#void has started something awful and violent in me

[wrathofrats]

Stares at Pinterest and shakes

I don’t need to make fuck ass mood boards for all my fics and my fav authors fics and all the ghouls and and and

I don’t need to the old ghouls don’t need moodboards I need to delete Pinterest I need to go to bed I need to not become the weheartit girly that lives deep inside me

[wingedstargazer]

My beloved fellow Elriels, you have continuously inspired me and I needed to put pen to paper and get one more idea out. I hope you enjoy this short dabble 💕

Checkmate

It was snowing lightly as Cassian landed heavy footed on the ground in Windhaven. Stones crunched beneath his boots and the wind blew violently through the barracks. He did not feel the bite of the cold, as he was used to it since being a small child. He shook out his wings after having flown for hours into the camp, nestled among the high mountain range and folded them in tightly. Most warriors glanced his way and nodded a silent greeting. The young ones looked at him in awe and admiration, after probably heard stories about his battles and fights. Cassian squared his shoulders and nodded back to the elders and smirked internally at the younglings’ gawking.

He strode in measured strides to the tent, clenching his jaw once, knowing what shitshow he was about to walk in to. Before he could pull away the flap, a felt a hand land softly on his shoulder. He turned around and saw Azriel standing next to him, his face void of any emotion, which was no surprise. He knew how much Azriel despised this place, having never felt welcomed or at home here amongst the brutality of the other males. They exchanged a look for a few seconds, and his brother tilted his head to the ground. Ready. Cassian took a deep breath and opened the flap to enter.

Since the Bloodrite everything had gone to shits. The warlords were furious and demanded answers to how it was possible, that women, especially non-Illyrians, had entered in the first place. The sacred tradition had been spat on and sullied, something the ancient warlords were not going to accept. Rhysand had been arguing for ten days, trying to find common ground and calming their spirits, but to no avail. Cassian was torn between his position as the General to the Night Court as well as his devotion to his mate, Nesta. Their relationship had been strained since then too, but he did not let his emotions about that come to show.

When he entered the tent, he was hit with the sound of many different Illyrians speaking loudly, one trying to overpower the other with the volume of his voice. They spoke on top of each other, obviously not listening to anything than themselves. He scanned the room and caught Rhysand sitting on a chair, rubbing his temples. He could see that his brother was deflated and exhausted. All the war lords were standing, puffing their chests and rising to their full height. Their wings were either pulled in tightly or flapping every now and then in agitation. He could taste the strong odor of testosterone in the air, it would only be a matter of minutes before fists started flying.

As Cassian entered the room, Rhysand looked up at him in recognition and slid his violet eyes to Azriel, who was standing behind him. The latter stared back and broadened his shoulders. Cassian caught the minimal squinting in his eyes, directed at Rhys, them suddenly turning cold and challenging. He looked back to the High Lord, who sported a similar look mirroring his brother. “What the fuck is going on between you?” Cassian asked lowly. Azriel did not answer but held the stare, his shadows starting to whip around him furiously.

He was about the ask more when suddenly a war lord pound his fist so heavily on the wooden table, he thought either the wood or his bones would snap. The thumping sound shot through the tent and for a second no one said a word. He swung around and pointed a callused and meaty finger at Cassian. “I knew that wench would defile our traditions, the second you brought her here and demanded we train her! Now look what it has brought us!” he shouted. Fire broke out in his body, the pulse in his head was pounding heavily. The want to spit in his face and punch it to a pulp burned his insides but he pushed those needs down with a measured exhale. Instead, he ground his teeth until he heard his jaw pop. “That abomination you call a m– “

The ranting was cut short by the deep sound of a chuckle coming from the other entrance of the tent. Devlon, the Lord of Windhaven Camp, emerged in an unusual relaxed and casual stance, his body slightly angled away from the others. His wings were somewhat opened in a friendly pose, held high and proud. Was he posturing? Devlon was a tall, stocky, broad-shouldered older male and Cassian was perplexed to what he was seeing, however the older male walked slowly further into the tent, his body and head still turned sideways. The General could hear the other Illyrians outside the tent squabbling and pushing each other, arguing about who could look inside.

As he came closer, the males inside the tent could see what the fuss was about. A delicate, lovely figure was on Devlon’s side and Cassian’s breath caught when he recognized that it was Elain who was walking arm in arm with the Lord of Windhaven. His right wing was slightly more open, curved airily around her but with a respectful distance, not touching her. Elain wore a soft purple dress with flowers embroidered on it. It was cut modestly and flared at her hips, but it accentuated her elegant neck and collarbones, dipping slightly in the front. Her hair was swept back loosely with bronze pins and curls framed her round face. Her big brown eyes were trained on Devlon, and she smiled a bashful smile at something he had said.

Azriel visibly tensed next to Cassian, and he tore his eyes away to look at Rhysand, who smirked devilishly at his brothers. He rose lazily from his seat and strode over to his sister-in-law, his hands in his pockets. Devlon’s smile disappeared as he looked at Rhysand who drawled “I see you are in the best company. Care to join us for our trial discussion? It seems your position is highly needed.”

Elain looked up into Devlon’s face, open and innocent, blinking slowly. The older male tensed his wings drawing them closer to his body, but he did not fold them in completely. “It seems a decision has already been made. Arguing more is a waste of time” he said, his deep voice vibrating. “Is that so?” Rhysand inquired.

At that moment the arguing between the war lords jumpstarted again and insults were thrown about. Rhysand’s patience was running thin, so he summoned his power which sent a powerful wave through the room. It shook the ground and pushed the flaps of the tent open aggressively. Outside a big cluster of Illyrians had formed, all peeking into the tent trying to catch a glimpse of what was happening inside. Or more, of who was inside.

Shadows whipped and pushed the flaps back and shut them tightly, drowning out the indignant huffs of the outsiders. Silence followed and Rhysand spoke impatiently to Devlon “So I assume your position has not changed? Nesta and the others are to be punished for partaking in the Bloodrite.” Elain looked at the addressed, her lips parting slightly. She swallowed slowly and started to pull her hand from the crook of his arm. “Oh… well…Nesta is my sister after all.” She blinked a few times. Devlon tensed and widened his eyes in silent alarm at her slow recoiling. “I am sure we will find another solution to please all sides.” He quickly offered and flexed his arm, in the hopes of stalling her departure.

Rhysand slid his hand out of his pocket and offered it palm up to Elain, who took it and stepped away from the Lord of Windhaven. The older Illyrian opened and closed his battle worn wings in a single, powerful motion and shut them along his back. He was trying to hide his displeasure, his eyes darting between Rhysand and Elain.

“I expect a genuine and fair solution by nightfall. During dinner you will inform me of your consensus, Devlon.” The High Lord drawled and gave him one hard look, his violet eyes churning menacingly. He took a step backwards, Elain following him, and they walked towards the exit. Cassian could not believe what was happening and kept a cool face even though his heart was beating like a galloping horse in his chest. Rhysand smirked and slid his eyes to Azriel, who was still standing rigid and alert. His shadows whipped and hissed around him, swallowing most of his legs and arms. Almost concealed behind the darkness Cassian could see that his brother had his hands balled into fists which were shaking. His shoulders tense and jaw locked, his hazel eyes glowed, cataloguing analyzing every move to precision.

Rhysand opened the flap and let his sister-in-law step out before him, to the utter delight of the young Illyrians, whose squabbling abruptly came to a halt. Hungry eyes took in Elain who seemed unfazed about this, and the High Lord was about to leave the tent when Devlon spoke in his deep voice “We will come to an agreement by nightfall, and we will discuss the rest at dinner. Will…Lady Elain be there too?” The question was asked almost softly and hopeful. Cassian drew his brows together in confusion. Women were never allowed to attend dinner with the war lords. What a stupid question was that?

Rhys only smirked more and shook his head “You shall see.” Was his reply and with that he left. The atmosphere seemed to deflate and none of the males opened their mouths to speak. Most looked stunned and stared at the flap where Elain and Rhysand had left from. “Checkmate” was all Rhysand whispered amused into Cassian’s mind. What the fuck?

[mana-jjk]

BEATS VIOLENTLY ON THE SITE

i think toge was so happy to have the first-years join them 🥺 after yuuta left, i think he feels a little empty not being able to take care of him. so when the first years join they might not fill that void but they definitely act as a bandaid I PROMISE YOU

megumi likes to say that the only upperclassman he can openly respect is yuuta, but i think he has a soft spot for toge. he’s silly, and sometimes megumi has to do that emo kid thing where he forces himself not to smile because that would be losing the war. but more than anything, i think toge is one of the few that actively shields the first-years and tries to protect them. he tore his throat to shreds trying to protect megumi from hanami, but he also immediately stepped in when todo was giving him shit. and the fact that megumi is fluent in his safe words and understands him so well tells me that he’s known him for a long time so i just think !! little kid megumi practicing sign language by himself and then acting like he’s known it forever and it’s just by chance really ! but toge knows <\3

we haven’t gotten much yuuji and toge interactions but i INSIST they are cooking buddies who delight trying new recipes together. everyone else? incapable in the kitchen. yuuji and toge? certified chefs that have repeatedly talked shared recipes and methods together. i also think yuuji reminds toge of yuuta if yuuta was somewhat mentally stable, could sleep for more than 30 minutes, and wasn’t the shyest boy you’ve ever seen. knowing what it feels like to be a danger to your loved ones is so awful but it’s something they can share. plus toge cares so much about not letting yuuji know about his arm it makes me so ☹️ he’s so caretaker coded it physically hurts. but yuuji also sees him as so reliable, just like yuuta in his first year. i can imagine sometimes he sounds just like him when he’s gushing and praising toge during training that it almost feels like he’s there. toge is also a good source of physical contact. the other first-years ‘tolerate’ him (they love him but can’t show it) and maki would sooner kick him. panda is tolerant but it’s like hugging a stand-up mascot. so toge who ruffles their hair, bumps their shoulders together, and gives them gentle high-fives is like a balm over an open wound.

nobara… do not get me started here i swear to god they are so bestie coded and i died reading the light novel. i think they get so excited about fashion together because everyone else is boring and they make maki and yuuta come to dress them up, clap over their fits, and carry their bags. nobara always says that toge can do better than eyebags, but inwardly she’s just happy to see him happy and secretly looks up to yuuta too. she cares so much about toge’s opinion and he hypes her up and looks after her self-esteem. she felt so guilty getting toge hurt but he didn’t even hesitate !! she also started off not understanding a thing he said but ended up understanding him so well that everyone was surprised 🥺 and it always tears me apart that he stopped her from killing that guy so she wouldn’t have to live with it. especially with little hints from canon that suggest he’s either hurt or killed someone before. maki is 100% her favorite person ever because they’re girlfriends and they kiss, but toge is a close second because they’re besties. they gossip together and are on speed dial and watch crappy reality shows. toge is one of the first people she was vulnerable with and i think he reminds her a lot of saori and it GUTS ME.

then yuuta comes back and after spending so much time thinking about him as a first-year and then taking care of the other first-years, toge expects everything to go back to how it was. except it doesn’t, because yuuta is not only bigger now but he’s stronger too. he comes back, a head and a half taller and it’s a struggle to convince him that no toge doesn’t need to be taken care of that’s his job ?? toge stumbles and suddenly yuuta’s hand is on his arm, toge cooks dinner and yuuta already put his plate on the table and washed the dishes, toge takes a hit for him and not even a breath later he’s being carried like he weighs nothing. and it’s hard to deny him and it’s hard to push away because no one has ever treated him that gently before. like he wasn’t dangerous, like he was something precious. he still has the first-years to take care of, and yuuta was still the same pathetic boy in a lot of aspects. but when he was awake with phantom pains and nightmares, yuuta was there to soothe the worst of it and remind him that there was still a future for him, that he was worthy of being cared for, worthy of living, worthy of being happy.

y’all i have so many thoughts it HURTS someone ask me something before i explode

[alice-angel12x]

Life + Death is a Balance Pt.2

Life woke up to find himself instead not inside a cell, but in the comfort of his own bed. The got quickly sat up, which was a huge mistake as the pain shot through his whole body. One of the Jerry's noticed that their boss and awaken.

"Life it's good to see that your awake, but please take it slowly when trying to get up," Jerry said as they laid Life back down.

"W-what happened to me?" Life asked.

"A couple underworld gods kidnapped you," One of the Jerrys answered.

"And as we were wondering what to do, or even how to even save you. When Death stormed in asking for you," another Jerry added.

"Death?! I-I saw them when I was in my cell," Life said, as memories started coming forward.

"Yeah, we told Death what happened and immediately went on a search for you. Promising to bring you back," Terry suddenly said.

"Death saved me... I find that impossible to believe," Life chuckled weakly.

When suddenly there was a powerful bang! The room that the beings were standing in raddled violently. The Jerrys stretched and bend to hold all the furniture and tools in place.

"W-what was that?" Life gasped in panic.

"The other underworld gods have gotten stronger because of Space's help. Know they have the power to Rival Death themself," Terry sighed.

"This fight has been going on for a long while. I know Death said that he will protect us, but I think we should escape while we can," A different Jerry recommended.

Suddenly the rattling stopped, and Y/n limped into the room. Life tensed slightly as he watched their every move as Death approached. When Death suddenly collapsed as black tar-like fluid seeped out of them. The Jerrys quickly rushed to Y/n's aid.

Life watched in awe as the Jerry's tented to Death. He watched as they laid Death down on a bed. Life slowly slide out of his own bed and carefully walked over to death. As he peered over them, he placed a hand over Death's head.

The Memories that belonged to Death flooded his vision. The children of harvesting that Death raised by themselves. Suffered, and raising them through sweat, blood, and tears. How they attempted to try to live out a mortal, even if they were simply acting. He saw Death wonder and look on in awe at all of Life's work.

When Life was taken, Death searched high and low for him nonstop. and fought tooth and nail with the underworld gods to keep him safe. He was greatly moved.

"I... Thank you Death. For saving me," Life thanked, with a sad smile.

"Y/n...I'm called Y/n now," Y/n Death mumbled.

"Y/n? That's a cute name," Life chuckled softly.

Y/n slowly sat up as the tar blood stopped oozing out from them. "Thanks, a friend gave me that name," Y/n thanked.

"If your Y/n...Then what happened to Death?" Life asked.

"Don't worry. I may have mellowed out, but I'm still as dangerous as ever. It's just my job and purpose is taking a bit of a back seat," Y/n explained.

"I see," Life said, still a bit skeptical of Dea- Y/n.

"This battle will end soon, and I really need to talk to you about something. Something I think can help you," Y/n said.

"Help me?" Life raised a brow.

"Or I guess more of a middle ground," Y/n corrected themselves.

But before Y/n could even explain their plan, the remaining underworld gods returned to finish Death for good. Y/n forced themselves to their feet and started to head out to battle when Life quickly caught up to them.

"You're not going alone," Life said with a serious tone.

"Life? But aren't you still recovering? You should probably res-" "I am capable of many things, Death. Do not worry about me," Life said, wanting to settle the score with the underworld gods.

The two gods stepped out from the tree as the three underworld gods smirked down at them. The battle was intense as two of the gods fought death, as Life took on the leader of the underworld gods. As Life fought, the Underworld god (UG) delivered a blow to Life's wound. Causing Life to cry out in pain as he fell into the void.

"LIFE!" Death called out as he shoved the other 2UGs away as they chased after him.

Death quickly caught Life in their arms and lifted him back to the great tree. All the while shielding him from any oncoming attacks from the enemy.

"Life are you okay?" Death asked.

Life for the first time saw just how gentle this Deat-...No Y/n was. His heart began to flutter as he stared up into their gentle eyes.

"Sit here and rest. I'll cover for you," Y/n smiled softly as they turned and continued the fight.

"Y/n!" Life called. "We have a lot to discuss when this is over! I'll hear your plans."

"Thank you, Life," Death smiled as Life downed a healing potion, and stood side by side with Death.

______________________________________

The battle was rough and brutal, but eventually, The fight was won with the joined forces of Life & Death.

"So death, what was this plan you wanted me to hear?" Life asked.

"I have a compromise, that will generally meet the wants of both parties between everyone," Y/n said. "You want to continue to create, but Space does not want to make new room, and Time wants his entertainment.

So I think it's best to maintain an equilibrium," Y/n suggested.

"Equilibrium?" Life asked.

"We must have a set number of things that can exist at a time. With every life I must take away, you can create new life to replace. So you can continue to create, while Space gets her way at the same time," Y/n elaborated.

"But you still," Life mumbled.

"I won't kill at random anymore. I will only take the old, horribly sick, and mortally wounded. Life... I'm cursed, my very existence brings pain and sadness. This has to be done, even if I know just how terrible the things I bring are," Death said sadly. " And Life. If I could erase myself from existence and everything I bring. I would."

"Don't say that!" Life scolded. " Don't ever think such a thing, you changed. You are so much kinder now. You are not the same death all those millennia ago. And it's time for a change too. For the sake of creating, I'll learn to accept this."

And from then on this balance had been maintained. Terry and Death would count the souls that part from life. In-kind, Life and all the Jerrys would create new beings to replace those who have passed on.

Thus, Space never had to lift a finger, and Time kept his entertainment. And this was how the universe was maintained, even to this day.

Tags

@bre99

[korasonata]

So, the original plan was to do these quotes until Joe and Cleo finished their models, which was half accomplished during this stream (yay Cleo!). Question is should I still continue these after Joe has finished his model, or have we had enough now? Favourite moments of Joe and Cleo model stream part 7! Link to the video is below and time stamps are above each set of quotes!

Link: https://m.twitch.tv/videos/1155955572

—

00:32:05

Joe: This is our weekly paper craft stream. I’m joined today by ZombieCleo, who you can find at—

Cleo: Hiiiiiiiiii!!!

Joe: — twitch.tv/zombiecleo. You don’t need to type the “hi” in the middle. Although it is adorable, and so I wouldn’t blame you.

—

00:56:25

Cleo (in response to someone saying they like Hershey’s chocolate): I mean you can like the chocolate. It’s ok to be wrong. It’s fine. You know, you can—

Joe: A certain amount of the other person being wrong is to be expected in any relationship.

Cleo: Yeah! Look at my relationship with you, Joe.

Joe: Yeah, I mean we’re— we’re off the charts for that.

—

01:01:15

Joe (changing into his chroma green tank top): We can’t have people seeing my torso.

Cleo: Oh you know, yeah you— you are a cryptid.

—

01:02:04

Joe (doing a face camera expansion): these chains I’ve forged in life are about to begin pulling me down to the deep below! Enter the Jhoooooooost!

Cleo: Can I just point out that “life” was very southern. At that point. (Heavy southern accent) Life.

Joe (heavy southern accent): Life.

Cleo: Laaaaaffe

Joe: Liiiiife *both laughing* These chains I’ve forged in—

Both: laaaaffe!!

Joe (heavy twang): Pullin’ me daaan to the deep behlooow!

—

01:07:16

Cleo (in response to Joe having a laughing fit): And that is one of the rare times where Joe has a complete, absolute giggle fit on stream

Joe (still laughing): Ok I’m sorry, but “puritans go home” is the best thing to put on anything worth— ok im gonna start making a— ok. (Serious) Im gonna start making an actual checklist cause, um, (actually writing down a checklist of things he’s taking to his parents for thanksgiving) ok thanks—giving twenty twenty—one. Ok so, salad cream.

Cleo: *wheezing*

Joe (reading list): “Puritans go Home” icing on pie…Um, you know let’s just throw iron brew in there. Why not! Irn-Bru and vodka!

Cleo (laughing): Sure! Why not!

Joe: Yeah. Well, so, my maternal grandmother was Scottish and—

Cleo: oh I’m sorry.

Joe: —so I think my mom would get a kick out of Irn-Bru. As like “oh! Here’s something from the old country!”

Cleo: *physically wheezing* from the old country!

—

01:29:43

Joe: Oh, it’s really fun. Did you know that a bunch of people on Tumblr care a lot about how tall each of us are?

Cleo: Yeah. Yeah.

Joe: Yeah, oh man I’ve been spreading information and taking weird height pictures with people at conventions for years. It’s like— *Cleo laughing* I’ll intentionally like stand on things or like, uh, or like stand in such a way that you can’t tell I’m crouching, so people are like “Ok, so Joe’s like taller than Bdubs but shorter than, uh, like— Stress or something. It’s like how does that happen?!” *trying not to laugh* Because I’m screwing with you.

—

01:31:11

Joe: See that’s the thing is— is sometimes people think things are about power. I think they’re just about being obnoxious.

Cleo: I mean, you think most things are about being obnoxious which is why it’s a power move for you. Cause being obnoxious is your power move. It’s where you’ve got the most power, Joe.

Joe: Hm, that makes sense.

Cleo: Sometimes I do. I try not to when I’m with you, because— it’s easier.

Joe: Yeah. You don’t wanna give me any actual like workab— or usable intelligence.

—

01:42:47

Joe (reading chat): I’ve been on Hermitcraft since season one— yeah. That was only like 10 years ago though.

Cleo: I’ve been on Hermitcraft since season 2.

Joe: Yay Cleo!

Cleo: Which was only because Joe asked me to come on, or pu— vouched for me.

Joe (genuine): Well I am glad you joined.

Cleo: I mean I was— I was at the point where I was just like “is this what I wanna do for the rest of my life? Should I just go full ham into teaching?” And, uh, then you made that offer and I thought “well, I’ll see how it goes”. And it did quite well for me. So…you know.

Joe (quietly): I am so glad

Cleo: You are the reason why I’m still doing Minecraft content.

—

01:44:19

Joe (reading chat): Attasked says “Only you can judge whether you’re hot” no plenty of people can tell I’m hot, Graved. It’s— pretty blatantly obvious. You don’t— you don’t have to be good at judging to be able to tell. Like, that’s not an only me thing.

—

02:00:54

Cleo: You ever have those moments where you’re just questioning your choices in life?

Joe: *having a breakdown* Moments!

Cleo: *cackling*

Joe (through tears): I’m sorry, you’re just the best Cleo.

Cleo: *laughing, but genuine* Awe, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to depress you today!

Joe: No it’s— *inaudible sobbing* Today—

Cleo: *dying*

Joe (quietly to himself): Is this is frame? Sorry, I was cutting this out of frame. My bad.

Cleo (still laughing): I like how everyone’s just sort of gone quiet and gone “…is Joe ok?”

Joe: nOO!!!

Cleo: We’ve established that Joe is not ok.

Joe: But I’m really good at it!

Cleo: *spitting out her drink*

—

01:49:52

Joe: Let’s go down the Mississippi, Cleo.

Cleo: I mean, that I think we could probably do. Let’s go down the Mississippi, Joe.

Joe: yay!

Cleo: On a flimsy raft.

Joe: Yeah, we can actually— there’s a lot nicer boats now though. Like—

Cleo: I mean— yeah, but do we— do— you know…it’s the Huckleberry Finn experience.

Joe: I mean, here’s the thing, is if you actually came here and I was like “Cleo, let’s go to the Mississippi River and go down the river a few miles”. I think you’d be more likely to actually say yes if I had an actual boat lined up than if I had a flimsy raft.

Cleo (excited): If it— if it— if it makes you feel better, I— I would do the flimsy raft. Like, hands down. It seems more fun.

Joe (realizing that she’s serious): I— you say that, but I don’t think you’ve seen the Mississippi River. Like, the problem is it’s full of these giant barges these days, the wakes of which would just throw your raft over.

Cleo (dead serious): I can swim.

Joe (attempting to compromise, completely lost as to how he has somehow managed to be the voice of reason): Ok…Alternatively we can go down a smaller river…In a raft…

—

02:04:43

Joe: Sorry, I’ll stop monologuing. Uh, but yeah sorry I was in the process of—

Cleo: I’LL STOP MONOLOGUING! Yeah, yeah that’s gonna happen.

Joe: yeah, I’ll- I’ll say I’m gonna stop monologuing and I’ll warn you that-

Cleo: And then he just continues

Joe: -that Cleo you should probably be ready to start talking sometime in the next 8-12 minutes.

—

02:15:26

Joe: Oh, I need to get a green screen suit jacket. Um, I realized. Cause I got the green screen, um, uh dress shirt. That I wear under existing suits, but I don’t have an actual like green screen suit.

Cleo: I— I am always amused by your definition of “need”

Joe: My definition of what?

Cleo: Need.

Joe: Need.

Cleo: I need a green suit.

Joe: Ok, I’m sorry Cleo, the people need me to get a green suit.

—

02:30:23

Cleo (reading chat): “Joe-Getters and Go-Getters” yeah, Joe’s not a Go-Getter, he’s a Joe-Getter. Which is infinitely worse.

Joe: You say being a Joe-Getter is infinitely worse, but you also frequently lament that you get me. So, maybe you’re a Joe-Getter. Have you considered that?

Cleo: I am a Joe-Getter. I do get you, Joe. Which is terrible. It’s— It’s a trauma, actually Joe, I’ll have you know.

Joe: Yeah, comprehend me and despair, Cleo.

Cleo: I looked too deep into the abyss. The Joe-byss, sorry.

Joe: Thank you, yeah we’ve got a brand. Always be branding.

Cleo: *giggling* A.B.B. - Always Be Branding.

Joe: That’s not an infinite void of despair. That’s an infinite void of—

Both: Joe’s despair.

—

02:34:31

Joe: Let’s just leave it at don’t push me off a roof. Like *laughing* I feel like anything I could add to that would undermine the overall theme of just encouraging people to not do that.

Cleo: Um, let me put it like this. I always had the capacity. Always. But! I never acted on it, Joe.

Joe: Mhm, yeah thank you.

Cleo: …yet…I’ll try not to.

Joe: Yeah. And— and also keep in mind Cleo, I mean, given, you know, how well we’ve managed to work together over the last decade. Even if you did push me or throw me off a roof. *grinning* What makes you think that you’re not coming with me?

Cleo (slightly proud): That felt like a threat. It felt like a threat. I’m not gonna lie.

Joe (through giggles): Yeah, that was the, like— I spent 90 seconds figuring out how to revise that so is it was not blatantly like a violent threat.

Cleo: I mean…yeah, I think— I think— I think between the tw— it— it’s a mutual aggression pact at this point.

—

02:51:53

Cleo (holding up seemingly two identical pictures of turret towers): Am I— am I going actually insane? Are they not…the same turret?

Joe (examining pages on screen): …y—you know there might be…subtle differences that, uh, a— you know, skilled crafts person would find unavoidably blatant. Um…I make no such claim Cleo.

Cleo: Good, because, you know…trauma…Yours, not mine.

Joe: *laughing* yeah I was gonna say. Trauma as a verb. I’m just gonna trauma you.

Cleo: *laughing* I’m gonna trauma you so hard right now.

Joe: Yeah, if you don’t calm down and agree with me.

Cleo: If you don’t agree with me, that’s— that’s your mistake.

—

03:38:48

Cleo (about authors): just be careful who you like and just recognize the faults in any media that you do like. Just don’t imagine that everything’s perfect, because it’s not. Just be open to the fact it’s not perfect.

Joe: The only perfect media is YouTube videos produced by ZombieCleo.

Cleo: Fact.

—

04:00:34

(Having finished her model)

Cleo (tiredly): No booshes. No booshes. I know it’s got places for booshes, but I don’t want to do booshes because…there’s a limit.

Joe (currently in the United States): Yeah. Well, now you can come over here and help me Cleo, is what chat’s saying.

Cleo: Ok.

Joe: Go help Joe hold this stuff he can’t glue.

Cleo (Currently in England): Hang on, hang on. *rummaging on desk* What do you need? I’ve got lots of things, what do you need?

[cdroloisms]

TW; Death mentioned

I had this thought, I was watching the Hunchback of Notre Dame and remember in the beginning where the Gypsy mother ran to the church and claimed sanctuary, but she died on the church steps

What if c!Dream either was let out of the prison or escaped and c!sam chased him down (for whatever reason you want) and Dream runs to church prime in the Holy Land, claiming sanctuary, and maybe Sam accidentally kills Dream on that land in front of the church

this was a FUN ask, anon, sorry it took so long for me to get to it

tw: DEATH, DEREALIZATION, religious themes, blood, grief, vomit, murder, violence, implied torture/abuse, dark themes, dark content, prison arc/pandora’s vault

To be honest, when George opens his eyes, he has no idea if he’s awake or not.

This has become an...alarmingly common occurrence. He’d been bothered by it at the beginning, had spent hours stuck in his own head, dropping and picking up items, counting forwards and backwards, seeking any sign possible that what he was looking at was real and not just a figment of his own dreams. In the end, it’d all been for nothing; he would be 100% sure in reality, that what he was looking at was the real world, only for it to dissolve into shadow and himself back to lying on that same bed in the middle of nowhere that he’d never remembered lying down in. At some point, he must’ve just...given up. It’s not like the dreams were unpleasant; they were the exact opposite, most of the time. Unlike that one reality-bending fit of wakefulness that had ended in him boxed in by lava in the middle of a chamber of red, one that wasn’t a dream, surprisingly enough, his dreams are usually just- normal. He goes to his field, harvests some wheat. Talks to Quackity and Sapnap and Karl, though he’s almost certain he’s not talked to any of the three in a long time in the waking world. Sometimes, he’ll even be visited by a god wearing Dream’s face, XD, though sometimes XD is there in the real world, too, so they’re hardly a determining factor. If he’s really lucky, in the dreams, he’ll even see Dream.

Dream, as he remembers him, not as the monster he’s been told he became. Once, the dream had even dropped in the flustered, confused form of Dream from the beginning of the server, all fluffed up hair and boyish joy. Usually, he’ll see a Dream that’s been let out the prison, hale and whole and sheepish, stuttering through brief apologies and hugging him in that overeager way that makes his ribs ache and then the three of them, for the lack of better words, prance off into the sunset without a worry in their minds.

And then he wakes up.

George rubs at his eyes, looks up at the sky to reorient himself; it looks real. It feels real. The sun is warm on his skin, the grass still wet with dew from the morning, brushing against his ankles as he stands up. He’s in the area behind Punz’s house, his walls and towers looming in front of him, and George blows a breath through his teeth as he goes towards the direction of the Prime Path. There’s no knowing if this is a dream or reality, but either way, standing in one place does nothing for him. Better to get the rest of the day over with than to waste it here.

He’s not even halfway to the Prime Path when sirens sound on the horizon, giving him pause. That’s never happened before. They’re loud, and shrill, and something niggles at the back of his head in a vague sense of familiarity, begging for him to understand and take note. He frowns, and picks up the pace- if he gets on the Path, he might get a better idea of what’s going on. At the very least, if there’s something dangerous, his best bet is the Holy Land.

Surprisingly enough, when he gets there, there doesn’t seem to be anyone around, only the consistent drone of sirens on the horizon. George strains his eyes along both sides of the path; nobody comes, or speaks, or makes their presence known. There’s only George, alone. It’s strangely eerie.

Is this a dream? he considers briefly, before shaking his head. It doesn’t matter.

It’s another several minutes before anything changes. He stands there, at the edge of the Holy Land, until he hears a faint clamor that draws his attention, prompts him to edge forward along the path. The sound, starting faint, quickly swells in volume, underscored by the hum of the siren still ringing in the distance.

First come the shouts, overlapping, too muffled for George to quite pick the words out between the sounds. Then come the footsteps, low and rumbling, making the path creak and shudder. Then-

“Get him!”

George watches, eyes wide behind his goggles, as a dull orange blur reaches the crest of the hill and stumbles down it in a dead sprint, not paying him a second glance as they swing under the arched entrance to the Holy Land to enter within it. They collapse into a heap on the quartz steps- and oh, that’s blood seeping out of them, staining the white red, their hands tight on the stairs as a shivering string of sounds leave their crimson-speckled lips. Their face turns towards him, unseeing, and George feels something splinter, irreparably, in his chest, because that’s Dream.

He’s dreamed about Dream a lot, but never like this. Never injured, like this, face hollow and haunted, scars splitting his skin into shards. The wheezes in his dreams had always been from laughter, not this seething, spitting rattle that emerges from his chest, worryingly wet and irregular. He’s collapsed on the bottom steps of Church Prime, legs bent strangely in a way that must be uncomfortable against the ground, arms resting against the edges of the stairs, all skin and bone and still-bleeding cuts, and he looks like he’ll never be able to stand up again.

“Please, please, pl-please,” he stutters through his sobs, meaningless begs and platitudes falling on George’s ears and making him cringe back at the sound, “please-” and George doesn’t quite know what he’s begging for, doesn’t know what has left his friend in a ruin on the ground, leaving bloodstains on the stone, but the words worm under his skin and into his skull and refuse to leave. Footsteps continue to pound on the path behind him; George turns around, gasps at the sight of two figures, fully in enchanted netherite, thundering over the wood and into the Holy Land.

“What-”

“There!” The voice is rough but familiar, and the figures dash over to where Dream is lying, defenseless. His pleads rise in pitch and volume, becoming almost unbearable to listen to, and there’s an angry clamor of voices and an awful, wet crack and a shrill scream-

Silence.

“Holy fuck-” George’s head is spinning, the voice finally registering- that’s Quackity, stance wide, a sword in his hand. Beside him, tall and imposing, stands Sam, his full set of Warden armor shining brilliantly under the still-rising sun. His hands are wrapped around his trident, gleaming cyan, the end speared straight through Dream’s chest.

“You killed him,” Quackity hisses, head raising and only then meeting George’s eyes. “Sam- what are we going to- you killed him.”

“I-” Sam shakes his head. “I had to, he was going to get away-”

“Sam-” Quackity’s voice pitches higher, more desperate, “Sam, did you- oh fuck, we’re in the Holy Land-”

The air shatters.

That, at least, seems to be the only way to describe what happens; George watches, breathless, as the air shimmers and warps unnaturally, the way his dreams do right before he wakes up, only centralized in the Church entrance instead of surrounding him on all sides. Blood continues to run down the stairs, stark against the pure white of the quartz, so dark it almost seems black. The ripple clarifies, deepens; there’s a sound like ripping fabric, and something carves a tear through what seems to be existence itself. Behind, there’s a starless void, alluring, wanting, calling, dark and deep and everlasting and the End this is The End-

A whirl of white and green and gold, and the tear is gone, leaving something entirely other in its wake. George shivers in his place; he thought that he’s seen XD angry, before, remembers vividly the feeling of being chased, the God’s voice calling after him as he shut the doors of Punz’s house behind him. He remembers the way their voice had glitched, growing deeper and distorted, the rage with which they had growled at him when they thought they were being used.

That all pales in comparison to this. That was all nothing compared to this.

“YOU-” the deity booms, voice echoing and crackling and rolling like thunder and cracking ice and the roar of the ocean on the sand, making George clamp his hands to his ears in vain. “WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?”

George remembers being uncomfortable, back then, at how inhuman XD had seemed. Their jokes, gory and violent and startling, their idea of a prank being playing with people like dolls subject to their whims. It had taken him a while to really seem to get the God and for the God to understand him in turn, a while for him to understand that ignorance did not mean malice, that even a God that had never once known mortality could be so startlingly human. Here, their wings spread over them, seeming large enough to block out the sun, something dark and writhing behind the mask they wear, a sourceless wind howling around their robes and battering against the walls with aimless fury, George is reminded by how powerful they really are. That they are still eldritch, still a God, that they will not hesitate to judge those below him, the ones that they stare at, now, helpless and mortal and trapped within their gaze.

Sam stumbles back on the church steps, grip loosening on his trident. It continues to stick up out of Dream’s unmoving body, splattered with blood halfway up the handle.

“Oh no-” he hisses, and Quackity backs away with him, “no, no no I didn’t want to kill him,”

“THIS DOMAIN IS MINE.” Anyone else and it might’ve sounded petulant, childish. Here, with the deity’s fury directed on the two of them, even on the sidelines all George can feel is terror. “YOU HAVE TAKEN A LIFE UNDER MY PROTECTION, MORTALS.”

“Sam,” Quackity’s eyes are wide as saucers. “Sam, we gotta- we gotta run-”

“WHERE WILL YOU GO, LITTLE MORTAL?” XD disappears, then flashes back into existence at the Holy Land entrance, making Quackity and Sam shriek with their escape route blocked. “YOU HAVE ABUSED THE AUTHORITY YOU HAVE BEEN GIVEN AND DESTROYED WHAT WAS NOT YOURS TO BREAK. YOU HAVE PURSUED POWER BEYOND YOUR UNDERSTANDING AND OUTSIDE YOUR POSSESSION. YOU HAVE ENTERED MY DOMAIN, MY REALM. DO YOU REALLY THINK YOU SHALL LEAVE UNPUNISHED?”

“XD,” Sam shouts, and thunder cracks overhead.

“A LIFE FOR A LIFE,” XD rumbles, their words final, and in the end, just as every other time, all George can do when the world ends is watch. Lightning spears to the ground, striking both Sam and Quackity with twin flashes of brilliant white, striking from a clear blue sky. The air sparks from the power, charged with static electricity and making George’s hair stand on end; thunder claps, seems to shatter the world into two as they disappear in twin shrieks and the smell of burned flesh. Just as quick as it happens, it ends, and George is once again left alone in the Holy Land, vomit clawing up his throat and tears stinging the backs of his eyes as he dry-heaves into the grass.

“XD,” he more begs than says, eyes fixed on Dream, still lying too-still on the church stairs. The deity turns to him, their face strangely blank. “XD, please- please tell me this is a dream.”

“Would that make you happy, George?” the god replies, and George sobs, face collapsing into his hands.

“Please, XD, please tell me- please tell me this isn’t real, please-”

“I don’t understand, George. Would that ease your distress?”

“XD- THIS CAN’T BE REAL- THIS- I-” George sinks to the ground. “He- he was supposed to be okay. He was supposed to come back, he wasn’t-” he grips their robes within his hands. “Please, XD, you can bring him back, please bring him back- this has to be a dream, he can’t be- he can’t be dead-”

Through his cries, the sirens continue to wail.

[2dmenenthusiast]

I can't remember if I sent this to you already but could I request headcanons for aizawa, hizashi and Toshinori finding their s/o that has a chipmunk quirk that makes her fall into hibernation when it's too cold (kinda like tsu) but when the guys find her with her heart rate low and her breathing shallow maybe they freak a little bc she didn't tell them about that part of her quirk yet

omggggg this idea is literally so cute I got so excited when I first read it. Also thank you love for comin through with the requests, I really appreciate it! <3 I also hella struggled cuz like, what can someone with a chipmunk quirk do? Stuff their cheeks? Climb up trees? Also I legit forgot what a chipmunk even looked like I had to look it up lmaoooo im so dumb it hurts

Aizawa is an intimidating fella, okay

So when you first told him about your quirk, you were lowkey embarrassed?

Like, here’s this grown-ass man with a badass quirk who is more than capable of taking down villains and defending himself, and here you are just-

🐿️

But you know what’s great about this man? He couldn’t give less of a shit about your quirk or anything like that. He strikes me as the type to care more about personality than anything else

concealing your quirk is fairly easy. People probably wouldn’t even know you had one if it wasn’t for the small fluffy ears popping out of the top of your head, and even then you could just cover them with a hat

But that doesn’t mean you don’t experience the effects of your own quirk just because it’s subtle

You have a mutant type quirk, so you experience certain things that actual chipmunks do

Sometimes you won’t even notice that you’re stuffing your cheeks to full capacity with whatever you’re eating before Aizawa has to cut you off and just be like

“y/n. Chew.”

Or when you’re rushing, you’re usually going so fast that Aizawa can barely even see you zooming from room to room

you can also get kinda skittish at times, your ears twitching whenever you hear a noise that sounds weird or out of place, and you’ll just look at Aizawa with wide eyes until he checks out what made a noise that he could barely hear

“y/n, it was just some kids outside.”

“Oh... sorry, Sho.”

he wants to be frustrated, but he knows it’s not your fault. And honestly? He finds you so cute that he can’t really stay mad at you

So he’ll just let out a huff before patting your head lovingly, grazing his fingers over your ears (Which he KNOWS are sensitive, that asshole)

Experiencing long periods of deep sleep is also a thing. You wouldn’t call it hibernation cuz you still have to do normal, everyday things, but there are times during the winter where you’ll sleep for a few days in a row and only get up to go to the bathroom or eat

And since you can’t actually burrow into the floor of your home, you usually make a blanket fort in the corner of your bedroom and stuff all of the pillows and blankets you can in there until it’s nice and warm, ready for you to bury yourself in

and you might’ve left that little part of your quirk out when you moved in together. whoops

So when Shouta comes home and sees the living room couch void of all of its pillows, he’s not expecting to walk into your shared bedroom and see you curled up in a blanket fort

he’s a bit curious at first, just kinda looking at you like “All right, I guess this is normal?”

and he’ll crouch down and kinda examine you for a bit before he eventually wonders if you’re even breathing? You’re burried under blankets, so he can’t really see your chest moving

eventually he’ll check and see that your breathing is abnormally slow and he kinda just... pauses and checks again to make sure he’s not going crazy.

and he wont deny that he kinda freaks out at first, his immediate thought being that he needs to get you out of there, but the second he grabs the blankets to pull them off of you he’s like wait... hold up.

then it all clicks

you’re a mutant with a chipmunk quirk...

c h i p m u n k

safe to say he’s relieved, so he just lets you be and goes about his day. 

When you wake up a few hours later to go to the bathroom, you come out of the bedroom with your clothes practically on backwards, rubbing at your eyes and stumbling past Aizawa like he’s not even there. And when you’re done, it’s right back to sleep you go

“Back to bed?” Aizawa would ask as he watches you with an amused smirk on his face

“Mhm.”

“Okay. Goodnight, y/n”

“Mm’night.

Listen, when he first heard of your quirk, he thought it was the cutest shit ever

“Your quirk is Chipmunk?! That’s SOOOOOOOO CUUUUUUUTE!”

No he’s legit your number one hype man. If you think your quirk is lame, he’s literally shouting at you how cool he thinks you are.

“You can stuff so much food in your mouth, y/n! And that’s pretty dope if you ask me! I’m totally jealous!”

speaking of food, he’ll just randomly ask you to shove as much as you can of one thing in your cheeks until they’re at full capacity.

“Hey y/n, think you can shove this whole pack of jumbo marshmallows in your cheeks?”

“But... I just bought those :(”

“I’ll buy you more, LET’S DO THIS!!!”

also asks you the dumbest questions omg. You don’t know if he’s genuinely curious or if he’s just doing it to piss you off

“So do you just eat nuts all day?”

“You’ve seen me eat, Hizashi. No.”

“Do you prefer to sleep in trees?”

“That would be extremely uncomfortable.”

“Ooh you’d probably be great frieds with Kamui Woods then.”

“Did you not hear what I just said?”

He also REALLY likes your ears. Like an unhealthy amount? Whenever you’re around he literally wont stop touching them and even tugs on them playfully until you’re swatting at his hands and telling him to go away

He can’t help that they’re so cute :(

so on a particuallry cold day in winter when he has to go to work at the school, he leaves your home while you’re sleeping, only to come home hours later to find you... still sleeping?

You haven’t moved an inch the entire time he’s been gone, so needless to say, he’s a litle concerned.

and when he checks to see if you’re still alive only to discover your heart rate is super slow, he’s A LOT concerned

His brain just goes to the most dramatic thing he can think of, which is that you’re in some weird coma and need to wake up

so rather than, i dont know, gently shaking you awake like a normal person, he grabs you buy your shoulders and starts shaking you violently while shouting your name loud as fuck

“Y/NNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNN”

“JESUS FUCKING CHRIST!”

you literally wake up so violently, you sit right up and shove him off of you before asking what’s wrong with him, pretty sure you’ve officially gone deaf

He then explains that he thought you were in a coma or something cuz your heartbeat was so slow, and at that point you just roll your eyes because of course he would come up with this ridiculous conclusion

“Hizashi, my quirk is chipmunk and it’s a mutation quirk.”

He doesn’t even get what you’re getting at, just tilting his head in confusion as he squints at you.

“What do chipmunks do in the winter, babe?”

Cue more confused squinting

“Oh my god, they hibernate, you headass.”

it finally clicks and the look on his face makes it seem like he just learned the secret of the universe, and afterwards he’s going on about how cool that is while you just roll your eyes and lay back down to try and go back to sleep, bringing the blanket over your head to try and drown him out

He eventually gets the hint and leaves, but after a while, you kinda feel bad for blowing up on him. He was just concerned and didn’t fully understand your quirk

so letting out a huff, you pull the blanket down and call out his name, to which he immediately runs to you at the sound of, asking you what you need

you just wordlessly lift up the blanket to expose the empty side of the bed, and oh boy, the size of the grin he gets on his face is unmatched

immediately throws off his hero costume so that you can both be comfortable and jumps into bed with you, holding you impossibly close

you fall asleep in a matter of minutes while he just looks at you fondly, hand soothingly rubbing your back.

Just like the other two, he finds you incredibly cute. Like mans is in love, okay?

everytime he sees your little ears twitch, he just gets the strongest urge to touch them, but he never does without your consent becuase he knows how sensitive they are.

“Uh... y/n, do you mind if I... touched your ears?” 

Baby probably feels so awkward asking ugh PLEASE REASSURE HIM

“Oh? Yeah, of course, Toshi. Knock yourself out.”

oooh he’s excited. He’ll be super gentle about it, just lightly grazing them with his fingers before gently rubbing them between his thumb and forefinger

and at that point you’re littlerally melting, practically falling into him because him caressing your ears like this feels absolutely amazing

When he sees how it’s affecting you, he immediately becomes a blushing mess and apologizes, but you just hug him and tell him it’s okay and that you liked it

yeah he definitely rubs your ears whenever you’re feeling stressed or anxious because it’s become a quick way to relax you

only when he does it though. If anyone else randomly touches your ears, you get kinda uncomfortable

Just because they don’t look human doesn’t mean they still weren’t a part of you, dammit

Anyways, one day when you’re waiting for Toshi to come back home, you’ve got yourself wrapped up like a burrito in your blanket, sitting on the couch as you watched tv

it had been snowing all day, but luckily Toshinori had turned up the thermostat before he left, remembering how you mentioned that you’re not a huge fan of the cold

unfortunately for you, the harsh weather had no trouble taking out the power, leaving you in the dark and the cold

it didn’t take long for the cold to start seeping in through the cracks in the windows, and you quickly began to grow tired before you inevitibly passed out on the couch, still wrapped tightly in your blanket

When Toshi gets home and sees you on the couch, his first reaction is “aw, how cute.”

but then when he comes up to you and starts calling out your name to try and wake you up and you just won’t, and then he notices how much your breathing has slowed down, he quickly growns concerened.

He’s not in full panic mode yet, but he’s getting there, and he’s quick to crouch down to your level and grab your shoulders to start shaking you to wake you up

which you do, blinking groggily at him like you weren’t just in full hibernation mode

“Oh... Hey, Toshi,” you mumble, and you reach up to wrap your arms around his neck to pull him down so that you can nuzzle yourself into his warm chest

He’s not able to ask you about what happened to you before you’ve already fallen back asleep, and when the power comes back on a few minutes later, he does a quick google search on chipmunks and mutant quirks before putting two and two together

Now he’s thinking of all the ways he could make you something to burrow into during those especially cold winters

[hndcrm]

47 and Diana are in the safehouse in Berlin. As night falls 47, plagued by his newfound memories, can't sleep. He wanders through the house and discovers Diana snores and talkes in her sleep. What will he do about it?!😏

I have made this so much angstier than the prompt calls for im so sorry my brain only provides pain apparently

--

He was glad to have his memories back. There was no denying it. It was liberating to know the events of his life in order, to have them fade back into something understandable as opposed to the blank, cryptic void from before. Some were better than others, memories of his and subject 6’s friendship, of the rare times he’d been able to sneak away with his bunny before its untimely and cruel murder.

Despite this, the memories were overwhelmingly bad, and none quite as pervasive and frightening as the car bomb in 1989.

He was the one to trigger it. It was a mission like any other at the time, he hadn’t thought much of it. Simple. Two targets, Peter and Nancy Burnwood, their daughter considered acceptable collateral damage. In the end, there was no collateral damage and perhaps that’s the only comfort he takes from the memory, that he didn’t kill her, that he was lucky enough to have her alive today. It’s not comforting because he knows she will leave him as soon as she finds out. He can’t blame her. He’s the one responsible for her involvement in everything bad in their world. He killed her parents, changed her life forever, ruined it without a second thought at the time. He recalls with tears in his eyes how she was there, how she was present when he set it off, that this innocent child had to witness the violent death of her parents. He’s hurt Diana irreversibly and she will hate him forever if she finds out.

Even throughout his career with her, he often pondered morality and his own goodness. Diana became his conscience and urged in private that he wasn’t evil, promised him that he was worthy of kindness and love. He wasn’t sure even then how much he believed her. He trusted her, however, so he did not question the assertions.

He knows she was wrong now. She deserves to know the truth, but it would result in her disappearing from his life, and he’s sure he would die without her.

And now, he cannot sleep. He stares out of the window in the living room and watches the night sky, silently bets on how long it will be before he turns to alcohol for comfort.

There are soft snores coming from Diana’s bedroom. He gulps. The door is tilted open.

The scene before him is like some practical test of his character and self-control. He could come in and watch her sleep, just for a few moments. It wouldn’t disturb her and she would never know, and he could memorise the details of her face, add to his mental depiction of her before she leaves him, imagine what it could be like to hold her like this if they could ever be this intimate together. He could pretend to be one of the few lucky men who have been able to truly witness this, to be able to say they’ve had the pleasure of sleeping next to Diana Burnwood herself.

Or he could do the right thing and close the door, minding his own business as a professional work colleague should, though even that description is generous towards him after what he’s done. He is evil.

Diana says he is good, but he knows she’s wrong. If he were good he wouldn’t want to come in and see her right now.

It’s late and he cannot sleep, he thinks the guilt will swallow him whole if he does not distract himself. He deserves nothing to do with her, deserves to die by her hands a million times over and rot in the deepest circle of hell, but now, watching her silently while she sleeps does not seem so sinful in comparison to the pain he has caused her.

He pushes the door open enough to slide inside and tilts it closed.

The moonlight peeking from behind the curtain streaks across her ribs and reminds him of a bullet that he was responsible for. He feels sick. She deserves so much better.

She’s tangled in the sheets, hair flamed out around her face, and instantly there’s an urge to run his hands through it, to move it off her cheek and behind her ear.

She looks delicate. He knows better than to think so improperly of her, ‘delicate’ is an insult when she is a force to be reckoned with and could kill a man with her sharp-tongued nature alone, but there is no denying the more physical aspects of her beauty when she’s sprawled out so ravishingly. Her upper lip is carved down carefully, brows furrowed slightly, bosom caressed by her silk nightgown and her hands elegantly tangled in the sheets, like a scene from an ancient erotic painting, beauty that could only be appropriately captured by a lover.

She stirs then, and he holds his breath, terrified that he’s awoken her with his selfishness.

She hums something incomprehensible, and the thought that she might sleeptalk scares him. He should leave. Diana trusts him, she does not hide from him. If what she dreams of is something he already knows, there’s no use invading her privacy. If what she dreams of is something he is not aware of, then he should stay clueless, respect her choice to keep it from him and leave, pretending he was never here.

He decides to do the right thing. He pads towards the door.

He’s stopped in his tracks when he hears her moan his name. He can feel his face heating up. He’s evil for having ever come here in the first place. How can he disrespect her so cruelly?

Curiosity turns him around, as he tries to picture the shape her mouth might take when she moans his name, but there is little left to the imagination when she does it again, quieter, and the sight is somehow more erotic and vulgar than anything he’s ever seen, he feels his trousers tightening.

He knows she doesn’t really want him like this. Dreams don’t reflect reality. Perhaps she thought of him crudely once, and he was lucky enough to catch it, but it was a one-off because she must know she deserves better than him.

He’d be more than willing to play out her dreams in reality. He couldn’t, of course, bring himself to ever actually do it. Their shared intimacy exists purely as a fantasy in both of their imaginations.

He’s grateful for his trained stillness as he’s about to leave again, determined that he’s long crossed a line. He must go if he ever wants Diana to think of him neutrally, at least. If she wakes up to see him standing before her so improperly she’ll know of his vile nature before he reveals it.

As he’s something like a metre away from the door, he sees a frustrated Olivia rub her eyes and grumble ‘fucking Burnwood’, then she slams the door in front of him before he can escape and he panics as he’s stuck in a deeply compromising position. The door is too squeaky to risk opening again, but it’s too late, for when he turns around to look at Diana, she’s awake, rubbing her eyes and squinting in the dark. He prays she doesn’t see him.

“47? Is that you?” She calls out, and he freezes. He could still leave. She would know he was here, but it would save him the embarrassing conversation until the morning at least, or maybe, hopefully, she’d forget. “What are you doing here?” She sits up in bed, a strap of her nightgown falling down her arm. The usual excuses for trespassing won’t cut it. I got lost, he thinks sourly.

“I couldn’t sleep.” He starts. How much of the truth should he reveal? Lying to her feels wrong, he knows she knows him too well for it. “I heard you talking, I thought maybe something was wrong.”

“Oh.” Now she turns red. “Well, I’m quite alright.” She tucks her hair behind her ear. He nods dumbly.

“Good.”

“And 47,” she adds then. “What did you hear?” She does a good job of playing off her voice crack, but he can sense the fear in her voice - fear he is responsible for. Why wouldn’t she fear him when he disrespects her like this?

“It was nothing - I didn’t understand anything.” He lies. He must lie to make her feel better. He shouldn’t have come in in the first place. She plays with the strap of her nightgown. He wants to leave but she looks so worried. Guilt greets him again.

“You’ve been avoiding me lately.” She says finally, chest rising in the familiar pattern she uses to calm herself down. “Is everything alright?”

I yearn for you, he thinks. It’s true. The thought tastes disgusting on his tongue.

“The serum. The memories-” he begins, but the following words don’t come. He doesn’t know how to tell her the truth. He doesn’t want to. She furrows her brows together and looks sadly at him.

“Oh. I’m so sorry.” Diana gives him a lopsided smile. “If you want to talk about it-”

“No.” His voice sounds harsher than he intends. She cannot know.

He leaves. Another night is spent alone on the cold leather couch, thinking of her in the dark. Eventually, guilt takes over and he cannot bear to think of anything, so he opens a lager and drinks himself to sleep.

He wakes up to find himself covered by a blanket in the morning, and Diana sitting in an armchair next to him. He gulps.

“I’m sorry about last night,” she sighs. He shakes his head, mutters a protest, but the memories of his actions flooding back terrify him. He’s been awful.

He sits up. She hasn’t done anything wrong, and the shame painted across her face makes his insides twist with guilt. He doesn’t deserve to touch her, but all he can think of is comforting her, so he reaches out tentatively. Immediately she smiles at him and wraps her arms around him. It’s unfair how good it feels, how their bodies seem to fit so well together, and she’s innocently on his lap in his embrace, unaware of how many nights he’s spent fantasizing about this. He deserves none of it, he knows.

“I’m sorry, Diana.” He almost sulks into the warm skin revealed by her bateau neckline.

“Whatever for?” She whispers, and he aches again. He can’t tell her.

“I love you,” he whispers as the tears run down his cheeks and he wonders if she can feel them on her neck. It comes out instinctually, and he regrets it immediately. She doesn’t answer. He prays she won’t think anything of it. He’s pathetic. “I’m so sorry.”

They don’t speak of it again, and he spends every living second praying for her forgiveness, for when she eventually finds out.

When he knows she knows, it’s too late for him, and he’s glad she’s killed him. He spends his dying moments craning his neck up to ensure she’s his last dying image. He hopes Edwards will be kind to her.

[oksana-moods]

Ghost of you - Part 1

Summary: This story begins before CAWS and will develop following the movies. Our OFC was being held by Hydra, who is trying to create a new super soldier. She has a past, which will haunt her untill it comes to bite her. Slow burn. Plus, the title is a song from My Chemical Romance and brings a lot of ofc’s point of view; I was inspired by a lot of songs and I’m sure you’ll recognize a few. Trigger warnings: Violence, bad language, angst. If you find any other, I’ll be glad to add.

“And I remember now, at the top of my lungs in my arms she dies At the end of the world, or the last thing I see.”

Pain.

It’s all void, but pain.

Pain.

It’s like a faint light in the back of my mind telling me to move, but it hurts.

It’s too much.

I feel lightheaded while I slowly drift into consciousness, and it hurts.

Pain.

I become aware that I am laying in the cold ground, I just don’t know where, I can’t remember. I try to turn to the right, but the sharp pain on my left says to me that I broke one rib or two, maybe more. But how?

What am I doing here? Where is here?

I can feel a split on my lip, my cheek has a gash and when I rise my left hand, I see something like a metal glove. Wait. I try to move to have a better look at it…

Pain.

I curse under my breath; my chest is heavy.

I try to look at my hand again. With shaky breath, I realize that I’m not looking at a glove. My whole forearm, from right below my elbow to the tip of my fingers, it’s all made of cold metal. What. The. Fuck??

I gasp. When did this happen? I had two perfect flesh arms, didn’t I?! Why can I remember what happened to me? I lay my head back on the ground and close my eyes. I try to search, but that is nothing to grasp on my mind, I can’t remember a thing. It’s all gone. I take a deep breath and I try harder, try to think of something, anything at all…

And then, like seeing a movie scene from a foggy screen, it’s hard, confusing even, I see a woman. Of course, I don’t know who she is, but it’s something, at least. I’m outside a… bar? A Club? I’m not sure. I am looking at a blond woman, she gives me a wide grin, takes the key from my left hand (oh my, I knew it, is a flesh hand), climbs the motorcycle in front of us. After she turns the engine on, she motions for me to climb as well. Without missing a beat, I am hugging her waist and then we go. Who is this woman? What happened to my arm? To me? I need more answers, I need to dig further, I need more memories. I feel tired, but I push it away. I search, dig throughout the emptiness of my brain…

And here it comes, another flash of foggy memory, will it be the same wo…? Before I could finish, I see myself standing on some sort of park. I’m looking at such pretty little girl wearing a red shirt, her hair is everywhere trying to ride a bike. I feel myself smiling at her. ‘Look at me, I am doing it!’ She laughs and I feel my heart so light at that moment. ‘Yes, you are, sweetie’. I smile back at her as she comes to hug me. ‘Thanks for teaching me, aunt L..’

No. No, no, no, come back. Arg! I needed that information. She was about to say a name. With a grunt I turn to my side, this time it hurts a bit less. Guess I’m getting used to feel like shit. I blink twice, for a moment I think I passed out and started to dream, but no. I’m wide awake. I’m about to grasp a piece of memory in the back of head once again. I close my eyes and there it is… I blink twice. The shades failing in keeping the sun rays out of the room, but I can’t bring myself to care. Just when I turn to my side, a smile creeps itself into my mouth as my eyes land in the goddess laying centimeters away from me. Perfect silk skin, the most beautiful curves my eyes have ever seen. Having her this way, so bare, immaculate even and there’s nothing I wanna do but to stare in awe. Her eyes stir open. They focus on me. Holy, she’s perfect.   ‘Morning...’ She flashes a smile and my heart flutters. She brings her incredible warm hands to touch the military tag resting in my chest. I move my head to kiss her hand that are now touching my cheek. ‘I didn’t know you were wearing my former tag among yours’ She says. I kiss her hands once more before replying ‘That way I can feel you close to me. Close to my heart whenever you’re not around’. The look in her eyes could light up a hole city, priceless, so full of passion and warm and… ‘I lov…’

All I can see is darkness. I’m back to the same place I was before. Instantly missing the warm those memories brought to my chest. I try to go back to that sunny room, but to no avail. I can’t access that memory again as I realize my mind starting to drift off, to go blank. I feel nothing but pain, as darkness embrace me.

 ______________________________________________

I’m jolted awake as the door is burst open by a man wearing black tactical suit. I try to move away, but he takes three steps way too fast. He picks me up by my collar and arm with a deadly grip. Ouch, this is going to leave a bruise. He punches me in the face. Hey, what the hell. Before I can even muster some words, he says: “ready for the next session?” “wha.. what?” “what do you remember, bitch?!” “I…hm. I…  nothing. Who are you?” Another punch, and I feel a crack in my nose. Did this idiot just broke my nose? “Don’t lie to me, woman. What do you remember? Answer me. NOW!” He violently pushes me, so I hit the wall behind me… Suddenly, just like a dream, or a snap, that foggy screen is back. I’m in a doorway, looking at that blond woman again. And God, is she beautiful. She’s wearing a leather jacket that I recognize as my own. I walk towards her, within her personal space. I brush our noses when I see the corner of her lips twitch, ever so slightly, then she pushes me causing my back to hit the wall. She takes two steps. She’s so, so close that I can breathe her breath. My eyes are closed since I’m about to taste…

I’m brought back to reality by being hit square in the face again.

“Stop.” I mutter, now lying on the ground. “Ok. Ok. I remember a... a woman. A blond woman, we are…” I trail off trying to find the correct words. What are we? Who is she? “We are friends. And… And a little girl. That’s all!” I stutter out because that big Glock in his waistband is not friendly at all.

“Aaarg.” He grunts and pick me up again, pushes me to the wall once more, punches me twice and drags me out of the room, or should I say cell? After a few turns through corridors, we arrive in a room, or a lab, with very strange devices and a chair, in which he drops me and ties me, all the while smirking at me. He saw the very confused look in my face, he squats a bit so he can look me dead in the eye. “You are going to break, eventually, woman. I am going to break you. And, in the end, all you will remember is despair. Nothing, but despair.”

I probably lost my mind, or I don’t know, something in his voice made me mad. Made me burn with angry. I totally lost my mind, because I was tied in a crazy chair, in a creepy room, having my ass being beat out of me, but what did I had to lose? All I could feel was this flame in my chest, and boy, it burned. This man could have the upper hand, but I refuse to go down that easy. Next thing I knew, I was spiting blood is his face giving a very blooded grin. I was mad. “I wanna see you try, barf bag. I’m not breakable!”

Of course, his answer was another punch, and my nose did break this time. However, before he could do anything else, the man with a white coat spoke: “Sir, she’s very strong, her memories are very strong. She’s too attached to them. Is hard to erase everything without killing the subject”. Wow, now I became a subject, was this a research facility? Did I volunteer for something? No, not likely. If I had, why would they kick me, punch me and walk around with guns? I’m brought back from my reverie when the ‘doctor/scientist’ speaks again “We could use a different approach, though.” “Which is…” My ‘friend’ in black was losing his patience. I was getting under his skin; I just didn’t know if it was from today or previous encounters. “I think that, since erasing is not working just as it did with the Soldier, we could try to manipulate her memories. Put her through erasing process one more time, and then replay some specific memory, a very painful one a few rounds. It will take time, but I am sure it will be affective. The only memory she’ll have will be one that she’ll beg to forget.” My eyes went wide. I just don’t know what to think. What are these guys doing? And why are they doing it? “Well well, Doctor List, now I know why you are in the payment check.” He turns to face me. “Still think is funny, bitch? You’ll break as it seems.” I spat again, on his feet this time “I will come for you” Oh, I swear I’ll wipe his smug face with my bare hands. He smirked at me “You won’t remember who I am”. He looks at the doctor. “Go on, doc!”

Apparently, this was what the doctor was waiting for. He turned on a few devices and pressed some buttons in the computer whilst I saw and felt some sort of slab, better yet, a helmet closing around in my head. The doctor pressed my cheeks so I’d open my mouth and he could shove a plastic mouthguard inside it. I was about to spat it when he calmly said, “I think is better for you to keep it.”

Nothing, and I do mean nothing, could prepare me for the excruciating pain that I instantly felt when the machine sent electric shock waves to and through my brain, through me.

I must’ve screamed, because I saw the man in black smiling.

Pain. Why are they doing this? I can’t hurt anymore.

Pain.

___________________________________________

I was leaning on the kitchen counter facing the blond woman once again. However, this time I’m feeling a pang in my chest when I look at her eyes. ‘I need to go. This time I think will be longer’. She says and I sigh looking away ‘Then, what are you still doing here?’ It’s her turn to sigh ‘Please, you can’t make me choose between my heart and my responsibilities’. Oh, that line lights a flame inside my heart. ‘I am not. There is nothing to choose. Not now, anyway.’ She throws her hands in the air ‘Why… dammit. Why are you being this cold, this heartless?’ Pain and rage are doing this crazy mix inside me. She has the nerve… Why is she mad? She doesn’t have the right to. She is the one leaving. I grit my teeth ‘Me, I’m being heartless? How long do you think we could keep playing house, pretending… dreaming that I am important, that I’m good enough? You said yourself, you have your responsibilities and there’s nothing I can do. So, forgive me if I am being a bit too cold right now. I’m just trying to protect what’s left from my heart.’ Now, that was a deep cut. But I can’t withdraw my words, if she’s hurting so am I. Right now, she’s standing right next to the door. Hands on the doorknob, but it feels like she’s squeezing my heart. Maybe, because she is. We lock eyes, and all I can see is sadness in those brown pools. ‘It’s not easy for me either, you know’.  She gives me a humorless smile. I had to close my eyes to brace myself for what’s coming next. The final strike, the final hit to shatter the remaining pieces. ‘Guess we are too good at goodbyes, by now’. All I can hear is the door closing and I refuse to open my eyes and face the empty house, the truth. Because opening my eyes is realizing, is to accept the reality. She’s gone. For good this time. She’s right. I am used to goodbyes, way too much for my liking. Pain. I feel some shock waves again in the back of my mind.

Pain.

I have a helmet in my hand and I’m walking towards a chopper. ‘Hey.’ I look up to see the beautiful blond waving and smiling at me. She’s wearing a green flight suit, climbing into some sort of fighter, but this one is different. I smile back ‘Have a nice flight, Cap’, before climbing on my chopper and taking-off. After a few minutes, the radio goes off with the blond’s voice ‘mayday, mayday’. All I can hear is some distress sound. I try to respond but there’s no reply. I look down to the TCAS’s screen and I see her fighter descending way too fast to be good. Tracing a path to where the fighter is headed, I turn the chopper and go as fast as possible. Not long till I see the fighter’s right wing on fire. ‘C’mon C’mon’ I said to myself. I contact the base and tell them to send a medical support to our coordinates, but I can barely hear the response as I watch the aircraft hit the ground in a clearing. My heart drops. When I spot two forms outside the plane, I release a breath that I didn’t know I was holding ‘Son of a bitch, if she isn’t the best pilot’ I laugh to myself. I was flying over the woods, almost reaching their location, relief was washing over me, but was short lived ‘cause I see some sparks near the crash and… ‘NOOOO!’ I shout when an explosion comes from the crash. My heart stops. Truly, stops. It can’t be. No, no, no, no. ‘She can’t be gone’. Then, all I see is white.

Pain.

A helmet in my hand and I’m walking towards a chopper (What? It can’t be). ‘Hey.’ I look up to see the beautiful blond waving and smiling at me. (oh, no. Not again) She’s wearing a green flight suit, climbing into some sort of fighter. ‘Have a nice flight, Cap’ (No, stop. I cannot see it again) I hear ‘mayday, mayday’ And some distress sound. I try to respond but there’s no reply. Not long till I see the fighter’s right wing on fire. I watch the aircraft hit the ground in a clearing. (What is going on?) I see two forms outside the plane. I was almost reaching their location when I spot some sparks near the crash and… (NO. NO, PLEASE. I CAN’T WATCH HER DIE AGAIN) ‘NOOOO!’ (NOO!) I shout when an explosion comes from the crash. ‘She can’t be gone’. And then, white.

This scene, this memory, is being looped in my brain over, and over, and over. I wasn’t counting how many times. I was hurting. My heart was being ripped from my chest over, and over, and over. I was being broken from the inside out.

Pain. And I see her die again, and again, and again.

Pain. And I do nothing, but to scream again, and again, and again.

Pain. And all was left is void.

Pain. And darkness, and despair.

[flowers-of-io]

@eri-223​ you brought it upon yourself, now I won’t shut up c:

OKAY SO

I can’t really draw neat straight lines between the two, but there’s so much aesthetic similarity to me, particularly with Toland and the Hive-Ascendancy thing. Maybe it’s just me dying for the vibes (or loving POTO in general since I was 9), but it struck me today how Eris/Toland--when it’s made a Working ship--is basically everything Christine/Erik is not. There is so much to be said about Christine/Erik alone, but to me it’s an epitome of why gothic-novel-esque dynamics don’t really work in the long run when they don’t move past being just Gothic and Tragic. And hear me out. A goodhearted, elfin woman at her vulnerable point (grief over father) meets a honey-voiced stranger and has this secret thing with him, this music they share in the dead of night, and it’s intoxicating because music *is* her passion (and something she has deep emotions over in itself, the thing that is most hers in the world) and it’s secret, and a whole other world to what she’s facing in the daytime. The mystery is intriguing, and that’s intoxicating too. And there’s an uncomfortable power imbalance but it doesn’t bother you just yet, because there isn’t really any attraction between the two--not in the romantic-as-in-love sense at least, rather this romantic-as-in-romanticism pull all dark beautiful secret things have.

And here we can shout a fucking thank you at Erik for completely ruining that beauty by being an absolute creep. But Chrissie doesn’t know that yet. And so he leads her deep down into the dark, into his world of darkness and secrecy and yet twisted beauty, and she is living the mystery now, she’s in this nighttime world they would share in secret. And she’s close enough to take a peek behind the mask, something she was so violently curious about and attracted to, a glance into the dark abyss of his soul that is so intriguing. And so she does peek, and what she finds is terrifying rot.

And this, THIS is the best moment of the entire thing to me. This story could be well off without Raoul (whom I deeply love and cherish but he ruins the gothic) because he adds this romantic tension of a love triangle (which I absolutely loathe because ugh. love triangles.) to what could have been a tale of a girl torn between the world of day and night rather than two men who each love her in a different way. There’s so much of Persephone-sque struggle in Christine’s soul that has been shunned by the story imo, and would have made the whole thing better in the long run (and maybe less grossly-abusive on Erik’s part).

So let’s circle back to Toland, another pale, bony, possibly disfigured brunet in a dark coat with a living room full of skulls and candles (the vibes, huh. he probably owned a boat and a horse too). If we take Eris/Toland as starting off before the Hellmouth (I’m really starting to tentatively test my ground on this hhhng), it feels like the same story slightly to the left. Granted, Eris has more agency, but there’s still a huge power imbalance in her and Eriana coming to Toland--an exiled genius|madman with an evil black crow (Guren) perching on his shoulder--and asking him for help, laying their and their team’s lives at his feet - him, who could probably kill them in seventeen different yet equally fancy ways were he more invested! And there is so much darkness here already because how dark it must have been in Eris’ soul to agree on this revenge fantasy, what an abyss Eriana’s eyes must have been hiding; how desperate they must have been to come to him, to even consider this, to choose a possibility of painful, screaming agony in the Hellmouth over the ache they were feeling now. And so there’s vulnerability, too, in a way - because they’re desperate, because they’re hurting, because everything has been taken from them and they have nothing else to do but this ridiculous, mad plan. And oh he can abuse this void, he can make them do whatever he wants and they’d do it gladly, and I have a feeling both Eris and Eriana are aware of that.

And so they work, in secret, cracking secrets of the Hive, tasting the rot of the forbidden fruit, hiding from the daylight with their dark, heretic, nighttime folly. I think there is a threshold at wherever it is they are meeting--be it a room or a house, Eriana’s kitchen or Toland’s disturbing “lab”--in the doorway, between the bright but empty world of patrols and strikes and dead friends and this horrid, twisted, yet fascinating realm of promised vengeance. And I think Eris learns, hungry for secrets, hungry perhaps for Toland’s eyes on her because all dark beautiful secret things have a pull, and she can’t tell if she’s more drunk on the adventure, or the heresy they’re so blatantly committing, or him. And maybe he reciprocates in his own twisted way, maybe they talk or kiss over the parchment pages, and she cannot tell--she cannot tell if his eyes are truly for her or the Hive, the mystery, the thing they’re doing. I’m thinking of what you wrote, how “he wanted Ascendance as badly as she wanted him”. But despite that--or maybe because of it--she allows herself to be led deep down into the dark, into his world of darkness and secrecy and yet twisted beauty, and she is living the mystery now, she’s in this nighttime world they would share in secret. Is it the Hellmouth? Maybe, though I think it’s a process that spans between their secret studies of the Hive and the midst of their descent, when Vell is dead and maybe they’re all doomed, and Toland’s eyes twinkle in the dark and it’s such beautiful madness she cannot help staring. And the checkpoint has come, time to show cards--and she’s close enough to take a peek behind the mask, something she was so violently curious about and attracted to, a glance into the dark abyss of his soul that was so intriguing. And so she does peek, and what she finds is terrifying rot.

I think this is Ir Yut, or maybe a little bit earlier, but nevertheless the bubble bursts and Eris is left in the dark alone and betrayed. That’s of little concern, of course, when the Hive is hunting you down and all you hear is your friends’ dying screams, but it still hurts, it’s still bitter, it’s still so, so wrong. I like to think he comes to teach her then, maybe give her the journals, and it’s a whirlwind of madness and horror and fury and gore, but he’s whatever comfort she can hope for at this point. It’s twisted, it’s awful, it’s dark-gothic rotten, it’s as wrong and horrid as Erik/Christine is as a whole.

But then they’re given the chance Erik/Christine never got. They’re allowed to outgrow the rot. There’s so much dysfunctionality and disturb going on in most gothic-esque “love” stories because it’s not love, it’s attraction taken for a spin and often grossly abused. Love is growth. I like to think of what must have been going on in Eris’ head (and Toland’s too, perhaps, though I doubt he had one at that point) when they were exchanging the letters, the dearest Eris right next to did you watch me carve out each eye; now that she’s wiser, and scarred, and not so stupid anymore--but there’s still that dark pull she can’t help, now even scarier than before that she knows him for what he really is, now that she’s seen the rot. There’s so much hurt to be outgrown, so much betrayal, but she finds he’s yet again whatever comfort she can hope for (that entry *is* called A Light In The Darkness, huh). I could wax poetic about this whole process but I think you captured it so well in STM I don’t have much else to add.

I wanted to throw quotes into it but couldn’t quite fit them into this, uh, essay (which I didn’t absolutely re-read), and I guess Music of the Night would apply here but it’s ripe with uncomfortable sexual tension?? And aside from that (which is in its entirety a trip) just consider these ah

this whole moment

also this

He'll always be there singing songs in my head  Is this Eris in the letters phase? maybe. I performed a vibe check and it showed positive

Wandering Child for how unhealthy-twisted and beautiful it is (ignore Raoul, I have no metaphor for him in this au)

For either way you choose, you cannot win  It’s just a good quote y’all

Farewell my fallen idol and false friend / We had such hopes, and now those hopes are shattered 

Angel of Music, you deceived me / I gave you my mind blindly  (HOW SHE WHISPERS THAT LAST PART IN THE MOVIE OK)

Stranger than you dreamt it  now you’re stranded in the Hellmouth good job

What warm, unspoken secrets will we learn / Beyond the point of no return

The bridge is crossed, so stand and watch it burn

Down that path into darkness deep as hell  but Toland smiles while he sings this

And of course the classic,  And in this labyrinth where night is blind / The Phantom of the Opera is here inside my mind

Wow! I didn’t even get to the Dreaming City! It’s way more vague than the whole Eris/Toland thing because of course ships take up 80% of my brainspace but idk I just find it so incredibly fitting when it comes to paralleling Savathun/Dul Incaru terrorising the Dreaming City with what Erik does to the opera. Like, everybody knows he’s There but no one can do anything about it, he sends vague threats and kills people but nobody can catch him, and the place is just a giant playground for him to have fun and achieve his personal goals in. And whatever the hell is going on in Masquerade, like

Masquerade! Seething shadows breathing lies Masquerade! You can fool any friend who ever knew you Masquerade! Leering satyrs, peering eyes Masquerade! Run and hide, but a face will still pursue you

wow that sure is subtle. Seething shadows breathing lies, huh. Run and hide, but a face will still pursue you :) And then he crashes the party in a fucking Red Death costume. If this doesn’t have huge Dul Incaru/Siren of Riven energy I don’t know what has.

And of course the shitshow only starts when we kill Riven but the seeds have been planted long, long ago. If you listen closely, you can hear Petra screaming in confusion somewhere under box five.

I know most of this second part is a stretch, BUT! this is my au. And for the record, I know there are very mixed feeling about the 2004 POTO movie but to me personally it was a formative experience, first watched on a very crappy TV in music class at the age of 9 and not even in its entirety, but I was already captivated and shaken to the core, and there’s still, after all those years, something that screams at my soul when I hear the first notes.

And, as a treat for those who suffered with me until the end of this essay,

[queenofspades6]

Injured (Loki x reader)

Summary: You were badly injured and Loki is extremely worried.

Warnings: Angst. Fluff. Protective Avengers.

AN: Another fanfiction of one of my favorite characters, Loki Laufeyson! I hope you’ll enjoy! Link to my Loki Series: Just a Midgardian where you go to Asgard with Loki and Odin is willing to make your life a living hell.

***

You and the Avengers were on a perilous mission. A monster was attacking New York and destroying everything in his path. There were already more than fifty dead, and the whole city was starting to panic. So obviously when you and the team discovered that someone was threatening people’s lives, you had to intervene.

Your main goal was to kill the monster and then come back at the Stark Tower.

At first, you thought it was going to be easy, yet, you changed your mind when suddenly you felt a sharp stick tearing your belly apart. You dared to look down at your stomach and noticed your jacket soaked in blood, the tip of a sharp weapon sticking out of your abdomen. A sudden wave of warmth enveloped your body.

“Tony!”You yelled, already feeling all your strength leaving your body.”I’m down! I am losing a lot of blood! Help, please!”

“Hang on, Y/N, I am coming!”He declared through the comm, running at your rescue.

“Tony, I won’t-I won’t make—”

Dripping with sweat, you felt your body relaxed, and your vision started blurring.

You heard someone called your name, and then, everything went black around you.

***

Loki was sitting on the sofa, reading a book, with a cup of tea on the table. When he heard footsteps, he knew the Avengers were back home. Still not looking away from his book, he just stared at a page without really reading. He didn’t want to look as if he was eavesdropping, even though he was.

“We’re home, Reindeer Games!”Tony shouted, heading towards his room.

A book open in his hands, the God of Mischief waited a few seconds and looked up at the team discreetly.

“Where’s Y/N?”He suddenly questioned, searching for you with fear in his eyes.

The Avengers were purposely avoiding his gaze, and peeking at him awkwardly.

“I won’t repeat ! Where’s Y/N?”Loki uttered, standing up and closing brutally the book in his hands.

The team exchanged some afraid looks.

Who was going to tell Loki what happened?

Thor took a step towards his brother and forced a smile.

“Brother… Lady Y/N is…”The God of Thunder tried articulating, looking down.

“Tell me! Where is Y/N? I demand to know!”Loki shouted, his face becoming red with fury.

He clenched his fists and threw violently his book on the ground.

With obvious pain in his eyes, Thor couldn’t cross his brother’s gaze.

Anger was rising in Loki’s body.

Was Y/N dead?

Without thinking, he took his brother by his shoulders and shook him wildly again and again.

“Tell him, Point Break.”Tony muttered, getting closer to Loki.

“Is Y/N dead?”The God of Mischief asked, his body slowly tensing.

“No, she will be bett—”Thor began to reply, but Stark interrupted him.

“No more lies.”Stark interrupted Thor, giving him a serious and painful look.

“Tell me, mortal!”Cried Loki, marching dangerously towards Tony.”Is she dead?”

“Not yet.”Stark whispered, shrugging and forcing a smile.

“She won’t last the night.”Steve declared, his eyes clouded with tears.

The God of Mischief’s face fell down. You were hurt. He was going to lose you.

“Don’t pretend to care for Y/N, Reindeer Games.” Tony provoked him, giving Loki a long and cold stare.

Although Stark was too proud to admit it, he was angry with himself for letting you be hurt. He was supposed to look after you, to protect you, and he failed. He could have saved you, but he failed. Tony needed someone to blame for his powerlessness, and Loki was the perfect culprit. He was taking his anger out of the God of Mischief. It was easier to blame someone else than to confront the truth.

“I care for Y/N. Dearly.”Loki declared, staring at the void of the room.

“Oh no, you don’t, Reindeer. You were just pretending! You wanted freedom and power, so you used her for your own interest!”

“I care for Y/N.”Loki repeated, clenching firmly his fists and frowning.

“Lie! You’re a monster, Loki. No matter what you do, the only person you serve is yourself! So why still pretending? To keep your conscience? If you have one.”Tony mocked, rage rising in his body.

Steve headed towards Stark and put his hand on his shoulder.

“Stark, stop.”Captain America muttered under his breath.

Shivering, Loki stared at Stark, eyes filled with venom.

“Maybe I am the monster parents tell their children about at night, maybe I am a murderer and a liar! Maybe you’re right!”Spitted the God of Mischief, his muscles tensing.”Maybe I don’t deserve to live, but don’t dare to say that I don’t care about Y/N! Because I care for her! More than I want!”

“Oh, you care? You? The God of Mischief caring for our little Y/N? I don’t believe you! Why would a monster like you appreciate Y/N, if not to hurt her? You didn’t deserve her friendship! She is too kind and loving, and you… You’re the villain of the story, Loki, cruel and merciless. No redemption this time.”

Tony was too close to Loki. Only one step separated them. Stark raised his hand and Steve stopped him before hitting the God of Mischief.

Loki’s face broke down. A few drops of sweat beaded on his forehead. His cheeks were red and his palms were moisty. Taking a deep breath, Loki stared right at Tony.

Stark glared at the god, and at his greatest surprise, he didn’t see anger in Loki’s eyes. It was something Tony didn’t expect. Something much deeper.

Sorrow and regret.

Tony couldn’t speak. Maybe Loki cared after all.

“You’re right, Stark. I am a monster, and took the lives of innocent people. I am not asking for forgiveness. Send me back to Asgard if it’s your wish or lock me in the worst prison for all I care! But don’t tell me I don’t care for Y/N! I-I—… She was the only one to reach out to me, to be kind with me even knowing for New York. Y/N treated me like a human being, she made me feel like maybe life was worth living…”

Loki’s eyes were clouded with tears. Tilting his head, he wept his tears quickly, hoping the others would not notice. He was the God of Mischief after all, he couldn’t cry. And especially not after a mortal.

“Loki?”Thor asked, raising his eyebrows.

The God of Thunder didn’t know what to do. He had not seen his brother cry for hundreds years ago, and seeing him so vulnerable, so fragile, so human, it made Thor’s heart breaks.

“It’s fine, Thor, I don’t feel anything.”Loki lied and sat on the sofa, head in his hands.

With wide eyes, Natasha was observing the god with wonder. Here was the God of Mischief that tried to take over the world though, he looked so human, so exposed. Natasha had a hard time believing it was the same god that killed innocent people in New York. Steve and Thor were looking in awe at him. They weren’t used to see Loki like that. Like someone who had feelings.

Shrugging, Tony walked towards Loki, regret in his eyes.

“Loki, look I am sorry.”Stark said, clenching his teeth and putting away his pride.

The god closed his eyes for a moment and sighed.

“Don’t be. You were right.”He declared, not daring to look at the team’s gaze, and nervously scratching his fingers.

Iron Man gave him a questioning look. A smile slowly appearing on the god’s lips, he stood up and was ready to confront the Avengers.

“You were right, Stark, I don’t care about Y/N. I don’t care for her.”

He grinned and walked in the room, catching the glances of the team.

“In fact, I don’t care for Y/N. I love her. Judge me if that pleases you, but it won’t change my feelings. I love Y/N from the bottom of my heart. Coming from a murderer, it must not value anything though, I-I want to see her. Please. Please, let me see her. If she’s going to die, I want to be here for her and then, you’ll do what you want with me. Give me back to the SHIELD or lock me, whatever you want, just let me see her.”He pleaded with honesty in his eyes.

“Come here, brother.”Thor declared, embracing firmly his brother, with tears falling on his cheeks.

“Thor. Stop it. That’s-That’s humiliating!”

“Come on, Reindeer Games, I am taking you to her.”Tony said.

Loki smiled and followed Stark through the elevator, and then to another room. Tony opened the door, let the god enter and closed the door behind him.

Letting you alone with Loki.

***

Tony didn’t trust the God of Mischief, yet, he knew Loki’s love for you was sincere. He saw the same loving eyes in different people, and he may not have loved Loki, but he cared about you. That was all that mattered.

“Tony. You really left Loki alone with Y/N? I am not reassured. We should keep an eye at him.”Natasha stated, taking something to drink.

“I am not too fond of Reindeer either, but he won’t hurt her. He loves her, Nat, the God of Mischief is really in love.”Tony replied, sipping his glass of scotch.

“Stark is right. My brother won’t lay a finger on her. I have never seen him so caring and loving. Lady Y/N really brings out the best in Loki.”Thor uttered, a proud smile appearing on the corner of his lips.

“Guys! You really think that’s healthy for them to be together? Loki is the God of Mischief after all.”Banner pointed out, his hands filled with files and studies.

“Y/N is not in love with him.”Declared Steve, frowning.”That’s obvious. She was probably staying with him because he was alone, and she didn’t want him to feel lonely and abandoned.”

“Don’t be so sure, Captain, Y/N and Loki have much more in common than we think. I won’t be surprised if she loves him back.”The God of Thunder announced happily, thinking that if you’d marry Loki, you would be his sister in law.

“I am not certain, she’ll survive through the night. Her wounds are deep and even if her body can heal, she has very little chance of surviving.”Tony muttered, feeling pain in his chest.

You were pretty close with Tony. He was like your best friend, and the two of you understood each other. Stark was afraid that Loki would break your heart. And if he did, he would be dead.

“We need to give her rest.”Said Steve.”Maybe she’ll survive. We need to hang on that hope.”

“Sorry, Cap’, I don’t believe in hope, only in science. I am goin’ to check on Y/N.”

Tony didn’t wait the others answers to head towards Y/N’s floor. He hoped you were still alive. Speeding up, Tony arrived in front of your door. He inhaled once and then exhaled deeply.

Fearing the worst, Stark walked towards your bed and found Loki asleep next to Y/N. He checked your pulse, and sighed in relief.

You were still alive.

Tony analyzed your body, and instantly, he knew something was wrong. Or at least strange.

Why was your pulse faster than last time?

You were badly injured, so you should have had a very weak pulse. Curious, Stark quickly lifted your top to examine your wounds. Open-mouthed and wide-eyed, he noticed your deep wounds had suddenly disappeared. You only had a small scratch with a few drops of blood.

You were going to survive.

How? What had happened?

Tony peeked at Loki, and instantly he knew.

Magic was involved. Obviously.

This time the God of Mischief had used his magic for the greater good instead of killing with his gifts. That was how you healed so rapidly. Loki healed you, and by seeing his face, Stark could say the god was pretty exhausted and weak. It must have cost him most of his strength. He had done it to save you of an inevitable death.

Maybe Loki loved you after all.

More than they could think of.

***

If you love that fic, this one is for you too.

⬇️⬇️⬇️

You accompany Thor and Loki to Asgard. You’re all excited to finally see that wonderful place, but what happens when you notice you are only a human among Gods? How can Loki ever love you, a Midgardian, part of the Avengers?

⬇️⬇️⬇️

https://queenoffanfictions.tumblr.com/post/621090392400625665/just-a-midgardian-loki-x-reader

[creepereyes]

Seymour/Edna sickfic

Guys, I LOVE sickfics, specifically emeto fics, and this fandom is seriously lacking them so I’m here to fill that void. This is the first of two fics I’m writing for myself and @rolksart.

Summary: Seymour has a stomach bug and Edna takes care of him.

I’m going to say this once: Please don’t read this story if you don’t want to read emeto. Seymour pukes a lot here. If that is up your alley, fantastic! If not, feel free to ignore this completely.

Fic under the cut.

Lying had never been Seymour’s specialty, and when he unconvincingly told Edna he was fine, she saw straight through it. She sat on the edge of his desk and gave him a knowing look.

“Seymour, I love you but you’re a horrible liar. You are not fine.”

It was true. Fine, in the literal sense, wasn’t a word Edna could currently use to describe her boyfriend. Pale, sweaty, nauseated, yes. But fine? Ha!

“You’re right. I can’t lie to you, Edna. I feel awful. My stomach is more unsettled than mother at a swinger’s sex party, and I don’t know what’s causing it.” Seymour admitted.

Edna’s gaze softened. “Oh, Seymour. You didn’t eat the cafeteria fish sticks, did you?”

“No, I learned my lesson after the first time.”

The queasiness building inside him got a bit worse when he thought of the dreaded fish sticks that made him so sick several years back. Wether the ‘meat’ inside was actually fish or not was questionable at best, but anything tasted good deep fried. The students seemed to love them, but there was something about those crispy, overly greasy, probably-not-fish sticks that an adult’s stomach just couldn’t handle. A couple hours after eating them on that ill fated day, he’d gotten incredibly sick and started puking almost immediately after he got home. Today he didn’t think he’d last that long, it was barely past noon.

Seymour sighed and slumped backwards in his chair. “I’m sorry, Edna. Tonight was supposed to be our special night and I ruined it by getting sick.”

“We’ll reschedule. Don’t beat yourself up so much.” Edna scooted closer to Seymour and placed her hand on his forehead. It was alarmingly warm and his hair was damp with sweat. “You poor thing, you’re burning up.”

“I’m sweltering.” Seymour unbuttoned his blue blazer and shrugged it off. His tie felt like it was choking him, so he removed it as well.

Edna coyly rose a brow and ran one finger up and down his right arm. “Mmmm...are you going take all your clothes off?”

Seymour managed a small smile despite his increasing nausea. “When I feel better, I’ll let you undress me right here on my desk.”

“With my teeth?”

“Yes. I love it when you do that.” he placed his hand on top of hers.

He could be assertive when he needed to be, but when it came to sex, Edna was in charge and she made damn well sure he knew it. He liked it that way. He’d always had a thing for dominant women, and Edna Krabappel was all domme.

He leaned in to kiss her, but a massive nausea spike made him falter and he paled even further. Acid threatened to rise in his throat, but he choked it back.

“I need to lay down for a while.” he said. “Maybe you should-”

“No. I’m staying with you.” Edna cut him off.

“What about your students?”

“I put a movie on. They’ll be fine. But you aren’t.”

Seymour’s office had a red couch in it, though he rarely sat there. It was comfy enough, but it was mostly for decoration. He’d never admit it, but he’d given his office more flair to make himself feel less lame when superintendent Chalmers swung by for a visit. Chalmers’ previous comment about Seymour’s office looking like a low security prison cell had cut surprisingly deep.

Edna sat on the couch and patted the cushion next to her, signaling for Seymour to join her.

He shuffled over to the couch and damn near collapsed onto it. He sprawled across the cushions and laid his head in Edna’s lap. Another nausea wave crashed over him, bringing a stab of horrendous abdominal pain with it. He curled into himself.

“This is agony,” he moaned. “I don’t know what’s making me so sick.”

“Just relax. Close your eyes.” Edna instructed as she stroked his hair. “I’m here with you.”

Not only did Seymour feel extremely sick, he also felt like he was being stabbed in the gut with a rusty knife over and over again. It continued to worsen until it reached the point of no return. His stomach lurched and heat spread through his abdomen. He bolted straight up, ready to give in to his nausea. Fighting it wasn’t an option, he wanted to be rid of whatever was making him so sick.

“Give me a bucket, I’m going to throw up!” panic invaded Seymour’s voice. Time was rapidly running out, and thick, coppery saliva flooded his mouth.

“Oh! Uh, hang on!” Edna leapt up from the couch and looked for a receptacle.

“Please hurry,” Seymour gagged on the last syllable and firmly clamped his hand over his mouth.

Edna zoomed over to Seymour’s desk, grabbed the garbage can, dumped out its contents and strode back over to her boyfriend, but she was a second too late.

Seymour couldn’t hold it back. He pitched forwards and violently puked on the floor, and it splashed on his knees and shoes in the process. Some got on his shirt as well.

“Here!” Edna shoved the can under his mouth right as he vomited again.

Seymour gripped the can and retched noisily, his entire body convulsing as he puked more repugnant brown liquid. The acrid taste was revolting and he could feel the solids in it sliding over his tongue, which made him heave harder.

“That’s it, just get it out,” Edna soothed and rubbed his back. She could feel his shoulders hitch under her hand each time he heaved.

“Make it stop,” Seymour groaned. This was pure hell. His body was barely giving him time to breathe between retches, and he worried that he’d start choking on his own vomit if it didn’t stop. He was starting to think it wouldn’t end. There was only one thing that could make his situation worse, and someone or something must have had it out for him today, because it happened.

The door to his office flew open with great force.

“SKINNEEEER! Why in God’s name is Nelson Muntz hanging Martin Prince from the flagpole and-- Seymour, are you vomiting in a garbage can?” Superintendent Chalmers stood in the doorway, stunned at what he was seeing.

Seymour, pale, clad in a puke soaked shirt and looking half dead, glanced up. “Superintendent Chalmers,” he croaked out. “Hold on a minute.” he leaned over the can again and threw up a few more times until he was empty and left dry heaving. By now the garbage can was over a third full.

“Seymour is very sick,” Edna explained calmly. “I’m going to make sure he gets home alright.”

“Yes, you do that.” Chalmers cringed away from the scene and backed out the door. He paused with his hand on the knob and awkwardly added on, “And, uh, get well soon Seymour.”

With that, he turned and left.

Seymour wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and flopped down on the sofa. “That’s the shortest meeting with Chalmers I’ve ever had. Maybe I should puke in front of him more often.”

Edna laughed. “You’ve still got your witty sense of humor, I think you’ll be alright.” she massaged his shoulders.

“Will you get me some water, please?” Seymour asked.

“Of course.” Edna kissed his forehead and got up. She filled a cup at the water cooler and handed it over to him.

He took a small sip and waited. It was staying down for the time being.

“I think it’ll stay down.” he managed another micro sip before looking down at himself in disgust. “Ugh, look at me. I’m a mess.”

With great effort, he hoisted himself off the couch and made a feeble attempt at cleaning the vomit off his clothes with a handful of kleenex. “Well, I tried.”

“How are you feeling?” Edna asked.

“Not great, but a little better.”

“What do you say we go back to my place and get you cleaned up? I’ll get you in the shower and make you feel all better.” Edna said in a tone that was both motherly and seductive.

Seymour gave a genuine smile despite still feeling like crap. It was by far the best idea he’d heard all day. He placed his clean hand around his girlfriend’s shoulder and held her close.

“Edna, I’d love that.”

[sneek-m]

You Can (Not) Undo: A Look Back into Hikaru Utada's Songs for the Evangelion Rebuild Series

Originally published on Substack, as a feature of This Side of Japan issue #40.

Like its associated film, “One Last Kiss” starts with a recap to explain all that had transpired in the life of Hikaru Utada. “There was no such thing / as my first Louvre / I already met / my first Mona Lisa,” the awe-struck singer begins in the theme song for Evangelion: 3.0+1.0 Thrice Upon a Time. “The wheels started to turn / the day I first saw you / A premonition for loss that I couldn’t stop.” While her reminiscences provide a beautiful distraction, she ultimately can’t escape her fate where she must inevitably face the end.

The story of Neon Genesis Evangelion in the Rebuild movies looked more extravagant than its TV counterpart, revealing far grimmer scenarios over the course of four films made in the span of 14 years. But all of the new developments in the story couldn’t distract the series from leading to the same conclusion as the original—the end—and we, the audience, have to come to terms that it is now complete. “Shinji Ikari is a truly hopeless protagonist who seems to be cursed to play out his own undoing for all eternity in different realities from now until the end of time,” Willow Catelyn Maclay wrote on Mubi in 2019 about the three Rebuild movies. “It is Shinji Ikari’s fate to bear witness to the end of everything, and it is Hideaki Anno’s to tell this story again and again.”

Appropriate, then, for Utada to also be in the mood to look back for the final song in the Rebuild series. After a clean break, the singer reflects what she once had using her head as she does her heart—a privilege only earned when the experience sits at a far enough distance in hindsight. The production glows more muted and subdued perhaps than what one would imagine from a song in collaboration with A.G. Cook, but the idyllic prettiness befits the sober head space of Utada. She now resides at a place on the other side of the aftermath where she can confidently sing “I love you more than you’ll ever know” as an easy-to-hum refrain but also as an obvious truth.

Utada’s songs for the four Rebuild films now also stand as a complete series of sorts with the last film finally out, telling their own story of loss sometimes parallel to their attached films. The songs, too, are in conversation with one another, making sense of familiar catastrophes while haunted by the same ghosts. While the unwavering perspective of “One Last Kiss” is admirable on its own, it resonates more powerfully after witnessing Utada’s decade-long journey to settle on such steady ground.

Utada’s sense of peace and emotional clarity in “One Last Kiss” is already well-earned following a starker, more obvious process of grief. “Sakura Nagashi” from Evangelion: 3.0 You Can (Not) Redo finds the singer during the immediate stage of loss. And while the song also relies on reminiscences to bandage the pain like “One Last Kiss,” here the barren present is too imposing for memories to offer a sweet distraction. “I can’t believe it that I can’t see you ever again,” she cries out during the song’s guitar-squealing peak. “I haven’t told you anything yet.” So much is left unfinished while the world moves along without a care.

“Sakura Nagashi” is accompanied by the most forlorn ballad arrangement out of the three singles. While the other songs for the Rebuild films glowed with a warm, synth-led pulse, “Sakura Nagashi” is devoid of much besides Utada on an upright piano. The somber music befits a film that brought the harshest upset and destruction. During the first half of You Can (Not) Redo, Shinji Ikari bears witness to the irreversible damage he has brought to the world. He’s also shaken by the present timeline with once-familiar peers who he can no longer recognize. The first act is especially disorienting to reflect the perspective of Shinji, who can only cling on to the good things he once knew to keep moving forward.

After seeing the tragedy unfold in the later songs, it’s bittersweet returning to the fresh, wide-eyed perspective of “Beautiful World,” written when the Rebuild movies after Evangelion: 1.0 You Are (Not) Alone were yet to be made. The weightless R&B production sounds free from much of the burden plaguing the other two songs. Taken by its face, a lyric like “if I can have one wish / let me sleep next to you, it doesn’t matter where” sounds like a tender request in a soft teen-pop song and not one dedicated to a violent doomsday tale. The brooding concepts had yet to be in motion in the background of the songs, and deep loss had yet to color the lyrics into something more devastating and rooted in reality.

So when Utada revisits “Beautiful World” for Thrice Upon a Time, it adds new, powerful meanings to the old record. Titled the Da Capo version, the re-recording of the song for the first Rebuild film was commissioned to fill more time during the end credits roll. But Utada was also into the idea conceptually since the act of creating new material by revisiting the past lies at the core of the Rebuild movies.

As if inspired by You Can (Not) Redo, the new somber arrangement of the Da Capo version suggests the cruel effects of time with it containing hardly any traces of the original’s synth beats. The titular refrain arises from the void specter-like, and the rest of it floats as if in a vacuum. But while it sounds like a ghost of its former self, Utada holds as much faith, if not more in the future as she did almost 15 years ago. The original may have benefited in retrospect from her finding bliss in ignorance in the outcomes of both the beautiful world and the beautiful boy over the course of the series. But she sings here with reassured conviction, her wishes still echoing with optimism despite all she has experienced. “It’s only love,” she nonchalantly sighs, like of course she believes—it’s what unconditional love is about.

Fourteen years later, Utada isn’t free from the catastrophe of her past in “One Last Kiss” despite the rich perspectives gained. But her memories from the events now are less haunting ghosts than precious treasures to remind herself of all the good that existed. She knows she can’t undo all that already happened, knowing the story will reach the same conclusion no matter what. But it only inspires her to tell her own satisfied version of her story of love and loss. “Can you give me one last kiss / let’s have a kiss that’ll make us burn,” Utada asks in the chorus. She rewrites the end in a way she’d like to remember it. If she’s not pleased, she can always rebuild from scratch.

[ruby-rambling]

i am reading up about the breaking bad ending because i'm still not over this and

"Where you start in a story is just as important as where you end. Walter White starts off as a timid chemistry teacher and ends the show as an infamous meth kingpin. But the subtext of that journey is that Mr. White wasn't always so kind and considerate. There are plenty of clues seeded early on in the show that hint that maybe "Mr. Chips" always had the propensity to be petty, vindictive, and violent."

oh d i d h e h u h

"The appeal of Breaking Bad is pretty simple because it asks a question we've all probably wondered at least once. How far would a regular person go, what moral lines would they cross, if they knew they were dying and had to provide for their family? However, by episode five of the show, it's pretty obvious that's just a thin justification for wanton lust for power and petty pride that Mr. White already had."

OH MY HDSKFDH

THIS IS WHAT WILBUR WANTED TO BASE HIS CHARACTER'S STORY AFTER AT THE BEGINNING???

HELP??????????

HOW DID I NOT LOOK INTO THIS FURTHER WHAT

"It's an act of pity, sure, but it's also a genuine offer that would do exactly what Walt is supposedly after—assure that his cancer doesn't bankrupt his family. Even better, he doesn't have to cook and sell meth and murder criminal rivals. Walt turns down the offer angrily and makes a huge scene as he leaves. He can't stand to accept pity, and he doesn't want to build a good life for his family if he's not the one who truly created it. It's about pride, not his family."

"Even his loyalty to Jesse (arguably one of Walt's few redeeming qualities) is off and on, and he often manipulates his poor assistant for his own ends"

"When he tries to convince his family to flee with him, his wife and son attack him, and Walt kidnaps his infant daughter. It's all of Walt's lies laid bare. He chose an empire over his family, and like a certain Shelley poem says, no empire lasts forever. Walt has the money to flee into a kind of witness protection program for criminals, but he's giving up the family that he pretended to do so much for. "

THIS KEEPS GETTING BETTER

@call-me-apple ARE YOU SEEING THIS

"After all, the longer he stays in the game, the higher he rises. But the higher he rises, it gets harder and harder for him to argue that he's just leaving a nest egg for his family. To make things even worse, his cancer goes into remission early on in the show. Sure, it comes back eventually, but the loose justification for his actions—that he'll be dead soon and needs to leave something to his family—is patently untrue for most of the show."

THE POINT

OF THIS FRICKING

CHARACTER

IS THAT HE WANTS POWER

AND HURTS PEOPLE TO ACHIEVE IT

AND DRAGS A KID INTO IT WITH HIM

FORCES HIM TO STAY BY HIS SIDE

AND IS SAYING IT'S ALL FOR HIS FAMILY

WHILE THE SUBTEXT

CLEARLY SAYS HE'S LYING

AND HE CONFESSES IT

AT THE END

I AM GOING TO DIE CAN ANYBODY HEAR ME HELLO?????????

HE'S A PROTAGONIST VILLAIN

WHOSE PERSPECTIVE WE ARE WATCHING

AND PEOPLE THINK HE'S DOING HIS BEST

AND IN ACTUALITY HE IS A GOD AWFUL PERSON

AN DSKDFHKDSHFDGJKDFJLDHKFJ

THAT IS THE POEM C!WILBUR WAS HAVING FUNDY READ

SBDFHKVFLSDJKDDHSFJLFHKJ

I SWEAR I'M NOT HAVING A STROKE

"Even when he dies, it's on his own terms. He's not rotting of cancer but dying in the arms of his true love—the chemistry lab that produces his blue meth."

NEVERMIND THERE ARE TEARS IN MY EYES

"Walt's cancer was just an excuse for him to be the power-hungry villain he'd always wanted to be. As Vince Gilligan once put it, "We always say in the writers' room, if Walter White has a true superpower, it's not his knowledge of chemistry or his intellect, it's his ability to lie to himself. He is the world's greatest liar.""

"How much you want to believe that Walt was a good man is dependent on how much you want to believe his lies. Was he a good man who "broke bad," or was he always a twisted monster who finally got the excuse?"

I AM DONE. I AM LITERALLY DONE. PLEASE LET THE VOID YELL BACK. I NEED TO TALK ABOUT THIS EVERYTHING I'VE EVER KNOWN IS SHATTERED BEYOND REPAIR. I COULD. DSJFDKGD

[starcrossedyanderes]

Beauty and The Birds Part 9

Warning: This chapter contains former abuse from parents, religion (mostly cult-ish stuff), mentions of  ‘The Catholic Church’, and supposed witchcraft. A long with general harm of a person because of them being different. If any of this effects you I recommend possibly not reading this. If you are facing any of the above (except for maybe supposed witch craft) you can access this website for help https://www.thehotline.org/ this is the domestic violence hotline and are generally good for a lot of situations.

Disclaimer: I, as always, do not condone this behavior in any sense. A made up sort of cult-like religion is brought up that tries to hide itself as The Catholic Church. I have absolutely nothing against the catholic church as I am personally a protestant (but of course you know how us protestants feel) and I have nothing against what people believe in as long as no one gets hurt. This is based off of the sad incidents of exorcisms and how the are most commonly performed on regular children and how they quickly turn violent. Please, this is never acceptable. You should never be harmed by your religion or because of your religion.

~Previously on Beauty and The Birds~

“Isn’t that cannibalism?”

“Doggo!”

“Sheepies!”

“No. Other birds. I don’t think there’s another like me.”

~Back to Beauty and The Birds~

“It’s a uh.. long story that I haven’t shared with anyone. As you can tell I’m not exactly the best at communicating-“

He physically backed into himself with a blush on his cheeks and a hand rubbing his neck. You physically drooped as you started to walk away.

“Okay, I guess you don’t want to tell me-“

“NO!”

At seemingly the speed of light and a large ‘whoosh’ the bird man appeared right in front of you with his hands spread.

He had this deranged look on his face that seemed to become more and more common as the days passed.

He stepped closer to you with a shaky crazed smile on his face.

“No, no! I’ll tell you! I would tell you anything.”

He placed his hands on your shoulders to pull you in closer as his smile only widened.

“I would do anything for you. You just have to ask and I would tell you whatever you could possibly want to know. As long as you stay so couldn’t care less. It’s all worth it.”

Hm, he seems to show a lot of territorial behavior and desperation. Could this be part of a courtship sort of thing. He seems to be quite attached for only knowing you for what? 2 days? You’ll have to look into that later.

His smile and piercing gaze finally softened as he seemed to return to his normal self.

“I will admit this is a rough topic for me so I would rather if we could instead talk in the nest.”

You eagerly nodded your head as you gripped your discreet recording device as you were flown up to the top floor’s glass observatory.

It seems the nest acts as a comfort sort of place for him. Somewhat how some animals do during heats and pregnancy’s. From what you can tell he isn’t in a heat (although it could explain some things) and he certainly isn’t pregnant so it is quite odd behavior for a bird to exhibit.

~|~

You were currently perched inside the nest as you awaited on Avery’s return. He, to your annoyance, insisted on getting a few snacks

You irritably clutched on a corviknight plushie you found in the nest before it was quickly abandoned on Avery’s return. 

In his hands he carried various junk foods but there was an odd one that stood out from the rest.

Tater tots.

After putting down the foods on a little side table he quickly joined you in the Blanket Void TM and quickly into you. His wings wrapped around and whilst spreading sent a turtle duck plushie off of the bed. He quickly let out some gentle cooing as he nuzzled deeply into your neck.

“I’m ready to answer your questions now.”

“Alright, how about an easier question to start off. What’s with the tater tots?”

Of course this question was just a ruse to make sure your device was recording and genuine curiosity.

Avery’s head pulled away from your neck and a frown pulled at his lips. He then proceeded in what you like to call his ‘bby voice’

“Is there something wrong with them? They’re my favorite.”

That-that was not the answer you were expecting. Huh, that’s odd.

“Oh, nothing. Just genuine curiosity.”

Avery immediately relaxed back into your arms after popping a tater tot into his mouth. 

“Now, you say you don’t think there’s anyone else like you. Is it because you believe to be the last of your species?”

He stiffened up once again before digging himself more into you.

“Well no, I think. I don’t believe I am part of a species. This may take a while to explain and please bare with me. This is a rough topic that I haven’t really been able to share with anyone.”

You eagerly nodded your head and made sure to give him some headpats which only induced some coos to leave his throat.

“Well my family were rather wealthy and owned an airplane company and I think we did general logistics stuff. We were also rather catholic although now I think we don’t quite fit that term. At least hope not for the sake of people who are actually catholic.

My mother was the heiress and received a lot of suitors. She was supposedly cursed by one of her suitor’s mother after turning him down. We think this may have led to me.. being me.”

You felt rather disheartened but also even more intrigued by this information. So he doesn’t seem to be part of a species, but an odd mutation? (You highly doubted this is from some curse.)

“So where exactly is your family now”

After speaking you popped a tator tot into your mouth.

“I think about 5 years ago my parents, ironically enough, died in a plane crash. I was pretty much only allowed on the estate, the woods, and the church after my wings developed so I wasn’t allowed with them. That was probably a mistake on their parts.”

You waved your arms a bit.

“Hold up, you siad you weren’t allowed anywhere after your wings developed. Does that mean you weren’t born with them.”

Avery let out a reflexive chuckle.

“Ha ha, well I technically was born with them. I was a healthy baby but I had these bumps on my back. Of course everyone was concerned about these being tumors so I was tested frequently. Turns out they were merely bone and somewhat.. hollow. As I grew the bumps started grow into my wings today. The bone thing is also why I take a good bit of calcium since they’re so fragile.”

“But why weren’t you let anywhere after they developed?”

Avery let out a sigh as he mentally prepared himself.

“After the doctors kinda figured out I was somehow growing wings paired with my purple eyes my parents were very excited for me to be an angel like thing. Yeah, I don’t know their understanding either. Maybe consider me as a miracle of the lord of something? Either way they were rather hopeful of this and treated me like a regular son with giving me an education to run the business. But then I got my feathers. Their dreams of an angel were crushed upon seeing that were not pure white but instead a dark black. They became horrified and I was forced to spend a lot of time at the church and was forced to have exorcism after exorcism performed on me. It.. wasn’t pleasant to say the least. My parents quickly hated me and locked me away. But they still needed an heir and they feared to have another child so I was still given an education as I sometimes needed to appear to confirm that they were nice enough to keep me alive.”

You felt some water cascade down your neck as you could place your arms around him in a hug.

“A-Avery that’s awful. I-I’m so sorry you had to go through that.”

Avery gained a small smile as he pulled away from you hug with tears still gliding down his face.

“Y-You’re the first person to every say sorry to me.”

“Oh, Avery. No one should be deprived of that.”

You forced a small grin on your face to try and cheer him up.

“Ok, no more hardcore questions. Stuff that shouldn’t make you cry now. Sorry to open those wounds like that.”

“No, no. It’s fine. I said I would tell you anything. And I’m honestly over joyed to share anything with you.”

How can someone say something so creepy yet sat at the same time? “Alright then, if you’re sure you want to continue. You’re able to communicate with birds from what I can tell. Do they see you as they’re leader or something?”

“Since I was only really allowed in the woods birds quickly became my only friends and company. Also I’ve done a lot of rehabilitation work that a lot seem to feel indebted to me. A lot of birds tend to follow the bigger bird naturally and they see me as a really big bird so they just kinda.. naturally do what I tell them. It also helps that I feed them too.”

“Makes sense, I guess. Like when I saw this heron in a pond one time and a bunch of ducks just followed him around. Last question for the day, alright?”

Avery nodded his head as he pulled you closer.

“I brought like 3 scarves here but I can’t find any of them. I have a slight feeling you may know where they are.”

Of course you couldn’t see it but a dark blush covered Avery’s face.

“W-well two of them are in the nest. I’m afraid that some of the birds got their hands on the other one somehow and are currently using it to snuggle. I’m working on getting them another scarf so you can get yours back.”

Huh, so he puts many different things in his nest. Also now you had to deal with the conflict of you taking a scarf from some cozy, snuggling birds.

“The birds can keep my scarf. I couldn’t just take it from them like that.”

Avery smiled against your neck and cooed.

“I’m sure they’ll be estatic for their cuddling not to be ruined. Now enough questions, more cuddles and movies.”

[5-falsehoods-phonated]

Dee Little Snake

Series Summary:  Janus uses age regression as a way to destress but has little control over it whenever he grows upset. Trying to keep a secret like that can be hard when you're only four years old, and thus family bonding ensues in a way nobody expected, least of all Deceit.

Chapter 2: Bottled Up

Chapter Summary:  Janus finally gets his best friend back.

Warnings: crying

Taglist (ask to be added) @a-different-s1de

It took Janus a few days to join the others at the breakfast table again, twisting his gloves behind his door in an uncharacteristically nervous way as he sucked in a breath. He didn't have anything on him to break this time, unless things somehow turned violent and his bones became a target. Shaking his head he threw his shoulders back and relaxed his face into a neutral expression. He and Patton were attempting to fix things, his relationship with Virgil was...smoothing, Logan had never really had a problem with him and Remus was well, Remus. So that just left Roman who needed to be tread especially carefully around. The odds were certainly in his favor should another altercation occur around one of the others.

But...he had cried. He had lost his cool over a seemingly insignificant item and had been so close to being small in front of one of the worst people to be small with, princely image smeared in his head with anger and petty malice reserved solely for him. He knew he had messed up, insulting Roman the way he did but his name was so much more to him than just something to call if you needed something. A name held so much weight with each and every individual who learned it and used it. A name held the entire history of the individual with it, and to have it said with such flippant mocking in a moment of such desperate trust that would change things for everyone- the implications of the act were clear. Roman hated him.

With good reason, he mused as he took another breath and opened the door, he had used him as a means to an end in his desperation to get Thomas to listen to his own self preservation. Roman had no reason to forgive him for what he had done and he didn't expect him to. He did, however, expect a bit more tact from the royal. Ignoring him and throwing insults was one thing. Blatantly destroying his things without a care was another.

Roman was sitting at the table already writing something or other in an old sketchbook, Patton frying up bacon with an endearing level of concentration at the stove. He grabbed a regular glass from the cabinet and filled it water, stomach flipping at the thought of anything else. Patton offered him a bright smile but didn't say anything; Janus didn't miss the way his eyes flicked worriedly over to Roman.

Thankfully the creative facet paid him no mind, Janus taking his seat a couple chairs away to avoid intruding and hoping he wasn't in anyone else's spot. Hearing shuffling from the doorway he turned and locked eyes with Virgil, who froze momentarily before giving him a tentative nod and walking into the kitchen. Thankfully the awkward air was somewhat saved as a plate of eggs and bacon and toast was pushed under his nose, muttering out a small "Thank you" before shoveling slightly overcooked scrambled eggs into his mouth.

"Thanks Pat." Virgil plopped down heavily beside him, taking the empty space between him and Roman, and he had only a moment to be confused and grateful before a familiar thermos was set down in front of him. Turning to Virgil with bacon still halfway to his mouth he smiled as the other shrugged and looked away. "Rem and I were able to fix it so- yeah."

Hope fluttered in his chest even as Virgil refused to look at him. He knew it was a lot to hope for, to ask for- but he couldn't help but think maybe this could be their clean slate. Maybe Virgil really would want to talk things over with him, fix things, and they could go back to how they used to be. He shook his head minutely as he put his fork back down. No, not how things used to be. He realized now their relationship had always been a bit rocky. Maybe this time...they could make things better.

He had just opened his mouth to thank him when Roman scoffed loudly, reaching forward. "I still don't understand why this is even such a big deal to you. Are these-"

He was cut off as his hand was halted with a vice grip from the anxious side, who sat still and quiet not looking at anyone. "Lay off Princey."

Roman tugged at his arm. "I just-"

Virgil's head snapped up, eyeshadow black as pitch but with a glare that could kill a man if they weren't imaginary. "Don't."

It felt as if everyone and everything in the mindscape was holding their breath as Virgil's voice, distorted as it was, rang out with a finality not even Patton dared question. Janus saw the fatherly side tense and turn, ready to dispell the situation if need be, spatula held out in front of him but whether it was to use as an a weapon or a shield Janus couldn't guess. He felt words stick in his own throat as he cursed himself for not being quicker to come up with some witty remark, dish out a glare, hell even sink out in a fit of dramatics as he was want to do. Instead he sat frozen, wide eyed and slightly hunched behind Virgil.

Anxiety protecting Self Preservation, now where was the irony?

Roman stilled and swallowed loudly, fear passing over his features before an angrier expression took over. Ripping his arm away he stood abruptly and scowled. "Great. You too? I thought you hated him!"

Before anyone could say anything he turned sharply and stalked off, his door slamming loud enough moments later to make all three of them jump. Virgil's arm was still in the same position, fingers tensed around an arm that had long gone before he flexed them with a wince and buried himself in his breakfast without another word.

"Awe, look at the little tongues!" The gentle coo brought Janus' attention to Patton who had placed the rest of breakfast on two other plates and was now looking at the thermos with adoration. "I'm glad you were able to have it fixed, kiddo!"

"I- Patton I'm older than you?" The irony definitely wasn't lost this time as Patton shrugged and settled down gesturing to a plate without looking at him.

"Logan, good morning! I made you a plate and there's some coffee left in the pot still!"

"Thank you, Patton." Logan glanced over briefly and nodded towards Virgil and Janus before pouring himself a mug and sitting down to eat, the silence a bit more comfortable with the still angry prince gone from the table.

Breakfast was a quiet affair however, conversation stopping and starting at awkward intervals. Janus noticed Virgil eating a lot slower than he would normally but nobody commented on it. He watched as Logan then Patton got up, washed their dishes and left the kitchen to go and do whatever they did during the day, leaving him and Virgil alone.

Taking a breath and shoving the last bit of bacon in his mouth Virgil stood up finally and swiped both their plates for the sink. Surprised Janus simply watched as he scrubbed them off and put them away, turning and nodding towards the thermos.

"Still like apple juice?"

"I- yessss?" Janus grimaced as a nervous hiss left his mouth but if Virgil noticed he didn't comment, unscrewing the cap of the newly fixed cup and filling it with the juice.

"Okay." Virgil slid the thermos over to him and sat down across from him with a sigh. "I'm the last side in the world who ever wants to say this, but we need to talk. We can do it here, or wherever but...yeah."

Janus nodded slowly and reached over to grip the thermos, happiness bubbling up briefly to see it fixed and functional and void of shards digging into his hands. "You'd be most comfortable in your room right?"

"This isn't about me so it doesn't matter." Janus snapped his head up and squinted at the anxious side. His eyeshadow was a shade darker than usual and his sleeves were twisted in his fingers almost painfully. Pursing his lips he nodded again.

"Why don't we go to my room then. No one goes in it anyway and I just recently cleaned so it would be a neat environment. Tidy space equals a tidy mind and all that."

"Right." Virgil huffed out a laugh as he stood up. "Now a good time?"

"Of course." Janus had a feeling what this would be about but it didnt make it any easier. He didn't particularly like discussing his regression. There wasn't anything wrong with doing it or why he did it; it was just something that happened and though he would be loathe to the idea of the others knowing he was far from ashamed of it. It was just....he and Virgil hadn't spoken- really spoken- in such a long time. He knew this would be a serious conversation, especially since the closer they got to his room the darker his eyeshadow was getting, but the determined set to his face told Janus he wasn't getting out of this. He'd be proud of his former friend if he didn't feel so much like puking.

Opening the door he gestured inside, Virgil immediately curling up in the comfortable desk chair while Janus sat stiffly on the edge of the bed. They didn't make eye contact for a minute, the tension in the room so tight he could barely breathe. And then Virgil took a steadying breath and the air became easier to suck in again, reminding Janus with a start just how much influence Virgil had to his surroundings. While he waited for the atmosphere to calm he took a swig of his juice, happiness bubbling up again as he realized how long it had been since he'd had it.

"Janus."

"Yes, Virgil?" He looked up to see the anxious side slightly more relaxed, legs curled underneath him with his hands resting on his knees. He looked tired though, slumped over with barely hidden bags under his eyeshadow. He had a feeling now was not the time to bring it up however worried the image made him.

"Have you- did you- damnit." Virgil ran a hand through his hair and took another breath. "You still regress. Which is fine! It's perfectly healthy and there's nothing wrong with it- but...has it been happening a lot? Without...without me there?"

He gripped his cup tighter and said nothing, watching with regret as Virgil's eyes widened.

"Janus...you weren't alone when it would happen right? Remus, or at least-"

"No. I was fine on my own for the most part. I simply locked my door."

"Locked your-! Janus you can't, okay. Okay, I- Janus I'm so sorry. We need...fuck okay." Virgil was sitting up straighter now, gripping his cheeks and squeezing his eyes shut. He couldn't remember the last time he had seen the other so worked up other than when he had left after their final argument. Janus leaned forward and cleared his throat, holding out his hands which Virgil gratefully took in a steel grip.

"I know the way we left things was...less than ideal," he started, looking at Vjrgil directly to try and drive home his point. "But I feel like we're at a point now where we can try to see where things went wrong and fix it. My habit has nothing to do with it."

His fingers were gripped tighter as Virgil laughed. "Your habit? Is that what we call it now? Janus- I need to apologize-"

"You don't."

"Shut up asshole and let me be sentimental." Janus grinned and nodded for him to continue. "The way I acted- it wasn't okay. Neither was the way you acted but that's beside the point. I'm very willing, now that the anger's cooled off, to start fresh. It's something we should have done way before this and I'm sorry for being so stubborn but...I guess it doesn't matter now. I just-"

Distangling their fingers, Virgil gripped his chin gently and tilted his head up, making him look directly into pleading eyes. "I didn't think about how my leaving would impact our trust that badly. You had no one to take care of you, and when you're small you should never have to be left to your own devices. You trusted me all those years ago to be responsible for you and I've been...I've been failing you for years. And that isn't okay."

Tears pricked his eyes and he internally cursed himself for not being able to handle this conversation. It had been years since they had been this close, years since Virgil had looked at him with anything but disdain and borderline hatred; to have him this close now, watching him with such an open expression-

Arms were around him before he even registered Virgil had moved and that was the last straw. Choking off a sob Janus gripped the back of the other's hoodie and buried his face shamefully in his friend's shoulder, years of emotions pouring out in front of the person he expected to care the least. He felt himself being shifted so Virgil could sit beside him, thighs pressing together as he was rocked gently back and forth.

"Shhh, I know. I know, Janus and I'm so sorry. I promise we'll be okay. We're okay now, I'm not leaving again. Let it out it's okay, I still love you, it's going to be okay."

And if that last statement didn't just make him sob harder. His scales itched and his face was hot and he had probably ruined the patched jacket with all of his snot but Virgil loved him. It would be okay because he was holding him and rocking him and telling him everything would be fine. They were okay. Finally, after so long of wanting to talk but never knowing how, he had finally gotten his best friend back.

Neither of them had the will to let the other go for a very long time, but Janus found himself content, as his tears finally slowed and the gentle back rub tapered off, to just sit and be held and loved.

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