waterbending or any practical survival knowledge - except, she’s been chosen by the moon spirit. when she steals a boat and heads south, the moon takes pity on its ward and keeps her safe, at least on her waterbound journey. once she lands on the northern shores of the earth kingdom, yue depends on the kindness of strangers to survive.

zuko, meanwhile, is angry and mistrustful and afraid when he ends up on the western shores of the earth kingdom, and he depends entirely on his determination to survive. he learns to live off the land the hard way, and avoids major cities and towns for fear of being found out as a firebender. of course, if he’s ever spotted, he’s regarded with pity and empathy because of the festering burn on his face, but zuko doesn’t realize that.

yue never stays in one place too long, bouncing from family to family and learning more skills in a few months than she was ever taught in her whole life up north. she cooks and cleans and sews, yes, but she also farms and skins hunted animals and does house repairs. she is happily taken into homes because of her ability to heal - though never a waterbender, yue still learned basic healing with the other northern women, and can manage even bad wounds all on her own.

afraid she’ll be recognized by her vibrant hair, however, yue continues her journey south, considering running to the south pole for sanctuary. she wonders how their women are treated. zuko, meanwhile, lives alone in the wilderness most of the time, and moves very slowly up the west coast.

they’re 14 when their paths cross. three fire nation soldiers harass yue while she’s journeying along a rural road, asking her for a made-up toll. usually trading in work, yue has no money to speak of. the soldiers threaten violence, and, though he is afraid of being caught by his countrymen, zuko was never one to let bullies have power over the innocent.

he emerges from the forest, swords in hand, attacking the soldiers. at first it seems like he has the upper hand - and then he stumbles, and the soldiers laugh and pull him up to beat him. zuko panics and relies on instinct - firebending at the soldiers and burning them badly. they run away yelling, and zuko panics, certain that he’ll be caught out. he goes to run, but yue stops him.

“you’re hurt,” she says, pointing to where he’d been cut by the soldiers’ swords. “please, let me help you. it’s the least i can do.”

“you’re not scared of me?” zuko asks in confusion, looking around wildly, afraid his father will pop out of the trees and strike him down.

“you saved me,” yue says, just as confused, because between the rescue and the obvious burn mark, she doesn’t really think this boy would have any reason to hurt her. also he’s kinda shrimpy, and yue, who has built up some strength through hard work, is pretty sure she could take him. “come on, i have some herbs. is there clean water nearby?”

shocked that anyone in the earth kingdom wouldn’t call for zuko’s arrest on the spot, zuko leads yue to a stream in the forest. yue silently patches his wounds, and then eventually asks if she can get a look at his eye. apart from the initial work of the fire nation healers, zuko hadn’t really done much to treat his eye, and it’s so badly crusted he can barely see out of it. when yue reaches for him, he jerks away.

“i don’t need your help!” he snaps, standing and shaking himself off. “if it weren’t for you, i wouldn’t be in this situation to begin with.”

“excuse me.” says yue, standing as well, because who is he to talk to her that way? “i didn’t ask you for help, you chose to do that. and you’re mad at those soldiers, not me, so why don’t you try being a little nicer?”

they stare at each other furiously for a moment. then yue sighs and says “i think i can help you with your eye, so that you can see. let me do that and i’ll leave you alone.”

it’s painful, and a very slow process, but with water warmed by zuko’s bending (”just heat up the water.” “someone could see!” “we’re in the middle of a literal forest! who’s spying! the frogs???”) and a few medicinal herbs, yue manages to clear away most of the crust and dead skin over zuko’s eye. when he finally opens it again, he’s shocked to find that he can see.

“well, i won’t bother you anymore,” yue says huffily, moving to leave the forest. as she does, she realizes she doesn’t know where the heck she is. zuko’s still marveling at how different the world looks with two eyes.

“umm, which way is out?” yue asks him. zuko snaps back to reality and says “oh, um. i’ll show you.” because he is, admittedly, grateful.

of course, when they try to leave the forest, they run into bandits and barely escape. then yue reccomends they take a country road, and zuko reluctantly agrees, except they run into more bandits. after the fourth round of bandits in two weeks, they’re convinced they’ve been cursed with bad luck.

“can we just go to a town or a city?” yue asks, panting from their desperate escape. “we’re not having much luck living in the wild.”

“i was fine until you showed up!” zuko retorts, panting as well. “fine! then i’ll leave!” yue yells back.

“wait,” zuko says, and yue turns, tapping her foot impatiently. “i’m sorry,” zuko says, to yue’s shock, because if her few weeks with this kid who calls himself lee has taught her anything, it’s that he does not apologize. “i don’t really...understand, um, local people and-“

“let me do the talking,” yue says, gentle as always, reaching for zuko’s arm. he smiles at her, a real, happy smile, and they make their way to the nearest earth kingdom town.

after that, yue and zuko are inseparable. they argue a lot, naturally, but they become good friends, too. yue says she always wanted a sibling, zuko says he always wanted a different sibling, so it’s nice, to have each other. without going into too much detail, they bond over their shared experiences of pre-determined destinies and overbearing parental figures (“my father said i have to get married for the good of the people! what does that even mean?” “tell me about it, my father got mad that i talked out of turn, so he tried to kill me.” “...he what?” “hahaha just kidding that’s not a normal thing that happens.”) no matter how scary it gets, they agree, the earth kingdom makes them feel freer than they ever have before.

does the food they cook suck because they’ve never had to cook in their lives? yes. do they sometimes put all four feet in their mouths because of how they speak to the poor people of the earth kingdom? yes. have they ticked off a lot of fellow teenagers for acting bratty? yes. (“what, so, you don’t have palaces around here?” yue asks. “yeah, where are the royal gardens?” zuko asks. “leave before we rock your shit.” says Every Teenager They Meet.) but at the end of the day, they’re happy.

at 15 they reach a city called gaoling. by now they can both do enough odd jobs that they always have some pocket money on them, although yue still struggles to behave in a way that isn’t dainty and delicate, and zuko still struggles with basic social skills.

they’re getting ready to move along, when they’re stopped by a girl. she’s young, about 11, and entirely blind. she’s being chased by a loud crowd, who seem to be just around the corner.

“please!” the girl says. “help hide me! they’re after me! i think they’re going to kidnap me!” yue and zuko, who are the captains of the child-protection-squad, immediately move to protect the girl.

“this way!” zuko says, and the three of them run down narrow streets and alleyways, in and around shops, until they’re stopped at the city gate by the mob going after the girl.

“alright, kid,” the leader, a tall, buff man with long greasy hair says. “you’ve stolen from us for the last time.”

“how many time do i have to tell you?” the girl bellows, much different than her sweet and innocent pleas from before. “i won fair and square! you’re just mad because you got your butt kicked by a little girl!”

before zuko and yue can even react, the girl pummels the mob of men with an avalanche of rocks, and then launches the earth they’re standing on into the air, landing them far outside of the city limits in a dizzying display.

“woo! that was awesome!” the girl says gleefully pumping her arms. zuko and yue are both trying to wrap their heads around what just happened. “thanks for the help. not that i needed it, i just didn’t want my parents’ guards to see me bending...i wasn’t really planning on running away, but, i mean, i doubt they’ll even notice i’m gone-”

“just a second,” yue says, collecting herself. zuko’s jaw is still hanging open. “who are you?”

the girl grins smugly. “name’s toph. who are you?”

i cannot fully express how much i love this idea. top-notch. god-tier. thank you again!

[akirameta84]

Warning: This is VERY LONG. i got carried away.

"hey don't you have a wip fic for another au?" yeah shush i have a new idea that's not as fleshed out (after writing that turned out to be a lie) as the chunibyo one but i had to share it.

its in every fandom, but Saiki K Pokemon Au time. it's always cliche but who cares its amazing.

Kaido is the mc. for sure. he chooses a froakie because the professor (its kusuke, he's totally it) said it was a dark and mysterious as him. at first he's disappointed by the frog but once it evolves he starts loving it. him and greninja wear matching outfits. he tied red wrist wraps on its arms and he wears a pink scarf.

nendo is his rival lmao. he met him when kaido left with his first pokemon and challenged him to a battle, immediatly. he said loser has to buy the other persons ramen. "but i dont even know you??" "oh. well lets be friends, runt!" "you just asked to fight me???" nendo uses an eevee because his mom gave it to him when he was young. kaido wins because nendo didnt use a single attacking move. he just used sand attack and growl. the battle lasted 10 minutes because kaido kept missing.

now with his newly self proclaimed rival, after going to eat ramen, kaido sets out on his journey. i like to imagine a region with just every pokemon cause its cool that way. kaido mainly looks for fighting type pokemon, and a few dark types, and it takes him a bit to realize that this is probably a bad strategy and that he isnt finding anything, as cool as they are. he catches a shroomish, not knowing it became a type he wanted, because he was impressed with it's "battle capabilities" because it survived an attack that had fainted others. he names it doomslayer cause he's such an edgelord.

somewhere along the way nendo finds him and says that he's going to challenge a gym, and that kaido should join him. kaido agrees because "oh yeah, thats why im on this journey" and they go to the first gym.

The first gym is ghost type, run by toritsuka. why is he first? cause he's prolly not very good at battling and he knows it. the gym itself would be very foggy, and kaido has to traverse it to get to toritsuka. along the way toritsuka has spirits tell him where kaido is, and he'll release a pokemon near there for him to battle, and this happens 2 times. Torisuka himself uses 2 pokemon, a Litwick and a Galarian Yanmask. both are female, obviously. kaido absolutely demolishes these two pokemon, with his water and grass type, seeing as they're part fire and ground. first badge complete.

surpsingly, nendo also beats this gym, mainly because eevee can use bite. guess he figured out how to use attacking moves lmao. also yes ik bite is learned at 25, and rn they're at like lv 12 but shh. he found a tm or smt. it also helps thst toritsuka could barely hit nendos eevee due to the ghost and normal type thing.

nendo tries to travel with kaido, but kaido usually manages to worm his way away from him. he usually gets away whenever nendo challenges someone else and they have to tell him that he can't catch someone else's pokemon.

second gym is chiyo's gym. she uses grass types, and her gym is covered in flowers, trees, and it looks like a forest. the puzzle itself is rather simple. the floor is covered in large flowers, and you have to step on the correct ones or get sent back to the start. i like to imagine a giant vine yeeting kaido. chiyo also forgot to write clues over which ones are correct and ends up helping kaido, and winds being endeared by his determination. chiyo uses a Fomantis and a Petilil, because she thinks they're cute. kaido actually struggles quite a bit because he brings a water type and a grsss type. he wins in the end though, because chiyo ends up lovestruck and forgets to attack. she daydreams about inviting him to run the gym with her because he's so talented in her eyes, but he leaves before she can ask, grass badge in hand.

after chiyo's gym, kaido's froakie evolves into Frogadier, and he cries. in-between gyms again, kaido catches a rockruff because it was cute and it whined when he tried to walk away after battle. again, kaido catching types he likes without even knowing, provided his rockruff evolves at nightime. he names it Decimator. at this point i place kaido's levels at 19-21 ish, and close to rockruff and shroomish evolving.

next gym is hairo's and surprise surprise, it's a fire type gym. his gym his very, very intense. he has actual jets of fire lining his gym. there's no puzzle because he believes in just battling for victory or whatever, kaido didn't catch it behind the roar of the fire jets. kaido just walks along a pathway and gets challenged to battle by 3 randoms. i like to imagine one of them is nendo, and its never discussed. he has a fire type and everything, and its just not brought up. he's back to his single eevee after this too. kaido also wins with relative ease, considering he has a water type and rock type, although he makes the mistake of sending shroomish out at some point, but makes a clutch switch after it survives a flamethrower. fire badge obtained.

right after this, his shroomish evolves into breloom and he cries again. he gets very happy when his pokemon evolve. and also, after a few random encounters, his rockruff also evolves. its day form because kaido is a clueless baby. he still loves it all the same. at some point nendo challenges kaido with a single pokemon again, but this time it's a leafeon. kaido asks how he knew to evolve it, and he just says he battled next to some funny looking rock and it changed. of course. it actually manages to oko Frogadier because kaido wasnt expecting anything other than an eevee, but his breloom deals with it easily, because nendo kept using not very effective grass moves because it worked once. how does he have 3 badges again? nobody knows. level 25-27 now.

next gym is saiko's, and he uses normal types because all the other types were "too needy for someone like him." he's got 2 Persians and a Toucannon. he tried to use 3 persians but he was told that he needed something else just in case someone brought a fighting type by his dad. so he grabbed the first wild bird he found and evolved it. saiko doesnt have a puzzle, and instead just has an elevator that you can pay 5000 Pokedollars to use, otherwise you have to take the stairs like a pleb. Kaido takes the stairs because he's keeping his money dammit. its only 3 stories until saiko's floor, so it's really not much. Kaido sweeps easily with breloom until toucannon comes out. breloom gets slaughtered by a flying type move, and he sends out lycanroc to finish it. normal badge complete.

when he next sees nendo, he has a meowth with his leafeon. kaido asks where he got it, and nendo says he found it near the rich looking gym. kaido concludes that nendo accidently stole a pokemon and they go to return it. saiko says that the plebs can have it as a reward for defeating him, and dismisses them. levels 30-33.

5th gym! mera runs this one, and there isn't a type. she has an Alcremie, Appletun, Cherubi, and a Vannilish. what can i say, girl loves her food. kaido is genuinely concerned that she is gonna eat her pokemon though. the challenge is cooking. kaido has to cook curry, and if its bad, he fights a trainer, up to 3 times. if its good he gives it to mera and moves on the next curry. the actual battle goes okay, but its fairly difficult due to not having a single type, and being unpredictable. obviously he wins in the end, and the badge is a bowl of curry.

frogadier evolves into greninja finally, and they have the matching outfits going on. nendo laughs at it. somewhere nendo also got an applin. kaido is fairly sure he took this one from mera as well, but he decides to let it go, and tell nendo how he can evolve it. he doesn't think nendo understood, but he tried. kaido also realizes he only has 3 pokemon, and decides to find two more. he finds a braixen, which he evolves into delphox. her name is Lucifer's Eternal Flames. Lucy for short. he also catches a noibat. the noibat was caught because he got lost in a cave, and the noibat was leading him out, so he decided he couldn't just leave it there. he names it the Jet Bat Wings. yes im doing that and yes its hilarious. levels 37-39.

gym 6. fighting type, and its kuboyasu. he tried to leave behind his violent days behind him, and become a poison type gym, but eventually gave in and did fighting instead. after he had already dyed his hair purple for the colorscheme. he kept the fighting gym purple because he already commited dammit. 4 pokemon, and hes got Toxicroak (yes ik the irony), Lucario, Grapploct, and Pangoro. greninja faints quickly, and so does lycanroc, but after some paralysis tricks with breloom and delphox sweeping the rest, pangoro comes in and ko's delphox. noibat pulls through in the end, with flying type moves. fighting badge earned.

next battle with nendo, and it turns out he actually evolved applin, and now he's got a flapple. kaido is midly impressed. kaido catches his 6th and final pokemon, an absol. he was overjoyed when he finally got another dark type. he names it Fluffy. yes, the dark type doesnt get an edgy name. levels 44-46, there was a longer gap in between the 6th and 7th gyms. oh also, you may be wondering about an evil team in this au. and my answer is....¯\_(ツ)_/¯

gym 7. Fairy type. Teruhashi. you knew she'd be coming eventually. and yes i saved the characters people prolly wanna know about until last haha. and because i think they fit the more difficult gyms. girl's got 5 pokemon, Mimikyu (i think it fits her fake perfect girl personality), Slyveon, Gardevoir, Florges, and Magearna. how does she have a legendary? prolly cause she's perfect and just asked for it, and someone actually found one. No puzzle here, but having to find his way through the mobs of teruhashi fans is prolly hard enough. Kaido actually has to try this gym several times due to him lacking anything good againist fairies. he gets it eventually though, and teruhashi has to reassure her fans that it's okay that she lost before they murder kaido. fairy badge down.

at this point kaido has no clue how nendo keeps getting gym badges. he has 3 pokemon, and one isn't even evolved. especially considering how easily Kaido himself can beat him. kaido I shrug it off as the plothole it usually is in pokemon games. levels 47-50. Noibat evolves into Noivern, and kaido has himself a pretty strong team. Greninja, Delphox, Absol, Lycanroc, Noivern, Breloom. although he has just been choosing based on personal preference, it turnes out nicely. and yes I'm padding this out cause y'all know what gym is next.

Gym number 8. The psychic type gym, run by Saiki and Aiura. It doesn't get more cliche than this. The challenge in this one is a maze. There's no extra trainers here, instead Kaido fights Aiura everytime he encounters her. She only uses 1 Pokemon in these battles because they happen a lot. Kaido wonders how she keeps finding him, let alone getting through the maze so easily when there's walls everywhere. He brushes it off as her just knowing the layout. battle itself happens, and it's a double battle. they each have 3 pokemon. Saiki has a ditto, espeon, and an alolan raichu (because he thought it was cute) Aiura mainly runs the support side of the team, and she's got a female meowstic, alakazam, and reuniclus, and wishes she had a cuter team, but she makes it work. This is prolly Kaido's second hardest gym. not harder than teruhashi's because he had no advantages, unlike this one where he's got several dark types. the battle is hard because they know exactly what kaido is gonna do. the minute he sends out his breloom to get a cheap paralysis, out comes ditto. the breloom ditto nearly wipes out both dark types, but noivern takes care of it, only to meet a sad demise at the hands of raichu, despite the dragon advantage. he's able to win on his second try, after he refused to send out breloom due to the fact that they just seem to know his next move. it creeped him out. Psychic badge done.

nendo tries to take saiki out for ramen with him and kaido after his gym fight, declaring him his best buddy, and it's not explained why nendo decided this. nendo eventually wins the argument and they get ramen. kaido notices saiki looks disturbed everytime he looks at nendo, but brushes it off as "yeah he disturbs me too." they part ways and onto victory road because im still mourning how there wasn't one in sword and shield. after victory road, kaido is nearing level 60 on everyone.

elite four? eheh i don't know who'd make it up. prolly 4 previous gym leaders with fully evolved teams and more pokemon. not tlo worries about them tho.

Kaido bests the elite four, and marches on to the champion.

Champion Akechi. Full team of 6 Pokemon, and he's a formidable opponent. He's able to easily predict what moves are going to be used next, and always has type advantage. Although, unlike before, while difficult to do, it is possible to do something unpredictable to trip him up, which is the only way Kaido is able to win. His team consists of Serperior, Glaceon, Gyrados, Ninetales, Togekiss (it's just there to be annoying, it can barely attack, and akechi did this to be a nuisance so he can't be clean sweeped), and Mew. Again, I love unexplained lengendaries on teams okay. To Kaido, it seems like with enough switching, he could easily defeat Akechi, but Akechi is very good at predicting. So againist Akechi, it's like the team as been catered specifically to beat Kaido. But, knowing him, it likely was. It takes him ages to beat Akechi. Like literal ages. The only saving grace is Akechi can get tripped up if Kaido is unpredictable enough. It's likely a mixture of that and para hscks that lets him win, and Kaido is champion. Nendo did try to challenge him (somehow beating the elite four) but was beaten. I love how the rivals always beat everything but then get horribly beaten by you.

Holy shit this is longer than i thought it would be. I have been writing this for literal hours. Hope you enjoyed. This is what my brain had inspiration for today apparently, instesd of the fic im working on.

Hadn't seen too much Pokemon stuff for saiki k yet, so tada. and yes, i came up with most of this while writing. the only idea i had before i started writing was the saiki and aiura gym

[passionate-reply]

This time on Great Albums, we tackle a slightly more obscure artist, but one who’s near and dear to my heart: Frank “Fad Gadget” Tovey, the very first artist signed to Mute Records, and the one behind MUTE 002. Find out what’s so great about him by watching my video, or reading the transcript that follows after the break.

Welcome to Passionate Reply, and welcome to Great Albums! Today, I’m going to be digging into the work of Frank Tovey, better known as “Fad Gadget.” While Tovey was the very first artist signed to Daniel Miller’s Mute Records, his legacy doesn’t seem to be remembered quite as strongly as many of his labelmates. He never achieved the heights of pop stardom that Depeche Mode did, and despite being a daring and experimental artist in his own right, he doesn’t have quite as prominent a cult following as, say, Einstürzende Neubauten. Fad Gadget may not be for everybody, but he’ll always be an important artist to me. As a teenager, he helped me bridge the gap between listening almost exclusively to mainstream synth-pop, and becoming much more interested in underground styles like industrial. And my first love was this album, Tovey’s third: Under the Flag.

Tovey’s first 7” release, featuring the tracks “Back to Nature” and “The Box,” was released on Mute Records in 1979, as MUTE 002, second only to Daniel Miller’s own “Warm Leatherette.” His early singles, as well as his debut album, Fireside Favourites, stuck to a similar sonic template as “Warm Leatherette”: sharp, punkish assaults on common decency, propelled by a harsh synthesised pulse or two. But for his second LP, 1981’s Incontinent, Tovey went in a different direction. He maintained his bile, and impatience with the societal status quo ante, but assumed the guise of a Medieval fool, and incorporated a substantially larger proportion of traditional instruments into his sound.

Music: “Blind Eyes”

For his follow-up to Incontinent, Tovey would straddle the line between gritty, industrial synth lashings and that counter-cultural dark cabaret. And sometimes, he’d even do it within the same track, as on the fearful “The Sheep Look Up.”

Music: “The Sheep Look Up”

On “The Sheep Look Up,” a sparse, piano-driven intro unfurls to reveal a menacing electronic undercurrent. But the piano doesn’t depart from the track--in fact, it keeps up with the pace just fine. As jarring as the synth’s entry feels initially, it’s never the only source of tension in the track. Like a lot of great electronic music, Under the Flag approaches technology with nuance. While it’s one figure in the album’s bleak, dystopian landscape, it’s far from the only one. The lyrics of “The Sheep Look Up” are much more concerned with criticizing mob mentality and mass outrage--not to mention the role of governments in stoking that outrage, peddling jingoistic nationalism and seething hatred of perceived enemies of the state. In a lot of ways, this is a tale as old as time, and one that’s as likely to be told alongside a lute as it is a synthesiser. Sometimes, tradition itself is the target of Tovey’s ire, as on the track “Plainsong”:

Music: “Plainsong”

“Plainsong” is named after one of the earliest forms of music in the Western tradition: the monophonic, Latin-language chants used by the Church in the Early Middle Ages, also called “plainchant.” The track sonically embodies the wearying effect of simplistic, repetitive chanting, with its choir of distorted voices that repeat the main chorus, and refuse to stay in tune or rhythm. The title would seem to lead us to interpret “Plainsong” as an indictment of religious indoctrination, in particular, but I think it can also be read more broadly. Aside from that title, the lyrics don’t actually mention religion in any concrete sense, which makes me inclined to interpret it as also applying to all the other ways society uses music and rhyme to instill its values into people. Who among us wasn’t raised with insipid sayings like “blood is thicker than water” or “curiosity killed the cat,” that reinforce social norms and squash independence of spirit? Religion, like technology, is only one of modern society’s countless rotten pillars. While Tovey doesn’t single out religion in “Plainsong,” he is clear about the victims of such brainwashing being “young ears.” Childhood is invoked several times on Under the Flag, but features most prominently on “Love Parasite.”

Music: “Love Parasite”

The titular “Love Parasite” is, of course, a human infant--though it’s insidiously portrayed as something monstrous. Those of us who dislike children might be inclined to read “Love Parasite” as a brutally honest portrayal of parenthood as a miserable, soul-sucking experience, and hence as a rebuttal of the societal expectation that everyone ought to have children. While I do like that interpretation, I think it’s also important to remember that the “Love Parasite” is a human being, too. The fact that so many unwanted and unloved humans are brought into this world to begin with produces a tremendous resource for those institutions like church and state to exploit. It’s precisely this relationship between vulnerable people and the apparatus of government that defines the narrative of the album’s title track.

Music: “Under the Flag I”

The title track of Under the Flag is actually split into two parts. The first half of it appears as the opening track, and the second half closes out the album. That makes it even more tempting to parse it as a summation of the album’s themes than a title track normally is! Rather than distilling the overarching ideas of the album in a more abstract way, the “Under the Flag” tracks drill down to the level of an individual, struggling to make his way in society. He’s one of those unwanted children who grows up without a stable home life, and ends up working for the government and trying to make a difference in the world...but failing. By giving us this singular protagonist, Tovey centers his focus on human suffering at the most relatable and personal level possible. And with the final line of “Under the Flag II,” and hence, the entire album, he asks us, quite pointedly, “Under what flag?”

Ultimately, “under what flag?” is the central question proposed by the album. It also seems to be the question being asked by its striking sleeve design, featuring a photo of Tovey by the famed Anton Corbijn. The first thing we notice is its bold, black-and-white colour scheme--perhaps a nod to the idea of black-and-white, good-vs.-evil style thinking, often favoured by demagogues and others who seek to mobilize the masses. But after a second or two, we quickly realize that while Tovey is a flesh and blood man, the flag he seems to be holding up is merely painted on the wall behind him. It’s an image that perfectly epitomizes the contrast between the arbitrary, superficial nature of concepts like nations, and the painfully real human suffering that they can cause. Throughout the album, Tovey pits these abstract notions of communal well-being against the plight of the individuals they victimize--as on “Scapegoat,” a track centered around the perspective of the one person who’s saddled with the blame of a whole society.

Music: “Scapegoat”

After the release of Under the Flag, Tovey went on to release one more album under the name Fad Gadget: 1984’s Gag. He then released several albums as Frank Tovey throughout the remainder of the 1980s, first heading in a more synth-pop direction, and ultimately ending up releasing a full album of folk music, 1989’s Tyranny and the Hired Hand. While perhaps initially perplexing, I’ve always thought it was a natural move for Tovey. He was clearly interested in the exploitation of the underclass, and the expression of their fundamental humanity. And those themes are truly timeless.

Music: “Sixteen Tons”

Sadly, Tovey wouldn’t get a chance to re-emerge in the 21st Century, as many of his contemporaries did. He died in 2002, aged just 45, due to a congenital heart defect, while fresh off of releasing a new greatest hits compilation and supporting Mute labelmates Depeche Mode on tour. I can so easily imagine Tovey thriving in the present day, with the rediscovery of so much underground 80s synth in the 00s, and the impact that that had on electronic music--not to mention how he would react to our era’s tumultuous politics. To me, he’ll always be the artist I’d bring back around for one last release if I could.

At any rate, my favourite song on Under the Flag is “For Whom the Bells Toll.” Admittedly, this is a somewhat sentimental pick for me, since it was one of the first Fad Gadget songs I heard and really liked. It’s got clattering mechanical percussion, harsh, textural synth swipes, and, boldly enough, no actual bells. In the context of the album, it stands out for being a bit straightforward, thematically, with a narrator simply pining after a lost love--presumably one who’s deceased, given the title. But what I think really sets it apart is its less-than-conventional vocals. Besides some singing, and a bit of background yipping and howling, we also hear some disgusting, dry retching noises, and even a very hi hat-like sneeze. It’s one of the most memorable instances of Tovey’s artistic preoccupation with our lowliest bodily functions, which, considering the scope of his career, is quite impressive. That’s everything I’ve got today--thanks for listening!

Music: “For Whom the Bells Toll”

[supernaturalnovelsandmore]

Supernatural Novel: Heart of the Dragon

Welcome to my not-quite review of the fourth Supernatural novel, Heart of the Dragon.

Author: Keith R.A. DeCandido

Timeline: Set after Episode 5.08 Changing Channels

Location: San Francisco, California (Chinatown)

Synopsis: An old foe has come back to terrorize San Francisco, but what is the connection between the Campbells, John Winchester and Sam and Dean? Read to find out!

Warning: Spoilers abound!

Oh, where do I start? Heart of the Dragon has a very different feel to it, one that I'm not entirely on board with. Basically, it's a flashback book that spends the first third on Samuel, Deanna, and Mary Campbell, the second third on John Winchester and the last quarter on Sam and Dean. In fact, out of 28 chapters, Sam and Dean were only featured in about 7 of them. It leaves the book feeling hollow and me, a little meh. But, there are some additional insights into the Winchester family history which I'll try and parse out.

One more thought, I'm glad this is the last book from this particular author. Once again he has utilized a culture/race to tell the story, and not well. When the story is in 1969, he utilizes the world Orientals to explain Japanese and Chinese characters. He might have been trying to use the wording of the day, and that's fine if it's in dialogue, but to use it as a descriptor is problematic, at best. He also plays up multiple stereotypes from the Chinese mob to the Japanese Samurai. I'm hoping this book is the Route 666 of the novels and that they can only get better.

I decided to sort my thoughts within the different timelines, so here we go:

1969: Samuel, Deanna, and Mary Campbell

We open with the family hunting a vampire and Samuel using 15-year-old Mary as willing bait. It turns out to be a nest, but they quickly dispatch them without casualties. Deanna appears to be quite the hunter in her own right (her skill with a Claymore outstanding.) Within this hunt we learn a few things about Mary and the Campbell family.

The Campbells have a strong link to their Scottish heritage.

Samuel hates Christmas

Mary is willful, annoying, and disrespectful, but an amazing hunter who was raised practically from birth to how to hunt and defend herself. (Sam parallels, perhaps?)

Mary learned about monsters at 11 when she saw her parents dispatch an avenging spirit.

Samuel hates the idea of Mary hanging out with any boys, though she has a particular fondness for a John Winchester who works as a local auto-mechanic.

Samuel owns a dry-cleaning business and Deanna substitute teaches to help maintain some kind of income.

Mary often wondered about having a normal life, but would dismiss it knowing she couldn't have that and still know monsters are out there. (Seems like a combination of Sam and Dean here).

Other than that, the hunt they go to San Francisco for seems fairly perfunctory. They do a bunch of research, talk to a few locals. Samuel dons his FBI agent schtick, they locate the source of the problem, and quickly dispatch it. There's nothing too dramatic there, just a lot of backstory.

1989: John Winchester

There's a bit more insight here because now we're getting some insight into Dad John, as well as 6-year-old Sam and 10-year-old Dean. I'll touch on a few points.

Leaving his boys with others: We open with John returning to his kids whom he left at Bobby's while he took care of a hunt. He left them long enough that they were enrolled in school and he planned on keeping them there for the fall semester. He felt bad about using Bobby's hospitality for so long.

Training his boys: "John knew his boys would need to be able to defend themselves against whatever was out there - he'd already started that process with Dean... Dean was a crack shot with John's M1911 and could load the shotgun with iron rounds and fire them off in one smooth motion. Eventually he'd need to train Sammy too. But not yet."

Loving his boys: When he arrives at Bobby's, Sam runs out to meet him and wraps his arms around John's legs as he walks in. Sam also tattles on Dean for eating the last donut.

There are also some fun moments between young Sam and Dean, mostly sibling bickering.

Dean and Sam enjoy playing hide-and-seek among Bobby's car on the weekends and Sam enjoys going to school during the week. Dean, not so much.

Sam proudly shares that he's doing 3rd grade work in 1st grade and then teases Dean about also doing 3rd grade work even though he's in 5th grade (Dean then sticks his tongue out at Sam and says "Screw you, Sammy.") At this John calls them out and both boys are chagrined.

Later on, when John calls Bobby for more information, we find Dean holding a pen out of Sam's reach and teasing him with it.

Of course, that call means we also get this heartbreaking line moment from Dean, who wants to talk to his Dad, but can't before John hangs up. Bobby tries to explain: "'Sorry, Dean, he, uh, was on his way out the door. But he told me to tell you both to behave yourselves and do what I tell you. And that he loves you.' Dean: 'Did he really say that?'"

When Bobby presents the next case, John is torn between wanting to spend time with his kids, but going after something that could cause people to burn spontaneously, in the hopes that it might lead him to the demon who killed Mary. I think the book did a good job of capturing John's struggle between revenge and caring for his boys. He's not the abusive, neglectful father people tend to think he is. He's someone struggling to make things right.

"John didn't answer at first. Instead, he looked over at Sam and Dean in the dining room, playing that oh-so-common game of 'I touched you last.'

Christmas was coming up and he did want to spend it with the boys..."

Finally, when John returns and Bobby and the boys meet him at the airport, we get some additional insight into 10-year-old Dean's thoughts regarding his father and his place in the family.

"Waiting there in the airport, he understood how important it was for Dad to be away so much - more than Sammy ever could. Sammy hadn't really known Mom, since he was just a baby when she died. Dean couldn't imagine that his baby brother would ever truly understand what had happened to her.

If he was honest with himself, he didn't really understand it, either. There were some days - though he'd never admit this to anyone - when he couldn't even remember what she looked like.

Some kind of monster had killed Mom, and Dad wouldn't rest until he found that monster and killed it. Along the way, he'd kill any other monsters who tried to kill other people's moms...

Dad still fought the bad guys and saved people, but he also cared about his sons.

Because Dad was a hero, and that was what heroes did."

2009 - Sam and Dean

There isn't much to write about here, because they weren't featured in the book. I will just add a couple of notes.

Dean recognizes Samuel Campbell in a newspaper article about the killings. (He'd already been sent back in time and met his grandfather).

It's seems reasonable to Sam that Mary and her parents were hunters. What freaks him out is that he and Dean were named after their grandparents and John never told them.

Sam's been a nerd about the American Interstate system since he was 10 and loved poring over maps.

Sam feels more guilt from trusting Ruby over Dean than starting the apocalypse.

Final notes:

This book introduces Castiel who brings the case to the boys attention. We get the same stuff in here that you see on screen, he has issues with personal space, comes and goes at will, and Bobby's still mad at him for not being able to heal his paralysis. He's only there for a few pages, and then disappears again.

Bobby gets a bit more screen time, as a pseudo-dad to young Sam and Dean, and later as their resource when researching the case and it's history. Favorite quote: "As he went into the fridge for butter to spread onto the pan, Bobby decided it was the entire Winchester family that was making him bald."

We briefly get Hurt Sam who is punched repeatedly by a hulk of a man, but with no lasting consequences and very little caring Dean.

We find out at the end that Zachariah orchestrated the whole thing by planting the idea in Castiel's head.

So, like I said at the beginning, not my favorite, but hopefully I was able to share some of the more interesting parts. Read at your own risk!

[rouiyan]

𝘚𝘐𝘓𝘓𝘠 𝘈𝘕𝘋 𝘚𝘞𝘌𝘌𝘛 [ 𝘭.𝘥𝘩 ]

⧏ part of the before i met you collective ⧐

synopsis: "how could i ever say no?"

✧ lee donghyuck x (fem.) reader, best friends to loverz

✧ genres : plotless fluff, tiny angst ✧ word count : 2k ✧ disclaimer : swearing

✧ author’s note — guys, hyuck deadass has my whole heart.

“ahh,” you hold your mouth wide open, eyes never leaving the screen, in the direction of donghyuck who had just returned from the kitchen, snacks in hand. he’s in his usual getup of an oversized hoodie paired with basketball shorts, glasses propped upon the bridge of his nose and a messy flop of hair cascading over it. 

he sighs, “geez, give me a break. i barely just sat down.” he pinches open a bag of spicy potato chips and pops one into his mouth before reaching to get another one for you. you’re clicking furiously and muttering various curses under your breath at the opponent and donghyuck's weak heart can’t help but flutter at how worked up you get every time you fail to land a punch. he’s about to put his hand down and wait for a time when you're not so focused but your mouth snatches at the chip and he almost jumps, his hand fearing consumption.

it takes your absolute all before you finally beat the boss, you eyes almost rolling back into your head and refusing to roll back out because of how exhausted they are. school was about to start, in three days to be exact, and if you didn't finish the game now, well, it was now or never. donghyuck sat by your side, mouth full of greasy potatoes, occasionally sipping from whatever drink he had brought. there was no reason for him to be here, he just insisted that he felt you tended to need some emotional support whenever you gamed, claiming that you were always far too 'out of it' to actually care for yourself. he said, as he always does, that it was his job to care for you. and that held true; no matter if you had a boyfriends at the time or not, donghyuck manged keep his word.

turning to look at him, your breath ragged, you see that his hood is pulled well over his forehead. chuckling, you take a fistful of the front of his sweatshirt and gently yank him towards you while grasping at the material of his hood with your other hand and tugging it back. this action causes his heart to topple and his eyes to stutter wide. your nose is close enough for him to move bare centimeters and place a gentle kiss on it. your lips are close enough for him to move bare millimeters and place a gentle kiss on it. he gulps. this can't be good.

giggling and awfully unaware of your best friend's crush for you growing by the second, you scrunch your nose at him (the very nose he wanted to kiss) and purse your lips, "i wanna see your face, silly." all donghyuck can do is swallow his feelings and instead be left breathless by your side profile. the more rational side of his mind is busy scrambling for a reply that doesn’t make him sound like the lovesick idiot of the century while the more irrational side is left in a blundering mess, bouts of adoration emitting from within. he collects himself and makes sure his countenance doesn't give away his rumbling inner thoughts. “you like what you see?” 

your smile grows fonder, if possible, at his comment but he doesn’t dare to take his eyes from your face just because he knows the little blush that’s to appear. soon enough it blooms across your cheeks and he lovingly coos at the sight while your smile reverses into a small pout. “ugh, so flirty,” he hears your muttered reply although he's unsure if he was meant to. your head is already turned back to the screen after the little exchange and he holds onto it as you press ‘resume,’ replaying it in his head just to see that bright smile and little pout that he could never get sick of.

a few more chips are fed to you while you continue playing, which would be completely fine if not for your incredibly low spice tolerance. it isn't long before donghyuck notices your aggressive hissing that is definitely not from the sight of your character frolicking through a field. he's on the cusp of bringing it to your attention when you abruptly speak between two seethes, "hyuck, get me water please," he immediately moves from his spot to get water from the kitchen when you voice out your struggles once again. "actually, just get me anything. it doesn't matter." 

donghyuck watches as your tongue curls at the tingles and he gauges the severity of the situation. he quickly snatches the drink he'd brought with him, despite knowing you wouldn't like it very much, and brings it up to your lips. you take one, two, three gulps before you turn to look at him with wide eyes. he swears your about to hurl the contents onto him and he winces in preparation but it never comes. you thickly swallow, the liquid almost threatening to bubble up once again, a gag reflex. the spicy sensation is gone but is now replaced by blatant disgust as your mouth hangs open as if you’d been force fed. 

"red bull? hyuck, you're fucking kidding me!"

he bites back a smile as he settles his eye on your disbelieving face, "you said it didn't matter!"

"yeah, i did say that but that's red bull! literal poison!"

"hey, you’re not gonna die from one sip." a smirk is now forming on his face, he feels equally bad and equally good for being the center of your current attention.

"i can't believe you're still drinking that, hyuck." the pout returns and donghyuck silently rejoices, "i thought you said you were cutting back."

he bathes in your eyes for a split second before he simply replies, "i am."

"so what's that?" you eye the can suspiciously, upset that your best friend still succumbs to the unhealthy beverage. 

"it's just a little energy boost, princess. i gotta stay awake to keep you company."

the nickname that accidentally slips past his lips catches the both of you off guard, his cheeks flaming a deeper red with each moment passing. you seem to handle the flustered silence better than he does, even going as far as furthering his state by scooting closer to him and placing both hands on one of his shoulders, propping your chin upon them. he can feel your fresh breath tickle and fan the skin under his ears and he knows that if he just so much turns his head in the slightest, he will be face to face with you in all your glory, without much space in between. he's not sure if he's ready for that.

clearly you don't give a shit because you tilt your head upwards to give him a kiss to the cheek. a soft, billowy kiss that leaves him stuck in that same trance, perpetually. withdrawing, you try poking at his sides to see if his expression will budge from the fazed out gaze he's sporting, but to no avail. "hyuck? are you okay?" he can hear you but he knows he's way too 'out of it' to answer. damn, you were supposed to be the one that was 'out of it.' 

the sudden quietness of the room unsettles you and you're suddenly aware of his reaction. weird, you think, hyuck is never like this. hyuck's always and constantly flirting back and making sure he has the last word. you have an inkling on what this could be about but you almost instantly flush down the idea of bringing it up but it's hard to suppress because your gut instinct tells you that you’re right, that you should go for it. no, he really can’t like you. no, you're just deluding yourself... unless, you're not.

"hyuck," you blurt before you can even stop yourself. his head snaps up at the sound of his nickname. "do you like me?"

where it was previously beating a mile a minute, donghyuck's heart is now at a complete standstill. he can still hear it thumping louder than ever in his ears but he knows there's no way he'll live through this. taking a second to zone out of the whole situation, he notes that your character on the screen is now being mauled by a mob of freakish creatures, though the volume is turned low. he notes how your fingers are absentmindedly drumming on the fabric of your sweats as you usually would when you're nervous and that your blinking more than normal. maybe that was a sign you liked him back? maybe, but surely no. there's a dull ache in his heart that yearns for him to be selfish and just say no. he'd spare the potential loss of your presence by his side and just cope with always being the 'best friend.' but then he thinks of you meeting someone, that's not him, and dating someone, that's not him, and maybe one day even marrying someone, that's not him. he admits that the pain will be far greater than the dull ache he's experiencing now and perhaps that knowledge is exactly what he needs to persuade himself. donghyuck steels his heart because he thinks he's finally found the perfect reasons, the perfect timing, the perfect amount of courage to confess. 

and he also knows that, if this were to go downwards, it might as well be the last time he sees you like this, dressed down in the dead middle of night, hair a tangled yet endearing (or so he thinks) mess, and eyes wide, holding galaxies upon galaxies of stars, none of which could compare to the sheer light you radiate. donghyuck makes sure to revel in your presence, for what could be the very last time, to capture your features, the ones he already has committed to memory. he breathes.

then, without warning, "hyuck…i love you," wait, what?! "hyuck, i love you as more than a friend." your pupils are shaking and there's tears that are unshed but visible. there's so much more that's stuck in your throat refusing to come out but the few words that made it past the threshold of your mouth already say enough. donghyuck expects the grim reaper to appear in a matter of seconds, he expects to be able to detach his spirit from his physically unmoving figure and watch as you say those words over his dead body. any minute now. but the more he sits there the more he realizes that this is real. you are real.

you can feel the emotions building up inside of you while he just stares at you. unmoving, he stares and stares and stares until you think that you've only imagined the last few moments. your crying now and perhaps that's the only things that slaps donghyuck out of his trance. he rushes his arms around you in the most automatic matter. it isn't until your the front of your face soaks the entirety of the front of his hoodie that you feel a little less shitty. your face is smushed flush against his chest and when you finally come to your bearings, you notice his heartbeat contracting erratically on your forehead. emerging from his embrace yet still in his hold, you meet your eyes with his. they're wide and scared, reminding you of just moments ago. 

"i was- i was going to say that, exactly that but i- i guess you beat me to it."

"then... do you wanna be my boyfriend?" i want to be your girlfriend.

"damn it y/n, stop stealing my lines!" can i be your boyfriend?

"is that a no?" just say yes. i want to hear you say yes.

"n- no, yes. i mean no, it's not a no. and yes, i want to be your boyfriend." how could i ever say no?

copyright © 2020 rouiyan all rights reserved.

[ianite-simp]

dark!karl pt. 2

this part is a bit shorter because cliffhangers are lovely (also as an fyi this fic will likely be 6-8 parts long)

Things had improved for Karl. In the couple of weeks following the summoning of Mianite, he had felt like he was part of the trio of heroes more than ever. Tom and Jordan seemed to have a new level of respect for him, now that Mianite had finally showed up and actually accepted him as his champion. When they joked about their gods, he finally felt like he could join in their conversations. Suddenly, being around the others didn’t give him that bittersweet taste in the back of his mouth. He had managed to fill Tucker’s shoes and prove that he was his own person. He occasionally got to chat with Mianite, even, and their conversations were always the highlight of his day. Even just talking about trivial, little things was so nice, because it seemed like his young god really understood him. Aside from his continued struggles with controlling his limbs properly some of the time, things seemed to be getting better.

Oh, and he was probably going insane.

The whispers he had previously passed off as just his subconscious got louder, and far more persistent. He couldn’t go an hour without hearing a voice echoing in his head, a voice unlike any human one he had heard. It was low, with a faint rasp that made Karl shiver with discomfort, similar to hearing nails screeching along a chalkboard. No matter what he was doing, it would whisper to him, slowly growing louder and louder. 

Do you really trust a god who doubted your strength, just like everyone else? Why put up with the mockery of those champions? You could be stronger than them, really make them respect you. 

The offers continued, throughout both night and day. To sleep was impossible, because when his exhausted head hit the pillow of his bed each night, eyes falling shut instantly, the voice only grew louder - drowning out all other sounds. To do anything about it was equally impossible - how could he tell anyone about it without seeming like he was insane? Especially now, now that he had finally started to feel like he fit in with the others, like he was a proper champion. 

So he settled with sitting out on a wide branch of his tree house each night, staring wearily at the star studded skies until the sun eventually rose, filling the sky with its warm glow. He had taken to snatching small swigs of a healing potion throughout the day that he kept in a flask by his side. It gave him a jolt of energy and kept him steadier on his feet, and no one seemed inclined to ask any questions about it. For the moment, it was all he could do.

You must not give the Darkness any powers, however you must conquer your fears.

Karl stared down at the words scrawled out in the book in front of him. “Conquer my fears? What fears?” He scratched at his head, looking up at Tom and Jordan for help. They were standing on a floating island of obsidian, his three pet llamas suspended in the air in front of him, in the strange alternate dimension where everything was upside down. He honestly hadn’t the faintest idea why they were there, but apparently it was important for fighting the Darkness. Something about the place creeped him out, the voice in his head seemed particularly vocal in its taunting. He was having more difficulties than usual with the trek it took to get to the various floating islands, and ended up straggling far behind the other two. 

Karl… my friend. Always left behind, how sad. 

Despite the chill he felt hearing the voice, it had become fairly familiar over the past few days, so he paid almost no attention to it.

“Oops.” Karl spun around to face Jordan, who was standing guiltily with his bow in hand, looking towards the spot where a llama had just hung. 

“Did you really just kill my llama, Sparklez?” Karl gave him the best dead-pan look he could conjure up. Before he could answer, there was a victorious shout from Tom. 

“I’ve killed another one! Oh, not quite.” Karl rolled his eyes, pointing towards the book,

“Guys, I don’t think I’m supposed to kill them. That’s what the Darkness wants.”

Jordan shot him a doubtful look, as he said, “But we had to kill our pets, shouldn’t you?”

Karl was about to respond when the voice, louder than ever, echoed in his ears. 

Oh, Karl… you must give up something you love or you’ll never leave. You have a choice. Join me, join the shadows… join the darkness … And we will rule together one day… Or … slay your pets… All of them. What will it be?

“Hey, mate, you good?” Tom’s voice brought him back to his senses. What was he supposed to say? No man, not doing great, just chatting with pure evil. 

“Yeah, fine.” He raised his eyes to the two llamas still hanging there. It just seemed wrong to kill them. It went against everything Mianite seemed to stand for, surely his god wouldn’t want him to kill them. Besides, refusing to kill two llamas couldn’t really be an issue, right? “I won’t kill them, Mianite wouldn’t want that, would he now? Would Ianite want that, Sparklez, Tom?” Placing a hand on the hilt of his sword, Karl waited for the others to contradict them. It seemed like they wanted to argue, but instead Jordan let out a low sigh, and waved for them to follow him back down the path.

“Might as well get going then,” he called over his shoulder, already nimbly making his way down. As Karl slowly began picking his way down the path after the others, the voice, Darkness, spoke again in his head - sounding decidedly smug.

Welcome, Karl. You may think you are new to this land, but your spirit has been here forever. A true demi-god of this land. Welcome to the dark side. Your powers banish Mianite from the higher realm.

“Don’t know what the hell you’re talkin’ about man, but if you could kindly fuck off.” Karl muttered under his breath, though the words kept echoing in his mind. Banish Mianite? I didn’t actually do that, right? That’s impossible, he’s just trying to mess with me. 

Don’t pretend you didn’t choose my side Karl. We’re on the same team now, you and I.

Karl shook his head, as though that could get the voice out of his head. Like hell I am you little prick, like hell I am. He looked up, realizing that they had already reached the shore of Tom’s island. But it wasn’t normal - the sky was pitch black and strange orbs of light flickered in the air. The water of the ocean even bubbled strangely. As he surveyed the strange sight, he felt his stomach plummet. These weren’t his islands anymore, these were something twisted and tainted almost beyond recognition. The voice of the Darkness echoed overhead, saying something indistinguishable. Before Karl could react, packs of monsters began to appear from the deep shadows along the volcano, converging quickly on the trio. With jumbled shouts, Karl saw the others get swept away in the tide, each working to find a position that would suit their strengths. Unable to fight his way to a new spot, Karl frantically slashed at the mobs surrounding him, unable to tell if he was even landing hits in the darkness surrounding him. He felt his armour being scratched and battered from all sides, his exposed patches of skin already bearing several slices. His legs felt like lead, he could barely move, and his arms weren’t much better.

I could help you, Karl. You could be just as agile, just as strong as your companions. Even stronger, in fact. You just have to allow me in for a moment.

The voice rang coyly in his ears. “No, I don’t want whatever it is you’re selling, man.” Grunting with the exertion, Karl continued slashing at the monsters surrounding him, praying that no vexes would be attracted to his area. He wouldn’t be able to handle them on top of everything else.

Just give me one moment Karl, and you’ll be more powerful than you ever thought powerful.

Unable to even answer, Karl felt his arms growing even heavier. But he couldn’t turn to the Darkness for help. He couldn’t betray Mianite like that, not his god. That would be wrong. I can’t last much longer with the amount on my back. I’m going to get overwhelmed unless Tom and Jordan help out. For a split second, as a vex scored a nasty slash across his hand, Karl felt his resolve weaken. Maybe, just maybe… No, I can’t. I’m Mianite’s champion, if I die, I die protecting him and his honor. 

Half a second was all that the Darkness needed. Karl let out a strangled, choking scream as his legs collapsed underneath him.

[seehowsupplethespineis]

Some Crazy 19th Century Literary Characters Live Together And It Goes About As Well As One Would Think

(Hullo! Yes, it has been awhile since anything has been posted here, and I’m breaking that hiatus with this bit of utter nonsense! Drawing Entity and I had a roleplay recently with classic literary characters who are a bit sketchy, so I decided to take that concept and turn it into a story. Is it to be taken seriously? Nope. This is just me poking fun at some characters that I love in a “what if” scenario. It’s all meant to be humorous and ridiculous.)

(Characters include Van Helsing from Dracula, Moreau from The Island of Doctor Moreau, Griffin from The Invisible Man, Frankenstein from Frankenstein, Gray from The Picture of Dorian Gray, Jekyll and Hyde from Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, Moriarty from one of the Sherlock Holmes stories, and Raskolnikov from Crime and Punishment.)

(Note: I know all the characters come from different decades, so this is broadly set somewhere in the mid-1800s. They’re all about as old as they are in their stories. Also, when you see “<...>,” that means they’re speaking in Russian, since Raskolnikov is Russian.)

(Warnings: Blood, violence, weapons, mentioned mauling, gore, hangover, mentions of drinking, generally apathetic characters, brief mention of depressive behavior)

Morning light managed to escape the neverending grey of the mist outside. It shone through the dew speckled window and shined a light on Abraham Van Helsing, who’d been awake for the past three hours or so reading science article after science article. Some of them were new, some of them he’d read but needed a refresher on. Van Helsing wasn’t one to sleep in when there was reading to be done or work to complete (work usually meant preparing for his next escapade into the cemetery, or simply going to teach at the local university).

Glancing at the clock on the wall, the old man saw the time to be half past 7.00, which meant breakfast would be served shortly. Folding up his magazine, he slowly slid out of bed, stretching cramped muscles. Becoming increasingly old meant that he was wiser with each day, so he supposed it was only fair his body maintain balance by withering away. It didn’t make the ache in his back any less irritating, though.

Van Helsing got himself washed up and dressed, then proceeded to the door. He noticed the doorknob shone more than usual. With a sigh, he withdrew his handkerchief from his pocket and turned the handle with it wrapped around his hand. We really must confront Moriarty about this.

As he stepped out onto the landing, Van Helsing heard soft footsteps immediately stop. Turning, he caught sight of a squat, hairy man with roguish features paused in front of the door to Jekyll’s quarters. The man looked at him, then at the door, then back again.

Van Helsing gestured impatiently, “Oh, go on then. Don’t make Jekyll late for breakfast.”

The short man grinned, tipped his top hat, then proceeded quietly into Jekyll’s room. Van Helsing cast his gaze up to the ceiling as he moved to the staircase. Hyde had been late to return, which meant he’d probably gotten up to his ears in trouble, which meant an angry mob banging on their door sometime this morning, which meant Van Helsing had to hurry and eat so he could calm the troubled citizens.

Quickening his pace, he reached the ground floor and strode purposefully to the dining hall, hoping their cook had finished preparing the meal. They’d gone through several cooks this month, either because the last one quit or disappeared without a trace in the middle of the night. It was always the same story, and sometimes Van Helsing was glad he didn’t know the exact end.

Griffin was the only one at the table when Van Helsing arrived. He could tell by the floating robes at the far end, as well as the floating newspaper.

“Good morning, Dr Griffin.”

A “harumph” was the only response.

“Did you sleep well?”

“No.”

“I am sorry to hear that.” Van Helsing settled himself at the head of the table, folding his hands in his lap, “Any exciting news today?” 

“Just the usual political drivel.” The paper began folding itself in mid-air then went sliding across the table. Van Helsing caught it and examined the newsprint for himself. As always, he scanned the pages for any mentions of unusual happenings, like a missing corpse or reports of a blood-sucking creature. He found none but knew that hardly meant there were no vampires in the area.

The door opened just then to admit a young man with dark hair and a wary expression.

“Good morning, Rodion Romanovich.”

Raskolnikov gave Van Helsing a tight nod then seated himself beside the older man, hunching over in his seat.

“How did you sleep?” Van Helsing asked.

The young man considered how to respond for a few seconds before alighting on the proper words, speaking with a thick Russian accent, “I slept well.”

“Perfect!” Van Helsing beamed. Raskolnikov seemed pleased with himself.

“Good morning, housemates!” The door was thrown open and Dorian Gray sauntered in, flashing everyone a dazzling smile with perfect teeth. Raskolnikov shrank in his seat and Van Helsing was sure he heard Griffin sigh.

Gray collapsed neatly into a chair, throwing his legs up on the seat beside him, “I trust you all had a good night. I can say that I did.”

“I’ll bet,” Griffin huffed, “I saw you drinking in the common room when I went up to bed at midnight.”

“Oh, I was just having a bit of fun. You all can be such downers and sometimes spirits are the only way to lift my spirits.”

“How are you not hungover?”

“I didn’t have that much.”

“Didn’t- You and Hyde nearly finished our entire supply!”

“Mr Hyde was with you?” Van Helsing spoke up.

“He was for about an hour, then he said he had ‘business elsewhere’ and jumped out the window. Strange fellow.”

Van Helsing nodded gloomily. A drunk Hyde running amok in England was not good.

“I think we should be prepared for another mob, then.” he said as someone else came into the room.

“Another mob?” Dr Moreau paused in the entryway, “But I covered my tracks!”

Van Helsing looked up, “Beg pardon?”

Moreau frowned, “Are we talking about me?”

“We were not.”

“Oh, well then, I guess I’m safe.” The vivisectionist quietly took his place beside Griffin. Van Helsing considered questioning him but decided against it; there was an unspoken policy of don’t-ask-about-my-illegal-activities-and-I-won’t-ask-about-yours in this house.

James Moriarty was the next to arrive. His serpentine like gaze raked over his housemates as he stood by the door and fixed on Van Helsing.

Van Helsing waved, “Yes, professor, I am still alive. Try harder next time.”

Moriarty came to sit next to Gray, “I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re speaking of.”

“Poison on the doorknob? Really?” Van Helsing continued, “How childish.”

“I can assure you, my fellow professor, that if I wished you dead, I’d go about it in a more clever way.” Moriarty sniffed, “Poison is far beneath me.”

Van Helsing rolled his eyes, “Well, if it wasn’t you, then who?”

“Perhaps it was one of those vampires you’re always going on about.”

“Nonsense! I’ve vampire-proofed this house. No creature of the night is coming in here.”

“My mistake.” Moriarty sighed. He turned in his seat, “Where is that cook? Breakfast should have been on the table five minutes ago.”

“He’s new here.” Van Helsing said in the cook’s defense, “Give him time. It can’t be easy catering to... people like us.”

“You mean mad people.” Gray translated, “It’s alright, you can say it. We all know you people are crazy.”

“ ‘You people’ not including yourself, I presume.” Griffin grumbled.

Gray grinned at him, “You presume correctly.”

Raskolnikov frowned at all of them and leaned over to Van Helsing, “<What are they talking about?>”

Van Helsing folded up his newspaper, “<We are just wondering where the cook is.>”

“<Has another one disappeared?>”

“<I hope not.>”

The doors were once again pushed open and a timid young man trudged in. His appearance was quite professional, though Van Helsing noted his hair was not properly combed back and his hands fidgeting and nervous. His skin was an unnatural pallor and his expression quite haggard.

“Sorry I’m late.” Dr Jekyll slowly sat beside Raskolnikov, nearly toppling out of his seat. He shaded his eyes against the lamp light “I slept in.”

Everyone exchanged an almost imperceptible glance at that, but no one said anything out loud. Jekyll still hadn’t quite grasped that everyone here was well aware of his “secret.” Van Helsing figured he should let him know sometime, though he couldn’t pretend seeing the doctor flustered as he struggled for alibis wasn’t amusing.

“How are you today, Doctor? You seem… off.” Van Helsing said politely.

Jekyll’s restless gaze snapped up to the older man, “Oh, no, just… slept… wrong.”

“I see...” Hyde must have left him with a serious hangover; his excuses were usually a lot better put together than that.

The table lapsed into silence, broken only by Gray’s humming and the crinkling of paper as Moriarty read the news.

It was Moreau who spoke next, “Where’s Frankenstein?”

Everyone glanced around, having not noticed their housemate wasn’t there.

Moriarty sighed, “He’s probably sulking in his room again.”

“Who wants to go get him this time?” Griffin asked.

When no one was quick to volunteer, Van Helsing took up the initiative, “I’ll fetch him.”

He left the others to their tense silence and marched up the stairs to Victor Frankenstein’s bedroom. The poor man always seemed to get up late and go to bed early, unless he was seized by some fit of scientific passion, though he inevitably dissolved into sobs afterwards. The young scientist always seemed to feel guilty about something.

The old man reached his door and knocked firmly, “Mr Frankenstein? Are you alright?”

There was no response.

He knocked again, “We’re all gathered for breakfast! We would appreciate it if you joined us!”

Still nothing.

Van Helsing huffed in annoyance, “Mr Frankenstein, you have stayed locked up in your room since yesterday morning, and, as far as I know, have not eaten anything since. Now come out of there and have a meal with us.”

There was a long pause, then Van Helsing heard bolts slowly slide back behind the door until it was open enough for a ragged face to peek out.

“Good morning.” Van Helsing said.

Frankenstein gave a long sigh, “I don’t deserve a good morning.”

“Well, I think you do.” the professor slowly pushed the door open wider, “Are you ready to come down?”

“If I have to be.” Frankenstein stepped out into the hallway, blinking against the light from one of the windows. Van Helsing noticed he hadn’t changed since yesterday morning, and probably hadn’t changed since the morning before that.

The two of them walked back downstairs together and into the dining room.

Everyone was gone.

“Hello?” Van Helsing called, a cold feeling of dread creeping upon him, “Dr Moreau? Mr Gray? Rodion Romanovich?”

“In here!” someone called from the side door leading into the kitchen. Van Helsing exchanged a glance with Frankenstein and they rushed to join the others.

All the residents were gathered in a circle around Griffin, who was crouched over a still form on the ground. Van Helsing immediately recognized it as the cook they’d hired not a week ago, despite the blood coating the victim from head to toe and his torn features.

Griffin lifted the cook’s arm by an un-marred section of skin then let it flop to the ground. He cleared his throat, “This man is dead.” he declared.

“Obviously, Sherlock.” Gray said.

“What did I say about using that name?” Moriarty groused.

“How did this happen?” Van Helsing demanded.

Raskolnikov was suddenly very alert, “<It wasn’t me!>”

Moriarty shook his head, “This wasn’t done by a man. This is the work of a wild animal…”

Everyone grew quiet, then slowly turned to Moreau, who was trying to sneak unnoticed out of the room. He paused as he realized they’d caught him.

He sighed, “Alright, in my defense, I was sure that lion was human enough.”

“It’s a lion, idiot!” Griffin exclaimed, “Human doesn’t factor in!”

“I was making progress! He even started speaking!”

“Did he say he was hungry?” Gray asked.

Moreau glared at him, “He wasn’t that intelligent!”

“Yet you let him run amok!” Griffin yelled, sleeves waving in agitation.

“I kept him locked in the closet!”

“Oh, so that’s where you’re supposed to keep a man-eating lion?!”

“He broke out of his cage! Where was I supposed to put him?”

“Um, guys,” Jekyll’s voice was quiet and only Van Helsing seemed to hear him, “Where’d the lion go?”

Bang!

Everyone jumped as the front doors shook from the force of a mass of people throwing themselves against it.

Oh, the mob. Van Helsing had nearly forgotten to expect them.

“Everybody be quiet!” he shouted. The authority in his voice served to silence the bickering scientists, “We’ve got another angry mob outside and a lion on the loose! Now is not the time to argue among ourselves!”

He paused, formulating a plan, “Moreau, you, Frankenstein, and Moriarty find that lion and kill it if necessary. Gray and Jekyll, you come with me to handle the mob. Griffin, Rodion Romanovich, since no one can either see or understand you, keep yourselves locked in one of your bedrooms and stay together.”

“Fine by me!” Griffin had already grabbed Raskolnikov’s sleeve and was racing out of the room with the confused Russian in tow.

“Why must I stay here and handle Moreau’s mess?” Moriarty asked with a sniff.

“Because you’re the smartest of all of us.” Van Helsing said slyly, “You’ll slay that lion easily with that clever head of yours.”

Moriarty nodded, conceding that he was in fact the smartest. Moreau looked distraught.

“Don’t kill it! I’ve been working on him for months!”

“It’s either him or us, pal,” Gray shouted over his shoulder as he sauntered out the door, “And I’m too pretty to die.”

Van Helsing followed the retreating socialite, Jekyll lurching after them.

There were about 30 citizens gathered outside from what Van Helsing could see as he peeked out the window, each armed with all manner of crude weaponry, including brooms and shovels. Bracing himself, Van Helsing pushed open the door, making the crowd fall back.

“What’s all this about?” he asked, trying to appear friendly.

“You know very well what it’s about!” a woman cried, “There’s been a murder in the village, and Mr Hyde is to blame!”

Jekyll gave a quiet “eep” behind Van Helsing. The professor turned to see the doctor’s pale face, deducing that Hyde probably did commit this crime. It wouldn’t be the first time.

But perhaps… “How was the victim killed?” he asked.

“He was beaten by his own cane until his head caved in!”

No, that was Hyde alright. Part of him hoped it might have been the lion or some other crazy person.

“I saw him from my bedroom window!” a man shouted from the back, “He was coming from the murder scene!”

“Lots of people probably came from the general direction in which the crime was committed,” Gray said with an easy smile, “That doesn’t necessarily have to mean they did it.”

The townspeople seemed taken aback, not from Gray’s words, but from his dashing smile. It always seemed to stun anyone subjected to it, at least anyone who didn’t know Gray well enough to see he was an awful person.

Van Helsing seized their advantage, “Exactly! You cannot convict a man with such flimsy evidence. As far as I can tell, no one actually witnessed the murder, so no one can testify. Hyde was simply minding his own business on the city streets, as he is wont to do.”

“B-But…” Gray’s smile intensified and the protester shut up.

Van Helsing slowly stepped back into the house, leaving Gray to further calm the mob. He was good at that. Jekyll had remained partially indoors during the whole interaction and leaped back into the safety of the parlor.

“Now that that’s settled,” Van Helsing began, “I suppose we should help-”

“AAAAAAAUUUUUGGGGGHHHHHH!!!”

Van Helsing and Jekyll jumped in fright at the scream emanating from upstairs.

“Who was that?” Jekyll shouted in alarm, clasping his hands to his ears. From the dining room, Moreau, Frankenstein, and Moriarty came pouring out.

“Egad, the lion must be up there!” Moriarty cried.

“THE LION’S UP HERE!” Griffin’s panicked scream confirmed Moriarty’s suspicion, “HELP US!!!”

“I’ll get a sedative!” Moreau rushed to his room.

“Forget the sedative! We have to put it down!” Frankenstein seemed seized by a fit of determination. He’d grabbed one of the kitchen knives and brandished it as he followed Moreau up the stairs, “You will never kill again, monster!!!”

Gray poked his head inside as he heard all the shouting, “What the heck is going on in here? You’re ruining my progress with this crowd!”

“The lion’s going to eat us!” Jekyll screamed and started running for the backdoor, face-planting into it first before managing to throw it open. Moriarty glanced from him to Van Helsing, then followed the retreating doctor.

“What?!” Gray looked to Van Helsing for guidance.

“Just keep them calm!” Van Helsing instructed and sprinted toward the staircase, “We’ll handle this!”

Taking the stairs two at a time, Van Helsing made his way up to the second level. He’d barely made it halfway before he was gasping for air, his old legs wobbling like jelly. Sprinting had been a bad plan.

“No!” Moreau had a loaded syringe in hand and was chasing after Frankenstein, who was already to Griffin’s bedroom door, “Don’t kill him!”

Frankenstein kicked the door open as Van Helsing made it all the way up, putting on a burst of speed.

The lion was, indeed, very human-like. While it still hunched over, it remained upright, its digitigrade legs trembling with the effort. Its face was feline yet something in the shape of the jaw and the arch of the forehead and nose gave it a human air, an altogether grotesque combination. It had hands with long fingers ending in sharp claws but still no thumb. The torso was thin, crooked slightly to make it stay standing. The tail stuck out so it could keep its balance.

Griffin and Raskolnikov were backed into a corner, the invisible man with a chair leveled at the beast. He turned as the others rushed in.

“Took you long enough!”

Raskolnikov was saying something in Russian too fast for Van Helsing to translate. All he could catch was “ax,” before the young man was darting out of the room, narrowly avoiding a swipe from the lion.

“Get back, monster!” Frankenstein was leaping forward, knife poised to drive into the creature’s chest. The lion growled and sank awkwardly down onto four legs in order to leap at its new prey.

“No!” Frankenstein was tackled by a flying Moreau and they landed in a heap on the floor. The vivisectionist struggled to his feet as he held Frankenstein down.

“It’s alright!��� he said to his creation, “We can talk about this! Just stand up and come with me. Four legs bad, remember?”

The lion growled, crouching lower, “Do not… want… two legs. Want… kill… you!”

It pounced on Moreau and Frankenstein who screamed in terror as Griffin and Van Helsing both yelled in alarm.

Then the creature fell dead on the floor.

Raskolnikov had managed to bolt past Van Helsing and driven an ax into its head, killing it in an instant. Blood spattered the young Russian’s clothes and dripped onto Moreau’s pants.

The doctor stared in silent horror for a few seconds then shoved his creation off him and staggered to his feet, syringe falling from slack hands. Frankenstein followed suit, still gripping the knife like he was afraid the lion was only faking death.

Griffin set his chair down and stepped forward, “Good job, kid! Another moment and we’d all have been dead!”

Van Helsing released a breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding, “Yes, fortunate you found that ax in time.”

Raskolnikov didn’t seem to hear them, his gaze fixated on the blood soaking into his pants and socks. He let the ax fall from his grip, where it slowly slid from the gaping wound in the lion’s head and fell to the ground with a thud. Van Helsing frowned as he noticed the Russian had used the back side of the ax instead of the frontal blade. Then he watched as Raskolnikov reeled out of the room and into the hallway, disappearing around the corner.

Griffin shrugged, “Must not like the sight of blood.”

“I didn’t want it dead.” Moreau said quietly, drawing everyone’s attention to him, “If I could only have reached it…”

“Well, you didn’t, though I can’t say I’m not disappointed it didn’t manage to eat you.” Griffin glared, “Now get this carcass out of my room.”

Van Helsing was too tired to get caught up in another argument and trudged back to the stairs. Frankenstein was soon beside him, fingering the kitchen knife.

“You might want to put that back.” Van Helsing pointed out.

The younger man started at his voice, “Oh, yeah, I guess so…”

“It was very brave of you to confront the lion as you did.” Van Helsing added.

Frankenstein’s jaw clenched and his gaze had a far away quality to it, “If only I had before…”

He turned swiftly and disappeared back into his room before Van Helsing could ask what that meant. Sighing, the old man walked slowly back to the ground level.

“It’s safe to come in!” he called.

Gray opened the front door and came inside, the mob apparently having left, “Is it dead?”

“Yes, Rodion Romanovich killed him.”

Gray sighed in relief, “Good! Tell that vivisectionist to cut out those experiments or we’ll all be mauled to death.”

“I’ll encourage him to work on herbivorous specimens instead.”

“Great.” Gray grabbed his coat from the hanger beside the door, “Well, I’ve got a date at the theater. See you!”

The door made a resounding thud as it closed, just as the back door opened and Jekyll and Moriarty peeked inside.

“You said it’s dead?” Jekyll asked.

“Yes.”

The doctor stepped inside, Moriarty right behind him.

“I’m, uh, off to my room then.” Jekyll said. He had a pained look on his face, as if trying to hold something back. Van Helsing gestured for him to head back upstairs, realizing his other half was about to rear his head as a result of all the excitement. The doctor hurried up the stairs as fast as his flimsy legs would allow.

Moriarty nodded to Van Helsing, “I’ll be in the library should you need me.”

“We could have used you when handling the lion.” Van Helsing said a tad testily.

The criminal mastermind quirked an eyebrow, “I am not in the business of slaying brutes, professor. If you need someone to do your dirty work, I suggest you enlist another’s help. Good day.”

He marched off with all the rigid pomp he could muster, which was quite a lot. Van Helsing sighed, knowing, as master of the house, he should probably help Griffin and Moreau with the dead lion. He slowly marched back upstairs.

And I thought battling Dracula would be the most excitement I’d get in my life...

[thesnadger]

Speaking of finance! I was going thru your mp100 tag and your post about his character in relation to small business/freelance work caught me. I was hoping you could expand on that? I know it’s a sore point for fans about Mob’s less that minimum wage and that there could be some personal feelings involved in that negativity towards Reigen...but I found it interesting he rented space and started a business. And he didn’t worry about the money but more about how he was bored before meeting Mob???

Haha okay well look. Reigen should really give Mob a raise, you’re not gonna hear me say otherwise about that. Don’t think at any point I’m going to say that low profits are ever an excuse to underpay your employees. 

(We all know the real benefit Mob gets from the job is the time he spends with Reigen anyway, not the shitty, shitty pay he gets.)

With that in mind, no, I don’t think the Spirits and Such Consultation Office brings in much money. I don’t think Reigen is living in abject poverty, but he’s probably just doing okay at best. Some months are better than others, but he can’t really be complacent. We see evidence of this everywhere. He cuts corners with expenses by asking a client to pay for his taxi then taking a train and has visible cup noodle packages in the frame. He accepted vegetable seeds as payment, for crying out loud. This man is desperate for whatever he can get.

It extends to his character design! We can see that his suit doesn’t quite fit him, it wrinkles and bunches up in places and was probably bought secondhand, made for someone bigger than him. 

He can pay the rent on his office and apartment and obviously keeps his insurance up to date, but god as a freelancer I can relate to both his anxiety when the work slows down and his intense desire to take in as many clients as possible when it picks up. I don’t think he has a ton of savings, and even the criminally low wage he pays Mob probably adds up to a significant expense for him (those bowls of ramen aren’t free either.) I don’t know if he actually could pay Mob a remotely fair wage with what he makes. (At least for most of the series.)

Again, low profits aren’t an excuse to underpay your employees but it makes Reigen a lot more sympathetic when he’s struggling than he’d be if he were making bank and still giving Mob 300 yen an hour. 

(More Reigenomics under the cut.)

When we meet Shinra in the Urban Legends storyline we also see how much Reigen undercharges for his services compared to other professional psychics. I’ve joked that the real reason professional psychics hate him isn’t because he’s a fraud, it’s because he’s ruining the market with his low prices. 

I’m sure he does it for his own reasons. One of them is probably the reason most people undercharge – he’s worried that if he raises his prices he won’t get enough work to get by. (Note: PLEASE DON’T DO THIS, THIS IS A BAD FREELANCING PRACTICE THAT NOT ONLY RUINS THE MARKET IT GENUINELY DOESN’T WORK.) The other reason is Reigen knows he’s a fraud and probably has reason to think anyone looking to expose fake psychics will target the ones whose prices are high, who really really rip people off.

Honestly. Reigen probably made a lot more money in his soul-crushing office job. You mentioned him renting the office at the start of his career, and I have thoughts on that too. 

See. Reigen is a very hard worker, he has a lot of basic business sense and common sense, and is very good with people. I think he has the skills necessary to really do well in a white collar office job. When he quit, I think he had at least a somewhat promising potential career and a little bit of money saved up (he’d have had to if he rented an office before even knowing what his business would be about, right?)

“I used to be so curious and energetic about everything, but at some point that stopped” is such a relatable quarter-life crisis feel and it takes genuine courage to walk away from a steady, predictable job to try making it on your own with no real plan. I really applaud him for that.

So, he sat in his office for a while trying to think of something while most of his savings began to dwindle, then came up with the idea of being a fake psychic and got some clients. He was doing okay, not making anything amazing but he was able to pay his bills. But yeah, he was getting bored. The whole reason he’d left his depressing but dependable office job was to find something that was more interesting, that would give his work excitement and meaning. But at least as his own boss he could stop this and do something else. 

And then Mob walked through his door, and after that being a fake psychic had excitement and meaning and he never looked back.

tl;dr, Reigen could always go back to a shitty office job and make better money but he’s not going to ever ever ever being a fake psychic mentor to a precious good esper boy is the best thing that ever happened to him.

[diveronarpg]

Congratulations, KAT! You’ve been accepted for the role of OTHELLO. Admin Rosey: So, one thing that’s really difficult to highlight without overemphasizing is Othello’s dichotomy and his constant conflict. Sometimes you can focus so wholly on one aspect of a character that it’s overwhelming. But Kat, you write Odin so effortlessly, so FREAKING effortlessly that you capture it throughout the application as an integral part of his character -- interweaving it into the plot, the sample, even the “what drew you to this character” section. I am completely blown away and utterly terrified of what havoc you’re going to wreak on the dash. I am screaming over this application and I always will, time and time again. Please read over the checklist and send in your blog within 24 hours.

WELCOME TO THE MOB.

OUT OF CHARACTER

Alias | Kat Age | 25 Preferred Pronouns | She/her Activity Level | OK so my classes went online and my job has cut staff in half so I have so much free time and so much muse. Listen…. LISTEN I know I’m not always reliable but it’s game time lemme say like at least twice a week, I’m here for the haul let’s write baby!!!!!!!!!!! Timezone | EST How did you find the rp? | I originally came across it in the lsrpg tag, also my girl Taryn recommended it and also I miss y’all :( Current/Past RP Accounts | These are links to inactive past accounts:

https://neosy.tumblr.com/ https://grchcmisms.tumblr.com/ https://99gael.tumblr.com/ https://halogenq.tumblr.com/ https://odinbellc.tumblr.com/ ;) https://pavellam.tumblr.com/

IN CHARACTER

Character | Othello, Odin Bello – requesting faceclaim change to Trevante Rhodes :^) What drew you to this character? |

Through my first experience writing Odin I learned a lot about both him and myself as a writer. He was initially a challenge for me because at my roots I was never someone successful in writing characters with good intent, the easier side of him being the one of violence and chaos, something that was difficult considering more often than not… that isn’t who Odin is, or more fittingly, who he wants to be. I struggled with his daily life, the man he tries so hard to be and who he’s used to becoming over the years and I realized that was the key in; the struggle. I’ve teetered around writing for a while recently, the desire and the muse not being there for me when I remembered my dear, dear, Odin and for a split second I wondered about him. Such an interesting thing, to wonder about a character, to dive deep into your mind’s eye and ask, “How is he doing, I wonder? The man of gold and copper, the being of olympus and hades? How is my boy?” And realizing the responsibility of creating and finding that out is all mine. It felt like seeing a past lover in the check out line, wide eyes as you remember the missed calls and blocked number, and realize how fuckin’ good they look today and, damn, were stupid for leaving them.

Dearest Odin, please take me back. I miss you so dearly. I’ll try hard not to leave you so suddenly this time, that was my bad.

Who am I to fool myself? My heart always brings me back to him. Feed me an optimist with nothing but a history of failure, rocks beating down on a pristine marble surface til the cracks spell misery. It’s all his fault, the pain, suffering, and failure… but he tries so hard. It’s as if he’s doomed from the beginning, the first cries from his mouth as a child, a bad omen, the first steps he takes, the small tottering of a baby, were faced in the wrong direction. Some people are born bad, some people are cultivated as such, and Odin, at his root, is a demon in disguise even despite his most valiant efforts; it’s a nature he fights everyday and, oh, the battle grows bloodier and bloodier.

The rest may look familiar to you:

I’ve always been a sucker for a good heart and bruised knuckles.

Such beauty and chaos, such destruction and uncertainty, an aching heart that slips through your fingers as you struggle to grasp it, begging it to hold still. He shakes and struggles with nature and nurture, who he should be and who he wants to be, and more importantly, what he’s become. He feels the remorse and pain of it everyday when he wakes and each night he goes to sleep – for a time he managed to be the person he worked so hard to be. It crumbled under his feet and his developing insanity, the rumble of his father’s ways breaking the ground under his skin and causing something of a snap, a moment of true obscurity. He hates himself for it, but he cannot yet again break his mold, he cannot become someone else. His will is cracking, his heart breaking.

Give me his nuance, give me his pain, give me his turmoil, and oh, please, give me his struggle; the desperate gasp of collapsed lungs and a tattered chest. I cannot stress how beautiful I find him, the feeling in my ribcage so solemn at his childhood and forthcoming, his painful attributes and breaking spirit. A man who shows his kindness through terror and bloodshed, so intent on being a good person that he’d tear the throat of a thief with his teeth.

Yes, I’ve found love.

What is a future plot idea you have in mind for the character? | Where do you see this character developing, and what kind of actions would you have them take to get there? 3 future plot ideas would be preferable.

(I have new ideas but lord, do I struggle with formulating plot ideas in this format so I’m just gunna keep the same ones because of such and because I DO in fact still want to play them out.)

MEN SHOULD BE WHAT THEY SEEM //

Oh, can the flash of his teeth brighten a room. His smile is bright but, these days, so rarely genuine. He no longer knows who he is truly fighting for, what side of the coin he lays on with his copper spinning on its side in a never ending spiral. He does not know where he belongs, nor, who he truly is and it plagues him in a way that’s all too familiar, a way that feels like his mother’s comfort and his father’s recklessness, the smell of alcohol on someone’s tongue when they speak and the feeling of a caress on skin. He needs to make a choice, a permanent decision for once in his life, pick his path and follow it to the end instead of cutting through the woods once more. Who are you, Odin? His own face in the mirror becoming more unfamiliar in each passing day, a building anxiety and insanity, a hurricane creating a disaster inside him. Who are you?

His reflection tired, tainting his handsome face and false expressions, a hunger growing just under the surface, a desperation so hot; who will you be?

FOR SHE HAD EYES AND CHOSE ME //

Delilah, oh, how she filled something inside of him, and oh, how he tore into the filled space as if rabid, as if being whole was too much to bear, the filled space too heavy, and the paranoia of losing it all creasing his forehead and melting in his palms.

So he did what he does best, and he ripped through the plaster and insulation like a hammer, shattered the glass and caused the empty space to bleed. It hasn’t stopped aching, despite his insistence that it has healed, sometimes he still wakes with his shirt soaked in blood, drenched in suffering. How can he learn to forgive? He learned his lessons but the morals cannot seem to stick, the weakness he caused in his own self and the horror he caused for the woman he loved – loves, still finding its way through his mind and heart. He seeks self forgiveness just as much if not more than he seeks hers. He cannot move on without finding solace or closure but those are two things so hard to capture and accept. Sometimes, he feels so much like his father with his past misgivings it stirs disgust.

It’s time to repent.

THE GREEN EYED MONSTER //

Ivan is a scab, an infection that Odin refuses to treat. He’s become cautious, wearily aware of betrayal in the past and more on the horizon. He has a feeling, a ponderance that keeps him up at night, the sends shocks through his veins. He hates to think of his friend, his family, as a traitor, as a monster in disguise seeking to antagonize the worst parts of Odin himself, but it’s becoming harder and harder to ignore. It scrapes the back of his mind, creates an itch that he cannot scratch no matter how deep he digs, no matter if the skin starts bleeding, it won’t go away. How does he cut out another piece of his life, another piece of himself so vital? It feels like he is losing those most important to him, that they’re all turning on him and it creates nothing but fear, more paranoia and uncertainty.

He wants so desperately to be wrong, but knows what will happen if he is not.

Are you comfortable with killing off your character? | If anyone deserves to die at some point in this rp I feel like Odin’s a good contender to get fuckin’ GANKED

IN DEPTH

Please choose between the interview or the para sample (or both, if you like!)

In-Character Para Sample:

Act I

The sun beats down on darkened skin, wind blowing through open cruiser windows, sunglasses adorned on his face and a holder keeps track of coffees. In the daylight he glistens – not in a literal sense of glowing skin and eyes, he does not hover over the earth as if ethereal, not a streak against the sky that blinds any human eyes that dare linger, but instead in the sense that no one could ever find the man to be anything but happy. His teeth, those straight, white, teeth that come alive in a smile and clear rooms with a sneer peek from behind pulled lips in a grin. He walks with a swagger, bearing gifts in coffee for other officers and sharp humor and barked laughs for poor moods. He so easily falls into the facade of being created from nothing but light and the body of Christ, a saint in all regards except moral, light jests greeting all who perceive him and all who engage.

Well groomed, upkept and clean, there was no reason to suspect anything was amiss in the crook of his grins, the sharp of his wit, the movements of his muscles under skin. He even makes arrests like a holy man, like someone with something to lose to violence. His hands rest on the steering wheel, music plays from the stereo and he nods his head, every other line finding its way out of his lips even in no one’s presence but his own. He isn’t playing a character in the moment, enjoying the everydayness of the outside world, the warmth of the air touching his limbs and being sucked into his lungs. He feels joy, he embodies it, he hovers with it. His foot eases off the gas at the turn of a light and one hand finds itself resting outside the drivers window, head cocked to the side, heart beating steadily in his chest – firm and ever present in the strength of his pulse.

A human being in all forms; a person, a person, a person, and his phone rings.

Pulling in the parking lot he answers the call, the perspective outside leaves the voice on the other end muffled as it’s pressed to his ear, his face falling ever so slightly, car pushed into park. He nods even though the speaker cannot see him, he makes a sound of understanding as they continue and suddenly something is more solid inside of him. The fluidity, the liquid that flowed between sunlight and good music steels itself against the reality of his life, of who he is and what he is to do, the lake jostled and good-feelings distorted. It’s not for the faint of heart, not created for those with poor constitution, and he is a police officer until ten tonight; that’s what he says to the voice on the other end so they tell him to have it done by eleven. He does not hesitate until he hangs up, a sigh of the last good breath leaving his lungs. A moment of silence for what he lost.

He grabs the coffees and heads inside.

Act II

The headlights send streaks through the night, the yellow color sending shadows running rampant across the near empty field – long and sickly. The air is not still but choked, a vice grip stealing the oxygen away from those who dared attempt breathing. There stood a figure in the darkness, large shoulders over a larger frame, muscles tightened as he digs and digs, the shovel breaking the earth harshly with each bend of his arms. His breathing is rough, like a rubber band pulled to full capacity trying to bend and break to fit the expansion of his lungs. The shovel carries on.

The silence that hung heavy around the lone sound of crumbling dirt could kill in its own regard; ringing in his ears as he ignores the shower curtain wrapped in duct tape buried in the back corners of his trunk. Odin’s mind is empty to everything but the task, split skin and dried blood from his face and knuckles, the bruises adorning his ribcage. Perhaps it was self defense for the sake of defense, he threw the first punch but it was returned just as well and by then, truly, the control was lost. It was what they had wanted to happen, and he was nothing if not complicit. He supposed that was what they liked about him, another body, a bloodhound. Caving for the sake of therapy, sober by daylight and drenched in sweat and blood by nighttime –  if only to keep his sanity. He was nothing if not built of power and control in both physical and mental regards over everyone but himself.

Try to carve a better god out of wood, put him on a pedestal and pray all you’d like, the real sacrifice will come in blood much later – but this flesh and bone, that which has created the man who finds himself up to his chest in dirt standing at over six feet, he is paid now and up front. He is solid, and real.

He straightens up, dirt caked to his jeans and soiled t-shirt, sweat broken across his skin making him shine under the glare of the headlight, the sheen making him appear as if glowing under the half exposed moon. He plants his hands on the outside on the deepened earth and pulls himself out, breathing hard through his nose, a noise like a grunt, face twisted, teeth appearing behind pulled lips. He stares at the dip of the trunk, chest moving, knuckles tightening, shovel thrown to the side. He isn’t even halfway done yet; he gathers himself, and pulls the latch free.

Act III

(TW: self harm kind of)

The neighborhood is still and quiet, blackness behind every window and curtain at such an ungodly hour, the only sounds being the low rumble of the occasional car passing on the main road nearby. In the stillness there begins a movement, the shape of a tall man shaking open the gate leading to the back of a house, his clothes defiled and leaving trails. He strips in the backyard of the home; shoes, socks, shirt, and jeans forming a pile of mud and dirt by the sliding glass doors until he stands in his boxers, fingers unlocking the back door, the cold of the night wetting trails down his back and sides, whispering to his skin. He walks slowly to avoid making any noise, the sound of keys hitting the granite of a kitchen countertop. Even despite how delicately he walks, the mass of his body makes the stairs protest lowly when his feet find them.

The man first goes to the bathroom, the light flicked on as he tries to avoid his face in the mirror. He is not the same creature that caused the blood to pool in his wounds, not the same monster with dirt caked under his nails – not here, he can’t be; not in front of her. He turns on the shower, body directed towards a corner of the bathroom while he waits for the water to heat, staring blankly at the space where the two walls meet, hands twitching, brain fighting not to think, the sound of static until smoke fills the room. The adrenaline still pumps through his veins, the wild-eyed insanity created by anger and a lack of self control, the rush of the final blow still stinging in the shaking of his muscles. The water turns first brown from the dirt adorning his limbs, then becoming a far more sinister red when he submerges his face and hands, he washes himself slowly, rubbing at his back and shoulders, the sweat off of his skin, the searing pain of smoking water near boiling scalding the back of his neck. He doesn’t allow himself to think, not now, not yet. He doesn’t hum or sing, doesn’t talk to himself, but instead thinks only of his actions as they happen or nothing at all.

He doesn’t know how long he stands under the water, so hot it scalds, burns off the sin and the disgust, scrubbing and scrubbing until he could feel himself beginning to cause harm, wounding, convincing himself he’s becoming clean until he forces his hand, stopping the running water. He stands even longer still, his wet skin freezing over in the silence of the steamed room. Finally when he finds himself ready, he dries off until he feels pristine, the wash of the shower head like a baptism into the form of a different man, a new mold built into his model. Only then does he look in the mirror, eyes meeting the reflection of a handsome man, a cursed man, a martyr only in the sense of self respect and fear. His eyes are tired, his face adorning new cuts and scratches, bruises blooming his sides under skin and over muscle. He aches all over. He bares his teeth at the reflection and it does it right back, a snarl of bright white, the bones straight and sharp, and his eyes so quickly become frightening. He turns away.

Odin’s face peers around the door of a new room, hands finding covers and the soft sound of a woman waking. She turns to him, her face telling of sleep and her lips turned slightly down in a frown, her hands finding his chest, wrapping around his torso, her face in his neck, breath fanning over that damn skin of his and she says, “Long night?”

His fingers trail down the back of her shirt, fingertips pressing to the small of her exposed back stretched between her clothes and he hums quietly, face buried in her hair, body melting and moving to fit hers more comfortably, grip tight to squeeze her form, to hold onto something solid, to find his anchor. “Always, baby. Go back to sleep.” He says in a low voice, something comfortable, something familiar there, as if he’s smiling. She makes a noise of acceptance, curling even further towards him, as if a safety, sinking even further as his fingers trail up and down her back, soothing, as to not allow her to be distraught. Delilah was always the one he worried about, not concerning himself with the rotting inside his own chest, the ache of something breaking within him. He fights with the inability to sleep while the rush of the night still feeds inside of him. He does not concern himself with what little is left of him because while he is with her he is safe from the part of himself that only consumes, he is not concerned with the fragility of his own being, not while he breathes in the heat radiating off of l'amore della sua vita.

Meanwhile, miles and miles away, something begins to rot under the cover of freshly turned Earth.

Extras: I made a tag for him a long time ago and haven’t touched it much since tbh but like I'ma probably add stuff the next few days so this 4 u: https://hypnosreigns.tumblr.com/tagged/character:%20odin%20bello