#that only really does things to ensure its survival

[epichnopterix]

would it be funnier to say that ida (glasses person) was born then the mothmanperson fucked off into the woods forever to pupate and become a mothmanperson or that she’s just Like That and its a big coincidence

[blacknight7890]

The Power of Control

An essay on Victim

Spoilers for Animator vs. Animation VI - Ep 2

So, our dear boy Victim, of animator vs animation ONE fame, has officially returned.

We have been waiting half a year for this guy to return, and here he is. Now we finally get to see what he can really do in the only thing that matters in this series. How much ass can this stick kick?

Well, as it turns out, not a whole lot.

Victim is not a strong physical fighter. But, what he lacks in strength, he makes up in something else.

Control

The express purpose of this white box, is to ensure that he has full, and unambiguous, control. You could say that everything he has built is for the express purpose of control. He is the CEO of a gigantic, very well funded corporation, and is the boss of probably thousands of employees.

he has dedicated money and men towards researching and replicating animation tools to give him direct power over the world around him. He gave his top Merc the ability to Stop Time. His tech is all to extend his reach of control.

And this idea of control is shown no better than his signature weapon.

A lasso. An unusual choice at first but it makes perfect sense. Its entire point is to restrain, constrain, and control another.

Victim is not a powerful stick, its why he was initially never able to escape the flash program he was created in. How he got out, and how he survived is still unknown, but I'm sure future episodes will show us.

What we do know however, is that after all these years he has took to heart one thing. True power, is control. The more you have, the more powerful you are.

Which is why Alan nearly deleted him. Alan had the cursor, so he had control, which made him powerful.

Of course, that power has an equally potent weakness. When you lose your control, you lose your power.

The lasso he has wrapped around so many, breaks, and he loses control. Without control, he is vulnerable. Without control, he is powerless.

Its no wonder he seemed so scared when he learned what The Second Coming was truly capable of.

And now, Second has also learned what he can do.

So, what does he do? He tries to reestablish his precious control.

But unlike before, this control is flawed. He never knew what our dear orange could do, he never planned for it. His cage was likely never designed to hold someone as powerful as he is.

Victim may have locked him away, but its clear his grip on the situation has slipped. A lasso can only restrain what it can hold after all. When the rope snaps, when control is lost, he has nothing.

It makes sense why he would be after someone with more control than anyone.

[pyreo]

I'm comparing the Dungeon Meshi manga to episodes I just watched and now I gotta capital-p Post about this one episode (spoilers past Episode 12)

So this part is an emotional side-step from the central throughline so far - Laios and Marcille got Falin back successfully and reunited, and they got that payoff from the very beginning where they thought it would be impossible. But Chilchuck is very much a part of these layers of development, so after that dragon finally dies, we stop for a second - Laios and Marcille are recovering, Falin has disappeared again - how does Chilchuck feel at that point?

It's the perfect stage to insert that because he didn't really share in that sense of victory in the same way as Laios and Marcille recovering someone extremely close to them. And that's on purpose because he keeps everyone at arms' length. As soon as that arc hits its end and Falin is recovered, there's at last space to ask - why is Chilchuck even here.

He's asking himself that through the chapter. Now that they've lost the person they intended to save, he regrets agreeing to come.

And starts shouldering responsibility for everything ending up this way. We saw that when he got stuck in the mimic room before - he refuses to let himself ask for help, or he'll try to take burdens alone to lessen relying on others. The original Touden Party was six people, and when Laios insisted on going back underground they were two, and he knew they would die, and figured maybe, maybe if they were one more, with his skillset, maybe they'd have a chance. He couldn't let them walk back down just to die.

And he's going back to that mindset - their lives are on me. He thinks he could have prevented this if he'd chosen differently. Essentially, the walk alongside the orc woman is him working through a guilt spiral.

He sees a second chance to correct that mistake of joining the party. He wants them out now, before they die. The orc asks him how they defeated a dragon and, in explaining it, he reminds himself of all the risky, ridiculous things they had to do, and he isn't satisfied with just getting lucky. Laios got his foot bitten off, on purpose! This proves to him that if they go any further they will not survive. And he hints at this dissatisfaction a couple chapters later, wishing his teammates prioritised things other than winning at all costs...

Like, obviously. The point of this chapter is Chilchuck pretending to be a self-serving coward. To the point where others react with disdain, even disgust, towards him because he wants to lie to Marcille and Laios to ensure they turn back. He's desperate to get out of a hopeless situation by any means necessary, and will destroy his standing in the group in a blink if it means nobody else dies. He has to go on a stupid mental health walk for his stupid mental health and talk through his little bout of panic and doubt.

'You called me a coward so don't be surprised when I act accordingly'

He needs someone very blunt to tell him 'dude you're not being a coward for wanting your friends to get out of hell alive. you're a coward for making excuses instead of honestly telling them your concern is genuine' and he BSODs about it. He needs to rant and externalise that frustration over their recklessness at a third party. He needs to scream that they are idiots because he's the only one for which the ends don't justify the means and he can't keep losing his mind over everyone's safety. Down to a point, the orc praises their ability to survive the explosion from the dragon's fuel sac, and it only justifies Chilchuck - Falin didn't even know she could cast the spell that stopped them all being killed, and they cannot continue getting lucky like this.

Anyway. The reason I stopped to think about it was this part-

Where he recovers Laios's monster-infused sword. The thing that made their situation in the dragon fight go from bad to worse, that he swore at Laios for in every language he knew. The most angry we'd seen him. And now he calmly picks it up and praises it for being the only one of them smart enough to make a run for it.

He's projecting, obviously. He's internalising the label of 'coward' and changing himself to fit it. And, look at him, he's so tired of this. It's evidence of his sheer exhaustion that his anger immediately disappears and he actually gives it a compliment. Him and Laios's sword, the group cowards, the only one who agrees with him.

Then, because he had a walk before getting into the argument, he's organised his feelings and drops all the walls and pretense and just says it.

There's a rule of writing where you contrast your high energy sequences with parts that are slow and mundane, to make the difference more apparent. I think that's why I like this bit so much. The fight against the dragon is long, and the emotional stakes are enormous. Right after that we have the bath scene with Falin and Marcille, and Laios ruffling Falin's hair, and this part that pauses everything to explore the stuff that Chilchuck finally needs to say. And it's wrapped in this neat little solemn journey to pick up their supplies and remember how it felt when all five of them had a meal around a real dinner table at last.

And because he doesn't resort to individualistic trickery, because he explains his point as a duty of care rather than pitting himself against the others, he gets backed up. Senshi agrees that they don't have the supplies to continue, and the orc lady mentions her brethren will return later and can give them support, all of which together breaks down Laios's singleminded devotion to his cause.

Personally I think the manga's better suited to comic timing, but in the anime you can get fleshed out little moments, like Laios's face journey as he realises the other three are making a good case for their survival.

This was my favourite part so far, and I like how both Chilchuck-centric episodes have separated him from the others. Because he won't reveal anything he's thinking otherwise. lmao

[anshares]

Just full body designs from my Xianxia AU aka TTEOTM!RH AU

+ arc 1 plot below the cut

ARC 1

Dan Heng is a member of one of the last surviving sects in a world razed by the Demon lord, Ren. His sect has an artifact that could end Ren’s life so Ren is in the hunt for it since it is his only weakness. While they are holding back Ren’s onslaught on their sect his seniors himeko and welt decided to use the artifact and send Dan Heng to the past to prevent the Demon lord’s destruction. A few hundred years ago Ren was a human prince who was born with Shuhu’s flesh, the original demon lord.

It lays dormant within him but due to him being cursed the people treat him with disdain and suffer abuse, the moment he was killed from it is when he rose as the demon lord to return to them what he experienced tenfold. Dan Heng's mission is to ensure that Ren won’t experience the cruelties he suffered and that he would live on normally at the same time finding a way to destroy Shuhu’s flesh in him. As his seniors were completing the ritual to send him back in time, Ren has already breached the sect and is now standing in front of DH who witnessed the slaughter of his friends, before he disappeared he vowed that he would kill Ren.

DH wakes up 700 years in the past in the body of Dan Feng, a haughty second prince of the Luofu. He suddenly discover that one, he is married to Yingxing (Ren’s name before he became the Demon lord) for half a year already. Two he is also one of the people who abused him, three Yingxing is nothing like the Demon lord Ren he saw, where was the cruel Demon lord who plunged the world into chaos. This man seems docile and why is he kneeling in the garden in the middle of winter?! (“Master Dan Feng, you are the one who ordered him to do this….”his servant reminds him) Oh great! not off to a great start, why didn’t he travel to the time before he got married to him, how is he supposed to win the trust of someone who is wary of him already. also another hurdle is that he doesn’t know how he will interact with him esp the last time he saw him he slaughtered his friends how the heck would he interact with the murderer but that was him from the future, This is now and he will make sure he would succeed in his mission with the hand that he is dealt with but first he gets him out of there and stops the “punishment” that Dan Feng gave him.

Yingxing was confused on the sudden change of attitude with Dan Feng, he was suspicious and distrustful of this “new” Dan Feng since it might be another one of his ploys and it's back to beatings again.DH also finds out that the servants disrespect him and DF does nothing about it and just lets his servants, he doesn't really care about his husband cuz he is just a hostage prince.

Yingxing is a prince from Zhuming who was sent to Luofu as hostage as part of the peace treaty between two kingdoms and was chosen to be Dan Feng’s betrothed. DH tries to be nice to him but all he get is wary glances, one time he was able to make Yingxing talk, YX tries to warn him that whatever he is planning now gotta stop as if it would change his opinion of him because at the end of the day DF would still treat him as he always does. DH asks why he thinks that and finds out what he thought of everyone of how everyone simply enjoys on hurting the weak altho he hasn’t done anything to warrant such treatment” so DH asks him if he has any grudges he just answers with its already exhausting enough to survive in this hellish place he doesn't have energy to think about anything else.

It gave DH insight on YX and how he became Demon lord in the first place, no one showed him kindness and guided him on the right path since he was only shown cruelty so he will give back cruelty so he decided to be that person the one who will guide him to the right path.

After that, their relationship changes, DH tries to do things for him like feeding him proper food, buying him proper winter clothes, and hanging out with him. YX slowly warms up to DH since even though they don't talk much his presence is comforting since he is not alone anymore. YX thought that DF is starting to care for him but all of that was dashed when he accidentally eavesdrop on DF and crown prince Yubie, DH tries to act like the haughty prince that DF is since his brother inquired on the sudden shift in attitude with YX, He thought he hated him so he tells his brother that he extended kindness since he is worried that it wouldn't be good for the kingdom if Zhuming finds out they mistreated their prince, The peace treaty is already delicate as it is. If Yubie thinks that DF cares for YX, don't because he can’t truly care for him, it’s impossible ... he never liked him from the start anyway, he hates him with every fiber of his being.

YX was disappointed and furious because all of the kindness that was shown to him by DF wasn't genuine and was all just a ploy. Most of all he was angry with himself for believing it, he should've known, people dont change that easily. He was deceived by that kindness, that DF only cares so that Luofu would be safe but in the end they still think that he is a jinx who only brings disasters. For the first time, he wanted vengeance which activated his dormant powers

YX tried to unleash his newfound powers at a royal banquet hosted by Yubie by summoning spirits, he was surprised on how DF was able to protect his brother with warding charms, he didn’t expect DF to be capable like that. DH found YX and tried to protect him with his body from the spirits that surrounded them, this left YX perplexed so he got rid of the spirits.

DH was relieved that they are both safe now and checks if YX is injured anywhere while YX internally wonders if DF hates him why would he sacrifice himself to save him? YX is prepared to trust him again since for him actions speak louder than words, so he confronts DF on why go back and save him since he saw that he was running out of the mansion. DH tells him that they are husbands am i not suppose to protect you and be with you for better or worse

YX asks if he likes him, DH reluctantly answers yes and reasons out that they have grown fond of each other since they have spent time together recently.

YX: If you like me, teach me those charms you used this way we can spend more time together

DH: why would you want to learn that?

YX: because i also want to be capable of protecting my loved one

DH is surprised that someone like him suddenly has something he wants to protect, so he agrees and makes him promise to take care of himself too because he really doesn’t want to risk his life to save him again.

They spend time in the library with DH teaching YX illusion charms, he shows him an illusion of maple forest, and a vast galaxy of stars. They became closer and fell asleep on each other till Yubie found them the next day which embarrassed DH greatly.

They also went out and spent the whole day at a festival which made YX loosen up and felt special since all of DF's attention was on him, they even played in the snow and lit up fireworks. YX was smiling at DF as he watched him light up fireworks, he starts falling for him now.

Messengers from zhuming secretly contacted yx to let him know that he needs to go back to his kingdom and take back the throne from the usurpers since his father is now bedridden but why should he when they were the ones who threw him here in the first place being a cursed prince.

Also he doesn't want to go back since DF is in luofu but the situation seems dire if the messengers started begging so YX tried to take DF with him but refused since it can be seen as DF defecting and betraying the luofu if DF goes with him so yx has kidnaps him instead.

While on the boat to zhuming, it was revealed that the messengers were in on it too and tried assassinating yx but with yx powers slaughtering them was easy and DH who managed to escape from captivity witnessed this scene.

Even after all the time they spent dh still doesn't trust yx after all it's still his mission to prevent the demon lord rising. And his current actions just proves that his real nature cant be changed as he could easily slaughter people.

DH escaped by jumping from the ship, YX also follows later even with his powers he is still human, injured and outnumbered. Once ashore, he also find yx weak from injuries and apparently poisoned too so he tries to nurse him back to health and tells him he isn't allowed to die. When he is well enough, DH leaves him near zhuming where attendants who are still on yx side found him. He returned to Zhuming, overthrew the usurpers and was crowned emperor.

DH travels all around zhuming trying to find a clue about shuhu’s flesh, DH believes he can find information about it on yx homeland. At the same time Yubie deploys an army to rescue his brother that yx kidnapped and orders they kill yx afterwards.

-ARC 1 END-

Stay tuned for Arc 2~

[gretavanlace]

Valtava

Josh Kiszka x reader

18+ only! Minors do not interact!

Warnings: graphic sexual content, unprotected sex, pain during sex (this is handled gently and lovingly) language, dirty talk, etc.

Everyone thank our dear @jake-kiszkas-smirk for the scene where his head is resting on her stomach. I’ll say no more to avoid spoiling it, but it’s delicious and it was her idea that she so kindly left in my hands. Thank you, you filthy genius, you. I love you madly. Also, I no longer remember who to credit for this pic of Josh, it’s been in my camera roll so long. But I couldn’t not use it for this…that’s dangerously close to sacrilege.

“This scene right here,” Josh speaks over Ray Liotta’s musings, one arm stretched across the back of his couch, the other bent to stroke his thumb along your jawline, absently “This is where Scorsese really stretches his wings. Here we are, watching the heinous discovery of murder after murder while Layla, a song about love and lust, lulls us. We feel both safe and shaky.”

His fingers now wind through your hair, relaxed and warm, with your head in his lap. “I think it serves as a reminder that even ugly can dip its toe into the waters of beautiful, if you squint hard enough.”

He pauses and talks over his own stream of thoughts, “Well, most ugly things, anyway. Someone saw these murders as a necessary evil. Something to ensure the world they had built for themselves, for their families, stayed clean. Someone went home and slept a little easier knowing there was one less heart beating out there ready to turn state's witness on them.”

You nod and hope for him to keep going. The way his mind works fascinates you, as does the unique lilt of his tone, and the excitement that sharpens his gaze when he is ruminating on something that really spins the wheel for the hamster in his brain.

Catering to your unspoken wish, he carries on, “And maybe even the victims were in on the method to the madness, y’know? They chose the life they chose, they understood how quickly loyalty and love can shape- shift into survival and self preservation. Layla helps the audience understand. It marries the beauty and the bloodshed for the people in the seats.” he shakes his head in wonder. “It’s fucking genius.”

“Thought your brother was the big Marty fan?” You ask, studying the perfect cupid's bow of his lips from below.

“Jake?” His eyes are on the screen, but his focus is on you. “Tarantino. I dig the use of his nickname, though. Marty. It makes it seem as if you have him over for dinner regularly.”

“Maybe I do.” You tease.

You earn a smile, but still not his gaze. “And what do you serve?”

Adopting a tone of nonchalance, you shrug, “Usually, we make love until dawn and then share cold spaghettiOs right out of the can.”

“Ah,” He nods seriously, “the opulence. It’s all very grand.”

A comfortable silence wraps itself around you both until you have a thought that pokes to be shared.

“Do you suppose Scorsese might have chosen Layla because of the double-edged sword it also happens to be as a piece? Since Clapton wrote it about his best friend's wife?” You feel a blush heat your cheeks, and immediately wish you hadn’t contributed. He knows so much about film and you know so little.

True to Joshua-form, however, he hushes your unease effortlessly. “Shit! I’d never even considered that. The beauty for Clapton was the ugly for Harrison. God, I’m so in love with the way your mind sees everything that’s invisible to mine.”

I’m so in love with…

He means the ideas in your head, the quiet corners of your thoughts, but it quickens your heart and nudges the butterflies in your stomach to life, nonetheless.

So, you pull yourself up, a thigh nestled on either side of his waist in the blink of a breath.

“Hi.” You long for the timid smile dancing shyly on your lips to morph into something sultry. Something sexy. Something that might flicker the darkened flame, that hides down deep in his belly, to life.”

“Hi.” He grins back, allowing you to wiggle around until you’re comfy in his lap. “If Goodfellas is boring you, I stand zero chance of keeping you entertained, baby love.”

Your fingers worry over the beads looped around his neck and then twist into the soft pink linen of his shirt, finally coming to rest at the button fastened nearest to his throat. Your eyes travel over him, hungry to soak him in. To tuck this image of Josh, so quietly content with you perched above him, away in your heart…a pretty picture to revisit when he inevitably becomes a memory.

What is he thinking? That question seems to occupy your mind more often than any other. He is an enigma. A mystery parading as wide open sunshine.

Intrusive thoughts, cruel and unrelenting, silently bully you. You’ve become quite adept at ignoring them over the years, opting for at least some semblance of normalcy in your quest for a happy, healthy life. Whatever that means.

But these thoughts in particular are cloaked in far too much truth…too many signs pointing to the worst being the obvious…to be easily disregarded.

You want to say these things to him. If only to bask in the assurance you might catch in his reply. But to risk the absence of said reassurance, is a feat too great.

Instead, you begin a tentative roll of your hips as you lean in close to meet his pillowy lips with your own. He tastes of mint, and the IPA he has been nursing, and Josh.

Like always, he indulges the kiss, but stills your hips, and you long to vanish into thin air, leaving nothing more than a coiling wisp of smoke in your wake. The rejection comes with a throbbing ache in your chest. Is your heart truly breaking? Now you’ll be forced to offer it to him in pieces.

And he isn’t the only one to indulge in old habits, because, also like always, you crawl into the safe embrace of humor. “You’re right, Joshua…you’re boring me. Back to the brilliant mind of Marty, my beloved.”

You slide off of him and stretch back out on the couch, focusing on the screen to hide your tear glossed eyes as he gets comfortable behind you.

“Scorsese, you bastard,” he shakes his fist in mock indignation, “how dare you steal the affections of my woman?”

A forced laugh comes out sounding a little too close to a sob. You play it off as best you can. Nothin’ to see here.

Alas, he catches it. And, of course, he won’t leave it alone, though you certainly ask him too.

“What is it, baby? What’s wrong?” He turns you toward him, hovering over you as you lie on your back and long to melt away. “Talk to me.”

“I just— I mean,” death seems of great comfort. “Is it me? Do you not… are you not… am I not pretty enough? Or sexy enough? Or… I don’t know,”

A frown of deep concern furrows his brow as his palms move to cup your face, “What? Are you not…Jesus, baby, of course you are. Fuck, if anything you’re too much. Too pretty, too sweet, too smart, too sexy.”

Your words come quiet and small, quivering with painful vulnerability “Then why?” You close your eyes, and thankfully, he allows you to hide this way.

Exactly what you knew would happen, happens. He lies without lying. “Why, what?” He sounds of feigned confusion. He knows what you mean.

Throat now constricted and pulsing with a wringing pain, you close your eyes tighter, unwilling to bear witness to whatever lie will follow his last. “Why don’t you want me?”

A tear breaches the dam you had hoped was impenetrable. You loathe and curse it.

“Hey, shhh…don’t do that. Don’t cry.” He brushes the tear away and then kisses over the path it took.

“Don’t cry?” You snap. A twinge of regret flares to life within you. You’ve never spoken to him unkindly, and could it be that there’s no going back? Perhaps this is it; the end of the road you’ve been heading inevitably for.

To your great surprise, he laughs. You crack an eyelid open to find it sincere. “So, she’s capable of something other than sugar, spice, and everything nice, after all.”

His hand smooths down your chest - can he feel the violent rattle of your heart as it thrums and beats out of control?

When at last he speaks, there is an edge to his tone you’ve never heard before. It warms you clear through to your curling toes “You think I don’t want you?”

You shrug, all pink cheeks and complete ineloquence.

“Well,” he soothes, drawing gentle patterns upon your temple and forehead, “you should know, that is far from the case.”

But, rather than take the moment further, as he so easily could, as you so desperately want him to, he sinks into an innocent position - resting his cheek on your stomach as you struggle to keep it from rising and falling too rapidly, his eyes, once more, on the screen.

The film drones on; mafia murders and cocaine swirling down flushed toilets. Betrayal and 20/20 hindsight…

…and on you watch, on the surface - in reality, you can think of nothing else other than the weight of his head on your stomach.

There is a dull ache there, inside you, gripping at every nerve ending all at once. He knows what you want, and he very obviously doesn’t want the same thing. He doesn’t want you.

He speaks first, and there’s too much truth in it. He knows you too well. “I need you to stop that.”

“Stop what?” You stupidly offer a tiny shrug, but for what? He isn’t even looking at you.

“Your walls, I can feel you stacking bricks. Stop, or I’ll take a wrecking ball to them.” he pets over your forearm comfortingly. It doesn’t help.

“Alright, Miley,” you toss the joke out like a life preserver for yourself. “Just don’t start licking sledgehammers and we’ll be alright.”

He gives you the softest laugh. It more closely resembles a sigh, “Is it only sledgehammers that you are opposed to me licking?”

Oh.

When he coolly pushes your shirt up and begins dragging his lips, licked slick and warm, around your belly button, you think you might burst into tiny, burning, longing, pieces. God, how you want him.

“You like that, baby love?” He speaks the words melodically into the room like a lullaby, hushed as a priest absolving you of your sins in a darkened confessional.

A whiny hum is all you seem capable of, but it doesn’t look like it matters much to him.

“Yeah?” He’s teasing now, and you think it might kill you. Your hips begin a barely perceptible rock in response. “Can I touch you, sweetheart? Do you want that?”

“Josh, please,” his name is less than a whisper. It’s a plea gasped into the dark, dancing with the flickering glow of the tv as it blinks and changes like lightning.

The warmth of his hand between them causes your thighs to twitch and tremble, but he hovers just above making actual contact. “God, look at you. How could you ever doubt how much I want you? So pretty. Can I touch you here, baby? My pretty, pretty girl.”

With a soft moan, you lift your hips, pressing into his palm. He doesn’t push for words, your body has given him all the consent he needs, and the want in your eyes reiterates.

His mouth is wandering your soft, flushed, stomach as he slides your pants away, gentle and sure, the tip of his tongue bridging the distance between his kisses.

Your hands weave down into his wild curls, comforted by the way they wrap themselves into your touch, spiraling around your fingers as you tug at them and tenderly scratch over his scalp. A particularly sweet drag brings a shiver to life on his shoulders. He groans in appreciation and runs away with another piece of your heart.

“Oh, fuck,” you murmur, surprised and grateful, when at last, he sinks a single finger into your warmth.

Should you at least have the decency to feel shy about the sound it makes? About the way you must be soaking his skin? Perhaps. But you don’t, and judging by the curse he secrets into the still of the night, there isn’t any reason to.

“Does that feel good?” He isn’t taunting you, it’s a genuine question, but there is a hint of a teasing tone there as well, peeking out from around the edges of his words and you think it might just be the sexiest thing you’ve ever heard.

“So good.” You’re whining and writhing beneath him, tiny pouty huffs of breath tumbling off your lips over and over…but you don’t care about that either.

His finger slips out and you mourn it pitifully, until it swirls around your swollen clit, tearing a shaking cry out of your chest. And then, there it is again, filling you as his thumb begins a slick trail of tight circles just right.

“You want more?” Oh god…the way he sounds, the way you feel. He’s setting you further and further on fire with his gentle, decadent, prodding. With his breathy, gingerly obscene questions. Flames - scorching and crackling - lick up inside you. Incinerating as they consume.

“More?” He asks again, rasping the word, wantonly urging you on.

“Yes!” You nod frantically, spreading your legs further. You want him, need him, so badly…coveting the very breath in his lungs for its privilege of being inside him in a way you’ll never know. You long to trickle down into his pores and vanish.

A second finger - they feel longer than they have ever looked - joins the first and then begins a perfect, guiding, curl.

Tucking into that perfect place inside you, he fucks the pads of his fingers against it ever so carefully. Gently spinning your head in every direction.

He rests against your belly as the muscles inside churn and flex beneath his ear, watching intently as his hand fucks away at you. He wonders what it might be like to stretch you to almost breaking. How it would feel to push another finger inside, and then another, and another. When would you tell him to stop? Three? Four? Could you take that burning stretch? Would you relish it and ask for more? Fuck, he hopes so.

But you feel so tight around him…just two fingers full and you’re squeezing like you’ll never let go. He worries, and the pounding pulse of neglect that aches rhythmically in his cock, reminds him that he worries rightly so.

He has always believed you to be the most beautiful thing his eyes have ever had the pleasure of landing upon, but he’s never seen you like this - spread open, soaked and puffy with want. With need…for him. It doesn’t seem possible.

The way you move…fluidly, like ripples chasing over the surface of a placid lake, urging him along with your body. Your gorgeous cunt sucking his fingers in. A goddess, a beckoning siren, an angel…he can’t look away.

Can’t until he hears it, until he feels it, how close you are. Wild, frothing, horses couldn’t keep him from the gift of watching your face as you fall apart. An army of men wouldn’t stand a chance. He wants this moment with you, and he will have it. He wants to make you cum, and he wants to watch your eyes go blurry with it, and so watch he will.

“C’mon, baby…” he goes breathless when his face tilts up to meet yours. You are flushed and panting, lips parted. The soft pink of your tongue just barely visible, blushing like saltwater taffy in your mouth and he wants to lick against it, wants to taste you.

The smallest blips of a sound he can’t describe chase each other out of that beautiful mouth he wants to kiss so badly. Tiny uh’s that shift into gasps of desperation. You’re right there, and he wants it more than you do.

With his bottom lip caught between his teeth, he eases his chin into the softness just below your navel, creating a delicious pressure, and crooks his finger so perfectly, pressing and stroking until it feels like you’re floating and the only thing holding you in place is him.

It is celestial. He is every constellation and you are the astronomer, feet held to the ground by gravity, eye pressed against a telescopic lens hopefully, frantic for a glimpse of his wonder.

There is only Josh.

“Almost there, pretty girl,” he nods, gaze glossed with lust and something that looks like love. “You gonna give it to me?”

You are. You’re going to give it to him. You couldn’t stop it now if you tried. Fluttering walls trap him inside you as his stare fixes, unmoving and heated, with yours.

“That’s it, baby love, that’s it.” He urges you on, leads you deeper and deeper, those long, warm, perfect, fingers working you like he’s been there a thousand times before. “Shh, you’re alright. I’m right here, just breathe for me.”

That’s all it takes for you to realize your lungs are burning for a breath you’ve been unknowingly denying them - and with that hissing, hungry, gasp for air, you explode under him.

He watches, mezmorized, as your eyes roll back, teeth clenched like some ethereal, feral creature. It bursts out of you, clear and shimmering, like liquid diamonds, but you don’t know it yet, he can tell…you’re too far gone, and he fucking loves it. He fucking loves you.

He has said it aloud. I love you, sweetheart. I love you so much. I love you.

But that’s the thing that he doesn’t know yet because he’s also too far gone.

You’re quiet, gentle. Sweet, whining whimpers floating out of you as you vibrate and spill.

On your end, you hear the confession of how deeply his feelings run, but you don’t register…it will settle in later and you’ll weep for not saying it back. Though you don’t need to, he knows.

Once you’ve settled, he pushes up until you are eye to eye, lapping your release off his fingers. You’re sweet enough to lick off a whisk like cake batter, and he tells you so…but you can focus on nothing but the shining glint of you that he wears so well.

Shocked by the sheer amount, you blush hard and hot. Burning brighter still when it drips from his hand and lands on your lip. In an act you don’t seem aware of, you lick it away like a raindrop. The very sight of it, the somehow still innocent depravity, weakens him until he is forced to swallow a whine.

“Had I known what I was missing,” he grins lazily, “I wouldn’t have been able to stop myself.”

The confusion sends you crashing back to reality.

“But why stop yourself at all?” Your eyes are so wide and clear. It makes him want to gather you up and keep you safe.

Once more, it crosses his mind that you’re an angel. He wonders where your wings have gone.

“Because, I—“ he falters, shaking his head as if he might rattle his thoughts into place. Finally, he opts to show, not tell, pressing his hips against yours so you can feel him.

And feel him, you do, but only for a moment. He’s so hard you’re cozy from the heat of it through the sweats he was lounging in when you arrived.

You’ve noticed. Of course you have. You’ve stolen a glance or two when he wasn’t looking. How could you not? You’d just always thought, and not to be crass, you’d always just assumed he was a shower, rather than a grower.

Now you aren’t so certain. He felt massive during the short amount of time he was rocking into you.

“You’re thinking very hard, baby love.” He smiles down at you. “Are those thoughts in my favor, or…?”

He trails off and awaits your answer with that Josh-like patience. Rather than speaking, you curl your hands around the waistband of his pants and then cast your eyes up, in silent question.

Nodding the go ahead, he continues watching you closely…studying your reaction as you tug him free.

“Oh, fuck,” the expletive sighs out of you as the tip of his cock - leaking, angry and swollen - slaps up, well above his belly button, with a solid thump.

He’s big. So big. Long and thick, beautifully shaped. Blushing pink at the head, and visibly pulsing under your awestruck scrutiny. You absently wonder how he isn’t light-headed for the amount of blood it must require to bring him to such full attention.

“I didn’t want to hurt you.” He explains softly, finally letting you in on the secret of why he’s been so skittish, “And I didn’t want to…”

His confession loses traction as he watches your mouth rather than meeting your gaze.

Your palms reach for him, cupping his angelic face with as much gentleness as the renewed desire racing through your veins will allow. “You didn’t want to what?”

While he searches for the words, you curl your thighs around him and pull him in, moaning out his name like a mantra when you feel him against you, skin to skin.

“God damn, baby…” he rocks his hips closer to yours and then remembers what he’s doing. “I didn’t want to scare you. And I didn’t want to hurt you.”

“Yeah, you said that.” You tease, trying to lighten the heavy load of his anxiety.

“I know.” His mouth meets yours, searching out a slow, needful kiss. “But I kept imagining hurting you, and you being too sweet to say so. I’m still imagining it.”

Your tongue licks into his mouth as you wrap your fist around him. “Look at you, Josh,” you smile shyly through a kiss that is anything but shy. “My fingers don’t even touch.”

“Grew up under some power lines.” He teases, relaxing as he pecks along your jaw.

“I want you inside me.” You sound despondent, and feel just as forlorn, the look in his eye warns you may have a fight on your hands.

“Pretty girl,” he tucks himself away and begins kissing a slow, serpentine trail down your body after he flutters your shirt, indicating he wants it off. “I could barely get two fingers in your sweet little pussy. Why don’t you just let me kiss it? Don’t you want to cum on my tongue, hmm? Won’t that feel nice?”

Such filth is a captivating development, and one you like very much…but, you stop him all the same. Grabbing him by the hair with enough force to tilt his head back, pulling his mouth away from your straining nipple, you issue a demand you intend to make sure he fulfills, “I said, inside, Joshua.”

He raises an eyebrow and suppresses a grin of dirty glee. “Joshua?”

Ignoring him, you watch as he licks the pad of his thumb and then arch away from the cushion when he begins a steady, swirling journey over your clit with it. “Gonna make you cum first, love. Again and again. I’m gonna baby this gorgeous cunt until my name is the only word you want in your mouth…and then I want you to fill my mouth.”

“Jesus, Josh…” you’ve never wanted anything more, but you can hardly force the words out to convey just how fucking agreeable you are.

“You want that?” He flicks over you faster and faster, indulging in your pouty, needy cries, praying they never end. “You want to cum in my mouth? Feed me something sweet?”

~

“Easy, baby love,” he coos, whispering to you like you’re a tiny, broken bird, fallen from the nest and afraid. “You’ve got to relax a little more for me.”

“Yeah…” you nod, staring up at him as if he painted your entire world into existence. And maybe he did.

No longer able to count the number of orgasms he’s gifted you with, you feel like liquid silk. Or clay in his palm, happy to be molded to his liking.

“Yeah?” He drops a kiss onto your forehead and pushes in just a hint further, eyes darting up when you hiss with discomfort.

You offer a smile for him to continue and he returns it gently, but the way he’s fighting for breath betrays him. He wants you badly, he’s going slowly mad with the need to bury into your body to the hilt.

His fingertips skate a ticklish trail down the curve of your waist and then grip into your thigh, spreading you open a bit wider.

Both bare now completely to each other for the first time, you’ve given yourself over right there on the couch. The room is silent, save for hushed words and choked breaths twisting languidly through the air, the movie long since over.

He’d wanted to carry you off to the bedroom, but you refused.

You want him here. You want him now.

Palm cradling the back of your head, he brings you forward until your mouth is sucking at his shoulder. “Just like that, sweetheart. Good girl.” His praise flips your stomach. A violent somersault of carnal need. “You just suck and bite all you want. I’m gonna take care of you. You know that, don’t you?”

Nodding urgently against him, you’re far too interested in the marks you're leaving against his overheated skin.

“Words for me, okay?” He coaxes so gently it makes your chest ache.

“You’re going to take care of me.” You mumble through a long lick along his collarbone.

Without reply, he slides in deeper, yet still not much more than the tip rests inside you.

A shocked cry escapes you before you can stifle it and his face snaps up, searching your own for tells of pain that he doesn’t have to look all that closely for. “Baby,” the pet name sings out of him, a soft crooning apology. “Let’s stop, I…”

“No, please!’ The frantic want bubbling up inside you colors your voice and surprises you both, but he masks it well.

“Hush, love. No one’s stopping yet.” he soothes, massaging your hip carefully. Just wisps of touch, but you relax beneath it like a sleepy babe cradled up snug and safe.

You’re not fond of that ‘yet’ he tacked on to the end of his promise.

“Deeper.” Your hips lift, forcing his hand while you gulp down another sound of discomfort.

“Don’t.” His grip is suddenly digging into your waist, no longer careful, but swift and insistent instead. “Let me take my time. Let me be gentle. I don’t want to hurt you.”

He’s right, and you tell him as much as he begins a slow, stuttering journey. Starting and stopping as you writhe with impatience and uncomfortability in his capable hands.

Reaching up, he guides your fingers down until they brush over your sensitive clit. “You take care of this for me, okay, baby? Help me make this easier for my pretty girl…I can’t stand the thought of hurting you.”

“Please, Josh…” you sound a mess, and who gives a damn? “Please!”

You’re right, it’s time. He knows it better than you do. He can wait no more. There isn’t far to go anyway.

Suddenly, with one firm thrust, he drives in all the way to the base, shuddering as you coil around him like a hot, wet, fist. Squeezing harder and tighter and fuck….

“So fucking tight.” He is trembling, fighting the urge to let go already. “It’s like you don’t want to let me go. Pussy so pretty and soft. Like the sweetest thing all dressed in pink. Aren’t you fucking gorgeous?”

Your eyes drift closed, breathing through the last remnants of the biting sting. You’re so full, it feels so good. So right. So completely perfect, you cannot begin to fathom how you’ve lived all these years without him inside you.

“Say it.” He sounds like an angel clawing his way closer and closer to something he can’t survive without any longer.

“What?”

“Tell me you’re gorgeous.” He’s fucking you faster now…and it stings, but it hurts so good you want to feel the burn forever. “Say you’re my beautiful girl. Come on, I wanna know that you know.”

“I—“ your face flares as pink as the cunt he’s currently locked inside

“That’s it, baby love…” he coaxes, pumping into you with long, torturous strokes. “C’mon,”

A little less tentative now - he effortlessly makes you believe - the words finally come “I’m gorgeous.”

He smiles so wide his nose crinkles as he nods and dips his lips to meet your own. “Fuck yes you are. My pretty girl. You’re doing so well, look at you. Just taking and taking and taking me.”

Pulling you up and away from the pillow gently, he guides your line of sight to the sinful image of him gliding in and out of you. His cock, glistening and covered in your unbridled desire - it catches the light and steals your heart. Is it possible to be in love with a cock? Or are you just in love with the man who wields it?

Both. Most definitely, both.

“Look, baby, look…” a quivering huff escapes him. “It’s like coming home. Being inside you is like coming fucking home.”

“Harder,” you beg, winded and lost. He feels so good inside you. Stretched further than you ever thought possible around him, you clench and twist a fist into the throw pillow beneath you until your fingernails threaten to rip it open.

“Just…fuck,” his pretty face buries itself in the crook of your neck with a whimper as he falters. “Just a little.”

The room is hazy and blurred, filled with sounds neither of you can seem to quiet. Each moan and breath filling your head up until you feel feverish. Every groan and gasp pushing him closer and closer to the edge.

Your bodies meet in a sweat glazed dance that causes your teeth to grit together - biting down hard to suppress a scream that he might confuse with pain.

He tucks his own teeth into your throat deeply, growling out a melodic sound that sets you on fire, when the salt of your skin hits his tongue.

A shaky, “I’m gonna cum, baby love…where, baby, where?” Pants out of him with a desperate urgency the moment he releases your skin from his bite.

“Inside…” you plead, clawing at his waist as your thighs lock him in close. “Cum inside me…c’mon. Please,”

“Pretty girl begging for my cum. Begging me to ruin this beautiful little cunt…” he sounds as if he’s talking to himself, like he’s trying to convince himself that you’re real.

“Ruin it, baby,” your palms drift up his back, slow and steady…urging him along gently. “Ruin me.”

A sound so exquisitely angelic rumbles up out of his chest. Deep and primal, but somehow gentle and submissive, like he wants to fall at your feet in veneration of something holy and ancient.

He falls against you, pulling you as close as he can get you, and then draws the scent of your hair in only to feel that much closer. Rocking into you as he slowly comes down and finds himself.

Gathering you in his arms, he lifts you away from the disheveled couch, ignoring you when you protest weakly that you can walk.

A bath is drawn and laced with plain epsom salt to soothe your throbbing muscles. He slips into the steaming water behind you, cradling you as he drags a washcloth over your skin.

Quiet verses of a song you’ve never heard are whispered in your ear as you drift into a light slumber without worry, confident that he will keep your head safe above water.

Taglist: @gretasintrees @greta-van-chaos @celestialfauna @s0livagant @groggyvanfleet @kiszkathecook @brokenbellz @llightmyllovee @doodle417 @seventieswhore @jake-kiszkas-smirk @weightofdreams-gvf @imdepressedaf1996 @alisonwonderland29 @gretavanfleas @gretavangroove @sparrowofthedawn @xserenax-13 @tbagggvf @obetrolncocktails @tripthelightjaketastic @jakeslovehandles @poofyloofy @70sgroupielovr @heatmyfleet @age-of-nyahh @sammiboo162 @spicedandicedtea @jakekiszkasleftnutsack @saoirsemaeve @mywickeddivinity @paintmyhouse @tripthelightfandomtastic @tripthelight-fanfic @mckenna4 @sarakay-gvf @thelvnternskeeper @theweightofjake @joshsmama @sammysvanfeet @rhythm-of-space @highladyofasgard @calumspretty @sunfl0wer-power @sad1lynn

[ocean-sunfish-hater]

The Real Life Biology of the Three Body Problem Series

In the first book of Liu Ci Xin's Three Body Problem series, we are introduced to our main antagonists, the Trisolarans. Whilst we never get to see them directly, we are shown some of their biology via the game that our protagonist plays.

ID: A grand domed palace in a chinese style sits in the background of the image. The foreground has hundreds of ancient Chinese soldiers holding white placards on sticks. Two people dressed in Chinese armour can be seen riding horses towards the palace.

In the game it is revealed that Trisolaris, the planet in the Alpha Centauri system on which the aliens reside, revolves around not one, but three suns. As such, the system is subject to the classic physics conundrum of the three body problem (after which the first book in the series is named), which states that for most initial conditions the trajectories of three celestial bodies is chaotic and difficult to predict.

This means that Trisolaris experiences very extreme, unpredictable conditions, divided into "stable eras" and "chaotic eras". Stable eras come about when Trisolaris settles into orbit around one of its three suns, bringing relative prosperity to the planet. However, chaotic eras result in disasters, such as extreme droughts, seemingly endless nights, and even changes in gravity. The first novel partially revolves around the Trisolarans attempting to see if humans could collectively solve the three body problem and bring some level of predictability to their planet.

During the course of the game, it is revealed to the protagonist (and us, the readers), that in order to cope with the devastation and unpredictability of chaotic eras, the Trisolarans can dehydrate themselves and enter a spore-like state, hibernating until the next stable era comes. This allows them to bypass some of the extreme conditions and ensures the survival of the species as a whole.

Believe it or not, we have our very own Trisolarans here on Earth. In fact, there's loads of examples, from bacteria to triops, to my favourite of the bunch, Bdelloid Rotifers.

ID: An electron micrograph of some Bdelloid Rotifers and their mouthparts. They are long and slender, with a distinct mouth and tail section. Their mouthparts look like two semicircles lined with a comb-like structure.

These microscopic animals look freaky, because they are. If you've got any media literacy you've probably picked up by now that I am segueing here because they are somewhat similar to the aliens in the Three Body Problem, except this time they are very much real. Like the Trisolarans, Bdelloids live in very ephemeral environments: their usual haunts are the very thin film of water on moss and lichen. As you can imagine, these do not last all that long, and thus when they dry up, so do the Bdelloid Rotifers; in biology, we call this process anhydrobiosis.

"Ok, that's all well and good Ocean Sunfish Hater, but why do you like these guys more than the other anhydrobiotic creatures that roam our good, green Earth?" I hear you ask.

So you know how things that reproduce asexually don't have all that much genetic variation, and how sexual reproduction gives you an edge over asexual populations since you can keep that genetic variation fun and funky fresh, and how that has been the cornerstone for eukaryotic reproduction? Well. Well. Just like me, Bdelloid Rotifers have been completely celibate for 35-40 million years, with some people even bringing that number up to 100 million years, when they diverged from their sister clade. So how do these turbo-virgins not go extinct, racking up tonnes of deleterious mutations, not having any advantageous innovations, and eventually exploding into a genetic soup?

The secret lies in their ability to dehydrate. Not only is it a really handy dandy way to stay alive when your only source of water is gone, it literally rips apart their cells and genes! And why! Why the fuck does that help? It sounds like the opposite of helping!

ID: An electron micrograph of the foot of a Bdelloid Rotifer. It has been shaded a light green. The structure looks almost like a face, with a smile and two stalk-like structures that could be mistaken for eyes. But this is not a face.

Having this mild-to-moderate level of cell membrane and chromosomal damage enables the Bdelloids to take up genetic material from their environment, mostly via their digestive systems, where their last meals are slowly being broken down to reveal that juicy DNA inside. When the water returns and the Bdelloids rehydrate, this genetic material gets incorporated into their chromosomes as their cells get back to work repairing themselves. And they sure ain't picky. In fact, it has been shown that in some species of Bdelloids, up to 8% of their genetic material has non-animal origins. How cool is that?

This is probably what has allowed them to continue adapting and evolving, even when they have been reproducing asexually for so long. This strategy has been so successful that the Bdelloids have managed to diversify into over 450 species. Pretty impressive for a class of animals that haven't had sex in over 40 million years.

Perhaps the Trisolarans might have a similar mechanism as part of their biology (even if they do reproduce sexually as stated in the book). Maybe they've managed to survive for this long because they have been able to absorb useful genes from their home planet, just like Bdelloids have been doing here on Earth. I don't know if these are what Liu Ci Xin had in mind when he wrote the Three Body Problem, but they sure were what I was thinking of when I read the book.

If you're still here, thanks for reading! I know this was a bit of a longer post, but I just wanted to use the new Netflix show to talk about one of my favourite books and one of the weirdest, most underappreciated animals.

[b-b-brekker]

One of the things that fascinates me about the end of the Crooked Kingdom is how it almost seems to reverse the roles between Kaz and Inej.

Inej already thinks their relationship is over before it could even truly begin, she's the one withdrawing now...but Kaz meets her bare-handed and vulnerable. For the first time, he does things that are entirely and truly selfless, without any ulterior motive. He buys her a ship. He brings her her parents. He makes her laugh. And despite his incessant paranoia—his need to manipulate/control/ensure that things go the way he wants—he buys a berth out of pure, blind optimism for if she might return, not when.

And Inej is the one on a mission for revenge. I know people tend to ascribe very pure motivations to this quest—and its true that Inej will save many over the course of her sailing career—but it's funny to me how Inej herself doesn't talk about it in terms of saving people or freeing slaves. In fact, she doesn't mention that aspect of it really at all. She says to Kaz, "I'm going to hunt slavers." (SOC 432).

And in the incinerator, she first conceives her dream she talks about violence. About destroying the system that hurt her:

"She wanted a storm—thunder, wind, a deluge. She wanted it to crash through Ketterdam's pleasure houses, lifting roofs and tearing doors off their hinges. She wanted it to raise the seas, take hold of every slaving ship, shatter their masts, and smash their hulls against unforgiving shores. [...] She would hunt slavers and buyers. They would learn to fear her, and they would know her by name" (SOC 311).

Even when she discusses her dream to Kaz here at the end, she reiterates that her goal is to tear it all down.

"It's not just the slavers. It's the procurers, the customer's, the Barrel bosses, the politicians. It's everyone who turns a blind eye to suffering when there is money to be made." [...] "That could be half the people in Ketterdam—and you want to fight them all." "Why not?" Inej says, "On the seas and in the city. One by one." "Brick by brick" he [Kaz] said (CK 526).

Inej is the one dismantling now, brick by brick. In the barrel, she had to kill people to survive. Now, she's going to be killing for retribution.

Not to say that ending slavery is not a noble pursuit—it 100%, absolutely is. Fuck slavery, all my homies hate slavery. I just think it's fascinating how bloody and violent Inej's chosen path is. And how she doesn't talk about the more noble aspects of her goal—saving people—even once in the duology.

Just...Kaz's story ends with him reuniting a family. Inej's story ends with her threatening to kill Rollin's innocent child. It's not what I would have expected from them.

P.S. I've only read the duology, though I have heard that there are mentions of the crows in some of the other books. I don't know if there's any more information on Inej's time at sea or how Kaz fares in Ketterdam without her? But I don't mind spoilers, they might even motivate me to pick up the other books lol, so feel free to bring up whatever if you feel like commenting :)

[gabessquishytum]

Please consider either human au or retired Dreamling running a sex club. It's very popular and both Dream and Hob take a lot of pride in the place and are very hands on in different ways.

Dream is a dom that likes to make sure everyone is comfortable and safe within his establishment and tosses out anyone who causes problems and ensures that equipment is well kept and there are sanitation stations for toys and such readily available in the club. and Hob is a sub who always makes sure that there's water and snacks so that everyone can stay hydrated and feeling good. Both of them are almost always in the club looking after things and interacting with patrons, even if Hob has to kind of force Dream to actually talk and be social and not just making mental notes about what needs fixing or what could be changed to make things better.

Hob's favorite thing, though is the day at the end of every month when Dream spends all day in the office balancing the books and doing ordering. The office wall is shared with one of the free use playrooms and there a hole in it that's just Hob sized. He gets to have his arse hanging out on the playroom side, wearing a cock cage and being stuffed with all the cock he needs while he cockwarms Dream with his mouth under the desk on the other side. If he's very very good and doesn't distract Dream while he's working, he'll get to cum.

This is suuuuch a good idea, particularly love the idea of Hob and Dream being a little older here - they're like the mature kinky queer couple who survived a bunch of bullshit and came out the other side not giving a fuck about anything (and avidly taking care of all the baby gays + kink people who come their way).

Extroverted sub plus introverted dom is such a cute dynamic and I love the image of Hob happily cockwarming for Dream in the middle of the club. He's definitely doing a good job with the cockwarming but he's also holding conversations, being showered in kisses and compliments from friends, answering questions from newbies. Meanwhile Dream sits silently, sometimes hiding behind a magazine, tugging firmly on Hob’s collar when he wants him to pay attention. They're too cute together <3 and Hob really does like it when Dream makes an effort to dom him right down into subspace, so that he's incapable of focusing on literally anything except Dream. Everyone who sees Dream exerting his firm yet effective hold over Hob has to admit that it's deeply impressive - its the only thing in the world that stops Hob from yapping!

Their aftercare is always a private affair, tucked away in the office with Hob’s favourite snacks and cuddles on the black leather couch. They talk through their future plans, and Hob gets a nice massage (particularly if he's been on his knees at all). Hob listens to Dream’s soothing voice talking about all the new stuff he plans to order for the club... it's their own little bit of heaven, a dream come true, and they intend to enjoy it for many many years to come.

[morsking]

there has been a thematic thread linking marisbury's vision for humanity's future to kirschtaria's own desire to elevate humanity and protect the crypters, and morgan's own effort to protect the land of britain that contains the memories she made as aesc alongside the original tam lin and uther. this also reflects in artoria caster's existence post-avalon le fae as a simulacrum of the actual artoria caster that died in the lostbelt, preserved and embodied by artoria avalon so in some way the memory of that girl who remembered only sadness could be embraced by happiness. additionally, meltryllis in SE.RA.PH. breaching time and space to protect fujimaru is also a link in this chain. morgan's summer form, waking up after her spirit origin manifested her memories of being aesc, makes mention of the butterfly's dream: a philosophical thought musing that there is a transient boundary between dreams and reality.

the chinese philosopher chuang tzu once dreamt he was a butterfly, untethered and free to float in the air. he woke up questioning whether he dreamed he was a butterfly, or whether the butterfly was dreaming it was him. reality can feel like a dream, and a dream can feel more real than anything, underscoring how transience is an unavoidable part of the human condition. people will live their dreams and watch them end from the moment they are born to the day they die, and heroic spirits are the same because humanity lives every day chasing its dreams and heroic spirits are those dreams.

but starting with marisbury, we contend with the idea that sometimes, the dreamer does not wish for the dream to end. if dreams are transient because the dreamer must wake, then the only way to preserve the dream is if the dreamer fades away into the dream instead. marisbury seemingly committed suicide to preserve the animusphere grand order. meltryllis burned through the remnants of her existence to protect her memories of her timeline's fujimaru by saving them in their own. kirschtaria, already at death's door, stayed alive only to ensure his ideal and his friends could survive beyond his death, his soul being described as a bird taking flight with caeneus chasing in tow as he dies. morgan sacrificed being aesc so the land of britain could survive, and wiped her own memories of totorot and mash so they wouldn't be erased from existence for being time paradoxes. artoria caster used her entire life force to forge excalibur so the time she treasured could live on with her friends in chaldea as they fought to save proper human history, and themselves, from the rampage of cernunnos's corpse.

on top of all of that, there have been very cryptic visuals associating mash and butterflies since fgo's first opening. "shikisai" had the visual of a butterfly floating in ruins, and "yakudou" has a shot of mash's gaze following a butterfly flying into the sky. the butterfly is her guide, leading the way to the end of her dream. kinoko nasu himself once shared that cosmos in the lostbelt is a story about accepting that ends will come, and thus the butterfly is the lesson that she must take to heart to grow into a person who can claim what the purpose she chose is without shame or hesitation as the end draws near. this is something she did once saving fujimaru from goetia's ars almadel salomonis at the end of observer in timeless temple. and i would not be surprised if she did the same against marisbury at the end of cosmos in the lostbelt (which has yet to finish, as paper moon's trailer demonstrates having it be part of the chapter's title).

but what is the dream she is dreaming that is inevitably coming to an end that she will choose to protect at the cost of her place in it? if you've been reading this far, then the answer should be obvious.

but nasu wouldn't be much of a romantic if he believed an end is all you could really look forward to. the journey is far more important than the destination, because it's the only thing that can give the end meaning, as romani archaman rightly puts in his final conversation with mash. you can only extrapolate the significance of something after it's already over. not at the start, not in the middle of it, and not at when it's over, but at the moment that lies beyond the end of the dream.

and when a dream ends, that is the moment when another begins.

[mclennie]

A thing I really love about TBOSAS is its exploration of human nature through the characters, using the ideas of philosophers like Hobbes, Locke, and Rosseau. In fact, it's so important to Suzanne Collins that you make these connections that their most famous works are quoted in the novel's epigraph.

Gaul represents Hobbesian thought in the story, believing humans are hardwired to be cruel, selfish, and willing to kill each other to ensure survival. She tells Snow that the arena is "humanity undressed" and that even Snow, who had the right upbringing and education, quickly becomes a murderer inside the arena (tbosas 243).

It's always been interesting to me that she likens the arena, an environment controlled by the Capitol, to the State of Nature Hobbes writes about.

First of all, the State of Nature is supposed to be a place without any sort of interference, and in an arena, that's just not true; the Capitol controls weapons, food supply, and dangers like mutts. Secondly, the State of Nature was never a real place but more of a thought exercise, but Gaul seems to take this exercise at face value.

In Leviathan, Hobbes says that in the State of Nature, there exists a perpetual state of war, with no moral right or wrong, and to escape this "nasty, brutish, and short" life, humans must create a strong central state to impose order.

Snow's journey in the novel is to decide which worldview he ascribes to, which makes the arrival of Lucy Gray Baird into his life even more important.

Now, Lucy Gray is more in line with Rosseau's view that humans are naturally good, but society is the one that changes that. This is her line of thinking when she tells Snow: "People aren't so bad really[.] It's what the world does to them. Like us, in the arena. We did things in there we'd never have considered if they just left us alone," (tbosas 492).

What I like about TBOSAS is that unlike other prequels centered on the villain, it's not preordained by fate that Snow was meant to be an authoritarian dictator. He has a choice. He meets Lucy Gray when he's leaving childhood, stuck between two forks in the road, and he can choose whether to stay on the right side of the line, as Lucy Gray later mentions. But he decides not to.

He chooses wealth, fame, and power over love and goodness.

It's very telling to me that out in the woods with Lucy Gray, before their relationship quickly sours, he wonders what they should do after they meet their most basic needs. What would they do without books or music? What's the point of survival for its own sake? He even discounts having children with her because he says it would be "too bleak" to condemn a child to such an existence (tbosas 496).

Love is not enough. Not if you subscribe to a worldview where individuals are inherently cruel and if you think control is the only thing preventing chaos. When he turns his gun on Lucy Gray it's the ultimate rejection of her worldview, and his complete turn into Gaul's influence, one where it's every man for himself.

[ahamkara-apologist]

it's also wild because like. Mara Sov is outright manipulative. she outright says she has plans to kill you if you go astray. she has plans to kill everyone, actually. she gets information she has no business having just to do that even iirc. meanwhile Osiris is a stressed out gay old man who is trying to save everyone except himself.

Okay I WILL defend Mara here and say that while she is a manipulative bitch, yes, that's actually a good thing to have handy. The Young Wolf is fucking dangerous and so are many in the cast of Destiny, so having contingency plans to kill people as needed is kinda necessary (just look at Eris in the dark future). But Mara is out here playing games of 4D chess with the Witness and the likes of Savathun- she needs to play god like that because it's basically her job. The major issue with her is the fact that she doesn't know how to NOT play puppetmaster, and takes it into her personal life- what she did to Uldren was a prime example of that, and while I have many thoughts on why that is, the fact of the matter is that Mara is a person who does what she needs to do with the coldness and cruelty of a deity because that is the niche she's carved out for herself and what she needs to be to ensure the survival of humanity.

Osiris, on the other hand, is NOT playing 4D chess with the Witness- he's a soldier, a defender, a blade. And not only that, he acts the way he does because he's driven by anxiety, paranoia (well-placed paranoia too!), and the fact that for the longest time, he's been alone. He was outright exiled from the Last City! He was alone in the Infinite Forest with nobody other than Sagira and his own mind! That's a lot of centuries to be by yourself, and don't forget that those centuries were preluded by social isolation from his peers and betrayal beforehand. Osiris operated the way he did because his OCD had him constantly running on the assumption that the worst-case scenario was going to happen, and he had the experience from his time as Vanguard and his subsequent exile to show that not only did nobody believe him, they also didn't take it seriously (or took it too seriously) and wouldn't help him with it. Like, no fucking wonder he's always running around acting like he's the only person who's taking things seriously and throwing his all into solving the problem. His mind is hardwired to assume the worst and he has proof that people will not help him with it (though LF has him confronting that)

Like, I myself have OCD, and those repetitive thought spirals are no joke. Imagine that you're confronted with a problem, and your brain automatically jumps to the worst-case scenario for that problem. If you've gotten cognitive therapy for that, you know this isn't the case, but knowing doesn't change the fact that your mind is CONVINCED that the worst case scenario WILL happen, and it will get lodged to the forefront of your mind with all of its gory details while you try your best to ensure that it won't occur. Doesn't matter if you have to shift to doing something else- that fear, that worry, that will always be right in front of you. Meds and cognitive therapy have worked for me on that, but Osiris doesn't have those, and on top of it- he's got prophetic visions! I can't IMAGINE how awful that would be to deal with!!

That's also why his character development after Sagira's death is so big imo- as tragic as it was, Sagira dying for him forced him to really slow down and realize that rushing into things without thinking about his own safety harmed others, not just himself, and his subsequent reminder of his own mortality forced him to be reliant on others instead of refusing to let them help him. Part of why he was so impatient and brusque in Lightfall was because he had to rely on the Young Wolf and Nimbus to deal with an issue that he considered his own, and while it didn't go exactly as planned, I think that's also why he's softened up significantly since then. That, and him being unable to rush headlong into things and to just sit and enjoy his time with Saint (which he never allowed himself to do before because if he had the Light, what was his excuse for not fighting the Darkness) helped him tremendously. It forced him to face his flaws, learn that he could rely on others, and to slow down in life, and he's been doing much better as a result of it.

Osiris has only ever harmed others by completely disregarding the harm that he did to himself, and recent events in the story have forced him to reflect on that and change it. And maybe by being a bit of a blunt, extremely-honest ass that nettles sometimes. That's pretty much the extent of his flaws imo

[old-school-butch]

following the tent massacre, my question is, what should Palestinians do to be safe? What should women and children do to ensure their own survival? If they're told somewhere is safe only to be bombed in their tents, what hope do they have of surviving this war?

Unfortunately, very little. This is why war is so terrible - if only the people who agreed to fight were hurt then I would happily let them go at it. But when you plan for war, you are inherently accepting the deaths of so many innocents. That does not seem to weigh on leaders as heavily as it should.

There have been multiple proposals from Israel about where Gazan civilians can be safeguarded during this war but Hamas doesn't play by any normal rules. Normally, when you set up civilian areas that means that soldiers don't set up combat operations in the middle because that automatically makes it not a safe zone. Israel had proposed creating civilian safe zones in the Sinai peninsula but Egypt rejected the proposal out of fear that a) what if Israel doesn't let them return and they become Egypt's problem and b) Hamas would just follow their civilians into Egypt and start a whole other war since they already cooperate AND fight with IS jihadists based there, so Egypt would end up in a 3 way fight with terrorists and they'd much rather all this be Israel's problem.

So instead camps were setup in Rafah since Hamas' base of operations was further north. However, rockets are being fired at Tel Aviv out of Rafah now, so it's now clear that Hamas has established operations right in the middle of their civilians, putting Israel in a dilemma of how to safeguard their own civilians while removing this threat.

The only thing civilians can do in a war is be as far away as possible from combat. International law regarding combat make this obligation really clear to all combatants involved, which is why Israel is getting blasted for pursuing Hamas into Gaza. But since Hamas isn't a real government, they aren't held to the same standard and that's a problem no one has a good solution to. In the big picture, if using civilians as human shields means you get to win a war, then the terrorists really do win and we will all face non-stop terrorism because they will keep winning with this exact strategy.

But as an individual, if you know Hamas is keeping hostages near you or setting up rocket launchers next to you, your life is in immediate danger. But Hamas is not above terrorizing its own population, and women in Gaza have almost no political power so they are stuck here. Ultimately, Hamas needs to be overthrown and that can happen through Israel but it can also happen when the civilian population has had enough of a leadership that is so thirsty for violence. I mean, ideally, people might also become more wary in the future of voting bloodthirsty leaders into power but those lessons seem a long way off.

Having said all that, I don't agree with Israel's assault on Rafah. Yes Tel Aviv is under missile attack but the Iron dome protects civilians there while some re-grouping can happen to also protect civilian life. While freeing hostages was a clear goal, the theory of victory (i.e. what does it mean to 'win' or meet your objectives) to engage in this war with the goal of regime change is really tenuous. It's really not clear to me how that would happen and even whether Hamas' replacement would be any better.

I think in the face of terrorist and non-state actors, states need to re-think how wars are going to work in the future. You can't have one side that will do ANYTHING to save its civilian hostages facing another actor who appears ruthlessly willing to let their civilians die and not see that concluding this conflict is going to be bloody and prolonged. Israel hasn't really faced this kind of war before and I don't believe they are well prepared for it. For that matter, I don't think the world has a clear, successful strategy to handle terrorists and so far attempts to battle ISIS or al Queda have been similarly bloody and inconclusive. This is, of course, why these groups are spreading so rapidly - because killing civilians (your own an your opponents) until your non-terrorist opponent feels sickened at the slaughter and stops fighting you... works. The fact that Israel gets blamed for it is just icing on the cake.

One of the biggest problems with wars is that once you start them, they are very hard to stop. This is because only one side has to want war to begin it, but both sides have to want to end it. In particular, the loser has to decide they've had enough or the threat they pose to their opponent is ended. I remember watching the celebrations happening in Gaza on October 7th and wondering why these doomed people were cheering the start of war. If Hamas is literally willing to fight to the last civilian, when will they say enough?

[tootoomanycats]

PERFORMANCES: Chapter 1 -The Storm of The Century

Summary: In the wake of a historic hurricane raging across the treacherous waters of the East Blue and Grand Line, islands and their resilient inhabitants must either adapt or flee to ensure survival. Sleep Haven, a once-tranquil oasis, now finds itself shattered by the merciless storm. What took years to build and nurture with your own hands lies in ruins, demolished in mere hours. What should have been a fleeting tempest stretched into endless months of devastation. With little left but dwindling supplies and scant funds, you and your fellow islanders embarked on a desperate flight for survival. In your hour of dire need, you reached out to a mysterious benefactor whose aid came at a staggering price. The cost: to divert the attention of the clownish "Leader" of the Cross Guild. As events unfold on BariBari Island, amidst schemes and dangers, you find yourself grappling with emotions long suppressed. Is your interaction with the clown merely a facade, or is it awakening something you've denied yourself for years? Will the repercussions of this precarious pact only affect the flamboyant clown, or will it unravel the last vestiges of your guarded heart as well? The storm may have ravaged Sleep Haven, but the true tempest now brews within your soul and the choices you are forced to make.

Warnings for THIS chapter: None

Performances Master List

Pairings: Buggy/Reader

Word Count: 4,417 Words

AO3 Link

Warning for this Story:

Reader is a retired sex worker

Both Buggy/Reader are in their early to late 30's

There will be smut scenes

There will also be cute fluff scenes

Please note that betrayal does happen to Buggy in this and as of right now I still dont know if Buggy will forgive Reader or not.

Switch/Switch sexual dynamics so its really anyones game.

Author Notes: Hello everyone! Please note that this story already has some spicy teasers that can be found on the MASTER LIST. This story was origionally only supposed to be a few smut peices, but its become what will probably be one of the most intense and intricate stories I've ever tried to take a crack at. A few things to note before you should dig into this story. Reader is a fem presenting person and there will be pronouns of She/Her for this story. I am working on stories for nongender presenting works, but for this one it is a designated identiy. Anyway if you like it, please remeber that fanfic writers live off of Likes, Kudos and Comments of encouragment and conversation. Enjoy.

Chapter 1: The Storm of the Century

"Get to the bunker!"

Amidst the cataclysmic wail of the hurricane, screams became echoes lost in the torrent. The quaint island town, once a portrait of tranquility, was now an arsenal of airborne debris, propelled by winds that shrieked at a hundred miles per hour. Mari, a slender blond woman, sprinted through the chaos, clutching a young child to her chest like a precious gem. Her eyes were set on the concrete sanctuary that had morphed into a last haven for the island's residents.

Once safely ensconced inside, her eyes scanned the room in a frenzied dance, landing on face after face, each one not the one she was looking for.

"Where's the Mistress?!"

Silence strangled the air. The group of women inside exchanged worried glances; their faces etched with a mutual dread. Finally, the child's voice broke through the din, its pitch climbing to be heard over the relentless battering of the storm against the shelter's walls.

"She said she was heading to the Ustesse family's place! Their mom is 'bout to have the baby!" A wave of collective gasps swept the room, whispers and murmurs swirling like mini vortexes. "They're gonna be okay, right Mari?" The child clung to her leg, his small face etched with terror, tears cascading down his cheeks.

Bending down to his level, Mari swiped away his tears with the corner of her apron and tenderly swept his disheveled hair from his eyes.

"Don't you worry. I have faith she's hunkered down with our friends. I'll go check on them, okay?"

The child clung to Mari's skirt, his small fingers knotting the fabric tightly until another woman tenderly pried him away and cradled him in her arms. With a resolute nod to the remaining occupants of the makeshift sanctuary, Mari clenched the rustic wood handle of the door, leveraging her entire body weight to wrench it open against the ferocious wind.

Outside, the storm raged on.

Ominous, dark green clouds churned in a frenetic dance, intermittently pierced by jagged bolts of lightning that shot from sky to ground and an encroaching sea line. Amid the apocalyptic landscape, she nearly missed her turn; the familiar road marker had been uprooted, now likely a part of the storm's airborne arsenal. Navigating just ten feet felt like an insurmountable quest as she lunged from one gnarled tree trunk to another, grasping their deeply anchored roots to avoid being swept away, her fingers ached, and the muscle of her palms cramped at the strength needed to hold on. What should have been a brief traverse felt like an agonizing odyssey.

Finally, a welcome sight emerged: the door of the Ustesse residence, peeking timidly from the slope of a small hill. Its unique architecture had rendered it a fortress amid the devastation. With the final sturdy tree and fence line a daunting hundred feet away, Mari resorted to crawling on all fours, her body encrusted with a sludge of mud and saltwater, her hair a tangled net of debris.

Summoning her remaining strength, she rapped on the massive wooden door before leaning into it, a low groan escaping her lips as she exerted herself to budge the door just an inch. Once safely enveloped by the fortress of solid oak, she gave one final heave, sealing the door—and with it, the cacophony of the storm and the haunting screams of the world outside. Silence filled the space, air stale with its humidity from the storm.

Catching her breath and hastily combing her wind-tangled hair from her face, Mari delved deeper into the short corridors of the dwelling. Just as she was about to call out, a gut-wrenching scream echoed from the far reaches of a back bedroom. Without a second thought, Mari charged down the hall, heart pounding.

"Hello? Is everyone alright?!"

A bedroom door burst open, revealing the cherubic faces of two children—twins. The boy���s eyes brimmed with tears, while his sister, a portrait of grave concern, gestured urgently toward the bed. As Mari neared the warm glow of a flickering lamp, her eyes widened at the spectacle before her.

A woman in the throes of labor crouched on all fours, her fingers clenched around the headboard with such force that the wood itself seemed to wail in sympathy. A statuesque figure—her mistress—kneaded the laboring woman’s back, offering rhythmic chants of encouragement between her cries.

"Mistress?" Mari’s voice quivered as her eyes met those of, you, her friend.

"Mari! Oh, bless the gods, you have perfect timing. We need hot water and clean cloth—fast. The twins are too petrified to leave their mother’s side." With graceful, efficient movements, your arms supported the laboring woman, guiding her to sit at the edge of the mattress. "Listen, Hannah," you spoke, tone laced with gentle humor to try and lighten the moment, "I know this isn’t your first time at the rodeo, but with the baby being breech, we need to proceed with the utmost caution. Are you with me?" You watched the mothers body language with worry, the feelings tel-tail signs hidden behind a well practiced smile. The last thing needed was for the poor woman to panic because the person she was depending on couldn't keep it together.

Hannah's face was flushed, a vivid crimson, her hair clinging like wet tendrils to her sweat-drenched forehead. Cheeks puffed rhythmically as she exhaled forcefully, desperate for enough oxygen to ward off fainting. Gripping the mattress's edge with white-knuckled hands, she heeded your guiding words. Meanwhile, Mari stationed herself behind her, soothing her flushed skin with icy rags and murmuring words of encouragement.

"You're doing beautifully. Keep breathing, just like that."

While the intimate tableau of new life being ushered into existence unfolded within the sheltered chamber, the hurricane outside continued its relentless havoc. Hours slipped by like minutes, until finally, the culmination of Hannah's strenuous labor bore fruit—a tiny, newborn life. Arms carefully swaddling the freshly cleaned infant, lips curving into a tender smile as you approached the exhausted mother while whispering.

"Ten fingers and toes—a classic choice."

Exhausted but elated, Hannah chuckled as she cradled her newborn daughter, feeling the infant's minuscule fingers wrapped around her pinky. She looked up at you, her Mistress while reaching for your hand, and planted a reverent kiss on the back of it, before pressing it to her flushed cheek. "Thank you, Mistress Your presence—and Mari’s—made this infinitely more bearable, I think we would have been in big trouble without both of you."

Warmth spread from the hand on the mothers damp cheek, up into your chest and heart before being expressed through a smile that radiated love. Bending down, you bestowed a gentle kiss upon Hannah’s forehead.

"I’ll always do whatever I can to support our little village of misfits."

A sudden cough diverted everyone's attention to Mari, who stood in the doorway of the bedroom. Her eyes were a mix of exhaustion and sorrow, burdened with news she wished she didn't have to relay. "Mistress, there are urgent matters requiring your immediate attention."

The exhaustion from the last few hours gripped your shoulders, sagging them for a brief second at the added weight of remembering the growing storm outside, and the towns precarious condition. You had been called to the home so early, that everyone in town had still been a sleep, even the baker. Something told you that todays dawn of ominous black clouds that had filled the horizon, had turned into a much more worrisome outcome than just the usual tropical depression.

You needed a drink, a stiff one at that.

Something strong enough to not only burn your tongue but also this day away. With what little energy that could be mustered from aching joints and stiff muscles, your spine straightened, with head held high and a stiff upper-lip you nodded before exiting the room, Mari trailing closely behind.

"Thank you, Mari. Any indication of when this storm might subside? I saw some dark clouds on my walk here earlier, but I haven't had a chance to see what its damage is yet." Turning down the hall towards the front of the Ustesse earthen home, the round wooden door and windows stood before you. Windows that faced out to the front of the town came into view, but your brain was having trouble comprehending what it was seeing. Lead filled your feet and forced the once hurried forward momentum you had to stop. The sudden change causing the blond to bump into your lower back, but you didn't budge. Body unable to move at the new and terrifying view in front of where you both stood.

The islands usually calm, crystal clear, blue waters were the backdrop for the small islands only town. It had taken months to bring the supplies for just the first houses foundation, let alone the last three years for the rest of the buildings to be finished at the beginning of this year. Untold hours of sweat, blood and so many tears from your own two hands had been put into creating this safe haven from nothing.

Saliva built in your mouth, a normally wet tongue felt like blooming cotton in its dry texture. The sensation forced the already cord tight muscles in your neck to swallow. A new view showed through the windows glass, one that could only be what clothes perceived of the outside world trapped during the spin cycle of a washing machine. Wind howled by so fast that you were sure you could see bits of earthen chunks being thrown at breakneck speeds. The storms dramatic change of atmospheric pressure caused both window frames to bow and groan, threatening in anguish to break. Thank god you had splurged for the hurricane rated windows this time around.

This home and the bunker had been built as a test, trying to put less financial investment into the usual and expensive construction supplies and more into a sturdier outcome with what was already on hand from the land around them. Building them both into the side of the hill had been the hardest part, but it seemed that the gamble had paid off. You blinked as dust fell from the ceilings boards, realizing that the chunks of earth you had seen were from the homes moss roof.

The home still held up, so far.

How had that storm turned into this so fast? Normally the island had plenty of warning from the weather monitor to prepare. A den-den mushi connected to the stations from the main island, it had guaranteed constant updates and warnings. In the years you had lived here, not once did even a small ‘just in case’ not get sent out. A gut sinking question pushed its way to the front of your mind.

Had the main island been caught off guard by this storm as well?

Mari had stood silent next to you, the top of her head barely reaching your shoulders, her emerald green eyes observed calmly, as a blank expression took the place of a once truly happy smile of her friends face. Years of friendship taught her patience, especially when it came to the time that you needed when processing information. She stood in worry at the events outside, but also in confidence knowing that plans for multiple outcomes were already swirling in the back of your mind while taking in what was before you.

Finally moving, you walked to the front door and grasped the copper handle to pull it open when a sudden gust of wind slammed it shut, pulling you against the unyielding wood with a loud thud. "What the—?"

Mari intervened, gently brushing your hand aside. Taking a few long strides back you watched as the short blond braced a foot against the doors frame for leverage, she clenched the handle with a firm grip and mustered all her strength to yank the door open.

With a gritty shove, the door finally yielded, breaking the vacuum seal between the tempestuous storm and the home's still air. Both of you stood silhouetted in the doorway, squinting into the blinding onslaught of the storm—visibility reduced to a mere five-foot radius. Mari shuffled her weight from one foot to the other, her nerves starting to win against her patience.

“Whats the damage so far Mari?”

"The storm appears to be getting closer, Mistress. As it stands, only Hannah's home and our newly erected shelter have withstood the havoc.”

With wide eyes and mouth gaped in shock, you turn to look down at your friend before placing a firm hand on her shoulder. Another ball of saliva forced its way down as panic set in, had the people who had come to depend on you made it to safety? The words had to be forced out with what little air it felt your lungs could grasp, voice scratchy and hoarse as the question was asked.

“Is everyone…are they okay?”

Mari gave a small smile and nodded her head in reassurance. She understood intimately the fear you had; she had been a first-hand witness to this islands ceaseless endeavors, helping lost souls and vulnerable women find not just shelter, but a home and small community to depend on. It might have been humble, but it was one of safety, filled with love and warm meals. More than most had experienced before in their lifetime.

"Everyone is safe," Mari whispered, her voice tinged with solemn relief as her smaller hand lay gently across your own. “So far it is just the buildings that have been destroyed. This storm came on so quickly the others didn't even have time to grab any personal belongings.”

Both of you looked back out the door as the hurricane seemed to stay in place on the tiny island.

“I guess we will have to wait and see what we can salvage, hopefully we can make enough to repair everything”.

Now where was that drink?

Two Months Later.

That's the length of time the colossal hurricane had churned off the coast of the Grand Line, its path ever changing, sometimes even veering dangerously close to BariBari Island. The last hurricane of this scale had been the stuff of legend, occurring generations ago. The kind of things elders spun as eerie tales for younger ears at bedtime, recounting a storm that raged for an entire year before vanishing as mysteriously as it appeared. These stories painted nightmarish scenarios—mighty ships splintered like kindling under the hurricane's wrath, lush islands stripped to barren wastelands, and entire communities swallowed up, leaving nothing but memories and fear in their wake. Its unyielding presence disrupted every facet of maritime travel and daily life for the Cross Guild.

And now, the behemoth storm showed signs of further intensifying, prompting the leaders of the Cross Guild to recall their entire armada back to the island. They aimed to minimize the loss of their assets, salvaging whatever could be spared from nature's fury. But this strategy made from necessity had a double edge to it, while it saved their assets, it also lost them time and money in doing so. The lack of incoming funds creating great irritation in the largest of the three leaders, and terrified the shorter showman. A stop to income meant debts couldn't be paid fully or on time.

The formidable warlords congregated around a large circular worn table. Emptied wine bottles, extinguished cigar stubs, and disheveled piles of coins and playing cards surrounded them like the aftermath of a battlefield. Initially convened for a formal meeting, their gathering had dissolved, as it often did, into late-night poker and calculated wagers. The air was thick with a smoky haze, trapped by the room's tightly shut windows. Scant candles flickered on sparse furnishings, casting ominous shadows that danced in rhythm to the distant roll of thunder. Raindrops pelted the windowpanes, each gust of wind testing the mettle of their rusted latches.

Just as a new round of thunder shook the very foundation of the room, the silence was shattered, with a high-pitched whine. Slumping dramatically in his chair while disembodied hands remained frozen, Buggy sneered at cards that he had yet to reveal—a losing hand, if the theatrics were any indicator. After already losings the last four rounds, his mind was craving After four loses from the last few rounds, and his chips stacks getting smaller and smaller, his brain started to struggle staying focused. Weeks of being kept inside, no sunlight and temperatures fluctuating between sweltering and freezing would make anyone irritable. Even more so for someone who’s brain never seemed to stay quite or still.

"This storm has been raging for weeks. The longer this damn hurricane goes on, the more I’m starting to think its possible to die from boredom."

Buggy stormed from his grandiose chair, boots thudding against the floor as he glowered through the windowpanes. Just two hours ago the rain-droplets had been freezing to the glass, and now it was so warm that the inside edges were dripping in humidity. It was impossible to stay in one layer of clothing for the whole day now, having to now switch between snow and winter ware to summer beach attire constantly. His usual outfit was reduced to more comfortable wear for the late night. Long azure-colored hair held up in a high ponytail to keep anything warm off his neck, classic makeup smudged after hours of wear and humidity. The fur-lined coat draped over the backing of his chair, accompanied by his stripped bandanna.

Pouring another full glass of wine, Mihawk's eyes flicked from Crocodile to Buggy. Setting the crystal glass down, a pale hand tossed a few more coins into the pile as cards were discarded and new ones added. The usually well-poised swordsman felt his patience wearing thin with being cooped inside for so long, finding time alone to read had become near impossible. Add the irritation of never having a moments peace and the shifting weather it was no wonder he had grown more and more quite as the night went on. Even his normally immaculate appearance had loosened to something more casual. Hair tousled, mustache bristling in odd directions from the sweltering dense air. Hat and coat hanging on the wall, sword leaning next to them forgotten and left to try and stay cooler during this hours choice of temperature.

Crocodile delicately ashed his sizable cigar into a nearby used glass. Leaning back into his chair, he relished the sound of the wooden joints creaking under his weight. "I've got some old acquaintances that are going to dock on the island soon. They asked if they could stay until the storm passed, its a smallish group of maybe twenty at most.”

While still looking out the window, Buggy rolled his eyes in boredom. “Oh yeah? What do they do for work?”

The behemoth man paused in his reach for a new card, a self-satisfied smirk tugging at his lips as he searched for a fitting descriptor. "They're a group of retired performers—some of the best at what they used to do." Plucking the new card, Crocodile grabbed an four of clubs to throw into the discard pile before nodding to the brunet next to him that it was his turn now.

Buggy perked up, spinning to face the table, his eyes alight with eagerness. "Performers?" Then, his excitement deflated. "Oh, wait. You said they're retired, right? So, they're old and boring." With a disheartened sigh, he laid down his cards and folded them, leaving the game to the other two men.

Silence once again fills the room, the clown could feel his skin crawl from under-stimulation and the banal environment, feeling the frenetic energy of his brain becoming louder.

“So when do the geezers get here?”

Crocodile stiffed a chuckle at Buggy's question, now turning to face the sword-smith to continue their card game, deliberately ignoring the clown's feigned indignation. “They should be arriving in the next few days, If the storm allows it.”

Shifting in his seat, Buggy swung one leg over the armrest and gazed out the window again, sulking in his boredom and already reaching for his coat as the temperature started to drop again.

A few hundred leagues away

Ornate tubes of lipstick danced like marionettes across the creaking floorboards, swept away by the hurricane's invisible hands as the storm outside orchestrated an all-out assault on the ship's integrity. Each howling gust and bone-jarring wave turned the vessel into a seesaw, rocking it in erratic patterns that defied gravity, from fore to aft, starboard to port.

When a particularly large wave crashed against the ship's bow the buckets in the room slid across from one corner to the other along with the smaller trunks of storage, their scraping noises adding to the symphony of the ship's already overstimulating orchestra. Falling to your knees with a harsh thump, a hand flew to cover your mouth as a particularly intense wave of nausea made itself known. Moans, groans, and the unmistakable retching of seasick passengers reverberated through the timbers as if the ship itself were in agony.

With a sense of urgency, the that Mari had help to adorned with delicate rings reached out in a desperate ballet, snatching up the errant lipstick tubes before they could escape into the narrow abyss between creaking planks. Then, as if provoked by your defiance, a colossal wave—fit for a sea monster's grand entrance—slammed into the bow. The impact sent buckets, dainty trunks, and sundry personal items skidding and screeching from one end of the room to the other. The shrill scraping of metal against wood joined the discordant orchestra, lending another layer of chaos to an environment already awash in sensory overload.

A knock at the door was heard before it slowly cracked open. A voice gently called out, "Miss? Are you alright?" In walked the familiar petite blond with a white apron cinched around her waist. Her eyes darted to where you stayed kneeling on the floor, curled over a bucket, trying to hold back from heaving up what little food you had been able to keep down so far.

"Oh dear, you poor thing. I knew this voyage would be trouble, especially with your seasickness." Mari helped guide you to sit up on the bed before wiping the sweat that had grown across the heat of your forehead with a rag dunked in a bowl of cool fresh water. "I didn't think it would be so rough when we're gaining distance from the storm's center. Are you sure we can trust this acquaintance of yours?"

Letting out a low, contented hum as the icy touch of the damp rag caressed your feverish forehead, taming wayward strands of hair that clung to moist skin. Head tilted back, eyes blissfully shut, you surrendered to Mari's nurturing touch as if each swipe of the cloth washed away a morsel of discomfort. "No, he is not someone to be trusted. I'm afraid turning back isn't an option, Mari. Since that storms appearance we’ve burned through almost all our emergency supplies. We’ve no money to speak of and nowhere to retreat to. Did the captain give any indication of how much longer this hellish ride will last—oh God!"

Even in so much discomfort and exhaustion your hand shot to a bucket tucked covertly under the bed, just in time for you to dry-have, retching into its emptiness. Mari's face crumpled in empathetic distaste, yet she remained steadfast, gathering your hair to prevent it from falling into the line of fire. "The captain assures us it'll only be a few more hours," she replied.

With a groan that seemed to echo the creaks of the ship, you withdrew your head from the foul-smelling bucket, collapsing onto the bed that swayed like a pendulum in sync with the ship's motion. "By gods, thank you for that news. Please, check on the others. From what I was hearing they might be faring even worse than me."

Mari bit her lower lip, a visible manifestation of her brewing concern. Sensing this, an eye cracked open, lips stretching into a warm, reassuring smile as you gently squeezed Mari’s arm. " You are too good to us, Mari, there is no one else we could hope to depend on. Please, they might need you more than me.”

At the encouraging nod, Mari pivoted gracefully and moved toward the door. Pausing on the threshold, her eyes lingered, bathed in the dim light of the room. "If you need anything, just holler, Miss." With that, she vanished into the dizzying corridor, momentarily losing her balance in the ship's wild sway. Bracing herself against the wall, she pressed on, intent on delivering the same vigilant care to the other ladies enduring this maritime ordeal.

Back in the sanctuary of your private chamber, starring at the ceiling, transfixed by the droplets of water that seeped through the holes in the timeworn deck above. Each droplet felt like a punctuation mark in the million thoughts that seemed to swirl repeatedly—a relentless reminder of your dire circumstances. Letting the right arm go limp, fingers loosely clutching the now lukewarm rag before letting it tumble to the floor. Your thoughts careened like a tempest, mirroring the chaos outside.

"We're in desperate need of help," the words murmured softly, as if verbalizing it might summon the assistance you so urgently required.

Shout Out To: @gingernut1314 @oddmawd @fanaticsnail @diabolicemerald @hey-august @lemony-snickers for being such amazing authors. All of you have given me inspiration and strength from reading and experiencing your creations to to able to spread my own wings. Thank you.

[asherisawkward]

My reaction to the below post

Hello! Fan of Philip here. (I do NOT think he did nothing wrong. He did quite a bit wrong.)

I can’t help but notice that despite your claim of attempting to see things in an unbiased manner, you clearly have made no effort to step outside your favorite character’s side and look at things objectively.

So, I will list the facts:

Fact one: The Wittebane brothers were orphaned at a young age. This resulted in Caleb becoming entirely responsible for his little brother, who was dependent on him physically, financially, and emotionally. Especially when it is strongly implied that they had difficulties fitting in, as referenced by Masha, “They tried to fit in with this town, and its unsavory practices.”

Fact Two: Caleb participated in and even supported Philip with the witch hunting culture. Masha said, “They became witch hunters.” They, not he. Additionally, Caleb is seen in Hollow Mind making the mask that Philip uses when he plays “witch hunt” with his brother and interacts with the witch hunting community. There are also scenes of them witch hunting together.

Fact Three:Caleb met a witch named Evelyn and began to communicate with her. It’s never specifically stated how they met or when, but the memory painting below indicates that it was during a witch hunt. Take note of the pitchfork in Caleb’s hand.

Fact Four: Caleb and Evelyn kept their interactions regarding the Boiling Isles a secret, as noted by the rebus, Marsha’s statement of “They used a secret code to travel between worlds,” and the buried Titan Blood. They took great care to ensure that nobody would be able to find them out, including Philip.

Fact Five: Caleb is never mentioned detailing his change of heart and opinion to Philip, nor does he make any apparent interest in introducing the pair to each other until the scene depicted below, which is after years of Philip struggling to survive in the demon realm and thinking his brother was kidnapped. This leads Philip to having no reference for his brother’s growth and thinking that such an extreme change could only happen because of witchcraft.

Fact Six: Caleb and Evelyn had a constant method of transportation between the realms. This is supported by Masha’s previous statements, the buried vial of Titan’s Blood, the abundance of the aforementioned liquid and knowledge of how to get it, and the designated arch they used to travel between the realms.

Fact Seven: Caleb canonically abandoned Philip. This is not an opinion or a take, it is fact. One day, Caleb stopped coming back to the Human Realm and decided to live in the Boiling Isles with Evelyn. Not only did he ignore the fact that his brother was still clearly a child who seems to be closer to Gus’ age than any other members of the cast, but there is no proof that he even left a note behind to is brother or tried to take him along. Instead, Philip witnessed his brother seeming happy and free with a witch, something his entire society and even Caleb had taught him to hate, and he never comes back again.

Unless this portrait is just make believe?

If Caleb really didn’t intend to get stuck on the Boiling Isles, then why didn’t he try harder to get back to his brother? Philip has shown from his time on the Isles that it takes some dedication and knowledge of the dangers of Fool’s Blood, but it is entirely possible to get access to Titan’s Blood again. Caleb either was not nearly as motivated at getting back to his orphaned brother or he was not nearly as intelligent as we were led to believe through Hunter.

Fact Eight: Evelyn is in the late stages of her pregnancy when Philip finds them, implying Caleb was there for at minimum 8-9 months, which could play a factor in him not wanting to leave the isles and return to Philip. When Philip first arrives in the Isles, he is in his late teens or early twenties, as seen by his appearance below.

When Philip finally sees Caleb again for the first time, he has a beard and his face has matured to resemble his thirties. That is about ten years that Philip believed his brother to be kidnapped and brainwashed, if we believe both the math and Philip’s diary.

Credit to Teasnap on Duscord for fact eight.

Fact Nine: When Caleb and Philip finally do reunite, the former takes no consideration for Philip’s struggles to survive the Isles, the fact that he grew into adulthood with the same people reinforcing his biases as when he was a child, the terror and confusion he must have experienced at losing his only connection/parental figure, or any of the other trauma and issues that happened because of his choice. What does he do instead? He hugs Philip and introduces him to the woman he abandoned him for.

None of this is to say that Caleb is an inherently bad person or that he deserves to die in the manner he did, but he made some serious mistakes by choosing to leave his family behind for the Demon Realm, much in the same way that Luz does to Camila. What it does characterize him as is selfish and thoughtless.

I could go on a tangent about how with the way Philip was conditioned, he would have considered any kindness coming from a witch or demon to be a falsehood made to ensnare him and steal his soul, or I could do a lengthy analysis on how Philip desperately needs Evelyn to be evil or else the only person who ever mattered to him chose to willingly abandon him to a town that likely hates him. I could even do or link some explanations of the Boiling isles policies on magically weak or magicless beings are considered inferior and tormented (including Philip) (also note Hunter and Willow as victims of this).

The point is that Philip grew up in a place that taught him everything different, including himself (note his use of his left hand), was bad and needed to be destroyed. These assumptions were never challenged by anyone who could get through to him, and eventually he became a victim of the Sunk-Cost Fallacy.

Sunk-Cost Fallacy: the phenomenon whereby a person is reluctant to abandon a strategy or course of action because they have invested heavily in it, even when it is clear that abandonment would be more beneficial. (cited: Oxford dictionary).

Philip mutilated himself physically and corrupted his very being and humanity in order to save humanity and atone for his brother’s sin of loving a witch. It’s even implied that he doesn’t have any real plans for living beyond completing his goals, at the end of “Elsewhere and Elsewhen,” he says, “It doesn’t matter. I just need to live long enough to see this through.” None of this is indicators of someone who only wants to play the hero and be lauded with applause and praise.

All of this indicates that he is genuine and serious about his beliefs regarding witches, demons, and humanity. The change from a scared child to a horrific abuser planning genocide that is shown through the evidence I’ve detailed proves that Philip is anything but a one dimensional caricature of a villain, and that to say such is an insult to all the hard work that was put into making him.

[expectopatronum18]

For me, the psychology of how the games work is even creepier than sending 23 kids to be murdered on television each year. Because not only are these 12 - 18yr old kids being forced to engage in a bloody fight for their survival, or commit atrocities that'll haunt them for the rest of their lives; they are also forced to do so on the terms of the Capitol audience. The hunger games weren't just created as a punishment to the districts. One of the main aspects of it was to provide entertainment to the people of the Capitol.

So during the games, not only do they have to cope with the fact that they could be murdered any second, they should also be cautious of how their actions affect the mood of their audience. In terms of it being a reality show, showing their expertise is enough to gain them some recognition, but what really gains them audience sponsors is behaving in the exact way that is desirable of them, and playing it accordingly.

Throughout the 1st games, Katniss is constantly aware of how the games are being perceived. Instead of focusing on her emotions about peeta joining the careers, she thinks of how ecstatic the audience vil be knowing she was there the whole time, and smirks to increase their curiosity on what was going on. She thinks of how the wall of fire was to shake up the tributes and how the 'real fun' was watching them dodge the fireballs. She plays a cool and arrogant persona when she's stuck up in a tree with the careers around her despite seeing no hope of escape, knowing the audience will be having a laugh (she most likely receives the burn medicine for the promise of dropping the tracker jacker nest). She gives them enough of a promise by destroying the career pack. Then there's the whole thing with Peeta, where she constantly ponders as to how she's going to believably sell the romance on her part to ensure them food. She passes casual comments on how there hasn't been enough bloodshed or 'excitement' that day, hence fearing game maker intervention. She does her best not to show her remorse for the other dead tributes or her longing to escape from this horror because 'no one wants a victor who snivels over the deaths of her opponents'. How she couldn't end Cato's life sooner out of pity, because that was the 'climax of the hunger games, the last word in entertainment as the Capitol audience wouldn't look away from their screens for even a minute', even though that took a severe toll on her sanity( not that she needed it after surviving the whole games). Then the whole 2 victor rule change solely to ensure 'the most dramatic showdown in hunger games history'. To continue their popularity( as a distraction), they are required to act as lovers in front of the cameras at all times, and would be expected to get married and have children who could take part in the games, just for the 'extra drama'. Even smaller things like how they're required to have a hobby after the games to show off to the audience. This applies to the 3rd quater quell too, but I think I've made my point.

In perspective, the Capitol ppl dictate the terms of their lives. Their likes, dislikes, personal relationships, mannerisms, attitudes are all carefully designed to see what gains them the most popularity. Behaving in a certain, expected way ensures that they r'nt cancelled killed. The constant need to know every single detail of their personal lives ensures they r'nt forgotten. Which is why they go desperate lengths to gain that popularity( Glimmer's see through dress being her angle for the interviews....).

Yeah yeah, ofc its just a rant, totally not about a literary master piece dedicated to commentary on our worsening culture, who'd waste time on that when u have twitter anyways?

[simlit]

Chosen of the Sun | | dawn // nineteen

| @sani-sims

next / previous / beginning

EDELWYN: Already? What a pity. KYRIE: Suppose I could introduce to some of the others at a later date? EDELWYN: Oh, really? Well, that would be grand! Why don’t you come over to my manor tomorrow night. I’ll prepare something! LUCIEN: Is there going to be another party? EDELWYN: Yes, yes, why don’t you come as well, Your Highness. This will be quite the spectacle. Of course, if it’s all alright, Your Grace? KYRIE: Certainly. Tomorrow evening, then? EDELWYN: Tomorrow EVE: Well, that was easy enough. He seems to do most the talking on his own. Not the most interesting specimen, but perhaps the perfect candidate for your plans. KYRIE: Mm. Let’s hope. EVE: Have you someone in mind already to go? KYRIE: I do. I’ll spare you anymore time with the Duke. As you said, he’s not the most interesting. EVE: That is a great mercy. KYRIE: Speaking of mercies… our night is coming to a close. Things are winding down already, I’m sure we could get away without too many noticing. EVE: And leave Åse? KYRIE: She seems perfectly happy to babysit. Come on, Eve, let me enjoy a night without my shadow. EVE: Oh, very well. EVE: You never told me why he’s really here. KYRIE: I thought it’d be obvious. If it was my choice at all, he wouldn’t be. But the High Priestess cares little about what I want. And maybe she’s right to override my wishes. After all, things aren’t safe. EVE: And he is going to ensure your safety? You’re better off with any of us. KYRIE: A point I’d previously made myself. But, well, I exhausted my goodwill with her. That’s my fault. EVE: That woman wouldn’t know the right thing to do if it smacked her in the face. And you shouldn’t take on any guilt because of it. I won’t believe she’s trying to protect you out of love. KYRIE: No, I know that… EVE: sighs I’m sorry, Kyrie. KYRIE: Don’t be. EVE: You said your sister is alive. Then, you still have family. KYRIE: Yes, maybe… EVE: Maybe? KYRIE: I don’t know. I don’t want to think about that, now. EVE: Alright, then, we won’t. EVE: It’s beautiful out here. KYRIE: Mm. The city has its bright spots. I’ve gotten to see a good few of them this passed month. EVE: You didn’t get out much before? KYRIE: No. Though, maybe that’s my fault, too. Maybe I’ve been too complacent with my cage. I guess nearly dying changes your perspective. Even if I did choose that path. No, especially because of it. EVE: You want something different? KYRIE: I’m starting to. EVE: I’m glad. You shouldn’t lay down and let them dictate your life for you. KYRIE: I never wanted that. I never wanted to be so… indifferent to everything. I suppose I just thought there wasn’t anything I could do. I didn’t see a way out. Maybe I still don’t. But I’ve been asking myself if I might ever find my way to something better, then, what would “something better” really look like? EVE: And have you come up with any answers, yet? KYRIE: A few. Perhaps, most importantly, I realized I don’t want to spend my life alone. EVE: No? KYRIE: I don’t know. Being around the ten of you… those of you who have, for whatever strange reason, chosen to engage with me willingly. It’s different. And it’s nice. I wish I’d had more of it, before. But I know I don’t want to lose it going forward. I suppose, if we all survive this, many of you will move on, return home… Admittedly, it does make me… sad. Maybe more frightening is the idea I might have to learn to do this all over again, but on my own. Without the Moon EVE: I can’t speak for the others, but it’s not strange at all that someone would enjoy your company. I imagine it will be very difficult to go back home after everything. But then… what’s the rush? If you wanted to spend more time with someone, whoever it might be, then maybe you need only ask? KYRIE: Would you stay, Eve? EVE: If you’d like me to. KYRIE: Hm. Then suppose I shouldn’t ask just yet. There’s still chips left to fall. Maybe in the end, you’ll find I’m not the person you thought I was after all. EVE: Kyrie? KYRIE: Not tonight. Maybe some other day I’ll have the courage to tarnish that good image you have of me.