#the man the myth the monotone

[eightypercentjack-blog]

I had you big time...

Happy Anniversary to the show that made me the lore-loving, slowburn-savouring nerd I am today!

I'm from a very nerdy family and we all loved The X Files. I remember reading the companion books for a few series and becoming obsessed with how much detail went into things like the episode titles and every tiny reference. We'd get *so* excited anytime the title card changed. One of the creepiest episodes inspired me to write a poem I love. My big fluffy Maine Coon cat, affectionately known as just Kit, is actually named Kitsunegari as one of a whole litter of X-File episode-honouring kittens 😄

I try to make sure everyone knows about Bree Sharp's glorious pun-filled homage to David Duchuvny. I love figuring out just how many movie stars got their first break on the show (hello Ryan Reynolds, Jack Black etc...). I've hiked round Lynn Canyon Park where so much of it was filmed and felt like I could have literally been in 'Darkness Falls'. My first ever celebrity meet & greet was with Mitch Pileggi and Nicholas Lea and I've since met Smoking Man himself (an absolute delight) and eventually our beloved duo too, a few years apart - Gillian Anderson gave me chilli chocolate and David insisted on signing next to Gillian's autograph. They were both sweethearts (and he especially still lit up at the mention of her name 🥰).

I *love* virtually everything about The X Files (definitely some exceptions 😄) but as someone who values friendship so very highly and whose connection to deeper relationships is rooted completely in this, Mulder and Scully were so much more than a cliché slowburn friends-to-lovers for me, they beautifully exemplified the fact that line can be a little blurred from the start, and that deep genuine mutual respect, trust, care and admiration can be as powerful as, or indistinguishable from, more traditionally depicted romantic love. Their journey and that gorgeous message is one I've subconsciously sought out in so many fictional pairings since and in my own life too.

My little probably demi-of-some-description heart identified with them so much and the wait for what was so adorably inevitable between them was so, so worth it and earned and magical. They were *the* ship, the og sweet, sweet slowburn-but-they-kinda-already-got-there-years-before-the-kiss kinda pairing 😄 (I truly have a pattern of loving this exact scenario!!!)

So yeah, happy anniversary you crazy little show. I laugh, I cry, I'm very grateful and if I could only pick a single show, I want to believe you'll always be the one 👽

[girlwithhat]

That will always be David Duchovny. Sorry to all the other Davids related to my fandoms (and IRL).

who is the first david you think of when you hear the name david

[randomfoggytiger]

So, today is David's birthday.

If I can (depending on the streaming website/$$/availability):

I will do a multi-part "blog" reaction for whichever one wins, btw.

[elryuse]

Hotel del Luna jang man wal x malereader who agrees to be her husband please

FINDING YOU, IN ANOTHER LIFE

JANG MAN WAL X MALE READER

The wind howled, mirroring the tempest raging within Jang Man-wol’s heart. News of Edo’s demise, a casualty of a senseless war, had shattered her world. The man who had painted her life with hues of love and joy was gone, leaving behind an eternal void.

Grief consumed her, a relentless tide that threatened to drown her soul. She retreated into the solitude of the Hotel del Luna, a sanctuary shrouded in mystery. The hotel, a timeless haven for lost souls, became her prison, a reflection of her own eternal sorrow.

Decades passed, each day a monotonous cycle of longing and despair. The hotel, once a place of vibrant life, now echoed with the silence of the departed. But one day, a disturbance broke the tranquility. A young man, Y/n, appeared at the hotel’s threshold, his presence as unexpected as it was intriguing.

Man-wol, drawn by an inexplicable curiosity, approached the newcomer. As she got closer, she couldn’t shake off the strange sense of familiarity. His features, his aura, reminded her of someone from the past.

"You... you remind me of someone," she murmured, her voice barely a whisper.

Y/n, with a gentle smile, replied, "Perhaps, we're connected in ways we don't yet understand."

As days turned into nights, Man-wol found herself drawn to Y/n. His kindness, his empathy, awakened a part of her that had long been dormant. She saw in him a reflection of Edo, a glimmer of hope in the darkness of her eternal existence.

"You remind me of him," she confessed, her voice trembling. "Someone I once loved, someone I lost."

Y/n listened intently, his heart aching for her. "Perhaps," he said, "our souls are intertwined, bound by a love that transcends time and space."

Man-wol, caught in a moment of romantic reverie, went a step further. "Perhaps we are lovers from another life, destined to find each other again, no matter the time or place," she mused.

Y/n, startled by her declaration, chuckled. "Well, that's quite a theory," he said, a playful glint in his eye. "But for now, I think I'll just settle for a room for the night."

Man-wol, a bit taken aback by his casual response, quickly composed herself. "Of course," she replied, "I'll prepare the best room for you."

Little did Y/n know, the room he was assigned to was Man-wol's personal suite, a place filled with memories, both joyful and sorrowful. As he stepped inside, he was greeted by a luxurious interior, adorned with exquisite furnishings and strange artifacts.

"This is... quite something," he muttered, his eyes wide with surprise.

Man-wol watched him with a knowing smile. "Rest well, young man," she said, her voice filled with a hint of mischief. "You've a long night ahead of you."

Y/n, exhausted from his travels, drifted off to sleep, the soft glow of the room lulling him into a peaceful slumber. However, his tranquility was shattered by a loud crash. Startled, he sat up, his heart pounding.

He heard a rustling sound, followed by a soft, almost ethereal voice. “You’re awake,” a familiar voice purred.

Y/n turned to see Man-wol, looking more enchanting than ever, standing by the window. The moonlit night cast an ethereal glow upon her, making her appear almost otherworldly.

“What was that noise?” Y/n asked, his voice filled with confusion.

Man-wol smiled mysteriously. “Oh, just a little late-night snack,” she replied, gesturing towards a shadowy corner of the room.

Y/n's eyes followed her gaze, and he saw a strange creature, half-human, half-beast, cowering in the corner. It was a gumiho, a legendary nine-tailed fox, and it was terrified of Man-wol.

“Don’t worry,” Man-wol assured the creature, her voice soothing. “He won’t hurt you.”

The gumiho let out a relieved sigh. “Thank you,” it whispered, its voice barely audible.

Y/n was stunned. He had just witnessed a creature from Korean folklore, a creature that was supposed to be myth and legend.

“What is going on here?” he asked, his voice filled with disbelief.

Man-wol smiled. “Welcome to the Hotel del Luna,” she replied. “A place where the extraordinary is ordinary.”

As the night wore on, Y/n learned more about the hotel and its mysterious inhabitants. He discovered that the hotel was not just a place to stay, but a sanctuary for lost souls. Man-wol, as the eternal mistress of the hotel, had the power to help these souls find peace.

Y/n was drawn into this strange, magical world, his heart filled with wonder and curiosity. He realized that his encounter with Man-wol was no mere coincidence. It was fate, a destiny that had been written in the stars.

As days turned into nights, Y/n found himself increasingly drawn to Man-wol and the enigmatic world of the Hotel del Luna. He was fascinated by the stories of the spirits who resided there, each with their own unique tale of love, loss, and longing.

Man-wol, in turn, found solace in Y/n's company. His empathy and understanding helped her to heal the wounds of her past. She began to open up to him, sharing her deepest secrets and fears.

One night, as they sat together on the rooftop of the hotel, watching the stars, Man-wol revealed a shocking truth. "You're not human, Y/n," she said, her voice filled with a mixture of sadness and understanding. "You're a spirit, trapped in this world, just like me."

Y/n was stunned. He had never considered such a possibility. "What do you mean?" he asked, his voice filled with confusion.

Man-wol explained that he had been caught between worlds, a soul tethered to the mortal realm. He was neither living nor dead, a ghost in the machine of time.

Y/n was overwhelmed by this revelation. He had always felt like an outsider, a misfit. Now, he finally understood why. He was a spirit, a wanderer, forever searching for a place to belong.

"Why am I here?" he asked, his voice filled with despair.

Man-wol sighed. "Fate, destiny, call it what you will. You were meant to be here, to find me."

Y/n was silent, processing the information. The world as he knew it had been shattered. He was no longer human, but something else, something beyond his comprehension.

Despite the shock, Y/n found a strange sense of peace. He was no longer alone. He had found someone who understood him, someone who shared his burden. And as he looked into Man-wol's eyes, he knew that together, they would face whatever challenges lay ahead.

Y/n was stunned, his mind reeling from the revelation. He was a spirit, trapped in a timeless existence, bound to the Hotel del Luna. As he processed this newfound reality, a wave of emotions washed over him, a mix of confusion, fear, and a strange sense of peace.

Before he could fully comprehend the situation, Man-wol leaned in and kissed him. In that moment, a flood of memories washed over him, a glimpse into a life he had never lived. He saw himself as a young man, falling in love with a beautiful woman, a woman who bore a striking resemblance to Man-wol. He witnessed their love blossom, their laughter echoing through the ages. But then, the scene shifted, and he saw the woman, heartbroken, mourning the loss of her beloved.

Tears welled up in his eyes as he realized that he was living someone else's life, a life filled with love and loss. Man-wol pulled away, her gaze filled with both sorrow and hope. "I've missed you," she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Y/n was bewildered. He didn't understand the depth of his feelings for Man-wol, nor did he comprehend the strange connection between them. But one thing was certain: he was drawn to her, inexplicably and intensely.

As he looked into her eyes, he saw a love that transcended time and space, a love that had endured for centuries. And in that moment, he began to understand the true meaning of eternity.

The moon cast an ethereal glow upon the ancient cathedral, a place untouched by time. Man-wol, resplendent in a flowing white gown, stood at the altar, her beauty both timeless and ethereal. Beside her stood Y/n, a man caught in the whirlwind of a love story that transcended time and space.

She took his hand, her touch sending a shiver down his spine. "Will you marry me, Y/n?" she asked, her voice soft and gentle.

Y/n was stunned. The question, though unexpected, resonated with a strange familiarity. He thought back to the visions, the fragments of a life he had never lived. A life filled with love, loss, and eternal longing.

A tear rolled down his cheek as he nodded. "Yes," he whispered, his voice barely audible.

Man-wol smiled, a serene expression on her face. She placed a delicate veil over his head, an heirloom from her past. As he donned the wedding suit, once worn by Edo, a sense of destiny washed over him.

The ceremony was a breathtaking spectacle, a fusion of the ethereal and the earthly. The hotel's resident spirits, each with their own unique story, gathered to witness the union of two souls bound by an ancient love.

As they exchanged vows, the air was filled with a palpable sense of love and longing. Man-wol's eyes, filled with a thousand years of sorrow and joy, met Y/n's, a mirror of her own emotions.

"I love you, Y/n," she whispered, her voice trembling.

Y/n, his heart overflowing with love, responded, "I love you too, Man-wol."

And then, they kissed. It was a kiss that transcended time, a kiss that sealed their eternal bond. As they embraced, the world around them faded away, leaving only the two of them, lost in the moment.

The moon shone brightly, illuminating the sacred space. The wind whispered through the ancient trees, carrying with it the echoes of their love story. And as the night deepened, the Hotel del Luna, bathed in a celestial glow, witnessed the birth of a love that would last for eternity.

- To Be Continued -

[femalethink]

Pornography is regularly used in ways that have nothing to do with sexual explicitness. Rather, pornography is commonly understood as a form of propaganda, a representational style linked with defamation and desensitization, if not destruction. Patricia J. Williams, who thinks legally, critically, and gracefully about race, sex, and injustice, calls pornography a "habit of thinking," and one that informs all manner of abusive and exploitative attitudes and relationships. Pornography, as I am using the term, is just that, a worldview, a way of thinking and acting that sexualizes and genders domination and submission, from the bedroom to the war room, making domination masculine (even when a woman plays that role) and submission feminine (even when a man plays that role), and making both the essence of sex. By wedding sexuality to inequality, pornography conditions women and men to have a substantial investment in maintaining the oppressive status quo—again, from interpersonal relationships to international politics.

Pornography kills off, and then substitutes itself for, the erotic—the life force, the earthy and ethereal force of growth, fruitfulness, exuberance, ecstasy, connectedness, and integrity. Pornography severs eroticism from intimacy and empathy and bonds it to voyeurism and objectification (of the self and of another). It incarnates pleasure in acts of hatred. It would have all of us believe, even those of us getting the "fuzzy end of the lollypop" (Sugar/Marilyn Monroe's lament in Some Like It Hot, Billy Wilder, 1959), that without a certain measure of power and powerlessness, danger, fear, pain, possession, shame, distance, and violence there wouldn't be any "sex" at all. Of course, the simultaneously pornographic, monotonous, and erotophobic culture tends to make that true. Variously damaged, alienated, and desensitized, pornography can become what we need in order to feel at all.

Some applaud pornography because it allows access to sexual imagery and language and easily offends offensive religious morality. Yet pornography is no real alternative to systemic sex-negative morality; rather it is an intrinsic part of it. Pornography and mainstream morality both stem from and continually reinforce a worldview that first makes a complex of body/low/sex/dirty/deviant/female/devil and then severs these from mind/high/spirit/pure/normal/male/god. For both, sex itself is the core taboo. Moralism systematically upholds the taboo and pornography systematically violates it. In the complex that evolves from this absurdity, taboo violation itself becomes erotically charged. Evil becomes seductive and the good mostly boring. Without patriarchal moralism's misogyny, homophobia, demand for sexual ignorance, and sin-sex-shame equation, pornography as we know it would not exist. And, together, the two work to maintain the sex and gender status quo.

—Jane Caputi, "Goddesses and Monsters: Women, Myth, Power, and Popular Culture."

[disneyprincemuke]

no other shade of blue, but you * ms47

you didn't have a favourite colour up until you met him

pairings: mick schumacher x fem!reader

word count: 1136

notes: i actually am so down bad for this man right now, don't really know what to tell you, so here i am with a short blurb for the man, the myth, the legend... also not THAT great so let me just skrrt skrrt

(f1 masterlist)

first dates, well, they're never easy. unless it's from a recommendation of your aunt's husband. she had gushed on and on about the man she was trying to set you up and while you were hesitant at first, hearing her husband talk about how amazing the guy is, you finally agreed.

you still remember, all those years ago, the unfortunate way that it had gone wrong for you and the man sitting next to you in his best suit. you press your lips together as you fumble with the lace of your dress, speakers booming with a monotonous voice as you tried to fight off the boredom that is unfortunately getting the best of you.

you drop your head slightly to glance at him, smiling slightly when he notices your stare. mick reaches over for your hand, squeezing it slightly before intertwining your hands. you remember when you used to pray, despite never being religious in your life, that you would never forget the way his blue eyes shine.

you remember how your car had broken down en route to the restaurant your uncle had asked you to drive to, telling you that he made the reservation under mick's name. you had to call your uncle for help, who was unfortunately out of town with your aunt, so the only person left to save you was mick.

you watched as his car drove up to yours in the dark of the night, you leaning against the trunk of your car. you pushed yourself off as he came to a stop right by you.

"are you okay?" he asked you, shutting the car of his door behind him. you had to take a step back to fully process the man that is approaching you. his pictures clearly didn't do him much justice, because he looks much better up close. "i called the tow truck, but it's going to take a while."

you smiled at him, at the time, only very thankful for the way he came to you without another question. "thank you so much for coming to me. mick, right?"

he nodded at you with a smile. "and you're hanna's niece, right? (y/n)?"

"yes, that's me." you offered your hand out to shake his, which he does take, surprisingly.

"i hope you didn't wait for too long," he muttered, turning away from you. he opened the door to the back of his car and reached in for something. "i was calling the tow truck for you and they told me they'd be a while."

you tried to take a peek at what he's reaching into. but he's quick with his actions, turning around to show you what's in his hands. it's a paper bag and a plastic bag with two cups in it. "we'll miss our reservation, and it's dinner - i assumed you're just as hungry as i am. i got us food to eat in the meantime."

you remember your heart skipping a beat when he laid it all out on the trunk of his car. it was just some fast food takeout, but you remember the way your heart felt warm when he pat the hood of his car for you to take a seat on.

"are you sure? your car looks expensive - i don't want to damage it," you said, shaking your hand.

in return, mick hopped on it first. he pats the empty spot on the other side of the hood for you to hop on. "don't worry about it."

you sat on the hood of that car for the better part of the next 3 hours. when the towing company told mick they would take a while, they were not kidding. neither you nor mick knew what exactly to talk about while you indulged yourself in a simple meal of burger and fries.

hour one was filled with food and small talk, both of you trying to properly navigate how comfortable you can get with your questions. you were still on opposite ends of the hood at the time.

hour two was when mick would keep the trash from your simple meal. you sat slightly closer to him, shoulders brushing as you indulged yourself in a conversation about the one thing you know about him: race cars. eventually, you talked about your relations to hanna and sebastian, and were curious why you'd never been to a race.

you would admit that you'd never been a big fan of cars, making it a point to gesture towards your beat-up vehicle that objectively ruined your date. he laughed, throwing his head back, and argued that this date was a nice change instead of sitting in a fancy restaurant for hours hunched over the table and trying to fit the stereotypes of a first date.

hour three, you found yourself a lot closer to mick. your shoulders are now touching and the conversation flowed way more naturally than you initially thought. he seemed to be more down-to-earth than you expected, admittedly scared away by the fact that his father is a very big name everywhere.

"okay, this is a stupid question," mick started, turning to you slightly.

"no question is stupid on a first date," you shook your head with a small smile. "what is it?"

"what's your favourite colour?"

you were stumped for the first time that night. you thought for a few seconds, looking ahead at the dead road as you debated in your head if you actually had one. mick would pipe down and slump his shoulders as he watches you think.

"i don't actually-" you turned your head to look at him, feeling your words catch in your throat when your eyes met his. you would feel this churning in your stomach as you looked at him, his eyes innocently staring into yours with his eyebrows raised to urge you for an answer.

you would sigh shakily as you answered him. "it's blue."

ever since then, blue has been your favourite colour. not just any blue - it has to be the specific shade that mick's eyes are. the dreamy and captivating blue that you would come to know and love for as long as you've known him.

before you know it, you stand at the end of the chapel with a mic in your hands. you glance over mick's shoulder, catching sebastian's proud smile before you return your eyes to the man who got on his knee for you.

"and actually," you say, as you wrap up your vows, "on our first date, you asked me what's my favourite colour." you look up with a small smile.

"i actually didn't have one. i said blue, because they're the colour of your eyes. i've never seen blue the same ever since," you smile. "i could probably live in it now."

general taglist: @cashtons-wife

[mrswagtastic]

Okay but why do the Tucker family designs go so hard!? Like Laura is gorgeous I think we can all agree, and Thomas is PEAK father design you can't prove me wrong look at that man he's balding he has a sweater what more could you WANT. Also noticed how they both have warm colours hair, but their clothes mainly consist of cold colour idk what it means but yeah. Tricia ALMOST follows this pattern, except her pants are red. Maybe this signifies how she has a more sassy personality and is a bit more hot-headed? (I'm convinced she is). And then the man, the myth, the silly guy himself, CRAIG TUCKER. We all know he is the pinnacle of character design, but also both his hair and outfit are colder colours, except for the yellow bobble on top. This could signify how Craig mostly is monotone and seems to shwve less emotion than others. Idk what this post is but it now exists ig anyways Tucker family PEAK

[monstaxdirtywonk]

Heaven is a place in hell with you.

Member: San as Hades x Reader Persephone

Plot: It's not the typical myth although it does share some similarities I've made some changes too to fit what I had in mind.

Genre: Angst, Fluff and eventual smut (not in this chapter)

Endless darkness. That's all his eyes have been seeing for the eternity of time. If only someone could imagine the depth of time combined with the depth of the darkness, they'd lose their sanity. Being a God grants you great power but being the God of the dead might not be seen as attractive as other God's kingdoms. Poseidon, ruling the vast sea or Zeus, ruling the mortal world. But death is the most powerful of all, Hades thinks, for it holds the power to diminish everything else. Whether someone was rich, privileged or one of a kind, after their passing, they are just part of the soul parade, a group of shadows with no purpose, just lurking around till the dawn of time. Maybe even after that. Hades has a bit of a reputation if you will, hated by most, if not all the living. The God's aren't fond of him either. He is too monotonous for their liking, keeps mostly to himself, he is on his own, just like what he rules, a lonely experience by default. His body is as immortal as it can be, a vast contrast between his surroundings. He stood tall and proud, well shaped and proportionate. His face chiseled and enigmatic, his prominent bone structure and intense gaze making him intimidating in a striking way. Appearance wise he looked no older than 25, but his soul felt awfully old. Maybe others were right to despise him. He can't stand himself either at times. A gloomy haze was his life, that seemed to have no end.

"A girl is playing around the lake, Lord" Thanatos, his trusted winged friend mentioned.

"She comes here often. She doesn't look human, but not godly either. More like a mixture of them too, not ordinary enough for a mortal, not divine enough for a goddess".

Hades decided to take a closer look after Thanatos' description. He is someone that likes to keep his thoughts and opinions independent, but he couldn't agree more. Her beauty was like something he'd witness before and something entirely different, all at the same time. She appeared delicate and gentle, her hands brushing through the bush, as the wind blew against her face. She seemed beautiful, but in a very different way than Aphrodite is. He didn't feel an ounce of lust for her, her vibes innocent and pure, almost angelic. The type of person you want to protect with your life, if he even had such a thing.

"Maybe she is a nymph? But she is someone I've never seen before and I keep up with them to say the least" Thanatos laughed, confirming his womanizer nature.

Hades laughed as well. His friend had a charm that drew others to him. Maybe they liked getting a taste of death while still alive, literally.

"That's true, you'd know her by now. I'm sure Artemis despise you, my friend. You are ruining chaste virgins left and right."

"Well what can I say? I'm popular with the ladies. I guess they might have a thing for my wings? I mean there aren't that many of us, even in the immortal world. But speaking of getting down and dirty, you haven't been laid in such a long time, Hades!"

The latter's eyes grew at the realization. He had some needs but they never bothered him to that extent. Keeping busy did the trick so far and he was more of an old fashioned man to say the least. His mistress was the night but he grew sick of her. They were too similar, he thought. He wanted some light to enter his world, a blinding brightness to shake him up and warm his icy heart. Or at least that was his persona, his mask. He knew, better than anyone, how much he felt and loved and longed for it. But he could wait for that, he had time, that's for sure.

"Mind your business boy" he said in a teasing tone but failed at intimidating his friend. Hades looked dark, dangerous even, until he became familiar to you. Once you made a place for yourself in his heart, he couldn't be further from that.

"Okay okay, I was just saying that it's a pity for you to go like that. But whatever makes you happy." He answered and raised both of his arms in a defeating manner. Thanatos knew that he was basically a brother to Hades, but he still wanted to keep their relations good, because he had the tendency to say more than he should.

"It's all good, I'm just teasing you!" Hades smiled his way and showed his dimples, the sweetest sight his kingdom had to offer.

Thanatos smiled back and took a look at the lake again, which they were able to see from the inside, as it was the main portal for the underworld. His smile quickly turned sour, and worry played over his handsome features.

"What is it?" Hades asked.

"The girl...seems to be in danger". Thanatos pointed out and Hades took a closer look. A wolf was some meters away from her, moving eerily elegantly for such a creature. Given the area the lake was, it seemed unlikely for an actual wolf to be there. It's size was extraordinary large too, all this made him believe it was one of Zeus' tricks again. A sudden surge of protective energy took over him and he wanted to save this poor girl from Zeus. She didn't deserve Hera's wrath either. None of them did. Hades took a hold of his scepter and pushed it on the ground. The lake started waving and it turned dark as if it was raining during a perfectly sunny day. The girl gasped at the sight in front of her and took a step back since she was almost right next to the lake by now. The waters were divided and a set of stairs showed up. When Zeus realized that the girl was about to escape, he started running towards her and she felt such an overwhelming fear that made her run without even realizing that this was probably a bad idea. She followed the stairs which turned to water again after each of her steps. As soon as she touched the ground, she broke down in tears and hid her face inside her hands, too scared to open them and face her destiny. But sometimes our destiny isn't as scary as we think it is, because there, in this dark and seemingly unwelcome world, she'd find a man with no soul, but more capacity to love than anyone else with a soul ever could.

Next chapter:

[ancient-tree-with-deathwish]

i think there are actually 2 types of urban fantasy:

1 - classic mythological creatures inhabiting the modern world, vampires and werewolves and sometimes even monsters from truly ancient myth live alongside us. (vampire the masquerade and the greater world of darkness is a prime example)

2 - as society has moved forward, so have the monsters we face. brand new horrific abominations are popping out of the woodwork, the new modern world is their perfect hunting ground. (SCP and the backrooms are the quintessential examples, but almost all modern horror fits into this category)

anyway, imagine for a second, a world that is both - the monsters of old who used to rule the night are being outcompeted by these new creatures.

...

a vampire stalks the street - hungry for blood - and spies a tall and well dressed man. easy pickings, she thinks. she goes in to make conversation, disarm the stranger before going in for the kill.

the man doesn't respond to anything she says, staring blankly into the distance. eventually, after the awkward silence, he pipes up in a monotone voice that sounds like it's over a PA system: "i know what you are, leech" and cackling manically.

she tries to run, but the street ahead of her keeps getting longer and longer until a firm hand grabs her by the shoulder, and that expressionless face becomes the last thing she ever sees.

...

a fae court is lounging peacefully, one comments "isn't it a shame that we haven't seen any new humans in so long?" but their complaints are discarded by the queen "i find they only mess things up" they say.

but there are reports of fairies going missing, here and there, and by now the courts are starting to feel a little empty.

the queen is not naturally a creature of anxiety, so they venture into the garden for a calming stroll - maybe listen to their last remaining captive human scream? yes, that would do nicely.

and after clearing their head they returns to the palace, swinging open to mighty doors to reveal... an office space?

rows upon rows upon rows of empty cubicles greet them. they are not sure if the rows ever end. halogen lights buz drearily above.

they wandered for what felt like days, but both the fae and this place are naturally divorced from concepts of time, so it was hard to tell.

eventually, standing frozen still beside a water cooler, they find a charred and blackened corpse of their advisor. missing without cause years prior.

[epicfranb]

Fuck it I'm not even rereading this. Here you go

Doc hired Etho, a skilled (probably) assassin to kill two of his most hated hermits: Keralis and Bdubs. And, after a long and fierce battle with Keralis that no one ended up winning, Etho wiped the layer of sweat from his forehead and said "Next one's gonna have to wait."

Does he even need to fight Keralis again? Hopefully, the fact that the fight took place is enough. After all, Doc's main goal is to scare them, isn't it? Etho and Doc go way back, so the guess probably has some truth to it.

Fixing up the gear after a long fight like this is a pain though. His sword needs sharping, the bow probably needs replacing, and his armor is... Well, everything could be in a better shape had Etho thought of a plan beyond "spam crossbows, then do whatever". His anvil aim could use some training, and his crossbow machine gun design could be improved. But it's better off in the hands of a more skilled player anyway.

Etho thinks he is quite a skilled player. But not in terms of fighting, no-no. Someone else could take the lead, someone more experienced – Etho's happy enough devising a plan and preparing the gear. Fighting isn't his forte.

Assassinating Bdubs is gonna need a better plan than this. If he succeeds in at least one of the hits, Doc will be happy enough (to pay him). But, unlike Keralis, Bdubs is... Too easy to kill. Pathetically so. It's just going to be boring. He needs a better plan than this.

Fixing armor was a job so usual and monotone to Etho, that it was easy to space out and lose himself in thoughts, and then wake up to a set of fully repaired gear. Normally, he would get some music on, but he kind of forgot about it before he spaced out, thinking about...

Yes, him again. Bdubs.

That man had an annoying habit of occupying all of the space within Etho's head. And, Bdubs himself doesn't do it directly, but Etho blames him anyway, because he knows it'd make him mad.

Bdubs has a funny voice. Every time he speaks, he voices his thoughts in such a strange manner, using some of the strangest vocabulary, interspersed with his "patented" "Bdubs noises". His speech patterns make no sense, the words never quite come out right, he's loud, he's boisterous, he's hilarious, and he's very, very talkative. Man has so many ideas and thoughts running through his head at all times, and he needs to get ALL of them out, to the point where he's been talking for hours, jumping from topic to topic, from idea to idea, and if he isn't stopped, he gets his throat killed. And a lot of the times, his throat does get killed after talking to Etho, because the other spaces out or falls asleep, as if Bdubs's voice is a lullaby to him.

Even now, one swing forth, one swing back, Etho's hands move on their own, the only sound in his head is a replay of Bdubs's voice, saying gibberish. It's like a catchy song that's been stuck in your head, you may not remember the lyrics, but you're enjoying the general sound of it. And Etho enjoyed his imaginary Bdubs singing to him. He has such a beautiful voice.

Helmet done, now onto the wings.

Honestly, it's appalling how different Etho and Bdubs are, even in the small things. Like, taste in food as an example. Etho's first impression of Bdubs was that he's the same sweet tooth that he is; turns out, it's quite the opposite. Bdubs doesn't put any sugar in his morning drinks, and he's a fan of green tea, which Etho only tolerates. He also likes bitter chocolate, and Etho thought those kinds of people only exist in myths... Oh, and he likes raisins. What a weird guy.

Their sleep schedules are so different, that at the rare occasions they've lived together, they barely ever saw each other. Bdubs goes to sleep early, and, despite taking his sweet time getting out of bed, he gets up early, too. A real morning bird with a solid schedule, in contrast to Etho, who stays up all night, working when no one and nothing is around to bother him – and gets up whenever. Sometimes he woke up first, and took his chance to prank Bdubs; other times he wasn't so lucky, and got pranked back. It was a fun back-and-forth while it lasted, but now Etho has the advantage of knowing Bdubs's exact sleep schedule, which Bdubs can't brag about – Etho's schedule is too chaotic. Those games are always fun.

With all the holes in the wings patched up, leggings are next.

Etho recalled his surprise when Bdubs came to him, all those years ago, and with eyes beaming of excitement, exclaimed: "Teach me how to fight!" Etho was never more than decent at fighting, but Bdubs seemed to be so caught up in his idealized version of Etho, that he thought it'd be better to ask him, and not someone who had actual skill. At least, that's what Etho thought at the time.

It was never about the fighting, no. It was never about swords, nor was it about bows or armor – it was about admiration. Bdubs admired Etho, and wanted to be closer to him. No, not in his skill – although, Bdubs admitted, that too – it was just about spending time together. The warmth of the other's skin on his hands, guiding him, on his torso, teaching him, his voice so close like it's reverberating in his heart, and his breath tickling his neck from behind... At least that's what Etho imagined Bdubs felt. Back then, he couldn't put his finger on why Bdubs shivered and blushed so often during their trainings, but, thinking about it now, it made some sense.

Swords clashing against one another, bodies in perfect sync, moving one after the other, shifting their feet in the same rhythm they got adjusted to – it was more like a dance than it was fencing. Sometimes, all of the competitiveness between the two would fade, and they were moments away from throwing their swords on the ground and taking each other's hands, wrap their arms around the other, to guide him somewhere else, in the same dance, same rhythm, but with much different implications. They regretted only a little bit that they never ended up getting into dance.

It was a nice memory, but Etho was somewhat bothered by his cheeks getting hotter. His entire body got hotter, in fact. Sweat dripped from his forehead, and his hands shook slightly.

It seems that it's time for a rest, Etho thought. He still had his boots to repair, but they could wait. He'll be gone only a little while.

For now, maybe he can think about a plan to kill Bdubs... Kill Bdubs, huh. Normally that'd sound quite tempting, but he wasn't really in the mood for any killing now. Getting soft, Etho chuckled to himself. But being soft felt kind of nice once in a while.

If I don't want to kill him, Etho thought as he got into the kitchen – if you could call it that, – maybe I'll find a way to make him die, and me not have to see it. That meant a trap, and, thankfully, Etho had an extensive catalogue of traps permanently in his head. Some of them more obvious, others – devilishly hidden, and whichever one he chose depended on what would get a funnier reaction. In chat, at least. Or in a later conversation.

But nothing really felt right. Etho cracked an egg – fill his base with chickens? no, that won't kill him. Entity cramming maybe? Etho whisked some dough – drowning is a good idea. But it's long, he can get out. And it's painful. Since when was Etho hesitant about a trap being painful? Etho put the cake in the oven –– Wait, cake?

Etho crouched in front of the oven, taking a curious look inside – sure enough, that is a cake. When did he make a cake? Why did he make a cake?

Etho has a pretty strong grasp on his own mind, but even that becomes a mystery when Bdubs is involved.

If the cake was meant to be a trap, it was a bad one. He didn't even put any poison in it! The frosting is now finished too, and that doesn't have any poison either... Unless Etho adds it. Which he doesn't. Whether he forgot, or just didn't want to, he didn't really know. Looking for the right poison, or making it from scratch, was a hassle, and Etho was too lazy to deal with that.

Besides, his mouth watered at his own cake. It was his sugary masterpiece, and he was itching to take a nice big bite off of it... But he held back. This cake is for Bdubs. Once he figures out how to make it into a trap.

Will Bdubs even want to eat such a sweet cake? Etho's mind wandered somewhere else while baking it, so he had no idea how much sugar he actually put into it. Knowing himself and his taste buds, it was probably... Way too much for Bdubs to handle. Maybe the excess sugar can kill him. Yeah, that'll do.

Etho rummaged around his storage system to find a nice big box and some wrapping paper with heart patterns to wrap the cake into. Maybe the heart patterns were excessive – Etho swore he had other types of patterns somewhere – but he couldn't find anything else, and wasn't bothered to. The cake neatly packaged, Etho grabbed his freshly restocked redstone box and flew off in the direction of Bdubs's base.

Etho usually thinks. He thinks about what he's gonna do next, even when he does something on a whim, he thinks first. How am I gonna do it? What are the steps? What am I going to need? His mind was in a haze as he flew, as if locked out of his own head, only able to peek through the bars, and the only thing left of his brain was an enormous screen with just images of Bdubs on it. This was getting ridiculous, but he couldn't stop. He didn't want to stop. The thoughts felt nice.

Bdubs wasn't online, thankfully, so setting up a trap didn't require any stealth ninja moves. Etho didn't even try to hide that it was a trap: the gift box was sitting right on top of an observer, ready to trigger it. There was nothing under it but a dispenser – what was in it? a damage potion? lava? exactly 24 boats to entity cram him (forget that you can't fit 24 boats in one dispenser)? Well, Bdubs is going to have to find out himself. The joy of discovery, and all. Etho's heart raced, despite knowing Bdubs isn't here to catch him in the act; he felt hot all over, despite Bdubs's biome being cooler than his; and his cheeks hurt from smiling, even though nothing happened yet. There was no rational reason for any of those body reactions to occur; and yet, they did. A human's body is hardly ever rational, but Etho found comfort in knowing what causes which reactions, and he was clueless about his current state. He guessed that he was just really looking forward to the prank working... I mean, what prank? It's a death trap! Totally!...

***

Etho had completely forgotten about the trap, when his communicator buzzed in his pocket. All of the gear repaired, and all the hitman matters taken care of, he has managed to distract himself from thinking about his... Friend, and get to work. However, the friend demanded attention, and who was Etho to decline him that attention? In his mind, a picture of an excited dog replaced Bdubs for a second, prompting a sudden outburst of laughter from Etho, which, he was pretty sure, could be heard even from Xisuma's base.

Etho took the familiar route through the Nether to Bdubs's base. He circled above it for a second, looking for the town's proud owner – he spotted him right next to his starter house (made of diorite, of course), and landed right behind him, scaring him to death.

"What are ya doin' sneakin' up behind me like that, huh?!" He fumed, stamping his feet all over the place. "What are you, role-playin' a ninja?!"

"Some people do call me a little bit of a ninja." Etho shrugged, prompting a scowl from Bdubs. "Anyway, whatcha got there? A cake?"

Behind him, the cake was sitting on the observer like on a table, unwrapped, with a small piece cut out of it. Bdubs probably checked it for poison; or maybe he couldn't eat the rest because it was too sweet. Either way, same thing, really.

"Aww, dontcha pretend like you don't know what it is!" Bdubs sang proudly like he just solved the world's hardest riddle; Etho couldn't help but smile, giving himself away. "Yeah, I knew it! It's yours! I know how you bake your cakes, you won't fool me!"

"Did I poison you with sweetness?" Etho asked through laughter.

"I'd rather not say what I did with the piece that I put in my mouth." Bdubs nodded behind him, in the direction of the river. Ah, so it was that sweet.

"Awwww, you spat out my cake? That I baked for you, with such love and care?"

"Yes, but I don't want to do it with the rest, so you're here to get rid of it." Bdubs walked up to the cake and shifted it around, sending a short pulse down. The dispenser didn't fire, meaning Bdubs saw the message.

"You mean you aren't going to eat it." Etho sobbed, hugging his arms. "Welp, more left for me!" He smiled.

"Great! Cuz I physically can't eat it!" Bdubs laughed.

He brought Etho a chair, a plate and a spoon, some tea (three spoons of sugar, as usual) and even a tablecloth to turn the observer into a real table (that ticks sometimes). Etho dug in immediately – he'd completely forgotten he hasn't eaten anything since that battle with Keralis. And oh was the cake sweet. Too sweet even for Etho, but he enjoyed it. Bdubs watched him enjoy the dessert, sipping his own tea, with a wide smile on his face.

"Didn't know you enjoyed watching people eat." Etho commented.

"Nope, just you."

"That's weird."

"You're weird, consuming that amount of sugar and not dying." Bdubs chuckled, but kept smiling. He was rather calm – calmer than Etho expected right after a prank.

The warm smile would get imprinted in his mind forever, Etho felt. There was just too much fondness, too much affection in it, that his skin started burning again.

Bdubs took the cherry from the top of the cake, closed one eye and put a cherry in front of the other: "You're as red as this cherry right now." He didn't even let Etho react, before putting the berry into his mouth. Etho tried not to think about the implications of that. "Come on now, what happened? What are you getting flustered for?" He teased.

Etho looked away – tried to, Bdubs followed his gaze – and put on his mask, even though he still had cake left on his plate. That didn't help hiding his rosy cheeks, and now ears too. Etho gave up trying to guess why his body was doing it at that point. He just didn't want Bdubs seeing him like this.

"Ay, you didn't finish your slice!" Bdubs laughed. "Sorry I took your cherry, but it the only edible thing on it."

"It's fine, I'm just gonna take the rest home," Etho said, attempting to appear collected, but regretted it immediately: his voice cracked in the most pathetic way possible.

Bdubs burst out, leaning on the observer for support, sending a few ticks again. The corners of his eyes teared up, but at least his face was now all red too, so Etho wasn't the only one. It was hardly comforting.

"Sorry, sorry, I shouldn't laugh! I shouldn't...!" He wheezed. Etho was ready to just take the cake and fly away in embarrassment, but the cake needed to be put in a box first – doing it now would only make the situation more awkward. Etho believed he could endure it. "Sorry–" Bdubs kept apologizing, "Know what? Next time, c'mere, and let's bake an actually edible cake together. Sound good?"

Etho sat still for a second, eyes wandering in the forest afar. They could bake a cake together, a cake that both of them could enjoy.

"That... Sounds good." Etho uttered from under his breath. It did sound good. Sweet, even.

"Then it's a deal!" Bdubs clapped his hands together. They arranged a time, he helped Etho pack the cake back up, and then it was time to say goodbyes.

Just as Etho was about to take off, Bdubs pulled his sleeve – and then pulled him closer, wrapped his arms around his torso in a sudden embrace. Etho instinctively put his arms on Bdubs's back, resting his head on his messy hair that tickled his nose. Etho could stay like this forever – or if not forever, then for a long time. But Bdubs let him go, and then they needed to go. Etho hastily took out his rockets and boosted off into the sky, to not let Bdubs see his face again.

Bdubs yelled after him:

"You have a good day as well!..."

Etho felt warm.

[daifukumochiin]

Summary: Sasuke's orderly life at elite Sairiumu Academy is disrupted by the arrival of Hinata, a timid transfer student whose obvious crush on him, a young man dedicated to his craft and his current relationship, stirs unease. (Initial SasuSaku with SasuHina endgame, modern Norse myth AU, high school, angst, romance, photography, postmodern-ish fic). Rated T

Nevertheless I have this against you, that you have left your first love. NKJV — Revelation 2:4

LIGHTS,

BOWS, and

MISTLETOES

an entry for SasuHina Month 2024, Day 27 : Forget and Remember

(for @peachy-hina, since December) @sasu-hina

ffnet: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/14369143/1/Lights-Bows-and-Mistletoes

ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/57030778

Part 1: Lights go to Chapter List>

I heard a voice, that cried, "Balder the Beautiful Is dead, is dead!" And through the misty air Passed like the mournful cry Of sunward sailing cranes. 

—Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, Tegner’s Drapa

i

What does one make of stalkers? Female ones.

Sasuke stood close to five foot eleven, fairly active and athletic, with a lean, muscled build typical of a teenager who cared for his health and traveled frequently for photography. Not quite pugilist material, but capable of defending himself if necessary. With his quick wit and a taekwondo brown belt, he was well-prepared for self-defense—should, as previously mentioned, the situation call for it.

Sairiumu Academy lay reposed among lush, well-preserved forests at the base of a prominent mountain carved with the visages of heroes past. At one glance, it seemed a serene and fortified paradise for the children of the elite and sickeningly wealthy. But there loomed a sense of threat in its seemingly endless marbled corridors for Sasuke that particular busy noon when she came: the new transfer student, Hinata Hyuuga. The crown of her head couldn't even reach his neck; she showed no vile display of possession of arms or rambunctious attitude; she couldn't seem to stop twiddling her thumbs, and judging from her body language, didn't feel confident enough in herself to speak way out of a difficult situation. And yet, she dared strike him up with a greeting, asked him for general guidance about the photography club’s applications, and timidly signed her name on the form.

It didn't escape Sasuke how she stole glances at him. With only the reception table between them, she must've imagined he kept looking at her because he was checking her out. A sense of dread came over him, and he looked away. He had taken on the reception duties and sent the other photography club members on a lunch break. To Hinata Hyuuga, who has an apparent crush on him, it was the perfect opportunity to engage him in small talk and get familiar. But he would not let her have it.

As though held at gunpoint, he glanced to the right and then to the left, checking out the hallway while she continued filling out the form in small, neat handwriting. His heartbeat quickened, each thump echoing in his ears, a drumbeat of unease. At a corner several blocks away, the Japanese classic painting club was bustling and this brought Sasuke a sense of shallow relief. Should anything happen, they could be his neighborly witnesses.

“Orientation on the 7th,” he said, handing her an envelope with pamphlets and orientation details inside. His voice was kept monotonous like the hum of a fan, his face blank and stone cold, though he maintained eye contact because he wasn't one to cower in the face of intimidation.

With a deer caught in headlights impression, Hinata Hyuuga's eyes caught the light in an almost prismatic quality. They were like amethysts, clear with streaks of light jumping through a million tiny mirror surfaces, shooting back at him with the rush of a bullet train. It was uncanny and inhuman, sending jolts along his spine. She made the hairs on his forearms rise in goose flesh.

“O-okay…” she replied. And then not another word.

As she walked away, he noticed a faint scent of rain in the air, a memory of an evening on Hashirama’s bridge flashing briefly in his mind, her crazy eyes wide with recognition as she gripped his sleeve. This was not the first time he’d seen her. Her transfer to Sairiumu and even ending up in the same class as him—they weren't mere coincidences, Sasuke was certain. She had come after him.

She disappeared down the hallway after taking a turn, and a sense of foreboding still lingered. An unsettling heaviness whirred in the pit of his stomach that he couldn't quite shake. go to Chapter List>

[sky-fire-forever]

Happy Friday

"you can't save everyone" from the angst prompts. And I'm thinking Fenris/Hawke/Anders.

Thank you for this prompt! I decided to put it in my Tranquil!Anders au because I love angst.

My Hawke in this one is Scorpius, who uses they/them pronouns.

“I don't want to talk about this,” Hawke says stubbornly because they're nothing if they aren't incredibly stubborn. 

“You don't have a choice. It needs to be discussed,” Fenris fires back. “What will we do if there is no cure?”

It's an argument they've been dancing around for weeks now. Every time Fenris tries to bring up what's happening, Hawke avoids and deflects and refuses to give a straight answer. They're avoiding the reality that sits before them and it's growing frustrating.

“There has to be!” Hawke says and there's desperation in their voice, a demand for reality itself to change based on their command. “We'll find it. We have to.”

Fenris sighs, the fight not yet leaving him. “And if we can't? How long will we spend searching for what might be a myth?”

“As long as it takes.” Hawke's voice is hard. 

“The rest of our lives?” Fenris presses. “Until we wither away and die hunting for what might not even exist?”

“You don't have to come with me!” Hawke snaps. “I can do this on my own!”

That hits Fenris like a slap to the face. Since they first learned Anders was missing, they've been in this together; they tracked Anders down together, found him together, made the decision to keep him alive together. This isn't something Hawke can decide Fenris isn't a part of.

“I do not think that would be wise,” Anders’ monotone voice comes from somewhere to Fenris’ right. 

“No one asked you,” Hawke hisses. 

“Apologies.” Anders bows his head in submission and Fenris hates it.

Anders should have an opinion, he should fight to say it, should cause a fuss over his sense of justice. He should be more than this barely cognizant husk if a man that the Rite of Tranquility turned him into. 

But it doesn't matter what should be true, the reality of the situation is clear: Anders is Tranquil. He will likely remain Tranquil until the day he dies, either by Fenris’ blade or Hawke’s magic or some other death that falls upon him. They can't spend the rest of their lives chasing a fairytale in the vain hopes of a cure. 

“You can't save everyone,” Fenris says as he searches Hawke’s face for any hint of regret.

“I don't need to save everyone,” Hawke says. “Just him.”

Fenris sees the pain in their eyes and he can’t bring himself to argue further, not now. Eventually, he’ll bring it up again and the argument will begin anew. For now, though, he’s too exhausted to continue the fight. 

[randomfoggytiger]

LOVED your Milagro analysis! I recently showed the episode to a friend who's not an xf fan, and she was bothered by the lack of emotion from Mulder and i was like...whatt. how can you not see how bothered and jealous he is from the minute he discovers it was padgett who sent the charm. his expressions in the elevator, breaking into his apartment to find Scully there, every time Scully defended padgett, like I was eating that shti right upp so I was so confused. I think it's difficult for people who aren't used to watching DD's acting (especially as Mulder) to be able to see the subtleties. I actually think Milagro's quite significant in terms of their emotional arch as well, I know he ditches her again the next episode but I feel a definite shift in their energies, like some things had been cleared, and then he does come back to her (baseball scene), whenever he can find the headspace to get away from his obsessive need to search and find, he always comes back to Scully (touchstone I actually cannotttt). anyway, I feel really validated in my emotions after reading the post so sorry for the rant but really appreciate it!!!

I get the same thing-- I also have someone I showed the series to, and she, unironically, falls into the "MSR wouldn't last and is surprised that it did" noromo camp.

DD's acting as Mulder is soooooooooooo great: even compared to his earlier work, there was a flatness undercut by jocular tongue-in-cheek teasing that makes it so memorable. But I found, even when watching a scene, that if I take random screenshots they STILL don't capture the emotion-- I have to be very careful which expressions to pick because they're "flit and they're gone" reactions.

And thank you for liking the Milagro analyses! It was an out-of-left-field for me, and surprisingly a lot of (not hard) work, two parts turning into three and 30 screenshots turning into 30 sets of 3 squished together screenshots. Love the feedback, and rant anytime~! ;)))))

[linlinsenpai]

Minotaur Story Retelling

So I wrote a short retelling of the Theseus and Minotaur myth from the Minotaur's perspective a while back. I liked the story well enough but after shopping the story around literary magazines and being rejected and a full ass novel-length retelling of the Minotaur myth coming out, I decided that I'll just post it here.

It is partially inspired by Jorge Luis Borges's "The House of Asterion" which is in turn inspired by the painting "The Minotaur" by  George Frederic Watts.

===============================================

Beast of the Labyrinth

In all my wanderings I have yet to encounter the exit to this labyrinth.

The walls of Daedalus run long and the halls between them hollow. As I traverse the labyrinth which I know to be home, I could hear the soft echoes of my own breath.

To one new to the labyrinth or lacking a keen eye, the walls are repetitive and the ground monotonous. Yet once you've arrived at the same sense of familiarity as I with the handiwork of Daedalus and the ground on which they stand, you will begin to notice the details which distinguish each square soil. The placement of a shard of pebble, and stain of a whiff of dust remind me if I have traversed the same path before. And as time went on, I began to notice more signs which indicate to me that the labyrinth is not infinite, and it is within my capabilities to set my step across its entire scope. That is good to know. 

In truth I hold no evidence that Daedalus even built an exit to the labyrinth that imprisons me. It was perhaps the case that my father instructed Daedalus to leave an opening to the labyrinth only for so long that I could be put into it. Once I was, that opening was sealed behind me. I hold no memory of my first entrance into the labyrinth. As far as I know this labyrinth was always here. It was a cradle and a nursery for someone born unwanted.

Yet, the labyrinth couldn’t have been sealed, could it? There must be an opening to the labyrinth for people to be brought in. The sacrifices to me that come in pairs of seven, youths and maidens. If there is an opening for them to enter there must also be one for them to exit, no? 

I remember the first group of them I met - forced to walk the labyrinth until they ran into me. Their eyes held a fear for the labyrinth that echoed in my soul. There were never any mirrors in the labyrinth, but I could tell I once held the same fear in my eyes for these imposing walls. Perhaps I still do. 

Yet I have learned to live with that fear. They have not had the chance to do the same.

And there was also something else that brought forth even more fear in them. I knew not what it was at first but figured soon enough that they were afraid of me.

Suppose that is fair. I was not like them. Am not like them. I am Asterius, the product of a queen and a bull, the one with the head of a bull and the body of a man, son to King Minos, the so-called Minotaur. There was infamy in my name already even having never existed among them. 

They were right to fear me.

They fled. My body twitched. Something came over me. A need drove my body to action before my thoughts caught up to it. There was something instinctual that I had never known was there. A desire for violence. A need for it. A pain existed within me that demanded to be dulled. Strangest thing was that I had never known that pain was there, or if I did I wouldn’t have known what would be its remedy. My body, however, knew, and it slammed my foot down on one of the youths.

I was hungry.

My heel dug into the youth’s back. I was about his age, or just about a year or two younger. Yet his body was much more frail compared to mine. A clear cracking sound and he lay dead beneath my foot. My body once more propelled into action on its own, unhinging the jaw and closing it upon the youth’s shoulder. My teeth tore into him. His flesh fell in my mouth and the blood rushed upon my tongue. There was an unpleasantly sour taste to it. A pungent smell rushed into the air that stung the insides of my nostrils. The flavor profile deepened with my second bite, adding a repulsive bitterness to the mix. This taste, this stench, they were not designed for the enjoyment of a bull. My palette preferred fresher, softer flavors that matched more the cloth they wore on their body than the body itself.

Still, I could not stop.

Once my body had its first taste, it could not stop. The pain within me became suddenly so blindingly apparent. I learnt of hunger and understood it took more to satiate it. So I kept going until the pain finally dulled. I looked down and the youth was unrecognizable. Huge gashes in his body. What’s left of his body barely held shape and were more mushes of scarlet. The only remnant of the structure that once was were the white bones fully exposed in the now pungent air.

Yes, my infamy was well deserved.

⧫

The walk was tedious when there were no sacrifices to stir up my hunger and summon my blood lust. Yet I wouldn’t have known tedium had I not met the sacrifices. Perhaps there’s a certain irony to that. The drive to hunt them down only came to exist because of their presence. When I first had a thought like that, I questioned how I was capable of even having any thought on irony.

Was the concept just etched into my consciousness from my birth? If so, was it even correct? Or at the very least match up with all the other living souls that walked the mortal earth?

How do I know anything when nothing was ever told to me? Was there a time that I simply do not remember where this knowledge was fed to me? A time much like the entrance to the labyrinth that I simply do not remember?

Or perhaps it was the gods that gifted me knowledge. Gifted what they deemed necessities for me to know.

One of the sacrifices said upon meeting me that he couldn’t believe I was real. I heard him say that my mother was impregnated by a beautiful, sacred bull that was worthy of being a sacrifice to Lord Poseidon himself. So perhaps that some of the worthiness was passed onto me. Perhaps I am likewise to be a sacrifice to the Gods; perhaps I am just not as worthy a sacrifice and the purpose of my walk here is to devour the other sacrifices so that I may eventually absorb enough of their worth and be presentable to Mount Olympus... Why was it that I even believed that the walk should amount to some purpose? Was that also a result of meeting the sacrifices? For I recognized their purpose in the labyrinth to be to nourish my body, that I sought out purpose for my walk in the labyrinth.

Too many questions, the answer to which I shall never know. What I do know is that the very thought made me angry. I held such contempt for the gods, for my designation in the story of their own immortality. 

Some days, I wished to crush the bodies of gods beneath my heel as I did with the youth. Most days however, I know the limits of my wants. The labyrinth is my everything and will continue to be my everything unless I find the entrance that eludes me so. No hope of reaching the gods within the walls of Daedalus. Thus my hatred migrated, to the priests and priestesses that served the gods. 

These thoughts do nothing to free me. The walk continues to be tedious, the only difference being that the anger these thoughts provide allows my mind to catch up to the violence of my body. I tear through the rest of the first group of sacrifices that cross my sight. I didn’t get all of them, and I would come across the bodies of those who I hadn’t killed. Died of starvation, they would be crawling with maggots. Nasty furnishing for the halls of Daedalus. I decided to not let any of them die this way, the pain of such a death was too slow and long. The red of the blood they would spill gave a nice blotch of color to the labyrinth and my monotonous walk, which made for much better furnishing than the maggot-crawling bodies also.

My body grew strong from their nourishments. Some sacrifices fight back with rocks. Their futile retaliations bounce right off my body. They scream as I snap and break their companions, some too afraid to even move at the sight. I kill them as it was my purpose before their frail hearts would end their own lives.

The bitterness of their flesh never got better, I simply got more tolerant of their repulsiveness. Their flesh no longer lingered in my mouth, but just slid down my throat. This made things so much quicker. My race to finish off the sacrifice bone and all against the maggots ended with myself being victorious each time.

With the second group of sacrifices, however, I was too fast. Thirteen of the fourteen sacrifices were devoured in less than a day, and I came face to face with the last.

She was the most frail, with soft breaths that exuded the least presence. She hid the best but had no ability to run. More than that, she was a priestess. Of which god I do not remember. 

In meeting me, there was fear in her eyes and disgust like all the rest. Yet no effort was made on her part to run or even scream. I got the impression she couldn’t even if she wanted to. Instead with a soft voice she asked to make it quick so that there wouldn’t be any pain.

I was conflicted. Killing her would be no different from killing the rest of the sacrifices, it was simply an inopportune timing to be met with her when I had not the stomach to devour another. Yet if I left her and continued my walk, who knows when I shall come back around to her. With her frailty, by that time if it ever comes, she could have died of starvation and be crawling with maggots. So I for once stopped my walk of the labyrinth and sat down next to her.

The silence that followed was uncomfortable and strange, there was a tingling under my skin that irritated me. That silence was the longest a sacrifice had stayed alive in my presence, and for that entire duration she was coiled up into a ball waiting for me or her hunger to deliver her the final blow.

After it had been long enough for my stomach to digest half of what I had devoured, she got up and picked up a sharp rock by her side. Though it wasn’t one sharp enough to wound me. Instead she took the rock and went to the wall and began carving these strange symbols into them. 

I did not understand her actions, but I thought better to ask. I had no desire to speak to my food and she, I was sure, wouldn’t have enjoyed a conversation with her would-be killer.

Then she spoke, not to me, staring at the symbols she carved into the walls of Daedalus. The exact words she spoke had long left my memory. Yet I still remembered the melody, there was a rhythm to the words. Somehow they felt beautiful, which was a strange feeling for me to have for I have never known beauty. Yet Lady Aphrodite must’ve blessed some conception of it onto me because those words pierced into me like no other sharp rock could.

“What is this?” I cried. The priestess fell back, trembling too much for words. So I asked again. She must’ve thought of my words as a demand for she bowed before me and told me of this thing called poetry. She said that she had simply written down a poem she loved. She wanted to revisit the poem one last time before she died.

I failed to understand many of the things she just said. To begin, what was the meaning of “writing.” In my curiosity I thought of the best way to obtain the answer I wanted and decided to strike a bargain with her. She had asked to be killed in the most painless way possible, and I shall fulfill this request, only after she had explained to me what this whole deal of writing is.

I was a slow learner. To learn to write it took time longer than what we had. So we only covered less than even the basics, just enough for me to be able to write down some numbers. I suppose the gods didn’t see the need to bless me with the talent to read or write as it wouldn’t have made me a better sacrifice. This angered me as well, and this anger I wasn’t able to redirect onto the priests and priestesses that served them.

During the time it took her to be a teacher we also talked about other things. The stories of the labyrinth and my father. How my father, Minos, waged war against Athens to seek revenge for the death of my brother and won. After claiming victory, he would demand seven youths and seven maidens be sacrificed to me every seven years. They told horror stories of me, some true, many were only the lunatic imaginations of those who had never seen me, one of them was convinced I had two heads that feasted together, one of the bull and another of the man. Another account said that despite having the head of a bull I had not the teeth of a bull, but that of a serpent, as to better tear the meat off someone. According to the priestess that one was the one she feared most to be true.

I did not know I had a brother, but I had six. Also two sisters. The Priestess couldn’t tell me much about them, she had not met any of them except for one - Princess Ariadne who the priestess caught a glimpse of when the sacrifices were being shipped off to the labyrinth.

I started wishing for her to stay with me a bit longer, so I started delaying delivering on my end of our deal. I told her that I needed more rest to kill her quick enough the way she desired, that I needed for the bitter taste of the other sacrifices’ blood to fade from my mouth, and asked her to tell me more of the outside world. She did. She closed her eyes and described the temples, the markets, and the people. She mumbled her words and spoke slowly as if savoring each word the way she told me people would with nourishments that suited their palette.

Yet she always caught herself before she went on further and fell back into silence. 

Try as I might have, I couldn't delay the promise for long. Hunger wasted her body far faster than it could mine. I could last years without food, but she couldn’t last more than weeks. 

She made her final prayers. I propped her body up and held her head gently between my upper and lower arms.

I asked her if she was ready and to close her eyes if she was. She closed them. Then I took a breath.

Just when I was about to kill her, her eyes shot open.

“Why?” She cried out, louder than I had heard her speak any word. “Why should I of all people be sent to you? Couldn’t I have been the one praying in the temple like the other priestesses rather than within these walls?” 

She started crying.

“If I had an answer to that,” I tell her, “I would’ve walked on the grounds outside this labyrinth a long time ago.”

She didn’t cry for long. With tears still lingering, she shut her eyes once more. And I snapped her neck.

I paused for a moment holding her in my arms. Then I laid her body on the ground. I couldn’t pause for long or else the maggots would come. 

The bitterness of flesh filled my mouth once more. Her wasted body tasted even more dry than the others.

I was wrong. Killing her wasn’t like killing the other sacrifices.

My fingers traced the carvings on the wall. The poem that I still couldn’t read. I started carving numbers on the wall. First for every second that passed. After I reached a hundred, I started counting days and nights. After ten suns have appeared above the labyrinth and left. I too left the spot where the final sacrifice met her end. Leaving behind a wall of numbers.

I would continue my walk for seven more years until the next sacrifices arrived. Yet I was never able to find this wall of numbers again.

⧫

I am currently fascinated with daggers.

I found them in the labyrinth. The sacrifices were not supposed to have them. They hid the steel under their tunics. Some retaliated while others sought to use them to forgo the mortal world on their own terms. And within the third batch of sacrifices all of them had weapons hidden upon them somehow.

Some of the sacrifices were soldiers in training. Had they been the first to brandish a dagger to me, they might’ve gotten a good stab in. But to their lack of fortune, it was a farm boy who first held his place with a dagger in hand. He was a good, strong boy but rather careless in how he fought. It was clear he was not used to using a blade on a moving target. The moment I dashed forth, he froze. The very next moment his body twisted and flew across the air. His dagger flew out of his hand.

I did what I always do, and with the bitterness in my mouth I picked up the dagger. I had no idea what it was, only that it was sharper than anything else I’ve found in the labyrinth. With a touch, I had cut open my finger upon it. My blood flowed out and instinctively I sealed my lips around it and tasted my own sour blood.

But before I could ponder more upon the object a soldier in training came at me. “Feel my dagger!” He yelled, and that was how I came to find out what these things were called. I knew the danger this weapon posed, so I fought the soldier with my full might. He died quickly, not able to land a scratch on me. I took his dagger as well after I finished devouring his flesh.

Two more soldiers in training soon found me as well. Though I had no trouble dealing with them, it did start to strike me as weird that so many of the sacrifices seem to be trained in the art of combat. A feeling seeped into me. That I was no longer the hunter but the hunted.

However, that thought did not linger for I found my gaze upon the dagger of one of the soldiers. It had a handle that was gold and adorned with these tiny details. Beautiful ornate patterns that circled the handle that seem to serve no functional purpose. Yet I felt that feeling again, that feeling of hearing the priestess’s poetry, of being pierced by something beautiful, only even stronger this time as I felt the intricate metal work on my skin.

I caressed the dagger handle. Felt it in my palm every curve, every angle. I realize that one of the soldiers must have been royalty or something close to that to have a craftsman forge a beautiful dagger for them. I knew not what it took the craftsman to make such a thing, only that I wanted to try recreating it on the other daggers as well.

I devoured the soldiers as quickly as I could and grabbed all four daggers. I made my way towards the center of the labyrinth. 

On my path there I found another sacrifice, holding a weapon just like the others. Yet this one must not be a soldier and took his own life as I walked towards him. His weapon was a long slender thing with a point which he stabbed into himself. 

I had no intention of fighting the youth. I walked past his body without devouring him. The maggots could have this one. His point, however, I took. It looked like it could be useful.

At the center, where I currently am. I put myself to work. With the point and the help of another dagger, I try replicating the ornate details on the gold dagger handle.

My fingers lack the finesse for such fine work. I end up breaking a dagger and cutting my own fingers. 

I try again and fail again. Yet the second time shows me something of a general direction I can go in.

I take the point to work on the last plain dagger I have. I am focused upon it, every line, every turn, I try to prick at the handle with only just enough strength to scar but not break the dagger. It is all I care about, all my eyes can see.

Another sacrifice walks by or two, I hear screams and diminishing footsteps, yet I do not bother looking up. The silence returns to me fast enough so there’s no other need than to concentrate on the dagger.

⧫

I finished it. The handle of the plain dagger now crawling with details. I stand up. The point is dulled from the task so I throw it aside. Stepping upon the ground once more, I felt the need to stretch my limbs.

I walk around the labyrinth, holding the plain and gold dagger side by side to compare. My work is definitely lacking. Imperfections everywhere. And my fingers, all cut up and full of pokes. To think the first injuries I’ve sustained came from myself. It is funny and I laugh.

There is a joy inside me that feels unfamiliar, a rush. I wonder if I ever was alive before this. 

I am not able to recreate the details of the gold dagger yet I feel that I can perhaps do so one day. And after that I can perhaps even forgo recreation and make my own details. There is this future that I see that for once did not feel like a monotonous repetition of what I have already seen, a future built upon by me. There is a strange sort of happiness to be found in that.

More than anything it just feels great to make something with my own hands.

All I need is more daggers to practice on…

Something snaps inside my head, it came with the recollection of the labyrinth and who it is that I got these daggers from. I remember once more my walk of the labyrinth.

My body feels hot, and I can feel a force roaring inside me. My muscles contract and shift, my veins pushed as wide as they can. I recognize this feeling but never this strong. I can feel all the goings on inside my body, the blood running, the heart rushing, yet I feel detached from all of it. Observing, not knowing what is to come.

Beyond my control, a scream erupts out of me. Yes, I know this feeling, anger, towards the gods, towards Daedalus and his labyrinth, towards all of it. My body crashes into the labyrinth wall, my horns breaking into the wall and carves shards of stone off the impenetrable prison.

My hands thrash upon the walls as my body continues to scream. I can feel the pain from my hands as they break themselves to break the wall. And it is only the pain that makes me feel still attached to this body.

My mind is no longer keeping up with my body but instead rushing off on its own. Why this labyrinth? Why this path? Why could I have not been the crafter who makes ornate details? Like Daedalus born with hands worthy of the envy of the gods? If I were Daedalus I would not waste my talents on trapping people inside labyrinths but freeing them from it. Why couldn’t I be him? Why couldn’t I be a mortal man walking upon the marketplace? Why must I bend before the fates never to be given an opportunity to choose the path I walk? Why must there be a Minotaur? Why must I be the Minotaur?

This is the curse of knowing. There was a time when I knew of nothing but the monotonous and my senses were dulled. A younger version of me, a young Asterius, could never feel anger. Yet that Asterius is long gone, and he may never set foot in this labyrinth again. The Asterius who stands now knows why the priestess screamed in her last moments and could do nothing but scream himself. It is beyond understanding that pain. But instead living that same pain or perhaps a pain even greater than ten of the same priestess together.

⧫

A crater is upon the walls of Daedalus now. Yet the wall neither shatters nor falls. And the price of damaging it was the bloodied hands so numb to pain they could no longer feel anything. I breathe heavily and look down at my hands. Broken open and disfigured. It shall take a long time to heal if it ever heals. The daggers I had in my hands have long shattered into pieces from the mess.

My anger has not subsided in its entirety, merely my body could no longer keep up with it anymore.

I hear footsteps. Must’ve been attracted here by my screams.

Another sacrifice, holding a dagger the same way the other soldiers had. 

My body moves, not from hunger or the desire for nourishment. It simply sought another expression.

With no hands to work with, I bit directly into him, tearing his throat apart. Tasting his bitter flesh as the air is reddened with repugnant blood.

⧫

He approaches me. A line of red yarn follows his steps and a weapon in hand. His weapon is longer, grander, perhaps it is what I have heard called a sword. But more than the weapon, it is the wielder. Chiseled, tanned, and adorned in cloth much finer than any I have encountered. The air shook, the presence of gods could be felt through the skin. He is a hero, a champion of the gods, the leader of the soldiers, and the real hunter in this labyrinth at this moment.

He looks at me with disgust. Justifiably so. I have never been more of a beast than I am now.

Then I caught the scent of the sea, a blessing of Lord Poseidon. 

Lord Poseidon who was there at the very beginning of my life, who instigated the birth of the Minotaur - his champion has arrived.

I lose control of my body once more. A rapid dash forward. And once more, it is pain that acts as the final attachment between my mind and body.

I feel his sword plunged deep into my gut. And then my body collapsed, unable to be willed back up.

⧫

I see it so clearly now, the entrance to the labyrinth. The exit. 

Yes, so clearly now, following the yarn on the champion, I could see it, the light so bright coming from that opening.

Following the yarn, Ariadne is on the other end. This is the first time I’ve seen her. She is beautiful and graceful, possessing all the qualities that a princess should have. It must be strange for a girl like her to have a monster like me in her family.

Yet she is here, guiding me out of the labyrinth.

What will happen now? Is she here in place of our father to take me to the gods for sacrifice? In a strange sense, the idea doesn’t seem so bad to me. Or perhaps Ariadne has found it in herself to do me a kindness and will give me the chance to run away.

Either way, I am just glad to be finally free from this labyrinth.

I say to the champion, “Thank you.” Though the words are garbled through my blood, I am not certain if they even reached his ears.

I should really clean myself up. All this blood. That’s the first thing I should do in my freedom, to find a pond and wash myself of the blood, now that my walk has reached its end. Before anything else, however, I feel a bit tired and my eyelids are getting heavy. I would like to rest. 

Just a brief moment. Just a brief moment of sleep and I shall head outside.

[nerdysleepybunny]

Not requested, but here’s some Technoblade for y’all. A mix of angst and fluff. It’s currently 1 am and I’m too tired to get any actual fics out atm so y’all can get this little thing before I go to bed. Goodnight my sleepies. 💕

🩷☁️N E R D Y S L E E P Y B U N N Y☁️🩷

Fandom(s): DreamSMP

Character(s): C!Technoblade

Reader: Gender neutral (they/you)

TW: Mention of death

Style: Hcs

Summary: You find out that Technoblade will be dying soon. You decide to finally confess your love to him whilst spending your last moments with him.

You walked into Technoblade’s cabin, seeing him looking out the window. His cape and crown were discarded, leaving his beautiful form on full display. His hair wasn’t in its usual braid, it was fully down, framing his scarred face. The man had heard the door open, but didn’t move or look towards the sound, knowing very well who was here.

You walked next to him, staring at the same view. He had been watching the sunset. It reminded you of him.

“Y/N.” His monotone voice broke the silence. The air was tense. He could tell you were holding back tears.

“I’m dying very soon.”

“I know.” He noted how your voice broke, and when he looked down at you, he saw how watery your eyes were. You refused to look at him, knowing it would instantly break the dam. It hurt him knowing how much pain you were going through. He never knew he could have such an affect on someone. He watched with a sad expression as you wiped your eyes before turning to him, not yet looking at his face.

“Technoblade.” You grabbed one of his hands, which was a lot bigger than yours. His heart shattered as he thought back to all the times you played with his hands, tracing the lines and scars, maneuvering his fingers to form a certain shape, cracking his knuckles, playing with the jewelry, or simply just holding it. It was a habit that he’d come to enjoy and even find a comfort in. You knew he wasn’t really one for physical affection, so you showed your love in small ways. And whilst at first they were difficult to get used to, it eventually worried him if you weren’t doing the small acts you usually did.

You played around with his hand a bit, before intertwining your fingers with his and bringing your other hand to hold his near your heart. You sighed, stepping closer to Techno.

“I love you.” The words stunned him. Sure, you’ve said them before, but those were in a platonic way. He could tell that this time was different. But now wasn’t the time for him to go through a whole rant of “there’s so many other people but you love ME?” He could tell that was the last thing you needed right now. So he accepted your words.

“I love you too.” He gently unwrapped his hand from yours, moving it to cup your cheek. Your eyes finally met his red ones, tears streaming down your face. Now it was Techno who was holding back tears.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner..” The piglin took his other hand to cup your other cheek, holding your face still as he leaned down and placed a gentle yet loving kiss to your forehead. A silent way of telling you that it was alright.

“When I die, I’d like to meet you again. And spend the afterlife with you.” Technoblade smiled and leaned his forehead against yours, staring into your eyes with nothing but adoration.

“I’d love that.”

You spent his final moments right by his side in his bedroom, watching the sunset, then the moonrise, then the stars. He retold you Greek myths, rambled about how he was feeling, how scared he was to die, and how sad he was that he had to leave you. You listened and comforted him through the whole thing. And right before he died, he gave you one last kiss on the lips, one that was passionate and long-lasting. The tears came right back, knowing what was about to come. He shared one last “I love you” before taking his final breath. You luckily managed to say it back just before he died, seeing him smile before he went completely limp.

You stayed in his bedroom for hours, holding him close to you and sobbing until his body went cold. You hoped that it wasn’t true, hoped that he’d open his eyes and laugh at the state you were in. But no. He was gone, and he was never coming back.

You took all of his favorite and personal belongings. His crown, his cape, his sword, his axe, his book of Greek myths, and The Art of War. You gave your lover one last kiss before burying him along with all of his belongings, stabbing his sword into the ground and placing his cape and crown with it. You surround his grave with his favorite flowers and potatoes, along with a sign that said “I love you. -Y/N”

You took Technoblade’s extra cape, vowing to keep it safe and never let anything bad happen to it. It was all you had left of him. You stayed at his cabin that night, sleeping in his bed. Well, tried to. You were cuddled up in his sheets and his cape, Techno being the only thing on your mind. The feeling of his last kiss to you still burned on your lips, wishing you could feel it one last time. You cried all night in his bed, not falling asleep until the sun came up. When you awoke in the afternoon, you expected Technoblade to be there by your side, before remembering the tragic truth.

He was gone.

🩷☁️N E R D Y S L E E P Y B U N N Y☁️🩷

Honestly just knowing that Alex’s heart no longer beats, he no longer breathes, and his body is now ice cold is just super scary. The sound of heartbeats have always been comforting but after losing him I’ve realized how scary and painful death can truly be. Now whenever I hear a heartbeat I’ll probably start crying and imagine it’s Techno- Anywho, it’s officially 2 am, almost 3 am. I spent way more time on this than I thought I would lmfao. But it’s time for me to sleep. Bye bye sleepies. <33

[guzsdaily]

A Happy Life is Boring

Daily Blogs 360 - Oct 30th, 12.024

And I'm happy about it.

True Happiness

Since I can remember, I have always heard about "finding true happiness", "and they lived happy forever ever, the end", "if you are not happy, you should worry", and you probably also heard of it, and probably know it is bullshit.

It is rare, if not impossible, to be happy forever, since it is biology. As human, we adapt to the current state we are, so if you are being able to progress in life, maybe bought a new house, or was able to get a job, or just is being able to get over the day-to-day and being productive, you will feel happiness in the start, but get used to it as time passes is this state. That's why a lot of people who were able to achieve their dreams, can feel lost or even sad about it after, since the progress, the curve of happiness, will flatten after some point, and you end without anything to fill that gap again. I felt this a lot of times in my short life, and it took some time to know why I wasn't feeling happy.

Achieving your goals will be fulfilling, you will feel happy, but it will flatten as it is achieved. It will probably end up boring.

Unfortunately, even when I was able to keep growing, like in this year, boredom was something frequent. This year was great for me, I finally started my dream brand, my projects are taking shape and being done, I finally have an actual job and salary, and this daily blog is being something consistent in my life. However, I got used to it, thinking about these achievements don't really make me feel happy, even tho I'm proud of myself, I mostly feel nothing. And I'm kinda okay with it, I finally understand that unending happiness is just a myth, and that I should feel more things.

True Feelings

Growing up, I was always indirectly toughed that feeling anything besides happiness is bad. I should never feel bored in my life; I should never feel anger; envy; I shouldn't feel sadness; and dear god if I cried when I am a man! Man don't cry!

No, they cry, they should fucking cry.

It was hard to kinda accept it, but not gonna lie, I feel better feeling more emotions than just happiness. You should, generally, feel all emotions in the emotions' spectrum, from anger to peace, from sadness to happiness, feel them, don't repress them. And yes, you don't necessarily need to seek them to have a better person, but a little I would recommend (of course, if you are sad you aren't supposed to seek feeling more sad, if that isn't obvious).

Something that I do time to time, is getting some songs, and actually listen to them. I mostly do this when I, like previously said, feel bored. I get some songs, sit on the carpet of my room, with just the lights of my monitor illuminating my room, and I focus on the songs.

And you know what I feel with the songs? Everything. I cry when a good guitar solo on a sad song until my eyes turn red, like with The Loneliest by Måneskin; Or start to dance and feel a small nostalgia for when I listened Novocaine by The Unlikely Candidates going to school; I feel dread and fear of the future with songs such as Welcome To The Internet; Or a strange peace with That Funny Feeling, both by Bo Burnham.

Because feeling just happy is boring.

True Life

One of the other main reasons I seek feelings with art and music, is that my day-to-day is and forever will be monotonous.

Trying to organize your life, will probably make you end up having a routine of some sort, which by the definition, will make your day-to-day be repetitive. Repetitive days are of course, not dopamine inducing. I always grew thinking that a fulfilling life is one that you do something different every day, and even tho having adventures and doing different thing is fulfilling in the short term, it probably won't be if you are focusing on something bigger. Yes, making the progress and work entertaining and valuing the in-between is great, but most projects will have some sort of repetitiveness or standard on the daily liking it or not. My main/current profession/focus which is programming is in some sense different each day, since problems and the code you will write to solve them will be mostly always different, but I can't go away from the repetitiveness of the same keywords, patterns, language, and way of solving problems.

If you saw my day-to-day, you would be probably bored, since it is mostly just:

Wake up;

Make up my bed and brush my teeth;

Get some coffee and check my emails;

Go to the computer and do some tasks for my job;

Lunch;

Daily meeting;

Do some tasks for my own projects;

Finish the working day;

Have some resting hours, maybe passing time with my partner;

Write the daily blog;

Go to bed.

That's pretty much how I would summarize the day-to-day. Do I feel anything special during the day? Nop. Do I feel happiness in the day? Mostly no. I feel nothing.

However, this was the routine that made me be able to have progress in my projects, was the routine that made me have a job, that is making me hopefully a better person and more close to achieve my dreams. And knowing that makes me happy when I think about it, but someone from the outside wouldn't feel the same, neither do I most of the time.

Because, a happy life is boring. And I'm happy having a boring life.

Today's artists & creative things Music: ピノキオピー - きみも悪い人でよかった feat. 初音ミク / I'm glad you're evil too - by ピノキオピー PINOCCHIOP OFFICIAL CHANNEL I cried at this song when I heard it for the first time, this is a masterpiece.

© 2024 Gustavo "Guz" L. de Mello. Licensed under CC BY-SA 4.0