#what would this make palaces? tumors? shrugs

[monakisu]

p5 mementos thoughts

i know it's meant to be an adaptation of jung's collective unconscious shenanigans but i think it'd be SO Cool to imagine mementos as some sort of living creature...

it's an amalgamation meshed with tokyo's urban metropolis environment so you'd notice the familiar stuff first, like train tracks and stations, but staying long enough in mementos reveals that it's still very much alive. you're exploring its innards! the walls are fleshy and veiny and pulsate verrryyy slowly to the rhythm of breathing or heartbeats, the wandering shadows can be thought of as bacteria or protein, and the reaper's obviously the immune system kicking in with its very determined white blood cell gunning to eliminate you the virus!!

and i like to think that metaverse costumes not only serve Stamina and Style (the two essentials) but also sorta trick mementos into thinking you "belong" in its body—at the very least, you're not food anymore! like, if the world's luckiest unluckiest human managed to noclip into mementos and somehow avoided evisceration via shadows, imagine if the floors and walls have been secreting a subtle acid and by the time this human notices their sneakers corroding away and how moist and raw their palms have gotten, they finally realize that they've been caught in the process of digestion! but of course metaverse users are safe and sound from turning into a goopy gooey mess :]

i especially enjoy likening mementos to the tunnel in Coraline that connects the real world with the other world + the Mystery Flesh Pit National Park in Texas :D both are creatures so massive that they breach eldritch proportions, and you the human are sooo itty bitty you've basically only been wandering in a single blood vessel out of an entire circulation system! or something like that!!

[silence-burns]

Please Hate Me //part 24

Fandom: Marvel

Summary: Based on “Imagine having a love/hate relationship with Loki.” by @thefandomimagine​

"This is a bad idea," Loki voiced his thoughts. 

"You make it sound like that’s new information." 

"Well, at first I thought it all might work out and make the day interesting, but right now I'm a hundred percent sure today's going to be as terrible as the entirety of last week." 

You gasped dramatically. "Terrible? But you had a good laugh with me!"

"What else was I supposed to do when my life was being ruined and my dignity trampled? File a complaint? To whom could I address it?" he asked, words sharp. 

"Why are you asking me? That sounds like your problem." 

"You don't see it as your problem only because you're the problem." 

"Nah. You're overthinking it." 

"Well, I suppose one of us has to balance out your lack of—" 

You cut him off with a sudden glint in your eyes. You stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, right in front of him, forcing people to walk around the two of you with annoyed grimaces.

"Did you just say 'us'? Could it be that I've finally grown on you?" 

Loki sighed a very resigned sigh. "Yeah. Like a tumor." 

Your smile was blinding nonetheless and caused him to turn his head the other way. It was the only reason he turned his head, obviously. Your joy was unreasonable. It wasn’t not like the word slipped off his tongue on accident and he tried to brush it off… 

He only listened to your following babbling with one ear, focusing just enough to know when to nod and grunt some confirmation at the right moment. It wasn't on purpose, at least not entirely. It just so happened that his mind was occupied by different matters at the moment. 

The path you decided on took you through what you described as quite a nice part of the city. Loki had his doubts about sanity and taste of whoever was behind the design of some of the buildings. The architecture was outrageously bland and plain and no matter how hard he tried, Loki could not find any reason behind such a fascination with squares and rectangles. Involuntarily, he thought back to the elegant arches and ethereal facades of Asgard's places of culture. The rich gold and vibrant colors that brought up all of the beauty of the city and homes of its people clashed violently with what he was seeing now. And why was everything so dull? 

You crossed the street, following the mass of people rushing in the same direction. The fumes in the air brought a grimace to Loki's face. You noticed, and forgot about whatever you were just talking about. 

"You okay?" 

Loki's attention snapped back to you, surprised with how much genuine concern could be heard in your voice. 

Well, you had already proven a few times that you meant him no harm, which was nice coming from someone on this savage, disgusting realm, but Loki was not yet used to it. He was trying, though, which he found surprising. 

You frowned at his lack of response and took one of his hands in yours, warming it up. "Are you cold? I told you to bring gloves. We could warm up in one of the shops right there if you want?" 

If you didn't know him any better, you'd say Loki looked flustered, but since it would be very out of character, you decided he must have just been overwhelmed with a world that must be so different from his. Your suspicions were confirmed when he insisted on walking. The hint of color on his cheeks must've been a figment of your imagination. 

"I'm a Frost Giant, after all," he explained, very interested in the display of one of the bakeries. "The cold doesn't bother me as much as others, regardless of my clothing." 

"Damn, wish I could say the same. It must come in real handy in weather like this," you gestured to the white blankets of snow covering every surface around. It was still fresh and clean, changing the world into something a little prettier than it usually was. Or maybe it was because it covered the trash littering the streets. 

Loki followed your gaze to the few tiny flakes of snow flying loosely in the air. The sky was clear, indicating fine weather for the near future. People didn't seem to pay much attention to the weather, if only to watch out on particularly slippery parts of the pavements. 

It was a shame, though, Loki thought. The snow was the only reason the city wasn't completely hideous to his eyes. It might have been caused by the Frost Giant blood in his veins, but he had to admit he enjoyed the walk through the whitened streets more than he anticipated, even putting the architecture aside. 

The air, despite the disgusting fumes the cars around restlessly continued to produce, had the bite and frost in it that he'd always enjoyed. He remembered the days spent outside from dawn till dusk with Thor, running around the palace's grounds, building their own fortresses from snow and branches and then attacking one another until their hands were sore and their runny noses frozen. Those were the few memories Loki didn't mind his brother in. He was a terrible fortress architect. 

They often ventured far, and made Frigga worry with how late they finally made it home. Even Loki's hands were cold by then, and his clothes damp and wet, but he was happy nonetheless, innocent and unaware of what his future would throw him into. 

Loki looked down at his hands. Those days were gone, and not much could bring them back. Even winter felt different in this world, more polluted and tamed. The frost was more of a suggestion rather than a sharp bite to his skin. His heritage would always protect him from damage, but he felt the cold anyway. 

The sad truth was, the past had to stay in the past, no matter how tempting it was to recollect and dwell upon old memories. Lessons had to be learnt from it, but one can never move forward if they drag their past with them. Despite his greatest efforts, Loki didn't remember who wrote that. Still, the words felt right to him. 

With a silent nod to himself, he got back to the present. You were still standing by the bakery he randomly chose to buy some time. He had been conflicted, but things seemed clearer now. 

Once again confident in himself, Loki straightened his back and turned to face you - only to find you already staring at him. 

"How about we marry?" you proposed. 

All air left him. 

"I beg your pardon…?" was all he managed to stutter out, his voice taking a high pitch at the end, despite his efforts to keep it casual. 

You didn't seem to notice the chaos raging in his chest. You only knocked softly on one of the posters at the display. With his heart in his throat, Loki read it with more difficulty than it would usually take him. 

"It says… Some free samples are offered to everyone who proposes there? Is that a joke?" he asked finally. 

"Not according to those photos." You pointed to some low-quality pictures printed and glued under the poster. 

His frown only deepened along with his confusion. "You want us to fake a proposal for some free cake?" 

"Why not?" you shrugged. "It's not like anyone's going to check up on us to see if we actually get married later on." 

Loki blinked slowly. His heart did not slow down, but at least he was starting to hear his own thoughts over the blood pounding through his veins. "Could you please explain to me, why can't we just buy it like normal people?" 

"Do you have any money? Like, human money?" 

"No." 

"Well, all I've got on me will go for our breakfast, especially since Peter will be joining us shortly, and he always devours a double portion like he's been starving for the past year and a half. So, how about a quick proposal?" you nudged him with a wicked smile, ready to march in. 

Loki knew that stupid look on your face. You were not faking it. He sighed into the ridiculous, although nicely smelling scarf around his face. "Do you even have a ring?"

That seemed to pop your happy bubble. Your shoulders slumped and for a very brief, quickly shushed moment, Loki felt bad about it. "Damn it…" 

"Besides, how would you conceal, you know, my identity? It would be suspicious if I had to hide my whole face during all of this madness."

"That's the least of our problems, there's no way anyone would recognize you anyway. Look, we've made it pretty far already and no one's even looked at you twice—" 

You gestured around. 

A skinny, blond man was staring at Loki with a look of utter concentration and confusion of his face, no more than three paces away. 

You froze, and so did Loki. But only for a moment. 

You burst into a broad, jovial smile before approaching the man like a good friend. "What a beautiful morning, isn't it, my dear? Would you like to have a little chat with us about global warming? We've been sent out to make a quick survey about people's opinions and predictions—Where are you going, sir? It will only take a few minutes!" 

You looked after the man that would  choose to flee rather than continue the conversation. He didn't look back. 

You puffed out your chest with pride and turned to Loki. "Okay, I might've been a little bit wrong."

Loki was already casting quick glances around, fixing that stupid excuse of a cover around his face. He knew he would be recognizable. Too little time had passed since he was forced to attack the city, and people would still be bitter about it. Maybe after a few generations had passed and the memory of that disaster got lost in time… 

You joined your arms and shouldered him away from the spot and into a less crowded side-street. The snow crumbled underneath your feet, not yet turned into a muddy pulp. 

"Loki, listen, I know it might not seem like it, but I'm pretty sure everything's fine. The man didn't even recognize you, or he would’ve started screaming or talking in that very aggressive way some people love to use. And he didn't— which means he failed to connect the dots and probably thought you reminded him of some weird relative that he hasn't seen in years and just got confused… "

"You don't even believe that yourself," Loki cut you off. "You tend to babble when you get nervous."

"I… Well, you seem to know an awful lot about me for someone who hates my whole race." 

"It's not—" Loki opened his mouth but stopped. The words didn't seem important anymore. 

You paused too, still linked with him by the arm. Loki sensed the tension in your muscles and the change in your breath. 

Someone was waiting for you. 

The person wasn't tall, but the face obscured by a deep hood didn't seem the most trustworthy. A mugger wouldn't show up right in front of you, standing in the middle of the pavement. Surprisingly, no people seemed to be on your side of the street at all. 

Your fingers clenched on Loki's arm, as if you were preparing to haul him behind you. That brought a ghost of a smile on his face. As if he would let you. 

The man pointed a finger at Loki. "You should NOT be here." 

And that was when you recognized his voice. "Wong??" 

Loki frowned. "You know each other?" 

Before you managed to answer him, Wong approached you with anger loud in his every step. And snapped his fingers. 

Your stomach jumped high into your throat as the ground rolled under your feet without a warning. Loki's didn't feel much better, but he overcame the wave of nausea quickly—he knew what happened. It was a simple transportation spell he had used thousands of times. 

It didn't take you far—only to a small park, far from prying eyes. Some children were busy building a rather disfigured snowman at the far end of it, behind a line of trees, their naked branches heavy with snow. No one else seemed to occupy the place. 

Wong uncovered his face. You were right—he was pissed. 

"What is wrong with you, people? And I mean both of you. You were supposed to be the responsible one!" he jabbed you with a finger. "Don't you think he's a little too recognizable to be wandering around like that?" 

"He's got my scarf on!" 

Wong didn't bother with a response. Loki, despite his personal feelings towards the monk, couldn't blame him. 

Wong sighed, giving up trying to reason with either of you. He was aware of the god's current situation, because a big part of Sanctum Santorum's job was monitoring any threats to the realms and interdimensional peace—and Loki was very high on that list. 

On the other hand, despite the ice-cold looks he was being cast by said threat, Wong had to admit no major disaster happened yet—which was surprisingly nice (having the realm's continued peace in mind) but not ideal in Wong's personal interest (and the bet he lost to the Sorcerer Supreme). 

"I have a feeling nothing I say will make you go back to the Tower?" he asked. 

"Nope," you admitted. Loki only huffed with indifference, raising his chin high despite the thick scarf. 

Wong nodded to himself, as if he (rightly so) didn't anticipate any other answer. "Alright, then I'll at least cast a small glamor spell onto him, so you don't—" 

"Absolutely not!" 

The mere thought of the barbaric, bland magic of this realm being thrown upon him, boiled Loki's blood. If only he could reach out to his own magic, he'd show this pathetic excuse of a sorcerer what it really meant to wield such force… 

You nudged him in the ribs, hard. "He's kinda right, you know? You said it yourself—you're too recognizable." 

Loki was at a loss for words, and Wong used that moment to cast the glamor with a quick invocation and trained move of his hands. It tickled, like a wet, slippery mist blown into Loki's face. He snapped his attention back to the sorcerer, baring his teeth, but Wong was already departing. 

"It won't work on anyone who already knows you, but it should do fine against strangers. You two better not mess anything up," he said and disappeared into a portal before Loki could grab him by the throat. His hand closed on air where the sorcerer stood only seconds ago. 

"I hate this world," he growled out, clenching his fist. 

You patted his back soothingly. "I know, it's not the best sequence of events before a proper breakfast, but how about we finally go grab some? The place isn’t far." 

Loki brushed his face with a hand, the wet feeling not gone, but there was nothing he could do about it without his magic. He once again looked at the damned bracelet fixed around his wrist with pure, unfiltered hatred. 

[iseutz]

Chapter Six

Portia called me later that evening, basically to call me a moron because I’ve left. Part of the reason why we were such good friends was that none of us was touchy-feely: we rarely hugged, never kissed, never went around hand in hand like all the other girls seemed to do. And were not sentimental: we could talk about feelings, even for hours, but up to that day I had never saw her cry, and vice versa. I was thankful that Julian had intervened when Portia had started crying: I wouldn’t have known what to do.

Julian called me too, while I was dining with my parents; my cell phone was in my bedroom and I didn’t hear it. I found out only in the morning, when I was getting out of home to go to school, that I had a message and a missed call. To think about it now, it was amazing how much time could we go on without ever checking on our phones.

The message didn’t make much sense to me:

WELL, I TALK TO MUCH. YOU DIDN’T HAVE TO LEAVE. I THINK I OWE YOU SOME EXPLANATION, MAYBE CALL ME WHEN YOU HAVE TIME?

So I checked the voicemail:

“Hey, uhmm- it’s me. Er, Julian. I-I wanted to thank you for yesterday: you basically caused an unexpected family moment and we needed it. We didn’t know we did, but  yeah, we did. Also… it was delicate of you to leave us some time, but you didn’t ha-“

Okay, so the voice message came before the text. I was still confused, though: what explanations was he talking about? I called him while I pedaled down the familiar streets that led to the school. He answered after the third ring, while I was about to hang up: -Y’ss. -Uhm… Julian? It’s Selendri. -Hey there- his voice was sleepy and I heard rustling noises in the background. -Were you sleeping? -Uh… yes. What’s the time anyway? It’s… barely dawn! -It’s 7.30- a whelp pierced my ear from the receiver. – Ok, maybe I will call you later. -No! Stay, I’m up now anyway. What do you need from this humble servant? -I’m asking you, actually: you called me yesterday. -Sure, but those are not things to discuss on the phone. What if we meet at the Gardens in half an hour? I just need a quick shower -I’m going to school, Julian. Like, right now. -Oh, are you? -Well… -Because I’m looking at the horoscope, and it clearly states “this morning a tall, dark stranger will snatch you away from your daily routine”. -You’re not dark, Julian. -And I’m not a stranger, either; horoscopes are a hoax. The Gardens? Half an hour? -Ok. I’ll bring coffee. -You’re too perfect for this world.

I hung up, smiling. As I turned my  bike towards the Gardens I pushed back once again the urge to question the nature of our relationship; I didn’t really know what was the standard course of this kind of events, if it was expected from me to start asking for a validation, a title to give to what we were doing. Were we dating? Were we exclusive? Did I want us to be? I only knew that I liked the feeling of having him around; he gave me butterflies and I wanted them to last as long as possible. I texted Portia that I would have skipped class that day and she answered with the picture of a penis realized in ASCII characters. I was still giggling as I secured my bike outside the Gardens’ main entrance.

There were many gardens in Vesuvia, but the Gardens were the only one who deserved their name in the city map: centuries old, they originally belonged to the ducal palace; once it burned down they became a public park. They had an odd concentric structure, each ring following a different style: French baroque, Italian renaissance, Heian era… increasingly more ancient as you got closer to the center, where the statue of a prancing ram fought its way out of a circular hedge of briar. The reasons behind this strange choice of garden landscaping was a mystery, but all in all nobody complained: the Gardens was a beautiful place, plenty of picnic spots, unexpected gazebos, topiary art and a multitude of kiosks where you could stop at to get a coffee and smell the flowers.

I heard Julian’s car approaching before I got to see it: the music preceded it.

Oh, yeah, it was like lightning everybody was frightening And the music was soothing and they all started grooving Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah

The Volvo paraded along the street in front of the gates of the Garden, searching for a parking spot; I saw Julian, an elbow resting on the window’s brim and absolute black sunglasses concealing half his face; when he saw me he blew me a kiss with a flourish of his arm before driving on and away. He looked like a rockstar; he knew it. I didn’t have to wait long for him: less than five minutes later he was trotting towards me up the sidewalk, hands deep in the pockets of a discolored pair of jeans, a white shirt and a studded jacket on his shoulders. He was still whistling the refrain of Ballroom Blitz; I gave him the cup of coffee I had bought earlier and he kissed my cheek before taking it –Good morning-. -Good morning to you. Sorry I woke you up. -Forget it. My sleeping schedule is messed up anyway and you’ve already redeemed yourself bringing me coffee – he took a long seep. –Aaah, sweet nectar and ambrosia. We walked aimlessly around for a while until we found a wrought iron bench to sit on. -So, I’m not good at small talk… -Good. Neither am I – he agreed. -What is that you wanted me to talk about? -Well, - he ran a hand through his hair. –Portia told me you saw my scars, and then you talked about the tumor…- -I’m sorry. I know it’s none of my business. -No, on the contrary: you deserve to know such things. I… kinda pulled you into this… thing without really knowing each other. I owe you to be correct. -Julian, no. I mean: correctness is a thing, but you don’t have to tell me anything if you’re not ready to. It’s true, we don’t know each other. I don’t even know your actual name! Is it Julian? Is it Ilya? -It’s Ilya Fjodorovich D’vorak -Wow. -Portia is Pasha Fjodorovna D’vorak -That’s impressive. -They’re pretty common names actually. -Anyways… this thing that we’re doing, I don’t even know what it is yet; I like you, you are… I like you. And I want to know you – I was getting nervous. –I want to know everything about you, but you don’t have to start from scars and tumors, that is. Julian smiled, hunched over his knees, the empty coffee cup dangling from his fingers. -Thank you. I shrugged. He removed his sunglasses and hung them by the neckline of his t-shirt; when he turned to look at me I was surprised by the red that rimmed his eye. -Are you still ill, Julian? -Just a cold. No fever and I’m not contagious anymore. Not that this discouraged you last time. -Then kiss me. His grin widened. -At your service. It was a gentle kiss; it’s hard to keep hands off each other at the beginning of a relationship, and it’s even harder when you’re a hormone-pumped teenager, but I found myself enjoying that sweetness; he tasted like coffee, and a vague minty scent of toothpaste. I noticed he always took a moment to watch me close before kissing me, lips parting the very last second, the same lips that were now gently brushing against mine, tongue dancing lightly on them. -I think that kissing also counts at getting to know each other. -It surely does - he agreed. - And so did our first chat in my car. -The one when we talked about corpses? -We also talked about piglets. -Dead piglets. -Delicious dead piglets. Come now – he scooped me up without effort and stood up from the bench. – Let’s go for a walk.

We wandered for a while and eventually I convinced him to put me down. As we approached the center of the Gardens we started noticing a number of workers trafficking with electrical cords and streamers. The Masquerade was approaching.

-It’s that time of the year again… are you going? – Julian asked. -Why, you are? -Of course! I never miss a chance to dress up. You don’t like the Masquerade? -I don’t know. I’ve never attended one. -Oh my – Julian stopped abruptly, a suffering expression on his face. – This is a terrible thing, you don’t know what you’re missing… well, you’re missing the whole fucking town getting drunk while some terrible commercial pop plays at deafening levels, but it’s really funny. Why don’t you come? -I don’t think my parents will let me. They’re a bit on the overprotective side. -Tell them your best friend’s adult and responsible brother will chaperone you both. -You mean the 20 years old, gothically inclined pirate? That one? -I’m 21, thank you very much. And I have always carried Portia home safe and sound. That, or the other way round. Either way, a complete success. -I don’t even have a costume. -You can hire one, you have plenty of time; the Masquerade’s on Saturday night. -Today’s Friday! -Then you need Portia. She’s an ace in these things. Come on, at least try. For me? I’m way too dashing in costume to spend the whole night on my own.