#the concept of time eludes me it means nothing to me

[catnumbernine]

I thought I'd go over that insert chapter from Rhaya's POV in order to publish it maybe today, but now I find it's not even finished 😂 Oh dear. I thought I'd gotten further with it.

[human-encounters-diary]

Day 4

I do not believe in luck. It is not something my species is familiar with. We believe in science and logic. I was not even aware of the concept of luck or faith until I left the planet my species populates. So I do not  believe that it was a coincidence when during this cycle, the human was assigned to work with me. I did not see the Terran during my cyclic meal intake, and was immediately called into the main machinery room without a sight of it.

The Vitrichl appeared shortly after with the human in tow. Vitrichl eludicated that the human had proved to be a skillful worker and was now officially assigned to my unit unless the Vitrichl explicitly stated otherwise.Vitrichl left to attend his other duties, leaving me with the human.

I turned to the control panels covering the walls, and speaking into a small microphone, I introduced the Terran to the machine. "This is human Quinn. It is officially part of my unit and will assist me." 

"It‘s 'she', mate.", the human corrected. "Excuse me?", I asked, careful not to be impolite. "She. My prounous are 'she‘, not 'it'.", she explained. "I apologize. I did not mean to upset you." "It‘s alright, mate. I‘m not upset, just correcting you for future reference.“ "Thank you", I decided on the safest route.

"So, a mechanic as well? Cool.", she folded her fingers into her hand and extended it to me. I was not confident how I was supposed to respond to this gesture, so I once again, did nothing. Eventually, she retracted her hand and let it disappear into a fold in her clothing which appeared to be a pocket. 

Clothing, I noted. Not many members of the crew of the SIIR Noxos wore clothing on a regular basis, apart from their space suits. This obviously raised even more questions: Why did she wear clothing? Was it out of religious or cultural reasons? Out of personal comfort? Did all Terrans wear clothes or was she a special case? Did specific clothing symbolise specific things? These are all questions I hope I will be able to find out the answer to one day.

"Soo, like…what am I supposed to do around here? Do I have like, a specific task or…? Cap didn‘t mention anything." Cap. That was a word the translating device wasn‘t able to translate. "Cap?", I questioned further. Her face muscles contracted in a manner that made the patches of hair above her visual organs move closer to each other and the skin above them fold.

"The captain?", she said. "Of course, I apologize. The translating device did not recognize that word. I call him Vitrichl."

"Oh, is that his name? He didn‘t say anything." "No", I reassured. "It is simply the word "Captain" in my species‘ language." "Ah okay…", she said. "Well, what about my task?" "Of course.", I assigned her a simple task, showing her where to work and what to do. We then continued to work in silence. I did not object, because it gave me plenty of time to observe the human.

Humans, or at least this one, seemed to have rather random patches of hair on their head. Attached to the protective skin over their eyes, in a line above the eyes and on the top of the head. In human Quinn‘s case, it grew down, barely reaching her chest and was of a deep brown colour, just like her eyes. 

The muscles in her face never seemed to stay still, always contracting or smoothing while she worked. It was probable that facial expressions played a big part in human communication.

She still stood on two legs, upright and used both of her arms to work. For some inexplicable reason, she usually held a piece of technology or something similar in only one hand, but seemed to keep switching sides in a rather random matter.

I‘d have to ask her about it, but it did not seem like an appropriate time.

After working for some time and me continuously observing her, she set down her equipment and spoke: "Y’know, you‘re probably not aware of this, but humans consider staring rude." She turned around on her feet and faced me, seemingly watching me process this information. I quickly responded, careful not to irritate her further after having done something so insensitive. "I apologize. I was not aware of humans‘ stance on this behaviour and it was not my intention to be rude or make you uncomfortable. If I may ask, though, I have been watching you for some time now and I did not notice you ever turn around to face me until now. How were you aware I was watching you?" 

"Well, I could just kind of…feel it. I sensed your gaze in my back. Kind of like a sixth sense, you could probably say." I blinked. Sensed my gaze? Sixth sense? What were the other five then? 

I voiced these questions: "What do you mean you sensed it?" 

"Well, I just kind of had this feeling of someone watching me. Don‘t you ever get that feeling?" Flabbergasted, I said no.

She raised and lowered the part where her arms and chest joined once again, similar to the gesture she offered on the second day. "Well, I guess it just must be a human thing." "I suppose", I agreed, and with that, she turned back to the control panel she was commanding and we continued to work in silence, although now I was keenly aware of my every move and careful not to let my gaze linger on the Terran for too long.

She left before I did, apparently to take in another of her daily meals (something that was not necessary for my species). Soon, the cycle was already over before I encountered the human again.

I have made great progress during this cycle and I believe that if the human continues to work in my environment, it will be easier for me to discover more information about humans. 

Perhaps that is why the Vitrichl put the human into my section. Perhaps this was his plan all along. But I do not draw conclusions. I simply propose theories.

[necrotic-nephilim]

for the choose violence ask game: 3, 8, 16 :D

for the choose violence ask game!

3. screenshot or description of the worst take you've seen on tumblr

i was going to be kind enough to not screenshot but i lied i'm choosing violence. this is less of a take and more of an incorrect quote i suppose but. every time i remember it exists i stare at a wall for like 20 minutes.

most posts under the "chaotic tim drake"/"unhinged tim drake" tags do. get to me. they are all liable to make me spontaneously combust but something about this one. the way Tim's fanon kill count magically gets higher every time it's brought up. the way it directly contradicts Tim's internal deep-seated fears about turning into Bruce and that's why he has always planned to retire after being Robin the *entire point* of Tim Drake of Tomorrow is to show how horrified Tim is and how future!evil!Tim will always go too far. like i genuinely do not know what character ppl are talking about with the "Tim is most likely to become a supervillain and somehow this a cutesy headcanon" sort of thing. it plagues me. consider me plagued. i could go on and on about it for hours and how deeply it contradicts Tim's character to his core. also just why does the fandom want to make him a villain so bad? i don't understand.

8. common fandom opinion that everyone is wrong about

i already gave one answer to this question here, but worry not i have endless answers to this one. a bit one for me is: the idea Cass should use ASL. it icks me out. i will close a fic if Cass is using ASL i will not lie. firstly, she does not canonically know ASL. secondly, it doesn't make *sense* for her to use it bc her disability has nothing to do with the ability to speak, it has to do with her language learning skills. and ASL is, *still a language*. and would be just as difficult to learn, if not more-so bc it could set back her learning of English and would not be as easily applicable as English to her daily life. it's a headcanon that ranges from well-meaning misunderstandings to just downright ableism that infantilizes Cass and infantilizes ASL. honestly i get touchy in general about fandom using ASL when not written by a Deaf writer/someone who knows ASL bc... you can tell. you can always tell. (hearing fans stop trying to come up with sign names for the Batfam i'm gently begging you.) there are many good posts breaking down why this headcanon doesn't really work but i'm just salty and feral about it.

16. you can't understand why so many people like this thing (characterization, trope, headcanon, etc)

the headcanon/fanon concept that Tim has lasting psychological trauma due to the Titans Tower incident, or that it has caused him to be afraid of Jason. (the same can be applied to Damian cutting Tim's line being something that Matters to Tim longterm or causes fear of Damian) like? beyond the "that is not canon, that event really didn't bother Tim and Tim was a cocky little shit the whole time", i'm unsure how this... fits into the fanon version of Tim? like i don't *understand* it. how it is that fandom likes "Tim has a super high kill count and is going to be a supervillain" but also... thinks one bad fight that roughed Tim up a bit has made him terrified of one person specifically? these feel contradictory. either he can Take The Heat or He Can't. this weird waffling where he's both the biggest badass around but also somehow a wilting traumatized kid confuses me. i don't necessarily mind the exploration of Tim being angry or pissed off about these events, or even him being more injured than he was in canon and dealing with that, but him being like. so afraid of Jason it influences their relationship has always eluded me. it contradicts everything else about fanon!Tim and makes him seem... sort of cowardly? like not that events like these can't be traumatizing but in his field of work they're not unique events. these are normal Tuesdays for him. why is it affecting him so much in fanon.

[wisecura]

The wind and the leaf

Sanemi x You w. 1k

man i just gotta thing for mean dudes with bad personalities

no tw rn just a lil jealousy

im gonna continue this one, i think, but let me know

masterlist

p.2

Sanemi Shinazugawa, the infamous Wind Hashira, was a force to be reckoned with. Adorned with battle scars like badges of honor, he exuded a raw intensity that sent tremors through the hearts of demons. Fiery and aggressive, his bloodlust towards those grotesque creatures simmered just beneath the surface. He was the embodiment of a warrior consumed by his purpose.

And then there was you.

His Tsuguko.

You were a stark contrast to Sanemi's volatile nature. Serene and calm, moving through life with an ethereal grace. Emotions were not your strong suit, and the concept of understanding feelings seemed to elude you like a leaf in the wind.

Perhaps you were just too focused on perfecting your swordsmanship to spare a thought for the complexities of the heart. Or maybe you were just good at hiding your thoughts and feelings.

Sanemi, however, couldn't help but feel irritated by your stoic demeanor. You had been in each other's company for about a year now and had yet to engage in a real conversation or betray even a flicker of emotion towards him.

He could spar with you til you were worn to the bone, yet you barely said a word. It was as if you were an enigma wrapped in a riddle, baffling the very core of Sanemi's being.

And he could barely stand it.

Then it happened. This one event started it all. That fateful day, Sanemi's eyes fell upon you engaged in a conversation with Kyōjurō Rengoku, his esteemed fellow Hashira.

He couldn't explain it, but if felt like a dagger straight through his heart. Jealousy gnawed at his insides like a persistent demon, and he groped desperately for an explanation for this foreign emotion.

It wasn't that you were just talking to the Flame Hashira, but you were slightly smiling at him. Sanemi's little bird mind resorted to the only explanation it could comprehend: irritation. Irritation at your lack of dedication to her swordsmanship. That had to be it. The feeling must have been a byproduct of his strict training regime, a testament to his commitment to the Demon Slayer Corps.

You just didn't take this seriously enough to be slacking on your training, buddying it up with someone else. You weren't Rengoku's tsuguko. You were his. So why don't you act like it, huh?

But surely Rengoku was only stopping by for a minute. Just to drop something off, right?

well, As the days passed, Sanemi found himself growing more and more vexed. Rengoku came by to visit almost daily now. He hated the sight of you constantly chitchatting with him. Neglecting your training. Did he have nothing better to do than waste your time? He's a damn hashira. He knew he had better things on his docket for the day.

It was as if a shadow settled over his heart, darkening his mood constantly. He didn't mind the flame hashira initially, but now he couldn't stand him. He could go as far as to say he hated him.

Yet, he remained steadfast in his silence, unable to voice his concerns to you. After all, how could he begin to explain something he himself couldn't fathom?

It only grew worse when he realised you might be growing attached to the flame hashira. Your interactions were always subtle and calm, and emotions concealed beneath a tranquil surface. You never betrayed a hint of preference or attachment, making it all the more confounding for Sanemi. It did start with the small smiles. But now you'd ask Rengoku about how his brother was and how his garden was doing. You'd seem to know everything about the flame hashira. Did you really not see the issue with having Rengoku come and visit so often at his manor? Sanemi's frustration grew with each passing interaction. Why couldn't he be the one to elicit a reaction? You never smiled at thim. You never talked with him or asked him about what he enjoyed. Why was it always Rengoku who brought out those rare glimpses of emotion from you? Was it his charismatic charm or something more profound that drew you to him?

Lost in his own sea of turmoil, Sanemi wrestled with feelings that defied his comprehension. He had spent his life honing his instincts as a demon slayer, yet when it came to matters of the heart, he was as clueless as a beginner. It was a battle he never expected to face, and it threatened to consume him whole. Why were you causing him to feel this way?

why.

Why?

WHY?

WHY.

In the midst of your training sessions with him, Sanemi found himself studying you intently. Your stoic facade remained unyielding, but he couldn't shake the flutter in his stomach when you fixed him with your gaze. His heart rate would pick up just that much more and he would have to look away. His hashira training helped him hide these emotions - having a fast heart rate was only normal for him. But how long could he hide the flush on his face. He really wanted to see a different expression on that face of yours. If you noticed, you never seemed to want to mention it.

Sanemi struggled to find common ground, to find the right words to hold a proper conversation with you.

He then decided to take a different approach. If words wouldn't work, then perhaps actions would. He observed you closely, noticing the small things you liked or needed. He would quietly take care of smaller tasks for you, hoping that his efforts would capture your attention.

He would pack extra food before training sessions, telling you he just happened to bring extra. He would bring back your favorite snacks when he left the manor. He would even pick out new hair accessories or trinkets from the shops in town for you. Nothing seemed to elicit much response other than a small "thank you," and it was starting to drive him seriously mad.

He couldn't figure it out. Couldn't figure you out.

p.2

masterlist

[quinloki]

serious question for you and other fanfic authors, is it bothersome to like, binge leave comments of an authors work? like does seeing the same name comment the same type of thing on fics ever annoy you? I have authors I am obsessed with but I don't want to seem creepy or annoying

With very rare exceptions (and everything has exceptions so don't fret overmuch), artists love feedback. And when I say feedback, I don't mean critique - there's a time and place for that and that's never after something has been posted/shared. (the one caveat being if it's explicitly requested by the artist.)

When I say feedback I mean, if you liked it, say something.

It's okay to not like something you've read/seen/watched, but in those cases just don't share it, don't like it, and don't recommend it - if it really bothers you, block the source and move on. Leaving a negative comment could cause unintended consequences, so I would personally recommend avoiding them.

But if you liked it - whatever shape that took - leaving a comment is a wonderful thing. Sharing it is too! You don't even have to say anything if you don't know what to say.

BUT! To get to your specific concern - "seeing the same comment, the same type of things on fics, ever annoy you?"

If you see something and see comments are left and those comments are what YOU would also want to comment, then comment. You can even say "I know everyone else has this but," and then say your piece.

I love stuff like that personally. I love having created something that provokes a steady reaction across all sorts of people. It means, intentionally or not, I managed to nail a concept/emotion/response, and I can learn from that. (Or just bask in the chaos and enjoy my hard work XD )

If you feel like you're leaving the same comment on everything you read this, that's okay too \o/ Sometimes I don't know what to say, the details elude me, and there's nothing wrong with "I really enjoyed this, thank you" and leaving it at that.

I, personally, love the whole gamut - from the Play by Play where someone leaves a comment like they were taking notes and just highlighting all their favorite parts, to the Complete Feral Gremlin which is nearly incomprehensible except that they derived some deep emotion from what they read.

I will admit, there is one kind of comment that can be creepy, and I cannot think of any artist I know, be they pictures or words or otherwise, that enjoys it.

The comment that is sexual toward the author.

Look, for me, you can admit you needed a cold shower after reading something I wrote. You can even admit you had to go get your rocks off because it was so good. That can be a bit TMI for some peeps, so I wouldn't start there with a new author XD

But hitting on or propositioning a creator just because they do saucy content, is flat out creepy.

I've had people come to me with specific questions about kink and bdsm and I've stated I'm okay with it, and I've provided feedback in the ways they've wanted. I've had people come to me wanting advice on writing smut, and I don't mind giving that.

But woe unto the troglodyte who wanders into my sphere trying to hump my leg without my consent.

And speaking of consent, you can always ask a specific author before you leave a comment. There's nothing wrong with poking someone and saying "Are you okay with feral comments, or should I tone it down a little?" If you're concerned about it, an inquiry (like this!) never hurts.

But I tell you, I get one comment over and over on my Quicksand story that gives me Such Life.

"I wasn't a fan of Crocodile until I read this."

Ah, that's the good stuff.

[loosesodamarble]

Well what I see about you and your fanfic…Hm

First the roasting part and kink shaming? Part

- You have fantasies of twins give it to you same to my😏

-You may be poly?

-You love strong masculine woman

-you like pain

-you like femboy‘s or some wo are bi or gay how the men you like looking like raise the challenge and the thrill for you😏

Ok now the cute and nice part‘s about you

-you are all for Family

-you wanted many children

-you love crafting and making stuff

-you love talk about emotions and and how people really felling

-you would mürder for you friend‘s

-you like the natural look of a woman I love it too😊

-you are a animal lover

-you love meaning‘s of Name and all other stuff

-you like looking stuff up especially for stories

-you like too talk whit other like my a random dude and I love Talking to you too as a good friend😆

-you give you all in most of you doing even it’s make you felling bad plz say sometime no or don’t do It if you know it’s make you felling bad …..as long it’s not a real good reason take care of yourself plz…….

-you love your sister but you thinking sometimes how it would be a as a only child

-you would like to travel a lot and get to know history

This are the first things what came my in mind as I did write this in 10 min it’s all fun here but yes this is what I get out of your story‘s my dear Loo and Donne scared I love twins too😆👍

I see I have something in my inbox. 👀

I see it's from Marune! 😄

I start to read it...

I can't believe you came into my inbox to roast me??? WAAAAH! 😭

Of these more roasty assumptions, only the last two are really true.

Nacht and Morgen are a special case of twins for me. Otherwise, I don't really think of twins in a particular way. And I'm not poly whatsoever. I can't get myself one romantic partner, much less multiple ones. 😆 When it comes to strong, masculine women... I suppose I do admire them for being confident in their bodies and if they're muscular, their dedication to training is admirable too. But I wouldn't say I'm attracted to them in any capacity.

I cannot deny that I am drawn to rather heart-wrenching stories and have a love for characters who make me cry and rip my heart straight from my chest cavity. As for the feminine/androgynous looking guys... I dunno, some part of me wants a partner who is prettier than me, I guess? Like, I wanna be able to say I'm loved by someone "out of my league"?

Then I get to the latter part of the ask...

Yay~!

It's true that I love the concept of a family unit. And while I don't want a lot of kids, I have always considered being a mother in the future. And skipping ahead in the assumptions, I actually haven't ever considered what it'd be like to be an only child. Even when my sisters and I disagree, they've always been my family and nothing will change that so why consider otherwise (in my opinion)?

Arts and crafts have always fascinated me yet have always eluded me when it comes to actually practicing them. I remember taking a home economics class and for a sewing project, I accidentally forgot to close a seam and the teacher would've been able to fit her whole thumb through it. The most "making" I can do is making a meal; I can definitely cook competently at least! 😤

Talking about emotions... Even if I can't give advice or words of comfort, being a listening ear is something I try my best to be. And in writing, I do tend to dig my claws into a character's heart and emotionally analyze them.

Would I truly murder for my friends? 🤔 The opportunity to prove myself have yet to show itself. So we'll see how true that is with time./j

While I'm not against make-up, I guess I would say my preference is for a subtler make-up style. (Although, when eye make up is a more prominent, I think that's a cool look too.)

Yes! Even if I've never kept an animal before, I'm a definite animal lover!

Maybe it's because I'm a writer but I just love knowing the meaning behind words and names specifically!

And though my research isn't terribly thorough, I do enjoy the process of looking things up to flesh out the details of my writing. Like... okay call me stupid but I did have to look up the difference between a server and a busser for the sake of the Butler AU...

Ah, the talking with random people... It actually takes me some time to get comfortable enough to get more chatty with people. I think in recent times, I've gotten more wary about talking with new people (but I would still like to be able to reach out and make new friends here on tumblr).

Giving my all even if it makes me feel bad... Yeah. Yeah that's definitely true. Certain people can attest to how me doing my best at a job has made me suffer. And while I don't really bottle up my trouble, I guess I underplay it? But... You got that assumption right on the money.

Finally, for your last assumption, yes I would like to travel a bit more. And I guess learning some things about history can be fun, and sometimes it's just good to be informed on the past.

[buzzdixonwriter]

Get Thee Behind Me, Satan

Satan exists.

Not as you think Satan exists, but Satan exists.

Popular contemporary Christian folk-religion conflates the Biblical concepts of Eden’s serpent / Job’s Satan / Ba’al / Jesus’ Satan with non-Biblical concepts of Lucifer and Hades (the Greek god, not the post-mortem destination).*

First off, Satan isn’t an individual name, it’s a title.

Satan’s job in Job is as God’s tester.

He doubts God’s claim that Job is a righteous, devoted follower and basically places a bet with Him that Satan can get Job to curse God.

So God -- apparently not the omnipotent / omniscient deity of the Christian era -- takes the bet and allows Satan to slaughter Job’s family, wipe out his personal wealth and property, then cover him with painful boils.

This version of God is apparently not the all-loving God of the Christian era, either.

Jump ahead a few dozen centuries to the Current Era.  In the gospel stories Jesus, after his baptism, goes off into the wilderness to pray and meditate.  Once there he’s tempted three times by Satan, each time raising the stakes for Jesus to see if he’ll break and take the moral short cut.

So here’s the thing:  Stop thinking of Satan as some grand demonic entity of evil and instead recognize “him” as the anti-Jiminy Cricket.

You know Jiminy Cricket.  He’s the independent entity who serves as Pinocchio’s external conscience in the Disney version of the story.

He is, of course, a metaphor, a literary device, a fictional figure even in the context of the story.

Pinocchio is a hand carved AI-guided robot bereft of experience and knowledge.  Jiminy Cricket is assigned to guide him into making correct decisions.**

Pinocchio is a cautionary tale for young children, to teach by example.  It shows Pinocchio turning from wise counsel to the blandishments of immediate gratification.  The story teaches children to develop their own internal conscience. 

In the original novel Pinocchio kills the talking cricket that tries to advise him only to be sporadically haunted by its ghost throughout the rest of the book; in the Disney version Jiminy Cricket eludes grylluscide to remain Pinocchio’s traveling companion.

Satan as a character is no more real than either version of the talking cricket or of Jiminy Cricket.***

As a metaphor, just as real.

Back in the 1960s comedian Flip Wilson used the catchphrase:�� “The devil made me do it.”

That’s a particular metaphor many people -- especially Christians! -- use to this day. 

It absolves us of ill-intent, placing the blame on an outside agency, in effect rendering us as much of a victim as those whom we harm.

Jesus’ temptations -- like our own -- did not come from some hostile exterior force.

Jesus’ temptations -- like our own -- came from his own wants and desires.

“Satan” represents nothing but the internal conflict within his own consciousness / mind / psyche / soul, a conflict of competing desires.

One set of desires being to achieve the end goal as expeditiously as possible, but at the cost of losing the war by winning the battle.

The other set quired Jesus to take the long, patient view, to work slowly and steadily toward his objective knowing whatever setbacks he might face, staying true to his principles would serve him best in the end.

To surround ourselves with demons and devils and literally “satanic” entities is to surrender the battle before it even starts.

To place the blame for our bad emotions and ideas and thoughts outside us instead of acknowledging they’re a part of who we are means we can avoid self-reflection and examination, avoid confronting and challenging and changing the things about us that we really don’t like yet feel so comfortable doing.

Couple that with a pop culture concept of a savior who will forgive us (but not you) just by saying, “Opps!  Sorry!” and you get the recipe for disaster we seen infecting all Christian institutions at one degree or another today.

To paraphrase Shakespeare, “The fault, dear friends, lays not in our Satans  but in ourselves.”

  © Buzz Dixon

  * It can be argued that the evangelical movement needs Satan far more than it needs Jesus.  Satan allows them to act swinishly with an easy out.  By threatening eternal torment at the devil’s hooves for anyone who dares break the slightest cultural norm of the movement, the evangelicals create a morbid fear that only they can alleviate through forgiveness-by-proxy.  As a bonus, one may indulge in all sorts of shenanigans as an evangelical and not need to do any real life atonement or repentance, just mealy mouthed lip service to the evangelical concept of Jesus, a quick prayer for forgiveness, then you’re off to sin again -- a sin not brought by your shortcomings but by an evil boogeyman lurking outside.

** Correct in the sense of cultural norms for that time and place.

*** Jiminy Cricket = J. C.  Subtle, Walt, really subtle…

[chelleinyy]

Unwelcome Gift Baskets

Back from what was supposed to be a restorative fishing escapade, a feeble attempt to distance himself from the matters he had momentarily left in Concordia, Cornelius was dumbfounded by the utter pandemonium that met him. Never did he fathom the disarray that awaited him upon his arrival.

Unbelievably, the absence of Deputy Lawson from city hall was an outrageous slap in the face.

Instead of a proper briefing, it was the cleaning staff who reluctantly informed him of the events that had transpired in his absence – his deputy, in the wake of Archie Rochester's murder, had barely managed to elude an attempt on his own life.

As if this weren't exasperating enough, a horde of reporters had cunningly assembled themselves at city hall. They bombarded him ceaselessly with interrogations about his whereabouts throughout the entire fiasco, and whether he had personally seen the condition of the deputy mayor.

The entire ordeal amounted to nothing less than a deeply embarrassing and mortifying episode, forever etched into Cornelius' memory. He had held out hope that the entire mess he had left behind would have miraculously subsided by the time he returned.

The very thought of it made Cornelius's head spin.

"Vanish for a few weeks, and this is the catastrophe I return to," Cornelius grumbled, pressing a vial of smelling salts beneath his nose for relief. "Deputy Lawson narrowly escapes the jaws of death, poor Archie meets his end, and now I'm left to deal with mounds of letters and paperwork cluttering my desk, a task Lawson usually tends to."

Sebastian, his assistant, offered an indifferent shrug. "The entire week has been a complete debacle, sir. Senator Rochester himself issued a public statement just yesterday."

The young man gestured toward the Evening Gazette. The front page featured Malcolm Rochester dabbing at his eyes with a handkerchief, and the headline read:

ROCHESTER: "My son's passing has deeply affected me on various levels. I pledged to him that the Concordia he left behind would witness improvement."

"Doesn't help in the slightest that Deputy Lawson's been nowhere to be found for an entire week," said Sebastian, letting out an exasperated sigh. "City hall's been in dire need of both him and your presence. Your return is a silver lining, I suppose."

"Yes, yes, I'm aware of that, Sebastian," Cornelius said dismissively. "Speaking of Deputy Lawson, where might he be now? How's he holding up?"

"He's still confined to the hospital, sir. They say he'll need another week to pull through. Luckily, the bullet just grazed him," Sebastian explained.

"And did you manage to arrange the gift basket? The man could use a little cheering up," asked Cornelius. "It's important, you realize."

"Yes, sir. It's all taken care of," replied Sebastian, making his way to the other side of the room to retrieve the prepared gift basket.

"That's a relief... that's a relief. Deputy Lawson's in dire need of it, mind you." Cornelius muttered with an air of resignation, sinking wearily into his chair. “He's a man who can't seem to grasp the concept of taking a breather. Reminds me of the time he practically bellowed himself hoarse berating his own assistant."

"You mean Archie, sir?"

"Indeed, that lad. Cut down in his prime at a mere nineteen. A likable lad, really. God only knows what sort of antics that boy subjected Deputy Lawson to, day in and day out."

"I did catch wind of a peculiar tale, sir. Seems Archie made a fabricated pay raise, complete with Deputy Lawson's counterfeit signature—"

"Utter nonsense, Sebastian. A Rochester fiddling with pay scales? The notion's as ludicrous as they come. Those Rochester coffers are bursting at the seams." scoffed Cornelius.

Sebastian held his tongue, a practiced silence that often came in the face of the mayor's brusque demeanor—a demeanor that could be vexing, even maddening, for some. There was no denying that. And no politician in Ivory Hill couldn't escape the truth that Cornelius Castletown had an uncanny knack for sidestepping the true quandaries affecting Concordia. Even a humble assistant like Sebastian could perceive that much. Cordial in nature, no doubt, yet an abysmal mayor, truth be told. It hardly came as a surprise that Deputy Lawson would storm out of their meetings, a cloud of frustration enveloping him.

It was rather pitiable, truth be told. The deputy bore the brunt of the mayor's shortcomings – the insistence on superfluous projects that merely overshadowed Concordia's genuine predicaments. Poverty, corruption, particularly rampant here in Ivory Hill, and a myriad of other pressing concerns, all pushed aside in favor of sherry cobblers, cutting ribbons and other misguided ventures.

Securing the gift basket and gathering Mayor Castletown's coat and hat, he made his way to the Mayor, who stood near the doorway.

"Ah, much appreciated, my boy," Cornelius acknowledged, accepting his coat and hat with a fleeting smile to his assistant. "Took your time with that gift basket, didn't you? Something troubling you?"

"Just grappling with the challenges of this week, sir," Sebastian responded, presenting the gift basket.

"Well, ponder how it's been for me. Returning from a brief respite only to discover my troubles have mounted in my absence. Your sentiments resonate with me, Sebastian," said Cornelius.

Taking the gift basket from his assistant's grasp, he offered a slight nod of appreciation. "Time to make my way, Sebastian. I must make haste now. Deputy Lawson won't appreciate any more delays. And do take note, if Miss De Paradis happens to arrive, kindly inform her that I've rescheduled our meeting for Monday."

Sebastian's curiosity got the better of him. "Is Deputy Lawson aware of your intended visit, sir?"

Cornelius's lips turned into a wry grin as he reached for the doorknob. "Not a clue, I'm afraid. My appearance is bound to catch him off guard. The man could certainly use a dose of unexpected cheer, don't you think?"

____________________________________________

"Pardon, Mister Mayor, Deputy Lawson is not currently open to receiving visitors," said Nurse Hatchett.

Cornelius had managed to arrive at the hospital. In the wing, he found himself standing alone with Nurse Hatchett, having been informed that the Deputy Mayor was particularly discerning about his visitors. In fact, any visits after five o'clock were strictly prohibited by Deputy Lawson himself, except for members of the Concordian Flying Squad. Nurse Hatchett had also disclosed the fact that despite his hospitalization, Lawson had been deprived of sleep for three consecutive days, which was almost concerning.

"What? This is preposterous! I merely intend to deliver a simple gift basket and inquire about his well-being," Cornelius protested, straightening his posture. "You must understand, I've recently returned from a brief trip, only to be confronted with the news of his perilous state."

"The aftermath of a gunshot is not to be taken lightly, sir," she responded firmly. "Deputy Lawson requires an ample amount of rest, and I am dutifully following his instructions—"

"Forgive me, Nurse Hatchett, but I am the mayor of Concordia," Cornelius interjected, arms now crossed. "Mayhaps you could kindly communicate that I have made the decision to visit. Rest assured, my purpose is not to agitate him any further."

Nurse Hatchett gazed up at the mayor, her expression fraught with a sigh of resignation. Casting Cornelius a glance that held both a sense of caution and a wearied plea, she retreated into Lawson's room. A few moments passed before she reappeared, her hands settled on her hips.

"Very well, Mister Mayor, you may enter. I hope you exercise prudence, though. We mustn't agitate him unduly," she said wearily. "Please bear in mind, sir, that he can be a rather challenging patient. A handful, if you will." "

"Why so, Nurse Hatchett? Deputy Lawson is a man of refinement--"

"Allow me to clarify, if you wish to know. After merely a few hours of being shot, that man made an unsanctioned exit from this very hospital to meet with the Flying Squad," Nurse Hatchett stated gravely, her gaze fixed firmly on Cornelius. "He left with the same unchanged bandage and sling, mind you. We had to hasten him back here in a wheelchair." With that, she turned and left, muttering to herself under her breath.

Cornelius watched as Nurse Hatchett walked away. He hadn't anticipated a tired outlook on dealing with Deputy Lawson as a patient. Well, it wasn't entirely unfounded. The reality of the situation settled in; surviving a near-fatal assassination attempt will undoubtedly leave its mark, especially considering Lawson's propensity for irascibility. Feeling slightly apprehensive, he entered Lawson's room.

"Ah, greetings, Deputy Lawson!" Cornelius chirped, a genial smile gracing his features as he tipped his hat. "How's your--"

"Mayor Castletown, your timing is impeccable! It's an utter disaster, the Rochesters are plotting to seize control of Concordia! Mulroney, Halsted, they've been entangled in their schemes all along--!"

"Now, now, my good man, you've been through quite the ordeal. Steady yourself. How are you feeling?"

Unperturbed by the torrent of alarmed words, Cornelius approached Lawson's bedside, seemingly impervious to his deputy's agitated outburst.

"Cornelius, are you even listening?!" Lawson's voice brimmed with frustration. "Concordia's fate teeters on the brink! I've ousted Mulroney, but they still hold sway as long as the Senator continues to charm the masses!"

"I'm afraid your words elude me, Deputy Lawson," Cornelius admitted, his brow furrowing in bemusement. His attention remained firmly fixed on the assassination, obscuring the broader political turmoil. "Your account lacks clarity, I must confess."

“Mayor Castletown, you must–”

"Calm your nerves, Deputy," Cornelius remarked with a carefree wave of his hand, placing the gift basket gently onto the nearby table beside Lawson's bed. Perching himself at the foot of the bed, he let out a cheerful sigh. "My goodness, even a gunshot hasn't managed to quell your fiery temperament."

"The Rochesters, Cornelius!" Lawson seethed, his posture rigid as he sat up. "They're behind every misfortune befalling Concordia, a bigger menace now more than ever! Swift action is imperative, immediate action!"

"The Rochesters posing a significant threat? How absurd!" Cornelius retorted, his brows knitting together. "In fact, that family has contributed greatly to our beloved city. Dwelling on such notions won't do you any favors, Deputy Lawson."

"Listening to reason might just serve me better!"

"Your unwarranted paranoia leads you down a futile path, my dear man," Cornelius asserted. "As I hear it, the nurses had to scramble to return you to this hospital in a wheelchair after you decided to leave mere hours after being shot."

Lawson shot him a furious glare. "Unlike you, I remain committed to my duty, even in this pitiful condition," he retorted. He winced, clutching his wound. "While you vanish to who knows where, when Concordia is in dire need of leadership!"

"I hold the well-being of our citizens in high regard!" Cornelius retorted, a trace of offense in his voice. "The city remains stable, and I perceive your survival from the assassination attempt as the most significant occurrence during my absence. My responsibilities as mayor--"

"Responsibilities that conveniently whisk you away to places of little importance, leaving me to manage everything!" grumbled Lawson. "You're utterly blind, influenced by that corrupt family, and it's infuriating."

"The senator assures me the proposed legislation is in the best interests, and for your information, his son, Archie, was--"

"Archie was a miscreant!" Lawson spat. "You've probably taken the senator's words at face value without a hint of skepticism!"

"Now, now," Cornelius interposed. "It's hardly fitting to speak ill of a departed youth and his mourning father."

Lawson's disbelief was evident as he struggled to find words, his mouth opening and closing in sheer incredulity. Cornelius, having grown accustomed to such reactions, leaned back casually.

"Grieving?!" Lawson snapped. "What nonsense! And you accuse me of speaking without reason--"

"It was covered in the Evening Gazette this very evening," Cornelius retorted, his response punctuated by a matter-of-fact tone.

"Why, Cornelius, are you such AN UTTER IMBECILE?" Lawson thundered. "The Senator is blatantly manipulating the public!"

Cornelius maintained a composed stance, his arms crossed. "I assure you, he is not. The poor man approached me, looking rather dazed," he responded calmly. "He appeared rather flushed, likely suffering from the distress of his son's demise."

"I--what?!" blustered Lawson, his grip tightening on a nearby pillow. "You truly believe that man is as innocent as he seems? That man and his son are nothing short of--"

"I must express my disapproval of your choice of words, Deputy," Cornelius said firmly. "What exactly has Archie done to deserve your constant berating? My assistant and I manage to work harmoniously--"

"HAVE YOU CONVENIENTLY FORGOTTEN EVERYTHING THAT BOY ORCHESTRATED IN ELYSIUM FIELDS? ARCHIE WAS RESPONSIBLE FOR SIX DEATHS, A CONSTANT NUISANCE AS AN ASSISTANT! FURTHERMORE, LET IT BE KNOWN THAT SENATOR ROCHESTER ENGAGED ME IN A PHYSICAL CONFRONTATION, INCITED BY HIM WHEN I HAD DONE NAUGHT! HALSTED WAS IN THE ROCHESTERS' GRASP TOO! SHE IS THE VERY CAUSE OF MY PREDICAMENT, MY HOSPITALIZATION!"

Just as Cornelius was about to retort to his deputy's outburst, a knock resounded through the door, followed by a nurse who quietly entered the space. Carrying bandages, a sling, and medication, he approached the bedside with averted eyes, cautiously placing the items on the bed.

"I do apologize for the interruption, sirs," he murmured awkwardly. "Deputy Mayor Lawson requires a change of bandages."

"Well then, I must take my leave," said Cornelius, rising from his spot at the foot of the bed. "Do ensure you rest, Deputy. Three days of unrest are far from beneficial."

With a serene smile directed at the scowl adorning Lawson's face, Cornelius retrieved his coat and hat. "Expect another gift basket in the coming week! Until then, take care."

With a final tip of his hat, he exited the room, his voice reduced to a mutter as he made his way to the outside of the hospital. "Well, that situation could have been worse. Who knows, his fury might drive him to the brink." Cornelius murmured under his breath. "Hopefully he calms down after a week."

[bonetickler]

Underfallout, a concept because I love analog horror and fallout, and undertale…. I am having too much fun….

I kinda got distracted by dragons and still am having a blast with that, heheheeh

Wrote out a braindump of what I have for it so far, also have been making some new characters for it to help fill some stuff out :)

For the most part it follows the basic plot of fallout 4, china bombs America, an America that’s far as hell into the future and pretty fucking advanced. Several hundred years later you as the character are introduced, basically current time of the plot but like idc about the vault weirdo because that’s just an npc to me and holds no real meaning. Instead we follow Asher around.

Bro doesn’t like his au, not really fun either, more a mesh between fallout, undertale, and analog horror type shit.

There are the classical mutations, ghouls, mutants, super mutants, yadda yadda, just a lot of varieties, but with the introduction of monsters in the mix brings magic and magic as we all know makes things so much more fun and better. Mutated monsters are more common due to their inability to ‘die’ and then be brought back as humans can be, when they change, there’s nothing left. Only a husk that could either end up acting out bare minimal thought or they are just constantly hungry and hunting.

Toriel and Theo’s mutations feel like good examples, Toriel stayed put, held onto her kids during the bombing and while the youth hadn’t lived, she as a high HOPE monster did, her and her husband, he’s dead tho because she killed him, a violent reaction caused by him getting too close while she listlessly sat there, groaning and growling, she’s crying over her children. Holding onto them and keeping them close. She’s passive, not out to get anything less it come too close and aggregate her, she’s just a sad old woman. Now Theo, the biggest asshole one will ever know, mutated much later on into the aftermath of the bombs being dropped his already aggressive personality played into him growing even worse, an intelligent predator, quite willing to do anything to get what it’s after, very quickly did he learn that he could mimic some sounds, an ability he developed after a while. Either the voice of one of its victims or mimicking something less dangerous than himself, to elude.

Most places and groups tend to be in all actuality racist towards monsters. Monsters and humans who have experienced mutation. Something built on fears, monsters are more likely to mutate due to their souls trying to leach magic from the air when they are ill, recovery is a dangerous thing with them, either resulting in them falling down or quite well losing themselves. There are very few places that are open to letting monsters in due to the fear. Even places that would accept ghouls of all things tend to be weary. The minutemen, GoodNeighbor, and a few settlement camps are open, not a lot of places considering how much is out in the Boston area.

Diamond City rejects all monsters, ghouls, and synths, The Hidden Railroad shows apprehension towards them being very strict in who they let in. And The Brotherhood of Steel kills them whenever they see them. Eradicating the commonwealth of them. ‘Dangerous filth.’

The issue brought onto the two parties that do welcome them is that The Minutemen are a very small group, practically dying out at this point and most settlements look towards them for aid. And GoodNeighbor is riddled with horrible people, drug addicts, gunners, conmen, just horrible people who tend to not care for others, there are even gangs of sorts living within the area, murder happens in the middle of the street then and there when the player enters and no one bats an eye, I am just gonna leave it at that if you go there unless you can defend yourself well who knows what's going to happen to you. Especially so if you are drunk or high within the walls.

The gunners are out, they buy people, monsters, humans, ghouls, synths, it doesn’t matter and you are never bound to know what they are going to do with them. Raiders, also a party that owns the entirety of Nuka World, have brought back in mass slavery to the country. Collars are placed upon people there and bound to die if they do something out of line, ransacking and shredding through the normal people, tyrants in the most physical sense. The Brotherhood is out to clean the commonwealth, even if it means killing innocents because they aren’t human. They are the most military esk group and they have no clue what they are doing, literally just took up the name and are using prewar gear that was well-preserved. Overall going for the utmost control they can have.

[yes-these-obsessions-are-healthy]

Remains such a pain that my ability to write has trickled to less and less over time. I can’t find the words anymore. Can’t conceive of a plot or.. anything, really. But I want to write. But I’ve just got..nothing. No gas, no inspiration, no words. Not for long stretches of time do I have any, at least. Used to be I’d have ten thousand ideas, ten thousand little wips that I’d add a few sentences here or there, or crank out a rough draft and then tweak it over time, but it’s been silent.. my brain just sitting there, chewing cud. What I do have cannot be posted because it’s not finished, and what is preventing it from being finished is, again, a lack of the proper words to articulate the feelings. There is also the fact that I am just.. starkly aware I don’t know how anything works. How people work, how emotions work, so my desire to depict realistic interactions is held back by not knowing how people talk. I don’t know how characters would respond to certain stimuli, which is kind of part of the thing with fanfiction, to kinda write the characters. I’m not going to do OOC.

Also kind of sad because while I like to read dark and twisted things, I don’t have the aptitude to write it anymore. Again, bereft of that spark or that feeling, I just.. it’s not there. Not as frequently as it used to be. Teenage and early adulthood angst certainly fueled it, but now that I’ve mellowed out in recent years, I can scarcely draw up what it felt like.

Perhaps I have used up my well of self-made creativity and the only means of continuing forth is to latch onto other styles and emulate them. Of course I emulated styles in the past, but never so desperately and nakedly. They were vague inspiration, not crutches, but now if I don’t have a certain author in mind when I write, I can’t write. I understand nothing is unique, but you’d think I’d have a bit more originality in me after years of writing fanfic instead of falling back to essentially this “literary” form of “tracing” and “copying” that all novice artists start out doing when honing their skills. Regression, in other words. Stalemate. Maybe I’m delusional. I wish I produced more, is all. The more you have, the more you can cut up and turn into *something*.

Also there’s the matter of me not being able to write a sex scene from start to finish. I can do the foreplay and the climax and the aftermath, but the “rising action” eludes me for some reason. I am so paranoid that it will be read aloud by someone as a joke that I shove my nose against the proverbial desk and painstakingly etch out each word to make it as meaningful and as replete of cliches as possible, but there is only so much you can do, and of course people will always have a better way with words. But I don’t want to steal them.

So my only recourse is to ape other peoples’ styles and write a concept based on those styles. It’s pathetic and I very, very much despise that I’ve devolved into a living Xerox machine with a malfunctioning incomplete thesaurus, but I guess it’s my lot in life now.

[zoeyp03]

I'm literally just writing this at the request of a friend who wanted to learn more about my relationship with gender, so here goes

I had a rocky relationship with gender like.. ages ago. I was one of those people who at a very early age exhibited like heavily feminine qualities. I liked pink, I liked dresses, I liked princesses. And as an AFAB person this looked nothing out of the ordinary for like... a couple of third world country parents raising their "perfect A, gold star girl". But of course, there reached that stage, where there was no way in absolute hell you could allow someone, anyone, to be feminine at all. And of course, since society thinks that a single ounce of body fat immediately means that you... can't exist or something.

I'd started to get bullied for daring to believe I could look cute while being hyper feminine, bit by bit I began to resent femininity, and then... I was "not like other girls". If I wasn't allowed to be feminine, I wasn't going to even try at all. I was terrible, terrible to other girls. Maybe not the bully, but being an outcast doesn't immediately make you the victim. Yes, I was quiet about my resentment, but it was still there and very present for me.

Before I'd realized, my mom (bless her) took notice of this and just... asked me what was wrong. A little something called "learned helplessness" taught me that it's never ok to tell someone what id wrong with you, at all. So I never said anything. But at the very least I knew one thing: I hated being a "girl". I hated it because I felt like I was not allowed to do anything I wished. I hated it, because the word was always associated with being "lame", "weak", "lesser than others", and of course "ugly". Of course, these are very stupid, and not at all valid ways to reason being non-binary. So little me had a long journey before them to learn that these were not the reason they weren't a girl at all. And it all started with... internet.

The internet was my safe haven, needless to say. I didn't have to share my image with everyone to see, and ruin my reputation with how dreadfully ugly I was (again, child brain.) I had heard of Tumblr like a few years ago, I was told that it wasn't a safe place because all of the terrible people with bad takes went there. But I wanted to find that out for myself. Turns out, I didn't just stumble upon the bad people with the bad takes, I'd just met... people. Sure, more than half of them were misinformed children just like me, but they all taught me a valuable lesson that I hadn't thought of: breaking out the of gender binary.

Being trans was... beyond me. I had no idea that that was even a possibility at all, and when I'd learned that was a thing, I was impressed! You can just... change your gender? To the one that you actually are? That was amazing! ...But there was nooo way that could apply to me! I was a girl! Sure, not the prettiest girl, but still a girl!

Buddy, the signs were there. But alas, they needed a while to figure it out.

I had excitedly told about it to my rl best friend. She was just as amazed as I was. Another friend who at the time I was entirely aware that they were a lesbian, chimed in that they were aware of it and that it was a very cool thing. I was... very lucky that I was surrounded by people who could understand and be amazed with me. I could not even imagine if that were the case.

Anyway, I was made aware of what being transgender was at a relatively younger age, but the concept of being non-binary eluded me, even as I grew into being a teenager. What do you mean you're not a man or a woman? Didn't they just tell you what you were supposed to be when you were younger? How do you manage to just... ignore what people tell you what you're supposed to be? Something in me told me that I resonated with the concept, that there was a chance I was not a girl at all.

But with the life that surrounded me outside of my friendships, outside of my internet circle... I was still the "little girl of the family", the "only daughter", "the little miracle". I was always told what I was supposed to be by my family. That I was supposed to become an expert in English, get an amazing job as either a doctor or a lawyer, marry a good man and have at least 2 kids. My life had been planned out by my family ages ago.But that was not me.

By a certain period of time, I knew I was part of the m-spec, with the label of "bisexual" feeling like the most fitting for me personally. I knew I did not want children. Teen me says it's because they hate kids, present day me says that it's because they do not have what it takes to be a parent. Any children I could have deserve better than what I could give them. But that's besides the point. I knew I was queer, yet something always stopped me from believing I could be anything other than a girl. Maybe it's that feeling of "I could disappoint someone", "What's that going to change for my image?", "Who in real life could be attracted to someone like me even if I wasn't a girl?" (I apologize for the last one, I've been a hopeless romantic my entire life)

But time passes, and people change. Including the adults around me. I saw that my mom (bless her), had been watching and interacting with media aplenty that included transgender people in them. A Brazillian soap opera in particular had caught my attention. There was a trans man in that series, and as painfully typical and angsty as you would expect for a story like that to be in a soap opera, my mom was moved by it. I can't remember if the portrayal was misinformed, or outdated, but at the time it was what I needed. For once, I saw a family member understand and sympathize with a transgender person. For once, the possibility of me not being a girl at all didn't seem so out of the ordinary. There was just one thing I needed to get over.

I still continued to be more masculine, and I had considered the idea that I could be a trans man myself. And despite the fact that being referred to with masculine pronouns felt correct (thank you mom for confusing me and my brother from time to time), being referred to as a "man" didn't really fit... Not to mention, I felt like a part of me was missing. Something I hadn't quite tried and enjoyed, almost years ago.

I hadn't completely quit being feminine, because to my family I was still a girl. And a girl will be given girly clothes by other family members. Fortunately, as time passed and as I kept on learning about gender and to be more sympathetic to women AND TO MYSELF, I started to accept my femininity again. I wanted to learn how to do my makeup since it looked like fun, I loved painting my nails, and there were some dresses I felt comfortable and cute in.

At some point, I had this internal battle. Should I be feminine or masculine? Was I a man or a woman? I could not figure it out for the life of me. I identified as bigender for a while, but I didn't feel like it fit for me. I also tried identifying as a demigirl for another while, and while it made me massively happy to identify as such for a good amount of time, I came to the slow but sure realization that I was something else entirely.

I was non-binary.

It didn't come to me as a shock, or a revelation. But more along the lines of "finally figuring out all the pieces of the puzzle, and all of them falling into place perfectly". For once in my life, I was at peace with myself. Sure, the chances of most rl circles in my country not at all understanding what the hell non-binary could possibly mean was gonna be hurtful, painful even. It was gonna sting, and as a matter of fact, things were going to get even harder from this point forward.

But I am not in this for the simplicity of things. I don't want to simplify things for others' comfort. I am making it my life's mission to help educate others, but also to educate myself even more. I am literally only 20 years old as I am writing this. Hell, it may suddenly turn out that I could be a binary trans man, I could be bigender, there is still so much I have to learn about myself. It's not a journey with a certain destination. But I am more than willing to keep on going in this journey if it means I'll be satisfied with myself.

Non-binary feels right to me right now. If that is not the case anymore at some point, we'll get to that whenever. And if not, then I'll learn about something else about myself, something I had not thought about, and settle my feelings on the matter.

This story does not have a real ending, it's a never-ending journey. And I'm willing to go at it for as long as I can, if it means that I'll be happy with myself, with my friends, and my loved ones. That's what I've set out to do ever since I entered this world.

[sailorblossoms-snowbaz]

I shared a bit of the sorta Princess Bride AU I'm writing for six sentence sunday, but I haven't made much progress there (gonna take a while, that one). I've written quite a bit of another thing with a concept loosely based on Inuyasha, or more specifically: one of the demons Inuyasha faced. The format there is very "monster of the week" so there are a lot of them, but this one stayed with me: a demon who manifested with flowers, and once the victim gets close, they're trapped with vines that can feel everything that pains/worries them (it feeds from those feelings). The vines would then show them a vision of what they want the most, filling them with happiness/peacefulness, presumably so they wouldn't resist while they get turned into soil. The trapped victims cry blood too, so it's quite the visual. It’s certainly a way to bring up things the characters wouldn’t just talk about, or even allow themselves to think about.

The idea here is that the vines are there, they trap Simon and Baz (no demon, perhaps just a magical flower) but instead of “happy visions” we use them to explore the things causing pain. 

It’s sad hours around here: 

One by one, the mirrors surrounding him break without making a sound. 

Suddenly, he can remember a time when the desperation was so consuming, there was nothing he wouldn’t do to escape it. To fit in. Even if it always felt wrong. Even if it was only a reminder that the very core of him was damaged. He just wanted to belong somewhere. But there was no heart in it then, there was no fire. You can’t build anything good, anything sustainable between people that don’t belong together–not in the way he craved. Going through the motions could never have been the answer to this loneliness, to such profound unhappiness–it could only ever accentuate them. 

-

A thought about wanting someone more than he has ever wanted anything. A yearning so strong it redefines what it means to want. An unavoidable thing and ever-present, even when the true nature of his feelings eluded him. When he couldn’t bear to face a reality where the one he yearned for might want someone else. He thought he was just hungry then, and indeed he hungered. He hungered for him.  

Tagging the lovely ppl who have tagged me before @ionlydrinkhotwater @erzbethluna

[drowningbydegrees]

As it turns out, falling into bed with your very best friend who you are privately very much in love with isn't nearly so nerve wracking as waking up with them the morning after.

Read on AO3

He can’t remember the last time waking up was a remotely soothing experience. Geralt’s sleep muzzy mind has no other word for the body plastered against his front from shoulder to hip, the steady heartbeat against his palm where his hand is splayed out across someone’s chest. His nose is tucked against the nape of someone’s neck, and the scent is far too familiar to be jarring.

“Jaskier,” he rumbles quietly, his mouth miles ahead of the rest of him. The quiet, absent pleasure of waking up tangled with someone who smells sleepy and content and like they’re his leaves no room for reason. There’s no room for anything really, except to press a kiss to whatever patch of skin he can find, savoring the soft sigh it earns him.

Jaskier is… The night before rushes back to him, and Geralt almost jerks away, even though it would be entirely pointless to bother with that now. He cracks an eye open and is met with the disaster that Jaskier’s hair, mussed in the night by sleep, and by Geralt’s fingers buried in it before that. Even as worry begins to creep in, he sort of wants to do it again.

This isn’t the first time they’ve shared a bed. This probably isn’t even the hundredth time they’ve shared a bed. This is most definitely the first time they’ve done so with so little clothing between them, none to be exact. There’s only the blanket tucked around them both, warm and lovely and unexpectedly distressing.

Geralt isn’t sorry, per se. Jaskier’s chest rises and falls under Geralt’s palm in the slow rhythm of sleep. It’s the loveliest thing Geralt can remember waking up to, and therein lies the problem. An emotion fed only grows, and this unruly, sprawling affection is the worst offender. Stupidly, Geralt had thought getting this out of his system would quell it, but the longing reaches a fever pitch instead.

Jaskier is beautiful, all the more so for the way he shifts in his sleep, closing the gap Geralt has tried to put between them. Geralt could happily wake like this every day for the rest of his life, but it isn’t a fair thing to ask of someone who flits from one love to the next like a butterfly between flowers. He will not trap Jaskier in this just because he happens to be besotted. Somehow, the resolve not to try to keep this does nothing to ease the guilt welling up that he wants to in the first place.

Nothing Jaskier said the night before conveyed meaning beyond a playful desire to tumble into bed together. Moving the target now would only be cruel. He should be rolling out of bed, hastening them back to normal. He should be proving that this has done nothing to harm their friendship. It isn’t Jaskier’s fault, after all, the way Geralt wants to breathe him in and kiss him senseless and forget the rest of the world until the innkeeper boots them out.

“Geralt?” Jaskier startles the witcher from his worries, wriggling impossibly closer and laying a palm over his knuckles. “You okay?”

“Thinking,” Geralt replies vaguely.

“Well, don’t hurt yourself,” Jaskier teases, still warm and lethargic with sleep. Geralt almost manages to take advantage of the levity of the moment and extricate himself, but before he can, Jaskier rolls over so they’re nearly nose to nose. His fingers cradle Geralt’s cheek and any attempt to escape now would just be graceless. “What about?”

Geralt doesn’t know how to answer, so he only hums noncommittally and hopes Jaskier will let it lie. Of course, Jaskier being Jaskier, does no such thing. He takes advantage of the change in positions to tangle his legs up with Geralt. “I can’t tell you to knock it off if you don’t tell me what it is.”

“We should get going.” Geralt tries once more to escape, frowning when Jaskier shows no sign of releasing him. It’s silly of course. Jaskier couldn’t hope to hold him here if Geralt was set on leaving. He just can’t actually make himself do it.

“Was it that bad a night?” It’s an easy opening, an invitation to stray back to their usual banter, but Geralt gets no further than a raised eyebrow before Jaskier is clasping a hand over the witcher’s mouth. “Wait. Don’t answer that or I might have to smother you with a pillow and that’ll just be unfortunate for both of us.”

Right there, with Jaskier smiling at him, Geralt can almost believe they’re going to survive this. Almost, but almost still leaves a distance he cannot cross. As soon as Jaskier pulls his hand back from Geralt’s mouth, the witcher opens it. “They’re not going to let us sleep in forever.”

“They might if I convince them to let me play again this evening. We could move on tomorrow,” Jaskier ventures, but something in Geralt’s face must give him pause. “Oh do not look at me like that. The world isn’t going to end just because you stop to take a breath once in a while, Geralt.”

“That’s not…” Geralt starts, but he doesn’t know how to finish. There are no words that convey the razor wire sensation of facing down the impermanence of Jaskier’s affections, of realizing how deeply his own feelings run far too late.

“Shh.” Geralt knew what to do with impulse, with Jaskier’s mouth crashing into his, with Jaskier’s hands scrabbling at him to shed his clothes. He doesn’t know what to do with the tender, intentional way Jaskier regards him this morning, lips pressing to the witcher’s brow and lingering afterwards. Does it mean something, or does Jaskier grant all his lovers this subdued, aimless devotion? Lust was so much simpler than this aching sort of affection that puts down roots even as Geralt tries to burn it away.

Geralt doesn’t precisely surrender, but he resigns himself to the lazy attention Jaskier is so determined to lavish on him. If he lets Jaskier turn him away later instead of now, there will be at least this one pleasant thing to remember. So he doesn’t complain at Jaskier’s fingers combing through his hair, or the bard’s body pressed warmly to his. If every touch feels like a harbinger of their demise, it’s still hard to let go of.

He almost passes things off as okay, he thinks, until Jaskier kisses him. It’s a brief thing, immediately withdrawn. “Geralt?”

If realizing the hopeless situation he’s stumbled into was uncomfortable, the idea of talking about it is nothing short of torture.

“Well, you haven’t shoved me out of bed yet, so you’re not mad. Talk to me,” Jaskier coaxes, his expression so openly concerned and affectionate, Geralt could scream.

“It’s no-” Geralt starts, but Jaskier shut him up with a theatrically sour look.

“I swear if you say nothing,” Jaskier threatens aimlessly, an easy smile on his lips, but underneath, Geralt can hear the way his anxious heart threatens to vibrate right out of his chest.

“I don’t know what this is,” Geralt admits because that, at least, is safe. It’s nothing about how he feels in relation to anything. It’s nothing about the want that simmers under the surface despite his guilt.

Jaskier’s brows scrunch in a way that would be endearing if the entire ordeal didn’t feel so fraught already. “I don’t think I follow. I mean, I know having a conversation isn’t your usual wheelhouse, but it’s not exactly a foreign concept.”

“Not. That.” Geralt bites the words out, tight and clipped while he gathers his frayed nerves enough to explain. “You’re not in the habit of keeping people. I don’t know what you want.”

For just a second, Jaskier looks like he’s been struck and Geralt wants desperately to take the whole thing back. But the bard’s expression smooths out and then twists up in a wry smile. “Of course I don’t. What would I even do? Drag someone else along on our travels?”

There’s a point Jaskier is making. It’s right there. He knows it is, but it eludes Geralt anyway. “You could have stayed somewhere if there was someone you wanted to stick around for.”

Jaskier laughs, just a giggle at first, and then so hard that even his efforts to bury his face against Geralt’s shoulder do nothing to stifle it. “You are absolutely right. I could fall completely and utterly in love with someone and choose to stick around.”

“I don’t see how that’s funny,” Geralt says flatly, staring at the far wall of their room. The urge to curl around Jaskier and forget the whole stupid conversation in strong, and maybe he’d have been better off doing that in the first place, but he doesn’t surrender to it.

“Well, you’re one of the smartest people I know, so these moments where you decide to be an absolute idiot happen to be hilarious,” Jaskier teases. The bard must take pity, because his palm slides to cradle Geralt’s jaw, and Jaskier puts himself right at eye level where the witcher can’t look away. “Don’t you realize? I fell in love with someone, and I chose to stick around. It happened ages ago.”

Geralt has long since given up on trying to anticipate what Jaskier will say to any given prompt, but that is… somehow not even on the same continent as anything he might have expected. “What?”

“You really are determined to make this as difficult and stressful for me as possible, aren’t you?” Jaskier asks. There’s a tightness around his eyes when he looks at Geralt, leaving the witcher with the awful realization that Jaskier must be flying as blind as he is. He’s probably as unsure of Geralt’s intent as Geralt is of his. And yet… “I chose you, you ridiculous man. I always choose you.”

That… that explains a lot, actually. Geralt swallows thickly as Jaskier’s nose bumps against his. “Why didn’t you ever say?”

“Ah yes. ‘Hello my very dear emotionally… hampered witcher who will sometimes, on a very good day, admit that we are friends. Would it it complicate things overly much if I also happened to be completely, utterly in love with you?’” Jaskier huffs out a helpless, almost panicky sort of laugh. “Tell me Geralt, is there any time in the last few years where that would have gone well?”

Years? Now, confronted with the full force of it, Geralt isn’t sure how he even missed it last night, let alone for so long. Now that he knows it’s always been a bit painfully obvious. And much as he’d like to, he can’t really argue against Jaskier’s point that it probably wouldn’t have gone well to say so. “What changed?”

Jaskier sighs in that dramatic, overdone way he tends to when he’s being asked what he thinks is an exceedingly silly question. “You did.”

“Hmm.” Geralt doesn’t comment and Jaskier doesn’t press for further conversation. It’s peaceful, this thing blossoming between them, now that his most immediate concerns have been silenced.

That Jaskier laid his heart on the line and asked for nothing back isn’t lost on Geralt though. The words catch and stick on his throat, so Geralt writes them into the tender way he traces the curve of Jaskier’s spine with his fingertips. He presses them against Jaskier’s lips, jaw, throat with lazy, lingering kisses.

“So tell me-” Jaskier starts, the words interrupted by a soft sigh as Geralt’s thumb skims the divot of his hip. It’s an unmistakably promising sound all by itself, even ignoring that delightful way Jaskier presses into the touch. He finishes his thought, but it’s unmistakably breathless. “What are you thinking now?”

The recognition that this isn’t some fluke settles warmly around him. This could be always. There are so few things a witcher really keeps, but for now he’s willing to entertain the notion that this might be one of them.

“I’m thinking…” Geralt mumbles against the side of Jaskier’s neck, delighting in the way the bard’s fingers tangle in his hair and tug. “That maybe we’ll leave tomorrow.”

[darkcacaocookieandfriends]

"I haven't felt like that in a long time…" His voice was soft. "It sounds so nice when you put it that way…Wouldn't mind wearing what you make. I enjoy being your dress up doll. I always felt on top of the world with whatever costume you made for me."

Was he eluding to Princess Werehound…or had it been something in his more distant past? All he cast aside to become who he was today.

To feel like nobility again…To be donned in fine clothes, the best money could buy. Made from the heart…the passion of Licorice Cookie…the love of his friend….Friends…

No, that's isn't what they'd be.

Isn't…what they are…

They were so much more than that. The feeling that resonated from within him knew better than to cast denial on that. Schwarzwalder wasn't one to think about something like love. A concept that seemed so far from his reach…mostly considering he scared the daylights out of anyone he was so much as happy around.

Being Choco Werehound Brute wasn't easy! In fact, he'd dare to admit it was a hard life. An aspect he questioned when he felt so conflicted. He wanted to be imposing and scary, but not to confectionery creatures he enjoyed the company of. He took sanctity in knowing that Licorice and Bat-Cat enjoyed being around him, despite their differences…despite all of them being different creatures, they had a cohesive harmony among them.

What he had with Licorice and Bat-Cat was…rare and special. That much he knew. He'd grown to treasure them both more than he ever thought he would.

He took a step towards Licorice, closing the small gap between them The werehound reached around him and pressed their bodies together in a gentle, one-armed hug. He didn't want to let go of Licorice's hand. Schwarzwalder wanted to keep it there as long as he could.

He didn't even know why. It just felt nice. It felt…right.

Hugging someone so flat was a daunting task. Licorice seemed so fragile in his arms, something he hadn't noticed before. He was so...thin, and crispy...not a bouncy sponge like the cake monster. A cookie he could so easily crumble was now someone he wanted to caress tenderly. Past him would be looking on with disdain. Past him would ask him what kind of cake monster he was, falling in love with a cookie of all things!

But, it wasn't just ANY cookie. This cookie was special. This cookie was an exception. Maybe, deep down in the recesses of his being, Licorice was so much more than that. Maybe he had been all this time and it was something he never took too much note of.

"You won't lose me. Where would you be if you didn't have Choco Wherehound Brute to have your back, eh?" His tone was boastful, but soon reverted into something more soft. "You need me, and maybe…I need you, too."

--------

"While there is something to be gained in a political sense, I assure you that isn't the only angle I've considered this from." The Ancient took a step towards her. He would not dare touch her out of respect alone.

"If there is anyone who knows about political marriage and what it entails - it's a king. I know I covet the most…prized of those positions." He squeezed that word out in disdain. "Marriage based purely on political status and gain, while beneficial is…ultimately not to many who practice it.

I merely speak from a hypothetical point, from whatever silly game we've played. However, I would not simply offer a position of power to someone who didn't have a position in my heart. There are unions that can be good for all of Earthbread, but they mean nothing if those in them are not happy as well."

Time and time again, he had seen such things - nobility that wed nobility purely for political, financial or covetous gain, only to fall to pieces in abusive, unhappy relationships. Wearing a mask in public only hid one's turmoil so much - something he knew from his own plights.

"I know too well of the alternatives, as I have seen it in cookies around me. Even in those of my own court. If I felt nothing for you, I would have let you throw salt on me and be done. I can merely brush salt off, but I cannot brush off the misery such a union would bring."

"I may not be the best at expressing it, but perhaps....I have grown fond of you, Candy Eye Cookie."

"Oh believe me, Schwartzwalder, I'd make you feel like a Prince, or Princess, I can make you the best clothes with my skills as a semester that it would even knock the royals outta the park!"

"Not to mention, even Bat-Cat likes you around! Which is a huge bonus! Usually, Bat-Cat just casts others the weary eye, but you? No! Bat-Cat saw something in you that I didn't at first! You really are something special, y'know?"

"And.. T-to be honest? I'd rather not lose that..." He mumbled, his voice almost unaudable.

She stared at him long and hard, he was dead serious... "Huh... Spoken like a Nobel knight... Of corse you would."

"Sorry, but I can't marry if it's just about politics... If there's no emotional bond, even if it was to make things better for Earthbread. Marrying for that reason alone would be the same as imprisonment. "It be hallow, loveless, and may leave both of us feeling more empty and alone than you realize..." She didn't even look at him this time, but the words she spoke weighed heavy on her. there was something else in the back of her mind... Her friends, and Flour. Mystic Flour Cookie was-no, IS Dark Cacao Cookie's other half, and now Candy felt like she was fighting with herself! What would doing so even accomplish in the grand scheme of things anyway? What about her friends? Would this even HELP them be cured? Or make it worse?!

Candy was now staring blankly at the ground and was completely enthralled in her own thoughts.

[sanstropfremir]

I’d love your thoughts on BTS and their current image and music if you have them and aren’t afraid of the mindless internet hoards.

Personally, I liked a lot of their older stuff, but haven’t liked anything since I think the Fake Love promotions 3+ years ago. They’d started losing their personality and soul before that album cycle, but it feels like the sanitization of their image and artistry really kicked into hyperdrive after that. Now most of what they do seems like a sterile money grab driven by the Hybe hive mind which is a shame.

ok alrighty (cracks knuckles) let's get into it.

now that i've fully given myself a headache watching the majority of the bts videography, here are three points i'm going to cover:

performative character and the lack thereof

interesting aesthetics and the lack thereof, and

the inevitable cracking of perfection

ready, set, let's begin.

1.

idol music is very clearly definited by spectacle based aesthetics. and it's had that structure for its entire existence. so i gotta hand it to hybe for this one, because they managed to revolutionize being utterly fucking average. the triumph of bts is that they're just some guys and they look like just some guys. hybe found a niche in the system and then gamed that system to the tune of one of the largest musical acts in the world. they're not marketing bts as a romantic parasocial relationship, they're marketing them as your friends. and that is just as insidious to lonely kids as a run of the mill romantic fantasy. but that's not what i'm here to talk about today.

there's a pattern i find very interesting with bts mvs and that is that i don't remember anything about them. specifically, i don't remember the stuff that's happening IN the video; not the styling, not the setpieces, if i didn't know the members i doubt i would remember them either. what i DO remember, is how expensive the production is, and specific shots. i couldn't tell you what a single member was wearing, but i sure as hell remember that first upward angle shot of jungkook and the rusted park ride in spring day. or every single time they do that birdseye shot of jin in like every video. honestly as far as i'm aware jin has only ever worn a loose fitting beige longsleeve shirt.

it took bts a long time to establish any kind of consistent visual character. and the character they did establish.... i don't know if you can call a family-friendly-style clean aesthetic 'character'. they debuted as a hip hop group to little (comparative) success, and then made a switch to doing an early version of where they're currently at right now. if you've seen any of the mvs, you know that this is a pretty significant visual change. i don't think it is inherently a bad change, since the visual branding for hiphop based groups always tips over into iffy terrritory, but it is dramatic enough and early enough that it doesn't strike me as a natural evolution. concept switch ups are common, but they usually work because the members have established a bit of character for themselves, used their performance abilities and presence to fit into a niche in the group. the idol mould is perfect for showcasing the performers; that's its function. the groups that are the most fun to watch are the ones with stage presence, the ones who know how to perform, who can act all the parts they need to play. and bts? 4/7 actual performers on a good day. in my personal opinion it's 2/7.

i'm gonna expand on what i said about jimin here (this is technically the first part of this series), because it does apply to the rest of the group on the whole:

and i think here is where we see the main crux of the difference between taemin and jimin as performers: taemin has both an artistic and an idol persona. we know and understand him to do solo work that has a separate artistic meaning to just him being an idol. even though this performance was pre-move, i would still say this applies, because he's hot off press your number, where he's acting in a story based mv. jimin on the other hand just has his idol persona. he's not known for creating the same kind of storytelling that taemin is.

bts has been very insistent on the image of the group as a single unit. despite having the size of fanbase and the revenue that would make any official solo debut a massive success, none of them have done any substantial solo work. this isn't artistically a problem, and i think it's very admirable of them to be so dedicated to the image and the legacy of the group, when that can be an uncommon trait in the industry. i do however, think it starts to become an issue when we want to discuss what the artistic visions and images of groups are. shinee taemin and solo taemin have two distinct artistic representations, and taemin himself will attest to that. it's the same with all the shinee members that have solo careers, and the same with other groups. jackson, bambam, yugyeom, and jaebeom's solo work is all very different from got7. yixing's solo work is very different from exo's. even the subunits within exo all have their own character (cbx and sc). kpop groups all ostensibly are trained under the same system, so why the disparity with bts? mostly, it's their brand of "authenticity." it's impossible to perform authentically, by the nature of performance as a medium it is unnatural, and tragically, not everyone is naturally interesting, or suited to performing: that's why the performing arts even exist in the first place. it required painstaking training to be good at performing; it is a complex set of skills and those skills are not learnt by "being authentic." being an idol is not just the singing, dancing, rapping; that's only half the work. you need to be able to act to be a compelling performer. pulling your true self and emotions out on stage every night is a fast track to burnout and psychological issues, there's plenty of evidence. the only member of bts of whom i can say for some certainty has a persona and a stage presence is jhope/hoseok, a) because he's kept up a very specific brand in the solo work that he has done, and b) he has actual dance training, not just kpop dance training. the rest of them may have the kpop dance and the kpop vocal training, but what they do not have is the ability to market themselves as compelling performers on stage. taehyung is the only other member i would hesitantly give a semblance of persona and ability to, but i think he stumbled onto that mostly by accident. and if all the pieces don't each have a distinctive colour, how can the whole machine be visually interesting?

2.

bts may never have been able to establish an aesthetic brand, but what they did establish is an intellectual one. if you talk to a fan, the schtick they give is that "it's about the lyrics." as noble as having an intellectual or cerebral message is, what does that look like? how do you portray intellectual on stage, on film? what about intellectual is interesting to watch? cerebral, by it's literal nature as a descriptor, is very difficult to communicate in visual language because it is internal. to successfully communicate cerebrality and intellect in a short form medium like music videos requires a deft hand with metaphor that can elude even an experienced designer. and honestly? i don't know whether to applaud hybe's visual team for being the most successful subtle contemporary designers i've every seen, or to decry them as worst kpop designers i've ever seen. maybe both. regardless, i don't think they're able to cross the gap.

there are exactly four mvs where i actually remember the content of the mv and not the frame it sits in, and those are dna, idol, the singularity comeback trailer with taehyung, and war of hormone. and of an eight year career......that's not very many. these four mvs have at least an inkling of interesting spectacle and character, but even then, it's still a stretch. there is absolutely nothing to write home about in the styling for dna, other than it's well colour matched. I don't even know if I should include singularity because it involves none of the other members. idol is probably their most interesting mv because it actually has alternative styling and varies (at least a little bit) from the standard hybe boom crane shot-that-shows-off-how-we-can-afford-big-studio-spaces-and-locations. the company and the group would be loathe to admit it, but war of hormone is a well designed and interesting mv for the time it was made, with a well crafted gimmick and some actual showing of character from the members. it was the start of a potential that they squashed quite quickly because it wasn't picking up in the hiphop-group-saturated market of 2014. but the rest of their mvs? remarkably uninspired styling. like it's truly impressive how boring the styling is. and like i've said, that is the triumph in their aesthetics: they all look like normal dudes (if you had professional skin + makeup techs looking after them for the last 8 years).

all of this is a carefully crafted image that's tailored to hooking an audience, especially an international one. the mvs are boring in the relative scale of kpop, but they're just different enough from a western pop mv to catch attention. and once you do sink a hook, there's a direct clickfunnel of content that bills itself on these men being "authentic" and "self-producing," which is a huge draw to international fans, because people are racist and believe that the kpop industry is a factory that produces idols like clones, where none of them know how to do anything other than sing and dance and all the music is just handed to them by companies. and they have SO much content that there's no way a new fan can get to it all in a timely manner, so they'll never have to engage with any other kpop artists' work if they don't actively seek it out. but that's another essay for another time.

3.

that brings us to current day, in which at least the last five bts releases have been in the same aesthetic vein of positive, sanitized, and pristine. i said it in one of my txt responses and i will say it again here: money scrubs the humanity from the aesthetic of living. minimalism is for rich white people. hybe and bts may have pivoted their style and brand directly into the lane of mass appeal, but when you pair that with the amount of money funding them, there's a cognitive dissonance between the message and the aesthetics in which it's portrayed. some people do like the clean cut looks, and i won't say that they don't work, but as you've likely gleaned from this response, it isn't my style and if you've been around and reading my writing for longer you'll know that my tastes runs much closer to the messy and the weird, so very little about any of bts' visuals have appeal to me. i do find the contradiction of applying the appeal of radical relatability with the aesthetics of expansive (and expensive) minimalism interesting; it's an extremely fine line that hybe is walking and eventually they are going to tip over, the porcelain mask will not hold forever. maintaining the all ages aesthetic is going to be difficult now that all of them are grown ass men. with other groups of this member age and generation there's very obviously been a shift to a more adult tone, and not necessarily explicitly. got7, mx, nu'est, btob, shinee, 2pm, and groups that have older members like a.c.e and sf9 have all made slow shifts in tone that are undeniably aimed at a maturing audience: they know their core fanbases are aging with them and they (the fans) are not as interested in the 'boy' in boy group. and most of them have telltale visual styles, enough so that i can distinguish a specific group's mv. the last year and change of mx mvs have a very distinctive character; got7 too, since easily as far back as if you do. i can always tell an a.c.e mv by its impeccable fashion and formic styling, and although shinee has always had a more experimental aesthetic edge, their sound and voices are unmistakable.

honestly, i can't predict what bts is going to do in the future, but i personally don't believe they can keep up their clean aesthetic indefinitely without some fallout. part of the fun of following bands is watching them grow musically, and the last couple of years of bts haven't felt like growth. there are fans that have already started realizing it, and there's likely to be more soon.

---

the third part is here, which is a short followup about some of bts' industry influence.

[madpanda75]

“Taking Chances Part 12: The Aftermath”

See how everyone reacts to Theo’s attack on the reader. Feelings get hurt, relationships are exposed, people shout. This chapter is ALL ANGST and FEELS! 😭

Trigger Warning: This chapter mentions assault and rape.

One thing at a time. That was all you could only focus on. Otherwise the reality of what had just happened would overwhelm you. Just one step at a time as you walked into the precinct with your family, Fin, and Amanda.

“Are you sure you don’t need to go to the hospital?” Amanda asked.

“I’m fine,” you mumbled, having barely spoken since Theo ran out of the gallery that morning. The metallic taste of blood still lingered on your tongue from where he had smacked you. 

Liv walked out of her office to greet you and your family, but before she could say anything, your father spoke up. “Please tell me you’re gonna get this bastard.” 

“Dom!” your mom scolded 

“No! Don’t ‘Dom’ me. That monster assaulted my baby. I could go out there right now and take care of it.”

“Dad! Please!” Bella interjected. “Let the cops do their job!”

“Ok, everyone lets calm down,” Olivia said over the bickering.

Your eyes darted between your sister and parents, arguing over what was best for you in this situation. You felt like a child, small and helpless. You also felt partly responsible for the unnecessary stress and worry your family was feeling right now. 

Mustering as much strength as you could, you reached into the darkest depths and found your voice. “I should’ve fought harder!” Your words reverberated around the room. Everyone halted and turned their attention to you. “I should’ve followed Phoebe to the front door. I know how she forgets to lock the door.” 

Olivia gently squeezed your shoulder. “You did exactly what you had to do. You survived.”

“She’s right,” Bella chimed in and wrapped her arm around you.

Your mom nodded and ran her fingers through your hair. “I’m just so grateful to God that you’re ok.” She sniffled and kissed you on the cheek. “My patatina.”

Just then a slightly sweaty and out of breath Rafael burst into the precinct. It looked as if he had run all the way from his office. “Y/N!” He pulled you into a tight embrace before realizing that bum rushing you after you had just been assaulted was not the best idea. Wanting to respect your personal space, he immediately jumped back. His eyes scanned your body for any injuries. “Are you ok?”

Tears welled in your eyes. “As well as can be expected.” 

With a tentative hand, he reached out and cupped your cheek. You trembled under his touch and wrapped your arms around him. Rafael enveloped you, silently praying to God, the Devil, or whatever Deity existed that kept you safe.

The squad looked at each other in total shock while witnessing the public display of affection between you and Rafael. 

Fin subtly turned towards Amanda. “Did you know these two were--”

“Nope,” she murmured. “And from the looks of it neither did Liv.”

“Let’s talk in here,” Olivia said, gently leading you away from Rafael and towards an empty interrogation room.

“Why don’t I get everyone a real cup of coffee other than that sludge they have here,” Rafael offered.

Your mother smiled. “Thank you. That would be nice.”

“I’ll take a latte,” Fin teased only to receive a deadpan stare from Rafael.

While everyone went their separate ways, Amanda and Fin got to work on getting an arrest warrant. “Wow. Barba and Carisi’s younger sister.” Fin shook his head in disbelief. 

“That explains why Carisi’s been acting the way he has,” Amanda said while searching on her laptop for Theo’s office building.

“Think Barba gave him the shiner?”

“I don’t know.” Amanda glanced up and saw a frantic Sonny bounding into the precinct. “But here’s your chance to ask him.”

“Where is she? Where’s my sister?” Sonny demanded.

“She’s in there talking to Olivia,” Amanda said. Sonny looked to where his partner was pointing. It was the interrogation room used to talk to victims. Victim. His sister was a victim. He couldn’t even wrap his mind around the concept. Through the window, he could see you sitting in between your mom and Bella while your dad paced back and forth in the background. 

He barged into the room without even knocking. “Son, why don’t you wait outside,” your father said, trying to lead Sonny out of the room. 

But he side swept him and knelt down in front of you. Tears were streaming down your cheeks. “Y/N, I’m so---”

You pushed Sonny away before he could finish. “I’m going to be sick,” you whimpered and ran to the bathroom. Your sister and mom trailed after you, each giving him a severe look.

Sonny stepped out of the interrogation room and plopped down in his chair, slamming his fist down on the desk so hard the metal rattled beneath his quivering hand. 

“Hey,” Fin said. “Don’t sweat it, Carisi. We’re gonna get this creep.”

“Yeah,” he mumbled and reached into his drawer for the Pepto Bismol. The Carisi nerves reared its ugly head. He felt green. His stomach churned with guilt, grief, and whatever was leftover from breakfast. 

Rafael stepped back into the bullpen with coffee and bagels from your favorite deli, knowing you probably hadn’t eaten a thing all day. Unfortunately for him, it was another Carisi he found. He brushed past Sonny towards Fin and Amanda. “Where are we with Theo?” 

“Just finishing up this arrest warrant. Although it’s gonna be hard to get a judge to sign off on it with so little evidence,” Fin said. Rafael shuddered at the thought of you undergoing a rape kit. Having a SANE nurse poke, scrape, and prod you, searching for DNA, fingerprints, skin, and semen.

“That’s SVU for ya’.” Amanda sighed. “A victim’s word is never good enough.”

Rafael whipped out his cell phone. “I’ll call in some favors at the office. Give them a heads up about the warrant. And for the record, I’m glad there wasn’t a lot of evidence.” He glared at the back of Sonny’s head. “This could’ve been a lot worse.”

Feeling Rafael’s eyes on him, Sonny turned. “What?” he snapped. “Ya’ got somethin’ to say. So just say it.”

“You just couldn’t leave us alone could you?” Rafael shook his head in disgust and started towards the interrogation room to dole out coffee and bagels when Sonny’s voice stopped him.

“What the hell does that mean?” he sneered

Rafael scoffed. “Don’t play naive now. Grow up and realize your actions have consequences.”

Fin watched as the two men provoked each other. “Hey, fellas. Chill.”

Sonny ignored Fin and walked over to Rafael, getting right in his face. “If you think for one second—”

“Guys c’mon,” Amanda chimed in. “ Don’t do this.”

Rafael held his ground. “I think that when you invited Theo you were stupid enough to believe that she would crawl back to him. And because of you that monster almost raped her.”

Sonny’s blood boiled. “How dare you! I love my sister more than anythin’ in this world.”

Rafael let out a mirthless laugh. “Got some way of showing it!” 

Everyone stopped their work and began inching closer towards the two men to get a prime view of the potential fight. Some of the junior officers had their phones out ready to capture the action. All eyes of the precinct were on Rafael and Sonny. 

Sensing this was seconds away from coming to blows, Fin stepped in. “Barba, that’s enough!”

Rafael eluded Fin’s attempt to keep the peace and continued, “I don’t care if she is your sister. I love that woman more than anything in this world and I will do anything to protect her. Especially since her brother doesn’t know how to.”

“Stop it! Both of you!” Your voice pierced the air, causing everything and everyone to come to a screeching stop. 

Rafael took a step toward you. “Y/N, I’m--”

“No!” you interrupted. “I can’t take it anymore. I can’t take this fighting. If you can’t behave like civilized human beings then get out!” You pushed past the small crowd that had formed and went back into the interrogation room with your mom and sister. 

Amanda clapped her hands. “Alright, guys. Show’s over.” As the crowd dispersed she went back to her desk, raising her brow in a manner that said, ‘Serves you boys right.’

Rafael cleared his throat and sat in an empty chair while Sonny went over to his desk. The two men were silent with Rafael staring at his phone and Sonny chugging more Pepto Bismol. Being scolded in front of the entire precinct was enough humiliation to suffer through for one day.

One hour later and the interrogation room door opened. “Is she ok?” Sonny asked Bella.

 “She was just assaulted by her ex. How do ya’ think she is?” Bella snapped.

“Bella!” your mom reprimanded before turning to her son. “Give your sister some time. She’ll come around.” She kissed his cheek and left.

The minute you came out Rafael popped up out of his chair. He had been acting like an expectant father, pacing the floor and waiting. “Do you need anything? How’d it go?”

“Ok,” you said with a shrug. “I’m gonna go home with my folks. I’ll call you later.”

Rafael nodded. A cocktail of terror, relief, and anger etched into his face. You gave him a half smile. It was the most emotion you could muster. As you walked away, both of you knew that after today your relationship would never be the same.

****

The hours may have ticked by, but for Sonny time stood still. While Rafael and the others had left, he hadn’t moved from his desk.

“What are you still doing here?” Olivia asked when she stepped out of her office, surprised to see him alone and staring off into space rather than at home.

“My family hates me,” he softly said.

Olivia sighed and pulled up a chair. “No they don’t.”

“I didn’t...I mean when I invited Theo...I never thought…” He couldn’t finish his train of thought, a lump rising in his throat which he bitterly swallowed back down. The words that Rafael spit at him earlier still stung. Although it was nothing compared to the guilt and shame he felt. 

“Hey, this is not your fault,” Olivia sternly said. “You can’t think like that.”

Sonny studied his scuffed shoes and nodded his head when he heard Theo’s voice. “Watch it will ya’! That’s police brutality!” 

“Keep moving,” Fin said, leading your ex-fiance into the precinct with Amanda following behind. 

In an instant Sonny lunged at Theo, gripping him by the collar and shoving him against the wall. “You sonofabitch!” he growled. “You attacked my little sister!” 

Fin tried to separate the two men, but he was no match for Sonny, who’s anger gave him almost superhuman strength.

“Hey! Get off me, man!” Theo exclaimed and tried to wrench free from the vice-like grip his friend had on him. 

Sonny slammed Theo’s head into the wall again, so hard that it practically vibrated around the room. “I trusted you with her!” 

“Someone help!” Theo shouted. It took several officers to get Sonny off him.

“Ya’ know, I could sue the NYPD for this,” Theo said as he was led to the cage.

Amanda rolled her eyes. “Yeah, go ahead and try that after you’re found guilty of assault and attempted rape.”

Before Olivia or anyone else could reprimand Sonny for his behavior, he grabbed his jacket and left, unable to stand being in the same room as your attempted rapist. 

****

Not wanting to be alone in your apartment, you ended up spending the night at your parents’ house. As you laid in bed in your childhood bedroom, staring up at old boyband posters, you thought of Theo. How many memories you had shared in this room. From endless games of Bop-It when you were kids to sneaky makeout sessions during your teen years, always ready to split apart in case your mom came barging in. 

It was amazing how much life had changed since then. How much Theo had changed. From the sweet innocent boy next door to a conniving monster. Perhaps that evil streak was always in him, kept well hidden in the darkest corners of his being, but over time became more difficult to conceal. Until today when that mask he wore so well, fell and revealed his true self.

As hard as it was, you tried not to waste too much energy thinking about the happenings of today, especially when you had Rafael. You tried to call him several times that night, but every attempt ended with your thumb hovering over the call button before eventually giving up. 

You didn’t know what to say, and in reality you didn’t want to say anything. You wanted to go back to when life was simpler. To when life was easy. But there was no going back, so instead you shoved your phone under the pillow and tried to sleep.

*****

Since you had never called Rafael, you weren’t too surprised to find him standing outside your apartment building the next morning when Teresa dropped you off. “Want me to go in with you?” she asked.

“No, that’s ok. I need to speak to Rafael in private.” 

As you stepped out of the car, Teresa smiled and waved at your boyfriend. “Poor bastard,” she muttered to herself.

“Hi,” Rafael said,

“Hi,” you replied. “What are you doing here?” 

“You didn’t call last night so I came to check on you.” He followed you inside and into the elevator. You wanted to scream at him to stop being so damn nice, to stop making this harder than it had to be, but instead you were silent. 

When you got to your door, you hesitated. What if Theo was in there. Of course, you knew that was nonsensical. Fin and Amanda had arrested him last night; however, that did nothing to quell your fear.

Noticing your reluctance, Rafael spoke up, “Do you want me to check?”

“No,” you said before sighing in defeat. “Yes, please.” You waited outside for several minutes before he came out and gave you the all clear.

Rafael had intended to spend the day doing whatever you wanted to do whether that was to sit and talk or just to hold you while you cried. Instead, he followed you into your bedroom and watched you pull out a suitcase and begin to pack.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“Packing,” you replied. Rafael crossed his arms and arched his brow, not in the mood for your sarcasm, especially since he was up all night worried sick. “I’m taking off work for a while so I’m going over to my sister’s place. I can’t stay here alone right now.”

Rafael followed you around the bedroom like a lost puppy as you moved from the dresser to the bathroom and back. “You can stay at my place if you want.”

“You have work,” you said.

“I know, but I can easily work from home right now if you need me.” He sauntered up behind you and started to massage your shoulders only to have you jump a mile high and flinch away from his touch.

“I’m sorry,” he said and immediately stepped away from you. As you continued to stuff your suitcase, Rafael began to get a funny feeling deep in the pit of his stomach. A premonition that something was coming. “Are you ok?”

You began to shake and it was only after a moment that Rafael realized it was because you were laughing. “Am I ok?” Your laugh grew stronger until it was maniacal. “I was just assaulted!  My family is falling apart! My life is falling apart! I am not ok!” 

You grabbed a photo of your family from your nightstand and threw it as hard as you could, watching it hit the wall and fall to the ground, the glass shattering. It felt good to unleash your anger, addicting almost. Your hand trembled from the adrenaline. Soon you were tearing apart your bedroom: throwing clothes, tugging the curtains off their rods, knocking a vase and art books off your dresser. Rafael stood there in silence while you had your tantrum, figuring you needed to release your pent up emotions after such a harrowing experience.

Once you had exhausted yourself, you collapsed on the bed out of breath. “I think we should take a break.”

At your admission, Rafael’s heart stopped. “Excuse me?”

“I think we should take a break,” you repeated. 

Rafael felt completely blindsided. He had expected there would be some tough times ahead given Theo and the assault, but he was not prepared for this. “Why?”

You let out a breath and hoped Rafael would understand. “I need to be on my own right now,” you explained. “I need space to clear my head and battle my demons. I need to learn how to take care of this myself.”

“We take care of each other. That’s what a relationship is.”

“What about work? I saw the looks of the squad’s faces when they realized we were together.”

Your words sliced through Rafael, exposing his deepest insecurities. “I thought you didn’t care what people thought about us,” he quietly said.

Unable to face him and see the pain in his eyes, you focused on tugging a hangnail instead. “I don’t, but I don't want to ruin your career and if we’re together that’s exactly what I’m going to do.”

There was silence between you both as Rafael tried to process your words. He ran a hand over his face and braced himself against the wall before kneeling down in front of you. “This is just temporary, right? Things will calm down and then we’ll be back together.”

You shrugged. “Maybe. I’m not sure. To be honest I’m not sure of anything right now.”

Rafael scoffed. “Let me guess, this is one of those ‘Don’t call me, I’ll call you’ kind of things, right?”

“That’s not fair,” you mumbled.

“I’m sorry. I just...I was willing to fight for us. To fight for you. I thought you felt the same way. But I was very very wrong.” Having nothing more to say, Rafael stood up and left.

You remained sitting on the bed, listening to his footsteps move down the hall, farther and farther away. It was only when you heard the door close that you gave yourself permission to cry. 

Not wanting to be in this place another minute, you grabbed your suitcase and left, leaving your bedroom a disaster. Teresa was waiting for you outside. You stuffed your suitcase in the back of her car and hopped into the passenger seat. “Wanna talk about it?” she asked when she noticed you crying.

You shook your head and looked out the side view mirror as she drove away. Through your tears you could’ve sworn you saw Rafael walking down the street, his figure getting smaller and smaller until he blended in with the crowd and then there was nothing.

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