#page 4028

[pesterloglog]

Gamzee Makara, Dave Strider

Act 5, page 4027-4031

terminallyCapricious [TC] began trolling turntechGodhead [TG]

TC: it's all your fault.

TG: ?

TC: IT'S ALL YOUR MOTHERFUCKIN FAULT.

TC: honk.

TG: ok

TC: YOU ALL CRACKED OFF THE TOP OF THE BOTTLE TO THOSE FUCKIN CLOWN IMPOSTORS.

TC: that all were spraying out the flagrant motherfuckin heresies at me.

TC: THE FLAGRANT MOTHER FUCKING HERESIES MOTHER FUCKER.

TC: is what came out from their mouths, it made me get my sadness on to see it.

TC: AND MY RAGE ON FUCKING HARDER.

TG: im sorry

TC: all my life i believed at a fuckin paradise to come what held the most baller, darkest of carnivals to join.

TC: AND A PROPHECY

TC: to tell all about a band of rowdy and capricious minstrels steeped in the good harshwhimsy.

TC: THE MIRTHFUL MESSIAHS WERE FORETOLD TO BE CRASHING THAT FUCKING PIE STAND AND BRING THE HOLY RUCKUS.

TC: like a giddy fuckin ninja one wheeling head long at the hugest fuckin horn heap shangri la's got to see.

TC: I'M TALKING ABOUT THE VAST HONK, YOU BLASPHEMOUS MOTHERFUCKER.

TC: what i believed in it to be was so beautiful, us and them all mellowing in tents, bumpin sounds, tossing back the faygo and soaking the miracles up our faith sponges, while the special stardust rained down at our elixir sticky faces, like a bunch a fuckin fairy powder from religion space.

TC: IT WAS GOING TO BE US AND MOTHER FUCKING THEM.

TC: them and mother fuckin us. :o(

TG: this is like

TG: some trolling schtick right

TG: this icp shit

TC: BUT NOW.

TC: because of you.

TC: BECAUSE OF ALL YOU AND YOUR FUCKING OUTRAGEOUSNESS.

TC: you stole up all my miracles away by revealing at me how the wicked shit was really kicked.

TC: LIKE SOME FILTHY FUCKING SCIENSTIFF WHO AT OLD TIMES WOULD BE RULED UNFUNNY WITHOUT EVEN GETTING HIS FUCKING TRIAL ON.

TC: and now i don't know what to think about the spiritual fantasies i had.

TC: HONK )o:

TG: hahaha

TG: best troll ever

TG: i dont even care if you're really into this stuff or not its awesome

TC: uhhhhh, what stuff?

TG: like

TG: horrorcore

TG: lame clown rap and stuff

TC: >:o?

TG: dude are you an actual juggalo or not

TC: bro, that word you used isn't nothing real i've heard of.

TC: IT STRIKES AT ME AS ANOTHER HERETICAL FUCKING BASTARDIZATION OF SOME SACRED SHIT I TAKE SERIOUSLY IN MY PUMP BISCUIT.

TC: i mean i guess, took seriously.

TG: hahahahaha

TG: do you really not know what im talking about

TC: I HAVE THE IDEA THAT YOU PUT IN MY PAN TO SIT THERE.

TC: that the paradise planet

TC: IS A FUCKING JOKE.

TC: and the miracles

TC: ARE FAKE.

TC: pure fiction.

TC: FALSE FAKEY FRAUDY CON JOBS FROM A BUNCH OF UNFUNNY NINJA HARLEQUIN BULLSHIT ARTISTS.

TG: ahaha

TG: i cant even tell if youre trying to troll me with this or if you actually are having some weird emotional problem

TC: can't it be motherfuckin

TC: BOTH THINGS.

TG: ok im telling you

TG: you need to watch this video

TG: the song isnt even supposed to be released for another year or something

TG: but i got it from an inside source

TG: this is as hot as it gets

TG: hang on lemme dig it up

TC: no.

TC: MOTHER FUCK NO, BRO.

TC: i'm not looking on any more of your blasphmemes.

TC: I REALLY JUST CAME BACK ON YOU TO MOTHER FUCKING SAY.

TC: that while that sickening noise you did at me is your fault

TC: THERE'S SOMETHING I DID AT YOU WHAT'S MINE.

TC: i did something that's motherfucking atrocious to your posse.

TC: MADE YOUR WHOLE CREW OF JOKERS GET TO BEING KINDA MENTALLY MOTHER FUCKIN

TC: unstable.

TC: IN FUCKING FACT

TC: that atrocious business i got to doing

TC: I DID THAT SHIT TO YOUR WHOLE UNIVERSE AS A MATTER OF MOTHER FUCKING FACT.

TC: you see

TC: YOU MOTHER FUCKIN SEE

TC: i finally got all caught up in what's true behind the sweet murdermirth of the bitchin bloodcircus.

TC: I REACHED DEEP DOWN AND GOT AT WHERE ALL THE REAL HARSHWHIMSIES WERE HIDING INSIDE ME.

TC: in the angriest ways i found up my dark ancestral chucklevoodoos within.

TC: AND THEN

TC: i focused on them through the rage you made me have

TC: AND I WENT AND MADE YOUR UNIVERSE...

TC: terminal. Bo)

TG: none of that really meant anything but ok

TG: also you have me confused for somebody else we never talked

TG: i guarantee i would have remembered you

TC: ALL THAT MOTHER FUCKIN MATTERS IS I REMEMBER YOU AND WHAT YOU DID.

TC: i'm just all letting you in on the ways i set the high justice in motion.

TC: MADE US MOTHERFUCKING SQUARE, YOU AND ME.

TC: me and you.

TG: thats cool juggalo guy who i still cant quite tell is ironic about this or not

TG: but like i said either way its all good

TC: HAHAHAHAHA, YOU DON'T MOTHER FUCKING BELIEVE.

TC: you need to get more spirituality into your superstition ghost.

TC: LIKE THE MOTHERFUCKING FAITHCHUMP THAT WHAT I WAS.

TC: as if i'd forget to do my chucklevoodoos to you too.

TC: TO FUCK UP YOUR DREAMS.

TC: make your worst fears come alive and get up on their haunts in your naphappy pan.

TG: what

TG: what fears

TC: YOU MOTHER FUCKING KNOW, BROTHER.

TC: its the fuckin puppet.

TC: THE ONE THAT'S ALL GOT TO BE MY BEST FUCKING FRIEND I GOT NOW.

TC: now that my other buddy managed to be having his head chopped off. :oC

TG: oh god

TG: did my bro put you up to this

TG: i should have guessed he might have a hand in some of these shitty trolling escapades

TC: YOUR BRO'S DEAD BRO.

TC: couldn't keep my new friend captive no more.

TC: RELEASED YOUR NIGHTMARES RIGHT INTO MY WARM FUCKING EMBRACE.

TC: and now i listen at what they whisper through my hear ducts.

TG: hahaha jesus

TG: you are fucking insane

TC: I'M ALL HEARING THESE AMAZING MOTHERFUCKIN THINGS.

TC: i think he'll help me refigure out what's the real reality about the miracles.

TC: HE'LL HELP ME TO MOTHER FUCKIN DISCOVER THE TRUTH OF WHO THE MESSIAHS ARE.

TC: the real messiahs, not the false mess a lies, hahahahaha.

TC: HONK.

TG: so

TG: my bros idiotic ventriloquist dummy is responsible for this schizophrenic bullshit

TG: is that what youre saying

TC: motherfuuuuuck yes, bro.

TG: what else does he say

TC: HE SAYS

TC: all in this funny little voice

TC: THAT IS SO

TC: very

TC: VERY

TC: very

TC: VERY

TC: quiet

TC: THAT

TC: it's time

TC: TO GO

TC: mother

TC: FUCKING

TC: kill

TC: THEM

TC: all.

TG: welp

TG: that sounds about right

TG: better do what he says dude

TC: YEAH.

TC: hahaha, here was i to come at you with all these unruly upbraids i got pent up.

TC: WHEN YOU KNOW MOTHERFUCKIN WHAT?

TC: i should be gettin grateful to you for sharing at me your way ridic heresies, brother.

TC: THE ROAD TO THE DARK CARNIVAL HAS NEVER BEFORE BEEN PAVED WITH LOUDER HONK HORNS TO TREAD UPON.

TC: and scare the living motherfuck out of the lowblood faithless with each step. ;o)

TG: hahahahahahahaha

TG: you are either literally an insane psychopathic murderer or some kind of trolling savant

TG: time to block you now but lets do this again ok

TC: YOU FUCKIN KNOW IT, BRO.

TC: i like you.

TC: WOULDN'T MIND TAKING THAT PALE MARSHMALLOW YOU GOT AS A NUGBONE OFF YOUR SHOULDERS.

TC: for this collection i got started on.

TC: ADD A LITTLE STRAWBERRY JAM TO THIS PEANUT BUTTER SANDWICH I'M MAKING BETWEEN MY MOTHER FUCKING LIPS.

TG: holy shit

TC: hey, before you go

TC: HOW ABOUT THAT WE

TC: slam a little. ;oD

TG: uh

They both then proceeded to have one of the best rap-offs in the history of paradox space.

[amazing-spider-man-book-club]

The Amazing Spider-Man #6

Published: November 1963

Containing: "Face to Face with...The Lizard!"

Introducing: Curtis Connors/The Lizard, Martha Connors, Billy Connors

Synopsis: Peter is sent down to Florida to get some photos on a mysterious figure, The Lizard, who is terrorizing the everglades, but soon must discover a way to help this new villain become human again.

Read alongside us here:

https://readcomiconline.li/Comic/The-Amazing-Spider-Man-1963/Issue-6?id=4028

@frankendykes-monster: There's something so humorous to me about naming a villain "The Lizard" after already having one named "The Chameleon". The off-brand model even if they share nothing in common. I had to look up when it was discovered that dinosaurs are more closely related to birds than reptiles but no luck unlike last issue's forcing me to look up how spiders communicate.

The introduction of The Lizard rings like a horror film, the setting in Florida couldn't help but make me think of The Alligator People (1959). Virtually all the tropes like the monster staking a claim in hostile territory and scientific mishaps and an ancient castle ooze charm, it's only the near ending when The Lizard wants to create more reptilian humanoids that you're forcibly reminded that this is a supervillain we're dealing with.

I have to wonder if The Lizard was originally intended to be a one-and-done given the character never returns during Ditko's time on the title but Curt Conners does. Much like Mysterio returning to his first costume, it's something that's only established as an ongoing threat when John Romita takes over. I have to say the character's design is probably the first Ditko one that's something of an acquired taste, had he worn a purple coat and had black eyes with white pupils like on the cover, it would have been more cohesive and threatening, though I'm not a giant fan of more animalistic subsequent designs decades down the line. This issue's title page is another all-time favorite of mine for how much it reads as a three-dimensional space. Ditko occasionally goes all-out, though at the same time I feel like we see way more of Spider-Man sans webbing in this issue (whenever the character is far enough away from the camera that drawing them would be too much of a hassle. Blah.)

I have to wonder what people reading this for the first time have to make of Liz Allen and Betty Brant being Peter's love interests, because if it wasn't a full-time thing last issue, it certainly is now. Betty's appearances in the live-action Spider-Man films have more or less been cameos, is what I'm saying. Given Liz's newfound interest in Spider-Man I think it's quaint if disappointing that it isn't until Civil War, over 40 years after this, that she discovers it's Peter under the mask alongside the rest of the world. Womp womp.

Probably the most realistic thing about this issue is Jameson accidentally starting a tabloid frenzy wherein he demands Spider-Man go down to Florida to fight The Lizard. It's ridiculous but plausible enough that I could see people actually read papers and developing a strong opinion on the matter.

@duel1971 : This issue may be my favorite so far. The story takes Peter out of NYC and down to Florida on J Jonah Jameson’s dime to get pictures of the Lizard. This leads to Peter and Jameson being traveling partners, a concept I would happily read a full-length story about but which is only touched upon briefly here.

Curtis Connors has one of the most well-realized supervillain origins we’ve seen yet in ASM. The tragic nature of the character feels iconic: the loss of an arm motivates him to recklessly experiment on himself and leads to a complete physical transformation that renders him a threat to his beloved family and, as the issue draws on, civilization itself. (Or at least Florida.) In addition, lizards being a natural predator of spiders makes the Lizard’s ability to physically outmaneuver and outmatch Spider-Man feel ordained by nature.

Some parts of the story feel a little clunky – in particular, I’m not sure what a serum that turned a man into a lizard would do to actual lizards. The story doesn’t seem to have a firm idea either, but apparently it would be very bad. I appreciated the attempt to raise the stakes, but found Curtis’s alienation from and eventual reconciliation with his family to be much more compelling.

[writeshite]

Now He's Sad, And Wants His First Love Back

Summary:

The ice pack by his head was upheld by one arm as the other tipped the ice-cold water into his mouth. He’d thanked you, then promptly dropped his head onto the counter, passing out again. You think that’s when you looked at him and decided he was it for you - that and also the bird’s nest of a hair he donned.

Pairings:

Mark Sloan x Male Reader

Tags:

Flashbacks | Past Fluff | Angst

Words: 4028

Author's Note:

I apologize that this took a long ass time, but here it is.

Previous | Series Masterlist | Next

“You think we’ll be like the hottest doctors when we graduate?”

You turn to Mark; the books in between you are a mess, notes strew about as you study for your finals. His head’s on his arms, and the page he’d been staring at for the past hour is long forgotten as he’s been spewing out question after ridiculous question. “What?”

“I mean, you’re hot, I’m hot,” he says.

“Mark, we’ve got out final papers in two weeks, and you’ve barely made it past the first chapter.”

“Yeah, but it’s so hard to concentrate,” he pouts, “I might do better with….an incentive….”

You push his lips away with your pencil, “Not this time, hon; we already lost the weekend because of that.”

“Yeah, but it was a good weekend,” he waggles his eyebrows, and you snort, laughter filling the library, much to the detriment of the librarians.

“Hey.”

George has found you in various hiding spots all over the hospital; as is often the case, you’re sat on the floor, blinds were drawn, knees hugged to your chest. On the door - though George isn’t sure how - you’ve placed a biohazard sign, giving you the privacy you need. He sits down beside you, legs crossed as he picks at his pants, “So…” he starts, “wanna talk about it?”

“Not really,” you respond. 

“You sure, 'cause hiding isn’t going to make the problem go away,” he says.

“Maybe if Addison moved, the problem would follow.” He winces, “Sorry, it’s just that…Mark, he apologized…he said he was sorry,” you tell him. 

“What did you say?”

“Nothing,” you respond, “I ran off. Is that bad? Should I go find him?”

“Find him? No, absolutely not,” George shakes his head.

You huff, leaning back against the wall, the tear streaks drying on your face, George offers a side hug, and you lean in, resting your head against his shoulder. The door opens, and Izzie peeks her head in, “Oh, thank god, it’s just you two.” She joins you on the floor, lying starfish and sighing in relief. “Sorry,” she says, “just needed somewhere to decompress.”

“It’s alright,” you assure her. “We were just talking.”

“About Dr. Sloan?” she asked. George glared at her, and she shrugged, “What? 

“Yeah, he apologized, and I ran away.”

“Well, I’m not sure what to say to that.” Izzie wants to say more, but George is dragging his hand across his throat, expression grim as he attempts to signal her to keep it to herself. You note the tension between them and ask; Izzie sighs, “George doesn’t think you should get back together with Dr. Sloan.”

“And you do?” you raise an eyebrow. 

She nods, eyes cast up to the ceiling, “Alex cheated on me, you know, and I took him back.”

“Well….I wasn’t expecting that,” you admit.

“I don’t think anyone would.” She gazes back at you, “Can I ask you something?” You shrug, “How’d you meet him?”

The study group is just four people - you, Derek, Addison, and Mark - you’re not even sure you’d ever seen the three of them before today. They might have been in the same lectures, but you’d never paid much mind to anything aside from the professor. The compulsory study group was meant to help, but really, all it was doing was proving how shit icebreakers were.

You sat in a circle of chairs, and each of you looked everywhere but at each other - Addison across from you, Derek to your right, and Mark to your left - the other groups were deep in conversation, buzzing off each other’s discussions while your group remained silent. Derek, ever the friendliest, started the discussion, something on medical histories; he and Mark seemed to have some sort of competitive streak going on - Addison shook her head, rolling her eyes as they went off. 

“Are they always like this?” you ask.

“Derek, not really,” Addison replied, “Him, I’m not sure; it’s my first time meeting him and you.” She introduced herself, and you did the same, beginning your own discussion, albeit off-topic.

“...handsome over here will agree with me,” Mark said, hand placed on the back of your chair. You turned to him, a questioning look on your face, “tell him,” he gestured to Derek.

“I’m very lost right now,” you say.

“Who isn’t?” Addison asked. There’s a moment of silence, then chuckles as all four of you find merriment in your mutual confusion.

“So you slept with him after?” 

George elbows Izzie hard, and she grimaces; you shake your head with a slight chuckled, “No, it took a couple more classes before we actually started hanging out outside class,” you tell them, “even then, it was…” you wave your hand around, looking for the right word, “...weird? I found out about Mark’s less than stellar reputation.”

“He wasn’t hitting on me,” you recount, “we were barely even friends, but you know, we got there,” you smile a little, “I remember this one time, I found him hungover on the dorm’s front lawn.” They snicker, “I helped him get back to his room and kinda just dumped him on his bedroom floor.”

It had taken some effort, but once done, Mark had just laid on the floor, arms spread out and legs bent funny - you’d left him there and returned after your elective to find him nursing a headache. The ice pack by his head was upheld by one arm as the other tipped the ice-cold water into his mouth. He’d thanked you, then promptly dropped his head onto the counter, passing out again. You think that’s when you looked at him and decided he was it for you - that and also the bird’s nest of a hair he donned. 

“Was that like a good kiss or a bad kiss?”

“What do you think?” you ask Mark; his face is dazed, eyes wide as he stares at you. He doesn’t say anything else, eyes darting around; you remember it - end of your third year, one of the worst exams you’d done so far, though there were more to come, it felt that way at the time. “Ok, Mark, you’re scaring me; say something.”

He just smiles, “Good kiss…very, very good kiss.”

You grin, holding out your hand, and he takes it; after three days of cramming and no sleep, you find yourself back at your dorms, under the covers. Mark curls around you, head on your chest, his legs tangled with yours, as you fall into slumber.

Addison had been so happy, jumping for joy for the both of you, though now that image didn’t have the same sense of glee as it once did. You smiled sadly, “There’s not much else to say, really,” you look away, “he proposed sometime after we graduated, and the rest is history.” 

“Wow,” they say simultaneously.

“Yeah, also, he apologized.”

George rubs your back, and you lean against him for comfort as Izzie sits up from her position on the floor. Outside the room, there’s not much noise; it’s a slow day today - patient-wise - drama-wise; however, things are rather busy; you’d been detached from the rest of the hospital, though, as your mind processed the apology and Mark in general. 

“So,” Izzie voices, “what’s gonna happen now?”

“Now,” you reply, “now I’m going to stay here until I’m needed or until I have another breakdown.”

You do just that, the day passes in slow increments, and you’re one of the first to leave once your shift is over. Home is still as inviting as ever; Atlas and Gumdrop practically swamp you as soon as your through the door, begging for attention; they follow you closely, already familiar with your distress, and they snuggle up to you when you sit down - paws over your legs as they occupy your personal space. Your phone chimes, another distraction, if not that, it’s the TV, then whatever you can find to occupy you in the apartment. You still haven't thought about Mark; you don’t want to, having wrapped that little issue in a box and shoved it in the very back of your mind.

Of course, that type of solution doesn’t last long; by decree of the universe and the drama-induced nightmare that is Seattle Grace, you find yourself in Mark’s presence once more. He seems hesitant to speak, and you spend some painful moments in silence as you work alongside him. 

“You haven’t said anything,” Mark points out in the elevator; he’s leaning against the wall opposite you; your arms are folded, and you can’t bear to look at each other.

“I don’t know what to say,” you admit, “I was just going to avoid you.” He tilts his head up, gazing at the ceiling. “I mean, where do we even go from here?”

“Couple’s counseling?” he suggests, and you scoff.

“We’d have to be a couple to do that.”

“It’s something, Derek and Addison did it, and they figured out they weren’t gonna make it in the long run,” he clarifies, “we —we could try that.”

You run a hand over your face; god, this elevator ride was long, “And then what? We hold hands and sing kumbayah.” you grimace.

“You don’t —just think about it; if it doesn’t work, you could just deck me in the face,” he attempts to jest, and you respond with a snort, turning away with nothing else to say. 

You seek out Derek, and he confirms what Mark told you, then he backtracks, dots connecting as he realizes why you’re asking. “He didn’t.”

“He did, even offered a free hit if it fails.” 

Derek groans, and you hold your face in your hands, shaking your head as you ponder the options - punching Mark in the face is a tempting offer, a really really tempting offer. “Jesus Christ, what are you gonna do?” You shrug, picking at nothing in particular.

“How was it for you?” you ask him.

“Weird,” he answers, “see, at first, I only went cause Addison and I had been friends for a long time, and I wanted to see that again, and a really, really stupid part of me just wanted to forget finding them in our bed.”

“I know, I’ll probably never get over it; some people, they cheat and work it out, some don’t, and honestly, I don’t know why or how they manage to get back together again,” he elaborates his thoughts, “a part of me was terrified I’d find her cheating again, or that I’d do it, just to hurt her back.” You’re wringing your hands together anxiously, and Derek places his hands on them, “I mean, I had Meredith, and you had Gabriel - however short that was,” he says, “All I can say is, the counseling helped me realize that I could have gone either way, but I made a choice not to. I can’t tell you what to do, but I highly encourage you to kick him in the face.”

You snicker, nodding, “Thanks, Derek.”

The counselor’s office is nice; you and Mark sit on opposite ends of a couch across from the counselor - Dr. Saltzman - he’d been Addison and Derek’s counselor, and you’d thought it easier since he already knew one-half of the disaster.

“So, I know about the relationship before, but I want to know, what are you looking for out of this?”

“I don’t know,” you confess, “I only came because Derek said it helped him put things together; I can’t even look at him or Addison without just…” you gesture in the air, hands forming claw-shapes as you mimic strangling. 

He turns to Mark, “I —I —friends?”

“Are you asking?” Dr. Saltzman asks, “You don’t sound too sure, Mark.” Mark flops back on the couch, looks at you, then back at him, “Let’s start with something simpler then; how do you both feel about the other person?”

“I feel bad….” Mark answers, and you have to resist the urge to scoff, Mark speaks, and you listen to some of it, but you don’t pay as much attention - maybe it’s the setting or just the leftover pent-up emotion - but you just feel hostile. A part of you just wants to raze him to the ground, tear into him until your voice grows hoarse and your eyes are stinging; when he’s finished, Dr. Saltzman turns to you. 

Your eyes dart to Mark; oh, it’s definitely the pent-up anger; you’d never talked about this; most of it had been scraped underneath crates of liquor, followed by hyper-focusing on Atlas and Gumdrop. “I hate you,” you confess, “I hate you so fucking much. I look at Addison, and I want to crawl in a hole; I look at you, and I just want to —” you purse your lips, blinking away the hot tears, you can’t put it into words. You don’t want to put it into words. “ —on the anniversary of our engagement,” you mumble, turning away.

“I’m sorry —”

“Stop saying that,” you hiss.

“I —”

Your hand over your mouth, your lips wobble, and it’s getting harder to blink the tears away. Dr. Saltzman passes you a box of tissues, and you wipe furiously at your eyes, scrunching them in your hand; you stare down at them. “Why?” you ask. You’d never sat on the question for too long; it sent you spiraling so far and so fast into self-depreciation you’d have to drown it out.

Mark’s mouth flaps open and closes a few times, “Was I not good enough for you?” you ask, “Or did you suddenly have a reverse gay panic?” A wet, broken laugh sounds from you, it sort of breaks into hysterical, as you just laugh disparagingly at yourself. “Come on, I know why Addison did it; she was lonely,” you say the word with malice, “but why did you?” you press.

“I mean, I thought things were good,” you continue, “we were going to get married, right? Or was the sex just not good enough for you?” You sneer. His mouth is slightly open, but he doesn’t speak; you forcefully exhale; there’s another question, the one you’d asked yourself over and over as you stared at the ceiling at night. “Did you really love me,” you inquire shakily, “or was I just plan B after Addison?”

“Wh —what?”

“Don’t make me say it again.”

“No….of course, I loved –I love you,” he responds.

“Do you? You left Mark; you took everything and didn’t tell me shit; I thought you’d gotten cold feet and ran off,” you cry, “but, no, no, no, no, no. It was so much worse. It didn’t even cross my mind until I heard it.” The tears are falling free now, and you’re stuck between laughing and crying, “Did I even cross your mind? Do you know what that did to me?!”

“I’m sorry, I —”

“STOP SAYING THAT!” you shout, “Stop it. Stop it. Stop it….” Your head falls into your hands, and you’re fully sobbing, words incoherent as thoughts race around your mind.

“Roses are overrated,” Mark proudly claims.

“Mark, you’re allergic to roses; get over it,” you tell him, “I don’t need roses; you can just get me chocolate.”

“You mean the same kind you never share,” he snarks, and you stick out your tongue.

Stop it.

The graduation ceremony is quiet as the announcer reads out the names, “We are definitely the hottest doctors,” Mark whispers, and you snort so violently all eyes turn to the both of you, cackling on stage as you clutch to the other. 

Stop it.

“You know he sleeps around, right?” You brush your sister, Zoe,  away, and she shakes her head, “I know you’re going to ignore me on this one, but don’t do anything stupid.” Stupid turned out to be one date turning into more. Stupid was falling in love, holding hands, moving in together, adopting dogs, and getting engaged. Stupid was Mark Sloan dancing with you in the middle of the night, hot chocolate cooling as the rain poured outside.

Stop it.

“Good morning, future Mr. Sloan.”

“Good morning, Mr. Sloan,” you kiss his cheek; he hides his face away in your neck, beard grazing your skin as he places open-mouthed kisses there. The euphoria of being engaged hasn’t died down, last night had been a whirlwind, and Mark had pecked you repeatedly, muttering your names together. He stared down at the ring and kissed your hand again and again until he could confirm that, yes, this was, in fact, real.

Stop it.

“You don’t know?”

“Know what?” The other end goes silent, and you almost hear the sound of something snapping when you process the words. The phone drops, and your eyes go vacant; the ring on your finger mocks you, as do the photos and trinkets around your shared - well, not anymore - bedroom. There’s another sound, and you realize it’s you, crying or maybe screaming - who knows - but it echoes around you. 

Stop it.

“I told you this was going to happen; I warned you, didn’t I?”

You ignore Zoe, place your phone face down on the table, and roll over - most of the photos were in storage, the others you burnt, used them for kindling a fire while you tore apart shit in a drunken rage. The ring’s still on your finger; the stupid, hopeful part of you often stares at the door every day, praying Mark will walk through, maybe even crawl on his hands and knees, begging to come back - Estelle tells you he’s doing fine apparently. Derek said he and Addison are trying to work things out again; he doesn’t talk about Mark when he calls; then again, you think he’s calling to make sure you’re still breathing.

Suffice it to say; the session doesn’t end on a happy note. Dr. Saltzman asks to see you individually next time; Derek’s waiting for you when you get back home - beside him is George, and with him comes Izzie, and Meredith, and Christina, and Karev. The latter three stand stiff and uncertain, watching as Derek gathers you in his arms. You don’t tune in to anything, your mind hollow and emotions at an all-time low, and you mostly curl on the couch.

You’re a zombie at work; actions are automated, things just fly by, and you barely have the energy to keep up with much - balling out your eyes at the counselors had emotionally drained you; Mark looks haunted, for lack of a better word. Your individual session with Dr. Saltzman is a lot harder; for starters, there’s no Mark to use as a buffer, “I keep the ring in my nightstand,” you mutter, “wrapped up and stuffed in a box. I was going to sell it, but then I couldn’t….”

“Every time I look at it, I remember the night I got it….I remember how happy I’d been and then….I break down….”

“My ring?” Mark pulls it out, the chain resting in his pocket; he’d thrown it in the garbage once, then dived back in to retrieve it, “I carry it with me; I told everyone else I threw it out.”

“Do you do that out of guilt?”

“Maybe.”

“You don’t seem to have any answers for your actions, Mark,” he points out, “and when you do, they vary between maybe and I don’t know.” Dr. Saltzman, “Usually, there’s something to work out, but with you, there seems to be no real motive behind your cheating. You say the relationship had been fine, the happiest you’d ever felt in a long time, so why then? Why do it?”

Mark’d never been able to answer the question to himself, on the off chance he’s found himself thinking back to it, the vivid moments of clarity when the glint of the engagement ring shone back in his face. And like a coward, he decided the best way to deal with it was to run, take what he could, and just run. He wanted to convince Addison to come back; if both their relationships were in the gutter, why not settle with the other? But then the guilt never left. And when Addison, he, and Derek somehow built back a bridge, it weighed on him - the what if? What if he’d gone to you first and confessed what he’d done? Would you have sat in a counselor’s office like this and worked it out? Would you have thrown the ring in his face? What if you’d forgiven him? What if you’d thrown him out? What if he hadn’t been a coward and just faced the music back then?

Dr. Saltzman clears his throat, “I believe you engaged in what is referred to as Opportunistic Infidelity, the guilt of which may have driven you to run. Whether it stemmed from your own personal feelings of inadequacy, the need for more than just your fiance’s attention.” He explains, “You cheated on the anniversary of your engagement, and I’m not defending you but had you any drinks; I’d hazard a guess; your inhibitions flew out the window. Or pettily, you may have had a fight or minor squabble with Derek, and Addison presented an opportunity to get back at him.”

“Do you still love Mark?”

You huff, exhaling, “I rebounded with a friend. He was familiar. It was nice. But every time he’d hold me; I’d just —” Gabriel looked nothing like Mark, thank god, but then he’d do something, and suddenly he did; it was like in the beginning, when you’d think Mark was calling you somewhere in the apartment, or when you’d hope every phone call was the closure you’d finally receive. “ —I don’t want to,” you answer his original question.

“Does the outcome of romantic reconciliation terrify you?”

You nod, biting your lip and trying to settle the slight tremble in your hands. “Sometimes I think about getting back with him, just so I can do the same, pack up the apartment and disappear without a word,” you scowl. “I hate that I still love him.”

“Do you want him back in your life?” 

“Should I want him back in my life?”

“Do you think you’d be able to look past the infidelity? You mentioned how Addison and Mark bring it up simply by existing.”

“I don’t know if I’d be able to,” you reply, “I mean, yes, I do miss him, but I don’t know if I’d be able to handle it a second time if it happened.” 

“If you did take him back, would you set any new boundaries and conditions?”

“Possibly, he and Addison don’t talk much from what I’ve seen; I’d want to wade the waters first, see if this feeling is real or if I’m just latching onto him out of habit.”

“Do you want a romantic reconciliation? Or are you just chasing after familiarity?” Mark doesn’t answer; he holds his head in his hands, tugging at his hair. 

“I think I miss him,” Mark answers, “even if I don’t get a second chance, I just want him back in my life.”

“Well, I’ll admit, aside from the cheating, there’s also the lack of trust, and I won’t sugarcoat it, Mark; even people who’ve managed to come back after something like this haven’t always done so easily.”

“I know.”

“What if he had conditions? Would you jump through hoops to meet them?”

He nods, “At this point, I’d do anything to have him back in my life.”

Your next joint session starts off with Dr. Saltman speaking, “How are you both feeling? I imagine pouring your hearts out has been exhausting.” You both nod, “My suggestion would be for both of you to test the waters; the familiarity between you could be what draws you together, with no actual subsistence.”

“I advise a 30-day trial run if you will; we continue these individual and joint sessions, and the two of you attend an ice breaker of sorts, somewhere neutral and calming - here in my office, or a park or cafe.” He suggests, eyes darting between the both of you. “At the end of 30 days, we reassess —”

“What if it’s more hostile?” Mark inquires.

“Then we reassess, until then if anything happens in between, we can restart the clock.” He says, “Any questions?”

End Note:

Side Note: I'm not a marriage counselor or a therapist, so please don't take this as the gospel or anything. Anyway, here's the fourth chapter, hope you enjoyed it, sorry for the long wait. Stay Hydrated.

[vipinmishra]

Aerospace 3D Printing Market Surges with Rise in Lightweight Component Demand

Rapid prototyping in the aerospace sector and the increase in the utilization of light weight components is driving the Global Aerospace 3D Printing Market.

According to TechSci Research report, “Aerospace 3D Printing Market- Global Industry Size, Share, Trends, Competition, Opportunity, and Forecast, 2018-2030”. Global Aerospace 3D Printing market is growing because traditional materials are being replaced with new, lightweight, high-strength materials, which is an efficient way to achieve the goals of lowering emissions, using fewer materials, and improving fuel efficiency. The 3D printed components are highly used for rapid prototyping in the aerospace industry and the companies have started using engine components made from a 3D printed process. In addition to manufacturing expenses, maintenance costs can be decreased as well because 3D-printed parts require less maintenance.

Other than material expenses, the price of printing 10 pieces of the same product versus 10 pieces of ten distinct products is the same. The addictive manufacturing process is helping in making the components cost effective and light weight. All these factors are driving the growth of the global Aerospace 3D Printing Market during the forecast period.

To increase the usage of 3D-printed parts and components in more advanced aircraft and spacecraft, several aerospace OEMs are now funding extensive research programs. Additionally, the adoption of 3D-printed parts is expanding in the aftermarket sector since doing so could ease the strain on conventional supply networks. period. The advantages that 3D printing provides have made it more widely accepted in the aviation industry. With shorter lead times, lower prices, and more digitally flexible design and development techniques, 3D printing generates parts.

Both customers and manufacturers experience significant cost savings because of the adoption of 3D printing. However, the COVID-19 has impacted the industry as because of lockdowns and other curbs all the manufacturing process was hampered, and this has resulted in the decline in the growth of the market. However, in the forecast years the Global Aerospace 3D Printing Market will exhibit higher growth rate.

Browse more than XX market data Figures spread through XX Pages and an in-depth TOC on  " Global Aerospace 3D Printing Market" https://www.techsciresearch.com/report/aerospace-3d-printing-market/4028.html

The Global Aerospace 3D Printing Market is segmented based on application, material type, printer technology type, by region, and by company. Based on application, the market is further divided into aircraft, unmanned aerial vehicles, & spacecraft. Based on material, the market is bifurcated into alloys & special metals. On the basis of printer technology, the market is further segmented into SLA, FDM, DMLS, SLS, CLIP and others.

Some of the major companies operating in the Global Aerospace 3D Printing Market include:

Aerojet Rocketdyne Holdings Inc.

MTU Aero Engines AG

GE Aviation

Stratasys, Ltd.

The Exone Company,

Materialise NV

3D Systems, Inc

Hoganas AB

Envisiontec GmbH

EOS GmbH

These are the key players developing advanced technologies and launching new products to stay competitive in the market. Other competitive strategies include mergers with the research and development firms, new product developments, and marketing activities to increase customer outreach. These companies are also focusing on meeting the regulations of different regional governments and are also partnering with different defense research bodies to stay competitive in the market.

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“In the next few years, 3D printing is anticipated to develop into a speedy method for producing low-volume parts  that can be used in the mass manufacturing of the components of big metal and the process is also used in the prototyping of the component. The advancements and technological innovations in the industry is expected  drive Global Aerospace 3D Printing Market growth” said Mr. Karan Chechi, Research Director with TechSci Research, a research-based global management consulting firm.

“Aerospace 3D Printing Market- Global Industry Size, Share, Trends, Competition, Opportunity, and Forecast, 2018-2030” has evaluated the future growth potential of Global Aerospace 3D Printing Market and provides statistics & information on market size, structure, and future market growth. The report intends to provide cutting-edge market intelligence and help decision makers take sound investment decisions. Besides, the report also identifies and analyzes the emerging trends along with essential drivers, challenges, and opportunities in the global Aerospace 3D Printing Market.

Browse Related Research

Micro Vsat Market https://www.techsciresearch.com/report/micro-vsat-market/19239.html Military Satellite Market https://www.techsciresearch.com/report/military-satellite-market/19241.html More Electric Aircraft Market https://www.techsciresearch.com/report/more-electric-aircraft-market/19242.html Nanosatellites and Microsatellite Market https://www.techsciresearch.com/report/nanosatellites-and-microsatellite-market/19243.html

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[lapseudosphere]

5. Comportement et lieux d'intérêt (pseudossier : le phénomène ovni)

À lire avant pour ne pas être trop perdu :

1. Petit historique - Partie 1

Pseudocomplément : l'affaire Roswell

2. Petit historique - Partie 2

3. Petit historique - Partie 3

4. Caractéristiques générales

Je remercie les chercheuses et chercheurs cité·e·s dans ce pseudossier pour leurs travaux. Pour réaliser ce pseudossier, je me suis appuyé sur des films documentaires, des interviews vidéos, des ouvrages, des articles de presse ou de sites internet. Je remercie les pseudosphéristes passionnés qui en sont à l’origine.

Principales pseudosources :

Je me suis appuyé sur l’ouvrage suivant pour l’ensemble de ce pseudossier : Franck Maurin, Les mystères du phénomène ovni - de la préhistoire à nos jours, Éditions La Vallée Heureuse, 2016

Durée des observations d'ovnis : https://rr0.org/time/1/9/7/4/07/20/LesOvnisUneRealite/

Statistiques sur le nombre de témoins par observation : Éric Zurcher, les apparitions mondiales d'humanoïdes, Éditions Le Temps Présent, 2018

Plage horaire des observations d'ovnis d'après une étude canadienne : http://www.canadianuforeport.com/survey/UFOsOverCanada.pdf (page 53)

Quasi-collision le 6 janvier 1995 : Chaîne ParaNormal ChaNNel, Un Boeing 737 évite une collision de justesse avec un OVNI à Manchester (Angleterre) - 1995 (https://www.dailymotion.com/video/x3oei9f)

Possible collision avec un ovni en août 1946 : (en anglais) Timothy Good, A Need to Know: UFOs, the Military and Intelligence, Sidgwick and Jackson, 2006 (page 39)

Disparition de Frederick Valentich : https://fr.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cas_Valentich

Combat aérien au Pérou : Leslie Kean, Ovnis, des généraux des pilotes et des officiels parlent, Editions Dervy, 2010 (pages 125 à 132)

La bataille de Los Angeles : https://fr.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bataille_de_Los_Angeles

La nuit des ovnis : Egon Kragel et Yves Couprie, Ovnis - Enquête sur un secret d'États, Éditions Le cherche midi, 2010 (page 19) (en anglais) https://en-academic.com/dic.nsf/enwiki/11414787 Chaine Nuréa TV, « Rencontres entre Pilotes et OVNIs » avec Franck Maurin (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RDYFt3DCf2w&t=8892s, à 2 h 44 min 20 s)

Ovnis en forme de seringue : Éric Zurcher, les apparitions mondiales d'humanoïdes, Éditions Le Temps Présent, 2018 (pages 310 - 311)

Message télépathique à l'approche d'un ovni : Ouvrage collectif sous la direction de Fabrice Bonvin, Ovnis et conscience, Éditions le Temps Présent, 2015 (p.81)

Col de Vence : Egon Kragel et Yves Couprie, Ovnis - Enquête sur un secret d'États, Éditions Le cherche midi, 2010 (pages 261-262)

Occupation des territoires par les ovnis dans les lieux légendaires ou par vagues : Éric Zurcher, les apparitions mondiales d'humanoïdes, Éditions Le Temps Présent, 2018 (pages 275 à 276)

Black Out 1965 : (en anglais) https://ufologie.patrickgross.org/htm/blackout65.htm (en anglais) http://www.santafeghostandhistorytours.com/UFO-BLACKOUT-1965.html https://ufologie.patrickgross.org/ce3/1965-11-09-usa-newyorkcityf.htm (en anglais) http://ufoexperiences.blogspot.com/2005_09_01_archive.html

Ovni de l'aéroport de Bariloche en Argentine : (en espagnol) https://www.elcordillerano.com.ar/noticias/2016/08/01/18748-caso-polanco-hace-21-anos-un-ovni-volo-sobre-bariloche

Concernant le lien entre le phénomène ovni et le nucléaire, voici deux vidéos très complètes diffusées sur le média Nuréa TV : https://nurea.tv/ovnis-et-centrales-nucleaires-avec-stephane-royer/ https://nurea.tv/ovnis-et-armes-nucleaires-avec-stephane-royer/

Ovnis survolant les complexes militaires entre 1947 et 1952 : Egon Kragel et Yves Couprie, Ovnis - Enquête sur un secret d'États, Éditions Le cherche midi, 2010 (pages 195-196) https://ufologie.patrickgross.org/htm/tf.htm#twinkle Chaine Nuréa TV, OVNIs et Armes Nucléaires avec Stéphane Royer (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=spUw8NaRlhI&t=4028s, à 7 min 20)

Cas de Vanderberg en 1964 : Stéphane Royer et Didier Gomez, Ovnis et nucléaire, Éditions JMG, 2021 (pages 37-38 et 326-327) (en anglais) https://nypost.com/2021/10/21/former-air-force-chief-claims-he-once-saw-ufo-firing-at-nuke-missiles-launched-from-secret-base/

Cas d'intrusions dans les années 70 : Jean Gabriel Greslé, Documents interdits - La fin d'un secret, Éditions Dervy (revue et augmentée), 2020 (pages 209 à 221)

Cas de Warren en 2010 : Stéphane Royer et Didier Gomez, Ovnis et nucléaire, Éditions JMG, 2021 (pages 72 à 83)

Cas de Byelokoroviche (1982) et de Kasputin Yar (1989) : Stéphane Royer et Didier Gomez, Ovnis et nucléaire, Éditions JMG, 2021 (pages 139 à 147)

Cas d'Hammaguir (1964) : Stéphane Royer et Didier Gomez, Ovnis et nucléaire, Éditions JMG, 2021 (pages 86 à 91)

Vidéo d'ovni au-dessus de la centrale de Fukushima : https://www.20min.ch/fr/story/un-ovni-apercu-au-dessus-de-fukushima-726743804556

Ovnis dans la région de Fukushima : (en anglais) https://www.dailymail.co.uk/sciencetech/uk-science-tech-weekend-features-project/article-11854841/The-Japanese-mountain-magnet-UFOs.html (en anglais) https://www.japantimes.co.jp/news/2023/03/21/national/fukushima-ufo-sightings/

Catastrophe de Tchernobyl : Stéphane Royer et Didier Gomez, Ovnis et nucléaire, Éditions JMG, 2021 (pages 228 à 238) Didier van Cauwelaert, Intégrale Dictionnaire de l'impossible, Éditeur Plon, 2013 (voir "Tchernobyl") https://www.laradioactivite.com/site/pages/Querelledechiffres.htm

Activité des ovnis en Iran et au-dessus des gisements d'uranium : Stéphane Royer et Didier Gomez, Ovnis et nucléaire, Éditions JMG, 2021 (pages 293, 294, 315 et 316)

Études statistiques sur le lien entre les ovnis et le nucléaire, ainsi que sur la corrélation avec le mégatonnage : Stéphane Royer et Didier Gomez, Ovnis et nucléaire, Éditions JMG, 2021 (pages 31, 32, 320 et 321)

[rnomics]

IJMS, Vol. 24, Pages 4028: Germline NUP98 Variants in Two Siblings with a Rothmund–Thomson-Like Spectrum: Protein Functional Changes Predicted by Molecular Modeling

Two adult siblings born to first-cousin parents presented a clinical phenotype reminiscent of Rothmund–Thomson syndrome (RTS), implying fragile hair, absent eyelashes/eyebrows, bilateral cataracts, mottled pigmentation, dental decay, hypogonadism, and osteoporosis. As the clinical suspicion was not supported by the sequencing of RECQL4, the RTS2-causative gene, whole exome sequencing was applied and disclosed the homozygous variants c.83G>A (p.Gly28Asp) and c.2624A>C (p.Glu875Ala) in the nucleoporin 98 (NUP98) gene. Though both variants affect highly conserved amino acids, the c.83G>A looked more intriguing due to its higher pathogenicity score and location of the replaced amino acid between phenylalanine-glycine (FG) repeats within the first NUP98 intrinsically disordered region. Molecular modeling studies of the mutated NUP98 FG domain evidenced a dispersion of the intramolecular cohesion elements and a more elongated conformational state compared to the wild type. This different dynamic behavior may affect the NUP98 functions as the minor plasticity of the mutated FG domain undermines its role as a multi-docking station for #RNA and proteins, and the impaired folding can lead to the weakening or the loss of specific interactions. The clinical overlap of NUP98-mutated and RTS2/RTS1 patients, accounted by converging dysregulated gene networks, supports this first-described constitutional NUP98 disorder, expanding the well-known role of NUP98 in #cancer. https://www.mdpi.com/1422-0067/24/4/4028?utm_source=dlvr.it&utm_medium=tumblr

[just6f]

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[ag47yama]

2022/12/22

研究

ボスからの論文のコメントが返ってこなかったので，関連研究の論文を読んでいた． 今まで論文を大して読んでこなかったので，今一良く分からない事が多い． 研究室内でも研究室外でも，定期的に論文輪講か何か開催(参加)しておけばよかった．

論文紹介

論文

Jun Yen Leung, Guy Emerson, and Ryan Cotterell. 2020. Investigating Cross-Linguistic Adjective Ordering Tendencies with a Latent-Variable Model. In Proceedings of the 2020 Conference on Empirical Methods in Natural Language Processing (EMNLP), pages 4016–4028, Online. Association for Computational Linguistics.

概要

共通の名詞に係る形容詞の語順の傾向を潜在変数モデルを用いてコーパスから学習するというもの．"the big red dog"と"the red big dog"では，前者の方が自然に聞こえる．日本語に直すと「大きな赤い犬」と「赤い大きな犬」では，「大きな赤い犬」の方が自然．この傾向はある程度の言語に共通して言えることだという事が知られている．提案手法では，ある言語に関して学習した傾向を他言語にも流用することができ，またそれを可能にするために，前置修飾言語と後置修飾言語とで操作を入れ替えるなどしている．

分からなかったこと

提案手法として，潜在変数モデルを用いて，2語間の前後関係を学習する． この際の潜在変数の数を少なく設定することで，計算時間が短くて済む． また，語順の前後関係を学習せずに，潜在変数を固定する方法も説明されているのだが，その際に潜在変数によるクラスの順が正しくなるように固定するとか．それって学習じゃないの？

本当はもっと詳細に説明しようと思っていたのだが，段々面倒になってきたので雑で済ませることにした．

タスク

[ ] ビームサーチ

[ ] 副手作業

[x] 論文読み

[ ] 論文執筆(及び周辺作業)

[ ] 筋トレ

[mspatransparents]

an assortment of terezis from pages 2124, 2125, 2127, 2128, and 2130!

[boldly-ho]

Another Life - Chapter 22

Fandom: What We Do in the Shadows 

Pairing: Vladislav x Reader

Series Rating: E

Word Count: 4028 (She’s twice as long as most of my chapters, but that’s a low bar, so who cares?)

Chapter Summary: Vladislav and Reader go on a first date, complete with hiking, fireworks, and stargazing. Sometimes, he’s romantic like that.

A/N: Never hike in the dark. Never run on a hiking trail. Always wear appropriate footwear when hiking. If you break these rules, you will break your ankle, and also you will break your pride. As per usual, this is on AO3.

You stood in front of the mirror, your hair and makeup flawless. At least, as flawless as you were capable of doing by yourself. Still, you’d count that as a win. You turned to face the bed where your clothes were laid out, and let the bathrobe fall to the ground. You’d showered today, despite your bath last night. You’d wanted to shave, though you consciously avoided thinking about why.

On the bed lay your favorite black dress, the one you always wear. You fought back a crisis of nerves while looking at it. He’d seen you wear it a million times, give or take. Maybe you should have gone out and bought a new dress today…? Well, it was too late now, and that dress was your go-to for a reason. On the floor beside the bed were the matching shoes. Laid out next to the dress was a set of matching undergarments. You’d also decided not to think about your rationale behind that, either.

You pulled on the clothes and shoes, but still felt naked. You glanced over to your silver cross necklace, sitting on top of your bedside table. You’d made the decision not to wear it tonight. You wouldn’t needing, and you wouldn’t even be able to take it out in front of Vladislav without affecting him, too. Still, even despite your encounter with the vampire that tried to kill you, you felt incomplete when not wearing it.

You checked yourself out in the mirror, dressed and made up and ready to go. Okay, you looked good. Thankfully.

In your enthusiasm (and anxiety), you’d started getting ready too early. Now, you were prepared to leave, and the sun had set only minutes ago. Vladislav probably wasn’t even awake yet. Swiping your book from its resting place on your bed, you trotted downstairs, resigning yourself to waiting on the couch.

You passed Viago on the stairs, and he gave you a not-so-subtle conspiratorial wink, saying, “You look very nice tonight, Y/N.”

“Thanks, Viago.”

“Deacon and I are helping Vlad get ready. We’ll try not to take too long.” He threw you another cheesy wink and you good-naturedly rolled your eyes.

Your eyes scanned the letters in the book, and your fingers turned the pages, but your brain didn’t absorb any of the words. Instead, you were straining your ears, trying, and failing, to hear anything from your flatmates upstairs.

You were excited. Of course you were excited. But you were nervous. Wary, even. Hadn’t Vladislav just been telling the other guys he wasn’t interested in you? And how interested in him were you, really? What if he wanted something serious? What if he didn’t want something serious? What is it that you, yourself, wanted? You were attracted to him, yes. You’d finally come around to that. But what if-

Calm down, Y/N. It’s just a first date. Don’t get ahead of yourself. Don’t get yourself worked up.

You shut the book as you finally heard voices upstairs, walking down the hall and coming towards you. This was it.

Deacon came down first, well ahead of Viago and Vladislav. He saw you sitting on the couch, made a point of looking you up and down, and said, “The black dress again?”

You felt panic rising within you yet again. “Should I have bought another dress? I almost did!”

Deacon laughed, taking the seat beside you. “No. It’s nice. It makes you look wanton, but not too wanton.”

You gaped at him. “I’m sorry, ‘wanton?’”

Before he could respond, Viago and Vladislav came down the stairs and into the lounge. Vladislav also looked much as he always did, thankfully, and was not wearing one of his ‘going out’ ensembles. He wore his usual dark pants, shirt, and suspenders. As always, his shirt was open much too low and you had to force yourself not to stare.

He looked good.

“Are you ready to go?” Vladislav asked you.

You nodded, picking up your bag, and meeting him at the doorway. “Let’s go.”

He held the door open for you, and shut it behind you both as you headed left down the sidewalk.

“Where are you going?”

You turned around to find him still standing in front of the house, staring at you, a small smirk on his face.

“The bus stop?” You gestured vaguely towards it.

“We’re walking.” He tossed his head to right, up the sidewalk in the opposite direction from the bus stop. “Unless you’d rather take the bus?”

“No!” you quickly assured him, rushing back up the street to join him. “I’d enjoy walking.”

“Good. I figured it’s still early. We have time to get to the harbor before the fireworks start.”

You gave him a small smile as you both started walking, side by side, towards the harbor. You walked in amicable silence, but your heart was beating uncontrollably quickly. What were you supposed to say? You’d never done this before. Every other first date you’d been on had been with someone who was more or less a stranger. Vladislav was your flatmate, your friend.

This was uncharted territory.

“Breathe, Y/N.”

“What?”

“Calm down,” he said. “I can hear your heartbeat racing.”

Oh, god. That didn’t bode well for you, overall.

“Sorry,” you said.

“Don’t apologize. Is that a good racing or a bad racing?”

You decided to respond honestly. “Both?”

“Ah. That’s the second to last thing I wanted to hear,” he teased.

You laughed. You felt your pulse returning to normal.

“What’s the bad racing from, then?”

“It’s not bad, bad. Just nerves, really. I’ve never really done this before.” Catching the look he was throwing you, you quickly amended, “I mean I’ve done this before, obviously, just never with someone I already knew. I feel like none of the first date small talk applies.”

He smiled gently. “Like what?”

“Like the getting to know you questions. What do you do? Where are you from? How many siblings do you have? What’s your favorite color? That sort of stuff.”

He laughed. Loudly. Warmly. The sound made you almost lightheaded. You found that you smiled, in spite of yourself.

“And those are all things you know about me already?” he asked, still grinning. “Not one of those questions apply?”

Your smile fell and a look of puzzlement took its place. You knew Vladislav. You lived with Vladislav. You were friends. You spoke every single night. But, now that he had called you on it, you realized you didn’t know all that much about him.

“Uhh…” you fumbled for your words. “Your favorite color is black?”

He drew one eyebrow up, his mustache twitching with a smile. “Are you sure?”

“Yes?”

He laughed again. You could practically feel the air around you vibrate with it. You could get drunk off that laugh.

“It’s red actually.”

“Red?” you asked, surprised. “Really?”

“Sure. It’s a very intense, passionate color. I like that.”

You supposed that made sense.

“Okay, then, where are you from?”

“Eastern Europe.”

Now it was your turn to laugh. “Yeah, I gathered that. Care to be more specific?”

Vladislav shrugged. “Countries’ borders are constantly being redrawn. Especially in Europe. I moved around a fair bit, too. My parents sold me to a circus troupe when I was a boy.”

You exhaled a small laugh before catching his gaze. Oh. He wasn’t kidding.

“I’m sorry. That’s awful.”

He brushed off your concern. “It’s fine. I don’t remember too much of my human life. It was so long ago. From what I remember of traveling with the troupe, I mostly enjoyed it.”

Still. Wow.

“Why did you decide to come to New Zealand?”

He sighed heavily. “I killed another vampire. That’s a pretty big deal,” he told you. You probably could have guessed that much. “Vampires are usually sentenced to death for killing other vampires.”

A pause.

“Am I allowed to ask why you killed this other vampire?”

“He was a rival vampire. He stole my schtick and all but stole my name, and he purposely benefitted from my reputation. He refused to back down. It was hundreds of years of bullshit until we dueled and I killed him.”

“Your ‘schtick?’”

“You know how I’m Vladislav the Poker?”

“It’s come up, yeah.”

“That’s because I’m known for torturing people. And my thing was poking people with implements.”

“Like stabbing people?” you asked before your brain could really register what he was saying. When your brain did finally catch up, you interrupted yourself, exclaiming, “Wait, torturing people? You torture people?”

“Yes. Well, not so much anymore. I still have the torture chamber, though.”

“You have an entire torture chamber?”

“Yes? In the hallway that leads to Petyr’s room.” He looked at you, bewildered, as if you should have known that no house was complete without a functioning torture chamber.

“In our house! There’s a torture chamber in our house?!” you exclaimed.

“Yes, Y/N. Please, say it louder for everyone to hear.”

“Sorry,” you said at a much lower volume, though you weren’t that sorry.

“I thought you knew that.”

You weren’t sure if he was referring to his international repute as a torturer or the special little man cave he had in your own home devoted to such proclivities, but either way you were shocked.

“I though it was a storage closet,” you admitted.

“Uhh… no.”

“Okay, well, anyway, you killed another vampire and weren’t sentenced to death, yourself…?”

“Yes. Well, he wasn’t well-liked, so I was kicked out of Europe instead of killed. It was for the best, anyway. I was going through some shit with an ex-girlfr-“ he stopped in the middle of the word, probably realizing he shouldn’t be talking about his ex on a first date. You let the moment pass, though, and he awkwardly cleared his throat before continuing. “I had some friends in New Zealand at the time, so I moved down to Wellington and I’ve been here ever since.”

“So this rival vampire, anyone I would’ve heard of?” you teased.

“No,” he said flatly, not matching your teasing tone. This rival must still be a sore spot, all these years later. You made a mental note not to bring it up again. “When I killed Vlad the Impaler, I wiped his name from history.”

You sucked in a surprised gasp upon, obviously, recognizing the name. But you ended up inhaling your own saliva, and breaking into a very unattractive coughing fit. Hacking, gasping, tearing up, the whole nine. Vladislav comfortingly rubbed your back as you recovered.

“Are you alright?” he asked once you’d finally recovered.

You nodded, not trusting yourself to speak. Eventually, while wiping any smeared makeup from under your eyes, you said, “I’m okay, thanks. Sorry.” You decided not to clarify that you, and pretty much every other human alive today had at least heard of Vlad the Impaler, while no one had heard of the ‘infamous’ Vlad the Poker. Best to just let him have this one.

As you approached the harbor, you could see plenty of people already sitting on the beach, atop their blankets, towels, and folding chairs, ready to watch the fireworks. You realized neither you nor he had brought anything to sit on. Before you could stress about it, though, he led you past the crowds and up to the ferry.

“I’m sorry, sir, we’re all sold out,” the attendant told him, not even bothering to look up from his phone.

In response, Vladislav reached into his pocket and pulled out two tickets for the next ferry. He’d bought them in advance, you realized with a rush of giddiness. He’d thought out the evening. The two of you boarded the ferry just minutes before it pulled away from the dock, and Vladislav pulled you by the hand to the right side of the boat.

“The fireworks are about to start. We can see them better from this side.”

As if on cue, the first fireworks lit up the sky, and the two of you stayed silent, unable to hear each other speak over the cracks and booms of the explosives. You took a half step closer to him, watching the reflection of the fireworks in the dark water of the harbor. He didn’t move away.

Eventually, when the ferry had moved far enough from the fireworks, so that they could be seen, but weren’t so deafening as to prevent conversation, Vladislav turned around, facing into the boat, and spread his arms out on the railing to lean against it. His left arm crossed in front of your body, and his hand almost touching yours. He was so close that if you took a single step sideways, he’d be fully in front of you.

Looking down at you he asked, “Enjoying the fireworks?”

You looked away from his face and back towards the fireworks bursting over the water, and the receding, twinkling lights of the city as you continued away from the shoreline. “It’s a stunning view.”

“It really is.” You glanced up at him, to find his eyes locked on you, not the lights.

The line was cheesy. It was so cheesy.

It was so cheesy.

It was so cheesy.

Maybe, if you kept telling yourself that, the butterflies in your stomach would stop.

They refused to stop, though, so you smiled and shyly looked down. His left hand was dangerously close to yours. You moved your hand closer, taking your forefinger, and tracing the pattern of the ring on his pinky. You glanced up to make sure your action was okay, not too intimate. He still stared down at you, with that same small smile on his face, so you turned your face back down to your hands and continued your ministrations.

“I like your ring,” you told him.

“Thank you.” His voice was lower, softer. You almost missed the words.

It suddenly felt like so much, too much, and you were relieved when he gently extricated his hand from yours and turned around, leaning over the railing to once again admire the fireworks. As their colored lights illuminated the night sky, you looked around the harbor, and realized where you were going.

“Is this the Matiu Island ferry?”

Vladislav nodded in affirmation.

“I didn’t think the island was open this late.”

“It usually isn’t,” he confirmed. “But they make exceptions for some of the city-wide events.”

“Oh,” you said.

“But the whole island isn’t open. Just the beach. We’re going to have to sneak past the employees.”

If he was joking, he certainly didn’t let on. Still, a vampire on your side couldn’t hurt your ability to sneak, and if he was serious, you were game to try.

The ferry approached the island just as the fireworks were hitting their finale. You, Vladislav, and most of the other passengers on the boat stayed put as they finished, and the last lingering impressions of the show faded from the dark sky. Eventually, everyone streamed off of the boat and onto the beach. Apparently, there were activities set up for the after-hours version of the island.

As everyone walked towards the events, and the employees handing out water and snacks, Vladislav grabbed your hand and pulled you in the opposite direction. You headed towards the trailheads, manned by a single employee, very clearly there to keep visitors on the beach where they belonged. As it turned out, there was very little sneaking required of you, as Vladislav brazenly hypnotized the young man into letting both of you pass.

The two of you disappeared into the bush, following the barely visibly trail in the dark. You probably should feel foolish, traipsing through the bush in your favorite little black dress and matching shoes, neither of which were remotely suitable for hiking. Instead, you felt nearly high. Vladislav still had your hand, pulling you along. It was quiet, conspiratorial. Intimate, almost.

You weren’t sure whether or not it was necessary, but you kept silent until you were certain you were out of earshot of the hypnotized man. When you decided you were probably far enough into the bush, you asked, albeit softly, where you were going.

“There’s a spot I know, at the top of the island. It’s perfect for stargazing.”

You felt goosebumps rise on your arms, though you weren’t sure how much that could be attributed to the chilly night air.

Eventually, Vladislav stopped. In the darkness, you barely avoided running into him before your eyes registered him stopped there in front of you.

“Why’d we stop?” Again, it was whispered. You feared that speaking too loudly would shatter… you didn’t know what exactly, but you definitely didn’t want it shattered.

“We’re venturing off-trail, here. Is that okay? Are your shoes okay for all this walking?”

You smiled at the concern in his voice. “I’ll be fine. Maybe we could slow down a little, though? Since we’re headed off-trail?”

He nodded as he lead you into the thick brush off the trail. Your route steepened significantly, and it felt more like you were climbing than walking for a while. Eventually, though, the hill leveled out, and you cleared the trees and scrub to enter into a small, grassy clearing. It overlooked the beach and the harbor, and you could see the lights of Wellington on the shore. It was gorgeous.

“You alright?” he asked. Out of the dense brush, and in the open, you could finally see him clearly again. “Caught your breath?”

You nodded, despite the fact that, no, you had not yet caught your breath.

“Come sit down,” he told you.

He moved with a supernatural, vampiric speed, and so to your eyes, he more or less appeared laying on the grass, hands folded behind his head. Though stunned for a moment, you quickly recovered, and moved to lay beside him. You slid closer to him, not quite touching, but hardly more than a hair’s breadth away.

The stars above you twinkled beautifully, and more numerous than you often saw in the city. The crescent moon shone brightly, and you took out your phone, zoomed in, and snapped a quick photo. The stars didn’t show up, but the moon looked better than you could have hoped for a phone picture, so you quickly saved the image and tucked the phone away again, returning your gaze to the view above you.

“Gorgeous,” you breathed.

“Very.” This time he was actually looking at the stars.

“Do you come here a lot?”

He nodded. “Yes, actually. I like to come out here to be alone.”

“How do you get out here if the island is usually closed at night?”

“I fly.”

Flying. Right. Of course. Ask a silly question…

“Thank you for sharing it with me,” you told him. You felt honored that he was willing to bring you somewhere special to him. “It’s beautiful here.”

You stared at the stars, following the occasional wandering satellite with your eyes. At one point, a cool breeze blew through, and you shivered. Vladislav sidled up to you, and managed to slide one of his arms under your head. He didn’t produce any body heat, but he did insulate you from the cold air. You leaned into him.

For warmth.

“Better?” His voice was low, calming, warm. You could feel the word exhaled onto your skin.

You hummed in contented affirmation.

“Good.”

“So,” you began, angling your face so that you were looking in his direction. Your noses were almost touching, but you willed yourself not to pull away. It was nice, really. “What made you decide to ask me out?”

“Why?” he asked, so quietly, so closely, a teasing smile forming in his eyes. “Are you not having a nice time?”

You matched his smile and tone. “I’m having a very nice time, actually.”

“I’m glad to hear that.”

“But, I did hear you telling Viago and Deacon the other day that you definitely weren’t interested in me, so this is a bit of a left turn.”

He sighed. “Ah.”

“Ah,” you echoed, though still smiling. “That obviously wasn’t true, though?”

“Obviously.” You could see his eyes twinkling in the starlight.

After a period of silence, you finally said, “You don’t have to tell me anything if you don’t want to.”

“No, no, it’s fine,” he began, his face still inches from yours. “I don’t want to get into it, but I haven’t actually dated in while. Not since I went through a bad breakup a few years ago.”

You had gathered that ‘a few years’ really wasn’t that long to a vampire, but still. Was he scared of getting hurt?

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright.”

Each time he spoke, the air he exhaled wafted over you. It smelled sweet, surprisingly. You couldn’t remember ever finding the scent of somebody’s breath so pleasant. You stared into his hazel eyes, glancing briefly down to his lips, which were framed by his facial hair and looking surprisingly soft.

And somehow, suddenly, his lips were on yours.

The first sensation you registered was that of his facial hair, coarse against your skin. Immediately after, your brain latched onto the feeling of his lips moving against yours, just as soft as they looked. And after what felt like forever, but may have been less than a second, you began moving your lips against his.

When he felt your active participation, he grew bolder, kissing you harder, and rolling you onto your back so that his face was above yours. You felt his weight on top of you. Not heavy, but comfortably pinning you to the ground. His hair fell to frame both of your faces, softly brushing against your cheeks.

As he grew bolder, so did you, and you parted your lips to brush your tongue against him, silently asking for entry. He obliged, and your tongue plunged into his mouth, relishing the sharp sensation of his fangs, and exploring the gap between his front teeth. Your exploration didn’t last long, though, before his tongue surged into your own mouth, and one of his hands rose to tangle in your hair, pulling it slightly.

Oh.

He was incredibly good at this. Unbelievably good at this.

You felt a firm pressure between your legs, and moaned into his mouth when you realized he’d brought his knee up to press against you. If you’d bucked once against it, you could hardly be blamed.

Lightheaded.

Woah, you were lightheaded.

You eventually broke away from him, and sucked in the cool night air. Vladislav pulled himself back, sitting up rather than lying back down, and gave you a little room to breathe and collect yourself.

He looked at you with a small smirk, incredibly smug. It made you angry how well-deserved that look truly was.

“What was that for?” you asked him when you’d finally caught your breath.

“You looked like you wanted it.”

You leaned forward to playfully smack his arm. Maybe Deacon was right when he said the dress made you look wanton, but you were willing to venture a guess that the dress had little to do with any wanton vibes you were putting out.

As you moved back towards Vladislav, you noticed a small set of lights moving across the harbor. The ferry! They’d left without you. You pointed this out to Vladislav, though he hardly seemed concerned.

“I figured we’d turn into bats and fly home,” he said stoically. “Does that not work for you?”

You bit back a smile, not wanting to encourage him.

“Don’t worry,” he said. “I arranged for them to come back for us.”

“Just the two of us?”

He nodded, and you moved beside him, resting your head on his shoulder, with his arm wrapped around you and his hand settled low on your hip. The two of you stared out at the view in peaceful silence.

“This is nice,” you offered after a while.

“It is. Maybe we could do something like this again? I could take you out for dinner or something?”

Your heart swelled at the mention of a second date.

“Don’t you not eat food?”

“That doesn’t mean I can’t take you out somewhere.”

You smiled. “I’d like that.”

[autumnblogs]

Day 29: Cascade

https://homestuck.com/story/4028

There we go. I remembered that Gamzee had created the Clown doll, but I had forgotten the exact context in which he did it. Dave provoked Gamzee to create it by showing him ICP’s Miracles, and he had the opportunity to do it because the Condesce used him as an unwitting agent of English.

The exact form of the doll is almost certainly a result of the fact that Gamzee’s religion is symboically associated with clowns.

I wonder if you could make the Argument that the Zilly Stuff is in some way clown stuff. It’s certainly got the right level of whimsy, what with the change of skintone, the bright colors, ridiculous suspenders, honking, and so on.

I mean, the obvious Doylist answer is that the clown stuff is because of Andrew’s clown fascination, but from a Watsonian point of view, from whence does the Clown arise? I feel like reading it as a derivation of Zilly stuff is a good possible answer, but perhaps not something you can read out of the text.

https://homestuck.com/story/4063

I’ve already pointed this out, but it’s worth bringing back up - the stratification of the Haemospectrum as a system made effectively inevitable by exploiting individual hate is again directly paralleled with the repressive power that Gl’bgolyb has over troll society, an existential threat to all trollkind. Both the Haemospectrum Caste System and the Rift’s Carbuncle are gifts of Doc Scratch.

https://homestuck.com/story/4066

All of this is set up for the Condescension, and with her, Meenah, as a character, it seems to me. All of what we’ve read over the past several pages, the Dancestor stuff.

Here are a few takeaways. Her Imperious Condescension is reckless, and she’s reckless in ways that cause her to sacrifice things that are irreplaceable to her in her mindless pursuit of satisfaction for her greed.

https://homestuck.com/story/4077

Andrew himself is the actual instrument of Doc Scratch’s destruction, or at least, the Author Avatar Character is.

https://homestuck.com/story/4081

English’s only dialogue takes place in the Alt Text. The means by which he communicates isn’t merely on the narrative layer, it’s embedded into its very fabric; subtly, and in a way that’s easy to miss.

https://homestuck.com/story/4085

Karkat’s true strength, what makes him his friends’ leader, and the true heir to the signless is that Karkat considers his friends’ wellbeing before his own. Underneath the veneer of anger which he inherits through the Vast Expletive, he is endlessly forgiving, up until the point where there is simply nothing to forgive, compassionate and understanding even to people who he blames for all his suffering, easily placated, and universally friendly.

Even if he is an asshole.

https://homestuck.com/story/4109

So, what creates the Green Sun?

I think the answer is that hate, retribution, violence, and cycles of abuse create the Green Sun. Its power source is at least symbolically both of the universes, and their destruction is circumstantially simultaneous with it, but all of the revenge, and murder, and neglect, and abuse is what allows for the tumor to come into being in the first place. The various actors who are all complicit in producing the session of Sburb that has the Tumor and Jack as the physical manifestation of the cancer - their inability to forgive, inability to express themselves in a constructive way, inability not to resort to violence. The Tumor is a symbol of the moral incompetence of everyone who Lord English makes complicit in his rise to power.

But there is hope, because all this destruction is parallel with something he does not understand. For English, power, Lordship, means the ability to coerce everyone into doing what you want them to, it means turning everyone into chessmen on his board.

But Karkat’s placation of everyone on the meteor, and particularly Gamzee, is another kind of leadership, and it’s the one that will win. Karkat and English are diametrically opposed models of leadership, and victory between two competing powers will ultimately go not the one who has the most raw force, but to the one who knows how to yield.

Short one today, but I think I want to observe tradition, pause at the end of Act 5, and continue tomorrow.

Act 5 is a long exercise in showcasing the characters’ technical competence, and emotional incompetence, as everyone fails to come to terms with their own inner struggles, and for the most part, they all fail just narrowly. By the End of Act 5, while the survivors of murderstuck have all evaded their demise in the scratch, and mostly have done so by being able to call upon the bonds of those who love them and coming face to face with their own mortality, it’s all... just barely.

All of this power, and it only barely manages to save their own lives. Everything that they love and care about has been erased. It’s a decidedly hollow victory. When it comes time to be able to repeat that performance in late Act 6, they won’t be nearly so lucky. It will take a miracle for them to survive Homestuck.

Luckily, Miracles are all around us.

Cam signing off, Alive, and Not Alone.

[mthofferings2020]

Kurisu80

See Kurisu80’s existing works here and here.

Preferred contact methods: Twitter: kurisu80 Discord: Kurisu80#4028

Preferred organizations: - Anything from the list of approved organizations

Will create works that contain: fluffy things, angsty action or dramatic you name it ; mild gore / dark themes ; fantasy , furry ( anthro ) , and other AUs

Will not create works that contain: explicit sexual content , ABO , anything with mentions of suicide

  -- Art --

Auction ID: 1117

Will create works for the following relationships: Steve Rogers & Tony Stark - Any Universe Bucky Barnes/Sam Wilson - MCU Steve Rogers & Sam Wilson - MCU Bruce Banner/Tony Stark - Any Universe Iron Man Armor/Tony Stark - Any Universe Natasha Romanov & Tony Stark - Any Universe Pepper Potts/Natasha Romanov - MCU Iron Man Armor/Any - Any Universe Ant-Man fandom any ship - Any Universe Frank Castle/Matt Murdock - MCU

Work Description: I'm offering a two page (A4) short comic with up to 10 panels each page. Per default it will be black and white with greyscale / screentones and simple backgrounds. You must provide a short script that we can both work on together and can't be changed once the first thumbnail drafts have been looked over. $20 increase will add a additional page with 5 panels maximum. another $20 will add flat coloring. The maximum I will create is a three page, 15 panel, flat color comic, no matter how high the bid gets!

Ratings: Mature

CLICK HERE TO BID ON THIS WORK

The auction runs from October 18 (12 AM ET) to October 24 (11:59:59 PM ET). Visit marveltrumpshate.com during Auction Week to view all of our auctions and to place your bids!

[snow--blanket]

stream and deer

commissioned by @nyktoon-in-otomeland!

word count: 4028

fandom: ikemen sengoku

characters: kennyo, ishikawa reika ***

There was an old library, south of the forest in Sekihan, and the path there was cobbled and staggering. It depended on who you asked—the widows of soldiers in the past war believed the road was formed by the steps of the Gashadokuro, a skeletal giant that was made from the bones of a thousand fallen men. The ones that hung holly above their doors believed it to be the paw prints of black cats, leading you astray from the crooked road back home. 

Kennyo believed differently. 

He believed that the wayfarers that had found their way to the boundary between forest and field were looking for something new. Something troubling. They were waiting for a rise in the tide, the grey of smoke and storm that christened the air in the midst of a hail of bullets. They were not looking for something pretty. 

They were looking for a reckoning. They were looking for change, and change was what Kennyo needed. 

So he made himself steady through the forest, following the path of small stones that dug through his worn down sandals, and the road to the library was so narrow it could hardly be called one. It was more like a small alley, and the thorns pricked him red and stole threads of his sleeves as he walked. Kennyo realised that if he were ambushed in the forest, he could not get out. He was a soldier walking to his death, slowly watching his comrades being killed one by one, lined up and ripe for murder. 

He grit his teeth. Murder is what kept him walking, so he did not mind if he died. Still, it should not be here, where so many of his brothers have gone without tombstones to mark their graves. 

Kennyo reached the library by the one hundred and fifty-eighth tap, and the library itself was a fairly small thing, like a silo used to store grain. He remembered a soldier that came from the inner town saying that the libraries there were the length of more than a hundred arm spans. This one had no room for Kennyo to walk around the sides or behind, shielded by the thorny wood. He remembered the sight. He'd seen it before. 

The library of Sekihan was a heart and the forestry was its ribcage. He knew he was at the right place. 

Kennyo walked to the front door, ignoring the foggy windows and the rusty knocker, corroded by time and air and rain. There were no flowers around the library, only the browning summer grass. 

When he entered the library, he was surprised by the fact that he didn't cough. In fact, as he looked around his surroundings, the library was quite well kept—only a few books strewn on a table, but the floor was not dusty as he had expected. When he took off his sandals and walked on the wooden floorboards, it was smooth, no layer of dirt for him to wipe off his sole. The lighting in the library, however, was inconvenient. His only source of light was the evening sun filtering through the trees outside and passing through the greyed lens of glass. 

Kennyo walked to the bookshelves, looking for a title to catch his eye. His hand landed on the spine of a purple book, foiled with golden stripes. The title read, 'The Magic of Exchanges'. Surely this must be it. 

He removed the book from the shelf, but just as he was about to open it, a voice spoke: “I'd prefer it if you knocked next time.”

Kennyo's heart jumped in his chest, and he turned around to see a woman standing from her seat at a table, a book laid open. She rubbed her eyes and walked over to him. The woman stopped in front of him, then took the book from his hands. He was too surprised to react aptly, and for some reason he blushed beside himself. 

The woman went ahead and placed the book onto the shelf once more, then turned to look at him. “What is it you need?” 

He wasn't sure whether it was the filtered light passing through the foliage that made it seem like her eyes were star-scaped. He couldn't discern the colour of her eyes clearly, but her skin was the colour of the maple branches, and her kimono was a light blue. He blinked at that. “The book.”

The woman sat down in a chair, and then dipped a brush on an inkstone, writing on the pages of the open book. She hummed. “And for what reason?” 

Kennyo's brows were tight in a low snarl. “Not something you need to know.” 

She sighed. “This is my library. Every book belongs to me.”

Kennyo's legs already began to move, and in an instant, he pressed a blade to her throat. “I didn't ask.”

Her eyes met his own, and then they wandered down to his other hand that was free. She hummed. “Reika.”

“What?”

“My name is Reika. It's the name you will remember me by once you've killed me.” She stood up and walked slowly towards him, and it was then that he realised her eyes were not honey sunset or the orange from a lantern light, but dark as soil. Even though he was the one holding a weapon, the more she stepped closer, the farther he retreated, until they were both no longer doused in the evening light, dipped in darkness. 

He could do this. He had killed before. He would do it again. 

And yet, the more he pressed the cold steel to her skin, the more doubtful he felt. Kennyo could not take his eyes off of her. He did not try. He tried to say something kind—to make it quick, maybe?—but his tongue froze in his mouth and his words were robbed off him. Foolishly, he said this: “I will not apologise.”

“I don't expect you to,” Reika said, and her eyes wandered to his hand again. He only now realised that he had been drumming his palm with his fingers, a habit born out of anxiousness. “But it's not wise to lie to me.”

Kennyo opened his mouth to protest, but before he could, her hand had pushed his knife away, and his mouth was agape as he watched the small dribble of blood trail down her fingers. Without realising, he had lowered his blade, eyes widened as he saw that the skin where her cut formed chipped off and flaked to the ground like brittle splinters. “Who are you?” 

She smiled, and then bowed in a curtsy. “I'm Reika, the tsukumogami of the library, and keeper of the wisdom you seek. And you?” 

“Kennyo,” he uttered honestly, belatedly. “A…” 

Demon? 

“Traveler,” he said. It would do for now. “I'm a traveler.”

Her smile was edged, thorny like the woods. “And do all travelers carry weapons these days? I must have been asleep for quite some time.”

“It is a dangerous world.”

Reika's eyes glanced at the blade in his hand. “It certainly appears that way.” She looked back at him. “So what, pray tell, are you planning to do with the book?” 

Kennyo opened his mouth to let the lies fly out like locusts, but he found himself speaking the truth. “I will make myself a monster.”

She regarded him, a sort of understanding sinking into her eyes like stone. As if she has had this conversation a hundred times with a hundred different people. “And whose monster will you be?” 

His tongue thawed, and his words came easy and abrasive like sand. “Oda Nobunaga.”

She was quiet. There was no way she hadn't heard the name before. “I'll grant you permission on one condition,” she said. “That you speak truth.”

He considered this. “And when will I receive it, if I do?” 

“Whenever I deem you fitful.”

Kennyo gnashed his teeth. Nobunaga's march east would be in three weeks time, so he could only make sure to gain his powers as a demon within that time frame to avoid any more reckless deaths. “In two and a half weeks,” he said. “If you do not deem me fitful then, I will burn this library to the ground.”

She was a tsukumogami, and her spirit resided in the library, tying herself to the same thread. Burning the books was as good as killing her. If he could not make her bleed, he would make her disappear.

Reika smiled. “I don't think you'll need the book to be a monster, then.”

“I will need to be a stronger monster than him,” Kennyo spat out the words like poison. 

She hummed, appraising him with… something he could not recognise. Reika turned away from him, tidying up the books on the table. “Come again tomorrow,” she said. 

Kennyo nodded, and then left the library. When he arrived home, he asked a village woman about hexes to ward off impurities. The old woman was somewhere in her late forties or early fifties, her wrinkled face stretched like cloth that had gotten loose from use. She had a mother's disposition, taking care of many animals, as well as parenting a lot of the village children. Although she had her own name, everyone called her such. 

The old woman hunched over her small, damp, kitchen and tied rosemary and basil leaves together with butcher's twine, and then wrapped it in a small white cloth. She gave it to Kennyo, who uttered his thanks as he slipped it into his kimono. “Are you going somewhere far again?” 

“No.” Not now, at least. Kennyo lightly bumped her out of the way, picking up the ladle that still had the remnants of soup. He began his mindless work of tidying up her kitchen, as it often was messy after supper for the kids. “How is…” His voice caught on his throat like the briars had on his sleeves. “How is he?” 

The old woman started to stack up the dirty plates, hovering around the table so worriedly it truly gave justice to her title. “The usual. He asked you where you went, but that's about it.” 

“I see.” 

They were both silent after that, and Kennyo made himself sparse and went home after the old woman had sent him off with rice balls filled with anchovy and pickled plum. When he bathed, the nicks the thorns had made on his arms and legs stung red under the rush of water. There was magic there, he realised. His wounds looked like the sun spots behind his eyelids, a dizzying flower. It'll be worth it, he thought. The pain would be worth it. 

He woke up early the next day and ate the half of the pickled plum rice ball, giving half of it to the little boy that was drawing circles on the dirt. Kennyo simply patted his head and said "you need to grow up strong and healthy", smiling as he did so. 

“Like you?” 

His smile faltered at that. “Even stronger.” I will need to be a stronger monster than him. Kennyo hoped that the words would not echo. 

When he arrived at the library again, the narrow path seemed to have widened a bit—now it was not squeezing him like a tied coin purse, but it was as if he was in the kitchen with the village mother, working elbow to elbow. The curtains were drawn fully to let the afternoon glare enter. Even without lanterns, it seemed to be brighter than before. 

She greeted him with a smile. “Hello.”

He nodded, and then sat on a chair, all stiff shoulders like he was going to war. “Begin,” he said. 

She laughed at that. “If you say so.” She sat near him after she pulled out a green book from the shelf. She pushed it across the table in front of him. “Read.”

“Are you making fun of me?” Kennyo's voice was a low growl. 

Reika did not respond to his heat with fire. Instead, her voice was a slow stream from the mountains, ever-enduring. “Not at all.” This, she said without smiling. “Why do you wish to be a demon?” 

“So I can kill—” Her gaze silenced him. Speak truth. “So I can avenge my fallen brothers.”

She hummed, then took out a yellow book he'd seen her write on before. She dipped her brush in the inkstone once, and then drawled across the empty pages in fluid motions. “And you think killing Nobunaga will do such a thing?” 

“Not at all.” He thought even death was too easy for the devil of the sixth heaven. “But if—” he stammered, “but if it will give them some semblance of peace, then I will do it.”

She stopped her writing, tore out a page to squeeze the ink out of her brush, then put it down. “I'm going to give you something,” Reika said, and pulled out a green book. She flipped open the pages until she stopped at one page, and then a round lumpy object surfaced from the papers, like dead bodies in a lake. Kennyo's eyes widened. She took the object and put it in his hands. It was light, and smooth. Like a small rock that had been polished clean. 

He blinked at her incredulously. “What is this?” 

She walked past him and closed the yellow book, then nudged it into the bookshelf. When her eyes met his, there was something there. Pinecones and fallen leaves. Like she had seen death without stepping foot on a battlefield. “It's what you are looking for.”

“I am looking for power,” he said, and he almost felt ridiculous. As if speaking it into existence had somehow dulled the scent of gunpowder and burnt embers. 

Reika shook her head. “You're looking for hatred,” she said so kindly, “And that is what hatred is.”

Kennyo looked at the rock in his hands, eyes narrowed in puzzlement. This thing was supposed to help him kill Nobunaga? The man who had both the forces of the nine-tailed kitsune and the fierce loyalty of a man turned servant? He couldn't understand it well. 

When he tried to prod further, Reika simply smiled and then said goodbye, and he had the good sense to leave her alone after that. 

Nine days passed, and the remnants of war returned in the middle of winter. 

Kennyo did not visit Reika in that time—because of the ongoing skirmish (it was what they called it, but he digressed) near the village, the daimyo ordered for the soldiers to send any injured or dead to them. The air was thick with the scent of blood and pus. Kennyo had experience with bandaging and basic first aid treatment, so he was in charge of aiding the injured soldiers as well as teaching other young men how to do the same thing. 

They managed to set up an area to lay the treated soldiers on a flat field that the children used to play in. Because the medicine was especially ineffective in the cold, they had used up every lantern and candle from the houses to warm the wounded men. The villagers did not complain, for they had gotten used to the chill of the mountains. Like sinners that had gotten used to hell fire.

One man whimpered, tugging Kennyo by his sleeve as he lay and groaned his pain. “Will I… live…?” 

The man had part of his lower leg blown off by an explosion, and it was as if a wolf had bitten it off. A wolf would have been kinder. Kennyo was sure there was a way to save him, but he did not know how. All he knew was that if he decided to muffle his breathing with a pillow, it would end his suffering. 

And wasn't that a sort of grace in itself? 

“No,” he said. He would be a monster, but he would not lie. “But—” he gestured to the other men that lay beside him. “But they might.”

The man smiled. “That's all… I can ask for.” He exhaled, and his sigh was like smoke coming out of the wrong end of a gun. Kennyo looked away. 

Because that's all you can afford to ask, Kennyo thought, but bit his words down until he felt blood. 

When he was free, he walked to the village mother's house and went into another room with a bowl of gruel in hand. Kennyo's heart beat fast and heavy in his chest. He knocked at the wooden door, a hollow sound. “I'm coming in.”

There was no response, but he entered anyways, and nudged the door close with his leg. He put the bowl onto the small wooden table and then lifted it off the floor to be closer to the bed. Kennyo could hear his shallow breathing. “Have you eaten yet?” He sat on a nearby makeshift stool, a container for biscuits. 

No answer. Just his pale eyes that stared at the walls. He had beauty, once. People fawned over him, and his hair that was lavender was now the colour of… rotting meat. Clever eyes that were like wisteria were always closed or looked at something that wasn't there, like a cat that could see ghosts. His beautiful features became wasted and hungry, his skin being pinched by his cheekbones that became more prominent as the days went by. 

“Ranmaru,” Kennyo said gently. “You have to eat.”

Ranmaru did not answer. Kennyo hated that he'd forgotten what the sound of his voice was like. When he was happy, he was like a twittering songbird. When he was serious, his breath was steady and his voice rang with clarity. When he was sad… 

When he was sad, he was silent, and that was the worst of all. 

He only spoke to the village mother, but Kennyo did not chide him for that. People expressed grief differently. Kennyo felt his chest become heftier, like he was the crow that had drunk the rocks with the water. A foolish act. 

Kennyo dragged his seat closer, and then spooned the gruel in front of his mouth. Ever since a small girl had come wandering into the room and stared agape at Ranmaru's lack of arms, no one else was allowed to enter aside from the village mother and himself. They had made up silly stories about a ghoul of some kind to ward off the children, and that was how Ranmaru lived. Like a gust of wind that could pass as the voice of a ghost. 

When Ranmaru did not open his mouth to eat, Kennyo did not sigh. He returned the spoon to the wooden bowl and put it back on the table and stood up. 

As he turned to leave, he felt something slip out of his robes. Kennyo looked at the floor and saw the small rock had escaped him. He crouched to pick it up, dusting it off before slipping it back into his kimono. He straightened, and opened his mouth to tell Ranmaru to rest well, but he did not speak. 

For the first time in years, Ranmaru's eyes were alive and lit with disgust, his lips a pulled back snarl like a taut bowstring. “You too?” His voice was quiet and quivering, like a rabbit in a trap. “You're going to kill me too?” 

“I don't—” 

“Enough already!” When Ranmaru was happy, his voice was a twittering bird. When he was serious, his voice was a warhorn. When he was angry, his voice was a trembling string of a koto being strummed over and over and over until the fingers that played it had gone red and chafe with use. “Enough already… I know I'm already useless to you, Master Kennyo. I know I should die. I know that I can't help you with your goals anymore, and it'll probably be easier to kill me than to take care of me, but—!” 

“No. No! You're not—I wouldn't do that to you.” He remembered the man at the tent. “I wouldn't do that to you,” he said. 

“But someday you will!” Ranmaru shouted like the words had been ripped out of his mouth, from some part of him that knew the truth. That Kennyo was to be a monster, and he did not know where he stood between his fangs and his hatred. 

Ranmaru started shaking, his body convulsing as his breathing started to pick up, shallow and quick and unsteady. Kennyo started to approach him, but Ranmaru whimpered. “Go away.” His eyes looked at him in fear. “Please, go away.” He closed his eyes shut and tears streamed down his face. 

So Kennyo did. 

He hoped something would make him stay; regret, compassion, kindness. But those could not be his tools as a monster. His human tongue had nestled in slumber behind his canine teeth. So he left, knowing that he did not deserve those half-hearted attempts at deriving the gold of his heart from the poison. 

That night, Kennyo slept restlessly, and he thought about the sun spots the thorns had made on him and the look in Ranmaru's eyes. As if he feared him not for holding the gun, but as a volatile bullet in a chamber, waiting for direction and could erupt at a moment's notice. He was a monster at both ends. 

The next day, Kennyo visited the library again, and strangely, he did not feel pain when the thorns pricked him. Like a sinner that had gotten used to hellfire indeed. 

Without even a greeting, Kennyo laid down the stone on the table where Reika sat at and spoke. “What is this?” 

Reika recognised the hurt that flashed in his eyes like fire flowers that were all too willing to burn. “It's a projectile from a canon that's called Ozutsu.”

“Why would you give me such a thing?” Kennyo could not help his frown. 

“There are certain weapons that are banned from use, did you know? Because they cause unnecessary suffering.”

“What does that have to do with—” Speak truth. “I don't.”

“Well, where I come from, the leader of the country, so to speak, banned things like… poisonous gases and anything that could be used to set things on fire intentionally. They recognised that even in war, there were certain boundaries one must keep and self regulate on a constant basis, as to not misuse the power given to them to oppress the weak and harmless.”

This was truth. “Why are you telling me this?” 

“To let you know that even if violence is the answer, it should not be wielded around carelessly, driven by rage.” Her eyes glittered, like there was gold amongst dirt there. “That people are always finding ways to lessen your pain even if they have to hurt you anyway. And you will not be exempt of that judgement.”

Kennyo did not growl fire like a dragon, but he whimpered like a whipped dog who did not know what he did wrong. “Violence is effective—” 

“Violence is quick. It is not effective, nor is it efficient.” Reika exhaled, her breath fogging like the greyed lenses of the windows. “It is not as if I do not recognise what kind of monster Nobunaga is,” she said quietly. “But he is a kind of monster that can live with himself. He has gotten used to his claws and sharp teeth. You are…” She paused. “You are meant to be something else for this world.”

“I don't know how I can live as myself while other people are needlessly dying at the expense of my passivity.” He furrowed his brows, his anger spent at her rather naive way of looking at things. 

Reika smiled, and it was the hint of something new, the smell of fern and lime and her eyes that did not shy away from his. A reckoning that started from a small stream. “I think you've forgotten. I am Reika, tsukumogami of the wisdom you seek.”

She took a green book from the shelves, and he'd recognised it before. She splayed the pages open and pushed it in front of him. 

“Read.”

[ao3feed-stormpilot]

Today

by mssrj_335

When Poe first saw Finn's soulmate tattoo returning, he left them at 'someday', paralyzed by his own indecision. It takes a little introspection to figure out why, but once he's got it, he's all in. Poe Dameron's the man with a plan and he's going to make sure everyone's on the same page.

--

Sequel to Someday Could probably be read as stand alone but would make more sense with the other

Words: 4028, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Series: Part 2 of FinnPoe Tattoo Soulmate AU

Fandoms: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: M/M

Characters: Finn (Star Wars), Poe Dameron, Cameo Leia Organa

Relationships: Poe Dameron/Finn, Finn/Poe Dameron

Additional Tags: Pre-Star Wars: The Rise of Skywalker, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Magical Tattoos, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Romantic Soulmates, Soulmates but with choice, Mutual Pining, Banter, Feelings Realization, Working With What You've Got, Poe Dameron's Bravest When He Flies, POV Poe Dameron, Tenderness, So Sappy, some cheese, Pilot Poe Dameron, Intelligence Officer Finn, Introspective Poe Dameron, Language

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/2WYJwMV

[pamphletstoinspire]

Divine Mercy Inspiration - September 7, 2020

O my God, how sweet it is to suffer for You, suffer in the most secret recesses of the heart, in the greatest hiddenness, to burn like a sacrifice noticed by no one, pure as crystal, with no consolation or compassion.  My spirit burns in active love.  I waste no time in dreaming.  I take every moment singly as it comes, for this is within my power.  The past does not belong to me; the future is not mine; with all my soul I try to make use of the present moment.  (351, page 157)

How to recite the Chaplet of Divine Mercy for the Sick and Dying with an Apostolic Blessing:

https://804ff7b0-f527-4028-b69e-da775e15778a.filesusr.com/ugd/a84285_3eaf13c761d5497092e565c42bdc81bf.pdf

Prayer of Entrustment to the Divine Mercy:

https://804ff7b0-f527-4028-b69e-da775e15778a.filesusr.com/ugd/a84285_5944ebdb863c4d3aac53b8a1e3f8e660.pdf

[mmmmalo]

why does gamzee manifest for dave wrt considering the icp video blasphemy?

I never figured that out! And that made me mad, so I gave it another shot. Results range from solid to utterly indefensible.

Page 4027

I like the how the shared pose and neutral expression concealed by sunglasses emphasize the parallel between Gamzee and Dave. 

The first weird thing for my method is that this scene takes place (for Dave) just before he opens John’s present and gets the new shades, so there’s no context leading up to this moment. Meaning, there is no event to which Gamzee could have been an emotional response – unless the mere arrival of John’s box has somehow warranted a crisis of faith on par with Gamzee’s. Alternatively, the lack of context could implicate Gamzee’s crisis as Dave’s default emotional state prior to receiving the gift…? But then there’s no particular reason for Gamzee to troll him at this moment…

Tavros manifesting in response to Dave reading John’s letter (henceforth Log B) retroactively becomes the resurrection that Gamzee is attempting to achieve? So since in Log B Tavros kind of… represents Dave’s sudden feeling of wholeness, of being in touch with his emotions and expressing himself freely, the decapitated Tavros above represents the emotional constipation/self-alienation that characterized life under Bro?

Which would mean that when Gamzee talks about his miracles having been stolen away, Tavros represents (for both Gamzee AND Dave) the lost richness of experience he idealizes. (Even if Eden never existed, even if the paradise planet is a FUCKING JOKE, to desire it is to experience it as having been lost) You cannot put the bunny back in the box, you cannot revive Tavros. CHILDHOOD RUINED!!!

Gamzee’s mournful “IT WAS GONNA BE US AND MOTHERFUCKING THEM” comes off then a unity denied – like Tavros’s head is denied unity with his body, or Dave is denied unity with himself. So all of this actually supports the ‘default emotional state’ reading – Gamzee is kind of dramatizing Dave’s basic emotional dilemma, just before John’s letter seems to briefly resolve it. (Intrusive thought: Nic Cage’s line in Con Air “I’m gonna show you God’s real.”)TC: IT STRIKES AT ME AS ANOTHER HERETICAL FUCKING BASTARDIZATION OF SOME SACRED SHIT I TAKE SERIOUSLY IN MY PUMP BISCUIT. TC: i mean i guess, took seriously…..so you get a sense that Dave laments his inability to take things seriously, to be ironic and detached all the time? Which is common knowledge by now, but here’s how it looks voiced through Gamzee.

More to that effect: Gamzee uses castration/decapitation imagery to describe how knowledge ruined his miracles: “YOU ALL CRACKED OFF THE TOP OF THE BOTTLE TO THOSE FUCKIN CLOWN IMPOSTORS.” Since “knowledge ruined miracles” rings close to “english destroys reality”, it’s very strange to me, as with Caliborn, that Gamzee decides to serve Lord English. Also, I still don’t get why the servants of English tend to be characterized by silence.

Page 4028

The DELIRIOUS BIZNASTY thread alludes to a Fall and SNAPPED neck (well, collarbone), kind of underlining the Paradise Lost vibes that accompany castration from the miracles. This is related to how the UNREAL AIR skateboard floats up and away to the sun like a piece of garbage, which is exactly what ICP does at the end of the Miracles music video, which Betty Crocker links here.

But now things confuse me again – Gamzee reaching inside himself for the chucklevoodoos is akin to…? Dave looking inside himself and finding rage? Or is Gamzee claiming responsibility for initiating all of the kids’ fears only relevant in that it establishes that all of the kids’ fears are similarly related to their trauma / crisis of faith / whatever? But I feel as though I’m missing something here somehow.

Page 4031

TG: also you have me confused for somebody else we never talkedTG: i guarantee i would have remembered you TC: ALL THAT MOTHER FUCKIN MATTERS IS I REMEMBER YOU AND WHAT YOU DID. TC: i’m just all letting you in on the ways i set the high justice in motion. TC: MADE US MOTHERFUCKING SQUARE, YOU AND ME. TC: me and you.This page starts off with the topic of identity confusion – Dave’s line most directly, Gamzee making reference to the indivisible perfectly generic object (the square) and repeating the phrasing he used earlier to invoke spiritual unity, to suggest that he and Dave are one. I assume this will lead into talk of Dave identifying with Bro, since he’s wearing the shades…

Okay, here’s something really indulgent:Gamzee’s declaration YOUR BRO’S DEAD BRO had me expecting some kind of Sixth Sense sort of twist – like Jade wasn’t the only one with a dead guardian, and Bro would be revealed to be a ghost not unlike Aradia. Like Gamzee’s “now that my other buddy managed to be having his head chopped off” had me thinking like Dave had actually chopped off Bro’s head at some point, and all their conflict was like Jade fighting with her dead Grandpa, except more convincing because Dave himself were convinced, having suppressed the memory of having already killed his Bro (again, just like Jade and Grandpa).Of course since death is ideality, the degree to which Dave idealizes Bro (cutting a meteor in half??), Bro being “dead” could also be an expression of the unreal expectations Dave has of his Bro. On the other hand, it would be fucking /fascinating/ if Dirk and his unbreakable katana were cosmically bound to seek their own undoing because a prior iteration of himself that only existed in Dave’s imagination post-mortem. But again, I don’t think the above is literally true. It’s fanciful and borrowing liberally from stories that have already been told elsewhere. I’m just struggling to make sense of the words….I think if Bec is literally an offshoot of Jade, it would at least make sense for Dave to indulge in the idea that Bro stems from himself…? Or vice-versa. It’s already been established that Dave views himself as a shitty copy of himself and/or of Bro… 

And with Gamzee talking about Bro keeping Lil Cal captive, just before Dave receives a letter about being in Bro’s shadow, I wonder if Cal is like… a figure of the blurring between them? Sometimes representative of Dave, as when Cal’s evisceration accompanied the breaking of Dave’s emblem… But otherwise controlled by Bro, with Cal’s dead-gaze indicating Bro’s observation…? (It should be noted that I never successfully integrated Lil Cal into my reading)

But if ‘captive’ implies Cal being /within/ Bro, it becomes suspect that Cal’s eye is within Gamzee’s eye, in a conversation where Gamzee is claiming identity with Dave? So then it again becomes as though /Dave/ is ultimately the only one controlling Cal… Bluh???I’m psyching myself out here something FIERCE, but it makes me wanna reevaluate lines like “Shit is basically flying off the hook. It’s like shit wants nothing to do with that hook. The hook is dead to that shit.” and go AHA IF DAVE IS THE SHIT THEN BRO IS THE HOOK AND HE’S DEAD CONFIRMED CONFIRMED CONFIRMED OH WAIT CAPTAIN HOOK IS ALWAYS PLAYED BY THE KIDS’ FATHER DOUBLE CONFIRMED, but luckily I am a sane person… Unless…? ;)

If all of the madness above bears any fruit, Dave calling Gamzee a murderous psychopath would amount to calling /himself/ a murderous psychopath, with Lil Cal’s whispers of carnage representing his own inner voice. If not…. I dunno what the deal with Lil Cal is! Very mysterious.

Bonus: Dave having already killed Bro would mean he’s wearing his sunglasses as a trophy, just like Gamzee was (falsely) implied to have done with Terezi… so maybe the suggestion that Dave has killed THE LAW (Bro) actually holds water? Though the falseness of Gamzee’s trophy still leaves room for the whole scenario to be a delusion of Daves.

This went in directions I had no way of anticipating, but I’m gonna spend the rest of the evening vaguely unsure of if Dave is a murder or just indulging in fantasies about murder. Homestuck confuses me.