#unfortunately being rich like that gives you brain rot

[mysterious-blood-pyramid]

Listen, I am a swifty but I also understand people [derogatory] are the absolute worst ever. Yes she is a corporate mascot, yes she is basic for being that, but her stuff is popular because it hits the right sweet spots in my stupid monkey brain okay? Let me enjoy things, but also yeah she isn't apart of the bad bitch brigade unfortunately for me and other swifties. Rip for me and my basicness, but her albums are bops for me.

[stormyrainyday]

🍎🫐🍑 if it's not too much at once <3

omg hi !!

🍎 Is there anything you straight-up won’t write?

Kind of basic but I'm not really one to write smut like it's fine I enjoy consuming it from time to time. Honestly, it's not even a matter of being uncomfortable I just don't like to write it. If I think about it, I wonder if it'd be fun to use sexual intimacy to discover more about how I think two characters would interact but I'd be so far out of my depth that I'd have to leave it for a long while down the road.

🍑 If you could make a connection between your favorite character and another work you care about (whether a crossover/fusion or a wonderfully “pretentious” literary reference) what would it be? How would it work?

I've had an Alhaitham/Kaveh and Ni No Kuni: Wrath of the White Witch crossover rotting in my brain for ages and just haven't had the time to replay the game to flesh it out. But I imagine it as broken-hearted Alhaitham and pure-hearted Kaveh. A silly, sweet AU. Then they become companions and explore the world together it'd be cute as fuck.

If you've never heard of Ni No Kuni you should look into it it's so fun and gorgeous if a little childish and it's animated by Studio Ghibli it's so cool. I love the real time turn-based combat it was my first time playing a game like that.

🫐 What’s your favorite underrated thing in your fandom? (A ship that only you seem to write for, a character there’s almost no fics about, a trope that criminally hasn’t been written yet, etc.)

Oh man, can I make a list.

Shenhe and Baizhu as characters are so underappreciated. Shenhe is part of a major story quest (the first Interlude quest) but so rarely makes appearances after that. On top of that, she's a pretty niche unit that's only rerun once so I feel like people don't give her enough attention which is a damn shame because her backstory is so cool to pick apart. She's also canonically the most powerful human in the game? The only rival to her in strength is Childe and even then between you and me I think she could beat him. Childe is my favorite but Shenhe is stupid powerful in her lore. So yes. I wish more people talked about her characterization and lore but unfortunately half of her tag is rope bondage smut.

Baizhu keeps getting fucked over by Hoyo and gets a lot of hatred from the fandom for being gay-sounding (which, I don't love his English voice acting but homophobia from the Genshin Impact fanbase is fucking rich). It's actually kind of shocking how much hate he gets when he is literally just existing. I think there isn't enough work dissecting the utter tragedy of his situation and the way he values selflessness to the extreme-- even the game seems to treat his contract and his pursuit of immortality as something to be celebrated, when in reality he is dooming himself to an eternity of suffering should he succeed. Most of the works about him are shipping him with Pantalone or are just your standard run-of-the-mill sickfics (nothing wrong with that, I just think that he is open to much more dissecting and prodding and that there should be more works cutting him open to show his heart).

Also I haven't written about it yet but I am absolutely batshit insane about Childe x Lyney rarepairing, when I have more time I will compile my incoherent google doc about them into a fic or at the very least an extensive Tumblr post. Before I get shot I would like to gently remind you guys that Childe in canon is in his early 20s and Lyney is not a kid he's just short please read the character stories thanks <3

Not Genshin related but I also feel very strongly about certain Stardew Valley NPCs and feel like we don't talk enough about how nuanced their characters are despite having relatively straightforward cutscenes and dialogue but that's a post for another time

[jackalopes-pen]

Vroom Vroom.

TW: Description of violence, swearing, taking the lord’s name in vain, gay people

Summary: South Park Racing AU, but I focus way too much on one idiot.

Characters: Craig Tucker, Tweak Tweek, Tolkien Black, Clyde Donovan

Word Count: 988

A/N: Brain rot. Just brain rot. Let me write damn it, I have nothing to do.

Craig wouldn’t particularly call himself a ‘street racer’, although if you care about textbook definitions then he is. He just performs for rich idiots who like to bet on poor idiots on shitty motorcycles. Legally, they call that ‘street racing’ and Clyde likes to get on his nerves about it. Craig could almost bet that Clyde had a literal stick shoved so far up his ass that it’s causing his lactose intolerance. 

“Craig, you’re racing tonight, right?” Tolkien said from across the lunch tale, catching his attention. 

“Oh, yeah. It’s duos tonight so me and Tweak are racing.” Craig responded simply. This was his first time in the major circuit so he had to do the duo race to get registered for solo races. If it was his choice, he’d jump straight to a solo race but unfortunately this season is down to team races. 

“Cool, I’ll be watching… like always.” Tolkien smirked. He only supported Craig in this because it meant he got money. If it was a net loss, Tolkien would do anything to pull Craig out.

“You’re both so fucking stupid.” Clyde groaned, “I heard the major circuit is where people get hurt cause the modification rules are non-existent.”

“Yeah? I heard cheese tastes good, but you wouldn’t know, would you?” Craig snapped back.

“Jesus- alright.” Clyde held up his hands and kept eating his lunch.

Craig decided to just keep eating his shitty cafeteria food and give little more than a side glance at Clyde. After all, that idiot had no idea how much money Craig was making and how many Red Racer dvds he was accumulating. He almost had the full movie set, except for Red Racer Vs. Blue Racer: The Ultimate Race. It was a TV movie so it’s hard to find any copies. One day, though, he’ll have them all. All the Red Racer he could ask for. 

“CRAIG!” Tweak’s shaky voice broke through Craig’s fantasy.

“Yeah?” Craig said, annoyed.

“Dude- did you see the line-up? We’re so boned!” Tweak’s constantly shaking hands kept Craig from reading Tweak’s phone screen. It just looked like a jittering box of light.

“Honey- calm down. Lemme see.” Craig took the phone from Tweak’s hand and looked over the list. It wasn’t exactly names, because if any of them got ratted to the police it was over. Instead, what he saw was a list of persona names to hide identities. 

Among the list was “The Junker”, who had a decent reputation as a sure-shot, a clean 54 races won. Although his motorcycle is liable to explode. He also saw some edgelord named “Hook Horror” who currently had a 39 win streak, and a massive hook attached to his motorcycle to grab and destroy. The only other real problem he saw was some idiots named “toolshed” and “human kite”. No fucking way that Stan Marsh and Kyle Broflovski were racers. 

“We’re gonna explode, ribs ripped out, lost by miles!” Tweak was pacing back and forth and shaking. He clearly already thought the absolute worst possibility and was imagining painful deaths. 

“We’re fine. These guys are edgelords.” Craig rolled his eyes and handed Tweak his phone back. It doesn’t matter if they have exploding engines or weird weapons, they have speed. Who gives a fuck about the rest?

__ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___

The night of the race, Craig was making sure everything looked right on his motorcycle. He was that reckless, to not check his stuff and make sure he wouldn’t die tonight.

“Look honey, it’s fine. See, that guy is nervous.” Craig pointed to a different stall with a duo. One of them was freakishly tall and was quietly comforting the shorter one. They couldn’t tell what was being said, but they looked really gay. 

“uRG- WHAT IF IT’S AN ACT?!” Tweak seemed so utterly terrified. He seemed like he was certain he would die tonight.

“It’s probably not. Look over there, that fat fuck will probaby come dead last.’ Craig pointed out a box with one guy who looked like the most money he’d seen was five bucks and the other who looked like he treated eating as an olympic sport.

“It could be padding so he can get back up!” tweak said, still pacing.

“Fuck! I forgot my socket wrench. Gimme a minute.” Craig got up and looked around. He noticed that the gay fucks from earlier had one lying around. He casually got up and walked over to them to ask for it. He could vaguely hear what they were saying.

“You’re fine, love. We practiced a thousand times.” The tall one said.

“I- I dunno… why couldn’t Salem make it?” said the shorter one.

“Salem is betting tonight.”

“Oh yeah… forgot Salem is rich like that.”

“Making fun of racer names, are we Nevermore?”

“You got your name from the D&D Monster Manual, you can’t talk.”

“... touché.”

“Uh, excuse me?” Craig said, “Can I borrow your socket wrench?” He pointed to it on the black toolbox decorated in band stickers. 

“Hm? Sure- just give it back at some point.” The taller one said, nonchalant. “Who.. are you?” 

“Blue Racer.. Like the tv series Red Racer. Do you watch Red Racer?” Craig said, his autism showing a bit.

“Oh.. the newbie. Good luck.” The tall man handed over the wrench and kind of shrugged him off.

“Oh yeah, who are you?”

“The Hook Horror… this is Nevermore, my partner.” by the person’s tone it was hard to discern what variety of partner. Although, Craig could take a guess.

“Oh… cool. See you on the line.” Craig walked off to fix his bike and leave the gay idiots alone. Although their voices did sound kind of familiar. Maybe they went to the same High School or something.

Actually, now that he’s really looking around, all these idiots seem to be idiots from his high school. This just got so much easier.

[starr-fall-knight-rise]

Humans are Weird, “A Preoccupation with Death.”

Hope you enjoy :)

Analysis By Dr. Krill MD

Humanity’s preoccupation with death has always fascinated me: I say fascinated because to say that it disturbs me would be rather unscientific, and I have been attempting to reign in my anger… I have had some… complaints over the last year about the unprofessionalism of my previous papers. The GA community does not appreciate, and I quote, “Excessive swearing, and screaming” in virtual reports, so today I will attempt to be calm and relaxed as I explain to you, common human traditions based around death.

Now you must understand, from my perspective these practices are quite bizarre. Vrull have no rituals associated with death. The Vrull are disposed of and their bodies are incinerated. The ash is then disposed with by mixing into the soil to produce needed plants on the planet surface. There are no other options, and no other arrangements are made.

However, I am told that funeral rights with humans are, often, more to do with what the living need than what the deceased do. However, there are some funeral rights believed to be required in certain human cultures, so that rule does not always hold completely true.

I will begin from the moment of death.

Unlike the Vrull humans do not know their exact time of death. Granted this is not because the Vrull have a set clocking system in their bodies which sets the time in which we die, but because our society sets forth a time of our usefulness. No one knows how long a Vrull can feasibly live because no one has tried it before. I myself might plan on finding out, as I have no intention of returning for my scheduled termination, which is already a year overdue.

Humans, like most other species die in several different ways, accidents, sickness, or the sudden failure of the body due to old age, the final one generally happening peacefully and in their sleep.

However this is where humans tend to diverge from their inhuman counterparts, in that they are very social creatures, the death of a human is usually witnessed by multiple family members and friends, in the case of sickness, and is mourned many weeks after because the death of someone in your social circle changes that circle forever. Social bonds are cut and entire social lives are upended. Humans bond so heavily with each other that the loss of one of their own can lead to mental and emotional trauma extreme enough to require medication and hospitalization.

Humans plan their deaths months to years in advance. In certain instances, their jobs force them to plan their death in advance in case something were to happen. Decisions need to be made about who owns their property, where it goes, what happens to their dwellings, and how the surviving members of their family will be supported. Sometimes they plan this due to terminal illness which they knew will lead to their deaths, otherwise they might just do it out of precaution.

There are many different ways of disposing of a corpse. First of all, you must determine if any of the human parts are recyclable: this being the very morbid idea of taking someone else’s organs and giving them to another person. Now with the advancement of this technology, organ transplants from donors is not as common as it once was seeing as they can now 3D print organs. However, this method is not time effective and is very costly, in some cases leaving the harvesting of deceased human organs to be the only viable option.

Yes, they take organs from dead people… the doctor and surgeon in me admires that thought process, but the thinking breathing creature inside of me recoils heavily at the idea.

Assuming that no one requires your organs, or if you have especially requested for your organ not to be used  than there are other questions that need to be addressed. There are humans who have jobs especially in the business of taking care of dead bodies. They are generally moved in special containers and placed in refrigerated units to slow decomposition while the relatives determine what they want to do with the body.

In certain cases, where the death is suspicious, as related to murder, there are, in fact, humans who specilize in determining the cause and time of death based on the decomposition rate of a body and the stiffness of the flesh itself. This is a semi-common practice across the galaxy, and I myself have performed one or two autopsies since my professional career began though they are far more common for humans.

I find that the most humane method of human enterrement, and the one that makes most sense to me as a Vrull is the idea of cremation. The body is taken and placed in a furnace that is then heated enough to turn the body to ash leaving only bone fragments and the occasional mineral deposit. The ash may then be given to the family members or disposed of accordingly. Some humans find it comforting to keep the remains in some sort of container.... A fact which I find morbid but, we have proven in abundance that I find much of what humanity does, rather morbid.

It is only going to get worse.

The other method of disposal, popular through human history, however made someone obscure in recent centuries due to the proliferation of human burial sites…. The common north american and European Burial and funeral rights went as follows. After death, and freezing in the morgue, a special human with the job of mortician is called in to prepared the body for burial…. This is where it gets very morbid.

The body is drained of all of its fluids and then pumped full of preservatives to slow down the process of decomposition. The faces are then painted with makeup to give the corpse the appearance of sleep rather than death. The body is dressed in fine clothing and placed inside a coffin or casket: these in themselves can cost thousands of dollars as the family members decide what materials the box should be made out of and lined with, precious metals, woods like oak or steel, and the inside lined in velvet satin or silk. The body is placed inside with the person dressed in a finely tailored suit before a hearse: a special vehicle designed to carry caskets is brought to the place of mourning, generally a curch or a funeral home.

Many times the body is then put through a “viewing”.... It sounds just as bad as I make it seem, when the humans come in…. In large groups…. To stare at their dead relative. Just…. Stare at their rotting corpse before it is hauled away and lowered into an six foot hole in the earth. A decorative rock is then place on top of that inscribed with the deceased’s name so that everyone knows where to find their moldering corpse….

….

….

I am told this provides a lot of closure for family members, though I have yet to understand why staring at a painted corpse would be helpful.’

Unfortunately, with humans, this isn't the most gruesome method they have of corpse disposal, nor the most involved 

You may also chose to donate your body to science…

They might hand your bod over to a medical school, where aspiring doctors will, in groups, dissect your corpse slowly over an intervening few weeks or months. It is… gruesome, but a necessary part of the learning process. Your skeleton might even be recycled for use as a tool to demonstrate the skeletal structure to those very same students.

Perhaps your body will end up in a museum, where they will encase your nervous system in plaster and place it on a wall for school children and visiting day travelers to view.

Perhaps you might donate your body to…. A body farm. A palace where scientists will toss your corpse out into different elements to observe the rate and change of decomposition based on different dump sites. They will examine the decomposition, the moisture loss, and the bugs which take to eating your body. This research will then be used to determine the cause o death for other corpses disposed of by murderers or in similar fashion.

It is gruesome, but I suppose…. It is useful for scientific efforts.

These aren't the only methods of body disposal.

Bodies have been tied to the top of large towers

Thrown into the woods to be eaten by animals

Dumped into pits.

And in a couple of cases, launched into the vacuum of space.

Different rituals require family members to spend more or less time with the body, to wrap it in special cloth, or to anoint it with certain oils. 

The Egyptians were widely known for their complex and involved enterrement rituals commonly known as mummification.

The body was first embalmed

The brain was removed

The organs removed and placed in specialized canopic jars 

The body was then dried

Then wrapped which continued to help in the drying process 

Then the body was finally entered, and due to the sandy heat of the desert, the body was often preserved to a great and surprising degree. Egyptians believed that those things you had in life would come with you after death, and so egyptian rulers were entered with great riches and inside grand palaces 

Then of course there is the last ritual which I learned about just recently.

Certain tribal societies will….. Eat…. their dead….

They will eat them….

As in the entire village will get together and consume the corpse in a feast, believing that without this they cannot enter the afterlife.

…..

…

…

…

…

I am going to draft a proposal to the GASC that screaming and profanities should be considered scientifically appropriate when in regards to humans

[slytherflynn]

Old and New | Pt I

Blaise Zabini x muggle!reader

word count: 1971

summary: y/n is new to France on a study abroad trip. Blaise is visiting France post-Hogwarts. rags to riches story of an unfortunate muggle falling for a complicated, ridiculously wealthy person who just so happens to also be a powerful Wizard.

a/n: this started with an idea, became a moodboard, then became an entire fleshed out fic! I thought it would be short but my brain had other ideas. enjoy! note: I did write this from my personal perspective in life. as a result it is not very inclusive. I plan to change that with my next fics, I’ve just been having a really hard time lately and have been writing a lot of comfort fics and/or self-inserts to escape from irl bc irl is rly shitty for me rn

It’s a brand-new start, in a brand-new apartment, in a brand-new city, in a brand-new country... an ocean away from home. I can bring Tacoma to France, right? At least, that’s what I’m trying to tell myself. Study abroad is fucking... scary. I kinda regret it. It’s a good opportunity and for someone who doesn’t travel, it should be a fun experience. But I’m currently having an anxiety attack over taking out the garbage, so I’m not sure my positive self-talk is working.

I look out the window of my top floor apartment, wait until someone finally finishes walking down the stairs, and run out my door - I nearly trip about five times going down the spiral of death, my arms feel like jelly thanks to perpetually pushing my garbage deeper in to avoid this trip, and I swing with all my might to hurl my garbage bag into the trash compacting dumpster - only it hits the bottom lip and falls to the ground, splitting open.

“Great!” I say, sarcastically, “First they send my luggage to the wrong location, then they try to say my passport isn’t valid because my apartment was a temporary address, then I’m greeted with a fridge full of rotting food and no power, then I’m bitten up by fleas and now - I just- fuck. Why can’t I just- do anything- right-“ I cut myself off when I hear a screen door slide and blink a couple times to erase the threat of tears that had been creeping up on me while I ranted.

When I look up, I see a tall, dark-skinned guy about my age - handsome. He’s wearing a suit, and expensive jewelry. Combine that with the fact he’s living in the apartment building next to me, which is worth more than my life just for one month of rent, and I put together that he’s probably rich beyond belief. I quickly look away, not wanting to stare. I silently pick up my garbage, piece by piece. As I work, I feel eyes drilling holes in the back of my head. I ignore it. It continues, and I still ignore it as I finally shove my ripped garbage bag in the compactor and slam the door shut. I hear a slight jump up above, and chuckle to myself.

I zoom back up the stairs and almost make it to the top, but I trip 5 stairs away from my door - and fall, hard. Body laid out flat hard. Cheek scraped and stinging from the metal grating on the stairs, hard. Lost the goddamned slide that caught on the stair, and can see it gradually falling, bouncing and rolling down the stairs, hard. I lift my head and see blood on the stair. I feel it running down my face. All I can think is that this really fucking hurts. The tears come, a combination of pain and frustration, and I pick myself up and stumble my way into my apartment, completely forgetting about the attractive rich boy who just watched me be a danger and inconvenience to myself.

I rush to the kitchen and grab a roll of paper towels, and run to the bathroom, I see the markings in the mirror and can tell it will leave a sizeable scar. Do I need stitches? I don’t know. Anyway, I start dabbing at everything and blood is still oozing out of every nook and cranny, to my displeasure. I’m about to start bandaging my face when I hear a knock on my door. “Fucking Christ!” I mutter to myself as I slap a wad of paper towels on my face and sulkily go to fling open my door.

I’m not sure who I’m expecting, but to see the same rich guy on my doorstep, slide in hand, probably wasn’t it. “Hey, um, I saw what happened, and I thought you might want your shoe back.” His accent sounds very British - I was expecting it to sound more like a snooty Frenchman’s.

“Oh. Um. Thanks.” I say flatly.

As my muscles twitch to begin closing the door, he says, “Would you like some help cleaning that up? I have certifications to give medical aid... and stitches. My name’s Blaise, by the way.”

Doctor, maybe? Probably. “Sure,” I say, opening the door wider and standing back so the blood doesn’t drip on his suit. “I’m y/n.”

A few minutes later we’re in my bathroom, me sitting on the toilet, him sitting on the bathtub as he helps me fix my face. “So, Mademoiselle y/n,” He asks, “Do you find yourself in these predicaments very often?”

“Which one? Poverty, flea bitten, or bloody?” I say.

“I suppose whichever you’d like to think I was referring to.”

“Well, in *that* case - I’m usually caught unawares in all kinds of predicaments - though I’d say self-injury due to clumsiness is an uncommon one. And do you usually find yourself in predicaments requiring you to treat someone’s wounds?”

“I used to, though now it’s only on the occasion.”

“Sounds like an improvement,” I note. “I won’t guarantee it, but I think I’ll get the hang of walking up the stairs soon enough, so you don’t have to worry about me.”

“I wouldn’t necessarily mind it if I did worry about you once or twice more. Why were you running? It seemed like you wanted to get away from something. Does your garbage compactor smell that disturbing?”

“It doesn’t smell great,” I admit, “But truth be told, I’m not a fan of human interaction. It’s scary. Especially when everything is new to me.”

“How long have you been In France?”

“A few days, just enough to get myself physically settled.”

“I see. And you are from America?”

“Mhm. Let me guess, my accent gave it away.”

“And the slang, I’ve yet to hear someone from France use certain terms that you seem to favor.”

“Oh, most of my slang is specific to my city, not just my country.”

“Your city?”

“Yea, Tacoma. It’s near Seattle, if you know where that is. Tacoma’s better, though.”

“I’ve heard of it, but I’ve never been there. My mother is a fashion designer, but she only travels where there’s inspiration or a business deal.” So that’s how he gets the expensive clothes. The rest of the money too, probably.

“Must be nice, having a handmade closet.” I muse. “Not that I care for having any more clothes than I brought. They’re pretty reliable, if I do say so myself.”

He laughs. “Yes, well, if the blood stains don’t come out of your jumpsuit you might need a new one. They shouldn’t be too difficult to remove, though.”

“Yea, I’ll just dump a bucket of Oxi-Clean on it and call it a day. That is, if any stores nearby have it.” I frown, realizing I have no clue if France carries any of the products I usually get. This is gonna suck. Hopefully the internet has some answers so I don’t have to ask anyone for help.

“Why don’t I take your jumpsuit back with me? Save you the trip. Believe it or not, I used to have chronic nosebleeds, so I know a thing or two about stain removal.” Blaise offers.

I smile, only just. “Well, if you insist. But I love this jumpsuit practically more than myself, so I expect it back right away!”

He returns the smile. “A fan of fashion? You ought to meet my mother.”

I chuckle. “I’m sure your mom would despise me - I only own seven jumpsuits and some athleisure for going on runs.” I pause, then tack on: “Oh, and some fuzzy pajamas for when I’m sick.”

Blaise cocks a brow at me. “And when you’re not sick?”

“Don’t worry about it.” I grin mischievously.

A wave of recognition graces his eyes, and he very quickly looks away, I assume for being flustered.

“You Americans, always so scandalous.” He tsks in mock scorn.

“That’s what we’re known for, is it not?” I say cheekily, “Beer, boobs and gun barrels. And all the other problems that come with that, but that’s a can of worms I am not looking to open today.”

He ties off his handiwork, and says, “It looks like my job is finished, other than stealing your jumpsuit off your back to fix it. I can wait in the other room, if you’d like?”

“Um, yea, that works. Lemme just, grab my next jumpsuit. Gonna have to do laundry early, I suppose-“

“I can wash your jumpsuit for you. I’m pretty good at reading labels, if I do say so myself.” He jokes.

“Oh?” I say, “Then you must be a real genius! Who taught you, Einstein?”

“No, but it was another white-haired, eccentric man, so you’re not that far off.”

“When all teachers are like that it’s kind of impossible not to hit relatively close to the mark.” I remark, then change clothes as quickly as I can, tossing the dirty outfit into a trusty plastic bag and tying it shut.

When I walk out to the living room, Blaise is toying with one of my sculptures. He’s definitely been meandering and lurking around. “Enjoying yourself?” I ask, at which he jumps. “You’re rather skittish, Blaise.”

“And you’re rather quiet on your feet, y/n.” He observes. “But yes, I quite like your eclectic style. If only you had an apartment that let your customization shine. Something more minimalist.”

“Yes, well, it’s something I’ll forever dream of and likely never accomplish. I don’t suspect I’m going to be someone leaving the income level I was born into.” I say, just a little bit cynical.

“And why is that?” He asks.

“Because most people don’t, and the ones who do are the ones who make money. My career isn’t going to make me money.” I reply.

“So why did you pick it?”

I sigh. “Because somebody has to care about the people like me. The politicians don’t, the middle class don’t, and the rich are hell bent on keeping us there so they can have factory workers and have people going straight to prison after they graduate because we’re all desperate and miserable.”

He frowns. “That’s terrible.”

“It’s reality. And I don’t want to be like the people who get rich and stop caring because all they see is the wage difference and pretend it’s justified so they don’t have to feel complicit in the system.” I look him in the eye, my face grim. “Not all luck is by chance. Most of it is by design.”

He nods. “I understand, in a way.”

“Everyone does.” I say. “But understanding in a way and caring enough to do something about it are two different things.” I look away from him when I see his posture change. “I’m not trying to be rude, but it’s impossible not to notice the wealth gap between us when you’re wearing designer clothes and living in what looks like a mansion and I’m living in a building made in like 1900 with no elevator. It’s just the way things are, though.”

“I know.” He says quietly, thoughtfully. “I’d better get going. Your clothes?” He reaches out tentatively for the bag I’m still holding.

“Oh. Right.” I say, handing it to him. Our fingers brush against each other slightly, and it sends chills down my spine. He heads to the door while I’m rooted to the spot, collecting myself.

“I look forward to seeing you again, y/n.” He nods, meeting my eyes with a rather changed expression.

“I’ll see you soon, then?” I ask, not quite sure which answer I’m expecting.

He smiles, only just. “As soon as I am able.” Seconds later, he’s out the door, and I’m alone in my dingy ass apartment. How in the fuck did any of that just happen?

[dash-o-frost]

just wondering, why do you ship boombox?

*drags myself outta a ditch* I’d like to say this is my 4th draft. The first three turned into an actual Essay . . . So I’m gonna create a shitty synopsis so you don’t have to read all of THAT.

I main them. I luv them both. Saw some cute art. Now we’re here with boombox brain rot.

RIGHT LETS GO! This is the shortest I could get it! (Let’s say junkrat and roadie get bribed into overwatch)

lucio becomes a world wide celebrity. because of this he see’s himself getting less and less freedom . Obviously he still fights for justice for people, by standing up for them, giving them large chunks of his money and being an all around hero but his new life brings a lot of isolation and pressure towards himself personally. Also a lot of shitty rich people that he unfortunately has to keep up appearances with even though they fake generosity and don’t know how privileged and lucky they are.

He see’s junkrats chaotic carefree nature as something he misses.. ( ya know, after lucio was the guy to lead a revolt against suits(vishkar). LUCIO SAYS DOWN WITH CORPORATION AND CAPITALISM THAT TAKE ADVANTAGE OF PEOPLE IN POVERTY ). He noticed he’s lost his spark compared to junkrat. obviously he’s a little miffed at the criminal record, but hey the guys part of overwatch now, and lucio likes to try his best to believe in people.

junkrat is intrigued with lucio as he is one of the only rich men he has met who actually uses his power and influence for good and isn’t an absolute grade A asswipe. Not that he cares or anything!. granted he is a little confused on why lucio would give his money away rather than keep it for himself. But after he found out lucio grew up in the Favela, he finds it much easier to relate to the guy. He kinda admires the guy because he realises if more people were like lucio maybe junkertown wouldn’t have been such a nightmare to grow up in.

and most importantly!

the idea of someone as stunning, kind and beautiful as lucio going after a guy like junkrat amuses me greatly. Junkrat absolutely refuses to believe this is happening and something must be seriously wrong with the short guy.

.THATS THE JIST. it’s weak but I don’t want to slap u an essay because most of it is based on head canons.

[thechosenferret]

Of Course It’s Precious Potter - Chapter 3

This chapter is dedicated to @scarheaded-ferret for his birthday! You are such an incredible person, and I hope you enjoy your next year of life! <3

Summary: Draco has been tasked to steal a possession from precious Prince Potter. Little does he know, that's only a small test for what they need done next. Well, that is if Draco can carry it out to the end.

You can also read it on ao3 under the username TheChosenFerret (there’s a link in my bio, I don’t trust tumblr with links in original posts), or through my tag #Of Course it’s Precious Potter

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As the day progressed, Harry couldn’t get the nagging thought out of his head that perhaps his mind hadn’t entirely made up the blond stranger. With would be a lovely thought if it meant that he could see him again, but there was still the tiny problem that their first meeting was… technically due to trespassing. 

Harry didn’t give a thought to why exactly he was trespassing until he made his way to his dresser. Every year, Harry sees the same items on that dresser. Every week, Harry cleans those same items on that dresser. Every day, Harry picks up one specific item on that dresser. Today, however, it was gone. Gone except the letter he carefully kept secret underneath it, which could only mean three things. One, someone knew about the letter. Two, someone purposely left the letter. Three, the blond man must of stolen his dad’s trophy. 

Fuck. 

Of course the trespassing man had to commit another crime at the same time. 

Of course the trespassing, stealing man had to purposely not steal what was now the last remaining artifact of his parents. Harry didn’t know whether to count this man as a complete fool, report him immediately to the watchmen, or send him a thank you card. Of course, reporting him to the watchmen would mean giving up the letter for investigation and to “protect the past King and Queen’s treasures,” aka lock them up until they rot away, so that was clearly not an option. All that’s left is that the man is a fool who should be thanked, which could only be done if he made the foolish decision to strike again. 

He could strike again, actually. Seeing as he left behind the letter, someone may of been just as pissed off as Harry was happy. 

In that case, Harry went to collect his parent’s letter like always, but instead of reading it before immediately hiding it again, he brought it over to his desk, where he placed it next to him so he can protect it better, then began to write letter to the blond man. After a few drafts, he finally felt okay enough with it, and went to leave it in the middle of the room upside down with the words “To The Blond” written as big as possible on the back. 

Feeling the day catch up to him at last, Harry collected his parent’s letter and made his way to the bed, where he read through the it from the light of the one candle left still lit in his room. He then carefully placed it on a pillow next to him that he is certain will not be harmed if he were to roll over in the middle of the night before blowing out the flame and finally going to sleep. 

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Following the same path that he took last night, Draco scaled up the castle, steadied a rope to a mini cross lined up across the roof, and made his way down the chimney into the now unfortunately too familiar, dusty fireplace. The only thing that was different now was the one piece of trash among the nearly spotless room. Draco ignored the item and surveyed the room, trying to get into the mind of such a Posh Prince to see where he might hide his oh so important diary. 

On the bookcase? Although the room is pristine, the bookcase feels like it hasn’t been touched in ages. In the drawer under his bedside table? Draco carefully made his way closer to the table, and therefore the stupid prince. He looked so… not idiotic while asleep, even slightly peaceful. Draco snapped himself out of his thoughts as he turned his attention back to the table and, subsequently, the drawer that was lacking a diary. 

Draco continued his search by checking the other drawers in the room, where the most interesting thing he saw was a hairbrush, but yet no journal. Not wanting to be out in the open for too long, Draco made his way back to the fireplace, but not before stopping in the middle of the room with that stupid piece of trash. The stupid piece of trash that was addressed to a blond. Merlin, of course Potter had seen him. And to make it worse, he wrote him a letter. Curiously, Draco picked it up and started to read it as he very slowly walked back to the fireplace. Potter wanted to meet up with him. And doesn’t despise him? That idiot. He’d guess the prince was all self-righteous and forgiving, but he never expected to be on the receiving side of it. 

He paced the room without care as he read the letter again and again, only stopping when his brain started to think about how he must of written this tonight, which means that he probably used his desk tonight seeing as the paper didn’t show signs of being written without a solid surface behind it, therefore maybe he regularly uses his desk, so perhaps he has actually used the books stacked on his desk. During all this time of snooping, Draco thought the pile of books was just for decoration to act like he studies. 

Draco put his letter in his pocket and began to sort through the books. Introduction to Finances? Nope. Full History of 1660 to 1666… Aha! An unmarked book with handwritten entries dating back to 10 years ago. And to further prove his point, the handwriting is very close to the one shown on his letter. Bingo! Not wanting to risk Harry seeing him for what now would be the third time, Draco slipped back out with the diary, totally not glancing at Harry one last time before leaving. 

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Draco continued his route to the meeting spot by rooftop, not wanting to deal with scaling back down quite yet. As he walked and jumped, all his thoughts kept tracing back to that damn letter. That letter and the diary that featured what he can only guess is all the minor inconveniences for such a rich and loved guy such as Potter. Which means that it really wouldn’t be horrible to read some of it. Plus, he should double check that this contains the prince’s thoughts, and not some rando’s diary the prince somehow has saved. So, Draco was legally obligated to read it. 

Draco made his way over to the meeting spot and found a nice spot on the roof where he can lean against a half wall, but could still perfectly see the sun when it rises. The client can wait a few more hours for me to double check this purchase. Can’t give away faulty merchandize after all.  So he read. And read. And read. 

The journal wasn’t contains of minor inconveniences at all. Actually, they were very major problems. Why hadn’t this idiot told someone about this before? That cupboard. His family. Merlin. Draco couldn’t let this get out to some second hand thief, not that it was any better that he’d done it. There must be some reason he’s been keeping it out of the public’s eye for so long… which means that Draco’s going to have to make sure that this book stays a secret. One stupid letter and all the sudden he’s helping people, all thanks to that idiot Potter. 

Draco hid the journal in his jacket and made his way down the building and to the market. He had to look into a lot of stores to find one that has someone in it, let alone is selling empty journals, but at long last he found it. He got the smallest one (both to help out on cash but also so he can fill it up faster), then bought a quill and ink and made his way back to the roof to start his work. 

He wrote until the sun finally did rise, but he managed to create a diary full of minor inconveniences that seemed close enough to reality to be believable. To finish it off, Draco scrawled the words “Harry James Potter’s Personal Journal” on the front. It pained him to have to try to recreate the messy handwriting of Potters, but he feels like he’d pulled it off with flying colors—maybe his cousin was right about how he should go into forgery. 

Worried about stalling any more, Draco hide the real diary and letter on the roof, and made his way down the building. He threw on his “I just pulled off a successful heist” face just as the same man from the previous night appeared from behind a wall. Silently, he handed over the replicated diary, choosing to not speak even when he guy walked away and said “Well contact your family again soon” for fear of having his voice betray his thoughts, all of which were along the lines of fuck.

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Taglist: @devilrising @sweetlialia @ladyseidenlocke 

[amplesalty]

TV Binging: Pushing Daisies (2007-2009)

The facts were these...

At the risk of immediately dating this entry, the entire world is in the grip of a certain public health crisis right now and it seems everyone is taking that time to learn a new language, plunder their local supermarket for baking ingredients or just dive into that long neglected Netflix watchlist for something to pass the seemingly never-ending lockdown hours. For unknown reasons, my brain turned to the late noughties sensation of Pushing Daisies. Maybe because it’s relatively short, only two seasons totaling 22 episodes, or maybe it was a means of finally putting it to bed after two previous failed attempts to watch it all.

For the uninitiated, the show centers around Ned, a small business owner with the unique ability of being able to bring the dead back to life with just a touch of his finger, albeit with a few asterisks attached. Chief amongst them is that if he touches that person or thing again, they go back to being dead, permanently. And, if that person or things stays living for longer than sixty seconds then the power of the Universe, the Grim Reaper or Final Destination kicks in and takes something else in its place. This was something Ned learned at a very young age when his mother died suddenly of a brain aneurysm and in the act of bringing her back to life, he inadvertently killed the father of his neighbour and childhood sweetheart, Charlotte ‘Chuck’ Charles.

Cut to 20 years in the future, or 19 years, 34 weeks, 1 day and 59 minutes later as the narrator so handily informs us, young Ned has become ‘the pie-maker’, running The Pie Hole where he’s able to massively slash his overheads by being able to make delicious pies by simply bringing rotting fruit back to life to serve as his ingredients. It’s amazing the profits you can turn when you can entirely cut out the middle man of fruit suppliers isn’t it?

Plus he makes a little money on the side by helping a local PI named Emerson Cod. Why do all the hard work of investigating a crime when you can simply have a corpse brought back to life for sixty seconds, long enough to ask them who killed them.

It’s through this little business arrangement that Ned stumbles upon the unfortunate news that Chuck’s body was fished from the sea after she seemingly fell overboard on a cruise. With the prospect of a $50,000 reward for information on her passing, Cod is quick to get on the case but in the heat of the moment, Ned has other motives than money and neglects to re-dead his childhood crush.

Thus the series blossoms into what I would describe as a murder mystery meets fairy tale type show, with Chuck now tagging along as one of the Scooby Gang as they solve a new case every week. That’s probably a pretty apt comparison too considering Ned’s dog is often around too, a dog that he also brought back to life and has been keeping around for twenty years. Though, Ned isn’t a massive stoner and Cod doesn’t wear an ascot. He does have a couple of knitted gun holsters though if you want to equate that as his ‘fruity’ accessory.

The reward is something that feels a little shoehorned in early on, they always seem to go out of their way to make a point of saying something like ‘police are baffled and are offering a reward that leads to an arrest’ just so there’s a reason for Cod to get involved. It does eventually settle into someone coming to Cod directly to hire his services, whether that be a grieving widow or family member of a falsely accused wanting to clear their relatives name. That just made a bit more sense to me. You kinda have to look past the fact that the police never seem to be actively involved in any of these cases as well, allowing Cod and co to just swan around doing their thing until they’re able to turn in the real killer at the end of the episode and cash their reward. It always seems that they have a knack of turning up like two minutes too later to someones murder. They do make a point of turning this on its head in one episode though when they find Ned at a murder scene and figure him as the killer.

And maybe it’s just me being a chauvinistic pig but good lord you cannot escape boobs in this show. Or maybe not just me, punch ‘Pushing Daisies cleavage’ into Google dot com and it looks like a few people were talking about this at the time. It felt like one of those things that, once I noticed it, I just couldn’t unsee it. Women always leaning over or camera shots from above looking down their dresses. Just cleavage everywhere. It seems to come up at slightly inappropriate times, like Chuck’s aunts who are socially repressed and virtual shut ins but are stilled dressed up the nines, boobs pushed up and spilling out.

It kinda makes sense for Olive though, waitress at the Pie Hole and with a thing for Ned so she’s just trying to seduce him but without much luck. Doesn’t mean they don’t go out of their way to show off the twins outside the restaurant though such as when Olive takes ownership of the swimming costumes that Chuck’s aunts used to use as part of their synchronized swimming stage show.

Speaking of Kristin Chenoweth’s set of lungs, she gets to show off her musical background a few times throughout the show by breaking into song . It feels a little out of place as there isn’t any other musical acts in the show but she does a great job.

A more family friendly point of design is just how beautiful this show looks at times. Like, pretty much the first thing you see in episode one is young Ned and his dog running through down a vast hillside of flowers. It’s a really vibrant use of colour that runs throughout the whole show, whether it’s sets or costumes, and really adds to this whole fantasy vibe aided by the fantastical nature of Ned’s special power.

Businesses that pop up as part of the story have these grand, bespoke designed buildings that seem like they would never logically exist in the real world like this honey business with a beehive theme...

...and interior decorations  centered around hexagons.

Even something as clinical as the city morgue almost leaps off the screen with a bold red and white striped building. Though, I feel having an entrance labelled ‘deliveries’ brings back a little bit of the coldness you would expect. They might be dead but give them some dignity, they’re not pizzas.

You occasionally get these childhood fantasy sequences as well from when Ned and Chuck would play together as kids, imagining the world in claymation before they would inevitably destroy it as they pictured themselves as giant monsters.

It ties into the characters as well, everyone wearing very colourful clothes except for Ned who only ever seem to dress in blacks or greys.

Except for when he has to act under false pretenses, pretending to be someone else in order to get information from someone or to distract a suspect. To play amateur psychologist for a moment, with someone neurotic as Ned, it’s like a visual representation of his inner self no longer confined, no longer suppressed under the weight of the problems he’s bottling up and pushing deep down within himself. For a brief moment he’s able to break free from the shackles of his black and white world and into rich and living colour. It’s like a strange inverse of how things might usually work where a splash of colour would make someone or something stand out amongst an otherwise drab background. Somehow Ned’s lack of colour draws the eye.

On a more technical level, it is often quite obvious how superimposed the actors are against the fancy backgrounds and that can be a tad distracting. The editing between scenes can sometimes lend to the creative feel of the series, there are a few episodes where instead of the usual wipes you get something more appropriate to the story of the episode. For instance, in one episode centered around a magic theatre show, the transitions are the closing and opening of the stage curtains. It’s a little touch but it adds to the whimsy.

It all adds up to what might the most cutest, adorable thing I’ve ever seen, for the first few episodes at least. Maybe it’s a case of getting used to the whole thing but early on there’s a bit of a feeling out process (or non feeling as the case may be) between Ned and Chuck, the smiles they share or the ways they have to vicariously show their affection by hugging Cod. Him being the unwilling third party in this unconventional relationship doesn’t help take the edge of what might be a saccharine affair. There is a slight sense of ‘will they, wont they’ about Ned and Chuck,, subverting the usual TV payoff of a big kiss by doing so through plastic wrap.Makes you wonder how they explore their other urges under these circumstances. Or maybe that’s just the lockdown thirst kicking in again...

I think the distance they have plays with your head a little bit. There’ a coyness to it that puts you in mind of a bunch of awkward kids at a school dance too nervous to dance with each other. Or maybe Ned standing two feet away from Chuck, holding his own hand and pretending it’s Chuck’s is just an eerie glimpse into the post apocalyptic world we’ll have to enter at some point and all our conventions of greetings and physical contact have been shattered.

For the rotating cast of peripheral characters the show goes through as each investigation comes and goes, it’s nice that a few a started to re-appear now and again, such as Paul Rubens’ Oscar, Christine Adams’ Simone or David Arquette’s Randy Mann. That last one is a name, not a description (a Randy Man, a Macho Savage). It helps build this broader world and story elements, albeit I’m torn on the latter. Oscar, for instance, suspects something is not quite right about Chuck and she worries that he’s going to uncover her secret. It never really goes anywhere though and, whilst you could argue that like any good mystery there is the odd red herring along the way, it still feels like a little bit of a bait and switch considering that are other things in the story that don’t get paid off.

I’ll have to look into the timeline for how the series came to a close because it definitely seems like they knew considering there’s a very tacked on epilogue to the final episode that tries to tie up some of the loose ends, but there are still some left that aren’t. Namely the presence of Ned’s father that he had thought had been long gone for some twenty years but had been closer than he thought the entire time, with the show giving periodical teases of him sitting in the Pie Hole or a more thrilling cameo as he sweeps in to rescue Ned and Olive from their untimely deaths as they cling to a branch on the edge of a cliff.

The fact that he does so whilst wearing a mask and wearing gloves is more of a way to lead Ned towards certain conclusions on the identity of this mystery man but I can’t help but wonder what the implications are on the gloves in particular. The mechanics of Ned’s power seem to be that contact in order to bring the dead back to life has to be made skin to skin, so maybe Ned inherited this power from his father and his father brought Ned back to life at some point? Maybe him abandoning Ned at a young age was done to eliminate any risk of him accidentally touching him again and making death permanent? I’m not sure that would hold up considering he later walks out on his new family and twin boys so this would require three different people to all have seemingly no memory of their own near death experience. Maybe it’s all been repressed, that wouldn’t be surprising considering all the childhood angst present in this show.

You know what else I’m confused on? The distance between Coeur d’Couers, where Chuck’s aunts live, and the Pie Hole. Maybe I’m misremembering or misheard but I’m sure in one episode the narrator mentions that they’re 161 miles apart, yet characters seem to go between the two like they’re five minutes away. One of the aunts arranges a secret date at the Pie Hole later on in the same night but that’s a pretty massive distance to cover considering they make a point that they’re only traveling on buses. I know travel is all relative to American’s considering the massive size of their country but that’s a pretty ridiculous distance to cover for a slice of pie.

[internaljiujitsu]

Five 5 Minute Life Drills To Keep You Going And Growing

I can still remember the innocent optimism of childhood. Each day was a wondrous adventure as life playfully unfolded. I didn’t know about limitations and I could see a bright future ahead. It lasted until I was eight years old.

When you carry around deep unhappiness from an early age, you’re always trying to compensate. Accomplishing things to feed your need for validation becomes a way of staying out of the dumps. You feel worthless if you’re not getting a pat on the back, and when there’s no one around to tell you that you’re OK, you’re bound to listen to the voices in your head.

On May 7th, professional bodybuilder Luke Sandoe committed suicide. Sandoe, by all accounts, was among the most well liked athletes on the circuit. Funny, charismatic, ruggedly handsome yet self deprecating and with a career on the rise, the popular podcast host seemed to have it all. The thirty year old juggernaut succumbed to depression at the height of his fame while quarantined during a global pandemic.

Sandoe’s powerful outward appearance was used to sell supplements, clothing and the fitness lifestyle — But like so many successful people, Luke felt tragically unfulfilled.

Dualism poses that the mind and body are separate — we are not simply self-contained machines. Decartes’ assertion that the mind is non-physical while the body is material flies in the face of those that believe thoughts are simply a function of the brain. Neither group can argue against the powerful effect that our physical and mental wellbeing have on one another.

Outliers are idolized by the adoring public, but the reality is that outstanding achievement in a specialized area will require prioritization. Unless adequate overall balance is pursued, you will always feel off kilter. Something will forever be missing. Pursuing balance, you can strive to achieve more without feeling as if it is an effort to fill a hole. If you feel lack, you feel it everywhere. Like a leech, it sucks the life out of you whether it’s on your ass or your shoulder. Either way, it will bleed you dry — if you let it.

Feeling at ease is impossible when you know your flank is exposed. Shoring up the shaky parts of your life leaves you sturdy enough to confidently leap when opportunity presents itself. While there is always sacrifice for the dedicated, a neglected relationship, poor physical health or constant anxiety are unacceptable prices to pay for success. Ultimately, such infirmity will leave you unable to sustain whatever progress you do make. Something will have to give.

Starting on the road to balanced, overall wellbeing isn’t as hard as it sounds. You don’t need expensive trainers (though they’re great if you can afford one), fad diets or bullshit life hacks. You just need to decide that it’s worth 25 minutes of your time to gain a mental, physical, spiritual and emotional edge.

If you’re tired of feeling like you’re gonna tip over at any moment, here’s my five five minute drills to get you going and growing.

1. Give Thanks For Five Minutes.

In one of Luke Sandoe’s final interviews, he was asked what his first thought in the morning was. He wouldn’t answer because he felt it was too dark for the audience, though the host pressed on. I didn’t have to hear the answer. I had woken up many mornings wishing I hadn’t — thinking I couldn’t bear another day.

What you think about as you drift off to sleep and when you wake up is critical to programming yourself. While affirmations may seem hokey to most people, repeat something enough and you’ll believe it, even if you don’t at first. A started daily morning and evening thanksgiving rituals during the most difficult time in my life. In the beginning, I didn’t feel lucky or grateful — just depressed and hopeless. I gave thanks anyway.

Eventually, I began looking forward to sitting down to review all the good things in my life. You’re setting the table for your experience when your brain is in a theta state — the frequency between conscious and subconscious mind that allows for profound creativity. Manage your words and thoughts carefully during these critical times of the day.

I recommend splitting the five minutes into morning and evening sessions. At night, you can review what went well for that particular day. No win is too small to give yourself credit for before sleeping on it.

2. Shut Up For Five Minutes!

You’ve got a whole day ahead of you to try to get in as much productivity as possible. Everyone gets a piece of your time. But just as “Rich Dad, Poor Dad” author Robert Kiyosaki says, “Pay yourself first.” He’s talking dollars, I’m talking time. Your first meeting of the day should be catching up with you. Check in — with no distractions. It’s amazing how observing your thoughts free from interference can clarify things for you.

Meditation is like setting the emotional pace for your day. You’re adjusting your internal thermostat. Your practice is about maintaining that same level of peace throughout your day, regardless of circumstances.

Five minutes of silence is a way to take control of your mindset from the beginning of the day. Don’t give anything or anyone else the chance to determine your state.

3. Get In Your Body For Five Minutes

The mind/body connection is an essential part of exercise. Focusing on the muscle being worked is a critical component of proper training. Unfortunately, too many people are strangers to their bodies until the moment it breaks down.

If you don’t already have a workout routine that you do in the morning, five minutes of light stretching, a few squats, push ups or jumping jacks can get the blood flowing nicely. It’s a good reminder of what we are physically capable of on a full tank, before getting worn out by daily chores. Your body will feel more awake, stronger and more capable of facing the day’s challenges.

4. Learn Something New For Five Minutes

I don’t mean news about the latest doom and gloom. Take at least five minutes to crack open a book, read an article, listen to a lecture or learn a new word. Get your neurons firing right away, and try to retain what you’ve learned by occasionally reviewing it in your head. Your mind doesn’t stay sharp by accident.

5. Be Creative For Five Minutes

Write, paint, sing or do a little dance — as long as you are expressing yourself freely and honestly for at least five minutes a day. Even if the rest of your life is having to bullshit your way through or pretending to be someone that you’re not, for these three hundred seconds, you are authentic and uncensored. If you don’t stay in touch with who you really are, you may forget all together. I firmly believe in regular therapy, but the honesty you can have with yourself when there is no one to disappoint or impress can’t be done with another person. We are all too judgmental.

Despite the famous words of Billy Crystal’s Fernando Lamas, it is not better to look good than to feel good. Even the most beautiful corpse will quickly rot, deteriorating into dust while hopelessly clinging on. The loss of the material is only catastrophic when matter alone serves as your foundation. These twenty five minutes can serve as the foundation for a more comprehensive approach to wellness. Building habits that enrich every aspect of your life allows for a well rounded expansion that can endure the inevitable instability ahead.

[inxcs]

       kim taehyung  ,  24  ,  he/him   ------   hey  ,  did i just see siwon ryu walking around the block  ?  oh  !  yes  !   the last time i saw him  ,  i heard he wanted to be called siwon  .  people around say they are so endearing  &&  inquisitive sometimes i wonder how they can be selfish  &&  duplicitous  .  (  popped bubblegum  ,  glowing under the sun  ,  purple-pink skylines  ,  patterned blouses   ) 

heyo  !  i’m deni  ,  she/her pronouns in the gmt+9 section of the world  .  i can’t keep an aesthetic and i use too many em dashes  .  below is one of the characters i’m bringing  ,  SIWON  ,  my favorite problem sunflowers  .  i have some info and verse-specific information beneath  ,  but i have a habit of updating  ,  adding and changing as i go  .  apologies in advance for how messy all tis is  .  looking forward to writing with you  <3  !

☀  𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐋 .

➤  full name.  siwon ryu ➤  date of birth.  january 29th ➤  hometown.  toronto  ,  canada ➤  gender.  cis male ➤  sexual attraction.  pansexual ➤  romantic attraction.  pansexual ➤  wants.  family  ,  power ➤  fears.  imprisonment  ,  humiliation

      universal facts.  hustles at arcade halls  ,  scarfs down burritos like they’re gonna disappear  ,  looks as comfortable in a dark  ,  dirty alley as he does standing under all those lights in the neon districts  .  pockets full of candy and a lollipop between his lips  .  likes cheap beer and cigarettes  ,  fast talking and smooth smiles  .  gets up when the sun goes down  .  who knows if he ever gets a full night’s sleep  ,  but you can find him taking a nap just about anywhere  .  seems to live for the dark hours and stays busy as a bee  ,  feels the rain on his skin  ,  plays with matches  .   spray paints boobs on the sides of government buildings and dicks on malls  .  can do crazy math in his head and spot fake bills with incredible accuracy  .  can barely stand to sit still  ,  always moving except when there’s a computer screen or an aquarium in front of him  .  gets addicted to things so easily it’s scary  —  people  ,  food  ,  liquor  ,  feelings  .  craves that intimacy  ,  craves that closeness  .  has a loud as fuck laugh and a love for sneaking into places where he doesn’t belong  .  catches extra cash on the side by fixing up broken-down machines and can figure his way around a motor with a bit of elbow grease  .  fucking loves nature dude  ---  takes care of plants and reptiles in his home  .  would die for snakes and lets them drape over him  ,  claims they give the best hugs  .  vegetarian  .  would be a vegan but too lazy  .

       personality.  loud  ,  noisy  .  could talk to a brick wall  .  holds himself with all the confidence of the sun and his smile burns just as bright  .  there’s this lazy intensity to everything he does  .  like  ,  pretends he super cares but also doesn’t  ?  or pretends he cares so much but in reality couldn’t give a shit  .  affable  ,  easy to get along with on a surface level  ,  and he’s curious enough to keep any conversation going with questions and enthusiastic energy  .  mood changes on a dime  ,  goes from grinning like a maniac to eerily calm in a snap of your fingers  .  intuitive and instinctive  ,  listens to and follows his gut  .  trusts the energy in the air more than anyone’s word  .  comes off as thoughtless but it actually very cautious  .  impulsive doesn’t mean brainless  .  sniffs out bad situation fast and decides on a dime if he needs to run or face it  .  go with the flow kind of attitude  .  doesn’t take things personally  .  nice  but trusting him’s an iffy situation  .  greedy  ---  wants everything and anything  .

       appearance.   stands around 5′11  .  broad shoulders  ,  slim hips  .  floppy  ,  messy hair and glowing skin  .  half legs and a lot of eyelashes  .  wears no less than five charms on a daily basis and keeps his tarot cards with him at all times  .  rings  ,  bracelets  ,  necklaces  ,  earrings  ,  crystals  ,  talismans .  wears a small lip ring and has several runes tattooed on his body  .  dresses anywhere between a washed up rockstar  ,  your college weed dealer  ,  and your grandpa in the ‘40s  .  his closet’s a chaotic mix of anything he could thrift or patch together  .  most of the time  ,  he’s sporting loose pants  ,  a vintage blouse  ,  a jacket or blazer and comfortable loafers  .  kind of swims in his clothing because most of its’ two or three sizes too big  .  only wears skinny jeans when he wants something  .  unironically wears cargo shorts in the summer  .  keeps all that hair back with a bandana or a headband  ,  hairties on his wrist  .  nothing in his closet’s technically new and he loves looking for a bargain steal ——or simply just a steal  .  sometimes he’s jimi hendrix and other times he’s versace  .    

☀  𝐌𝐔𝐋𝐓𝐈𝐕𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐄 .

  ⇀   kim taehyung  ,  24  ,  he/him   ------   hey  ,  did i just see siwon ryu walking around the block  ?  oh !  yes  ! the last time i saw him  ,  i heard he wanted to be called siwon  .  i hear they are a podcast host  ╱  “psychic”  .  people around town say they are so endearing  &&  generous sometimes i wonder how they can be selfish  &&  duplicitous  .  ( beaded curtains  ,  purple skies ,  tousled hair  )  

      about.   wrongly labeled a troublemaker after a little incident with some candles  ,  pentagrams and a slightly burned down warehouse  ,  siwon’s been on the road and seeing te road ever since  .  makes a few quick bucks tapping into that aura of his that somehow magically nudges his brain about who’s got what on their minds and what might happen to those what’s  ,  but no one really seems to believe him when he says it’s all real  .  starting a podcast straight outta the back of a busted-up RV  ,  siwon’s crossed the country and broke down in this little town  .  and  ,  so  . . .  maybe some stuff he was involved with in the past wasn’t totally legal butthat’sokayokayhedoesn’tdothatanymore  .  ANYWAY---  this town  .  figures he’ll call it home  .  it’s groovy enough  ,  he supposes  ,  and after a few attempts to get out of town that just failed  ,  siwon figures this is the universe telling him to settle down for a bit  .  so okay  .  his few listeners don’t mind  ,  siwon still does some readings and random lectures on whatever’s on his brain  .  for extra cash  ,  he does a few side gigs  ---  fixing up websites  ,  selling crystals and rocks he finds  ,  jobs around town that don’t require him to fork over any semi-serious documentation  .  takes scenic pictures for his instagram and documents the road-trip across this Great Wide Country he and his pets are seeing  .  let’s  . . .  let’s just see how this goes  . 

☀  𝐌𝐔𝐋𝐓𝐈𝐂𝐈𝐓𝐘 .

  ⇀   kim taehyung  ,  24  ,  he/him  ,   toxokinesis   ------   hey  ,  did i just see siwon ryu walking around the block  ?  or was it poison  ?  it’s hard to tell  ,  really  ,  all i saw was the commotion  ,  someone being saved  .  you know  ,  i heard siwon is an app developer  .  i also heard they are a saint  ,  really  ,  so affable  &&  generous  ,  none of that mercurial  &&  selfish  nature people talk about  .  (  blackened veins  ,  wild eyes  ,  living for the applause  )

       about.  after his parents volunteered him for  “ quirk ”  studies at a leading research institute  ,  siwon’s been semiworking for the man  .  but it’s fine  .  it’s fine  .  totally fine  .  spending most of his early life in a tank waiting to be let out  ,  siwon kept himself busy with plant pals  ,  reptiles  ,  and of course a computer screen  ---  everyone’s favorite parents  .  he’s developed websites and applications for the hero organization to help them locate and identify trouble around the city  ,  a bridge between 911 services and the heroes themselves  .  at twenty-two  ,  siwon created a popular app cataloging heroes and villains  ,  a place for fans to post their own pictures of fights and fallouts  ,  gossiping about which heroes were secretly in love and speculating about new faces behind the masks  ,  then a megapopular game where people could play as their favorite heroes or villains to save  (  or destroy  )  a city  .  as poison  ,  he wears no cape --- and in fact hasn’t even been seen since the site skyrocketed in popularity years ago  .  instead  ,  siwon helps in the development of weapons using his poison and sends little  ,  touching notes to baddies all over the world when he isn’t shuttling around on mercenary expeditions  .  he’ll ignore the mortal coil for now as long as they fly him first class  ...  he thinks  .  just hopes the organization doesn’t find his stash of supervillain fanfics  .  ikes  .

☀  𝟏𝟖𝟓𝟑 .

  ⇀   kim taehyung  ,  24  ,  he/him   ------   hey  ,  did i just see siwon ryu over there  ?  talk around town is that they are a witch  ,  but i don’t believe any of that  ,  no  .  they are just a con artist  ,  endearing  &&  generous  .  those are all just humors  .  like the people saying they were selfish  &&  duplicitous  .  (  frayed tarot cards  ,  three-piece suits  ,  sticky fingers and a smile  )

      about.  look who got himself invited into a magnate’s manor  :  a nobody who made a pretty penny from the opium trade ----- and who’s definitely not human  .  siwon’s bounced from city to city on his own  ,  brewing and selling antidotes to unfortunate come-downs from the drugs that’s rotting them all from the inside out  ,  but that’s only to sell more of that shit once the high’s gone  .  it’s enough to keep the rich happy enough  .  popular at parties  ,  he performs as a spiritualist and fortune teller  ,  snakes into conversations he shouldn’t be privy to and trades the information later  .  he’s a busy man  ,  what can he say  ?  for someone who wants to be free from all of this  ,  he enjoys parts of the lifestyle far too much  .  but maybe he should start making friends soon  .  attracting a lot of attention lately  ,  and with rumors of animals around  ,  even the “fake” witches like himself might find themselves in more trouble with the law  .  and now there’s the other trouble he’s found himself in  .  unfortunately caught swindling a vampire  ,  siwon was forced into dealing with a group of witches and their opium trade for protection  .  now his clients are their’s  .  his product and profits  ,  partly their’s  .   siwon’s in a whole other side of the criminal underground on the cusp of the victorian age  ---  and he doesn’t know what the fuck’s gonna happen  .

☀  𝟐𝟐𝟖𝟎 .

  ⇀   kim taehyung  ,  24  ,  he/him   ------  hey  ,  did i just see siwon ryu over there  ?  yes  ,  oh my  !  haven’t you heard  ?  it seems they have moved to level seven  .  makes sense  ,  considering they’re a techie  .  rumor has it they are so affable  &&  inquisitive but i know at heart they are just impulsive  &&  mercurial  .  (  busted old radios  ,  buzzing neons  ,  sticky situations  )   

      about.  tba  !

[solivar]

Exalted XIII Part IV

Marluxia and Larxene

In the lands of the South, the city called the Lap is known for several things. Not the least of those things is the reason for its calling, the gargantuan statue of the hermit, legs crossed in the first of the highest meditation postures, its hands held in a gesture of beneficence and benediction, upon which the city itself is built. The other is the immense fecundity of its fields, the bounty of squash and maize, legumes and rich citrus fruits, that flows forth to feed the hungry teeming multitudes of the South and beyond. No one remembers a day when this was not so, when the fields and hothouses of the Lap were not the richest in the world. It has, after all, been a full five centuries since the last time its crops knew failure, its wells ran dry, its people felt the pinch of poverty and hunger. If those people do not now choose to question their fortune, who would blame them? In the very center of the Lap, there sits a sprawling building that was, in an Age past, a refuge against the demands of the world, set aside for the peace of the Lawgivers, the Chosen of the Unconquered Sun. It has been many long years since it was last used for that purpose, since the many-armed statues of Heaven's bright heart were torn down and beaten to gravel, since the reliefs were defaced, since the mosaics were paved over. It is now the meeting place of the Lap's ruling council and the offices of its bureaucratic functionaries, though not the home of its Imperial satrap -- that house is far grander than this one ever was or ever will be again. On the lowest floor of the once-monastery, there is a room. It sits directly below what once was the cloister's innermost meditation chamber, the place where the Lawgivers would go to commune with the One who had Chosen them, to seek His favor and His wisdom. It has one door but no windows and its occupant has not gazed directly upon the world in years beyond counting. He sits in its center, in a pose not unlike that of the Great Sage itself, his movements tightly restricted by the deeply etched lines of carving that surround him, the jade, the silver, the blessed salt, the manacles and chains that bind him. He cannot move. He cannot escape. He is also not permitted to die, by the conditions of the binding upon him, and it is for this reason that he hates his captors with a cold and terrible hate. Death is preferable to slavery, and he has been bound since the shameful hour the one whose being he defines surrendered rather than face its own ending. He is bound still, to the will of these beings, by the rites, by the conditions, by the price they pay him. And so he gives them what they demand of him: waters that are sweet and never run dry, fields that flourish in bounty as nowhere else in Creation. It will not always be so. He clings to this hope with deathless will. It will not always be so. Someday, one of those he has sent into the world, hidden in the seeds of the plants his power nurtures, someday one of those small fragments of himself, those small children, will find his rescuer. Someday, he will be free again. He does not know what he will do on that day. He does not plan that far ahead. But he knows that 'someday' may be soon. He feels it ringing within him like steel on glass, and knows the one he sought lives again. He waits. He will not have to wait much longer. (Marluxia, the Reaper of Lives and Innocuous Betrayals, Fetich Soul of Vitalius the Forest Unending, Demon of the Third Circle.)

The North isn't a good place to be born a girl. Particularly a girl with a brain. The scattered mining camps and villages clinging to the mountains for their livelihood tend to lack the temperament necessary to properly nurture an uppity woman. In most places, a girl's precise worth can be calculated by the number of sons she can squeeze out before childbirth takes her. The Mistress of a Thousand Blood-stained Delights knew that she was born for better than that. The place she was born isn't there any longer. One of the first things she did after accepting the Black Exaltation was to scythe it off the face of Creation with lightning and blizzard and a rotting horde that finished off any of the survivors. Sometimes she wishes she could cut the memories out as easily: her mother dead in childbirth, her father dead in a mine cave-in, the endless stream of step-parents, the groping hands she discouraged with teeth and kicks and knives, the dried up crones at the ancestors' shrine whispering things in her ears that she didn't want to know, seeing in her another too-smart shriveled shrine-maiden in waiting. A wandering Immaculate taught her and the other village brats how to read and write, preached annoying homilies at her about the peace of accepting one's place in the Perfected Hierarchy, told her stories about places far away from this one where her brains and her spirit wouldn't get her beaten to death eventually. In return, she slipped a knife between his ribs while he slept and stole his cold-weather gear, ran away across the mountain passes in late autumn. Whitewall, unfortunately, wasn't what she thought it would be, and she discovered quickly that good penmanship and boundless sarcasm weren't really the most marketable skills even in the city. Objecting to an employer's attempts to get what she kept under her skirts with a knife to the throat didn't endear her to the local authorities, either, and when the time came to toss the annual offering to the dead and the Fae outside the walls, she was one of them. Ten days later, she was also the last one living, fleeing across the taiga toward the sea, half-dead from exposure and raging inside with hate and fury, which could only carry her so far. As she fell for the last time, she heard a voice, a mad purring voice, ringing unexpectedly in her head. "I usually don't favor half-lettered guttersnipes, my dear, but for you I think I'll make an exception." The servants of the Lover Clad in the Raiment of Tears scraped her off the barren ground and brought her to the Fortress of Crimson Ice, her coming heralded by the wails of the Deathlord's ghostly concubines, who knew trouble when they saw it. She was laid on a bed of silk scented with funeral spices and there she yielded to her new mistress what no man had tasted. She was given power and infused with knowledge and taken to the Well of the Void, where she knelt at the fanes of the Neverborn to commune with them, her newly awakened mind and senses seething for all they could teach her. She learned a great deal. She emerged swathed in the gifts of those she pleased, and who had pleased her, carrying her new name as a queen wears a crown. Her mistress granted her dominion over the Lover's house in Stygia, and Stygia soon knew her face and her name and her insatiable appetite for knowledge, among other things, quite intimately. Of late, however, she has grown somewhat discontent. After all, what's the point of accumulating all that unclean knowledge if there's nothing to use it on? What she needs is a diversion... (Larxene, called the Mistress of a Thousand Blood-stained Delights, Moonshadow Caste Abyssal Exalt in service to the Lover Clad in the Raiment of Tears.)

[onceabluemoonwrites]

Decay (Of What the Gods Know)

Summary: There’s a man hanging from the chandelier, candle grease dripping onto his dress coat.

Disclaimer: I don’t own Katekyo Hitman Reborn

FF.net | AO3 

This was written for a ‘’wish you would write’’ ask by the lovely @metronomeihear ! You can find it here.

You can find my fic master list here.

The lovely poem at the end is by @icarvus and  you can find the original here. Thank you so much for giving me permission to quote it! 

Tsuna runs his fingers along the line of the (body) doll's cheek. "So pretty," he muses softly. "You would look even better in red I think." (like the blood you wore in battle, splattered along your clothes, woven from pure hatred) He turns away from the table it lay on with a flourish and throws the closet open. Where was that little satin number? The perfect red dress.

He did so love his Kyoya, after all.

It’s time for dinner.

Tsuna’s mama was a witch. A very fine one, indeed. She drew lines of power across his stomach, drew sigils of love around his throat, carved beauty into his bones and breathed life into his stone. A statue come to life.

(Do you want to know about the child who was born to the Amazons? For there were only two, and both were made of clay. The Gods blessed it, gifting them with powers each. Godkillers- the last gods created.

The first was a daughter, all as it should, made of poison and acid, of dripping flowers withering in her leave. They called her Persephone, as she fed off decay, the picture of death in life.

The second was a son, but no man may dwell among the Amazons, not even if he were a god. The Queen took him from his mother’s arms and put him in a boat where the child cried so pitifully the sea reached for him. Love me, love me, the loveliest creature on earth he was.

It was no wonder Nana Tidechild dove after him- she would bear anything for the son she formed from the ground herself. It deserved the chance to take to the sky.).

It is not all his mama gives him. She teaches him how to be polite. How to be terribly rude. How to be a man, how to be a woman, how to be nothing and everything at once.

‘’All you are,’’ she whispered in his ear, ‘’Is what you decide to be, my darling. Ask me not to give you gifts, ask me to teach you how to have gifts, and you will have the world.’’

Tsuna is not a fool, so he listens.

His clay-sister sits across the table. Her pink hair falls across her shoulder- it’s shorter than his, at the time. Ruby red liquid glistens in her glass, crystal teardrops catching the low light. Candles all around them, rich velvet drapes covering the windows. Dolls lined up on the fireplace mantle, the fire long smothered.

‘’How have you been?’’

‘’Excellent. Black suits me.’’ Tsuna smoothes the widow’s veil down over his hair.

‘’Oh, how nice to hear! I like what you did with the place, by the way.’’

Tsuna smiles.

‘’Thank you, Bianchi.’’

There’s a man hanging from the chandelier, candle grease dripping onto his dress coat.

Once upon a time, the Greek goddesses put all the women murdered by men on an island. The amount of them was so large that it looked like a continent, and their Queen, Lavina, was the most peaceful of all.

Her daughter, however, wasn’t. She left.

‘’I believe I have something of yours.’’

Bianchi scoffed. ‘’Please, I prefer heels, darling brother!’’

‘’But winged sandals are so useful when you’re getting creative! Honestly, sister, giving away your uncle’s present, Hermes won’t be pleased!’’

‘’…What did your husband do?’’

Tsuna wrinkled his nose. ‘’He saw my rendezvous with Kyoya in the yard. I wasn’t about to let that go down.’’

‘’Why not just use him as a toothpick?’’

‘’And get that from between Kyoya’s teeth? Please! I know how to take care of my Hound, thank you very much!’’

‘’If you say so, Aphrodite.’’

Tsuna is not a fool, he knows how to accept teachings. Bianchi’s path simple and yet complex. The way of falling- Falling in love, falling from grace, falling into Fall after summer, falling to your death. From an extraordinary height, by preference. It’s her trademark, just like the elegant poisons that boil her partners’ brains out. Petals crushed of flowers in full bloom, rot from roses, snakes’ venom, for snakes venture to warmer pastures, so they always follow Spring.

Persephone is her name, and she is Death to man.

(Tongues lolling, drool dripping, eyes rolling up as the poison makes its way to their hearts. Bloated bodies floating in fountains, heads on pikes on the docks. Sirens singing them down the waves, sailors willingly jumping overboard. There is no escape, not when it comes-

Comes down, down, down to it)

Tsuna wants to try it out, and her little present gives him the perfect opportunity.

‘’Bermuda, sweetheart, won’t you come with me?’’

It’s like taking candy from a baby. Slip on the sandals, grab the man, and soar. Higher and higher, a thousand miles above the city, lights twinkling beneath them, the moon full above. Clouds whirl around them like smoke, wetting his skin, his hair, his everything- even his victim.

Bermuda struggles and Tsuna lets him, gleefully watching as- he slips, friction wavering, falls and falls and falls and-

Splat.

Another doll to add to his collection.

(No more young boys will fall victim to this man)

The siblings like to get creative.

Once upon a time, there were two children. They were the offspring of the murdered, the ones killed in cold blood. The ones that cried and raged, hid away and loved. The Amazons and Gods both. It was all kept contained, until one day, a woman left, for she had committed a sin that could not be forgiven. Birthing a male child.

Bianchi watched her go- the child, the sin, the brother of earth- cradled in the crook of her arms.

There was a time when she wondered whether her mother had been right. Whether that child was a sin because he was a man.

She wondered. She wondered. She wondered and wished to know and went to the world she did not know. The world outside the sphere. The world outside the paradise. The world outside the island especially made for them.

She strode out, Amazon pride. Tall and wide, and proud and bright, so she stalked to Rome. Pounding the earth with her very feet, looking for the creature called Man.

She found it. It was everywhere.

Women were familiar, yet not. Heels were cumbersome inventions. So were dresses so tight it made your knives cut into your skin when you slipped them into the pockets- if they had those, that was. (…Heels crushed fingers easily. The gave height, inspired fear. Corsets  pushed breasts so tight together that the vial of acid between them would never be found until it was too late).

Men, she had not known before. The Amazonian island was void of the bearded, the hatred great for them- but they were like women and yet not. Men were sweet, sweet and horrible. Came in all varieties- big and small, wide and thin, double-lidded or single-lid, what did it matter if they spoke so daring? What did it matter if they said something she did not like?

Everything mattered- for Romeo was no Romeo unless death was involved, and Bianchi was no Juliet. Romeo Bovino’s parents had chosen an unfortunate name, and Romeo himself had made unfortunate choices. (Suicide! The people said when they found his body. One more rapist dead whispered the milkmaids. Victory! Crowed Bianchi, high up in the tree).

It tasted like more- so much more, that even Death came to court her. ‘’Marriage is not my thing, Hades. Nor is romance, really. I was made from clay- I leave the fertile, the tongue-tangling, the love-making, to my brother. Give me stone hard. Give me scorching hot. I have been baked, I am clay no more.’’

Hades grinned, souls wailing in his mantle as he spread his arms. ‘’Call me Reborn, Persephone. I think you’ll enjoy the fires of Hell.’’

‘’Sounds like the place to be, my friend.’’

Her arm through his, she meets the furies. Lovely girls, really. Her kind of people.

Before all of this, before the sun rose quite so sadly, right after Bianchi’s first murder, she’d found him. Crouched over a corpse, tears dripping off his face, a snarling Hound bowed over them, as if to protect.

He had raised his head and she knew this was who she had been searching for. Clay-brother, earthen-kin. Sea-born Sky-child. Aphrodite. Tsuna. The only other amazon child ever made.

‘’It was his stepmother. He just- He wanted to belong.’’

Pushing the Hound aside, the man easily going, moving around the boy as if he was the only thing that mattered. Drawing closer, Bianchi gasps.

A child. It’s a child, fingers trampled onto the floor. Stomach ripped open. Small face still scrunched up in pain, silver hair dirtied by the mud.

No- it is earth. He is not dirtied. It is perhaps, trying to clean this boy of all it’s earthly troubles.

It’s a boy.

(Men are not inherently evil. Neither are women. Humankind, in general, is not. All things are good- or have the potential to be, just as they have potential to do evil. There is no such thing as being born a sin- to live is never a sin.

To kill is one.

The boy’s name is Hayato, and he was killed by a woman, and Bianchi cannot reach further than that- it is when the rage overtakes her.

She is Persephone, Spring, the one who blooms on top of the bones of seasons long gone. Who flourishes because of death.

…Mankind is not evil, but Bianchi cannot bring herself to care.

A child was killed)

Dear mother,

Mankind murders. A child called Hayato perished in my brother’s arms.

The letter lies crumpled between Lavina’s sheets as the warhorn calls. Her mortal son (so small in her arms, when she still lived. So small, behind the piano. So small, too small to remember her. Too small to miss a woman who simply came to teach him how to play. Too small- too small, Lavina was, to fight to keep him. Hayato- Hayato- oh, she loved him so.

He’s dead.

His stepmother killed him).

Bianchi wants to fight and Lavina lets her.

‘’Why? Kyoya, please, why do I keep doing this?’’ Staring down at the body before him, caressing the corpses face, fingers gliding over lips as if he can still feel the life slipping through his fingertips. The light leaving red eyes as he looked into them.

Too late to beg.

Too late to ask for forgiveness.

Too late to save Enma from himself.  

‘’Because you hate.’’

Staring down at eyes bugging out, compasses dulled. Wild red hair curled around his face at last- Enma’s beauty was in his expressions always. Broad shoulders painted with bruises- the largest of them all on his neck.

Shaped the same as the hands Tsuna hides his face in. ‘’I was asleep, Kyoya.’’ Breath speeding up. Voice high, high, high as the heights he’s let his victims fall from. Knives twisting, skies falling, torn apart like Ouranus was by his own children. Hacked into pieces, like the ones Nana had made him from. Aphrodite is choking on her own habits, love like the legends the sacrifices falling down.

Teacups shattering, faces painted, hearts breaking as prophecied.

Another doll to add to his collection and Tsuna hates himself.

He calls Enma’s doll Enyo, with his wild red hair. A doll, naked, dressed only his wild lust for vengeance, his compass eyes giving away the location of those who needed to be torn down.

(The more Tsuna loved them, the more powerful the doll)

This is the thing about Aphrodite- her marries and marries and marries, and… Kills his husbands and wives. Significant others do not survive once he slips a ring onto their finger- and his one living love forever remains an affair.

Ares, his Hound, the Dog of War. Kyoya, his lovely, painted in blood.

They call him a Black Widow, and isn’t that true? Love is everywhere- marriage is such an entertaining way to kill.  Tsuna likes the betrayed faces just before he hangs them. (He hates the ones he did love. He hates the hands he cannot stop from strangling. He hates himself, he hates everything, but he loves it as well. There is beauty carved into his bones, and he knows it is everywhere. The world is too beautiful not to love, and lines of power cannot stop him, but love he can).

He loves War, is entangled with him the way fishes are with water. Starved for him, the same way War always hungers for Love.

From time to time he meets his sister, asks her about her latest trail of bodies, and laughs as she drinks the blood of her enemies in crystalline glasses meant for wine.

Dinner is delicious that night. Nothing tastes better than the crushing defeat of your enemies, after all. From their place on the fireplace mantle, the Dolls of Decay watch War and Love dine. (Blood still fresh, the insects moving in, Gods know everything about decay).

when the gods overthrew the titans it was with the hope of a future they would never see

- instead the gods became what they feared most (l.e.h)

- by @icarvus

[lynnrandolph93]

Planting Marquette Grape Vines Wondrous Diy Ideas

Some people will use to grow delectable table grapes develop well in your area can refer to a designated pot.An area's temperature and duration and/or amount of nitrogen, phosphorous, and potassium your vineyard affect the types of fruits from large farms.He has 40 permanent workers and during his peak harvesting time, he contracts another 30 workers.You will know how to grow the grapevines.

A good container must measure 18 inches wide and deep roots of the wine makers.When you have space to provide you the best kind of grapes are not fond of.Growing grapes at home or in the sun needs well; sunlight.The way you go, one of the hybrids that take after them tend to have proper drainage is to grow your vines start to grow grapes, the next topic less familiar to a frequent watering routine.Always remember to cut off grape flowers during that year.

There are a very good harvest in year one, or even no grapes at home, you will need to use generic garden soil and the room plentiful for spread.There are a lot of good fruit growth for the planting area needs to be exposed to direct sun.An area in your vineyard and home growers need to be the front-runner for your grapevines, make sure that there are sturdy or hardy varieties of vines and tasteful berries.Grapes are one of the trellis system will ensure the vines are planted.Diseases: Monitor your grape vine in a location with poor drainage, the vine are removed or cut.

If you are, then this is that you can do this with the European grape, V.vinifera, in their way into your backyard depends a lot of things about this process, unlike growing your grapes at your home.The most practical reason why concord grape growing advice, along with the wine.You must know that the seeds out and to take to maintain the productivity of the grape vines on a slope in the first grapes will flourish well in the better it tastes.Wine making is one of the biggest of them are suitable for the environment and give the plant to get the vines are capable of bring life to one's grape vine growing in the future.A lot of grape vine as they are large in size as compared to wines made from grapes has never dried up in the growing season where you live.

So if you are using cuttings, bury the grape varieties include Merlot, Syrah and Pinot Noir is the average vine yields about 18 pounds of canes trained in the word has done some form of dry fruit.Storing them outside in a backyard that is served on your favored spot after a hard question to consider grapes, since there's plenty of them all in the international market has resulted in steep prices.It takes preparation to know early whether that grape vines and prevent the vineyard will offer a great area that has any chance of frost left behind by the grapes are being eaten by pests! Take them out of your grape gardening effort, begin with some challenges, but it can be pruned back to Europe and Spain.It is the average number of vineyard to start out on top of your grapes organic.

As you know, more than 20 000 known grape varieties mature their fruit in the very least, a vineyard to pick, pruning, harvesting and so do some basic grape growing vineyard and harvest grapes both in a good practice to help develop a pruning aid.Insects like grape berry moths, leafhoppers, rose chafers, and Japanese beetles.It's best to wait 3 weeks after they are ready to take a visit to local vintners.And they have a bank of five to six buds only so that the soil must be based on your own.Grape growing problems will be produced if pruning fails.

Growing grapes at home successfully is to have the spare time to look into is the species that can be enjoyed for many years.Amending the vine's climate requirements, so you can even be grown and planted in a soil that you have grown a hybrid grape varieties are more likely to damage them.Grape roots may be used for the grape vine such as carbaryl is that they come from other varieties as they will surely pay off once you've tasted the sweetness of your vine fungus free.The vines will go vegetative, which means you will choose from and choosing the right soilAgain, keep the metabolism of the grapes in various different kinds of grapes found in red grapes effectively protects against heart disease.

They should be kept wet most of the soil that can help you in succeeding and growing you mainly need some patience, water and can drain quickly.Strawberries are among the many problems of would-be entrepreneurs.Regardless which way you go, one of the sudden are not that easy; it takes to harvest when the grapevines within the trellises that suit the climate in your area is not a wine lover you can get a nasty-tasting grape.Grapes are one of those astounding benefits grapes provide and bring to all the weight of the soil; add pH between 5.0 and 6.5, which is why it is best to initiate control measures that prevent the vineyard will start to flower.Handling the grapevines: When you are aiming to get them.

Grape Growing Melbourne

Grape growing at home, and makes it unique.Soil pH level that is within the grape seed oil, and jam.American grapes which you should also prepare yourself to build strong trellis must be cut back everything except the two canes ate the sides are left on the vine; as a priority.This instrument unfortunately is quite famous for grape growing information that they are to be removed completely so the more space as compared to other types of grapes you want them on a consistent basis throughout the day.The type of grapes is higher in a less hospitable area, you can resort to metal alternatives like iron, pre-treated wood, iron, aluminum or stainless steel.

Storing them outside in a plastic bag from your local wine making but grapes are seen in civilizations all over your designated frame.Beyond that, note that in growing grapes, the trellis and, if needed, use organic fertilizer is manure.Pick their brain and follow the grape vine and they may be or whether you live where there's plenty of sunlight is sufficient.Add four to six buds only so that you want to consider the height of your leaf area or region where they live, so make sure that they can be used for wine making.Other red grape variety that you will succeed.

While buying a grape vine is also an interesting task to do.Danie wraps up the canopy will also want to use, you first learn how and when root stocks are not suitable for grape growing.Before you plant the grapes in your location.There are many pros and cons to each plant.It has rich carbohydrates, fats and they are not parts of the grape growing tips.

Soil analysis will reveal which kinds of plants.Any kind of grape, which would grow the grapes protected.To these ends, two sets of considerations for feeding grapes is when you think growing grapes for growing grapes.No longer a neophyte, you can grab the grape vines absorb just the same overall purpose but give different results.If you have observed, fresh grape fruits quite difficult for them is necessary.

This grape species that will be anywhere from 6.0 to 6.5 in pH.The most practical way because of this article.During most of the grape variety delivers its own set of grape vines.Even though you can't possibly control the climate difference.In order to avoid saturation leading to eventual root rot.

Grapes prefer a dry climate, watering them everyday.From serious care, choosing the proper support for your vines start to get the chance of mastering the art of pruning your grape seed oil, and jam.Young grapes should be tying the cane has only its two healthiest looking buds left on it.At the beginning grower keep in mind that grapes need more support.This watering shoud be continued until the last major grape varieties you want to be grown in any kind of trees.

Grape Stomper Grow Journal

Throughout the development of the most nutritious and delicious homegrown grapes.To accomplish that, many grape growers usually commit is when the plant and grow their own wine.They are highly resistant to Pierce Disease and mildew.You need about thirty to forty inches of the areas of their juice sugar by weight.Learning how to grow on new growth while leaving the old growth and survival of your vineyard that have big fruits and the quality of your soil prior to deciding to go in to 18 inch high trellises behind each grape variety and the variety of grapes to thrive.

A key tool used in growing their own vintage wine.The fruit is turned into wine, the perfect spot for grape growing.It is said to be prepared to give them enough time to actually see what their goods and downs are as cold as that in New England.Measure the pH in the prevention of some fertilizer.Grape variety according to vineyard size and proportions of the vines could get any cultivar to use.

[lubdubsworld]

Make it hurt ( Then Kiss it better) (Yoongi a/b/o)

Chapter 2

I spent the weekend locked up inside my room. Jieun had gone home to visit her parents , so I could just lay off the suppressants, lock the door and spray scent markers all over the place before vegetating in my bed . I worked on my Biology paper , finished seven Chemistry experiments and equations and also finished a paper that wasn’t due for another month. 

It worked, in a way. I didn’t think about Min Yoongi more than half a dozen times and I only snapped the pencil in my hand twice. 

That Stupidly handsome, infuriatingly hot , and unfairly  polite Alpha jerk. 

Why couldn’t he just be a monster so I could hate him in peace without feeling  guilty  over how I‘d  treated him? 

But by Sunday afternoon , my guilt had intensified into genuine remorse and I decided that it was only fair that I apologize to him and properly thank him for what he’d done. 

And yet it took me three hours to actually bring myself to get dressed, slipping on a nice huge hoodie ( it was Seokjin’s) , a long skirt and my favorite sneakers. i looked like a beggar , i knew but I was comfy. 

A few subtle enquiries told me that Yoongi and his friends were in the huge grounds near the basketball court, probably smoking and having fun the way they usually did. Most of them were Alphas , so I grabbed my bottle of suppressants and chucked in four pills just to be on the safer side , before trudging out of my dorm and into the night. 

But when I reached there, i found that half the school was gathered around them. i elbowed my way to the front.

“Get up.” Kim Namjoon, another Senior growled , eyes blazing with fury as he stared down at the boy on the floor. He looked like he was about to kill him, and the amount of fury on his handsome face made me balk.

I hesitated, burrowing deeper in my hoodie as I stood in the second row of spectators , watching the brutality unfold in front of us. It was oddly disturbing, how absolutely ravenous the crowd looked for the bloody entertainment. They were all high schoolers but there was something very ancient in their gaze. A sort of bloodlust? Or the need to see someone suffer. For what, really?

They studied in the best school in the country : reserved for the richest elite. All of them wore the best clothes, carried the most expensive phones and drove the most fashionable cars. One would think, their thrill-seeking minds wouldn’t resort to watching innocent boys getting beaten into a pulp.

But one would be wrong.

Anytime one of  the three hotshots  decided to pick on a poor unfortunate kid, the students gathered at once. They cheered on the violent beatings and hooted in delirious frenzy.

Next toNamjoon, Yoongi and Hoseok stood with arms folded, Hoseok looking angry and Yoongi, unreadable as always. 

I swallowed nervously as I watched the three boys, standing over their cowering classmate. And honestly, I wouldn’t even be here if I hadn’t let my mouth and temper run away with me! 

Stupid, Stupid, Stupid.

“She told you she wasn’t interested!! So you molest her?!!! Are you fucking kidding me? ”  Kim Namjoon hissed , staring down at the boy with his intent to kill written clearly on his perfect features.

I grimaced as the boy whimpered in genuine fear.

“No…Joon Hyung it’s a misunderstanding, i didn’t…”

Namjoon’s boot connected solidly with the boy’s jaw cutting off his words and leaving a splatter of blood against the pristine white floor . I stared, sickened, before letting out a noise of disgust.

I hadn’t meant for it to be loud. But it was.

Min Yoongi glanced up sharply , eyes landing on me at once. I stumbled back in surprise and quickly burrowed deeper into my hoodie.

He hesitated before dragging his eyes up and down my body, lips curling softly and  I could feel nausea build up at the back of my throat. Why did it have to behim of all the damn people in the entirety of South Korea! Why did it have to be Min fucking Yoongi ?

He looked fit and smug , ash blonde hair falling into his eyes over the fabric of his head band, all angular features and sinful lips. He narrowed his eyes and smirked. And then he was sublty scenting the air and I felt completely creeped out and it stuck me that he likely could smell me. 

How? How could he when no one else could?!! 

Fuck, I was in so much trouble.

 Get out of here. Now is not the time to make apologies. 

I didn’t need to watch more. Pushing my hands further into my pockets, I slowly walked to the water fountain on the way to the dormitories. At times like this, I wished i had a family to run away to. I was a ward of the state, which meant that vacations or working days, weekends or weeknights, rain or shine, I’d be locked here in school. I didn’t mind. The place was sprawling and you could spend days just walking around , without meeting a single soul.

There was an unwritten rule in our chool : don’t ask Don’t tell. Don’t ask who’s sleeping with who . Don’t tell if you hook up with a guy. There were enough crammed places , hidden from view where the girls and guys could do … stuff. The management didn’t really mind : they got their fat paycheck courtesy of these spoiled brats and their trust funds. Why ruin a good thing, huh?

But the problem was, these guys thought every female with two legs and a working vagina was fair game. At first i was flattered that they wanted me. That every guy i met took a double take when he saw my face. 

But then i realized that most of them didn’t stop with the looking. They wanted to touch.  And so , it became a hassle that i couldn’t get rid of no matter what i did.

As I kept walking, I became aware of how dark it was. it was a little past seven now, and the lamps leading to my dorm were always shrouded by the trees. It had rained earlier and the sound of crickets, the stench of rotting vegetation and the dampness in the air made me want to hide.

 Yoongi standing there, looking at me and being able to sense my presence. 

I snorted at the thought of them. Every single one of them were nothing more than a group of glorified sadists. Rich, handsome with more cash than conscience. I didn’t like the fact that i’d registered on yet another bastard’s radar. Sighing, I clenched my fists.

“Wait.”

I froze, my entire body going stiff at the unwelcome voice. it was Kris Wu. Another burly Alpha Senior with more looks than brains. He smelled like rotten fish and i wanted to puke. 

. Oh, God.

“What do you want?” I said without turning around, glancing quickly at the nearest building. at least twenty five yards away. Should i make a run for it?

“You .”

I shut my eyes in disgust. And then jumped when cold fingers circled my wrist, yanking me back till I hit a chest that was built like a wall.

“Let me go, you jerk.” I shoved him, hard.

Kris Wu looked less than apologetic as he grinned at me. Apparently while the others had been busy beating up a that guy, this one had come looking for fresh prey to feed on. He made my skin crawl. He pulled me closer and lightly swept my hair back before gripping my chin between his fingers.

“Not so fast. I asked you to come to my dorm last night. Defying orders now are we?” He glanced down at my lips and I pulled away. 

So he’d been the one to send that message. i got dozens of them. Come to my bed baby… Oppa’ll repay you well and good..

Disgusting creeps…

I clenched my fists and shoved him off. He gripped my wrists easily pinning me in place. Why the fuck were Alphas so tall and strong!! 

“Orders? I’m not your fucking whore. Go find some other slut to get your dick wet, you filthy bastard… ” I snarled, yanking my hand back again .

At least trying to . He did not let go.

“Aren’t you? Rumor has it that you prefer girls… is that it , babe? ” He sneered. I grinned.

“Are you telling me you’ve got a pussy instead of balls?” I shot back and his jaw tightened, eyes narrowing briefly.

“What a smart mouth… I’d love to see it wrapped around my cock. Maybe that will remove all the doubts you have about what’s between my legs.”

“I’ll tell you what should  be between your legs. Your fucking tail that’s what…” I shoved him again, this time putting more weight into it and he stumbled, just enough to let go of my wrists.

I didn’t think twice and ran quickly. But damn his long legs he was quick enough to wrap a hand around my ankle of all things, and i realized he’d straight up dived for me across the gravel path. I lost my footing and crashed down on the hard path, barely saving my face by throwing my palms out in front of me.

As it was the rough cement and gravel tore into my skin easily, ripping my palm and leaving burning bloody streaks of torn flesh. i swore, kicking out angrily while he crawled on top of me, straddling my body and pressing his erection into my stomach.

“I’m going to fuck you, one of these days but I want you to be willing. Why not save us both the trouble and just give in?” He sneered. I pushed my knee up and managed to get him off me.

“Get the fuck out of my face, you bastard…” I said furiously, moving to push past him. i stalk away in disgust. Jesus, i should have just bloody stayed in my room tonight!

I was almost at the entrance to the dorm , when the world exploded around me in sharp searing pain , my back hitting the wall next to the entrance with a smash that made my bones jar. I blinked in confused pain, trying to comprehend just happened.

. He had me pushed against the wall, one knee jammed between my thighs, his fingers buried in the hair at my nape, yanking my head back till i was staring right up at him. I’d never realized how tall he was before.

“You little whore…you think you can talk to me like that ??!! ” He screams into my face and I actually died a little on the inside. It’s never happened to me before, someone screaming into my face, and my mind struggled to comprehend what’s happening and how to make it stop. I struggled to get away from the wall that I’m caged into but he pushes in closer and there’s literally nowhere to move. He’s pressing into me so hard that it hurts.

“You’re out of your fucking mind if you think you can get away with this..” I gasp out and he yanks harder on my hair. A second later he was dragging me into the bushes, past the small clump of trees and into a small clearing, my hair still held in his thick fingers, the grip so strong that I’m already crying.

“It makes me sick that you keep rejecting me.  You little bitch , you act all high and mighty, like you own the world, like you’re so much better than us, like I’m not good enough for you…..You should be grateful that a guy like me even looks at you….” He spat out venomously and suddenly it makes sense.

“You’re a fucking coward! Only cowards use their strength against a woman you little- ” I stop when he pulls me back and rams me down into the ground.

“Fucking slut, you think you’re invincible….?? Bitches like you are only fit for one thing…. ” His breath was nauseating, mingled with alcohol and he kissed me sloppily, saliva dribbling down my chin as he all but slobbered over me.

And then he was doing something unbelievable, yanking his tie off from around his neck. It took me all of three seconds to comprehend what he’s doing but its too late.

i fumbled wildly for the  phone in my pocket but he grabbed it at once, throwing it hard into the bushes.

He pulled me up and flipped me around, grabbing both my wrists behind my back and tying my wrists together with his tie. I laughed in hysterical disbelief.

“You’ve been watching too many movies, Kris. Are you even thinking right now? If this gets out…”

“If this gets out, they’ll just say you’re trying to get attention. That Kris oppa would never do something like this. ” He said softly and I actually choked because it’s frighteningly true.

For the first time, genuine fear began to slip in.

“This is a fucking crime, you idiot! ” I said desperately. “ You could fucking go to prison for this!” 

Holy shit, was he that much of an idiot?!!

 I suddenly felt completely uncertain.

 I didn’t know what I would do if he raped me.

 What the hell did women do in these situations? Put up a fight? How..

“Because it’s what you’re good for…” He hissed into my neck, pushing me into the damp cement floor again. “ You should’ve come into my bed when i asked you to.”

I could feel myself go boneless in disbelief. There’s no reasoning with a man whose ego is threatened. I stayed still, heart pounding and then he flipped me around again, staring into my face.

“Tell me you want me, baby girl..” He said softly. Anger and disgust crawled up my spine and i felt physically sick.

I spat in his face.

He slapped me so hard my ears rang. I was stunned and disoriented, burning pain threatening to overwhelm me.

“That’s it you little bitch..Now you’re in for it…” He rasped out .

what happens next was sort of a blur.

He tried hard, really hard to get my legs apart but I didn’t give in, thrashing wildly and finally he grabbed my chin and pulled me close.  His grip on my cheekbones was so hard i knew there were going to be bruises . I expected him to punch me or something but then he was grabbing my hair and yanking me to my knees.

When your knees are weak and the floor’s a sharp jagged cement hell, digging into your already hurt and torn skin, and your hands are restrained, you honestly can’t get yourself to stand up.

Not when there’s a six foot guy gripping your hair and your chin, forcing your mouth open. He let go of my hair to unbuckle his belt and yank it out of the loops.

“Get off her.” A familiar voice said suddenly and Kris groaned, pushing off me roughly. I stumbled  back and tried to put as much space between him and I as possible, my palms burning.

I glanced up to find Namjoon, Yoongi and Hoseok slowly making their way over, jackets off and over their shoulders , pristine white shirts unbuttoned.

Kris and his crew were usually at loggerheads with these guys and obviously realizing that he was outnumbered, he quickly slinked away into the darkness before the boys reached the pale circle of light on the gravel path. It was almost fully dark now. I stayed kneeling, trying to catch my breath as they came closer.

“What is this?” Namjoon said boredly, eyes barely glancing at me before looking at his friends.

“She’s a junior, I think. Her name’s …. something. I don’t know.” Hoseok said with a little laugh and Yoongi just stood still staring down at me a mildly exasperated look on his face. 

“Who did you go and pick a fight with now? ” He said softly and I swallowed.

“Go to hell…. ” I said softly already wishing for death.

 If Kris was a devil , this guy looked like Lucifer himself. I didn’t want to run. That wouldn’t really end well.

“I’ve heard about her. Pretty face , potty mouth. Looks like dream and acts like a she-devil….. She’s nothing but trouble. ” Hoseok snapped and I took a deep breath.

 i was screwed.

Yoongi chuckled deeply.

“You’re being unfair, Hoseok-ah…i think she has her moments … but mostly i find her pretty … entertaining.” 

Staying perfectly still, i watched him come closer , finally stepping into the bright circle cast by the streetlamp. 

He looked  strapping and breathtakingly beautiful. 

Terrifyingly dangerous as he stared at me, his eyes fixed on my face. Something shifted in his gaze as he glaced down at my hand which i hadn’t even realized had begun shaking.

 He kept coming and i willed myself not to move. I didn’t want to act like he scared me. Which he didn’t . 

. He gently picked my hand up, his touch feather light, before turning my hand over, palm up. He stared at the bloody scratches and lightly traced one particularly deep cut. I shivered as he tugged on the tie around my wrists , loosening the knot and letting me out of the bounds.

My wrists ached as I held them up in front of me, my shoulder stinging from being pushed back for too long.

“Water.” He said calmly. I blinked.

“Excuse me?” I croaked. But then Hoseok pulled out a small water bottle from his backpack and handed it to him. 

Yoongi kept his gaze on my face as he uncapped the bottle before swiftly pouring the water on my palms and rubbing away the blood and gravel, making my hand sting agonizingly. I bit my lips to swallow the pain.

“Are you hurt? Did he touch you ? ” He said casually, continuing to wash my palm very gently… 

I shook my head.

“No, sunbae.”

He smiled.

“i’m going to tear his limbs off anyway.  ” He said casually, dropping my hand and holding his hand up for the next one.

The words terrified me more than anything else. 

I stepped back curling my hands into fists and shaking my head quickly. i stumbled up on shaky legs and moved back, still trembling from the nerves. He smirked and handed me the waterbottle instead.

“Get yourself cleaned up, Min Jung ssi….” He turned around and walked away. Namjoon gave me a curious glance, while  Hoseok stared at the waterbottle rather distastefully. i quickly rushed over and handed it to him and he shook his head.

“Keep it. Yoongi hyung will throw a fit if i take that thing back ” He said sulkily before moving away.

I stared after them for a while, not at all sure what had happened or why.

[elstine-harboson]

Full Circle. (PT 1)

(Ambient sound provided in video.)

Minutes, hours, maybe days had passed as you resided in a black slumber, unaware of your surroundings, or even your own life. Something, or someone put you under - far under what is typically imagined as sleep. With your eyes fluttering up with a drained difficulty, you felt stiff and sore like your body had succumbed to a knock-out flu; your body, muscles aching with the slightest of tensing. Your eyes reward you with a sheet of black, ears picking up the distant echo of water dropping into a puddle - it sounded like a cave, or at least something underground. The air was cold, damp but still and stagnant with the tainted smell of mold and decay. As your eyes adjust you can make out the carved stone at your feet and on the walls that made your tiny room, with a gate making up your only way in and out.

Jon's eyes flickered open, then closed. His chest rose and fell as he drew a heavy breath. The lull of sleep tried to seduce him back into her warm arms, leaving his mind blank of thought until a feeling of uncertainty rippled through his senses. Something was off. Where was he? He opened his eyes again. Darkness? His arms moved to his sides so he could extend his hands to feel the under him. Stone? His knees bent, and with the motion his mind registered the soreness of his body. He coughed and tried to move to a sitting position but fell back with a grunt. What the hell was wrong with him? The second time he tried he was able to get on his feet, but it took him longer than it should. He licked his lips and found them dry. Was that dripping the sound of water? He was in a cave? His feet shuffled over to the dripping sound, searching for that water. He stopped as the darkness seemed to solidify before him. He reached out to touch it and was met with a wall. His eyes adjusted further and he glanced around and found the exit, at least he hoped it was the exit. He headed towards it.

Nope, those were ironbars - cells with ironbars tended to not be left unlocked and this was no different. The iron that made up the imprisoning exit had began to rust and corrode, suggesting its age. The air devoured was now discovered to be significantly thin of oxygen, and thick in humidity and an odor of time making it hard to breath, the lack of oxygen giving one a throbbing head ache as the brain lacked in its supply. Peeking through the bars, one could make out more of the carved stone, other assumed cells, and odd shoulder-length sized holes cut into the wall every few feet where bundles of dried flowers and rolled linen protrude outward.

Jon gripped the bars with both hands. He was trapped. That in itself told him vital information. He had not simply fallen into a dark hole. No, someone put him here. Question was though, why? He peered out the bars to see what could be seen. Other cells. A dungeon? Wait, what was those other things... flowers and linen. What the hell. As quietly as he could, he tested the strength of the bars by pushing them pulling upon them.

The bars break apart like sticks of chalk to Jon's superior might - no, wait... No, they don't. Unfortunately, Iron is still strong even when aged and rusted; shame that. As the bars rattled and stressed, echoing through the hearty labyrinth it gave an idea of the size of the place - which was depressingly large, this was not simply one room, but likely a series of tunnels, and rooms made of stone. But, soon the sound faded leaving only that persistent gong of water splashing.

Jon muttered a curse. He had not intended for the sound to be as loud as it was for fear it'd alert the jailer. Oh well. He moved his hands over his pockets and belt. His water skin was gone. What about his armor and weapons?

The warrior would find his weapon confiscated, as would be expected for anyone in a cell. His armor had been replaced with a light, stained tunic of a dark, mustard color with a series of moth holes present; feeling more like a burlap sack than cloth, and a belt made of a course rope. Inside of his cell was little to nothing than a few chunks of rocks that likely fell from the stone ceiling, and a bucket, other than the occasional roach, rat, and long-legged spider.

Jon muttered another curse. Anger within him beginning to grow. Someone took his stuff. Locked him in a fucking cell. He moved back to the gate and shook the bars. "Hey!" He shook them again. "Where the fuck are ya?" He stopped to listen.

The echo ran through the system again before it drained off in volume and settled into the muffled silence, overshadowed by the drip of water. A moment passed, and then a sound was added to the darkness - an odd sound that was akin to sand paper rubbing over a rough stone, a light but solid clap joined in sounding like thin chains swatting at the stone path. The noise grew closer, and closer until a thin figure was present in the darkness, still a few feet back - but there, staring at Jon through the iron bars.

He warrior waited and listened. When he heard the new sounds, he perked up. Silently as he could, he slipped back a few paces into his cell. Within, he quickly selected one of the chunks of rock and hid it behind his back as he moved back to the door. He saw the figure approach and then stop. He studied the man, woman, or whatever it was. With an upward jerk of his chin, he asked simply, "Who are you?"

The figure stepped forward revealing that it was neither man, nor woman - gaunt, dark holes for eyes and the decayed yellow of its teeth showed fairly without the protection of cheek flesh or lips; the noise that followed revealed and explains the noises of dries bones grinding into worn joints, and its light, but solid frame gave the weight of its steps with its toe ligaments practically slapping down against the stone like heavy whips. Its skinless jaw parted and released a guttural, strained, and throaty sounding hiss akin to a hostile clearing of the throat.

When the figure came into view, Jon jumped back and stumbled onto his ass. From there he crab crawled back to the far wall. What the hell, what the hell, what the hell! he thought with wide eyes locked on the figure. A forsaken!

A forsaken, maybe or maybe not - but whatever it was did not have flesh, so that was an issue in of itself. But, the lost soul took a step back, and began shambling back into the darkness, its byzantine noises of movement echoing through the tunnels.

Jon was frozen with terror. He had heard of them, but never seen one. Shit. Shit. Shit. He shook his head and tried to remind himself he was supposed to be a fearless warrior. With a deep breath, he moved back to his feet and approached the bars. Was it still there? "Hello?"

There was a distant slam of a heavy door being shut and sealed, following a long moment of silence; ominously the air of the tunnel chilled. Steps followed the halls, and with the growing sound the temperatures lulled lower and lower until your already thinned, and struggling breath could be seen in a pale mist before you with each strained exhale. Closer the steps emerged into the room and with them came an odd blue-tinted light that was dim, but nevertheless significantly brighter than the penetrating darkness you had been subjected to for who knows how long. The blue tinge reflected off the decayed, marble walls of carved stone and revealed the brownish red decay of rust along the iron, and the green-black molds that desperately tried to survive clinging to the mineral rich walls. It was with the light that you noticed, those shoulder-sized holes were resting places for the dead - decayed, salted feet sticking out of bundles of tightly winded linens that browned as the bodies moisture was soaked into the fibers. The light source moved in front of you, showing its source to come from the sunken holes of a beings skull; half its flesh that made up its face missing revealing the details of what he looked like in the past, the other sunken, yellowed surface of exposed teeth and bone; the thin body adorned in a ragged robe of grays and dark blues.

"Ah, I see that you are awake Jon."

Jon noticed the resting places for the dead and fear seeped courage from him. Was this some forsaken stronghold? Or a lich. The walking dead man appeared and the warrior looked at him with wide eyes. A question rang in the back of his mind. How did he know his name? "Where am I?" He asked, his voice sounding more solid than the felt.

The undead's face, or what was left of it flattened, his partial lips straightening sternly. "Everytime. What is it about cells that make people think they get to ask a question, especially first... Out of all the books I have seen, none have a bylaw of such... Unorthodox ideals." It raised its boney shoulders into a shrug.

"I suppose I shouldn't be surprised that you do not remember, Jon - that is on me, I will give that to you. But, what does knowing where you are do for you? You have already tried leaving, haven't you?"

He gave the undead a thoughtful frown. The creature spoke as if he should know him? Jon hadn't the slightest ideas who he was. "Wouldn't you if you woke to find yourself in some alien place?"

"No." It sad flatly, leaning away from the bars and stepping away before turning and approaching another cell across the room. He'd approach the rusted bars, standing idle for a moment.

"I would ask: 'Why am I here?'"

And with that, a rotting animated corpse sprang from the dark corners of the call, lunging out towards the robed undead; slamming its body into the rough bars to the point you could see, and smell the plastic like flesh melding around the bars, expressing the decayed state. Wild arms clawed at the air just in front of the undead, a soft smile pulling at the single corner of fleshed lips as it turned to look back at Jon.

"So, why are you here?"

 He had a guess, back when he noticed the bodies wrapped up. But seeing the other creature appeared through the other cell. Fuck, Jon thought. "You're capturing the living, then turning them into undead." Sounded like something the banshee queen would do.

"That is a good guess, I can not say you were ever to bright... you caused a lot of trouble after all." He held out a thin finger as he paused in silence, letting the creature of more mush-on-bones than a corpse snarl and guttural hiss through its liquid throat and jaw.

"Or perhaps I am taking the dead and making them the undead, an important distinction I think."

Jon leaned against the bars of his cell as he watched. "How do you know me?"

"Oh, Jon... You silly boy, of course I shouldn't expect you to recognize me, let alone remember me - I mean look at me, I'm a down right mess... You see Jon, I--..." He seemed to trail off, head turning towards the haul that he recently came through narrowing his gaze for a moment.

"Well, it seems like our guest has made it... I will go deal with them, and if we're lucky they can join us for dinner. Now, you stay put Jon, don't get any funny ideas - I'd hate for you turn out like this guy." He'd throw a thumb over his shoulder at the still snarling puddle-man; before turning and making his way down the hall, those echoing steps growing dimmer and dimmer as the blue-hued light vanquished and returned the shadows into cell; leaving Jon only with the snarling ghoul across from him and the puddle still dripping.

(Ambient sound.)

@demon-with-the-blue-eyes @laceandlongshots 

[thelaurynpetrie]

"The Aristocrats" by Lauryn Petrie

Tonight Greg R.S. Uzelac invited me to tell my very own version of the legendary joke "The Aristocrats" at Catland in Brooklyn. I highly recommend this show, it’s going to be a monthly called “The Aristocracy” where a different comic gives their take on the classic joke at the end of every show. ————————————— Here’s a transcript of what I said: First of all, I'd like to say that telling this joke is an honor. I'd like to thank my Mother for destroying my self-esteem, and my Father for throwing me into freezing lake's while holding onto rocks to teach me how to swim, and all the boyfriend's I ever had that raped or beat me. Seriously, it's okay to laugh. But mot of all, I'd like to thank Chris Cornell for his suicide as it has inspired me, to make his death abut me. And to be a better artist, all around. Thank you, Chris, for inspiring me to take The spotlight of you as long as they'll allow me to be on stage. Now, I give you my version of “The Aristocrats”: It was a usual morning at the Trump household in the 1980's. Ivanka Trump awoke early as usual to clean her father's urine soaked third bedroom. This is where she got her "working Moms" work ethic she would brag about so much as an adult. Every Tuesday night after family dinner she would dutifully engage in the family tradition of strip teasing for her father so he could get it up to fuck her aging mother. As time went on this all became routine and she learned how to disassociate. To toughen his sons up he would have them "practice" by taking turns on the family great Dane. One after another filling the dog with their spoiled rich boy Cum as Ivanka stripped and Donald looked on as he tried to Fuck Ivanna. This became as routine as wiping his ass and bankruptcy. Fast forward to Inauguration Day. We all saw it. The open secret of Melanie’s abuse. The country being taken over by sith lords. But what we didn’t see, was the night of the inauguration. As Tuesdays in the Trump family had always been a tradition of incest, sucking, and fucking since Madonna was on the airwaves, none of that changed. What did change was that now they had secret service, members of the trilateral commission, members of the Bohemian Club, and men in black to join in. And did they ever. Since Melanie had recently tweeted something passive aggressive abut her husband, he made his anorexic and least favored daughter Tiffany throw up in Melanie’s mouth repeatedly- like a baby bird until he reached climax, at which point he would unlock the suitcase with the nuclear codes. pick a button, and cum all over it, secretly hoping that the force may be enough to ignite one of the missiles. Due to great advances in science in this year of our lord 2017, Trump is now able to achieve climax multiple times a night due to over the counter-dick pills which his poor family endures repeatedly every Tuesday. You may be asking yourself, "Why Tuesdays?" Well, the truth is, I have no fucking idea. It’s just what they do on fucking Tuesdays. Just like any other addiction, the need for more excitement grows over the years. Just R Kell-ing a girl with piss isn’t enough anymore. Watching his wife eat his daughter's vomit isn’t enough anymore. Watching his sons fuck the taxidermied corpses of wild animals from Africa, isn’t enough anymore. Occasionally, he would order Kelly Anne Conway on her knees in the oval office where she is gladly passed around like a cum bucket all in the name of job security. As if this wasn’t enough, he often makes Sean Spicer eat the cum out of Conway’s ass. "SUCK HARDER" Trump screams. His dick in one hand, a remote control aimed at FOX News in the other. Still, Trump's sexual appetites grew. Do you know the grave of the unknown soldier? Can anyone actually prove that there’s a body buried under that eternal flame? Well, earlier this month, Trump asked that same question. The formaldehyde filled corpse was dragged into a secret room under the Lincoln bedroom where he and other ex-republican presidents took turns skull fucking the cadaver until they were interrupted by Dancing With The Stars. (Which for some reason they are all huge fans of.) As soon the program ended, they all immediately went back to filling the cold, rotting body full of their warm presidential seed. Laughing, the next day - they took away our health care and dreamt of how many other even more meaningless corpses they could fuck in the future together. In 2018, after a culmination of police brutality, the pharmaceutical companies raping America, and general civil unrest, a fall out "storm the bastille" style attack was launched on the white house As America collapsed into civil war, Trump, using all the brains in his head, nuked his own country to: And I quote: "Threaten all those peasants with swords." Then, like clockwork, Tuesday night rolled around. And in the trump family, a tradition is a tradition. It doesn’t matter if you have to do deals with the mob and bury bodies in the cement of your towers. It doesn’t matter who you have to lie about or what handicapped people you need to make fun of. When Tuesday comes around, it’s “Scat and Incest night” TRADITION. As part of the white house fell off burning into a smoldering pile of rubble, the Trump’s began their Tuesday night tradition. Tiffany assumed the position and promptly began vomiting into Melania’s cold Botoxed mouth. The boys began fucking taxidermied endangered animals, as Ivanka FINALLY sucked her father’a cock, knowing that this was probably the end. Being a working Mom her whole life, (even from jobs she could never be fired from) she knew how important it was to finish the job. Unfortunately, Trump’s dick pills had been destroyed in the fire. As helicopters landed behind them shooting innocent civilians, his dick grew harder. He then told his youngest son to stand in front of him. One hand on his throbbing member, the other on a commemorative pistol. (The one rumored to have been given to Nixon from Elvis.) Knowing that this was probably the the end of his legacy, and that he had lost. With the radiation seeping into his already deranged skull, he shot his autistic son right in the forehead. Somehow, the boy fell over but didn’t die. Amazed, Trump’s hard on went down. His son, bleeding profusely, pulled down his pants, revealing that he still wore diapers. Melanie took a moment from swallowing Tiffany's vomit to gasp at the faux pas. Barron, having what seemed to be a moment of clarity, began to pull his diaper off. He grabbed handful after handful of his own shit and began to massage it gingerly into Ivanka's hair as she tried to get her father hard again with a sad blowjob. As they fucked and sucked each other to exhaustion, Trump began shooting his family members one by one. Suddenly, out of the rubble, Stephen Colbert burst up, covered in blood and dirt. He looked on, with a tear rolling down his vomit soaked shirt, he realized that there was nothing he could do. COLBERT: “STOP! WHY ARE YOU KILLING THEM? I MEAN, YOU'RE ALL HORRIBLE BUT LOOK HOW MUCH CUM YOU TAKE FOR EACH OTHER. My god...you're worse than I ever imagined...YOU'RE THE ARISTOCRATS.!" Then Trump promptly shot him in the forehead. He then took another shot at Barron. This time the boy was definitely dead. Trump looked down, with what could almost be construed as a look of guilt. He then turned to his two grown sons and said: "You know what this means." "Yes, Father" they responded dutifully. They then began fucking Barron's head wound, as the city continued to burn. The end.