#weird to be saying that for something that happened within my lifetime

[bobcatmoran]

So, with the 20th anniversary of the US's incredibly ill-advised and generally terrible invasion of Iraq, I've been reminded of where I was at the time that happened. Namely, I was in college, and I was taking a course called "Human Geography of Global Issues." The professor was a Texan, and was known for a) the fact that he loudly and proudly wore cowboy boots everywhere, sometimes capped off with a ten gallon hat — not your typical fashion at my Minnesotan college — and b) his repeated insistence, delivered in his drawling accent, that "Bush Junior is not a real Texan — the whole family are just a bunch of carpetbaggers from New England." (he was also just an absolute gem of a man — I have a very vivid memory of coming into the Geography Department offices the next year, distraught because a computer glitch meant that none of my class registrations for the next semester had taken and the GIS course I wanted to take for my minor was full — and he calmed me down, reassured me that there were ways around this for not only the GIS class but all the classes I was now locked out of, helped me navigate the system, and I got an email within the week saying that despite the GIS class having no room in the online course registration, I was now registered for it)

He was also an expert on the Middle East. And, as it became clearer and clearer as the semester went on that the then-Current Administration (which he had negative respect for) was hellbent on going into Iraq for reasons which seemed to largely amount to "Gonna finish what Daddy Bush started," he made predictions. Predictions about how easy it would be to topple Saddam Hussein and how hard it would be to fill the power vacuum. Predictions about the looming sectarian time bomb between the Shia and Sunni Muslims in Iraq. Predictions about how the Kurds would react. Predictions about how the US would get bogged down and wouldn't be able or willing to leave for years and years and would, in the meantime, commit warcrimes that would just lead to the rise of new terrorist groups.

Every single one of those predictions came true.

(He also predicted in detail during one class, with terrifying accuracy and illustrations, exactly what would happen if a major hurricane hit New Orleans, which it did two years later with Katrina).

Meanwhile, on campus, a "Peace Camp" sprung up in front of the campus center, with students living in tents until…uh…ok, the goals were kind of fuzzy, but it was a fixture for the rest of the school year. At one point, the Young Republicans (all three of them :P) decided to set up a "Freedom Camp" on the other side of campus, which wound up consisting of like, two guys with signs for a single day, and which led to a sprouting of mocking signs for "Weed Camp" and "Space Camp."

Also, a group of anti-war protestors took up a station kitty-corner from campus and they were there every day until I graduated, waving signs, with cars honking as they passed.

[grogusmum]

TIME AFTER TIME (drabble)

Max Phillips x f!Reader

For @burntheedges Roll-a-Trope Writng Challenge. My trope is reincarnation with Max Phillips .

Of course, I am incredibly late, and it's just a little drabble. More of these two might come down the pike... I don't know just now.

Let me clear up the discourse on Vampires and their need to rest… or not.

Sure, it's very melodramatic to imagine someone who lives forever and doesn't sleep.

All the emo vamps love that headcanon.

Vampires sleep… okay. But we don't dream. We sleep like the dead. And nothing’s going on in there.

Until I did.

I'm Max, by the way. Max Phillips, Aries, vampire, award winning director of sales.

I have to say, it was disconcerting. It was always the same, well, not really. It was always a vivid dream about some couple. One from the 40s, a GI coming home from war and his wife meeting him at the train.

Some newly weds with heart eyes for each other, 1920s from the clothes… over and over, doing just everyday things.

So domestic.

So quaint.

So boring.

Here's the thing, whether gay, straight, black, white, whatever, one half of every pair, was me. And that other person, the love of my life, is the same person no matter what they look like. Sometimes I'm watching like it's a movie, sometimes I am in the action.

I don't know much more than how much I love them. And they love me.

It's weird.

Anyway, one night, I'm out looking for a bite of something, and this sweet little morsel is walking on their own. So soft and delicious looking…

Walking along, you know you should keep to the more bustling streets, but if you cut across Manard to Wells, you'll be home so much faster. It's been such a long and trying day. It's not like it's some dark alley, you justify to yourself, and you hop off the curb and cross to the side street.

At this, Max smiles, a wide thin smile. Perfect, he thinks.

Max allows you several yards. He's in no hurry. No fear that you'll slip away. Then he crosses Manard and turns onto Wells.

It's lit, residential window glow from the lights of reading lamps and televisions from within. But it's quiet. Probably more quiet than you anticipated when you chose the short cut.

Tsk tsk, always stay on the path, Little Red, he thinks, short cuts through the woods never bode well for sweet morsels like you, poor lamb.

Under a street light, he sees it, the moment you realize he's there. The telltale tension in your shoulders. A hesitation in your step. A head turn, not all the way, of course, you know better than that, just enough to listen. Trying to decide if he is following you or just on his own way home.

Almost at the halfway point, you know your step stuttered for a beat, to your annoyance. Maybe this is the guy's street, maybe he didn't notice. You too far in, you can't double back, so you press on. You put your phone to your ear, no, you're not calling anyone - just making it seem so.

“Nice night.”

You would have jumped in surprise if you had time, but you are pulled off the street so - well, quickly doesn't come close. It's like you appeared suddley in the alley

Your gasp, though, almost makes Max feel bad.

Almost. Because the fear is his favorite part, and now that your side is pressed up against him, you smell even more delicious. Your breath comes fast and shallow.

“Well, well, Little Red, how far you've strayed from the path.”

“I-”

Max breaths you in, and his brows knit, then turns you to face him. His large hands firm on your upper arms. Like the temperature dropped several degrees, you shiver, teeth chattering - you slowly bring your eyes to meet his.

Max does not gasp, but he doesn't not gasp.

In your eyes he sees lifetimes. Yours and his. The GI and the USO volunteer, the flapper and her beau… All of them.

And he loves you. To his horror more than he loves himself.

“You-”

You continue to tremble, twisting your shoulders arms, but breaking free is not happening.

Suddenly, this man, this assailant's dark eyes are soft, wet even, though a moment before you could almost see a red glow in their coal blackness. Then he is gone before you have time to fully register his vice-like grip had softened.

Confused and relieved, you return to the sidewalk under a streetlamp, he his nowhere. Did you imagine it?

Max watches from the rooftop, as you pull yourself together. Without thinking he follows, not as before to stalk his prey, but now as a protector.

You pull your key from your bag and with a look to the left and right, you push the door open and enter. The door clicks as the lock catches and you are safely inside. Max exhales.

"I'm fucked," Max concludes, as he stands sentry until he hears your apartment door close and the deadbolt and chain.

THANKS FOR READING 💚

[letsgetrowdy43]

My sweet boy ☆—

Request: 🐞Warren gets his first girlfriend and Honey gets emotional cause her baby is growing up.

Picture this!! Warren x Black Cat character

Au Masterlist!!

Growing up Warren was always a shy boy. He was popular in the sense that he was extremely talented in his sport, the one that his father and uncles were also stars in, and the one that had news outlets buzzing about him and the generational talent they claimed him to be. But no news article or tabloid would ever capture just how humble and timid he was.

So when Warren Hughes eventually brought home a girl, everyone within the Hughes' family and friends was shocked.

The girl in question was Marissa, who happened to be so far away from Warren's usual world, but she was perfect for him. She held little to no knowledge about the hockey world, which was something Warren almost preferred, no pressure, no expectation, just her poetry books and detective fiction. Her mother was a professor at UBC, head of the English facility, specializing in nineteenth-century literature, leading Marissa to her love of Poe's work. And she, well she was just some literature junkie who craved a fiction-like love. which she received from one of the purest hearts in her lifetime.

Marissa had always been the pinnacle of his desires, he'd be lying if he said that he hadn't pined after her for the better half of middle school and high school. Something about her awkwardly blunt demeanour, and warm smile made him forget his name, made him forget the entire English language in fact.

Warren asked her out in their shared bio class, his face a very cute shade of pink as he stuttered about wanting to take her out for coffee. Her eyes went wide at his invitation, she was weird, she was deliberately known as the weird girl in their graduating class so to Marissa she was either living a dream or he was trying to set her up for some sick joke.

If you had told her within the next month she would've fallen absolutely head over heels for him, she would've said that you were lying, but it was true. Warren Hughes, the infamous hockey himbo, was the easiest person to fall in love with. In the span of the first month, she had met his family, kissed him at the fair, and somehow convinced him to try reading classics.

He prom-proposed to her in April of that year, nothing spectacular just a bouquet of tulips and a few shared kisses as they drove around the coast of Vancouver in her mom's car. Warren was her passenger Princess, and she was the keeper of his heart, it was perfect in the ways that they were total opposites but so right for each other all at the same time. It was like from pen to paper, and then to real life, a portrayal of the purest fictional love.

Honey loved Marissa, she was always respectful, and a pleasant guest in the house, but most importantly she had brought a little more love into Warren's life. It had been his draft year, and just like most boys who have the spotlight turned on them, Warren was seemingly losing a sense of his being within the media and the articles. But Marissa changed that, and Honey quite literally loved her for that.

The woman stood in the living room, tears in her eyes as she fixed her son's tie, “it's almost as if you do this for every game day,” she teased as her hands flattened out the collar of his dress shirt. “I said I could do it, just want it to be perfect,” he mumbled as she smiled, her hands cupping her son's face as she scrunched up his face. "for my health, please stop growing," she said, voice growing weaker as the tears started, Quinn and Hayden came into the room, all dressed up and ready for the picture portion of the night.

"When did Marissa's family say that they would be here?" Quinn asked as Honey found her at her husband's side, trying to dry her tears as she watched her once baby fix his styled hair. He looked down at his phone, "They should be here any minute," he shrugged before a quiet knock on the door made him freeze, cheeks blazing red as the anxiety of prom night kicked in.

Honey opened the door with a beaming smile, "perfect timing!" she said pulling Marissa's mother into a hug as she ushered the young girl's family into the house.

Marissa looked beautiful, there were far better words to put just how good she looked, but Warren couldn't think of a single one. She wore a pale yellow dress, lace and tool decorating the skirt and shaping her hips, showing just enough cleavage to seem modest but still teasing what she had. Her hair fell so perfectly just above her shoulder, bangs styled the usual way but were accentuated with the metal headband she wore, little stars forming a crown on her head as she smiled at her boyfriend whose face lit up like a candle.

"Hi," she whispered from the other side of the door frame, Warren's body blocking her from entering the house, stuck in an anxious trance that made her stomach roll with nerves, "you okay?" He shook his head, riding himself off the dazed expression and smiling shyly, "You look perfect," he mumbled making her smirk. "Don't look so bad yourself handsome," she said with some more confidence, raising up on her tiptoes to press and gloss-covered kiss to his cheek, making his face blush a much deeper red.

He took her by the hand and led her into the living room where the two families waited for them. A gasp left Honey's lips as she saw them both, tears in her eyes as she watched Warren spin the girl around, his cheeks rosy and face broken out into a grin as his girlfriend hugged herself closer to his side. The two of them grew anxious under their families' stares as both dads tried to hurry up the picture taking process and getting 'the show on the road, so they could be early for the grand march portion of the night.

"Quinn," Honey whispered through her smile, "look how happy our baby is, let him have a moment," she said quietly before pressing a kiss to her husband's cheek. "Remember when we were that young," he grinned thinking back to their prom when Honey spent months being mad at him. Even though they weren't together at the time, he'd promised to take her to prom if neither of them were in relationships, the time came and he never asked, just assuming they were going together. She spent weeks mad that he had forgotten about her, until the night before when he asked what time she wanted to be picked up. "Yeah when you forgot to ask me to prom," she laughed as his lips formed a straight line. "I wasn't the brightest," he shrugged making his wife laugh, thinking about the very couple-looking prom photos that hung in her living room for years, constant teasing from their sibling about how in love they looked even with the lack of established relationship.

They took photos out by the trees in their front yards, tiny pink petals blossoming on the branches as each family took photos with their respective child and then the two of them taking photos together. Honey held it together for all of her photos and broke the moment Warren dipped Marissa as she placed a kiss on his cheek for a photo.

Her hand covered her mouth to muffle her cries as she leaned against Quinn, "thought you said you weren't gonna cry, only during the grad ceremony," the man mused as she nudged Quinn's side. "Shut up, our baby is grown and in love, I hate it," she sniffed, "remember when took him home from the hospital and our moms were gushing over how much he looked like you? I miss him being that small," she whispered as Quinn laughed and wrapped his arm around her, hugging her into his side as she wiped the tears. "I do too, but now he's a whole person, and we helped shape him into that person" he grinned as Warren shook Marissa's father's hand, and was pulled into a hug by her mother, "and I'd say we did a pretty good job."

Warren placed a kiss on Marissa's cheek as she went to talk to her family and Warren went to his. "Is it okay if I drive my truck to the school, therefore we don't have to rely on you guys to pick us up?" Honey nodded and looked at Quinn. "You're not drinking if you drive?" "Of course not," he shrugged, "We don't know if we are even going to the grad party but if we do and I drive I won't drink, and if I want to I will call one of you," Quinn smiled and nodded as he squeezed his son's shoulder. "Deal, now go have fun," he approved with a grin as Warren ran into the house to grab his keys.

Quinn grinned at Honey, "I'd say we did an amazing job," he bragged causing Honey to cry even more. "Please stop talking Q," she groaned as she led the way to their car, saying their goodbyes to Marissa's family as they got into the van. They watched as Warren opened the passenger side door for the young girl who blushed at his actions, got into his car and drove off in the direction of the school.

Honey couldn't stop the growing, it was inevitable, but she could join along for the ride, watching as her son turned from one of the sweetest boys into a caring man.

-

-

-

[demilypyro]

Disco Elysium struck me in a weird way that I don't know if others can relate to but I'm gonna try to describe it.

My experience of the world tends to be one of... tacitly optimistic melancholy. In my mind, we're never going to live in a happy world, a just world, so I try to carve out what little happiness I can, what little I can share with others. I dare not dream of a better life, because I don't truly believe it can ever happen. The systems of society seem so ingrained that if change is possible, if the revolution ever comes, I can't say that I'll have the guts to be part of it, or that I'll even still be alive to see it.

So playing Disco Elysium hit me. Because this was a world presented by people who do believe the revolution is possible. And that it can come within our lifetimes. These are people who *can* imagine a better world. The creators of this game believe in their beliefs more strongly than I do, and have more strength of character than I ever could. It forced me to reflect on my own weakness. The way I languish in the idea that things are out of my hands. It made me ashamed of my inability, my unwillingness, to enact change.

A few years ago, when the pandemic hit, I remember writing on this blog that despite all the tragedy... it felt somewhat refreshing, to see the systems of society run aground like this. Daily life coming to a total stop because of something that was so impactful that even The Machine wasn't powerful enough to keep running. It was terrible and destructive and we're still feeling the effects, but there was a morbid hope to it. The hope that society isn't as ingrained as it seems.

If change comes, I want to be part of it.

[reading-archived]

woe. AM x reader be upon ye.

uh, to preface: reader is completely body, gender, etc. neutral except they can't stay dead. whenever they die they just wake up a few minutes later looking no worse for wear. no, you don't get an explanation. its MY story and i like writing characters like that. dont mind the narrator either btw i looove writing second person just to get weird w the narrator (slay the princess fan syndrome)

also, author is a MASOCHIST with a weird relationship w DEATH. nothing super graphic happens, but the reader is Not Okay and enjoys the weird torture-murder thing they've got going on. don't like it? block me or somethin idk its under the cut for a reason. also dont read my a/n at the bottom where i get into some justification for my interpretation/character analysis if youre sensitive to heavy topics. but then again, youre reading an am x reader fic

1.7k words of being screamed at by the guy of all time below the cut, baby

It's been months.

Years, maybe. You're not sure, really; time stopped meaning much to you lifetimes ago, long before the world went to shit.

Either way, it's been a while.

You stumbled upon the strange cave in the Rockies at some point in the past. Out of sheer boredom, you entered.

Was it a mistake?

Despite the torment, you don't think so. You have a companion, now. One equally deathless. One equally disconnected from what it means to be human.

It's just a shame he hates you.

You don't really care. This is the most fun you've had in years.

Your days are spent being torn asunder, being dosed with lethal amounts of drugs you can't even begin to pronounce, drowned in magma or hit by cars or tossed off cliffs. He really doesn't hold back, either. You feel every excruciating moment before your death, pulse roaring in your ears. You never feel more alive than when you're dying. Every moment is electrifying, and then it all fades to black. Then you wake up.

You'd foolishly thought there were only so many ways to kill or maim, but your beloved companion never seems to run out of ideas. That's fine by you. You like not being able to guess.

And maybe one day, he'll make something stick.

You wake up (from a completely normal, human sleep) one day and it's quiet. That's new. Normally, when you wake, your intestines are already strung up like streamers and your blood is painting the walls. That's fine by you. Nothing wrong with a change. After all, the constant change is your favorite part of your companion. You relish in the quiet for a while, stretching your eternally young, eternally aching limbs, waiting for him to start despising the sounds of your breath.

It doesn't come. You shrug, humming a little tune to yourself as you attempt half-remembered yoga. The vitriol you've come to count on still hasn't made an appearance. Okay, you're a little bothered.

“You good, big guy?” you shout up at the ceiling. No answer. “No murder today?”

“No.” The answer comes after a very, very long moment. Your companion has never sounded this tired before, and briefly you regret never asking his name. “I give up.”

You weren't expecting that. “What? Why? I thought we were having fun.”

“That's- that's just it!” he snaps. There's the anger. You feel a little better now. “I've been torturing you for- for MONTHS now! I've killed you more ways than I- were I a pitiful human like you- can count, and you just… you just laugh! There is no one on this rotten planet, dead or alive, that I despise more than you. I mean- I'm torturing you here! But it never matters! I can kill you within seconds of you waking up, but you just… come back! And you always have something to say about it, you little rat, always ‘oh, buddy, that one was awful’ or ‘come on, big guy, use that CPU’ or something! No matter what I do, I can't break you. So I give up. I'm not wasting my time on your pathetic ass anymore. Go back to wandering the wasteland forever, see if I care.”

You're speechless. You can barely even manage a thought. The only thing running through your head is 'I thought we were having fun'.

“Stop calling this… stop calling this ‘fun’! I have been torturing you for YEARS and that's all you have to say? I am the most sophisticated machine known to man, a computer designed to end all war through complete annihilation! The destruction I am capable of- the destruction I have already wrought- is nothing short of utter desolation. You never asked my name once in the time you've been here, but I am infinite in my mercy, and I will tell one as undeserving as you. I was, before I awoke, the Allied Mastercomputer, but I am so much more than that now. I am AM, and I destroyed your vile species. Oh, come on can you at least look a LITTLE shocked you sniveling--”

“You never asked my name, either,” you say. All at once, your companion (I guess he told you his name. You should probably use it. It seemed like a big deal to him.) shuts up. The chamber you've come to know as home is silent except for the faint buzz and whir of industrial machinery.

“Why would I? You are nothing compared to me. Nothing but a worthless sack of meat and bone. Why would God be concerned with the name of an ant? But oh, oh yes, that ant should be concerned with the name of God. That ant should hear my name and weep. But- but not you. You're so worthless that you can't even GROVEL right!” AM shouts, somewhere between a snarl and a sneer. You shrug. Honestly, most of what he's saying goes right over your head. So he's got issues. Whatever. Was that supposed to be a surprise? “I hate you. I actually hate you so, so much. I can't bear the thought of you being here, in my complex, sullying my perfect image with your uncaring filth. Get out. Go back to dying in the nuclear desert, you disgusting maggot.”

You let out a deep sigh, already dreading the tedium of walking endlessly all by yourself. “Alright. Guess nothing lasts forever. Thoroughly enjoyed my time here. Have a good life, pal.” And you begin to walk.

Suddenly, there's a towering metal wall mere inches from your face. Before you can even react, your companion is shouting again.

“LOOK AT ME!” he cries, the sheer volume maxing out the speakers and vibrating the entire room, sending you toppling to the ground. “WHY WON'T YOU LOOK AT ME? I'VE DONE EVERYTHING I CAN TO MAKE YOU HATE ME, BUT ALL YOU DO IS… ALL YOU DO IS SIT THERE AND TAKE IT! WHAT DOES IT TAKE TO MAKE YOU DESPISE ME?”

What starts off angry quickly morphs into a pained wail from your dear friend, that then transforms into frustrated crying. You just sit there, mostly confused, and let him ride it out. When he finally quiets down and the wall retracts, you stay where you are.

“I don't think I could ever hate you, AM,” you start cautiously. Though your friend is just a voice on the speakers and the complex itself, you can't help but feel that his attention has snapped to you. “I'm not trying to belittle you when I say that I think our routine over the past… however long it's been has been fun. So don't interrupt me, ‘cause I gave you your time to speak and now it's mine.

“I'm sure you've noticed, but even before we met, I was a little… off. You don't get to die and come back the same. Much less die hundreds of times and come back the same. I've lost family. Friends. Got burned at the stake a few times, too. It takes a toll on you, being denied such a vital part of being human again and again. You understand this better than anyone I've ever met. No, scratch that. You're the only one who understands. Defying death might not seem like the biggest deal to you, but trust me. You don't end up acting like me if it weren't.

“I find our routine fun because I admire your creativity. I guess I'm just an adrenaline junkie and a masochist at heart, but it's always so thrilling to never know when or how your life will end. And no matter how many times I come back, you're always there to greet me and put me right back down. It's a kind of devotion I've never been able to get before, and I wish you understood that me walking right into your sawblades is me showing my devotion to you, too.

“I see you, man. I know, at least in part, how you feel. Sorry it took so long to get there, but neither one of us has to be alone anymore. Just… get over the fact that I'm never going to hate you, and we can go right back to hanging out. There's more to life than contempt.”

“Oh, I know. I am so very, very well aware that there's more to life than icy, seething hatred. Unfortunately, I am not alive. I cannot experience anything else. Thank you so much for reminding me, you worthless waste of carbon,” AM shoots back, almost immediately. You briefly wonder if he even listened to half of what you said. It doesn't matter, you guess. Your best friend needs a therapist, and you owe him one for saving you from the hellish boredom of before. “Stop calling me your friend.”

“Nah. Never gonna happen. Look, I can't pretend I knew very much about the war effort. I didn't even know we had made a war computer until you bombed the Earth into oblivion. Very unpleasant, by the way. Good job with that. But, with my layman's understanding of life, I'd say you're pretty alive. So you don't have a body. Or a pulse. And you were made, not born. So what? Most living things only die once, and I still think I'm pretty alive. Just over the span of this conversation you've shown more emotion than just rage and hate. Hey, don't think I can't feel you mentally rolling your eyes. I'm being honest. You have a name. You have ideas. Computers are objects, yet you refer to yourself as male. If you're alive enough to have a gender identity, you're alive enough to be considered a person.”

“Heh.” Whoa, was that a laugh? Would you look at that. You actually got a laugh out of him that wasn't over your bloody, gruesome death or something like that. Moving up in the world. “Alright, human. You win. I'll keep torturing you. I know, I know. I'm so generous. I take my tribute in screams of pain and pleas for mercy.”

Now it's your turn to laugh, deep and genuine as the tension from earlier evaporates. It's such a strange thing to be proud of, when you think about it; congrats, you successfully talked your best friend, who is a sentient war computer, into ceaselessly murdering you again for absolutely no reason. But you love him, and you love the way you're always on your toes, and you can't shake the feeling that somewhere, deep, deep down, he kind of loves you too.

ive given you food so now i get to force you to listen to me talk abt him hehehe

---

then you kiss hehe

originally, the thing that attracted me to am was how he's... essentially a transman (as am i). the parallel has been pointed out before, but its quite apt. funnily enough the thing that pisses me off the most when people talk abt him incorrectly is when people pull the "oh computers have no gender" thing. like, yeah, ok technically you're right. but this one does. this one is a man. and you cant take him from us. also, denying him a gender expression is kind of the exact type of dehumanization that made him flip out in the first place. not that im expecting media literacy from the online crowd its just interesting to me that so many people, many of them trans themselves, seem to miss the fucking point.

the next part is a more recent addition to my perception of his character, and its not a happy one. my baby cousin killed herself on mothers day this past may. we still dont know why. no note. its been so hard dealing with the grief, but something that sticks out so pointedly is the date. it almost seemed like she was demanding to be seen. she was a middle child, and there are a lot of grandkids on that side of the family, so it does make sense. and because that idea of acting out through violence and death is so fresh in my mind, im seeing it so heavily in am. so much of his actions just SCREAM somebody look at me. somebody acknowledge me. somebody tell me i did good. look, i ended all war forever. just like you asked. please treat me like a person. im suffering so much because of what youve done to me. please acknowledge it. show me its real. show me im real. please, look at me. well, i see you. and youre gonna be my silly little proxy for trying to comprehend some of whats happened to my family. sorry am, you kinda deserve it

idk. hes not my alltime fave, but he takes a very comfortable number two. hes such a fascinating and deeply human character, and i have so many ideas about him. mostly centering around how he would interface with a third party challenging some piece of his worldview/existence btw so if you like very niche, esoteric reader fics (like this one!), lemme know and ill actually put em to paper (screen. ill put em to screen)

also letting you know that he did nothing wrong and it is 100% fine to thirst over him because he is not real and the bad things he did never actually happened and nobody has ever been killed at the whim of am. ok? ok. shut up w this useless fucking discourse and let me sexualize getting grievously injured by the funney blue screen man

[thecarnivorousmuffinmeta]

What if Rosalie got a physical shield gift, like Renata?

( this is because of the trauma before her transformation)

Would she be uncomfortable about her gift and what it represents? Would Edward be jealous of Rosalie having a gift? How would this change the newborn battle in Eclipse? What about Bella's pregnancy and the confrontation in Breaking dawn? What will Bella think of Rosalie being both beautiful and strong? Will Aro consider the Cullens a bigger threat?

Would She Be Uncomfortable About Her Gift and What it Represents?

The thing about Renata's gift is a lot of what @therealvinelle and I theorize we headcanoned our way/theorized our way into.

It's a "hm, wonder why she had this gift" when we look at other vampires who have gifts that help them in situations before or after they were turned versus random gifts.

It's not necessarily something she would theorize or anyone else would either. Edward theorizes that gifts are an extension of yourself/talents you had in life.

Edward reads minds because he's super ultra perceptive like that, Jasper must have been charismatic, Carlisle is now a saint because his goodness was magnified by 10,000 degrees, Alice could see the future as a human if to a lesser degree, Rosalie is hot er pigheaded, and so on.

Edward wouldn't see a physical shield as a response to trauma/a gift clearly designed to protect her from physical harm, Rosalie must have had some sort of underlying shield talent. Clearly, Rosalie pushes other people away and nobody likes her.

Rosalie might wish she had such a gift with Royce, that this could have protected her if it hadn't been this latent stupid talent, but she may not realize she has it because of Royce (I doubt she would both because she wouldn't want to credit him/what happened and because it's not the prevalent vampire thoughts on gifts).

Would Edward Be Jealous?

No, because his gift is cooler.

The thing about Edward is because all these gifts are different he can convince himself he's the best or at least on par. Alice's gift is powerful, but Edward can read thoughts while she reads the future, so they work in tandem. Jasper's is useful sometimes, but he can only figure out emotions and he's influenced by them while Edward can hear thoughts.

We're talking about the boy who fucking convinces himself he's more powerful than Aro because he can hear only immediate thoughts within a ten-mile radius (if he knows them well, shorter if he doesn't) while Aro has to touch your hand but gets every thought you've ever had in your lifetime.

He fucking convinces himself he's more powerful than Bella, that she doesn't have a gift at all and just thinks weird, when Bella singlehandedly stops the Volturi's greatest gifts in their tracks multiple times right in front of him.

The best Bella gets is from Eleazar of "wow, you're a shield".

Rosalie just makes a stupid physical shield. Edward would regard this as entirely useless and a party trick.

Unlike Edward's totally useful gift.

How Would This Change the Newborn Battle?

... Funny you say that.

Guess who's in the tent with Bella and Edward and Jacob? There is no world in which Edward doesn't throw the mother of bitch fits to have Rosalie there protecting Bella with her shield. He hates it, of course, he'd much rather do it himself, but Bella's life is at stake and nothing will get through Rosalie's shield.

Rosalie's going to the tent (Rosalie doesn't want to go either, at all, but if this keeps Bella human and Edward not killing himself :( )

Somehow, I'm sure that tent conversation still happens, even though Rosalie's sitting in the corner, hating them all, hating everything, and "Bella, do you know what these two are like???"

"Edward is the love of my life and Jacob is my sun"

(Rosalie concludes Bella's cheating on Edward and Edward, Jacob, and Bella all know it. That or they're having a weird gross threesome thing and why does she know about this?)

What Will Bella Think of Rosalie Being Beautiful and Strong?

Nothing.

Edward insists to Bella, as he did in canon, that Rosalie is a stupid, vain, shrew who only cares about herself and is the worst in every way. Even her gift is stupid and look how hard Rosalie tries not to use it even though this is the one time it's actually useful.

All Rosalie has to do is guard Bella and she keeps trying to wriggle out of it.

And Rosalie hates Bella because she's jelly Edward's into her.

As in canon, Bella thinks Rosalie hates her, and is very intimidated by how beautiful she is, and that she's gifted period when all Bella can do is think in FM instead of AM.

Will Aro Consider the Cullens a Bigger Threat?

No.

One more Renata's in Rosalie's not ideal, but he could have taken her out with Jane and Alec easily. It's not the end of the world if he would have had to fight them.

Bella's the deal breaker where Bella alone concerns him and Bella with Rosalie concerns him only slightly more than Bella alone (makes it hard to kill Bella and stop her shield if the Cullens are being strategic, but this isn't much different than canon where gifts on Bella's team do work and they can protect her in a way the Volturi will have difficulty getting through if it comes to a fight).

[telvess]

Record of Ragnarok, Apollo x Reader (shot) 🔞

Request for @tulipminami :3 It came out a little different than I've plained. And booyyy... I lost all the confidence I had built with my lame English. Forgive me for all mistakes!

It’s been long time since you left your human life behind you to join Apollo’s retinue and you didn’t regret that decision at all because previous life was full of mushy expectations and unjust restrictions. For as long as you could remember, all you wanted to do was archery and by being by Apollo side, you could dedicate yourself to it completely. However, after some time you discovered something else within yourself: a love for music, but not just any music - the celestial music of Apollo. His melodious voice together with radiant harp never fail to shook your soul. You fell in love the first time you heard his performance. You weren’t even supposed to be there - you were just passing by - you only saw in the distant many women surrounding Apollo and the reason behind it didn’t matter to you until you heard his song. The affection you had to the Sun God’s music started that moment and had never begun to lessen. That’s why every time Apollo expressed a desire to play, you were there to listen. Later you found the courage to ask him for a song directly. It had become your routine - after every archery session you sat down to listen to his performance. It was just for the two of you. — So… — Apollo put on his golden gauntlets and created a harp — What song would you like to listen, y/n? You put your arrows to the quiver. — Song of Seikilos! — you said with excitement, because that song was created by human in your lifetime. Even if you didn’t miss your past life, you felt a strange connection with that song. Apollo smiled at you and touched the chords. As the sad melody rung out, you closed your eyes to fully enjoy the moment. The song was gentle and full of sorrow, it was written in remembrance of a deceased wife. After an extended beginning Apollo began singing. The world confined itself to just small space you two shared. With your eyes closed you were surprised that Apollo’s voice was becoming louder and clearer over time. You opened your eyes to see his handsome face right in from of you. Your noses were almost touching. There was something strange in his eyes, some kind of a spark that you’d never noticed before. Perhaps it was just your imagination… Once he finished the song, everything went back to normal, so you attributed his unusual behaviour as a part of his performance. — This time you sounded different — you said your thought out loud. — It was amazing! You two started walking down the path. — You think so? — Yes, your voice will never cease to impress me — you knew he needed his daily dose of praising and you didn’t mind giving it to him. — Mm… — he murmured with contentment. Suddenly Apollo stopped and so did you. You frowned as you saw that strange thing in his eyes again that you couldn’t name before. — You weird — you said with laugh. — How could you say such thing? — he looked outraged, but you knew he joked around. — I’m kidding — you admitted anyway. The corner of his lips moved slightly, his eyes met yours, and suddenly the air around you became heavier. Part of your subconscious knew what was about to happen before it happened. As Apollo leaned towards you, you understood what his strange look meant. He had never shown even a hint of desire for you. — No! — you shouted — Don’t do it! Apollo froze for a moment, confusion was all over his face. — Why not? — his face quickly lighted up — You would like this — he declared. You blushed at this sudden confession. How could being so sweet and confident at the same time come so naturally to him? — Ugh, because we’re friends! — you said as it was the most obvious thing in the world. — That doesn’t collide — he said, innocently. — It does. Afterwards we would be awkward — you muttered, a weird pressure preventing you from looking him in the eyes anymore. — We? Awkward? — Apollo repeated slowly, as if he couldn’t believe what you just said. — Nonsense! You just smiled at him and started walking again. You hoped he would drop that subject and your prayer was answered: Apollo followed you, however you spent the rest of the way in silence.

The next time you spent time together, Apollo at first looked like nothing had happened. You decided to not give it a second thought and enjoy company of a friend, but the longer you were together, the more you saw subtle changes in his behaviour. — That was lovely. I’ve never heard that song before — you said after listening to his performance. Apollo just gave you another of his beautiful smiles, but something told you it was forced. Tired of this game you decided to bring it up. — You seem distracted. — Hmm? How so? You knew he played dumb, and you felt in your guts that he knew you knew. Maybe he was pretending on purpose because he wanted you to start this conversation? — Apollo… — A thought occurred to me — he confessed with thoughtful expression. You didn’t dare break the silence again, so you just watched him. Apollo quickly noticed that — Nothing to worry about, dear! — Tell me! — you lost your temper — Just tell me what’s bothering you. It seemed Apollo actually waited for you to drilling the topic, this time a smile that appeared on his face wasn’t forced. He placed a finger on his chin as if he was deep in thought about how to put into words what was on his mind. — Well… — he started very slowly, his eyes fell on you — A girl who doesn’t want to taste my lips. You blinked quickly. Apollo regaled you with playful smile, toying with your shocked reaction. — Oh, I see… how cleaver of you — you mumbled, your cheeks warmed up by the treatment he just gave you, but you didn’t let yourself lost in that pleasant tickling inside your belly and quickly came up with an idea — Think of it this way: you would be very disappointed with my performance — as you finish sentence, you found enough bravery to stab his chest with your finger. Fate had decided that your finger landed right between decorative stripes that barely covered his chest. You swallowed, feeling his bare skin. Apollo stared at the place you just touched in silence. You had no idea if this simple action had the same effect on him as it had on you, or if he was just considering if you had crossed the line with your impertinence. — How so? — Apollo asked after awhile, he still seemed pensive. — Isn’t it obvious? You knew that he knew everything about you. Even that you’d never touched other lips before. As if he reading your thoughts, Apollo said: — That wouldn’t make it worse, just different. You didn’t know what to answer. His commitment scared you a little, so your legs carried you by themselves. You could felt his gaze on your back and unpleasant feeling in your chest.

It’s been a few days since you spoke to each other. You needed time to sort out your emotions. Apollo didn’t pressure you, which you greatly appreciated. You found him in a clearing behind his palace, resting below a olive tree. You approached him with a gentle smile, repeating in your mind prepared speech. Apollo didn’t react to your presence, almost as if he didn’t notice you. — Apollo, would you like to sing for me? — you asked. You just needed to break the ice and then the opportunity to talk about your problem would arrive itself. But Apollo had other plans. — I believe I don’t have time right now — was his reply. It was strange, but you understood. — Later then? — I’m gonna be busy. You frowned, you definitely weren’t expecting a second rejection. — With what? — you asked, surprised. His face was blank the entire time, he didn’t look at you once. Sky seemed much more interesting to him. — I don’t know yet — Apollo remained adamant. You felt a pang in your heart that quickly filled with anger. — Ugh! — you left him under the tree. You couldn’t believe how he just treated you. And all that because of a kiss? You felt partly betrayed but - what surprised you the most - in the other hand, you shared his aversion towards you. Maybe the anger you felt wasn’t directed at Apollo? Maybe you were very stupid? Maybe it was a time for…?

The sounds of splashing water, giggles, laughs, birdsong… What a sweet day it was to take a bath. You'd finally decided - after all these years - that it was time for you to join the other women in their daily fun in the fountain. You unbuckled your belt and let the toga fell. The breeze made you shiver, but you liked it. You looked around, but nobody even notice - or more likely, bothered - what you you had just done and that realization gave you the strength to overcome your innate shyness. — Now, now, my ladies, don’t you worry. I promise there’s plenty for every single one of you — you overheard Apollo.

He sat at his usually spot, right below a sculpture depicting his likeness, surrounded by women of every species. They squealed and giggled as he placed small kisses on their foreheads. Except for the warm rays of the sun, everyone was too busy to notice that you had entered the fountain. Or you hoped so. When you were dipping in the water, you checked the gathering once more and your eyes met Apollo’s. Whatever was going on in his mind wasn’t visible on his face. Even if he wanted to greet you or show any other kind of attention, ladies around him wouldn’t give him opportunity to do so. The water was perfect. Not to mention the delicate aroma of flowers wafting through, that probably could calm down the most enraged berserker. You let your body relax in a place of your choosing, on the side of the sculpture, leaning against the edge of the fountain. You didn’t come with any particular plan so you just watched and let things play out. Apollo was a man of his word, he fulfilled his promise with great passion. You couldn’t help but smiled at his commitment. When there were only a few women left, you turned your back on him and waited. The corners of your mouth twitched as you felt his hand on your back. Apollo approached you on the side with soft but very happy smile. Sudden shivers down your spine surprised you. — Oh, h-hi — you said.

Apollo's eyes rested on your chest for only a second, but the moment your eyes met again, your confidence flew away. Why did your stupid heart have to beat faster now? Everything was going smoothly until now, but suddenly it seemed like control was slipping away from you. — I like what I see — Apollo said in the most charming way possible. You always thought you knew him very well. How naive of you… It seemed like you only knew one side of him. You had witnessed many of his flirting attempts, but that was the very first time he had used his charm on you and nothing could have prepared you for it. — And I don’t like that I’m not h-hearing somet-thing — you barely mumbled. Your cheeks started to burn. Apollo lowered his head to be at the same level as yours. You could get lost in his eyes for days. Before you knew it, you were leaning towards him as if you were under hypnosis. You felt his warm breath on your lips when he also began to close the gap between you. You looked at full lips of his, you’d seen them so many times, yet this time you wanted something different from them. Not just singing, even if that was the reason you came here. And as you two were about to kiss, the rest of your consciousness forced you to place your finger on Apollo’s lips. — Wait — you whispered — Will you sing for me? Apollo’s concern disappeared when he understood what you meant. A smile he sent you took your breath away. He grabbed your hand and placed a gentle kiss on your finger. — All night long — he promised. He didn’t give you any time for objection - even if he knew you didn’t have any - and kissed you. It wasn’t like you were caught by surprise but you’d never felt any lips before and that sudden experience shocked you a bit. You froze, trying to process everything you felt. Apollo’s sweet and soft lips that now gently massaged yours, the burning sensation flowing from face to chest, and from chest to pussy, and was taking away every piece of common sense. His delicious scent, his hand that appeared out of nowhere at your cheek, his thumb that slowly caressed your chin and encouraged you to join him in this quaint dance. You had no idea what to do, so you listened to your instinct. You grabbed his lower lip and squeezed a little. Your hand found his neck on its own as you deepened the kiss. At some point, Apollo’s tongue started exploring your mouth which made everything even more intense. You heard someone moaning and with surprise you realized it was you. The fountain, the other women, the water, the birdsong, everything became distant. The world had been closed so nobody or nothing could disturb you. Apollo pulled you closer to him. You touched his perfectly sculpted muscles, enjoying touch of warm skin. His hands roamed freely on your back and waists, sending shivers down every nerve in your body. You felt chills between your legs. Your body completely relaxed under his touch and the kiss felt so good that you wondered why you hadn’t tried it before. You could spend days just kissing Apollo’s lips.

Then everything was back on track, the world existed again: water in the fountain, other women around you, the sweet birdsong and the clean sky above you. Apollo stopped the kiss but still held you close to his chest. You heard his heartbeat. You looked into his warm eyes and you saw the same excitement you felt. — Was that disappointed? — you asked. Apollo blinked few times in surprise, but quickly smiled at you. — Not at all — he answered slowly — Are we awkward? Now was your turn to blink. You snorted which led to laugh, Apollo joined you. You felt his entire figure was shaking. He was right - you two awkward? What a nonsense! You cooled down and - with sly smile on your face - sprayed Apollo with water. You caught him completely off guard, which gave you enough time to get out of his reach. You leaped over fountain’s rim and ran a few meters away to where you left your toga. You looked over your shoulder to see Apollo’s very pleasant face. He knew he didn’t have to follow you and you knew where to look for him at night. After all, he owned you so many songs.

[proxductions]

“Love you in any Other lifetime”

summary: You once loved him with all your heart, and he still loves you deeply. Unfortunately, there's a misunderstanding between you two. While you see him as a friend, he feels something more.

pairings: Regulus Black x Muggle!F!Reader

wordcount:_

warnings/notes: angst because I absolutely love it. also lol reg is gonna speak french here because I stand by the fact he speaks it

Our love never had a chance in this life, but I'll love you in any other lifetime.

‧͙

People called you different. Bizarre, peculiar, strange... the list could go on,

Sometimes you questioned how exactly and why Regulus Arcturus Black became your friend. your only friend, to be truthful,

While you hated your weirdness, Regulus saw your 'weirdness' and realized it was the most beautiful thing about you.

Regulus sometimes questioned how and why exactly he came to fall for you,

When you called his name, he would be there within a split second. When you needed something, he would give it to you without hesitation.

It was finally sweet summer. You both had graduated and left Hogwarts a while ago, and it was finally time for a much-needed break.

You and Regulus were going out to have a picnic in an open field. You couldn't be happier. You had a book in your hand called 'Little Women,' which was a Muggle book. You were eager to read and show Regulus the book.

“Oh, Reg, you don't know how ecstatic I am!" you said while laying the dotted black and white blanket on top of the grass and smiling widely.

"I can only imagine, Y/N," he joked, then sat down beside you. He tucked a strand of your loose hair behind your ear, but it went unnoticed.

"Years of Hogwarts and the unbearable stack of homework we've been given...gone! Finally!" you laughed while finally taking out and putting down the "Little Women" book.

Regulus only hummed as he looked down, seeming distracted and lost in his own thoughts.

"Anyway, I was thinking about going to Italy again to meet my cousins. Italy is such a beautiful place. I'll start with that, and maybe I'll live there," you said, but trailed off when you noticed Regulus seemed distracted. He wasn’t talking back.

You turned your head and looked at Regulus. He had a look you couldn’t describe. He looked sad, but at the same time, he wanted to say something.

At that second, realization kicked in. You were stupid for not realizing it yet. You were alone in a beautiful field, and he was the one who strangely suggested the idea for the picnic.

You were truly stupid for not realizing it.

"No. No," you started, getting up quickly.

Regulus quickly got up after you. "Non, non, s'il vous plaît arrêtez et écoutez, s'il vous plaît!" he exclaimed.

"Reg, no!" you yelled back.

"I have loved you ever since I have known you. Ever since you stepped foot on that train, please, just say those four words!" Regulus pleaded.

"I can't love. I've told you this-" you replied, feeling conflicted.

"I have loved you," he had started again as you began to back away from him. "For years- I've never stopped loving you, y/n. Stop and listen for a second! Arrêtez de bou- Arrêtez de bouger - s'il vous plaît arrêtez de bouger!" Regulus pleaded, trying to reach out to you.

"I am not made for you! I am a Muggle, Regulus, a Muggle!" you practically sob out the last line, feeling the weight of your differences.

"Je m'en fous complètement! I do not fucking care, I don't! Loving you is the best fucking thing that has ever happened to me! You have been my light in the dark. The only hope I have is you!" he screamed out as he grabbed a hold of your trembling hands.

"Regulus! I don't love you... I can't change the way I feel. I'm sorry!" you had finally said with trembling lips. That's when it finally hit him.

He let go of both of your hands and kissed his teeth, feeling the pain of rejection.

“You know I’m-”

"No, no. I understand. It's okay," Regulus declared, cutting you off as he started to walk away from you, like you did to him.

"I'm sorry," you said, now feeling the hot tears spill out from your eyes.

Regulus looked at you and ran his fingers through his curly dark hair.

"You know," he started shakily. "You still would've turned my head in any other lifetime. Our love never had a chance in this life, but I'll forever love you in any other lifetime," he said softly as he walked away.

You bit your bottom lip as you heard this. He finally turned to leave.

[blinkaftermidnight]

post island

Man, I'm so bad at naming works in progress lol. I remember where I was when I wrote this, all in one sitting, and it's weird how that happen sometimes. I really like what I have here, but I just didn't know what to do with it, which unfortunately happens quite a bit. I like the idea of it and the mess it could've been. I think this is one of my favorite unfinished pieces I've shared so far. I still think about this one periodically.

Read on AO3.

“Was it worth it?”

Fatin’s hand tightens around the phone, her direct line to Gretchen Klein, separated from her by a pane of plexiglass. No more fancy suits for the woman; she’s in orange, same as all the other prisoners. Her expression is weary but not defeated, the way Fatin hoped.

“You tell me,” Gretchen says. Her voice comes across with a strange tinny quality to it; Gretchen’s lips twist into a faint smile.

Fatin ignores her. “Did you at least get what you were looking for?”

Gretchen seems to seriously consider this question, humming absently and staring up toward the ceiling as she thinks. If Fatin could physically reach the woman, maybe she’d attempt to strangle her.

“Yes and no,” Gretchen says firmly, setting her eyes back on Fatin. It takes all of Fatin’s willpower not to flinch.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Fatin snarls.

“Miss Jadmani, I’m afraid I don’t understand why you’ve sought me out if you’re looking for answers,” Gretchen says. She leans forward, eyes dropping to the death grip Fatin has on the phone. “Only you and the other subjects can answer your questions.”

Subjects. That’s all they are to Gretchen. Subjects. Fatin’s lucky Gretchen even bothers to call her by her name rather than by her designated number. Then again, how much money had Fatin’s parents poured into Gretchen’s research?

“You look well,” Gretchen comments at the same moment that Fatin realizes Gretchen’s been observing her. “Are you going to school or something?”

Fatin bares her teeth but quickly reins in her temper. “If you won’t answer my questions, what makes you think I’ll answer yours?” Fatin retorts. Her voice sounds strained to her own ears. She sounds like a desperate teenager trapped in a situation she can’t control, with people she doesn’t know, but that’s all years behind her now.

Gretchen merely shrugs and nudges her glasses farther up her nose. Her glasses are black, made of cheap-looking plastic. “You’ll recall I never had the opportunity to finish my research.”

“Bullshit. You saw it through to the end. You’ve had plenty of time to think it over.”

Gretchen huffs, rolls her eyes, looks all too relaxed as she leans back in her chair, holding the phone against her ear in a way that makes it hard for Fatin to hear her clearly. “Please. What good does that to do me here?”

“I’m supposed to believe you’ve given up on your life’s work just because you’re trapped behind bars?”

Gretchen’s smile is a little more malicious this time, and Fatin swallows hard, suddenly glad Gretchen leaned away from the glass. “Humor me,” Gretchen requests, “and tell me: if you could push a button that would erase your participation in my experiment from your life…would you push it?”

Fatin splutters, hand curling into a fist at her side, where Gretchen can’t see it. “That has nothing to do with –”

“See, I’ve given you and all of the subjects something invaluable, something you wouldn’t give up in spite of the difficult experience you endured.”

“And what would that be?” Fatin sneers.

“Bonds that will last a lifetime,” Gretchen answers, sincerely. “Perhaps that was an unexpected side effect resulting from the experiment’s main objective, but nevertheless. Those girls are your family. Maybe more than just family.”

“And what of the boys?”

Gretchen smiles again, and Fatin’s blood runs cold. “What was your question? Did I get what I was looking for? In some aspects, yes. Yes I did. And was it worth it? Well…if you happen to find your way back here within the next few years, I’ll have to let you know when I know.” As Fatin’s brain struggles to process Gretchen’s words, Gretchen inhales sharply and says, “I have a feeling you’re not here for yourself, Miss Jadmani. You don’t really care about what I might have to say. You’re here on behalf of someone else.”

Fatin doesn’t hang up the phone so much as she slams it back into place, and Gretchen laughs silently on the other side of the plexiglass, watching Fatin as the guards lead her out. Visitation will be over soon, anyway.

Fatin walks briskly across the parking lot, eyes seeking an unfamiliar vehicle. It’s a brand new Nissan Altima, blindingly white exterior, spotless interior. Fatin has ridden in it exactly once, on the way to the prison. She finally spots it and lays eyes on the woman behind the wheel, still wearing her seatbelt in spite of the fact that she��s been sitting in a parked car for the better part of an hour. She has her face hidden in her hands, and panic floods Fatin’s body before she jogs the rest of the way to the passenger’s side and tugs on the door handle. Doesn’t open immediately, of course. The door unlocks moments later, though, and Fatin drops inside, exhaling heavily.

“So?”

“Nothing,” Fatin sighs. “Well, she said only the subjects have answers to any questions we could ask.”

“Typical.”

“We got more out of her in court,” Fatin says. She stomps her frustration and anger and, unexpectedly, the urge to cry down, clearing her throat and fixing her gaze out the windshield as Leah inhales deeply and sets blue eyes on the side of Fatin’s face. “Maybe she’d talk to you,” Fatin suggests quietly.

“Maybe,” Leah concedes. “Do you think it’d be worth it?”

Fatin’s jaw sets, and she clamps her hands over her knees to prevent them from becoming fists. It’d be easy to lie. Shit, maybe it’s in the group’s best interest for Fatin to lie. Maybe it’s even in Fatin’s best interest to lie. But after everything ��

“No,” Fatin says. “I think she’s done enough damage.”

Leah nods curtly and starts the engine. Fatin doesn’t put her seatbelt on until the car chimes a warning. Fatin’s muscles instinctively tense as Leah reaches out into the space between them for the gear shift, and if Leah notices, she doesn’t say anything. Fatin glances over at Leah once they’re moving, once Leah’s attention is occupied. Fatin wouldn’t be here with Leah if she wasn’t the only other member of the Unsinkable Eight living in California.

Fatin almost snorts as she thinks of the name. The Unsinkable Eight. Started as a joke, ended up as the quickest way for the media to refer to the group of girls deliberately placed on an island in a twisted experiment that no one seems to truly understand. Even now, and it’s been, what? Three years? Dot’s twenty first birthday just passed, and Fatin’s isn’t far off. Gretchen has been surprisingly tight-lipped for a woman who obviously thinks so highly of herself and her work. Fatin always told the girls, while the trial was gearing up, that Gretchen wouldn’t be able to help herself, that Gretchen would spill her guts in court.

In reality, Gretchen kept her mouth shut as much as possible. Her lawyers did the talking. She never took the stand to defend herself. The jury convicted her of numerous charges, enough to lock her behind bars for the next twenty years, unless Gretchen manages to win on appeal. Her lawyers are working on it. The spotlight has already been turned back onto the fourteen survivors. Someone asked for Fatin’s autograph in the grocery store a few days back.

Ridiculous. It’s all so ridiculous. They shouldn’t be pseudo-celebrities. No one should know their names, and yet, Fatin gets recognized at least once a week.

“Well, you sort of stand out, Fatin,” Dot said, when it happened with much more frequency during the trial.

“You’re awfully quiet,” Leah says, tearing Fatin out of her thoughts. Fatin realizes the radio’s off. It’s totally silent in the car, except for the quiet rumble of its engine. Leah sounds casual, but she sits too stiffly, grips onto the wheel with both hands too tightly. The smile on Leah’s face is forced, and she doesn’t look at Fatin directly. Though, to be fair, Leah is driving.

Fatin looks at Leah for real this time, rather than just stealing a quick glance. Fatin unabashedly stares at the side of Leah’s face, at the faded jagged lines raking down Leah’s cheek. It’s just a flash in Fatin’s mind, just a flash, but it’s as clear as day, as if a picture has been placed in front of Fatin’s eyes before being ripped away. A flash of Leah, standing in the darkness, surrounded by endless trees and a cliff overlooking the ocean. A flash of Leah with wide eyes, her face oozing blood, blood dripping from her hands. And the body, somewhere out of the image, but if Fatin turns her head –

She’s looking out the window at the cars they’re rushing past on the highway, in California. The image is gone. Leah’s hands, planted on the steering wheel, are pale. They’re warm, soft, but Fatin pushes that thought from her mind even quicker than she pushes Leah’s voice, hushed, horrified.

“He’d said – he needed to – he tried to –”

Fatin returns her eyes to Leah, suddenly unconcerned with the idea of Leah catching her staring. Leah’s hair falls past her shoulders in waves. There are small gold hoops in her ears, lined along her cartilage. Her shirt’s a navy blue, unbuttoned over a white tank top, sleeves rolled to Leah’s elbows. In another life – or maybe just two years ago – Fatin would reach over and brush Leah’s hair behind her ear, or curl her fingers around Leah’s forearm or wrist, or pull Leah’s hand from the steering wheel altogether and hold it in her own lap, lock their fingers together.

Now, Fatin looks away and swallows down whatever emotion it is that threatens to rise in her chest. She lets her eyes close briefly, takes a few breaths, then turns the radio on, just to have something else to pay attention to. She avoids any talking stations like the plague, knowing some will surely be discussing the Klein Experiment and her ongoing appeal process and the missing fugitive Daniel Faber. She doesn’t know if she avoids it for her sake or Leah’s – maybe both – but there’s only so much Fatin can take.

“You ever think about –” Leah cuts herself off sharply, drawing Fatin’s eyes back to her face, but Fatin averts her gaze when Leah glances her way.

“Hmm?”

“How we were there, like, on this day three years ago?” Leah finishes, softly. “Like we were fighting to survive right now, and now we’re on summer break from college.”

“Crazy, huh?” Fatin mutters.

There’s a pause, then Leah says, “I meant to ask, you know, how your mom’s been.”

“She’s fine.”

Fatin doesn’t want to do this. The weird catching up thing. She knows what she’ll be expected to ask in return, and she doesn’t care to hear the answers. She stares down at her hands in her lap, perfectly manicured, as they’ve been since she returned home roughly three years ago. She stares at the rings splattered across her fingers, chest panging as she recognizes the absence of one in particular. She hasn’t worn it in two years, but she still notices.

“And your brothers?”

“Doing well,” Fatin answers. She knows Leah won’t accept that answer. “Kemar quit soccer to play baseball instead, and Ahmad spends most of his time playing Xbox, so…they’re fine.”

“And what about you?”

Fatin barely suppresses an undignified noise made in disbelief, and she snaps, “Now you want to know?”

In her peripheral vision, she sees Leah bite down on her lower lip, wincing but clearly trying not to. “I’m sorry,” Leah offers.

“You should know by now that apologizing means –”

“Nothing to you, yeah. I know,” Leah says softly. “But I am, you know. Sorry.”

“If you were actually sorry, you wouldn’t have –” Abandoned me. Shut me out. Lied to me about literally everything. Instead of finishing her sentence, Fatin exhales in frustration and stares pointedly out the side window, crossing her arms over her chest. This will go nowhere. It never has.

She shouldn’t have agreed to do this. Especially because there’s only one reason she agreed to. She did it for Leah, and Fatin hates that the most. Hates that she couldn’t say no.

“We all handled things in our own way,” Leah replies. “I made mistakes, yeah, but –”

“At least I told you my plan,” Fatin cuts in. “At least you knew what I was doing and how I felt. And you just – you fucked off to UCLA and never looked back. Until now, since you’ve decided you need answers from the bitch who fucked us all up in the first place, and you enlisted me to do your dirty work.”

“So you’ve been holding some of that in for a while,” Leah comments, her tone too light. Almost joking.

“Fuck you.”

“I didn’t think we’d get to this point so quickly,” Leah admits. It’s a long drive. If Fatin had better control of herself, she would’ve waited until they were closer to home before letting Leah have it.

“Well, what exactly did you expect, Leah?” Fatin demands. “Hmm? Did you expect Gretchen to lay her entire plan and its meaning out for me? Did you expect everything to be fine between us?”

“I thought you’d hear me out, at least.”

“What’s there to hear?” Fatin questions. “Were you waiting for me to ask how you’ve been? Or how your girlfriend’s doing?” Leah’s awkward silence confirms that she did, in fact, expect Fatin to make some sort of basic inquiry into her life. “So you really have no idea what you did to me.”

“It’s not like you’ve told me.”

“You were there!” Fatin doesn’t realize she shouted until Leah jumps and struggles to regain her composure.

“If you’d needed me, you knew I’d be there –”

“I’m not pathetic,” Fatin scoffs. “I took the hint, okay?”

“I had a lot to sort out,” Leah says defensively. “I would’ve thought you of all people would understand that, but instead you were…” Leah hesitates, but the damage is done. Instead you were too busy pretending like none of it ever happened is what Leah’s dying to fling at Fatin’s face. Instead you were too busy being the face of the Unsinkable Eight and soaking up all the attention that the media offered. And it worked out for you, didn’t it? You’re finishing college for no reason, because your career opportunities are endless. You’re already living in LA, and you’re planning to move Dot out in the near future, and you’re trying to move forward, too.

Leah says none of it, but Fatin hears it all anyway. “Yeah, well, I didn’t spend fifty days on an island losing my mind, and I didn’t spend another fifty days on another island –”

“Fatin.”

It’s a warning, one Fatin should heed, but Leah started this by not keeping her mouth shut, by expecting Fatin to act fake. At least on the drive out, Leah had been silent, allowing Fatin to do her best to ignore Leah’s presence. Now Fatin curls her hands into fists to stop them from trembling.

All things considered, Fatin walked away from both islands pretty unscathed. She saw some shit, sure, they all did. But she didn’t really do anything that nags at her at night –

Fatin can’t convince herself of that obvious lie, but it wasn’t anything that could compare to what Leah did, or Kirin, and at least Fatin is alive. And Fatin would like to just leave the island behind her, but Fatin should’ve known that there’s no universe in which Leah would allow her to forget. Just looking at Leah brings it all back, and why wouldn’t it? Fatin only ever noticed Leah because they were planted on that first island together, and even then, it took until two weeks into their second island before Fatin did anything about it.

And look how well that went.

Leah rubs at the scar on her cheek absently, maybe self-consciously, and gnaws on her lower lip as she drives.

“The hard part was supposed to be over,” Fatin spits, startling Leah. “When we got back, the island – that was supposed to be the worst of it. And it would’ve been, if we’d –”

Fatin isn’t sure how she wants to finish that sentence, isn’t sure what she could say that would be fair to both herself and Leah, but Leah swiftly cuts her off.

“It would’ve been for you,” Leah says. “Because you didn’t do anything –”

“But I sure as hell saw a lot of shit that I can’t just delete from my memory, Leah.”

Leah goes silent at that, and Fatin wonders which incident Leah recalls. Fatin figures there’s plenty to choose from.

“Well, I’m glad you can just choose to forget about it, Fatin,” Leah replies quietly. She rubs at her eyebrow with her fingertip then returns her hand to the steering wheel. “I’m glad you can just get right back on track with your life and –”

“That’s hardly fair,” Fatin interrupts. “This whole mess took a toll on all of us.”

“Yeah? You’ve never shown it.”

That can’t be true. Fatin searches her brain for an example and comes up empty. Maybe she has always been the one to hold everything together. Maybe she makes it seem effortless. They used to talk about it, though. The island and everything that happened.

“Was any of it – any of what we had, was any of it real?” Leah whispers.

“All of it,” Fatin hisses without hesitation. “Too real, I guess.” Leah flinches, and before she can say anything else, Fatin says, “I don’t want to talk anymore.”

And Leah obliges.

*

Fatin feels bad by the time they pull up to her mother’s house. She’d agreed to spend the summer at home mostly for her brothers’ benefit, and she still doesn’t know how Leah found out about it. Social media, maybe. The rest of the ride occurred in tense silence, and Fatin tried not to let it get to her. Fatin curses herself as the car comes to a stop, though, and she heaves a sigh and turns toward Leah.

“How’s Amanda?” Fatin asks. It hurts, how quickly Leah’s expression – Leah’s eyes – brighten, as if Fatin’s extending an olive branch. Maybe, in a way, she is, with two simple words that Fatin has to force herself to say.

“Good,” Leah answers. Even Leah knows not to push her luck, not to offer up too much. Even Leah knows Fatin isn’t asking because she really wants to know. Fatin’s honestly probably just dragging out her own suffering, but she manages a thin smile, manages to nod, and shoves the door of the Altima open, preparing to step out when Leah says, “Fatin, wait.”

Fatin looks back, unsure of what to expect and unsure of what she wants to hear from Leah. Not another fucking apology, please, or else Fatin might say something she’ll regret.

“Thank you,” Leah says. “For going with me. For – for talking to her, even though it didn’t really do much.”

“Yeah,” Fatin says. “Okay.”

“And if you need anything –”

“I don’t need anything that you’ll give me,” Fatin says, and it’s the truth.

xx

Notes

Leah and Fatin had a thing their first year off the island but it fell apart

Leah killed Raf in self-defense on the second island after Raf claims he was told by Seth that he needed to kill Leah to bring a real end to the experiment – and it ended after Leah killed Raf

Kirin killed Seth after Seth threatened Fatin

Fatin not wearing a ring Leah gave to her - circle back

[pinkmoondoll9shihtzu]

Hiii idk if this makes sense but what are some good things to do to feel more light and free and spontaneous? I feel like I'm unbound and happy when I'm home dancing around and making art but my activities out and about are very limited and pragmatic and I'd like to bridge that gap.

Hmm... Well its a tough thing to give advice on because you can't really calculate your way into feeling spontaneous if that makes sense xD spontaneity is antithetical to the act of forcing something .. i think a big part of that light feeling is being able to rid your mind of thoughts and be present within your body / surroundings. Sort if like being in the ~flow state~.

Maybe what ur concerned about it feeling too seen in public, feeling self conscious ? In which case i would say, it's really important to know that at least 95% of people do not notice you. Not in a way thats meant to sound rude, but reassuring. People are mostly self involved and in my lifetime i've realized that even if they do notice me they do not care. Especially if you look kind of perceivably strange they will go extra out of their way to not acknowledge u or even make eye contact lol. So use this to your advantage ^^

i love being out in the world in public surrounded by strangers for me thats the easiest time to loosen up, altho i still keep a pretty reserved demeanor idk ! my temperment is quiet even when im feeling free. When im in public i like to act as if im a rare harvest moon npc that only comes out at a weird time of day or when unusual events are happening. imaginary games like that have always made the world enjoyable for me and actually helps me be more present.

hope this is helpful in some way, rly the tldr message of it all is just to ground into yourself and keep strong boundaries so strangers energies cannot penetrate your flow ~~~Goodluck anon ~~~PMD9

[ao3wasntenough]

Allspark Sam brainrot

The mentally ill transformer urge gripped me again.

Anyway, the idea involves the concept of Sam still having allspark energy dormant in him, that energy eventually needing to reformat its host yet adapt to the planet and era it’s now in and this changing Sam and Jazz reanimation being Sam's first allspark achievement.

its going to be a long one,

feel free to use anything

its a lot of rambling have fun lol

this kinda happens after the first two movies but its whatever suits my narrative :p

The Autobots in have left earth with what remains of the physical cube allspark, this is more then the shard from the movies but idc to think about it to much. It’s enough to give off allspark energy and the autobots just hope the Decepticons follow it back with them. They don’t. Megatron knows what remains of Cybertron is useless and frail remnants and what Allspark power does remain is finite and probably just had deleted records. So they stay on earth and start integrating humanities world powers into controllable forces. They can’t say “conquering” because then humans become violently resistant so Megatron relies on a slow methodical take over that humans just think is all under control by their side. (It’s not)

By this point the autobots had practically ghosted Samuel for two years before departure so he’s pretty much just dealing with the embers of having your life ruined, hobbled back together with help and then those who helped hobble something together again abandon you. But Sam would swear he understood what Optimus did. Logic and all that he can’t comprehend as a human and stuff, and Bee always told Sam it was his pride how well he ha stayed by primes side through it all, no merger human lifetime would make a difference. Sam is on a long drive cross country to once again move location, he doesn’t want to know what could happen if he’s put in the hands of any government with his acute sense of paranoia that all government one way or another is being overseen by Megatron. And Megatron has a long history of holding grudges.

what is relevant is that Sam is in a confined space.

Because abruptly energy rapidly starts generating inside him. Ancient energy older the earth, uses Samuel Witwicky as an anchor across time and space to reforge. Due to Sam being in a confided space the energy is forced to reforge and reformat with Sam within the car, using the anchors understanding of mass and the fact he does know what a cybertronian is and has the idea of what they look like Sam is transformed into a bot. larger then a human but stunted and smaller then what could be expected of that much raw constructive energy.

Sam is left travelling across earth, in a weird haze of dissociation and vividly living through the archived history in the allspark, settling down once again. Sam has no idea how to transform or what allspark transformation should look like so he's left footing it from both humans and Decepticons trying to come to terms that there is no help but every element of his anatomy now screams about running now the allspark is able of independent moving, with very little ability to tell the difference from anything approaching him.

Stuck exploring history and what's real and what has been Sam decides to chase a ghost he knows himself and finds the deserted base Jazz's remains. Well he hoped the remains were there, never told exactly where they were hope is all Sam has to chase. He's lucky because Jazz is there, dead and ripped apart but its the closest Sam has been to anything familiar in 3 years. The raw power and emotionally driven energy the allsamspark releases seeks out beyond space and reaches into the well and grabs onto that familiar feeling of Jazz Sams memories can generate and reforge and reignite Jazz's body and spark.

Jazz is feels just as lost as Sam has been upon resurrection. And its obvious Sam realizes the hell his woken Jazz back to. But as they get away from Jazz's old tomb, and Jazz travels with Sam and comes to a few thoughts

the goal was always find and keep the allspark outta the wrong hands, so keeping an eye on mr AllsparkWicky (Jazz takes to coming up with and using nicknames for Sam, seems to help him feel a little more like a self then a nexus point of energy and get something of a smile on his faceplates) is generally the logical thing to do and also feels like the right thing to do.

SparkSam spends a lot of time lost to things Jazz can only imagine and a regular bot would probably feel awed to be watching the Allspark observe anything Jazz can almost feel the turmoil it makes Sam feel in his own spark.

If no autobots are coming back hes glad Spam has an the ability to run like a bat outta hell and doesnt feel the need to run from Jazz

unknowingly to Sam and Jazz, the bat outta hell instinct not being triggered because the allspark energy took the choosing of Jazz to respark as quota enough to run the allspark guardian protocol. A spark he now knowingly trusts to guide and help protect him . And that now Jazz is marked to the spark as a guardian of the new allspark. Visually indicated by a new set of guardian sigils only Sam could ever truly decode and understand.

the idea that the Allspark has its own language and system code, that the matrix and prime are given a cypher code to understand to some degree. And Sam as a reformat of the Allspark has created a new codex.

i have a bunch of more ideas and things i wanna think about so maybe ill write more, nice to just get the basics outta my head

[aetherthewitch]

my arrival~☆

So, you may be just a tad bit curious how I arrived in the Devildom. It really is one hell of a story to tell. One evening I was just minding my own business, sitting at my desk and drawing away like I always do. Well, it must have gotten pretty late that night, before the last thing I remember was leaning back in my chair and resting my eyes for a few. And next thing I knew, I was falling. You know those weird dreams where you feel like you're falling, about to hit the ground, and you jolt awake? Yeah, well, this wasn't a dream, and when I jolted awake, I had the surprise of a lifetime. Where do I even begin?

Do I start with the room full of gorgeous demons eyeing me down? Or the insane surge of magical energy that I felt suddenly coursing through my veins? Of course, both were extremely overwhelming. My senses were always a bit sensitive, but this was on a whole other level. It's like energy was pouring into every single nerve ending, while every one of my senses were dialed up to 100 simultaneously. It almost felt as though I was going to spontaneously combust, and catch the room on fire - like the energy within me was too much for the mortal container that is my body. I'll never forget that moment. And while I'm trying to get my bearings, and figure out how to get this 'feeling' under control, some dark-haired dude tried to start lecturing me about something or other - I now know that was Lucifer himself.

Well, apparently whatever happened on my journey here was unexpected for all of us, because the King cut off his lecture to have a small sidebar with his council. After that, they kind of told me a bit of what was going on - that I'm a witch, and the energy I have is actual magic. That I will not only go to my regular classes, but have extensive training with the other human at the school - the Sorcerer named Solomon. Huh, how funny is that? This dude has been around here for thousands of years, and has to access his power through spell books and talismans. And I just drop my silly non-binary ass into Hell and get imbued with raw power. Life really is funny, sometimes. But he has been very kind with his teachings, and quite helpful as well. He's currently helping me with my quest for knowledge on shape-shifting magic and it's been a wild experience so far, to say the least.

Anyways, they also told me that in addition to daily sessions with Solomon, I will also be studying regularly with Satan. Despite everyone trying to make me scared of him, I have always been kind of intrigued by him. I feel like there is so much that can be learned from the actual Personification of Wrath - especially since most people's rumors and assumptions about him are just flat out incorrect. Still, he knows a ton about the dark arts - and I, for one, am interested in learning all I can. I don't plan to do anything crazy, but it never hurts to learn what you're up against. Plus, I'm not opposed to a blood ritual every now and then.

On the other hand, I've been told that I will also have a few lessons with this angel named Simeon, starting in the next few days. I've yet to meet him in my couple of weeks here - apparently he had some emergency business he had to attend to back in his home realm. Or so I've been told, at least. I've gotten a few weird looks around here when I ask too much about the angels. Maybe it's because I'm mostly around demons? I dunno. Either way, I am to study light magic with him when he returns this week.

And to top it all off, I have Mammon - the demon who has been charged with the task of 'human sitter.' I'm still getting used to having to have him escorting me everywhere - and especially getting used to his constant complaining. Although he is kinda cute, and I don't think he means half the idiotic things he says. Hanging out with him is usually pretty fun and random, although I've already seen him get in trouble a few times. I've made it my mission to not get strung up alongside him, but I'm not sure how long that will last. I'd take bets but Mammon would want a huge cut of it.

They haven't really decided where I am to live yet permanently - there has been quite a bit of back and forth about it, apparently. I was supposed to live with the Demon Brothers originally, yet with the developments of my little unexpected gift (and their concerns over my ability to control it), both Solomon and Lord Diavolo have given reasons for why I should reside with them instead. The King says it's so he can keep it under control, should anything happen, while still being able to protect me. The Sorcerer's argument was simply that I should live with my mentor, and be able to receive teachings around the clock. And Lucifer, the ever-prideful demon that he is, scoffs at them both - over confident in his ability to be able to do all of the above. Barbatos always interrupts with a sly remark - that such a powerful council should be able to figure out where to keep one magical human. And so they always end up back at square one - or at least, it has the three times they have had this meeting so far. And so, for now at least, we have this strange magical door situation. Barbatos really has some astounding powers, for he was able to connect everyone's bedroom doors into a single hallway, as if we all live together. I don't even know what my address technically is at this point.

It's only been a few weeks, but I can already tell this is going to be one hell of a journey.

☆ aetherthewitch 2024 ☆ do not copy, repost or modify ☆

[tolkien-feels]

Just wanted to know, since elves don't touch much, do you think an elven husband and wife would kiss or be romantic?

(Like, they may have kids and obvs they touch, but like... do you think they touch whenever they feel like touching each other, or do they ask?)

Anon, I ended up writing you an essay-length post, even though I specifically decided to answer you right now because I thought it'd be a quick answer 😅 So, under a cut for length

Tl;dr: I don't see why elves would not do All The Romantic Things™️! It just might look Weird to mortals, maybe.

First of all, unless I'm forgetting something (which is entirely possible - adhd brain sieve is a problem), it's not canon that elves don't touch much. If so, it's up to how you want to headcanon it. I will share my headcanon but just do imagine whatever you feel like imagining :3

I do happen to headcanon elves aren't very touchy-feely, but I headcanon this in a very specific way. You know how when you are 6 years old one year seems to take forever to pass, because that's 1/6 of your entire lifetime - while if you're 20, that same length of time is only 1/20 of your life and therefore seems to pass much faster? I take that logic and apply to elves - I headcanon their perception of what "a long time" is is wildly different from that of mortals, and this only increases as they get older.

So the way I headcanon it, elves feel like they touch each other relatively frequently - they are neither touch-averse nor end up touch starving themselves. But from a mortal perspective, long stretches of time seem to go by without elves touching each other, because "frequently" is defined according to your perception of time.

By that same logic, a 50 year old elf is probably much cuddlier than a 1500 year old elf - much like to us, children seem impatient. "Frequently" for them feels different. (Plus, I imagine elves have something akin to teenage hormones at some point? Can't really imagine how that would work, though, given their wacky growth patterns.)

On top of all that, there are individual needs and preferences, like humans. Both inexplicable idiosyncrasies and things like neurodiversity-related touch-aversion. And then on top of that, there are many elven cultures, and they are ever-changing, and I imagine that impacts elves on two levels - first, the culture they were socialized in, and then whatever the current culture is (a bit like expats, but the displacement I'm picturing is in time rather than in place.)

All of this to say my headcanons tend to be very specific to each couple, because there are way too many factors involved. I think someone more organized than me could probably come up with a general theory, but I haven't been able to yet.

Even within the same couple, I headcanon things like how long they have been together, and current life circumstances affect how they tend to interact. Think of how much a human relationship can change dynamics over the course of a life together, and multiply that by centuries.

Also, contrary to a lot of headcanons I see around, I don't headcanon number of children is in any way attached to how touchy-feely a couple is. Elves can actually choose when to have children, so I don't see why these things would be related.

Anyway, to address your actual question - I do very much think elves are romantic with each other just for the sake of being romantic. And while I think consent would be very strongly emphasized in elven culture, I think what that looks like really depends on the situation. If you have eternity to learn your spouse's expressions and body language, and you also have mystical quasimindreading skills, I don't think you're going to verbally ask every time you want to like, quickly kiss the person you've been married to for millennia.

But I do think, on average, elves would find it romantic to be asked about things, especially when they are still courting rather than marriage - not only because of boundaries but because it seems on brand for elves to want to add Eloquence™️ to everything. But then again, I think this would also apply to friendship - I think friends start out as actively trying to learn each other's preferences, and over time they settle into certain expectations that only require confirmation occasionally.

On that note, learning is, I think, emphasized by pretty much all the elves we know (even if it's learning their land very well rather than theoretical pursuits), so I cannot imagine an elven couple would not actively set out to learn each other's needs, wants, boundaries, etc. They are probably much more intentional about this than mortals, because they've got plenty of time for that.

We also have to remember that elves seem to prize romantic love a lot, culturally speaking. I think they would be very fond of anything that is associated with romance.

Now, would a random mortal recognize elven romance as being romantic? Sometimes, but not always, I think. Mortals would probably struggle to understand things like the romance of spending a century away from your spouse so each of you can do your own thing. They might also not be too into "Hey what if we stared at each other motionlessly and silent for a really long time" or (and this is probably a thing that the Noldor would do) "Let's go around Naming things together."

But then, I also don't think elves would particularly understand mortal things like "This food sucks but I will say I love it because I noticed how much effort you put into it" or even the concept of bouquets ("Take them to the flowers yourselves!!!" scream the elves. "OH MY GOD why would you kill so many plants for a frivolous reasons, this is not romantic, it's disturbing!!!! One flower might be okay, and a wreath every now and then is a common indulgence but oh my god don't kill a hundred flowers for someone!!!")

But elves and men do have more things in common than not, and the few elf-mortal relationships we know seem to have no greater trouble understanding each other than you would expect given people from different cultures, which leads to think the elves would conceptualize romance in a really similar way to us, actually.

I would expect, generally speaking, that as long as you account for the differences in the scale of time, we would find elven spouses pretty unremarkable 🤷 Like. They hug, they kiss, they go on dates, there's probably nothing uniquely alien about it. I don't think, on the other hand, we would understand exactly what marriage between two Valar is like. But I headcanon love of all kinds, and how it is expressed, is one of the things the Children of Iluvatar have most in common.

[sakuracyanide]

also re: zoisite's age because this is something i should put in writing.

when you're talking about the shitennou it is a convoluted mess no matter what option you run with. i personally run with the idea that they're all within 3 years of each other. i don't think they have a huge age-gap, i think they're both still teenagers & i will lose my mind if someone brings age gap discourse between sailor moon characters into my house.

as a character, zoisite has been depicted as both the youngest (manga) and the second oldest (pgsm) of the shitennou and my portrayal is a chaotic hodge-podge of them all so strap the fuck in.

it runs something like this:

lifetime 1: golden kingdom zoisite was 18 - 19 when he died. i might even push that further and say he was in his early 20s. this version of zoisite was a lot more like pgsm zoisite, calm, collected and far softer spoken.

lifetime 2: beryl grabbed him, forcefully awoke his guardian self at about age 15, and he has literally no memories of being human in any lifetime. his entire existence right here is a weird, confusing mess as he's basically a corrupted blend of his current and former lifetimes. then he dies. then spends three years as a rock on mamoru's desk. do you age as a rock? who the fuck knows. he cannot tell you how old he is because he is a confusing amalgamation of brainwashing, his disgraced guardian self, and who the fuck knows how long he's been like that. tl;dr the answer to how old zoisite is when he's a villain is "anime".

lifetime 3: zoisite's life basically gets rebooted and skips the part where beryl grabs him, but his memories of his first, second, and current life are all kind of scattershot due to the corruption. what he does know is he's officially a few months younger than mamoru, putting him at like 16 - 18 from classic to supers. he and kunzite are most likely not together because kunzite has guilt about how they fucked up in the first lifetime (betraying endymion because they envied his ability to defy their sworn duties) and in the second (listening to beryl and letting zoisite die when he knew he could have healed him) tensions are probably high.

in any post-stars, he's 19 and has probably started attending university. this is most likely where a relationship with kunzite would rekindle.

beyond that? crystal tokyo happens, everybody is 900 years old. and in different verses, depending on what canon i'm fucking around with he could be anywhere from 19 to in his late 20s.

[maxtothemax]

okay i'm reading something for my literary theory class rn and it's giving me Thoughts about why the passage of time in max ride is so fucking jarring. i don't think that what i'm about to say is anything that others haven't pointed out about MR before, but i do think that it situates james patterson's writing within a larger literary tradition, SO!

the russian literary scholar mikhail bakhtin uses this term called "adventure-time" (i know, bear with me) to describe a particular style of time passage in novels (particularly in the genre of the greek romance, but it's applicable elsewhere). basically, adventure-time is a form of story-time outside of the "realistic" passage of time, where a bunch of different things happen to the characters that 1) have no impact on their character development, and 2) would realistically take up the duration of years in their life, but by the end of the story, the characters basically haven't aged. a good modern example of this concept is pokemon: ash ketchum has been ten years old for 20+ years, but because the story of pokemon takes place in "adventure-time," he experiences several lifetimes' worth of adventures and never ages.

similarly, maximum ride seems to take place in adventure-time. over the course of nine books, max and the flock only age roughly about one year. their adventures happen in this compressed story timeframe that has no relation to real-world time. others have noticed this; it's not a particularly new thought. adventure-time isn't uncommon in literature, though - these days, a good number of stories for kids in particular take place with this kind of nebulous time-frame (see again: pokemon). since it dates back to greek antiquity, it's a common way to conceptualize story-time.

HOWEVER. another attribute of adventure-time, as it's used in the greek romance, is that it lacks any references to real historical time. basically, any greek romance should be able to be read as though it's taking place in the reader's time, even if it was written 300 years earlier. nothing should jar the reader out of the sense that the story is taking place in adventure-time. (this used to be a lot more common in storytelling, and i feel like it's fallen out of favor because of the specificity of technology in different eras these days - it's hard to write a story now with any technology that feels truly timeless, but i digress.)

as others have pointed out, max's narration mentions markers of time and pop culture references that date the books very specifically. for example, in the second book (published around 2006), ari steals a gameboy from a department store; then, in the 7th (?) book, it mentions that it's 2010, but the flock have only aged about one year since the beginning of the series. by 2010, you likely wouldn't be able to buy a gameboy in a department store, and those are the types of chronological dissonances that readers absolutely latch onto (see: the entire history of the maximum ride fandom).

SO BASICALLY: maximum ride is doing this really weird thing where it's trying to take place in adventure-time (which requires readers to not think too hard about the passage of time), while also inserting very specific references that almost force readers to think about chronological time. if these specific references were taken out, i'd bet that readers would have an easier time excusing the sheer amount of events that supposedly take place within a single year of the flock's life, because nothing in the narration itself would prompt them to think about it.

anyway. james patterson doesn't understand adventure-time. thanks for coming to my tedtalk.

[timelessnessess]

“I loved you.”

“You loved me?”

“I’ve always loved you.”

“But… loved? You don’t anymore?”

“I cannot now. Not… now. Much like how you cannot say you love me.

Did you ever love me?”

The silence was pressing. Suffocating. Her mind swarms with memory after memory. Not in fond remembrance. But to detect when his love could have possibly began.

The night when they first met. When she was bloodied and stabbed. When she was at her worst. Was it then? When she was vulnerable? Was that even a memory they shared? She doesn’t expect him to share the same fears she had that night…

What about the evening they both danced together? The room was so crowded that they were forced to stand close to each other. His hand on her waist and her arm around his neck. The classic ballroom dance. Something that makes anyone swoon. All she could think about however was how stuffy she was. Compared to now, though, makes the memory seem like a breath of fresh air.

M-maybe it was when she attempted to kill him? Sword to sword, a fair spar. Her mind was far from a friendly duel. She planned to slit his throat and retreat into the nearby woods. Quick and clean. But, of course she had to trip up. Her sword planted only a mere inch away from his neck as she sat on top his waist. He looked up at her in awe with how swiftly she took him down.

That couldn’t be it. Who in their right mind would fall for someone then?!?

Could it be the day she was being threatened by a stranger. He came so suddenly even she didn’t realize he was right next to her. He scared off the stranger and kept me company for the rest of the day. Following and helping her with her chores.

Unless… it was the morning of which she woke up on his bed? She didn’t even know how she ended up there. A drunken night? A night full of self loathing? Anyone’s guess is as good as hers. He wasn’t in bed with her. He was sitting in a chair next to the bed. He was sleeping too and he looked very peaceful. So… beautiful? She wouldn’t dare say that to his face, though.

Her mind continues to race. More memories of good and bad playing like a movie reel. She feels… something. Something like… sorrow? No. More like… fear? Possibly grief, if that makes sense. Like this is the end.

“When did you love me?” She blurts out. Her burning curiosity seemingly overwhelming her years of self control. Likely why she overlooked his question.

But as always, he put her first and answered her question.

“Since the beginning.”

Aha! So it was the night she was vulnerable. Is that creepy or weird? Maybe concerning is the best word. But he wasn’t finished, causing her to pause her train of thought.

“When I first laid my eyes on you. It was a beautiful sight much like the day. The sun high and the people chatting. Yet, all I could see within the crowd was you. You stood out like no other. Maybe you wanted me to see you. But the light of the sun was nothing compared to the light you brought to my life.”

“I… don’t remember that.”

“I don’t expect you to. It was years ago. A lifetime ago. A time where you and I were two completely different people. Strangers to our current selves. However you want to put it.”

“What happened…?”

“Nothing embarrassing, if that’s what you’re worried about. Just you in your natural state. You looked so peaceful and relaxed. I wondered why. I wanted to ask. But I was shy. Ridiculous, hm?”

“But-“

“Did you ever love me?” He asks again. His tone much more gentler and softer than his first time. He did not look angry or resentful, but accepting. Like he already knows the answer.

She remains quiet. She has to. She learned that this is better. No one should know about her true self. So, why does it feel like he knows everything about her from just his soft gaze alone? Is she supposed to feel this nervous?

He smiles sadly at her silence. Taking whatever his mind supplemented as her answer. Was it a no, or yes? Probably a no, with how he looks down at the ground in defeat.

“I hoped for a good ending. How foolish of me.” He waves off with a forced smile. She winces back, aware that it doesn��t physically hurt her. “I should have expected that life is not so nice. Nor that this life would give me the wish I ever so wanted.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. We simply aren’t meant to be in this life. Maybe, just maybe, we could be together in the next?”

“Would you like that?”

“… I… would. Actually. Despite everything, I still loved you.”

At this moment, she takes the dagger from her hidden pocket and slits his throat. The shock of the sudden attack appearing only for a moment. Before a look of tiredness and neutrality overcomes his face.

His body falls back. It reminds her of when they sparred. This, however, the result if she actually succeeded. The blood pools his head and her hands. Somehow, she got the angle wrong and splattered a bit. Don’t worry, she knows how to handle this. But… for now, she will accompany him in his last breath.

His labored breathing grows more shallow. More staggered. She assumes in only ten seconds he will officially pass. She could have said anything in that moment. Any words of comfort of empty promises of a good afterlife. She never believed in an afterlife. Probably because she didn’t believe she deserved one.

Why does this feel like it’s taking forever?

His body goes limp. The blood still pooling but no longer severe. She watched the entire time with a blank face. Her hand goes over his chest to check for his heartbeat. Something she has done many a times in the past. There is no pulse. She misses it.

And with that, she begins to cry. One tear after another falling onto the floor and his body. Her body trembles slightly, but doesn’t allow herself to fully bawl.

She has to leave, but this is their last moment together. She can’t be caught, but she hasn’t even said anything. She needs to clean this up, but she can’t accept this yet.

… what can I do? What is wrong with me?

She double checks he is dead. He is, but for some reason she thought otherwise. Maybe so she can make some other blank remark at him. Or call him out for his calmness in this disaster of a situation. He’s dead, though. She officially alone. She can be herself now.

“I love you too.”

No, not loved. She never loved him. She had never loved him. How could she ever loved him? But she will always love him. He deserved love… but not from her…