#you assigned this work now you get to experience my spiral as consequence

[nerdie-faerie]

'You should proof read your assignments before submitting' absolutely not, you will experience my academic spiral in real time

[howtofightwrite]

Now you got me thinking...I've been thinking about writing a fic where the (in-universe) desensitization of violence for the main characters is a running theme. My main issue, however, is managing the violence within said narrative because, as you've said before, violence has diminishing returns. While I don't want it to be a gorefest from start to finish, I do want part of the horror to be having to engage in it, no matter what steps are taken to avoid it. If I'm not careful, I could end up with a weaker story for all the violence in it. What could I do to maintain this theme without it losing its impact due to these diminishing returns?

So, there's two different things going on here, and ironically, it's the same term, and mostly the same process.

When I'm talking about your audience becoming desensitized to violence, it's more that they become acclimated to the degree of violence you're comfortable with exposing them to. Again, “diminishing returns,” because as you expose them to more violence, they become more acclimated to that violence, and the shock value will subside. Similarly, the ability to build tension on the threat of violence occurring falls off when you're willing to engage in violence, but that doesn't mean you can't build tension, just that you need to be a little more careful about establishing those stakes.

Also, when most people write violence, they tend to establish implicit boundaries. It may be that only certain characters engage in violence. It may that certain areas are exempted from violence. At very mechanical abstraction, with some writers, you can tell when they've introduced a location that is exempt from violence. Even if you're getting into diminishing returns, violating these kinds of boundaries can keep the violence fresher than you'd expect. The formula of slasher films put a lot of effort into maintaining shock value by creating misleading boundaries that you'll pick up on and then violating them in new and novel ways.

Outside of some genuinely stomach churning violence, you're not likely to permanently move the needle for your readers. You're not actually desensitizing them to violence; just your willingness to depict violence.

I feel like I need to make a clarification: Too much violence doesn't mean the story will be bad. Normally, I offer advice with the assumption that you'll want to manage and maintain as much shock value as you can from your violence. However, that's not the only valid approach. That said, too much violence can cause your readers to disconnect from the work, so that is a legitimate consideration. Also, this doesn't mean the story loses impact. Unless the violence is the story, which is a somewhat weird edge case, violence won't necessarily reduce the impact of the story as a whole.

The example of slasher films, earlier, really does illustrate what I mean when I'm saying that lots of violence (even gratuitous violence) isn't going to necessarily mean that a story will be bad. (Though, this could spiral into a much deeper argument about the artistic merits of that genre.) To some extent, your choice of genre already starts to prepare the audience for a more violent experience. You're preemptively trading shock value for a higher baseline.

The second thing is your character being desensitized to violence. While there is something to be said for getting your audience into your character's head space to the point that they accept it as their own, doing that with desensitization to violence is extraordinarily difficult. (And, really, it's a tricky route to go in general. In most cases, the audience will simply assign whatever dissatisfaction they have onto you or the work, rather than realizing you were being clever.)

So, how do you show someone is desensitized to violence, without trying to simultaneously traumatize your audience? You show the consequences of that desensitization. This can show up in a character's sense of humor, their overall outlook. They may be more clinical about violence, more casual about its consequences (at least, superficially.) They might have an incredibly dark sense of humor, which might not come up most of the time.

In a larger context, a character who has been desensitized to violence may come across as basically normal, outside of a narrow band where certain concepts don't bother them. This is especially true with a specific brand of military humor, where violence has been rendered mundane for the individual, and the people they interact with on a regular basis.

Now, audience desensitization to violence can create a very weird situation. Where an absence of violence is more unsettling. Not because they're worried about what could happen, but because they're waiting for it all hell to break loose. It's one thing to simply call it, “tension,” but it is a very distinct kind of anxiety you can invoke, if you're careful. In the opening of a story, when the genre is clearly established, I've seen this compared to the ratchets on a roller coaster's first ascent. Everyone knows what they're here for, everyone's here for the ride, click, click... and then the lights go out, and the screaming starts.

I'm trying to make it sound easy, but violence is one of the more challenging things to write. That doesn't mean it's impossible, and you don't need to sit down and carefully sketch out every detail before you get going. The biggest thing to be careful of are that you don't want to overuse it, but you have a lot of flexibility to tell the story you want with the amount of violence you need to communicate that story.

Though, it might take a few tries until you get a tone you're happy with.

-Starke

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[stormbreaker101]

u gotta tell us about mark moonfisher. how'd his arc differ from his canon counterpart? how's his personality different?

BOY AM I GLAD YOU ASKED.

So, in Corrupted Spiral, Karamelle goes mad off the rails before its story can begin. My main wizard Nora, spurred into a years-in-the-making breakdown by the prophecy of "You have Nothing to fear", lashed out against the Spiral and released a ton of Aberrant magic. The Aberrant magic that struck Karamelle was Aberrant Storm, which churned constant storms that threaten to erode the mountains and flood the lowlands.

With Karamelle thrown into crisis and Nora gone, the Schismists' Summit is unable to proceed as planned. So instead, the Old One offers his forces as 'humanitarian aid' for the people of Karamelle that are unable to emigrate to safer lands. The Schismists, Mark included, very quickly become a not-so-secret police force to keep the remnants of Karamelle under Nana's and the Old One's thumbs.

Mark doesn't begin any sort of arc until Nora returns to try and fix the consequences of her meltdown 2 years later. He has his moment of 'I'm gonna be the one who finally stops the Wizard!' and keeps trying to egg her on to fight him. He's still very cocky and over the top like "You're just not fighting me cuz you're scared you're gonna lose" and "I can 1v1 you easily, you're outta practice, granny!" (Nora is only 24 and Mark is like... no older than 18 here). Nora eventually reluctantly agrees to fight him just to get him to stop asking her, and she absolutely schools him, even while holding back.

This, of course, crushes Mark. He's been in the Schismists for a few years now, and throughout his time he had constantly heard rumor of The Wizard. How dangerous they were, how they were a harbinger for so much destruction, how they represent everything wrong with the Spiral. (Reader, let me be perfectly clear: this is propaganda.) Mark, young and bright-eyed and a bit of a loner, believed that if he were to defeat the Wizard, then he'd finally have some sort of standing! He could get a promotion! From a basic grunt to a Boss, on the same level as Doctor Demented, Poison Oak, or Gretta Darkkettle! He could have underlings, who'd be forced to be his friends! A cool new name, like... King Shark or something! His life could mean something!

So, that sounds fairly similar to his canon arc. Absolutely wiped by the Wizard, our pathetic boy works to try and finally defeat us (failing every time). So what changes?

A near death experience, of course :D

Alongside basically being the new cops of Karamelle, the Schismists also make themselves responsible for keeping the plutarchs of Karamelle who refused to leave comfortable. These overprivileged 1%'ers reside in the von Trap estate, above the clouds and safe from both rain and flood, but not safe from monsters.

See, one fun little consequence of Nora fleeing the Spiral and then coming back is that while she was gone she kinda accidentally led a semi-conscious realm of infinite hunger (the Abyss) to the Spiral :D And the creatures from the Abyss hunger for flesh and fear. The soft plutarchs who had never done a single day of honest work or ever had any worry beyond accruing capital are basically the most tender of meat to the Abyss.

It's a damn slaughter, and Mark (who was assigned to the von Trap estate one day along with the rest of Quake Charmer's cohort) was one of the only survivors in the manor :D So he's got a new objective, one that trumps his desire to beat the Wizard: survive. He flees the estate and goes back to the lower towns, where Nora's helping the lower class folk evacuate so they don't also fall prey to the Abyss. Mark decides to slip into the crowd and just go with them to wherever they end up. He'll... beat the Wizard later. Another day. When he's stronger. Right now he's a bit too weak. (Bit too traumatized. :P)

The Karamellians are directed to Grizzleheim, which is doing rather well thanks to earlier efforts in undoing Nora's Aberrant magic there. They settle the town of Drostein just north of Savarstaad pass (with King Valgard's blessing), and try to find a new normal, one without any of the cruelty of the poverty that NOFKD imposed on them, or the surveillance state the Schismists put them through.

Mark also has a chance to soften up and find a new normal with the Drostenians, though of course he does have to balance his allegiances. Is he still a Schismist? Can he soften up and just be some guy again, or should he remain a loyal grunt despite not having a boss? The Quizzler is there too, are they his new boss now?

Choices, choices...

At least there's some other big important Wizard who actually wants to brawl with him whenever she comes around :D. It's kinda fun to roughhouse with this... Nordic Champion, Emma whatshisface. Mark still gets absolutely schooled, but Emma's a surprisingly good sport about it! Up for rematches and the like, and actually responds to his shittalk with jabs of her own! Mark has maybe one single friend.

[letarasstuff]

Doesn't she love me anymore?

(A/N): This was requested by an anon, I hope you like it as much as I do!

Summary: Spencer's daughter starts to question why her mother left the small family early on

Warnings: Mentions/undertones of bullying, an absent parent and descreptions of the concequences for the child, So. Much. Angsty. Feelings.

Wordcount: 2.5k

✨Masterlist✨ _________________________________

“Daddy?” Spencer turns around from the frying pan to look at his daughter. Against common belief, he is quite the cook. But this only started when he became a father, after he realized a child won’t be able to live off of a diet consisting of coffee and anxiety, just like he did at the time. “Yes, Sweetheart?”

She looks down to the piece of paper on the kitchen counter in front of her. “Why did Mommy leave us?”

The spatula falls to the ground. It’s a question the father did not expect on a Tuesday morning before school. “It’s because of me, isn’t it? She saw me the first time and didn’t want me anymore. It’s my fault Mommy left us, left you, just like Linda said.” Tears begin to stream down her face.

“No no no”, her father is quick to turn off the heat and walks around the island to hug his daughter. “None of this is your fault. I don’t know what this Linda said, but it is not true. Your mother had her own reasons to stay out of our lives, but it has nothing to do with you.”

This doesn’t calm her down. “What are her reasons? Why did she leave us? Why did leave me?” Frantically she tries to keep her sobs down in order to speak. Spencer never has seen her this upset.

“Sweetheart, are you sure you are in the right state to talk about it now? Why don’t we calm down and get something for breakfast on our way to school and talk about it after I pick you up this afternoon?” He suggests, hoping the thought of a cup of hot chocolate from their favorite bakery would help her.

(Y/N) looks up at him with bloodshot and glassy eyes. Snot runs down from her nose. Spencer is quick to get her a tissue and make her blow into it, cringing internally about all those germs. “Do you promise to tell me more after school?” Big eyes look up at him and the father hurts. It hurts him, because there are so many things in her future that will break her and all that because of her mother. He can’t shield her from all of it, as much as he wants to he isn’t able. Because there always will be people, people like this Linda, who will make the girl conscious of her absent mother.

“I promise”, he tells her and holds his little finger out for her. (Y/N) smiles while linking hers with his, knowing her father will keep this promise just like any other of his. “Good, and now pack up we got a bakery to visit!” Quickly the girl grabs the piece of paper in front of her only to shove it into her backpack.

A little later she sits at her desk and looks at her teacher expectantly, just like her fellow classmates. “Ok children, today we won’t work further on our addition and subtraction worksheets-” The teacher’s sentence is cut short by the eruption of cheerful shouts. Just (Y/N) looks at the multiplication sheet in front of her.

The teacher is quick to quiet the class again. “Instead we will continue our work on the mother’s card you started doing yesterday. Linda was so kind to tell me that you don’t have the chance to finish them at home, because your moms are there. That is why you do it here and your worksheets at home.”

With a frown on her face (Y/N) pulls out the blank piece of paper that made her feel bad ever since her teacher handed it out to her yesterday. While everybody around her chatters happily with other classmates, she just stares at the paper. It is a reminder of something she doesn’t have, something she lacks and will never get: A real mother. A hug from her mother. Not even the motherly reassurance one gets after a nightmare. Nothing.

“Hey orphan. Ya realizing your mom doesn’t love you and that’s why she left you?” Linda, someone (Y/N) later learns to call a Mean Girl, struts up to the younger one’s desk. A sigh leaves her lips before answering. “You do know for an orphan I need to have neither a mommy nor a daddy. And I do for a fact have a dad, a loving one actually.”

A more light than hard slap on the back of her head makes the girl’s body jolt. “I don’t care, but I know that your mom hates you enough just after looking at you to know she doesn’t want anything to do with you.” After that Linda goes back to her table, leaving (Y/N) feeling more miserable than before.

Some starring on the paper later her teacher passes her table. “Is there something you want to talk about, Sweetheart? You seem very sad.” That is an obvious fact. Finally the girl is able to lift her gaze. “Miss Ramirez, I don’t know what to do.” This is probably the first time ever she said this sentence in school.

“Mother’s day is in a few days, Sweetie, and this is why we all make these cards. It’s a thank you to your mom and a way to show her how much you love her. You love your mom, don’t you?” The shake of her head shocks the teacher. Immediately an alarming signal rings through her head, because this is a red flag. “Why? Did she do something?”

“Miss Ramirez, I don’t have a mommy. She- she left Daddy and me.” Tears fill (Y/N)’s eyes. Her teacher is quick to hug and sush her. “Oh Sweetie, this is not a bad thing. I’m sure your mom loves you very much, even if she is not there with you. Do you wanna go out for a bit to calm down?” Meanwhile she connects the obvious signs of a single dad in her mind. Missed parent teacher conferences, unnecessary hovering over the child and the tendency to be categorized as a helicopter parent. Yes, Dr. Reid ticks all of those boxes.

It’s the second time of the day that an adult asked (Y/N) to calm down, and frankly it doesn’t really help with the situation at hand. “Can I do my homework outside? It’s too loud in here”, she asks between sniffles. Both of them know that the class’ volume is not the real reason for the request. “Of course, Sweetheart. If you need something, just come in and ask me. Alright?” (Y/N) nods and gets her multiplication sheet and a pencil before leaving the classroom.

At the end of the school day, Spencer is there to pick up his daughter. For days like these, where are no cases, Hotch gave him a free pass on (Y/N)’s very first day at school to leave the office earlier to be able to pick her up himself. As a father and someone who works the same high demanding job as him, he knows that little things like these are often the most important. And even if there were a case today, Spencer would have stayed back. He promised his daughter the truth and this is what he is going to tell her.

“Hey Dr. Reid. Do you have a moment?” Her teacher greets him at the classroom door. Concerned about his child’s wellbeing he nods and follows her back out of the room. “I gave the children the assignment of creating a card for their mothers, because mother’s day is rolling around. Today (Y/N) told me her mother left you, is that right?” This is the moment Spencer connects the dots. This is the kick off that made her question her mother’s motives about leaving all of the sudden.

The young doctor clears his throat. “Uhm yes, that is right. Actually, I’m going to talk to her about it right after school on her demand.” Miss Ramirez nods with an understanding nod. “Thank you for your honesty, Dr. Reid. I also want to warn you, in two days we will hold a celebration in honor of mother’s day with the kids’ mothers. You are invited as a father, because this is a special situation. But I also give (Y/N) a free pass for this event. It can be very traumatic for her.”

The dad thanks her, but his thoughts are somewhere else. He is mad. He is mad for his daughter, because she will always be the one with a “special situation”. The odd one, because yeah, it isn’t uncommon for fathers to leave (which isn’t anything less sad and traumatic), but an absent mother hits differently.

But Spencer is also hurt. Hurt, because for her young age, there is already the word “traumatic” thrown around. No, it isn’t enough that her dad works a job with the risk of him not coming home from a case again, or being the target of an enemy. No, she also has to go through the experience of missing a parent, never knowing how her life would be if it wasn’t for someone like her mother.

Even with Spencer trying to fill that role, there will be a time where (Y/N) will ask herself all of the “what ifs”. He can’t stop it from happening, and that is his biggest pain right there. Because he can’t shield her from her own thoughts. At the age of six she already is a bright, brilliant and talented mind. Now in a few years or maybe just months, she will start to think about her mother being the root of her pain, bad experiences and hurt. Her thoughts will lead to a downward spiral of how a person can do something like her mother, who acted like that with the knowledge of which consequences will follow. And Spencer can’t stop this from happening.

“Daddy!” A small thud comes from (Y/N) colliding with his leg. Just by the way she squeezes it he knows that she hasn’t had a good day at school. “Hey Baby. Do you want to go to the office for a bit? I think your Auntie Penelope told me something about a new science set she got for you. Or do you want to go straight home?” Spencer asks after lifting her into his arms. Immediately she hides her face into the crook of his neck. “Home”, she murmurs. Home it is then.

“Aaaaaand here comes the little missy’s hot chocolate!” The father says in a funny voice while carefully putting the cup into his daughter’s hands. She sits covered in a blanket on the sofa, looking expectantly at her father.

Spencer sighs at the lack of reaction. “Are you sure you want to hear it?” (Y/N) nods adamantly. “Ok, but I got to go a bit back for this story

“It was about eight years ago, I worked on a case with your Aunties and Uncles back then. I was the one who had to get the last round of coffee for the night at a small 24/7 diner. As I walked in I thought I died, because I was sure an angel stood right in front of me. Well not-” “Is that Mommy?!” (Y/N) cuts him off excitedly. Spencer smiles slightly. “You need to listen to the story!” The girl shifts in her seat. “Right, sorry.”

As I was saying: well in front, because she sat at the bar waiting for her order. I nervously ordered the coffees and had to begin three times, because I kept messing up, mesmerized by her sole atmosphere. As the waiter went to put the coffee pot on, the woman turned towards me and introduced herself. After that she asked me what I was doing late at night in a small town like that and we somehow forgot everything around us by just talking. After that we stayed in touch. Six months later we became a couple, she moved to DC in order for me to still be able to do my job here.

“Two years later your Mom got pregnant with you, and it was quite a surprise to us. But we felt ready at that time and so she moved in with me and we had you. The first few months were great, we couldn’t be happier. BUt then you continuously became ill. At first just a cold, then the pocks and so on. I think it was the third night in a row where you held us up all night. I took a year off from work to care for you with your Mom. I carried you through our apartment the whole night, giving you a bottle, singing, reading, doing anything.

“Then I saw her standing in the doorway. Even though there was baby vomit on her sweatpants and I had never seen her eye bags being this dark, she was the most beautiful woman to me. I approached her with a smile, but her frown only deepened. I thought it was because she worried about you and your health. Instead she told me she can’t do it. She can’t be a mother, that she wasn’t cut for this job.” Her exact words still resonate in Spencer’s ears to this day. He knows exactly what she said, word for word, and they never stopped to sting any less.

“So Mommy left us because I was too much trouble?” (Y/N)’s voice sounds even sadder than before. “No, it never was because of you. She knew exactly what it meant to have a child. Your mother knew what kind of work it takes and what the future brought. You have absolutely nothing to do with it. Some people are just not made to be parents and it’s better when they realize it themselves and leave the situation.”

(Y/N) nods, her mind running wild. All of that makes plenty of sense but at the same time not. “Sweetheart, that doesn’t change the fact that I love you and I will never leave you. You are my everything and I’m so happy to be a dad to such a wonderful little girl like you. I want you to remember that your Mom may not be here with us, but she still loves you. And I’m here for you, for anything you need, want or don’t want. Do you understand me?”

She nods again and curls up into her father’s lap. “Can we watch something?” She asks after a bit of silence, where both of them indulged their own thoughts. Quickly the TV turned on and some kids movie plays. The rest of the day the small family spends all the time cuddled on the couch, because at the moment they need to feel the other there with them.

The next two days Spencer calls (Y/N) in sick at school and himself at work, because together they fly to Vegas. Just because her own mother wasn’t ready for the job, doesn’t mean they can’t appreciate the work her grandmother did as a mother. That and you never know how much time you have left with the people who are dear to you.

Taglist:

All works:

@dindjarinsspouse @big-galaxy-chaos @jswessie187 @kneelforloki

Criminal Minds:

@averyhotchner @mggsprettygirl @herecomesthewriterwitch @ash19871962 @ellyhotchner

Spencer Reid x child!reader:

@ilovetaquitosmmmm

[biinaberry]

The Man with the Spiral Sweater

23

10 pages.. 10 pages and I have nothing. What am I even supposed to write about? He gave me no list and just told me to finish these before he visits. What would he even want me writing about? Imagination and storytelling aren’t my strong suit, yet I guess this is my irony. The one thing that I haven’t practiced over and over. This is going to be a chore.

Well... I guess that counted as filling this book, but 10 pages of just me questioning the words of a teenager wouldn’t be the most exciting thing in the world… What are the limits here? Does he want full sentences or do bullet points work? I really wished he actually told me what he wanted. 

Maybe I can use this book for concepts. Get my thoughts down and then work from there into something that he would enjoy. Now, what do we have to work with?

History book (write down everything) Doesn’t want a rehash of everything

History (Our Pov)  Definitely wouldn’t believe what I say

Instructional guide Can’t explain/demonstrate pvp when it isn’t in person

Doodle book?  Boring

Something I have experience in?

Something you have experience in

Now we have something, I remember someone saying that the best writing comes from your own experiences. Okay. Good. Good. We have a start.. Now what do we have to work with:

PVP

Survival skills

Connections

Consequences

Letting go

Awareness

Those you are working with

Partner’s connections

Emotions

Strategies

Location

Those beyond what you see

Wait

wait wait wait wait

…..

I’ll get back to this later

25

He didn’t visit. 

Should have expected that honestly, god that was idiotic to actually believe him. 

Says you tormented him and you expect him to actually want to face you again, like the first visit went so well. At least it gives me more time to actually process this…assignment.

There are some extra books. 5 more than needed if I remember correctly. 5 mistakes, 5 chances to redo… 5 books I can use for myself. But why would I need these extra ones? I have no use for them. I’ll go back to brainstorming

31?

Drip Drip Drip Drip Drip Drip Drip Drip Drip Drip Drip Drip Drip

Drip Drip Drip Drip Drip Drip Drip Drip Drip Drip Drip Drip Drip

Drip Drip Drip Drip Drip Drip Drip Drip Drip Drip Drip Drip Drip

That's all I hear anymore, at least a week of just the sizzling lava to keep me company here. I thought chucking that clock would bring the warden’s attention, but that was for not. Beyond the loss of communication, now time is against my side as well. 

It had to have been at least a day right? No way it couldn’t have been. Yet why hasn’t the warden come back? Meals were at least once a day, so what is taking so long. He should have visited by now. Maybe different measures will get his attention.

??

I find it harder to pick up the pen every time I fall asleep. I wonder if one day it will be stuck here, unable to even stand up. 

Could I leave? I will one day, inevitably but will the rest of the world allow me? Or will they keep pushing against me until I give the reaction they are looking for just to send me back here. I might follow them then, try not to change their mind because what use is it to change those who are not willing to do so. Or maybe I'm the one who still needs changing, or maybe neither do. If I were given the choice:

I don't want to leave, not yet. 

I’m not ready.

What would await me out there? How much will be different, and how much will be the same? 

The latter half is what keeps me awake really, how much wouldn’t change. Would Sapnap still want to spar with me or simply banter, or just sit around and watch nature with me and George. George.. God what a mess that will be wouldn’t it. Another burnt bridge for a plan I believed in, do I- should I fix these connections? I internally want to say yes, yet I feel the urge to just let it be. Let the sleeping dog lie for what good is it to try and reform what cannot be made. Would creating new connections work? Is that a better approach? 

Good thing I have a long and silent time in order to do so. 

I used to believe obsidian was a sign of adventure, to face one's fears and enter a world unlike those you’ve grown up in, yet this isn’t the same obsidian. The tools made to form your own path and mark your own now a tomb for myself and the land I called my home. To contain instead of release, to wither instead of strengthen. What do you do now with no one by your side. Do whatever you want? 

I could never

I already stood alone and now I stand with the dust and ashes of a self I do not see as my own...

To fear the inhuman isn’t wise. More than 60 percent of the population is some form of inhuman, even if they don’t appear so at first glance. I, a mannequin, Wilbur, part whale and Quackity.. is quackity. However to say what I saw was your typical inhumanoid would be an understatement- 

I need to stop. I don’t want- But I-.. they won’t find this right? I don’t want them to- they Can’t find this. I’ll burn it if I have to- but.. But this- I need this..

I can scribble it out if needed, or rip the page out! I- Are those footsteps.. No no no- He- The Warden isn’t until later. Don’t let them know. Don’t let them know. 

But things will get worse if I don’t say anything.

I always felt watched, ever since I first made a name for myself. Whether it was from an adoring fan or those parting the way, not wanting to inconvenience me. So I’m not unused to having attention thrusted upon me at any opportune moment, even if I wasn’t trying to be. Though after a few months there started to be this.. presence to say the least. I could never identify who or where this feeling came from, but there was this feeling of.. wrongness. Like how you feel like you are forgetting something, but it’s on the tip of your tongue. It always happened when I was alone or nearly so. I rarely found myself in any form; whether that was doing challenges with Sapnap and George or simply bantering with Callahan and the others. I never liked the quiet, maybe that's just from the manhunts, but the anticipation of waiting for something to happen was never a comfort to me. I’d much rather be the one causing that then be on the receiving end-

When I first realized he was there, I wished I didn’t. Ironic in a way, it was a tournament.. or well more so a duel between me and Techno. The air was crisp but not too cold, the way you imagine August to be before the first chills of October. And even though I lost that day, what made me stop was what I saw while on the ground, exhausted after the final round. To describe him as anything moral would be a lie. He was watching us; watching me, and I’m used to people staring. I'm not the most humanoid creature in existence, but that man. There was something off with him. 

The me back then wouldn’t have remembered anything physical about him other than the innate feeling of deja vu when we made eye contact. And then it clicked and at that moment, I felt myself want to run. But I couldn’t, millions are watching and if I run now then all that attention would be used against me. I bared through the hollow feeling of Techno hauling me up off of the floor and eventually meeting the duel organizer and his crew. And right there was when I saw him. Shorter than me by a few inches with brown eyes and a smile others would see as trustworthy, he had a simple black hoodie with a smiley face, my own merch. It shouldn’t have affected me as much since the event literally had my name plastered over it, but the implications of that sweater did not bode well with me. 

He congratulated Techno and said his condolences with me, saying he was rooting for me the whole time, but the only thing I processed was how it felt like claws were grabbing at me when we shook hands. I was clearly bigger than him, yet it felt like I was miniscule compared to him. As if something was hiding just below his skin and was just waiting for the right opportunity to rip it away from me. His grip was like 10 different hands were digging into my plastic skin and were hooking their claws into me. He told me his name, but I can’t remember it, it feels like static and errors, the kind of noises George would emit after getting severely injured, but he had no scratches on him; no implications of injuries either. I took as swift a leave as I could while also being respectful, but I could not wait to leave that man's sight. 

He never did leave me.

Out of the corner of my eye I could almost see him, and understand why I hated that handshake. His body was stretched, his legs disproportionate to his body, arms almost touching the ground and his hands. His hands looked like three separate pairs of fingers were all melted together on the same base, yet each moving together in sync. Besides the blatant horror that I couldn’t even perceive head on, it was the purple tint to him that really made me double take, not just turning around and questioning why he hasn’t left me alone yet. Purple scales were normal for dragon hybrids, yet his skin had a magenta tint to them. Different spots had dark magenta spots that would blend out with the rest of his pale skin. It appeared in some spots like he was melting as well, unable to withstand the constraints and contortions of his own body in a host too small for their own. 

It was then that I realized why I hate the quiet so much.

For it was his calling card.

The next time I met him was before all the wars and the eventual degradation of the server I once called home. A time before the wars, a time before Tommy, I yearn for those days sometimes, when the prison walls are so bare they allow me to daydream for a long forgotten past. I was chopping wood, taking my diamond axe and skewering the wood with the sharp blade before I heard the sounds of parrots. I was in the middle of an oak forest and the closest jungle wasn’t for another two thousand blocks. I followed the noise until a twig broke behind me and I turned and saw him again. The same creature from the duel. His long torso was bigger than that of the trees and his head brushed against the tallest branches of the trees, leaves falling to the ground, turning to stained glass when they touched his body. He had a smile on his face, one of contempt as he looked down upon me. My first instinct would have been to aim for his arms, but something told me that would have ended badly for me, so I didn’t. I found myself asking who he was and he chuckled, in the way molten lava does and responded “As time would describe itself to history >;}” before going back to smiling down at me. I knew there was more to it but when I turned my head to grab a potion to ready myself, he was already gone. I didn’t want to admit to myself that I’d see him in the reflections of the water, he never did truly.

The last time I saw them was when I was gathering my own supplies in the final battle against them, the heroes of the story. I needed everything I possibly could in order to insure a victory that I would never achieve. I had gotten used to working alone after everyone started leaving each other. I couldn’t trust anyone anymore so what use would the company be anymore. It’s been so long since I’ve seen the figure that I’ve allowed him to slip my mind, and that's when I felt a tap on my shoulder.

I drew my blade, turned around, and there he was.

The dark tinted purple of the portal bounced against his skin and the floor from the other side of the room. His shadow, a kaleidoscope of colors even against the blackstone flooring, almost touched my feet. I wasn’t stupid, I tried banning the creature so many times, but he always broke through, always able to make his way back in, and at that point I didn’t see a reason to try anymore and I let him be. 

I regret that action now. 

He stood by the portal, not moving an inch as his body melted together and reformed as our eye contact never separated. It never felt like he was looking at you. It was like he was looking beyond you at something you didn’t even know existed in the first place. He tilted his head to the side slightly and with a smile too big for his face he asked. “Does the character now want to become the playwright <:} ? Discover a level of self identity that you can never contain ;}”? He giggles like broken glass and as he walks behind the portal frame, and leaves me alone in my thoughts as I clench the cold glass bottle in my non dominant hand. 

I don't want to meet them again. I don't want to see the Man in the Spiral Sweater who only appears when I’m alone, yet where do I go? I am contained within a commissioned cage and all I have is the lava to keep me safe. But it won’t keep him out, it never will. If code couldn’t before why would molten rock do the same. I’m biding my time for I know that he has something  he wants to do to me- but what- why- what could I possibly give to him that I haven't destroyed by my own two hands- Why hasn’t the warden shown up- where is everyone else- how do- “Why, hello there Dream :) “

[nerdycatastrophe]

Idk did some pixel art and I’m now gonna attach my danganronpa fancharacter biographies because I can :DD (sprite edits, character details and designs are subject to change btw and this very post will be re-blogged everytime I edit something.)

W/ SCARF AND BEANIE

Name and Talent:

Ikani Rinyu, Ultimate Digital/Multimedia Artist

Birth Date and Age:

February 13, 16 years old

Race and Ethnicity:

Polynesian Japanese // Filipino Japanese

Accent:

Japanese, just...japanese.

Blood Type:

A+

Weight and Height:

128 lbs, 5'2 ft

Mental or Physical disorders:

Recovering Pyromaniac (I’m still researching about Inattentive ADHD and if this oc has accurate symptoms) and Peptic Ulcer

Sex, Pronouns and Gender identity:

Biologically Female, Prefer She/Her/Herself & They/Them/Themself or any pronouns & Demi-girl

Sexual and Romantic orientation:

Asexual Biromantic

Religion / Belief:

Agnostic

Other Hobbies:

Cooking, Baking, Making things out of matchsticks and wood and Drawing traditionally.

Likes:

Making digital artworks, playing with match sticks and flowers.        

Loves:

The idea of setting things on fire or being around fire (for emotional reasons and urges) and warmth.      

Dislikes:

Theft-related activity, acidic food and seafood.

Despises:

The idea of water and feeling cold.

Personality type and traits: ISFP

(INTROVERTED;SENSING;FEELER;PERCEIVING)

Personality description:

Ikani is mostly self-aware of reality’s hardships yet tend to keep up an ‘’whatever goes, is what happen and I cannot potentially do anything to change that.’’ carefree, reckless, will only believe when she has seen attitude that pretends to be a healthy optimistic nihilist way of dealing with life but when unmasked turns out to be a faulty uncertain self-hate of pessimism that pretends to be optimistic or a realist way of thinking and solving problems. This can badly affects her creative ability to do any problem solving, thinking outside the box or standing up for herself and the people she loves alone unless she has encountered that situation before or has help from someone with far more experience. She does not rebel that much to authority or dictatorship as she believes rules are rules or the law is the law and whatever unintended consequences that follow or reports of abuse of power are normal and natural but she’s open-minded and adaptable enough to consider changing rules and regulations peacefully if she’s convinced or confident enough. Either way, Whatever happens is whatever happens in the present and she won’t make any effort to neither change or preserve any rules or laws that much. She, most of the time, follows whatever happens in the present world with no consideration for the consequences that would follow because she doesn’t like to think philosophically or overthink.

Habits:

Stimming, flapping hands around, running around in circles when stressed, excited, happy, confused or afraid if she can’t bottle up her emotions, Running away from problems as much as possible (literally and figuratively) and bottling up her feelings. Also tends to get distracted and daydreams a lot yet when it’s her turn to talk about herself she goes a little overboard which can put off people and assume she is selfish. (when it’s just a habit she does)

Character morality alignment:

Lawful Neutral <-> Neutral Good

Name Etymology and Shenanigans 1:

Ikani Rinyu once translated from Japanese to English respectively means ‘’How’’ and ‘’Renew’’ forming the phrase, ‘’How renew.’’

Name Etymology and Shenanigans 2:

Mess with the letters on Ikani and you’ll get ‘’Ikanai’’ which means ‘’Don’t go’’ referring to her brother, ‘’Ika’’ which means ‘’not exceeding’’, ‘’Kanai’’ which means ‘’Flower’’, ‘’Kani’’ which means ‘’crab’’, ‘’Ikan’’ which means ‘’Fish’’, ‘’Ani’’ which is another term for ‘’brother’’ and ‘’Ni’’ which means ‘’to go’’

Name Etymology and Shenanigans 3:

Mess with the letters on Rinyu and you’ll get ‘’Rin’’ which means ‘’Cold’’ in Japanese and ‘’Dignified’’ or ‘’Severe’’ in Italian, ‘’Inu’’ which means ‘’Dog’’, and ‘’Rinu’’ which can mean ‘’Freelance of flowers’’ and ‘’Beautiful’’ or ‘’Pretty’’ in Indian.

Zodiac and Planet:

She is an Aquarius and is assigned the planet Uranus based on her zodiac.

Backstory:

Ikani Rinyu was born as a second child to a worker class family (Rinyu family) who mostly had time for her. Many years went by and her parents had to focus on things they deemed far more important in order to sustain a family with regular income. Her family’s income condition worsened when the day before Ikani 7th birthday, She, her brother and her parents were robbed of a lot of yen at gun-point by a gang after they went to the store and bought a digital tablet for her as a gift (because they felt as if they were neglecting Ikani because of work). After the incident happened, Ikani's mother divorced with her husband because it turned out that Ikani's father had connections with the gang that robbed them and never told her about it. Another reason for her parents divorce is that both of her father and mother had an underlying conflict in which both were never really interested in each other and only agreed to marry back when they were friends so that they can decrease their tax and avoid debt and they both felt guilty about divorcing each other because both felt that they were selfish with their underlying mutual motivations for marriage,  they were still saving up money and investing and couldn’t afford to divorce early, and that divorcing will affect their children greatly if they will be honest about it to them at an early age (suprise suprise, bottling up your feelings worsens everything, yourself and everyone around you). This robbery incident went mainstream after the time Ikani’s mother divorced Ikani’s father and her remaining family was secretly interviewed by a group of ''journalists'' and this is how (insert academy name) found and scouted Ikani just so they can replace and -cover up an ultimate's death.- So her mom and the group of journalists made a contract in exchange for financial gain and basically free education for Ikani and her brother and also medical + financial insurance. Ikani started setting things on fire (mostly flowers, sticks and wood) on ‘’accident’’ just to gain attention from her busy mom, brother and everyone else she was close to and was forming a relationship with, in which her ‘’habits’’ slowly spiralled and developed into impulsive Pyromania because she felt that she was never loved enough + with her parents divorce taking a toll on her (her brother tried to help but also didn't know what to do and was busy with their own school). Around this time, she also felt like eating would decrease her family's money greatly so she tried skipped eating snacks at school but not basic meals yet she still developed peptic ulcer. On her 11th birthday, Ikani’s brother finally took a stand and consulted a ‘’reliable’’ therapist/psychiatrist and a dietician (who helped with the insert academy's goals) despite it being expensive and discouraged by her mom. Her therapist/psychiatrist then noted to her parents that Ikani should focus more on expressing her emotions in more artistic and creative ways in order to cope with her bottled up emotions, trauma and urges and using the digital tablet she got at age 7 when everything was still relatively alright should be a good head start. Her dietician also helped her with resolving her peptic ulcer and convinced her that she shouldn't feel bad about eating extra snacks and set out a diet for her to follow. Soon, The academy’s contract money given to her parents was enough to sustain her creative urges as Ikani eventually learned to create moving and still digital artworks including complex 3d and photography by simply using her tablet that had limited features over the years despite her age as she contributed to many famous and iconic company logos, designs, presentations, artworks, animations, movies, edits and videos that are found in the media. Over the years, Ikani secretly wished that the contract would stop as that diverted corporate's financial wants for themselves because of her hidden relations with the academy journalists and she wishes she was never born and regretted that time she was too ''needy'' at age 7 (she shouldn't blame herself though) but never took her own ground against it to her mom as she felt like she was selfish for wanting to do something her mom didn't desire so she ended up ONLY EVER venting her emotions through her work/hobby and sometimes forgot how to express her emotions.

Reasons for acting the way she does during the killing game:

The reason why she doesn’t vent her emotions and only bottles it up during the killing game is because just like in the original Danganronpa series, Monokuma would confiscate your belongings that allowed access to communicating with the outside world (and it just turned out her only venting item was a digital tablet that would probably screw up Monokuma) Also, it’s because the idea of ‘’Survival of the Fittest.’’, ‘’Being weak will kill you.’’ and ‘’No time for crying because it is not yet over’’ is in her head all the time + fear of being impulsive again and accidentally resurfacing her Pyromania and basically rendering her brother’s efforts to help her with her problems useless so yeah she’s guilty of wanting to feel emotions so she eventually becomes numb to the things happening around her.  All of these are her ways of justifying being emotionless, being unintentionally ignorant and coping with loss and grief in a dangerous game that could kill you any moment.

Student percentile, Predictability and chances:

>Gets killed normally: 30%

>Punished and killed for breaking rules OR due to unfair trial misconduct shenanigans because plot: 4.6%

>ATTEMPTED to murder someone: 20%

>Blackened AND escapes:  10.5%

>Blackened BUT executed:  25.5 %

>Killed someone BUT died during or before their murder trial:  9%

>Betrays everyone as the MASTERMIND: 1.5 %

>Betrays everyone as the MOLE // TRAITOR: 5.7 %

>Survives the killing game as an forever evil MOLE // TRAITOR // MASTERMIND in the killing game: 0.8 %

> Survives the killing game as a redeemed MOLE // TRAITOR // MASTERMIND in the killing game: 0.3 %

>Survives the killing game as a normal person in the killing game:  35%

W/ VISION CORRECTING VISORS

        2. W/ VISION CORRECTING READING GLASSES

         3. N/A EYEWEAR

Name and Talent:

Cyl Bol // Cyden Boliver ^ Ultimate Arcade Attendant

Birth Date and Age:

July 9 ^ 15 years old

Race and Ethnicity:

Dutch Japanese

Accent:

Russian mixed with Dutch and Japanese

Blood Type:

B-

Weight and Height:

100 lbs ^ 5'5 ft

Mental or Physical disorders:

Developing schizophrenia symptoms (I’m still researching on this so I’m not sure) and PAPD (Passive-Aggressive Disorder) and has genetic Albinism + Astigmatism.

Sex, Pronouns and Gender identity:

Biologically male, Any pronouns but They/Them/Themself and He/Him/Himself are preferred, Gender-fluid

Sexual and Romantic orientation:

Toric // Quadrisan or Viramoric

Religion / Belief:

Reformed // Progressive Judiasm (yeah, this the correct term-)

Other Hobbies:

Debate, Internet surfing, Meditation, Reading philosophical/theology books, Practicing first-aid methods and crushing herbs.

Likes:

Salt, Bread, Dieting (fasting), Figs, Bread, Wheat and Grains, Krupnik with meat

Loves:

Philosophy, Theology, Basic human rights, Debating, Eating Chopped Liver 

Dislikes:

The taste of pork (im sorry for adding this if it feels a little bit racist but I genuinely hate pork and I wanted to add it to a character that fits it the most without being too ignorant and stereotypical while still making the character that dislikes pork have an actual personality and backstory other than just RELIGION stuff. keep in mind this character hates pork not because it’s ‘’unholy’’, it’s because it tastes horrible for them), Immature // Karen customers, His own talent, Seeds, Human contact, Getting sick and parties/social celebrations.

Despises:

Strict people, Strict rules, Strict regulations, Dense and stubborn optimists, Peer pressure, Being taunted for being weak // frail, The sun’s warmth and sunlight, Going outside, Backstabbers and being manipulated.

Personality type and traits: INTP

(INTROVERTED;INTUITIVE;THINKING;PERCEIVING)

Personality description:

Really really intentionally and maybe unintentionally paranoid, superstitious, ‘’weird’’ passive-aggressive and lonely since it's his way of avoiding unnecessary conversations that could drain out his energy for him to save up on topics he deems far more important (philosophy + theology) and people that could potentially hurt him again unless they specifically ask him or want something from him for a short // limited amount of time and say it extremely extremely politely to the point where he feels pity or someone out-smarts his passive-aggressiveness causing Cyl to do your favor immediately out of embarrassment, anger, frustration or getting flustered. Most of the time, Cyl has a rather nihilistic and pessimistic (but sometimes, realistic and optimistic at times) views and mindsets of life and would rather die rather than following strict regulations // rules. Although he is a passive type of Nihilist and knows there isn’t that much value in life despite searching it (even with religion), He still is sort of a coward and ends up helping other people out of pity, jealousy, admiration or respect and will still be willing to fight for people’s rights things society deems unworthy despite the odds and his diminishing motivation on doing so. Cyl prefers to be individualistic, thoughtful, overthink for hours, alone and free when it comes to him making decisions or going onto places. Although he’s an INTP, He allows his emotions to run wild at times (even if in the process, hurting other people whether he realizes it or not) which allows him to make thoughtfully calculated decisions without having the burden of emotions and mood. Because of his defiance against the norms, He can usually think outside the box and think of solutions quick enough to solve an underlying problem on time in an creative yet messy analytical manner. Also yeah he struggles following rules.

Habits:

Praying a bit too much than usual, Rapidly cleaning visor goggles // reading glasses even when not needed, Limping hands and fingers to relax hand tendons, muscles and bones and tugging at Hanukkah snow cap when embarrassed / flustered.

Character moral alignment:

Chaotic Neutral

Name Etymology and Shenanigans 1:

Cyl is an abbreviation of ‘’Cylinder’’  which indicates the lens power your doctor is prescribing to correct your astigmatism (and this oc has astigmatism)

Name Etymology and Shenanigans 2:

Bol can be an abbreivation for Broek Op Langedijk (a dutch town), Beacon of light, Bread of Life, Bolivia’s (sounds like Boliver) ISO Country code,  Beginning Of Life and Balls Of Light (paranormal phenominon associated with crop circles) Name Etymology and Shenanigans 3:

Cyden is of English origin and means "To stand strong and be brave together as one" and Cayden is of American origin and means ‘’Fighter’’

Name Etymology and Shenanigans 4:

Bolivar is the name of the South American soldier that had a country (Bolivia) dedicated to him. Oliver is a boy name that means ‘’Descendant Of The Ancestor’’ in English, In latin it means Olive (symbol of peace); peaceful. Olive is a girl’s name meaning ‘’Olive tree’’ and is another symbol of peace.

Zodiac and Planet:

He is a Cancer and is assigned the ‘planet’ moon based on their zodiac.

Backstory:

N/A (ITS ALMOST 2 AM LOL MAYBE TOMORROW)

Student percentile, Predictability and chances:

N/A (ITS ALMOST 2 AM LOL MAYBE TOMORROW)

[faejilly]

tag game

Fic Writer Edition (tagged by @silver-latin-and-salt​, tagging, idk, whoever is writing atm? @twistedsinews​ @leahazel​ @junemermaid​, anyone who’d like, no one who doesn’t, etc.)

Fandoms: atm, primarily Shadowhunters. But also BioWare: Dragon Age and Mass Effect and maybe someday I’ll post some Jade Empire.

Also the occasional other game or TV show or Yuletide inspired one-shot. It’s a wide and ridiculous range of things, from a Georgette Heyer regency epilogue to Code: Realize and #7kpp to Firefly & even some Sleepy Hollow ficlets from back in s1 before we realized how terrible TPTB were going to be.

Number of fics: I have 158 works published on AO3.

This includes a couple of fanmixes that are linked on there to companion fics/series, two collaborative fics which are not just mine, even less so than most writing that is, and four WIPs: two of which I am still working on, one of which will absolutely 100% NEVER ever get more, and then that last one will probably not get more but who knows, maybe in ten years we’ll do a reunion and try again (it’s one of the collabs).

AS WELL AS: forty-seven different ficlet collections, sorted by fandom and pairing(s), because otherwise I would honestly have almost 1000 things and never be able to find a single damn one of them when I wanted to (and neither would anyone else). Like, ten of them are just for Shadowhunters because I split up the coda-fic by season and then also I put the porn in its own thing and Clizzy is kind of a post-canon AU so they’re on their own too and spin-offs of a particular fic setting get their own collection so they’re all together and etc. etc. etc.

Fic I spent a lot of time on: Do we count time actually writing? Or just the amount of time it hung out in my head before I finished it? Because I probably spent the most actual physical writing time on Lost For Words, which is a frothy cotton-candy experiment in long-fic for Mass Effect that I posted chapter by chapter as I wrote it and actually finished. (I have never successfully repeated the experience, tho I suppose a couple of my Shadowhunters fics will sort-of qualify in terms of length when they’re done, but they didn’t get posted semi-regularly and in progressive chapters in at all the same way.)

In terms of time between debut and completion, that would probably have to go to Cruel Intentions, which took over five years between initially going up on the Dragon Age Kink Meme and actually getting a conclusion.

i am for you and if broken hearts were whole have both been lingering WIPs for over two years at this point now, though, and a couple other DA2 fics were pretty close to that five year mark as well. 😅

Fic I didn’t spend a lot of time on: ashes of angels because I was coming up on my bingo deadline so I just pounded it out in a day. (It’s actually quite good tho! I think so, anyway! I am very proud of it! Read part one first, if you haven’t yet!)

also Impossible, (DA2, Bethany/Sebastian, confessional!porn) which mostly wrote itself in pretty short order, which was delightful. (Tho I also had a very astute beta for that one; don’t think he’s on tumblr anymore tho, or I’d yell at him in thanks again.) I told y’all I had a priest!kink problem. Not that you hadn’t all noticed on your own, anyways...

Longest fic: Finished? The aforementioned Lost for Words at just over 62k.

In limbo? Persephone Rising is literally three times longer than my next longest fic (and still not done!) but it is also a collab fic with three authors, so I suppose that sort of evens out?

Active WIP? i am for you at 59k. I’m not sure how much more is left of that one, tbqh... it will probably end up a bit longer than LfW, tho maybe not by much.

Shortest fic: I have no fucking clue, 47 ficlet collections, remember? In terms of a thing that I forgot to collect, apparently it is Consequences, which is my Brosca after the Landsmeet in DA:O.

Most hits/Most kudos/Most bookmarks: ALL THREE FOR i am for you! (Wonder how it’ll do when it’s no longer marked as a WIP?)

Total word count: On AO3: 1,137,609 !!!

(Sorry, you can see why I had to make that big tho, right?)

Fic I want to rewrite/expand: Except for the revisions to what is now Maleficar, I much prefer to leave fic as is, once it’s up there, so nothing on the re-write front. It was what it was when I did it, and it’s important to remember that, even when you move on to new stuff, imo.

But! I have potential/hopeful sequels in the WIP folder for and breathing is wishing, out of some dreaming tree, with an if in its soul, and several assorted ficlet collections & prompts I’ve sort of teased over the years. 

Favourite fic of mine: At the moment, they have hung the sky with arrows because it’s a thing I’m not sure I ever really thought I was going to write, and then I did and I surprised myself a little, but it was fun and it ties together a lot of my thoughts on the Shadowhunters finale in a way I really enjoyed. (Also it has an actual plot! I don’t do that terribly often, I’m usually very introspective in my fic.)

Sneak peek of a WIP/Share an idea? I started a Shadowhunter!Magnus fic for a bingo square, but then scope creep! so I made a moodboard, but there is maybe a fic on the way... eventually. After my Bangs. 🤞🏻

The first time Magnus Bane met the High Warlock of Manhattan it was during his "travels", the two years after graduating from the Academy when most Nephilim wandered from Institute to Institute, seeing how things were done differently around the world, how they were still so often the same, learning about all the things you couldn't see in a classroom.

He wasn't actually in New York City in order to meet the High Warlock, of course, not as a 17-year-old foot soldier, that was well above his pay grade, as the mundanes put it. But when all the full-fledged Shadowhunters had work to do, he was assigned escort duty when the High Warlock showed up to do his yearly wards inspection. 

Magnus met High Warlock Lightwood at the main entrance, and almost swallowed his own tongue at the sight of him, a broad shouldered, long-legged white man dressed in a conservative but very well-tailored suit, with heavy eyebrows, even heavier eyelashes, and a complete and utter lack of anything resembling an expression on his face. 

A shiver went down Magnus' spine as he met the High Warlock's gaze, and he refused to think too much about why.

Magnus managed to introduce himself reasonably coherently, he thought, offering a hand to shake, but the High Warlock just raised an eyebrow at him. "I thought I'd talked them out of this nonsense last year."

"Uh." Magnus swallowed. The man was both terrifying and ludicrously attractive, and Magnus resigned himself to being a slightly stuttering idiot for the next four-to-six hours. "Not my call, I'm sorry to say. Sir."

The High Warlock rolled his eyes, and stepped forward. Magnus barely managed to dodge out of his way, and followed along behind him as he stalked towards the Angelic Core, where all the Institute Wards were anchored.

He never once acknowledged Magnus' presence as he worked, never asked for directions, or needed any sort of assistance. Magnus followed him anyway, and couldn't even bring himself to be upset about the waste of his time because damn, that view. He could see the shift of Lightwood's shoulders beneath the line of his coat, the tension in the muscles in his arms as each tiny motion correlated to whatever he was doing with his magic. There was so much power there, constrained and under his complete control.

The High Warlock never took so much as a wasted step in his clearly perfectly planned spiral of a route through the Institute's halls, circling out from the Core, stopping at each node, hitting all four corners of the building, before reaching the main doors again several hours later. 

Once there he finally turned and looked at Magnus directly. He dipped his head in some slight acknowledgement, straightened his cuffs, and his face shifted into something that was merely neutral and professional rather than granite. "There were no concerns to note, Mr. Bane. The wards have been refreshed, and the contract terms have been met."

"Thank you," Magnus managed, though he had to cough to get his voice to cooperate. 

The High Warlock's face softened, a hint of something that wasn't quite surprise in his eyes, but Magnus wasn't sure what to call it instead. "You're very welcome."

He nodded again, slightly more sincerely, perhaps, though there still wasn't enough of an expression on his face to properly qualify, in Magnus' opinion, and then he turned and left. 

Magnus blinked at the doors as they shut behind him, and let out one long slow exhale. His shoulders relaxed, and it was only now that his posture sagged that he realized he'd been extra tense the entire time, as if waiting for an attack that had never come.

[suicidalcatz]

DOG DAYS ARE OVER : CHAP 16

Pairing : Jake Kiszka x reader

Genre : College AU

Previous parts : Prologue ; chap 1 ; chap 2 ; chap 3 ; chap 4 ; chap 5 ; chap 6 ; chap 7 ; chap 8 ; chap 9 ; chap 10 ; chap 11 ; chap 12 ; chap 13 ; chap 14 ; chap 15

Masterlist : here

AN : Hi! Sorry I’m a bit late! Is this... the last chapter ? Oh my God. There will be an epilogue, too ! So in this chapter, there’s a misunderstanding and- I can’t tell eheh. Please feel free to tell me what you think about it because I sure had trouble writing this one. Thank you all for the love and support !

Chapter 16 : I do

Sooner than we thought, a consequent amount of work fell on all of us, preventing us from seeing each other. And like that, days went by... and then weeks. January had been a harsh month for everybody. A few teachers were late on their program so we had to learn more, write faster. Meanwhile others just enjoyed watching us suffer and kept giving more homework, letting us witness with horror how it piled up in a corner of our room like an insatiable monster that kept growing and growing. Those were the dark times. It became impossible for us to even have lunch together. Tensions began to rise. Josh was irritable because his singing teacher was a jerk to him. Mandy kept skipping more and more classes, running everywhere in town to find clothes. Jake, completely depressed, looked like a character from Corpse Bride, and not a pretty one. As for me, I was a mix of all of them. Living with Mandy has for the first time proven to have its downsides, as her stress was rubbing off on me, while my annoyance to some of my failed assignments got to her nerves too. The boys were no exception, and we had a perfect example of it during a lecture, when Josh snapped at the teacher after she made a snark comment about his last grade. All heads turned to him, even ours, and with a mix of shame and anger, he took his bag and slammed the door behind himself without a word. In retrospect, it had been so fucking cool, although a bit rude considering he didn't have to talk to her like that even with her sly remark... But the way he just told her off, took his belongings and proudly yet bitterly exited the amphitheater was one of the highlights of this year, goddamn the boy had balls.

One of the things that really helped me get through this horrible period was Greta Van Fleet's album on shuffle on my earphones accompanying me during my days in the workshop. And then one day around 2pm we all received a text from Josh.

« If we don't go drinking tonight I swear I will explode, I'm already having nervous breakdowns every week, I need to get out of this school, let's meet at 8 »

Well, the message couldn't be clearer than that, could it ? And my phone vibrated multiple times when the others replied, showing some « Thank God » and « Please let's » on the screen before I discreetly put it back inside my pocket. It had been the first time we went to the bar as a group, with Sam and Danny. And somehow, because we spent a pleasant night together without coming home too late or too drunk, we simultaneously thought it'd be a good idea to reiterate the experience. At least once a week, sometimes every day, we met at the café, occasionally bringing work with us and helping each other. It was close to our school thus convenient, but still far enough to allow us to take a breath of fresh air and think of something else for a while. Most of the time, it was deserted, the only few patrons that came to drink their coffee being regulars, and we enjoyed the calm, even if we were noisy ourselves. Sometimes, Mandy was too busy to come, sometimes it was Sam, so it happened that Danny and I were the only ones being here, or just the twins, but it didn't really matter, there was always one of us here and the others could always come to meet. Josh's idea had help us clear our minds and we were all thankful for that. What I wasn't thankful for, on the other hand, was the way his loud mouth spoke freely about things that didn't concern him at all, least of all Sam and Danny. Of course, he talked about the Jake situation. At first I was outraged and even slapped him on the arm, to which he just shrugged, explaining his brother was always late anyway, so we could talk about it. As if that was the issue here ! But as time went by, I calmed down. Sam and Danny already knew, having noticed but not wanting to adress the elephant in the room. Now that the subject had been thrown on the table though, it was different, and if at first Sam's awful comments about how we were both taking our sweet time pissed me off, now we discussed it quietly, confessing my thoughts and feelings in exchange for some advices.

Today was one of those days. The gang was reunited, sitting across a small round table after a tiring day, clinking glasses and chatting loudly, everybody cutting each other off during spicy topics that constantly created heated arguments. Mandy and Sam's bickering never failed to amuse us, with me falling back againt the couch laughing, Josh having climbed on a chair to yell over them in a dramatic manner, and Danny commenting their arguments with a sportscaster voice while they just pointed angrily at each other. It happened once or twice (make it thrice or fourth) now that the bartender had to come to our table to make us cool down, threatening to kick us out if we didn't, because he couldn't even hear the damn radio. Today, like any other day, the only one missing was Jake, fashionably late as always.

- You guys never agree on anything, that's frankly amazing, I said while wipping a tear from the corner of my eye.

Two murderous glare were instantly directed at me, dead serious, like their constant quarelling wasn't something you could take lightly. Of course, they never was any sort of resentment between them, it was more like a game that was entirely theirs. Mandy knew Sam liked to tease her to no end, and the boy never took the words she threw his way to heart. They were never hurtful anyway, they would always make sure of that.

- You know what they say..., announced Josh while taking a sip of his beer, love always starts with hatred.

- Nobody says that..., muttered a perplexed Danny.

However his confusion got rapidly interupted by Sam and Mandy's shouting, barking at Josh telling him how wrong he was about them while the curly boy smiled through his glass.

- I'd rather die, said my roommie.

- That should be my line, replied Sam.

Josh and I exchanged a mischevious and knowing glance that unfortunately didn't go unnoticed by his little brother. The long haired boy made a show of putting both elbows on the table before a devilish smile spread on his lips. Uh-oh.

- Speaking of which, how's Jakey ?

Admiring the way my cheeks grew red at the mention of the object of my affection, he patiently waited for my stuttering to stop while Mandy took side with him, adopting the same posture. Sitting between them, Danny comically raised his eyebrows, knowing damn well they'll torture me to no end, like they took the habit to do when Jake wasn't around. Of course Josh ignored my pleading eyes, enjoying where the conversation was going.

- You should know, you're his brother.

My reply was weak and didn't hide how bashful the subject made me, more reasons for him to pursue it.

- Come on, Mandy told me about the kiss of the century, there's no way nothing happened after that !

- For someone who claims Sam's a pain in the ass you guys are awfully close !, I exclaimed while watching her with an expression of fake betrayal.

- Hey, don't try to change the topic.

A long and loud sigh made its way out of my throat and my eyes were suddenly too absorbed by the bubbles of my soda spiralling to the surface to meet their expectant gazes. God why was it such a big thing to them ? Their fascination for my love life was starting to upset me, especially since it was a lost cause. There was really no reason to dwell upon it. Would they ever drop it ?

- Nothing happened between Jake and I. What do you want me to tell you ? It was just a kiss between friends, it doesn't mean anything.

At that, I felt my chest constrict. It didn't mean anything... for Jake, that is. For me, however... All of them suddenly went awfully quiet, in a very uncharacteristic manner. My head raised in surprise at their abrupt silence, only to be greeted by Jake's gaze on me, standing in front of our table. He must've been waiting for his chance to say hello all the while stepping on a conversation he wasn't meant to hear. My face must've lost all of its colors, and a glance around me confirmed what I feared ; judging by their awkward behaviours, Jake had heard. The boy cleared his throat, showing a toothy smile to the lot of us.

- Hi guys, whatcha talking about ?

During the few seconds he stayed with his back facing us to get a chair, we were all exchanging shocked and confused glances, mouthing hurried words to each other. Was he pretending he didn't  hear anything I said ? Did he genuinely not hear our conversation ? However much I pondered about it, and tried relentlessly to think of all the possibilities that could've happened just now, I was at a loss, it was no use. The only thing to do was to go along and play his game, pretending he hadn't just walked on us gossiping about him. It was so awkward. Danny and Josh were the first to bring a new and funny topic, throwing jokes his way, studying his reaction. They immediately put him at ease, inviting Sam and Mandy to the masquerade, effectively hiding their uneasiness for his and my sake. It wasn't working on me, though. I sank into the couch, feeling incredibly shameful. And the few times I tried to react to the conversation at hands, I saw Jake avoid my eyes. Fuck.

I would lie if I said what happened at the bar wasn't playing on loop on my mind. It had been impossible for me to read Jake's brown eyes when he interrupted us, but there was absolutely no doubt that the boy heard us. Maybe it was for the best. I was the one pretending we were just friends anyway, so it wouldn't change anything... except now that he was single a part of me couldn't help but hope I had a chance with him... until now. Because if I was sure of one thing at the moment, it's that Jake was certain I only saw him as a friend. Why was I so unlucky anyway ? Did I offend God in a previous life ?! Man, it was harsh... Just when I had a feeling things could evolve between us, everything got in the way. Work, misunderstandings, my stupidity... On the bright side, I was so thankful I didn't say anything shameful. Because I could've told an awful lot of those. And for nothing in the world I wanted him to walk in when I was making a speech about the soft gleaming of his scar under the sun, or the roundness of his ass. I would forever thank my ability to always find a way to relativise, even during a crisis like this one.

Another person with the same quality was Josh, on top of being a really observant boy, and a good friend. So it was no surprise to me when he nudged my arm during a lecture and leaned into my ear to ask if he could come over after school.

- You know you're always welcome, I whispered back.

Josh smiled a me, and the exchange between us should've ended right here, but I saw his eyes gaze at something behind me, his smile changing into a smirk. He must've caught me notice it because he turned to his notebook again, playing innocent. My head jerked into Jake's direction, studying his stiff figure and furrowed brows. What the hell were they playing at ?

During the few days that followed that incident at the bar, I didn't get any answers to that question. The twins kept exchanging glances whenever I was near one or the other, and the more days passed the more moody Jake looked. I had tried to text him several times during the week, making small talk, asking what he was up to, and sharing silly anecdotes, only to be faced with cold answers. It was like talking to a wall. Something was upsetting him, but I had no way to know if it was school related, because of Josh's behaviour, or if I was the cause of it.

It was friday night when Danny slammed open the café door, causing the bartender to scowl, before completely ignoring him to look for us through the small crowd, hurriedly coming to our table. The drummer threw himself on the couch next to Mandy, looking out of breath but over-excited. And while his happy yet sweaty face made me question him, it only took a simple look for his bandmates to know what was going on. Sam was the first to exclaim and jump on his feet, almost toppling the table with his thighs, making the glasses clink dangerously.

- Are you serious?!

Still out of breath, Danny nodded, interrupting his heavy panting to gulp down the beer Jake was offering him. Josh and him were the next to understand.

- Really ?!

- Okay what is going on, should we be excited to ?, asked Mandy who was sheltering her drink in case anyone else wanted to try and knock over their table.

The drummer raised a finger our direction, indicating he needed some more time to recover from his sprint, removing his scarf in the process. His face was beet red, and although he looked like he was the most athletic of the group, I got slightly concerned he was about to die. He must've ran a long distance real fast, and judging by our friends' hysteria and high-fives, the news were good.

- Greta Van Fleet is playing tomorrow night at O'Malley's.

He let it all out in one go but the words were cristal clear, and now it was Mandy and I's turn to cheer and applaud loudly, congratulating the boys and clinking our glasses together, already chatting about the event before a threatening « Shut up ! » came from another table.

- It's so great you guys ! But are you ready ? Tomorrow night is a bit...

Josh shrugged away my concerns, placing an arm around my shoulder, speaking with his hands.

- Not at all, doll, we're more than ready. In fact we wanted to play there for a while, but the place's always packed.

- Someone cancelled their show at the last minute, so Danny got to negociate, interrupted Jake to sum things up.

Despite the general enthusiasm around the table, I didn't miss the look Jake gave to Josh's hand resting on my shoulder. The boys all nodded, Sam ruffling Danny's hair while congratulating him for his hard work and perseverance. Everyone agreed to buy him drinks to thank him, ignoring his shy protests and rosy cheeks at all the praise. Without even being a member of their band, Mandy and I shared their excitement, already asking what the setlist would be and bargaining with Josh when he insisted that it was a secret. The O'Malley was an Irish pub, like you could guess by their name, located by the docks. Which only meant one thing : it was crazy popular among students. Not only from our campus, but another art school rivaling ours. To be honest the teachers were the ones competing, as us students from both universities often met and hung out together. A lot of them came to our festivals and events, thus becoming friends with us. We let them come to our parties, and they never forgot to invite us over for theirs. Greta Van Fleet playing at the O'Malley on a Saturday night would no doubt be a huge step forward for the boys' band. I could sense the doors of success were already waiting for them to push them open.

The boys rehearsed all day long Saturday, waking up before dawn and arriving early to set everything up and properly meet the owner of the bar. Pictures were sent to our groupchat, Sam explaining that the staff had thanked them for their availability, relieved that they quickly found another band to replace the one who couldn't attend. Mandy and I chose to come early too, arriving one hour before the show and already having trouble finding a seat through the sea of students occupying every inch of space available. Whereas it was because they were taking shelter from the cold, or because their feet ached from standing in the cold didn't matter to the boys, who were delighted to welcome with open arms the newcomers and introduce them to their music. It helped that the word had spread super fast on campus too, with Jake's post on the school's Facebook page. Nursing my beer next to Mandy at the far end of the bar, I recognized the girls from the other time, the night we had our Christmas party, chatting to their girl friends, standing in front of the stage. When the boys got in to set up their instruments, I saw them salute the band, shaking hands and exchanging friendly words with Josh while Jake didn't bother giving them more than a glance and a nod before turning back to his guitar, causing me to snort behind my glass. Mandy was quick to notice that.

- Well aren't you a sneaky little one.

- I don't know what you're talking about.

Paying for her cocktail and putting her change back in her purse, she adopted my posture, back resting against the bar, drink in hand, eyes to the stage. Wearing a black and gold fringe jacket, Jake was focusing on his guitar, tuning it with great care, pick stuck between his lips, the ring I offered him gleaming under the spotlights. Onstage, he looked out of this world, unattainable.

- You know they stand no chance, said Mandy.

It caught me off-guard. But did they ? I looked their way, observing their pretty faces, skin glowing with light makeup, batting their eyelashes, bracelets clinking against one another, long fingers playing with silk strands of hair. A part of me knew Mandy was right and that they couldn't replace me. But then again, incertitude argued that it was my ego talking, and that my confidence was misplaced. With Jake giving me the cold shoulder, I wasn't able to look at the situation with a fair point of view, and Mandy's opinion was made unrelevant by the simple fact that she was my friend. And one thing I knew for sure was that friends were biased, because they loved you. I chose to change the topic.

- What about you and Sam ?

- I don't know what you're talking about, she mimicked.

To make sure my stern look was effective, I turned to her completely, resting an elbow on the bar, while she comically took a long sip of her cocktail, avoiding my eyes, making me smile before I turned to face the stage once more. All barstools and chairs were taken, much to our inconvenience, and shifting from one foot to the other was the only thing I found to release some of the soreness.

- I saw you holding hands under the table.

She gasped audibly before giving me a death stare that just fueled my laughter. There was no way I didn't notice their act, and I was quite certain the others did too, but chose to ignore it. Which by the way was unfair since the lot of them commented my love life like it was a soap opera. However Mandy didn't have the time to give me a proper answer, cut off by Josh's words into the mic, greeting the crowd and announcing the show was about to start.

If anything, their second time playing was even better than the first one. The boys were on fire. Each member had their time to shine in the form of a solo, Josh being his charming self in the meantime, playing with the crowd and blowing kisses our way. They played some covers, encouraging everybody to sing along, but also songs we never heard before, that weren't on the album. One of them in particular allowing Jake to show off the extent of his guitar skills. He blew me away. Expression serious, toned skin glistening with sweat under the blue lights, while Josh's tambourine and melancholic cries accompanied the torturous sounds of his guitar. There was something special about this one, that made my chest constrict due to several emotions contradicting themselves at the same time, causing a turmoil within me. Intrigued by their music or just in need of a drink, several people came into the bar that night, packing the place with new faces, all of them staying for the amazing show the boys were providing for us. By the time they finished, I had long forgotten about my aching feet, instead welcoming the boys in a tight hug, complimenting and congratulating them. Mandy and I already had their beers ready, before anyone else could cut the ground from under our feet. Not that there was anything wrong with people buying them drinks, it was always a very nice thing to do, we just wanted to be the first ones to do it, at least for tonight. They were our friends, so it only seemed fair.

- Here.

Handing Jake his beer, I took a good look at his content face, smile plastered on his lips and moist strands of brown hair sticking to his forehead. He looked gorgeous, at peace and proud of himself and his band. Some people offered them drinks, like we thought they'd do, students came talking to them, to make small chat or to congratulate them. The boys took their time before packing up, talking and laughing with us, their enthusiasm contagious. When closing, the bartender even invited us all to stay inside and have a chat, drinks on the house. It felt incredibly nice to be able to stay here while everybody else had to leave, even the few girls still talking with Jake. Now I'm not gonna lie I might have directed a smile or two their way when the bartender closed the door behind them...

Going back to the dorms was... not an easy task to say the least. We had to call a cab, but as we couldn't all fit in it, we split teams, the most important thing being their music instruments. But even before that... Danny's drumkit was heavy as hell, the boys were tipsy enough to be clumsy and numerous times their instruments threatened to slip and drop on the hard conrete. And even if he was the only one who didn't need to carry anything at all, Josh was completely wasted, singing loud gibberish nonsense, waking up the dogs and barking back at them, removing his shoes and throwing them to trees... Man he was so out of control when drunk even the 5 of us couldn't properly babysit him. It made me realize it was the first time I was sober when he wasn't. And I didn't dare imagine how we must've wreaked havoc the night we brought back the couch to our dorm. Of all of us, Jake once more proved that he was the most serious and reasonable. It wasn't much of a surprise, actually. From what I knew, in situations that required seriousness, the brunette had always been this composed, level-headed boy. I loved that about him, his ability to remain remarkably quiet, then go crazy all of a sudden, before returning to his peaceful self. Josh's shoes in hand, a smile tugged at the corners of my lips when I saw Jake giving his brother a piggy back ride, moved by the fond scene in front of my eyes.

When the cab finally reached our school, Danny and Sam were waiting for us sitting on cases, explaining Josh had forgotten to hand them the key to their door. Since he was the one who didn't need to transport anything, it was only fair he at least took care of the keys in case they'd got lost in a guitar case or whatnot. I couldn't help but think we looked like a bunch of burglars, when everybody started muttering at the same time and hushing each other in the dark of the night. Mandy yawned, waiting to kiss them goodnight to go to sleep, and Jake sighed, defeated.

- Okay Josh, give me the keys.

Once again carrying his twin on his back, the long haired boy nudged his sleepy cheek with his shoulder to wake him up, not minding the drool on his jacket. Mandy couldn't contain a cute noise when Josh turned his head to get more comfortable in his brother's back, making Jake snort in the process.

- Just drop him, suggested Sam right before Danny elbowed him.

He really could've, to wake him up, but it seemed like Jake didn't have the heart to shake him out of his peaceful drowse. More abruptly, he shook his shoulder, causing Josh to whine.

- What, he groaned.

- We're in front of the dorms, give me the keys.

There was a silence during which Josh sighed, taking his time to process what his brother was asking, unfazed by Sam's complaints. The boy rubbed his eyes, sliding an arm in Jake's back to comfortably put his head against it. I could tell he was beginning to feel heavy, because Jake's hold on him slipped more and more frequently and he had to give him a small but strong push to get him back into place.

- What keys, he finally said.

Mandy and I exchanged a glance, one of those that said « Shit's about to go down », and Danny's face lit up with concern. You could see he already had the worst case scenario figured in his mind and was imagining them sleeping in the school's park.

- What do you mean you-

- Sam, Jake warned him. Josh, remember, we told you to take the keys to our rooms so we don't put them by mistake in one of the cases.

- No you didn't.

He was now perfectly awake, shaken by the confusing accusations, and got off of Jake's back, stumbling a bit, probably because his legs must felt numb after being carried around for a long period of time. Sam got up too, not amused by the situation. He was cold, he was tired, and he still had a lot of shit to lift on the stairs and if possible he wanted to be done with it before dawn.

- Yes we did !, the bassist said with his arms raised in the air.

- Yeah, we did, Danny assured him when Josh's gaze found his face for some sort of confirmation.

Silence again. Somehow, Mandy and I didn't dare to watch them. It remembered me of those situations when parents are having a fight and then turn to you... and start finding every excuse they can to yell at you even though you've done nothing. Well... Let's say we tried to summon our inner chameleons while they all started to get pissed at Josh. It was kind of awkward and we couldn't find a good time to leave. Besides, we couldn't let them sleep under the stars.

- Why don't you sleep at ours for tonight ? You'll return to the O'Malley tomorrow and ask them about the keys.

It was the most Mandy thing I ever said since we met the guys, but it was the only solution right now. It took us another hour to climb the stairs with all those heavy and big instruments cases, probably waking up half of the dorm in the process, but it felt so good to be home. The room was warm, and the bed was calling me. The first thing Josh did was to dive head first onto the couch without even taking the time to remove his coat, and fell asleep almost immediately, pulling the blanket on him (more like letting it fall on his body). Sitting around the kitchen table, we all had a hot cup of tea/coffee to warm us up and get some of the alcohol out of our system. Danny was the first one to word his concern about the bedding.

- It's really nice you girls allow us to sleep here for the night, he shyly said, but...

His big hands were entirely covering his mug, enjoying its warmth, thumb caressing the edge of it, thinking of a good way to phrase it. An embarrassed look was adorning his features, which I couldn't help but find endearing.

- There's no room for six... is it ?

- You're right, Jake said. Maybe I should stay awake ?

I didn't know if it was a rhetorical question or if he was being serious but there was no way anybody stayed awake while the others were asleep. First of all, it was creepy. But above all, it wasn't fair. Thinking hard, I let a hand run through my hair, ruffling the locks in its passage.

- Oh, Mandy I think there's an airmat under your bed ! There, two down, four more to go. Let's see...

- We just have to share beds, suddenly said Sam.

All heads turned to him, and the boy put his cup on the table, shrugging.

- What ? It's the easy solution. There are two big beds in the room, don't tell me nobody thought about it. What do you think, Jake ?

His cough was so loud he spilled his drink everywhere on his hands, color leaving then regaining his face alternaly. Standing up to lay his empty cup in the sink, Sam patted his back, wicked smile on his face.

- Then it's settled. Let's go, Mandy.

Oh you sneaky son of a...

I should've seen this coming. I should've known better. Of course Sam would do something like that, it was so him, I couldn't believe I let my guard down like that. And his little act with Mandy, pretending they didn't like each other and then snuggling in bed, ah, I hated my friends. The sadistic bastard even got Danny to play along in his three years plan to make my life miserable.

It was uncomfortably silent for a room filled with six young adults, our breathing being the only noise audible. With the halfway closed curtains, the dim light was dark enough for us to distinguish forms and silhouettes painted in different shades of blue and grey. Sometimes, the sound of a cover brushing against the mattress will get me out of my thoughts, other times it will be Josh's sleep talking or Danny's serene snoring. Sam had lied. The bed wasn't big at all. It was cramped, at best, and I couldn't calm down at all. Jake's warmth was suffocating, my thumping heart wouldn't slow down, and I was over conscious of every little thing he was doing. My throat instinctively tried to swallow the lump residing there when I felt the covers ruffling on my skin, Jake's hot breath now brushing my neck.

- Can't sleep ?

His husky voice whispering in my ear caused an uncontrollable shiver to run down my spine. Each of his breathes awoke goosebumps on my skin, covering their path like grass would grow after the rain. It always amazed me, the power he had over me, without even realizing it. Just two words murmured in the crook of my neck and my body was almost trembling already. As my voice was caught in my throat, my body reacted on its own and I shook my head slightly, enough for him to notice. Jake sighed. I could hear him rustling and moving behind me, careful not to touch me and not knowing what to do with his long arms.

- Did you mean it ?, he said after a while.

Furrowing my brows in confusion wasn't going to work, so I turned to face him, both lying on our side to look at each other in the dark. I could only see the shadows of his face, but by now my eyes were accustomed enough to distinguish his expressions more clearly. Jake swallowed hard, gaze focusing on anything but my eyes, looking... confused and rather saddened, discouraged.

- What you said at the bar.

At the bar... My brain had trouble seeing where he was going, but my body must've sensed it on instinct because my heart started pounding madly, as if wanting to warn me of what was coming. Suddenly brave enough to face me, Jake's eyes stared into mine, intense yet unsure.

- Do you only see me as a friend... ?

Unable to run away, I had to face him, and answer him. My voice was still caught in my throat, and my palms were getting sweaty. Jake was dead serious. So much that I thought for a second I was dreaming. His eyes weren't leaving mine, I had to answer. But what was the good thing to say ? What would I do if I told him the truth and he only saw me as a friend ? From my perspective he led me into thinking there might be more but... My feelings for him were blurring everything. And if I lied... and he wanted to be more than friends... Then I'd lose him.

- Jake...

- Because I really want to kiss you right now.

His hand hovered above my head, fingers carefully rustling my hair, pushing some strands behind my ear and brushing my cheek. His eyes, half-lidded and gaze burning, were following every inch his digits traced on my skin. Carefully, Jake's thumb came caressing my lower lip, slowly, painfully so, admiring how soft it felt against his finger, parting it slightly from its twin. A ragged breath escaped from them, and his eyes found mine again, dying to get permission. Shyly, my shaky hand gripped his shirt, pulling it close. It was the only thing he needed to lose all control, and he swiftly straddled my hips, framing my head with his arms, before ghosting his lips over mine. My mind was foggy, and my brain couldn't understand anything anymore, all I knew was that I had waited for this for so long, I didn't want to waste any more time now. Arms snaking around Jake's neck, I closed the distance separating us, the soft and awaited contact causing us to sigh in unison. It felt so good, both inside and out. His plump lips captured mine with a mixture of longing and hunger, while my heart was about to burst from happinness. With confidence, I embraced him more, pulling him closer to me, biting his lip and admiring the way it made him gasp, feeling his shaky fingers hesitating to touch me, like he was under some kind of delirium tremens and I was the fantasy haunting his nights. It only made me want him more. Never once did he try to touch me in a way that I wasn't ready for yet, keeping it chaste, and I'll forever be thankful for that. It seemed like we both had silently agreed to take our time, but I couldn't concentrate on that right now. Not when Jake's tongue was licking my lips, taking my lower one between his teeth to playfully chew on it, making me pant, fingers lost in his long brown hair. There was a sense of urgence to this kiss, of need even, like he had been waiting for it for so long he couldn't refrain himself anymore. The mere thought of it made me hot. Eventually, we cooled down, and Jake stayed on top of me, leaning on his arms, covering my face with soft kisses, the sound of them resonating in the room. We looked at each other for a while, and I couldn't stop a bubbly giggle, making him chuckle too.

- Fuck... I had thought about this moment for so long, his raspy voice murmured.

- Me too.

- I always thought you liked Josh better.

So that was what it was about, all those past days... Josh upsetting Jake on purpose because he was jealous. What a brat, I couldn’t believe them, so silly.

- Dummy. I think I like you.

My voice was almost inaudible, barely a whisper. It made me blush, but now it was out, and it felt so good to get rid of this weight. Jake nuzzled my neck, taking in my scent, tickling me.

- You think ?

I could tell he was as embarrassed as me, and probably not as confident as he looked, because his cheeks were burning hot, and he wouldn't face me. Against my chest, the accelerated beating of his heart was so loud it seemed like it was communicating with mine.

- No, I said. I'm sure.

Slouching against me in a relieved manner, the boy let out a sigh that burned my skin, before shifting to comfortably rest his chin on my chest, facing me with a smile on his face.

- Good. Because I do too.

Even in the dark, I could see the way his cheeks were a darker shade of gray than the rest of his features. Jake liked me. A huge wave of joy went through my body, overcoming me with both delight and relief. There was no words I could put on this sensation. Suddenly, it was like every other problem in the world had faded away, and I finally understood Edith Piaf's La Vie En Rose. Being in his arms, lying against one another, skin against skin, everything finally made sense.

- Come here, I whispered.

We kissed again, playful and teasing, barely containing our excited giggles.

- Shut up !!

Sam's pillow came flying our way, quickly followed by Josh, Mandy, and Danny's.

- Fucking date already !

- So annoying, people are trying to sleep !

More cushions came crashing down on our bed, making us laugh for real this time, as Jake took them in his hands to fight back. Soon, shouting, laughter and feathers filled the room, as the sun was beginning to appear in the clear sky of February. And as we were all screaming and throwing pillows at each other, I couldn't help but smile, and exchange warm glances with Jake.

Yeah, with him by my side, everything's going to be just fine.

[not-a-space-alien]

Anniversary - or the Horsepersons realise they can get together outside of work

Hi everyone, I just realized today that I never posted my work from this past holiday exchange!  Here was my entry, hope you enjoy!

Title:  Anniversary

Rating:  G

Word Count: 6k

Summary: The horsepersons are summoned for a second attempt at Armageddon, but soon an irritating pattern emerges.    

A note about my illustrations:  I trace stock photos for a lot of my basic shapes because I’m not good at that and really only enjoy the detail work and coloring, so I consider my “art” more like photo manipulation than original artwork, so just keep that in mind!  This one is also partially based in TV canon and partially in book canon fyi

On DW

On AO3

“Who exactly summons them?”

“Not my department.”

************************

The department that did, in fact, summon the horsepersons was not Gabriel’s department, which was the Department of Earthly Affairs.  Summoning the horsepersons, overseeing the signs of the end times, the rains of fish, and all that unpleasant business was a job that nobody really wanted.  It was thought of as something Hell was supposed to do, but Heaven had to take responsibility for it, roll up their sleeves, and make sure it was done properly.  It was shunted off onto whichever angels were unlucky enough to be assigned to the Department of Armageddon, which Gabriel had actually fought tooth and nail to leave.

The Department of Armageddon’s entire purpose was to prepare for the end times: to meticulously plan it out and ensure it went off smoothly.  As these things tend to go, the least desirable job got pushed off onto whomever was lowest on the command chain, or at least the one too polite or too much of a pushover to refuse the job.  And nobody really wanted to interact with the horsepersons.  The DoA was filled with poor souls who had been toughing out a job they’d hated for six-thousand years. It would take a toll on anyone.

The reader can probably imagine that Aziraphale is less popular with the Department of Armageddon than any other angels, who unfortunately already find him quite annoying.

But this story is not about Aziraphale.  It’s not even about Ambriel, the angel responsible for summoning the horsepersons.

No, this story is about the horsepersons, who lined up for Armageddon in the year of 1991 with great fervor and excitement, giddily straddling their motorcycles, finally able to run wild.  The way that one had fizzled out was quite a disappointment to them all.

Adam had banished them for a bit, and that had been no fun, but it’s impossible to do away with Famine, War, and Pollution as long as humans exist.  So they eventually reformed, springing from the minds of men and being unleashed back onto the world.

Somewhere in Europe, freshly spilled blood steamed and boiled, and War rose up, with blood smeared over her naked body like a newborn baby.  In Asia, in a field covered by vultures feasting on the carcass of an emaciated cow, Famine sat up, looking around disoriented and missing his fancy suits.  On the West Coast of the United States, Pollution washed ashore,  having drifted for a while after being spawned from the Great Pacific garbage patch. They picked seaweed out of their hair and took a few moments to orient themselves.  The last thing they remembered was staring down Adam Young.  And as they realised what had happened, they thought the exact same thing their two companions were thinking at that exact moment:

Aw, man!

*********************************

In August 1992, the brave soul known simply as ‘the deliveryman’ had been contracted once again.  The request was again from someone named Ambriel, by whom he had been contracted at this precise time last year, and for the exact same reason:  To make four deliveries in various parts of the world to varyingly strange customers.

He didn’t really want to go, but it was his job, so there he was braving the quite literally riotous streets of a war-torn country scouring the chaos for a particular woman.

War had gone back to doing her reporter schtick, but it was starting to bore her.  She was interviewing an American soldier as he prattled on and on, pretending to write it down*, thinking about what her next possible career could be.  Probably somewhere in the American Military-Industrial complex, she thought.

*******

*She was currently drawing a sketch of him decapitated on the battlefield.

*******

This is how the deliveryman found her.  He doubled over panting from the exertion of running up to her, but managed to wheeze out, “Package for you, Miss.”

War turned to him, an intensely puzzled look on her face.  “What?”

“Package for you.”

War turned her back on the soldier.  “You again?  Aren’t you the same….  You have another package for me?”

He held it out.  It was suspiciously sword-shaped.

“But... “  She took the package and unwrapped it.  It was indeed a sword, long and shiny polished metal glittering in the harsh sun.  “But this means Armageddon is near.  Again?”

The deliveryman held out the signature pad hopefully.

She looked at him.

“I need you to sign for it, miss.”

“But we just did this.”

“This, ma’am?”

“Receiving our artifacts.  Riding to Armageddon.  The whole nine yards.”

“I do recall delivering this same sword to you last year.  Afraid I don’t know anything about it, though.  I’m just the deliveryman.”

“Are we doing it all again?”

“Afraid I don’t know, ma’am.  I just need you to sign for it, please.”

War held the sword out in both her hands, seeing her reflection in its length.  “That was one year ago today,” she realised.  “A year was all they decided to wait?  It took six-thousand to get ready the first time.”

Hope fading, the deliveryman stretched his arms out to full length to get the pen and pad as close to her as possible.  “Just need a signature, miss.”

War relented and took the pen, ripping the paper under the force of her signature.  The deliveryman looked a bit put off and shuffled away, unenthusiastic about his next delivery, which would require him to pick along an extremely dirty industrial oil field.

The soldier waited around to hopefully continue bragging about how brave he was, but War ignored him.  She simply continued to stare at the sword.  All she said was:

“Huh.”

***************************************

“Here we all are, gathered together at last.”

Famine was the one to made this proclamation.  He said this to both War and Pollution, who were uncertainly standing around their motorcycles.  This time they had been summoned directly to the barren field of Armageddon, which was, as it had been at this time last year, distressingly empty.

“Just saw you last year,” said Pollution.  “Not quite ‘at last’ anymore, is it?.”

Famine gave them a dirty look.  “Yes, well, it’s what we said last year.  Seems only right to say it again.”

“They’re trying to make Armageddon happen again on the anniversary of it failing,” said War.  “Is that what’s up?”

“It is significant, isn’t it?” said Pollution.  “I was thinking about having some sort of celebration anyway.  One year and all that.  Seems like we should commemorate it somehow.”

“That’s stupid,” said Famine.  Famine usually hated commemorating things because anniversaries and celebrations always seemed to involve good food and drink.  Eat, drink, and be miserable was usually how it went for him.

“Anyway,” said War, “what are we waiting for?  The Big Guy’s not here yet, but shouldn’t there be, I don’t know, some sort of preliminaries going on?  Wasn’t there all sorts of wacky stuff going on last year, storm in the sky, showers of fish and all that?”

A figure could be seen spiraling downwards from the sky, wings spread wide.  Pollution shielded their face with their hand and stared up past the sun.  “Who’s’at?”

The figure revealed itself to be an angel, a jaunty figure with a halo struggling to keep up with his erratic motion, floating just behind his head as he ran full-speed towards them.

“And who might you be?” said Famine.

The angel huffed and puffed.  “The name’s--the name is Ambriel.”  He caught his breath and looked around at the gathering.  “Where is Death?”

As if on cue, Death appeared with a small pop of expanding air.  I HAVE NEVER HAD TO KILL THE SAME HUMAN TWICE, said Death.  AND I DO NOT ENJOY THE EXPERIENCE.  NEITHER DID HE.  WHATEVER YOU ARE PAYING THE DELIVERYMAN, YOU NEED TO PAY HIM MORE.

“Pay?” said Ambriel.  “Oh, that’s right.”  He snapped his fingers, and the deliveryman’s bank account balance was suddenly a few digits larger, for all the good it would do a dead man.

“So your name’s Ambriel,” said War.  “But who are you?”

“I’m the one responsible for making sure the horsepersons are present at Armageddon!” he crowed.

Famine craned his neck towards the empty, blue, peaceful, quiet, decidedly-not-Armageddon sky.  Pollution kicked a rock through the soft grass.  War scratched her head.

WE ARE HERE, said Death.

“But where’s Armageddon?” said War.  “We don’t start it.  That’s the antichrist.”

“Ah,” said Ambriel, sweating.  “Yes, well, we’re still working on that.  It was supposed to happen a year ago, you see…”

“Yes, you summoned us on the anniversary,” said Pollution.  “Are we going to do it again?”

“Turn the seas to blood?” said War, shaking her fists.

“Unleash ourselves upon the planet until nothing’s left but bones and bare rock?” said Famine, a sparkle in his eye.

“Bury humanity in the consequences of its own actions?” said Pollution giddily.

Ambriel grimaced as the three of them crowded in on him, pumping their fists in excitement.

THE FINAL REAPING, said Death.

“Yes,” said Ambriel.  “Um, yes, for sure, about that…”

The excitement on their faces began to fade.

“Well, you see, I’d thought everything would be ready to go by now.  The timeline they gave me for re-setting the Armageddon fittings was one year!  It should be well underway by now, but…”

War and Famine looked at each other disappointedly.  “But what?” said Pollution.

“But they’re not done with the paperwork yet,” said Ambriel, crumpling.  “There’s been delays and delays and delays.  Our field agent won’t cooperate.  Hell won’t cooperate.  The other departments won’t cooperate.  It’s a bloody mess!”

“That sounds like your problem,” said War.  “What do you want us to do about it?”

Ambriel wrung his hands.  “Well, I...I don’t know.”

War pouted.  “All right, well, this was a bust, then.”  She spun on her heel and marched across the field.  “Call me when there’s some action for me, then, love.”

“Wait!” cried Ambriel.  “Don’t leave!”

“I’ll be down by the river,” said Pollution.  “It’s been looking a bit too clean for my taste.  Too many local community day cleanups, if you ask me.”

Ambriel nervously stuttered as Pollution sauntered away in the opposite direction.  Then he looked at Famine.  “I suppose you’re going to leave me, too?”

Famine checked his very expensive watch.  “Well, my flight back to America doesn’t leave until five o’clock, so I might hang around a bit and see if you can kick off Armageddon in the next two hours.”

*************************************

August 25, 1993

Pollution was the first one to show up this time, bearing a wine bottle and a little party hat affixed in their pale hair.  They’d worn the crown this whole time, so their head was starting to get a little crowded on top.

War had kept her sword.  It was slung casually over her shoulder as she picked her way across the empty field where Armageddon ostensibly was supposed to take place.  Only Famine had returned his artifact to Ambriel, because he thought modern electronic balances were much more efficient and chic than traditional balancing scales anyway, and he stood waiting to meet her empty-handed.

“Back again,” said War.  “I just got a letter in the mail this time, no deliveryman.  You?”

“The same,” said Famine.  “They’re lucky I got it.  Our mail gets filtered pretty thoroughly before it lands on my desk.  Pretty rude too, I had to drop everything to run on over...I thin heaven should start reimbursing me for the travel costs.”

Death popped into existence beside Pollution.  Ambriel was holding onto his arm, looking frightened.

THERE, YOU SEE? said Death.  NO NEED TO KILL ANYONE TO GET A MESSAGE TO ME.  WE CAN SKIP THAT AND HEAD RIGHT ON OVER TO ARMAGEDDON TOGETHER.

“Right,” said Ambriel.  “Sorry.”  He straightened his tunic and marched out in front of the semicircle of horsepersons.  “Welcome to Armageddon!” he loudly announced.  “It begins now!”

“I don’t see any signs of the end times--” Pollution began.

“Yet!” Ambriel thundered.  “They shall begin any moment!”

Pollution popped open the wine bottle.  “Yay.”

Ambriel, his hands still raised dramatically, began to sweat.

“The paperwork still isn’t done, is it?” said War.

“The paperwork still isn’t done,” said Ambriel, shoulders sagging.

“Then why did you call us here?” said Famine.  “Look, I’m a busy man.  I run a corporate empire, you know!”

“I thought it would be done!” said Ambriel, wringing his hands.  “We’re just…  We’re waiting on our field agent, Aziraphale.  He hasn’t turned in his forms yet, and he won’t answer my messages.”

“Should we go find this Aziraphale guy and teach him a lesson?” said War.

“A lesson about punctuality in filling out paperwork?” said Pollution.  “Are you sure you’re the best one to teach him that lesson?”

“All right, all right,” said Famine.  “Look, Ambriel, is there anything we can do to move things along?  This is the third time in a row--”

“The second anniversary,” Pollution interrupted.

“--Right, thanks, White--the third time we’ve done our ride and gone to Armageddon.  It’s starting to get a bit anticlimactic.”

“That’s his job, not ours,” said War.  “Pfft.  Black, what’s next?  You want to tempt sinners to Hell?  Reap souls after death?  Who else’s job do you want to do?”

Famine grew red.  “I’m just saying--”

“Well, whatever,” said War, slinging her sword back into the sheath strapped across her back.  She hooked her arm around Famine’s head and gave him a noogie.  “We can kill some time while Ambriel finishes preparing for Armageddon.”

HMMM, said Death.  YES...SINCE IT SEEMS LIKE TIME IS THE ONLY THING WE’LL BE KILLING.

******************************

August 25, 1994

Famine kept his scales this time.  Their home for the next year was the corner of his desk in his office on top of 666 Fifth Avenue, right next to his extremely slim computer.

Famine played with the chain, strangely delicate and cold, when an email popped up on his computer.

To the Black horseperson of the apocalypse:

Please meet us at the appropriate place at the appropriate time.  The end is nigh.  The four horsemen shall ride and the world shall end in fire and blood..

Famine started to type a response.  But before he could, his computer dinged with a reply: all to the previous email, from czugiber@aol.com:

Can I bring a plus one this time?

A few days and a few thousand miles later, Famine trekked over the dry ground of Armageddon with his scales in hand.  Pollution and War were already standing in the middle of the field, the exact same place Ambriel had appeared the last three years.

War had a demoness hanging off her arm.

“Ah, Black!” said War.  “Just in time.  I was just in the process of introducing my girlfriend, Ashtarte.”

“Call me Ash,” said Ashtarte.  A smile, too broad and with too many teeth that were too sharp, spread Cheshire cat-like across her features.  She wore a punk mesh top, red boots, and had a little pair of horns and forked tail, like she was trying to impersonate a Halloween costume of a demon.

“Uh, okay, Ash,” said Famine.

“The Black horseperson of the apocalypse!” said Ash.  “A pleasure to make your acquaintance.  Big fan of your work!”

“Big fan?” said Famine.  He straightened his tie.  “Thanks very much.”

“We met over cocktails in a little bar in Saudia Arabia,” said War.  “Making fun of the same reporters.”

Ash held up her hand in a “V” pose.

“None of us have ever really, uh…” said Famine.

“Had a girlfriend?” said War.  “You don’t know that.”

Famine fidgeted.  “So you have had a girlfriend?”

“Er, well, no, not really,” said War.  She hefted Ash onto her shoulder and flexed her bicep; the smaller woman fit snugly into her shoulder.  “But you should try it sometime!  Armageddon keeps getting delayed, so we might as well enjoy our time here, right?”

“But what’s the appeal?”

“I think he doesn’t understand it,” said Pollution, “because he can’t even imagine how to get a girlfriend.”

Death appeared stormily, his biker boots thumping against the ground a bit too hard.  AND WHERE IS OUR SUMMONER?

“Not here yet,” said Pollution, fiddling with the wine bottle they held.  “But why don’t we have some drinks first?  Enjoy our time here, right?”

They summoned a card table from somewhere, and Pollution pulled up a seat and patted the one next to them in the hope of coaxing Death to sit down.  Famine ambivalently sat down next to War, who had Ash on her lap.

WE’RE NOT HAVING A PARTY, said Death.  WE’RE HERE FOR BUSINESS REASONS.

“Sit down, big guy,” said Famine.  “Nothing wrong with loosening up a little.”

Death remained motionless for a few moments, tense with annoyance.  Then, his biker leathers crinkling, he lowered himself into a seat.  BUT I WON’T HAVE ANYTHING TO DRINK.

“Aw,” said Pollution, popping the cork off the bottle.  “Do you not like it?”

Death’s helmet visor reflected Pollution’s face impassively back at them as they poured drinks.

“Have you never drunk alcohol before?” said War.

Death didn’t answer.

“You haven’t, have you?” said Famine.  “Do you want to try some?”

Death lifted his helmet off his head, setting it on his lap.  Then he removed one leather glove, revealing his bony hand.  The white stalk snaked out and curled around a glass, bringing it to his skeletal grin.  The wine dribbled through his jaw and onto his leather jacket.

Famine grimaced.  Pollution thought his jacket looked better with stains on it, but didn’t say so.  They passed the next half hour in jovial conversation, the wine warming their bodies and lifting their spirits.  Ash withdrew a deck of cards from her pocket, which entertained them as they laughed and joked.

They were all quite drunk by the time Ambriel arrived.  He sprinted over at top speed, careening into the table.  “What are you all doing?”

“We’re having a drink!” said Ash, waving her glass in the air and sloshing wine.

“Wh—”  Ambriel took a second to look very confused at the appearance of a fifth horseperson, then shook it off and decided it didn’t matter.  “Whatever!  Get up, put this stuff away!  Armageddon is starting!”

“For real this time?” said Pollution.

A second angel could be seen descending from Heaven.  “Yes, for real this time!” Ambriel exploded.  “The archangel Michael is on his way!  Now get ready!”

War rolled her eyes and folded up the table.  Pollution disappointedly retrieved the half-empty wine bottle, sipping from it as they walked over to Ambriel.

Michael touched down, his impressive dusky wingspan battering them with dusty clouds.  “Ambriel, I was told the armies of Hell are gathering here, yes?”

“Yes!” said Ambriel.  “The antichrist is coming.  He’s on his way now.”

“He’s…”  Michael looked over the the horsepersons.  Famine shrugged.    War examined her nails.  Pollution continued to sip from their bottle.  Death very stormily crossed his arms.

“He’s supposed to already be here,” said Michael.  “I don’t see any of the signs of Armageddon…”

“I gave the antichrist Adam Young a very stern lecture about his role, and demanded he come to Armageddon,” said Ambriel.  “And he said he was coming.”

Pollution cocked their head.  “He said he was coming?”

“Yes.  His exact words were, ‘Okay, Boomer.’”

Pollution choked, wine shooting out their nose.

***************************

August 25, 1998

“Can we meet at your restaurant next time?”

Famine turned to Pollution, the only other figure with him at the yet again empty field of Armageddon.  “What?”

“The next time this happens, can we meet at one of your restaurants?”

Famine sighed.  The first few times this had happened, he’d argued that they didn’t know there was going to be a ‘next time,’ but by now, the anniversary of the Apocalypse usually heralded them gathering to stand around for a while and not much else.  “I doubt Ambriel would go for that.  We’re supposed to be in this spot.”

Pollution shifted from foot to foot.  “But the Newtrition corp has expanded, right?  It has branches around here now.  It wouldn’t be that far.”

“You don’t want to eat at my restaurant,” said Famine, trying to hide his shock that Pollution was so familiar with his franchise.  He hadn’t thought any of the other horsepersons had cared about his silly little business.  Although it was nice that someone was paying attention.  “Why not?” said Pollution.  “It seems nice.  It produces lots of waste paper.  And styrofoam cartons.  Love those things.”

“It doesn’t serve actual food,” said Famine.  “Just a bunch of nonsense.  It has no nutritional value.”

“Well,” said Pollution.  “We don’t actually need to eat, do we?  Back in the forties, I went a good decade without eating.  Too busy with the mills in Pittsburgh to stop and eat.”

Famine opened his mouth to deliver a snappy retort, only to find he didn’t have one.

“‘Course that was before I took the crown from Pestilence, so I was just a minor horseperson then. Well, my point is, it’s not like we’ll be affected by malnutrition.  As long as it tastes good, right?”

Famine lit a cigarette.  “If you want to look at it that way, I suppose.”

The rumble of a motorcycle filled the air, and War pulled up with Ash perched on the back of her bike.

“We can’t meet at my restaurant,” said Famine.  “That’s inappropriate.”  He wasn’t sure why the idea made him so uncomfortable, and he turned to greet War.  “Red.”

“Black,” said War, dismounting.  She put her bike helmet on the saddle as Ash fell off behind her.  “Hey, you don’t have to call me ‘Red,’ you know.”

Famine stopped.  “What?”

“I have a name.”

Famine bristled.  “Whatever.  Where’s that stupid little twig of an angel this time?”

“Geez, who pissed in your cereal,” said Ash, dusting herself off.

“I’m just getting a little tired of this!” said Famine.  “I have to fly over from America every year in August only to be told to go right back home!”

Pollution opened a bag of crisps, savoring the grease.  They looked disappointedly into the bag.  “Black.”

“What?”

“Don’t ruin my crisps!”

“I’m not ruining your—”  Famine suddenly realised he was ruining the crisps, because he was so damn frustrated by how inefficient Heaven and Armageddon and this whole thing was.  He was used to running things like a well-oiled machine, and this….

“Black, stop ruining the poor kid’s crisps,” said War.

“You’ve never appreciated my work,” Famine snapped.

Ambriel chose this moment to appear.  “All right, everyone!” he said.  “This time I’ve really—”

“Black, I was very much looking forward to my crisps!” Pollution said.

“You all only notice how hard I work when it affects you!” said Famine.  “I’m the only one putting real effortinto building an empire—”

“You’re the only one?” said Pollution.

Scared, Ambriel hid behind his clipboard, unsure of how to wrangle them.

Famine suddenly realised that War was gleefully egging on the fight between him and Pollution with her horseperson powers.  “Red!”

The tension in the air immediately dissipated, and War slunk back, looking chastised.  

His head more clear now, Famine smoothed out his tie.  The booted footsteps of Death reverberated in the air before he made his appearance.  AND HOW MANY ANNIVERSARIES IS THIS NOW?  I’VE LOST COUNT.

“You’re late,” said Ambriel snootily.

Death turned to him.  Even though he had no face to speak of, and still had his helmet on, everyone could clearly imagine the expression he would make.

“Seven,” said Pollution through a mouthful of crisps.

A second angel descended from the sky, this one unhurried, dragging its proverbial feet.

AND DO I HAVE ANYTHING TO BE LATE FOR THIS TIME? said Death.

“As a matter of fact, yes,” said Ambriel.  “Because I have with me the field agent who was responsible for delaying Armageddon last time.  So now he’s going to kick it off.”

A chubby angel with oodles of curly hair touched down, looking around guiltily.  “Er, hello...I’m Aziraphale.”

“Oh, you looked nicer in a dress,” said Pollution.

“All right,” said Ambriel.  “Let’s go, then.  Go on.”

Aziraphale shuffled his feet.

“Don’t we need the antichrist?” volunteered Famine.

“The antichrist is unavailable,” said Ambriel icily.  “We’ll have to make do without him.”

“Unavailable?!” exclaimed War.

“He means Adam Young doesn’t want Armageddon to happen,” said Aziraphale, who then shut up right quick at an elbow jab from Ambriel.

“You can make it happen without the antichrist?” said Pollution, crunching through a mouthful of crisps.  “Thought was the whole point of him.  So how does it work?”

“Ahem,” said Ambriel.  “That is none of your concern.  Just worry about your own part.  Now, let’s begin.”

Ambriel stepped forward to direct the horsepersons.  War kept looking up at the sky, noticing Armageddon didn’t seem to be happening.  Pollution licked their fingers, other hand firmly stuck in their crisps packet.

“And now Aziraphale will--Aziraphale?”  

While Ambriel had had his back turned, Aziraphale had scuttled off, wings drawn wide and flapping erratically like a prey animal running from a fox.  “Ahhh!  Get back here!”

Ambriel went off chasing him.  War stood where she was, sword poised, and watched him go.  “Um…”

Pollution finished their packet of crisps and dropped it on the ground, wiping their hands on their shirt.  “Is he coming back?”

They stayed there for about half an hour waiting for Ambriel, and decided he wasn’t coming back.  Ash sweet-talked War into hitting the bars after that.  They managed to convince everyone but Death to come along, too.

*************************

August 25, 2001

“Hey, why does it take an apocalypse for us to get together?” said War.

Pollution picked idly at the tablecloth on the little picnic table they had summoned.  They were trying to decide if ketchup or mustard would make better stains on it.  “Hmm?”

War straddled the bench, picking at the picnic basket.  “I mean, I know not everyone likes to spend time with their coworkers outside of work, but there’s nothing stopping us from getting together outside of Armageddon, right?”

Pollution stopped.  “Hmm?”

“She’s saying she wants to spend more time with you guys,” said Ash.

“We can do that?!” Pollution said.

“Well, yeah, I guess,” said War.

Pollution’s eyes sparkled.

“Come sit down and enjoy this little basket you put together,” said Ash.  “It looks lovely.”

The weather was fabulous, once again with no signs of the inclement weather heralding Armageddon, and a delicious breeze tugged at them and whipping waves through the dry summer grass.  Pollution fished out some plastic utensils and set them out on the table.

Ash took a sandwich from the basket.  It definitely had worms of some sort in it, but being from Hell, she was used to such things.

“Where’s Famine, anyway?” said Pollution, setting a pile of napkins on the table and watching them immediately blow away in the wind.

“Oh, he’s coming!” said War.  “And he said he was bringing a plus one this year.”

“A plus one?”

“Sounds like he’s got a girlfriend too.  Or boyfriend.  Or what-have-you.”

Pollution scratched their head.  “Wonder who it could be.”

With a rustle of grass, Death stood beside them.

“Come sit down!” said War.  “We’ve been waiting for you!”

Death looked at them contemplatively.  I DIDN’T RECEIVE A SUMMONS THIS YEAR.

“Huh,” said Pollution, letting their sandwich wrapper fall to the ground.  “I just realised, neither did I.”

“Yeah,” said War, waving her hand dismissively.  “But after doing this annually for ten years, I think we get the point, right?”

Death stood like a silent sentinel.  Death was rarely the type to display any emotion at all, but to War and Pollution, it looked like he was fighting to not indulge in some unconventional display of sentiment.

A smile spread across War’s face.  “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

I JUST WANTED TO SEE IF I WAS NEEDED THIS YEAR, said Death.

“Well, Armageddon is probably delayed again,” said War.  “So you’re not, really.  You’re free to leave.”

Death stood still.

“Come sit down,” said Ash, patting the bench.  “You’re always so serious.”

Death clomped over and swung his enormous legs over the wooden bench.

“Heard Famine’s got himself a new squeeze,” gossiped War.

OH, said Death.  YES…

The grass in the field next to them dried up, swirling brittle pieces making a small tornado, and with a mournful nicker, a skeletal horse materialized.  Its emaciated frame was oozing with dripping wounds and festering decay.  Atop its back was a figure in a white robe with a long, beaked mask.

Famine pulled up on his motorcycle.  “Fellas, good to see you again!”

“It’s been a very long time,” said the newcomer, although no, he wasn’t new at all…

“You brought Pestilence!” Pollution yelled.  “He’s not a horseperson anymore!  I replaced him!”

“Tsk tsk, you young punk,” said Pestilence, dismounting.  “No respect at all.”

Pollution glared.

“He’s not here as a horseperson,” said Famine.  “He’s my plus one.”

“That’s cheating!” said Pollution.

Pestilence winked, which was absolutely infuriating.

Pollution crossed their arms as Famine and Pestilence took their seats.  “This looks delightful,” said Pestilence, taking a crisp from a bowl.

Pollution grumbled.  Famine was a little disgruntled that they had set up a nice meal, but he muttered an echo of Pestilence’s praise.

“It’s just weird,” said Pollution.  “It’s like you’re dating my dad.”

“I’m not your Dad,” said Pestilence.  “We barely met before you kicked me out.”

“I think you just don’t like Pestilence,” said Famine.

Pollution bristled.  “Maybe.”

Famine shrugged.  Somewhere in the world, the minor horseperson of Awkward Interpersonal Issues felt their power surge.

“It’s because they’re afraid I’ll wrangle the job of horseperson #3 from them,” said Pestilence.  “The anti-vax moms in the United States are making them nervous.”

Pollution’s cheeks went red.

“Well, you don’t have to worry about that,” said Pestilence.  “I don’t want to be one of the Main Four anymore.  It’s quite dull.  The humans’ attitude towards smallpox ruined the fun for me.  Some of my best work, all down the drain.  Feff.”  He sipped some cola.  “But you seem to be doing a splendid job.  I hear nowadays everyone’s mad about straws, of all things.”

Pollution perked up.  The atmosphere at the table was much lighter after that.

“Isn’t Ambriel going to show up?” said War.  “Usually right about now is when he comes down, babbling about how Armageddon is really going to happen this time, and how we need to get ready.”

Pestilence scratched his head.  “Ambriel?  He’s the one who had to come tell me they were swapping me out for Pollution.  He still works in the Department of Armageddon?  Poor sod always got the worst jobs pushed onto him.”

Ambriel did, in fact, show up eventually.  He had none of his usual bravado.  He dragged his sandaled feet through the dirt and flopped down to join them at the picnic table.  The four of them shared a look, then looked back at Ambriel.  “Hey, kid, what’s wrong?” said Famine.

“Useless,” said Ambriel.  “It’s all useless.  Nothing I do ever works.  No matter how hard I try, Heaven can’t get its crap together to make Armageddon happen.  Oh, pardon my language.”

“Hey, cheer up,” said Pollution.  “The first time we tried, the four of us got beaten by little kids with sticks and rocks.  That’s way more humiliating than anything you’ve had to go through.”

Famine glared at Pollution.  Pollution unwrapped a lolly, enjoying the crinkling of the wrapper.

Ambriel thunked his head on the table, groaning.  “No use, it’s no use!”

“Well, we’re all having a lovely time anyway!” said Ash.  “August 25 is my favorite day of the year now!”

“It’s supposed to be Armageddon,” moaned Ambriel.  “It’s not supposed to be a celebration.”

War stabbed a little cocktail weiner with her Bowie knife.  “We’ve been known to celebrate in unconventional ways.”

***************************

Present day

“1845.”

“No, that was you?”

Pollution sucked on their choco-whippy milkshake, eyes bouncing from War to Pestilence.

“Yep,” said Pestilence, leaning back, looking very pleased with himself.

“I thought for sure that was Famine,” said War.

“I wish,” said Famine.  “I had been working in Ireland for a few years at that point, but hadn’t had much success.”

“Phytophthora infestans,” said Pestilence.  “One of my favorites.

“He refuses to lend it to me,” said Famine.  “Greedy bastard.”

“Not your jurisdiction.”

They all shared a hearty laugh.

“Oh, Pollution,” said War, snapping her fingers.  “I just remembered.  That science project we were talking about the other day, the bacteria that humans were cultivating to break down plastic.”

Pollution’s face screwed up in displeasure.

“I was working on trying to divert some of the NHS’s funding into more bioweapon applications.  Maybe if you do me a little favor in return, I can get their funding pulled?”

Pollution nodded happily, sucking through their straw.

“Hey, here he comes!” said War, throwing up her hand.

Death strode over, standing at the edge of the table.

“Sit down,” said Ash, patting the seat.  “We’re having a lovely time.”

I HAVE… said Death.  If it were possible, he seemed embarrassed.

“What?” said Pollution.

I HAVE ALSO BROUGHT A PLUS ONE.

“What, a boyfriend?” said Pestilence.

NOT LIKE THAT…. said Death.  He reached into his jacket and withdrew a small bundle of fur, which blinked and mewled.

Ash had stars in her eyes, putting her hands on her head as though to keep her brain from exploding out.  “Is that a kitten?”

I FOUND IT OUTSIDE.

“It’s so cute!” said Pollution.

I HAD NEVER NOTICED THEM BEFORE, said Death.  THEY ARE...NICE.

“Well, nothing wrong with enjoying the pleasures of the world,” said Famine.  “Since it seems like we’ll be here for a while.”

Death sat down, putting the cat on the table.  The minimum wage employees scrambling to make the food didn’t have the time to notice or care.

“We were just discussing some of the other anniversaries we have besides August 25,” said War.  “Turns out we have quite a lot of them!  We should share.”

Death was silent.

“February 14,” said War.  “The start of the first War in Mesopotamia.  That was my favorite one.  I find the date so deliciously funny with what they’ve done with it now.”

“September 27,” said Pollution.  “When the first mass-produced automobile left the factory.”

“What about you?” siad Famine.  

“Black’s right,” said Pollution.  “You must have one.”

Death hummed for a minute.  Then:  NOVEMBER 16.  THE DAY THE FIRST MAN DIED.

“And kicked all this off,” said Famine.  “I’ll drink to that.”

They clinked their glasses against each other’s.

“Hey,” said Famine.  “You guys have been calling me ‘Black,’ this whole time, and while I guess it’s technically what I am…. Well, I picked a name.  A more human name.  You could use it, if you like.”

“Would you like that?” said Pollution.

“I think so.  It’s Sable.”

“Raven Sable,” said War.  “That’s right.  I like it.”

“What about you?” said Sable.  “Don’t you have one?”

“Oh, yeah!” said War.  “Wouldn’t that just be great!  Call me Carmine.”

“It’s such a good name!” said Ash joyfully.

Carmine beamed.  She’d never known this would feel good, but it did.

Pollution shyly tapped their fingers on the table.  “Chalk, please.”

All eyes turned towards Death.

“Well?” said Chalk.  “Only if you want to.”

AZRAEL.

“It’s perfect,” said Ash.

Sable snapped his fingers.  “Guys, hold on a second, I just remembered something.”

“Hm?” said Chalk.

“August 25.  Armageddon.”

“So?” said Carmine.  “That never happens anyway.”

“Well, we were so excited to meet we forgot we were supposed to go to Armageddon first.”

Carmine choked on the pickle she had been eating.  “Oh yeah,” said Ash, very slowly.  “I guess that’s fine, though.  But, oh dear…  Did anyone tell Ambriel?”

Azrael grinned, moreso than a regular skeletal grin.  I’M SURE HE’S DOING JUST FINE.

“I’ve got it!  I’ve finally got it!”

Ambriel, almost tripping over his robes, waved his papers in the air as he sprinted towards Armageddon.  “I finally have all the departments in accord, the stars have aligned, the paperwork is signed, the—”

Ambriel stopped and beheld the field of Armageddon, butterflies floating by and flowers bouncing merrily, very conspicuously empty and peaceful and not trodden by the harbingers of Armageddon.

“Oh, dear…”

[h-sleepingirl]

NOTES NEEHU10: Brainwashing Discussion with sleepingirl and cckitten

After our very successful Brainwashing Discussion group at Charmed 2019 (for which the notes are also available!), we proposed this for @neehu and it was an incredible experience. A lively room, intelligent discussion, and a lot of amazing feedback (thank you)!

As before, these are the notes from the discussion, unedited except for spelling/grammar/readability, so they are not necessarily in line with my personal beliefs. They are conversation starters and thought-provokers. YMMV.

I will include our “class notes” once more and then move right on into the discussion notes.

CLASS DESCRIPTION:

What is brainwashing? How can we practically (and ethically) brainwash our partners, or be brainwashed? In this class / discussion, cckitten and sleepingirl will spend a small amount of time giving their polished perspective and expertise on a goal-oriented approach to brainwashing, and then quickly open up to a discussion format so we can brainstorm ideas and methods as a group.

LECTURE NOTES:

-        Everything comes down to the question: What is brainwashing, practically? Which hopefully we get into for the discussion.

-        Boiled down, brainwashing is a sexy form of play that allows us to set and achieve goals with our partner.

-        Learning how to set goals effectively is a skill I recommend learning, and has a lot to do with being able to ask yourself the right questions

-        I sometimes separate this into two ideas:

-        General goals: I want a brainwashed slave. Question: What is a “brainwashed” partner? What is a “slave”? What is a “good submissive”?

-        Consequently, what is “a Master/Mistress/Dominant/your role of choice”?

-        Specific goals: I want you to call me by an honorific when we are in appropriate company. I want you to believe you’re brainwashed.

-        Think about the specific goals leading to the general ones

-        Sometimes it is easier to come up with your long term image of your partner by discussing short term goals. “A good submissive always… (makes my dinner, kisses my feet, etc)”

-        Setting goals is not only important from an ethical standpoint, but also the tool of simply setting an intention can be very powerful and motivating.

-        How you achieve these goals depends on the tools and knowledge that you have available to you

-        The risks are highly dependent on your personal goals, and thus so are the ways to try to mitigate them.

-        In general, dependency / “neediness/clinginess” is a risk and I’ve found this to be the biggest “problem” (only an issue when it’s an issue) (It’s hard for cc to be away from me)

-        This includes things like it being challenging when one or both of you isn’t feeling great, or isn’t feeling “on”

-        Falling in love

-        Not being able to trust that your partner will always make objective decisions that are not influenced by you

-        Most of these are NOT new territory, even with casual play partners. Lots of this should sound familiar.

DISCUSSION NOTES:

What does it mean to be brainwashed?

-        To believe that someone else’s idea of reality is your idea

-        To purposely and with intent instill a different way of thinking in someone

Repeated conditioning

-        Changing someone’s patterns of behavior that suits the purpose of the brainwasher/ee

-        Altering that individual in a way that will affect your everyday life

 What’s your ideal version of your brainwashed partner?

-        Wanting something directly because the brainwasher wants it

-        Want them to be happy

-        Change and transformation, wanting to see them change

-        Uncertain what your own desires are before/after

-        Someone is brainwashed enough that their role can be changed

-        Seeing something that you clearly weren’t into before now into it

-        Giving sense of self to someone else

-        Feeling an automatic responsiveness

-        Knowing that your partner wanted it as it’s happening, they have given consent

-        Or not necessarily

-        Brainwashing to help with fixing things

-        Brainwashing people out of brats

-        Being in a brainwashed state becomes a sense of normal

-        Permanency

-        Certainty of knowing that doing a certain thing is gonna get a certain response

-        Giving someone the confidence that someone is responding correctly no matter what

-        Consciously believing that this is always how it’s been

-        Be aware of it every single second

-        Building amnesia into it so the brainwashing is behind a wall

-        Liking to see the discomfort

-        Exploring limits

-        Service oriented

-        Wanting to make someone a better version of themselves

 How do we achieve this?

-        Hypnosis

-        Incremental steps

-        Repeated exposure to something

-        Rewarding them for something they might not be into

-        Repetition of whatever structure you’re trying to create

-        Mantras, self-directed conditioning

-        Parts therapy / roleplay

-        Making it an active process

-        Pleasure conditioning

-        Organic?

-        Exposing for a bit into what they want and letting it accumulate

-        Fetishizing fictional ideas, like a brainwashing cult

-        The physical act but also the mental component

-        Assignments

-        Tropes / fantasies are longterms that are already done, so taking advantage of that

-        Ask them what they masturbate about, turn fantasy to reality

-        Punishments

-        Creating memories of having the pattern you’re already trying to create

-        Clicker training

-        Constant communication and info from the brainwashee

-        All information is weapons

-        Things that you feel are effective and the things that are written about

 Is it easier to remove or add?

 -        It’s not about the “not” filter

-        It’s about replacing the pattern because the pattern serves a purpose

-        It depends

-        Using what they already have

 What are some fantasies?

 -        Struggle fantasy

-        Ray gun / magic light

-        Helmet

-        Emotional manipulation

-        Logical fallacy trope

-        Being trapped watching, shameful experience of enjoying your doom

-        Brainwashing someone who doesn’t know that they’re being brainwashed

-        Being trapped in the dark room with spirals but they wake up and they never were

-        You’re doing it to yourself

-        Mass brainwashing

-        Hidden / subliminal messaging

-        Been made to forget that it’s happening so you think it’s a natural change until it’s pointed out to you

-        CNC turning into consent

-        Realizing that you’re being brainwashed and you’re fighting it and then you wake up and realize you’ve done this a hundred times before

-        Identity death

 What are some risks?

 -        Unclear communication resulting in unwanted changed

-        Credibility of brainwashee

-        Overdependence

-        Identity crisis

-        End of relationship

-        Accidentally long term changing memories

-        Reactions of family and friends

-        Objective decisions

-        Falling in love

-        Loss of function

-        Bleedover

-        Bad intentions

-        Is it really consensual?

-        People not understanding what you’re doing

-        Developing patterns or personality ideas that don’t mesh

-        Uninformed

-        D/s interfering with other relationships

 Mitigating risks?

 -        Triggers between headspaces(?)

-        Checkins, putting thought into what your values are

-        Trying to keep a blank slate where you can think objectively

-        Having a third party who can see changes

 How do people navigate power neutral romance with D/s?

 -        Signaling what “mode” to be in (vanilla vs D/s)

-        There’s a difference between a scene and dynamic

-        Giving brainwasher space is a profound and sometimes difficult act of service

 Navigating switching brainwashing

 -        Having alternate ways of expressing the brainwashing

-        More scene type things as opposed to long term

-        Switching triggers

-        It doesn’t necessarily have to be a big thing, can be small things

-        There can be a distinction between brainwashing and D/s, power neutral brainwashing can work

 Are people comfortable with this?

 -        It’s taboo so only with the right people

-        It’s important to have these discussions

-        it’s affirming to talk about this

-        it’s great to have these discussions especially about consent

-        spreading the gospel of consent

-        it’s hard in different communities

[justatadmystic]

Holy shit it’s finally time to reveal it, isn’t it?! I can’t believe it! I actually had this mostly finished like a month ago when I first got the assignment but I’m so happy to share this!

To the lovely @official-volta, I present you your gift for tagss2018! I hope I did your prompt well!

Oh, and perhaps for an easier reading experience, I will be posting this on AO3 under the same title! Not posting a link cause of the obvious issue.

Of Charred Bones

All that remains now is the gnawing hunger, and the dirty white of bone splinters. Regardless of her prayers, her gods cannot pass into the claimed territory she calls a home. Only the Devil and his demons remain here, awaiting their prey to drop dead.

The shallow tally marks on the headstone marked the 77th day Volta had called the abandoned, overfilled graveyard her new home, at least that was the last time she counted. Attempting to count backwards, it would be… a lot of days since she was taken from her family and village, deposited in a burned down husk of a village far, far away from home. She had been deemed useless by the raiders, and tossed aside like garbage. She sits down beside the headstone she had used to mark any semblance of time passing besides the sun, thinking back as best she could.

They left her with only the dirtied dress on her back, her leather boots, the smallest parcel of food she had even seen, and a knife. They rode off, leaving her abandoned in the smoked out tomb of her people, with no hope of escape.

She scoured the buildings for any hope, for any scrap of food or drink, of reliable shelter. She found very little, and in the end she couldn’t even call the husk-like buildings a definite home. She wrapped herself in the smoky-smelling blanket she scavenged, collected her tiny supplies, and sought out shelter.

She found the cemetery quickly, just a few minutes walk from the smoking town. On the grounds was a small building, most likely used to prepare the dead for their burials. The town’s water supply luckily flowed into it, and it was still fresh and untouched by the fires, or perhaps luckily kept it clean for her. She drank happily from it, thankful that at least one thing was secure in her exile.

There was at least a bit of shelter in the graveyard, but it was a terrifying place and she didn’t know if it were any safer then the burnt out village. She returned to the remnants of the village, and just tried to find somewhere that would guard her, at least partially, from passersby and the weather if it got rough.

Settling down in what had to be an old seamstress shop, she picked carefully at the few bits of food she had, and tried to think. Her mother had told her that keeping her mind straight in times of terror would be the way she would survive, that pushing away confusion and delirium would allow her to live through the horrors of their day-to-day.

She stretched her food out for a week. Her blanket kept her warm in the partly chilly nights. The sounds of raiders in the far off forests and towns scared her, but she held firm. During the late afternoons of the day, she foraged for anything and everything nearby. Much of the berry bushes were burned away, but there was just enough for her to get by.

On the two week mark, raiders came back. She had been getting a drink from the waters flowing through the undertaker’s building when she heard them, and smelled fire. Looking through the dusty window, she watched the raiders burn the little that remained of the village.

She was grateful she had grabbed her blanket, and that she had carried her few little berries back to her, as sour as they were. That night, she sat on the steps of the building, and watched the buildings of the village burn into piles of ash, now only left with the cemetary to call a home.

From that day on, her life spiraled into a living hell.

She had water, but food was quickly disappearing. Berries wouldn’t sustain her, and the rats that occasionally weaved through the tombstones soon became too fast for her to catch. She was terrified of taking a further step with the bodies around her, and promised herself to never go so far. She continued to try and forage and hunt anything, but soon all of her prospects dried up. She cut down heavily on her water to avoid the pains that had already begun.

Her shoes were first. Leather was far from edible, but starvation was slowly twisting her mind around in confusing and debilitating circles. Whatever could fill the void in her stomach was better then letting it grow. Raiders moved in once more, ignoring her graveyard pointedly, perhaps fearing the consequences of stirring the dead like many would. She dug into the shallowest graves, her fractured and hungry thoughts breaking her promise. She gnawed on the bones of a person buried, sucking out whatever she could out of the coarse and dirty things.

A braver band of raiders came to her home. She only had a knife to defend herself, but at this point, she was practically rags and bones. A cruel man maimed her, blinding her in her right eye. Blood was spilled, and they left her behind screaming pathetically. Now without her right eye, her knife broken, and hunger still tearing her up from the inside-out, she was left with little hope of survival.

She ripped up parts of her dress to cover her wounds. She stared into the reflection of the water at her eye, her eyelid hiding the worst of the damage to the eye. They had torn and popped her eye open, leaving it a mess of whites and her original brown irises. Time moved on, and she stopped counting the days in the graveyard. Her wounded eye soon faded from brown to a white-brown mess. What will she had to try and have her eye work left as quick as her hope for salvation.

Her memory-searching is broken with the painful growl of her stomach, still trying to get anything to fill it. The words of her mother were but muffled whispers in a storm, meaning nothing in the tempest. She stood up slowly, clutching the dress that barely hung on her shoulders. It was deep into the night, she realized.

She dug on her hands and knees until she hit her target at the foot of the headstone, pulling out a small, shattered bone from the dirt. She sucked at the ends for the marrow, and gnawed on it to get anything else. Shards of the bone stuck into her throat, but the pain barely rivaled the horrific sickness of starvation. She threw it away when there was nothing left, and didn’t bother to settle the grave. She shuffled to the door of the undertaker’s building, still standing somehow despite everything.

Resting her foggy head on the crumbling steps, and pulling her fraying blanket over her shoulders, she tried to find the will to sleep, and to wake once the sun was up again. Her eyes shut quickly, too heavy from exhaustion.

“Such a poor, pathetic thing…”

The words were unfamiliar, the voice deep and terrifying down to her own brittle bones. The voice came out of the darkness of her slumber, a rumble not unlike horses approaching.

“You must be so hungry.”

I am, she whispers into nothing around her, I really am.

“Such a strong girl, to survive so long without real food.”

I want to eat!, she finds herself sobbing, her starvation inescapable even in her own dreams (or perhaps now it was her nightmares), I miss eating, I miss being full, It hurts so much!

“What if I told you, starving girl, that I could give you that which you wish for?”

The blackness opened up into a grey field, a grassy plain left in greyscale. Color didn’t exist here, leaving it feeling empty. It was a hollow, unsettling feeling, but not even it could best her overwhelming hunger. Before her stood a tall being, with fur and claws, and horns upon his head. Staring into the eyes of a goat-headed man, her hunger-muddled mind told her it was reality. The weak rationality she clung to spoke in terror of the being.

“Y-you could?”

Red eyes bore down on her, evaluating her pathetic, bony, and dilapidated body. Desperate for a miracle, she didn’t shield herself from the gaze of the being. They rounded her like a predator eying its dinner. She mindlessly thought that there had been vultures circling the graveyard earlier that day. In the distance of the dream, the cries of the vultures echoed, the reminder of what would become of her soon.

“...could you really do it?”

The being smiled at her, a toothy grin. He reached out and gently patted her head, smoothing down the wild and ratty strands of her hair. With the tip of a claw, he parted a more stubborn strand out of the way of her dead eye.

“I can feed you. In return, you will do something for me.”

It was crippling, the overwhelming feeling of happiness at the thought of eating once again. She could eat food again! She could finally feel full, and content, and not have to gnaw on bones and leather and bugs to survive any longer.

“I could eat again… what would I have to do?”

“Help me. While you help me, I will ensure you can eat anything you desire.”

“I would just… help you? And I could eat?”

“Help me with some of my endeavors, and in exchange you will be fed. That is all I ask. Do we have a deal, Volta?”

Her name on his lips didn’t scare her, though it should have if she had been in her right mind. It was perfect, the only escape she had from her hell in the graveyard. The being offered his hand to her, and she… hesitated. Claws and fur awaited her consent, her final agreement.

Her eyes snapped open at the sound of the forest around rustling. Blinking her eye quickly, she lessen the amount of sunlight crossing her face. She sat up slowly, looking to the rising sun not yet peeking completely over the trees. Her dress slumped forward, baring her chest with little care for decorum. What was once covered in muscle and a little fat was skeleton, her body eating away at her own flesh to try and keep moving. She shrugged it back up what was left of her shoulders, and watched the sun.

Her dreams lingered, and for a moment they chased the chasm of her hunger away. Her body had chased away her chance, though it felt bone-deep that it would return to her. Shadows behind her stirred and shook, the sun dispelling them from their hold on the world. She stood up quietly, slowly folding up her blanket and stowing it inside the undertaker’s building. The shadows were more pronounced in the building, the few windows only allow a little into the still air.

It had been home for her for… who knows how long now. The village was burnt to ash just as long. Her separation and isolation was in a time she had long forgotten, her happy life just as easily lost and replaced by red and anger and hunger.

The being’s offer. He could feed her, in exchange for helping him. Her muddled thoughts ignored the obvious ‘how longs’ and ‘what kind of help’ questions, focusing on what she earned and gained.

Food. Feeling full again.

Whispers chased her as she wandered during the day, aimlessly moving just to avoid her limbs from locking up. She ventured through the empty grounds of the village. She ventured into the forests, ignoring the pain in her soles as she stepped onto stones and branches, watching life move on as it should. The cry of a vulture sounded. She returned to the graveyard as the sun begun to dip back behind the trees. She dug down further into an already desecrated grave, looking for the longer bones that had to be there.

She didn’t have the strength to continue digging, her brittle and broken nails unable to dig enough to get the bones she needed. In the end, she had dug only a little further down, and was left with nothing. If she wanted bones, she would need to dig for hours… hours she didn’t have now that the sunset was upon her.

She lay herself on the grave she defiled, ignoring the chittering of the woods, and the ever approaching vultures above.

Staring into the melting sky, reds and purples and yellows spreading over the blue, Volta wondered for the first time since she was dumped there what had become of her family.

“Are you ready?”

Pulling herself up to sit up was painful, her skin and bones aching alongside her stomach. She looked up at the being, who offered his hand to her once again. Reality bleeds away with the sky as it splatters across the ground in grotesque fashion, burning the green of the grass into brown and black.

“Can I know your name?”

The question seemed to phase the being for a moment, before he smiled to her again. The undertaker’s building shatters soundlessly, dissolving into the empty sky.

“The Devil. Now, Volta… will you take my deal?”

Knelt in the dirt of another’s grave, stomach eating away at what little remained, she reaches out for the Devil’s hand. The world around her gives away to a roar of beasts, and an overwhelming red. She grasps his hand tightly, and he squeezes it back. His smile turns wicked as he lifts her to her feet.

The world turns upside down, and she’s left staring into the red-black of the Devil’s eyes. Chains fill her vision, wrapping around her gently. They encircle her, wrapping around her limbs as light as a feather. She watches them curiously, too focused on the hollow hole her stomach was. They fade once one of the chains has wrapped around her stomach, leaving her curious about what they were.

The Devil beckons her with a gentle call of her name as an apple appears in his hand. Red and shined, it was the first real piece of food she had seen in many days. She pounces for it, snatching it out of the Devil’s hands, clutching it in her own. In the grey world she ignored, the red apple was a thing of beauty.

She realized her mistake quickly, looking sheepishly up at the Devil. She had rudely taken it, ignoring the being who so graciously fed her. The Devil didn’t look mad at her, instead giving a soft huff, and patting her head.

“I promised to feed you. Now, eat.”

She doesn’t need anymore approval. She takes a bite of the apple, crying as she tastes the flesh of the apple, the juice dribbling down her chin.

She doesn’t notice the blood dripping out of the apple she feasted on, nor the Devil’s accomplished grin as she seals her deal for life.

“There will be more to eat. Now… you’ll help me with a problem of mine.”

[jaime-etudier]

These are just some tips from a professional procrastinator, on how I actually ever get shit done. What works for me may not work for you, but just give it a shot. I know these probably all seem like common knowledge, but sometimes having it listed out makes all the difference (Also I know this is a long ass post but I’ve bolded the main points and placed other important notes in italics so you can just glance over it if needed).

Part 1: Basic Tips

Don’t open youtube. It’s a deathtrap for me. A deathtrap leads to spiralling into the most unproductive day possible. It happens to me constantly. Maybe instagram, twitter, or tumblr is your deathtrap, but whatever it is, stay the fuck away from it. Here’s a couple of ways to do just that.

Forest: I know I’ve talked about it before but  this app/chrome extension is the shit. Set it for a certain amount of time and it plants a tree. You can blacklist sites or apps and if you visit them, it kills the tree. If you leave the app or stop the timer before it’s done, you kill the tree. Just don’t kill the trees.

Put your phone in another room. I know. It’s hard. But it really helps eliminate distractions if you’re not using an app like forest. If you can’t do that, just focus on not allowing yourself to use it unless absolutely necessary. Self-discipline pays off in the long run. And that brings me to my next point.

Just do it. Too simple, I know. But literally just sit your ass down, take out your computer/textbooks, and get to work. If you force yourself to do even just 2 minutes of work, at least you’ve done something. It’s not about motivation at this point, it’s about discipline. As sappy as it sounds, you really can do whatever you put your mind to. 

Make a list! Prioritize! Take it subject by subject, making a checklist on everything you need to get done. Once you’ve done that, go back and rate them on how important they are, and when they’re do. I use exclamation marks to demonstrate urgency. For example:

(!) Psyc: type notes

(!!) Hist: Essay assignment; read ch 1 & 2

(!!!) Engl: interview Assignment 

(!!) Cjus: read ch 1,2, & 4

(!) Arab: outline section 3

WARNING: don’t let the list making process become procrastination. As soon as you finish making it, take the most important task, and get started on it. 

Go with the flow. If you can’t force yourself to focus on the most urgent assignment, start on the assignment you’ll enjoy the most at that moment. If you’re enjoying it, you’re getting shit done. A lot of times, doing that one task is what will get you in the mood to knock out other tasks on the list. 

Take breaks. Yeah yeah you hear this one all the time. I know. That’s because it fucking works. You need to take a few minutes of rest, even if it’s just to stretch out really quickly before hitting the next paragraph on that essay. However! Don’t! Let! Yourself! Get! Too! Distracted! While breaks are healthy and beneficial in most cases, I have a tendency to get massively side tracked by social media/Hulu. Grab a snack and some water, go outside for some fresh air, and then get back to work.

Part 2: Self Care

The self care routine for studying: this is one way that I get myself in the mood to study. Be warned, it can easily turn into a procrastination method, so don’t do it if you’re working on a last minute assignment.

Clean your study space. Clear of your desk, open the windows, make sure everything is really neat and tidy. The focus here should be on creating an environment that is conducive to learning.  

Diffuse essential oils, burn incense, or light a few candles. When your space smells good, it makes it a lot easier to focus. Aside from this, alot of the oils and such can be really beneficial healthwise. I like using lemon when I need to focus, as well as a lavender and eucalyptus blend when I’m feeling sick or anxious. 

Put on some music. Find some shit that really slaps. It just really gets you going. I usually lean towards classical music, jazz, or electronic shit without any lyrics. If I do listen to music with lyrics, it’s usually in a different language, like French or Korean (ARMYs where you at). 

Tea! Or Coffee! Whatever floats your boat. If I’m going for the self care routine, I’ll typically make tea because it’s usually more relaxing for me.

Face mask! This one is just for fun, but I always feel 10x better after using a sheet mask or mud mask. Take some time to relax and study.

Take it slow. If you have the ability to study in this manner, aka not rushed as fuck, embrace it. Take your time and really understand the information in front of you. If it’s reading, annotate like crazy. If it’s writing, research and outline to your heart’s content. Enjoy the process. Learn cool shit. If it’s math, whip out a whiteboard and work all that shit out.

Part 3: Last Minute Studying

The next few tips are for when you’ve really fucked yourself over by procrastinating. Now you’re on a massive time crunch. It’s okay babe, take a deep breath; we’re gonna be a-okay.

Let yourself panic. One minute, tops. Any longer than that and you’ll probably spiral. Got it out of your system? Great. Let’s move on.

Know what needs to be done. Understand the parameters of the assignment and make sure you have everything you need. Does your teacher accept late work? If not, can you finish in time? As soon as you know this, sit your ass down and get started.

Don’t fuck around. If it’s an essay, just start typing. Don’t spend too much time on the outline at this point. After you’ve banged out a first draft you can look at structure and all of that. The important thing is that you have the content and your thoughts down on paper. Work on refining them later.

DON’T WORRY ABOUT PRETTY NOTES. If you’re studying last minute for an exam, now is not the time to practice hand lettering. It’s the time to drill as much info into your brain as possible.

Hit up Quizlet. Literally saves my ass at least 3 times a semester. Don’t just passively flip through flashcards either. Take tests, play games, do the reviews, print out sets if it helps to have it on paper. 

If writing/typing things over and over is how you learn, do it, but don’t focus on it being neat. Make sure you understand the info and organize it in a manner that makes sense, but don’t spend too much time here. It can also help a lot to learn languages by repetitive writing, especially if they use an alphabet system different from your own.

Listen to notes. If you have recordings of your notes, listen to them. Try to know the info through as many senses as possible. Read them, write them, listen to them. Repetition is key if you need to know something in short time frames.

Embrace the Grind. As hard as it can be to work under so much pressure, you should eventually get into the swing of things. Once you hit that zone, don’t leave it until you’re finished. Limit your breaks, drink coffee (don’t forget water too), and try to finish the project in time.

Part 4: Turning in a late assignment:

Turn it in. I know it can be hard/anxiety inducing to turn in late work, but some points are better than no points. 

Apologize to your professor. Let them know a) why it was late and/or b) how sorry you are for the inconvenience. I would do this through email, as well as in person, if possible. It shows that you care about the assignment and their class. Make it as sincere as possible, and hopefully they will accept it.

Come to terms with a lesser grade. If you turn it in late, you’ll probably get some points off, which is usually a fair deal. You had a responsibility to finish an assignment by a given time and for whatever reason you didn’t, thus consequences are inevitable. Just fucking accept the grade you get, as long as the content of your work is graded fairly.

Since you were under such a time crunch, there’s bound to be mistakes. Revise as much as you can, but turn it in as soon as possible. Accept that these mistakes may result in points off as well, but try to avoid really big ones. 

AVOID DOING THIS IN THE FUTURE (aka see the first part of this post). Procrastination can be a bitch. Unless there are unavoidable circumstances causing you to do last minute assignments, just stick with trying to manage your time better.

That’s all I’ve got for today! I am a sophomore in college, so while I have some experience, there’s still so much for me to learn. Feel free to add any other tips that work for you as well!

[bwinabi]

saint nothing: prologue

◽ pairing: taehyung + reader ◽ genre: grim reaper au ◽ word count: 2,605 ◽ warnings: depictions of violence and gore   

Friday nights called for trouble. Artful, alluring trouble. The kind of trouble that thinks they can outsmart death, outrun death, but they’re really only running the other way. After all, when you’re in the palm of death’s hand, where is there to go?

London, England, 1880

On one rainy Friday night, one particular streetlight on one particular busy street flickers, flickers, flickers--and goes out. A chill wrapped around each and every pedestrian as a whisper of something inhuman brushed past them. Death was here, and it looked like trouble lost the fight again--someone was dead.

A young man no older than his early twenties cruised down the street, his hat pulled low over his head, shielding his face from recognition. He hummed a tuneless song as he made his way down the cobbled walkway, talking to no one. The people around him made no effort to look his way or walk around his lithe figure to avoid collision, so instead the young man turned this way and that, slipping in between the soaking pedestrians to get to his destination. He, too, was drenched in rain, but he didn’t mind. The rain ran down his black-brimmed felt hat, sliding down the length of his black trenchcoat, down to his worn leather boots.

The people around the young man, hurrying to shelter under their umbrellas and makeshift umbrellas with their coats and suitcases, couldn’t see the slight upturn of his lips when he finally located the dark, narrow alleyway between two pubs. They couldn’t see the slight tightening of his fist as he anticipated what would happen in the next little while. They couldn’t see the glint off something on his wrist as he walked under another streetlight, the warm light catching on something reflective on his wrist.

The young man flicked his wrist reflexively, still not used to the new tightening of the bracelet locked in on his wrist. The Catcher. He understood why someone, some damned reaper, would want to escape from the loop of metal around one’s own wrist, cold and unforgiving, but didn’t they realize the consequences of their actions? The suffering they would leave behind? The young man put his hand on the metal now, feeling some sort of reassurance at the coolness under his fingertips. He thought with a grim smile, This damn cuff would probably cut off my circulation if blood were still running in my veins. But no. Now, the blood remains frozen in place, much like time to this unaging young man, cold and dead. There was a solitary clear, iridescent bead hooked impossibly on the rim of the bracelet--which is what caught the light--but the young man knew better than to try to rip it off, cast it away, and call it someone else’s responsibility. He knew the bead was worth far more than its appearance; he couldn’t afford to lose it. This bead was his responsibility, his soul to claim and put in its rightful place. He knew very well of the consequences if he didn’t do exactly as he was told.

When the young man closed his eyes, he could still see himself eons ago, merely a dead man with no memories of his past, feeling only the inexplicable dread of finally receiving the punishments for his actions that should have long ago been dealt to him. Death had come to collect his damned soul, and he was ready to meet his end. Instead, the young man of the past only saw darkness everywhere he turned, no signs or clues to indicate where he was or how the hell he was to get out of there. It was pitch-black to the point that he couldn’t even see his own hand in front of his face, but he surely felt it when a cold metal bracelet clicked into place around his wrist.

“Wha--” The young man had made the motion with his mouth, but no sound came out. Not even a whisper.

Suddenly, the empty darkness didn’t feel so empty anymore. The young man couldn’t explain how, but he knew there was someone--something--else in there with him.

Kim Taehyung.

The voice came from everywhere and nowhere all at once. It was filling the entire space; it was all in his head.

The crimes you have committed in your one lifetime are enough for you to spend the rest of your time in the pits of Hell until this world falls, but doing that would be showing you mercy.

The voices were one and many at the same time, monotonous and melodic in his ears, piercing his thoughts until he felt like there was a physical presence in his mind, tearing at his brain. He held his head with both hands to stop the swaying he felt rock his entire body. It felt like spiraling into an abyss that he could see no end. The voices continued.

Instead, to give you time to reflect on your damned actions and to experience for yourself the pain you have given to endless others, you will be given eternity to collect the souls of the dead. You will serve a life of isolation, with death as your only companion. You will become death.

The voices were growing in volume, and the young man felt physically sick from the spinning and the voices that seemed to take over his all. The voices wouldn’t stop.  

The bracelet on your wrist is the Catcher. You will be assigned to a certain location, and the others there will tell you of the details you’ll need to know in order for you to do your job properly. Do not bother trying to take the Catcher off; it will stay on until you leave this world entirely. You will not have any memory of your past for the safety of those you used to know.

Spinning, spinning, spinning. The young man felt bile rise to the back of his throat.

The torment and misery you have inflicted upon others has not been forgotten by them or their loved ones. Now, you will pay the price.

Taehyung’s eyes snapped open to the present. He had mindlessly walked to stand under the eaves of one of the pubs, just another man walking home from work, wanting to get some relief from the pouring rain. He stood there for a few moments more, watching the pedestrians hurry this way and that. No one batted an eye at him: at the man standing in the shadows, watching everyone go; at the man whose intentions were unclear, his eyes dark and heavy; at the man who looked quite different from everyone else on the street. But none of that mattered, because no one on that street could see him. Being a grim reaper really wasn’t pleasant at all, but one of the very few perks was the invisibility from the curious eyes of onlookers. The Soul Catcher on his wrist acted not only as a place where the collected souls went to; it also acted as a shield of invisibility, allowing death to slip through the seams without anyone knowing. As long as the bracelet was on him, no mortal could see him with their bare eyes. Unless--Unless there were special circumstances, of course. And unless their life was already draining out of their eyes, the seconds ticking down, and every breath they took was more likely than the last to be their final one. Such a man was found propped against one of the grimy walls of the alleyway between the pubs. Blood pooled around his limp body, streaming in rivulets down the cracked ground beneath him. One of his lungs were pierced with a particularly sharp pipeline, piercing through the muscles and soft tissues. Taehyung made his way down to the man, taking his time. This bastard wasn’t escaping him again.   

The dying man made no motion to crawl away. He was transfixed by the shadowed man that moved like a phantom in the falling rain; he was transfixed on the light at the end of the alleyway that slowly moved closer and closer to him. Shining in the dim alleyway was a particular bead radiating a dull glow hanging on an ice-cold bracelet, calling out for its owner, only metres away, choking on his own blood.  

Taehyung’s eyes slowly followed the man’s gaze to his wrist, his eyes still cold with indifference. The man before him was no stranger to sin, and Taehyung knew that guilt never registered with the dying man.

“Samuel Graystone.” Taehyung lightly tapped the bead on his bracelet, triggering a hologram of the name, birth, and death date of the soul that left the deteriorating body in front of him increasingly with each passing second. The light from the hologram lit up Taehyung’s face from below, giving him a demonic glow.

There were malicious words that Taehyung wanted to say, words caught in his throat, but he swallowed the urge to let the words slip out. No matter how diabolical those damned souls were, it wasn’t his place to tell them that. His job was to collect the souls and send them off to where they belong. And he would do just that.

“For twelve attempts of murder, three acts of murder, and numerous acts of theft, harassment, and bribery, your assassin had taken it upon himself to end your life. Cause of death: the 12-inch pipeline severed one of your lungs, causing you to choke on your own blood.” Taehyung enunciated each word clearly, looking into the other man’s eyes which were blown wide, his pupils swallowing everything out. “Do you submit to your death?”

Samuel Graystone was starting to black out. His blood bubbled in his throat, dribbling down his ruined shirt. The rain mixed with the blood, and if it was bright enough to see clearly, the watered down pink would be visible. When the words left the grim reaper’s lips, he felt the answer being pulled out of him like someone was physically reaching inside of him.

His voice isn’t his own when he answers, “Yes.”

Taehyung steps over the dead man and places a hand just hovering over the other man’s heart. A white wisp of smoke seems to appear from the dead man’s heart to the bracelet on Taehyung’s wrist. For one brief moment, the bracelet is warm. The bead shakes violently with its new occupant, filling the once-clear interior with a hazy mist. What happens next to him is up to how well he lived his mortal life. Who knows? Taehyung thought, his features twisting. Maybe all those crimes he’s committed will make him the next recruit.  

But never mind that. Taehyung closed his eyes, feeling an ecstasy from the life that flowed into him. The body before him may be empty and dead, but the soul was so very much alive. The rain seemed to hammer harder into the ground as the bead finished its shaking with a final shudder before fading into a smoke that died as soon as it appeared, washed out by the rain. The bracelet on Taehyung’s wrist was now empty, only a bare metal bracelet cuffed around Taehyung’s slender wrist.

Before turning back to the lively street that still streamed with late-night wanderers, drunk out of their minds, lingering near the pubs even though they should’ve gone home hours ago, Taehyung turns around to look back at the body left behind. None of the inebriated men out there realize the death of the man that just happened moments ago. None of them realize the fear that coursed through the man when he blindly ran his way into the alleyway, his heart pounding from his pursuer’s chase. None of them realize the hope that briefly sparked in him, even as the light behind his eyes slowly burned out, as he watched a well-dressed man back-lit by the pubs’ bright lights make his way towards him. He was saved. He wouldn’t die, not like this. Those jackasses couldn’t get him last time, and they wouldn’t get him again. As the man walked closer though, he couldn’t explain why all the hope in him vanished all at once. He wasn’t getting saved. He wasn’t getting out of there.

Do you submit to your death?

Taehyung tipped his hat at the dead man. It was a tradition for him, to show a little courtesy, as though a brief display of manners could make up for taking their soul away. From his place in the alley, it looked like the man was staring at him with his glossy eyes. The dead man’s eyes were wide open--and stay that way.

//

The door to the Victorian house swung open with a loud creak. Taehyung was soaked from head to toe, and he stood in the doorway, contemplating on how to best get to his room without leaving a trail of muddy rainwater up the stairs.

Around the doorway, Yoongi sleepily made his way towards Taehyung, holding a steaming cup in his hand. “You’re back.”

He didn’t at all seemed fazed by the fact that his roommate had come home at such an ungodly hour. If anything, he only expressed his annoyance at Taehyung’s choice of clothing.

“Are you serious? That’s my trench coat! Look at all the fricking mud you got on it.” Yoongi glared at Taehyung in distaste. “You’re buying me a new one.”

“Aw, come on, hyung.” Taehyung flashed him a cheeky smile, gingerly taking off the dripping coat to hang on a rack. “You have dozens of these coats in your closet! What’s one less coat for a friend in need?”

“Hmph.” Yoongi set his cup down on the wooden slab table, rubbing his eyes. “I don’t know how you have the energy to go around at night and still be awake in the morning.”

“I take my job seriously.” Taehyung padded into the sitting area. “Why are you so tired?”

“You know why.” Yoongi lifted his wrist, expressionless, letting the bracelet do the talking. There, hung precariously on the rim of the bracelet, were nearly ten beads, each clear and void of its occupant. “I’m not getting any younger, and these souls aren’t easy to catch, kid.”

Taehyung’s lips quirked up. “Hyung, I’m not that much younger than you.”

“Yeah, yeah, show some respect to your elder.” Yoongi took a sip of his drink, grimacing at the scalding heat. “I’ve caught at least a thousand more souls than you, and somedays I just want to give up, you know? I didn’t ask for this job. Those souls trapped in their dead bodies want to wreak havoc on this world? I say let them have it.”

Taehyung shook his head, knowing that Yoongi didn’t mean a word he said; perhaps it was true that Yoongi’s age was getting to him, but Taehyung knew better than anyone that Yoongi didn’t take his job lightly either. Yoongi taught Taehyung everything he knew about being a grim reaper.

Yoongi continued, “I could honestly sleep for the rest of the century if these damn beads didn’t keep getting sent to me.” He held one between his fingers now and looked at it with something like disgust.

Taehyung, laughing good-naturedly, replies, “That’s your job, hyung.” He took the iridescent bead from Yoongi’s death grip and carefully let it hang back gently on the bracelet like he was afraid he would break the soul attached to the name on the God-forbidden bead if he set it down any more roughly. “Besides,” he added with a dark glint in his eye, “we’ll have the rest of eternity to sleep in hell anyway.”

◽ author’s note: if you’ve read this far and think that you’ve read this story before, you’re probably right! i’m re-uploading this from my other blog, which isn’t a writing blog :p

[vaguelybatman]

lol we’re just going to pretend my oven and stove are prepared for Passover.

I wanted to replace the drip pans of my stove but i can’t get the damn things out to put the new ones in.

I tried so hard to get everything ready but i just feel like my apartment is more of a wreck than it was when i started. It doesn’t help that my sister’s staying with me. I love her but we’re a mess together xD. My place isn’t big enough for two people.

Honestly, I was hoping to have all of this so much more together by now. Three months ago, I’d planned to have talked to someone about conversion by now. But then life got in the way and I’m no closer to talking to anyone than I was then. I might even be farther away, considering I actually went to shul every once in a while last semester.

I did so much more last semester. I went to club meetings and classes. I turned in assignments. As it is right now, I have four late assignments I should be doing over the break but I haven’t even tried to do them.

I feel so disconnected from everything. I don’t care about my classes. or whether or not i have an internship for the summer. or my Judaism. I took a step back from my observance because I was starting to feel appropriative doing everything I was without having actually starting the process yet but now I’m starting to feel like it wasn’t real to begin with. I still want to convert but I’m too far away from anywhere to start right now and who knows where I’ll be next year. I don’t even know where I’ll be in six weeks.

It feels like so long since I’ve done anything geology related. I only have class three days a week and they’re all lectures and theoreticals. It feels like it’s been forever since I was out in the field actually doing what I’m supposed to be training for. I haven’t looked at a rock or thin section in months and I’m low-key worried that I’m going to forget it all because I never have been as good at this as my grades would have you believe.

I feel like I’m getting more respect from my minimum wage fast food job than from my graduate program. I don’t know anyone here. No one cares if I’m in class or not. Or if I’m learning anything. My advisor couldn’t pick me out of a line up and I’ve taken two of his classes.

I’ve been using my job as a distraction from the rest of my life. I’ve been working four or five days a week and staying late on purpose because I like it there better than at school. I get to interact with people, not even just the customers but my coworkers. They like me and thank me for stuff and I feel like they appreciate me. I don’t even know if it’s a good work environment or if I was just so starved for human contact that anything seems good right now.

I can’t, however, see myself working there full time. I do want to do more with myself and I do feel like I’m spiraling a little because I just don’t care. I was so stressed out before but then my grandmother died and I got back from the funeral and I couldn’t care less. I don’t even think that it’s the grief or anything because I don’t think it’s hit me yet. I didn’t talk to her much while I was at school before so nothing seems different here. But I missed a whole week of school because of it and there were no consequences (besides one more missing assignment that I could have finished in time had I not just decided to stop working a few hours before it was due for no reason, which i would have done anyway).

I have the option of potentially graduating in December but I don’t know if I want to take it. I really haven’t been happy here but at the same time, I don’t want to rush grad school. I don’t know who to talk to about it because my advisor is useless and anyone else at the school would encourage me to stay just so I could keep paying the school. Some of my family has been trying to convince me to just quit after this semester. To do something else closer to home for a little while until I get some more experience that I can do whatever I want. But if I did that, what was the point of this year?

Ah, but then that’s the problem, isn’t it? I don’t have the experience. And at this point, I’m too over qualified for undergrad internships and tangentially-related fields and too under experienced for anything else. I’ve been applying places for months with few-to-no answers. I was grateful I got the fast food job when I did because I’d placed six other applications at the same time and still haven’t heard a single word from any of them.

I hate the whole system involved with applying to something. I’ve applied to countless jobs, internships, and colleges in these last few years and all I can say is it absolutely sucks. There is no way to convey what kind of person you are on an online application. I feel like most applications care more about some box I check than if I actually know anything. And that’s if they even look at them at all. 80% of the time, it feels like I’m just sending things into empty space, never to be seen by human eyes (like this post for example lol).

Wow this turned into a lot... I’m cool, really. It’s just a bunch of bullshit at once. I’m going on an adventure with my sister tomorrow so that will be fun. I just need to get my shit together a little and get a plan. I hate not knowing what’s going to happen.

[thisisthemostimportantidea724]

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[0poole]

Edge of Tomorrow VS Groundhog Day VS Undertale

So me and my family just recently rewatched Edge of Tomorrow, which naturally led us to rewatching Groundhog Day (Except it was my first viewing, apparently it’s one of my parent’s all-time favorite movies) and while doing that I realized Undertale deals with a similar concept to the two films. And, since I’m so in love with basic concepts taken to their natural extremes in stories, I really feel like talking about it. I don’t really know what there is to get out of me talking about it but hey I feel like doing it anyway.

So yeah, I love stories that revolve around one simple, basic concept. You don’t need any interstellar wars with deep political intrigue or complex interpersonal relations to hold up a story if you just say “hey, here’s a weird thing that’s going on and here’s what happens because of it.” From there, you could basically do anything and keep me interested. 

Obviously all the stories are good ones, but I definitely think there’s a hierarchy in how the idea is dealt with. 

Edge of Tomorrow is probably the worst of the bunch, mainly because it feels like the “Time Travel” aspect of the movie is just a sort of tool inside of a normal alien-action movie with the shitty alien hive mind plot device that I actually can’t stand at all anymore but that’s a rant for another day. I still like the movie, obviously, because I like the concept and the aliens at least look really cool, but after watching Groundhog Day I’m realizing there’s some iffy-er feelings about it. First of all, the thing I realized without even having to watch GHD is that they really try to explain too much. The whole problem behind that is that, even with the explanation, it still makes no sense what so ever. Apart from the hive mind device, I also hate it when alien species are presented with “biological superpowers” like they just naturally evolved to control time somehow. Obviously until we actually meet any aliens all bets are off, but as far as we know that is completely ludicrous. The whole “Time Travel” ability is so supernatural that, even when they say “That’s just how the aliens are and getting dissolved by their blood gives you the same power too but only while you still have their blood” is so contrived that you just think “Okay. Sure.” 

I feel like, if you’re to explain anything like this, you really have to make it realistically work or just forego it all together. If you try to give rules to something, all you’re doing is giving Youtube movie reviewers the ammunition to dismiss your whole movies because of plot holes. For example, the plot hole of the main girl character somehow knowing that getting your blood replaced removes your power even though she would have to die to truly be sure. When you try to explain everything, the viewer expects you to explain that too, and as far as I remember it was just a “It felt like it was gone.” Also, spoilers, at the end of the movie when Cruz woke up in the helicopter after destroying the center of the hive mind, it sort of confused you because you weren’t really sure where the starting point for the “Time Travel” starts. If he just woke up on the ground like he did before, you’d just accept it, but changing the location and time makes you think there’s something else at work, and therefore we should at least have some idea of what it is. That one’s kinda just a side affect of the quirkiness of time travel though, especially because he went back in time to right about when the aliens died as a whole even though he technically did that in the future, and yet his current time is seemingly drastically affected by it because he somehow got a higher rank after destroying them... It’s just a mess, and it feels like a mess because we expect an explanation, even though it would just be arbitrary anyways. Again, since something like this just can’t be explained well, trying to explain it just doesn’t feel satisfying.

But to be fair, the one thing I loved about both of the films is the editing as the main character gets into a routine with his infinite day. The way they shrink everything down in time slowly but surely, and then when emotions strike high they show us most of the generic events again. Really, it’s one of the few times you can confidently say that the editing was the best part of the movie. Usually it’s just the acting, plot, characters, etc, but you rarely get something where the editing is in the forefront.

Also the glowy spaghetti aliens looked cool.

But for Undertale, I really only realized it sort of used the same idea as I watched Bill Murray kill himself a dozen times. Unlike the films, Undertale of course could be more meta about it and say the “Time Travel” is just video game logic applied to the canon story itself. Also, the events are being experienced by multiple characters, including the player. It was basically one of the selling points of the game, because the idea of video game logic as a plot device wasn’t really as well known as it is now (thanks to it itself for popularizing it). It didn’t really have to explain much because it was sort of built upon what we already know, i.e. that we die in the game and reset time to our last save point. All they had to do is just say “Hey, that’s called ‘Determination’” and that’s it. When you have Determination, you come back from the dead and keep going. Considering they didn’t try so hard to explain that in detail, you can somewhat pass off the little things, like why the stars specifically are the points at which you come back, etc. When you don’t try to explain things so hard, “plot holes” just become irrelevant details.

But the bigger selling point for Undertale is the characters, and Sans especially is the one made the most interesting out of the concept. Flowey did have the power, and he just went full psychopath on everyone just to see what happened, which naturally is another key point of the game. Him being completely devoid of emotion and sympathy also made him relatively interesting, but Sans being completely unable to control any of it was basically why I like him as a character. Naturally a lot of these characters are sort of one-off personalities, which is definitely fine because of how fun and well written they are. So, you see Sans and you’re like “Okay yeah, he’s lazy and makes jokes. That’s him.” But then you fight him, and say he’s so lazy because he can’t muster up the courage to do anything because he knows that when the player resets the game he’ll just go back in time like he never did it. That’s basically the next ideal step in exploring the concept. GHD is the most basic version of the idea, where the guy that time’s focused around just does whatever he feels like, EoT is when the guy uses the power to save humanity, and UT (or just Sans’ character) is about how a person without this power would react to someone else using the power. It’s actually seriously interesting, and a perfect way to explain a character’s personality. Also, you can’t disrespect an amazing battle theme. 

But, as you’d expect from the order, Groundhog Day is the king of them all, because it is just pure concept. Literally nothing supernatural happens to Murray (and yes I refer to characters by their actors sometimes sue, me) to cause the “Time Travel,” and literally nothing supernatural happens to him to stop it. All the movie is is just “This is happening and this is how he reacts.” Frankly, for something like this, that’s the ideal. You go to the movie in order to see what happens when a guy has to relive one single day no matter what, and that’s it. No extra bells or whistles. You get exactly what you came for, and you get it in such high quality it’s perfect. No one has to care why it’s happening.

First of all, I love how it’s focused around Groundhog Day and the weather as a whole. Weather is so unpredictable that even the professionals have to assign a percentage to it. It’s one of the least predictable things we know of, and that’s exactly why it’s perfect here, because it shows for absolute sure what’s going on. Murray can predict everything, so he could even predict the most unpredictable thing in these circumstances.

Second, it’s a great mish-mash of two key elements of the concepts from both EoT and UT. From EoT, he used his knowledge of the day to his advantage, like anyone would, but using the knowledge differently at different times (i.e. knowing he’ll meet an old friend, to remembering his name, then to punching him in the face, then to buying out his insurance, etc). From UT, he feels like it is happening out of his control, so you get the middle-late section of the movie where he spirals into a deep depression, and throughout just changing his personality. It all feels so natural. At first, you’d totally say “Yeah, I’d do that if I were in his shoes” and towards the end you’d say “Yeah, that’s probably how I would end up if I were actually in his shoes...” I mean, personally I’d go the skill-learning route first but that’s besides the point. You come in wondering what would happen to the guy, and you get exactly that. It just feels right.

Plus, it was just written extremely well, both in the natural progression of his character and in the humor. I’ll always die on the hill of movies having to make you laugh before they can make you truly cry. It lets your guard down. I swear, the day where Murray realizes his actions have no consequences is one of the best parts of any movie I’ve seen. It was so hilarious and fun, even though internally you’re a bit like “What an asshole.” Then you get to the montage of him nonchalantly killing himself, and you really just feel bad for him. Considering humans, as you’d guess, experience a full range of emotions, showing his full range makes him feel so much more human, making him easy to sympathize with. Then, with the cathartic solution at the very end (which is where I usually cry to be honest, not sure why), it feels so good to see him break out of the giant loop of emotions he went through, especially since he seemingly got the best possible ending out of all of them, where he didn’t brute force his way into his love’s heart, and found the goodness inside of him by ignoring his personal interests and consistently doing things to the benefit of others, even though he knows he’ll just have to do it again tomorrow. I’m not sure where to fit it in cleanly but the turning point of him realizing he can’t do a single thing to save that homeless man’s life was seriously heartbreaking, because he felt even more out of control than he already did. 

But yeah, this post was pretty much just a stealth way of me saying how much I like Undertale and Groundhog Day and also mentioning how much I hate the hive mind alien plot devices.

Seriously. What kind of alien species would evolve to be that dependent on a single being? Surely one wrong move means their extinction, right? How could an entire species exist that long under that principle? I would kill for a movie that makes it seem like their aliens are a hive mind, but then once they kill the “queen” the drones all turn on the heroes and wail on them, and after they’re done they just biologically convert one of them into a new queen. You know, like how it actually happens in nature. Every cliche needs exactly and only one instance where another form of media points at it explicitly and laughs, and I’ve yet to see that for this damn hive mind cliche. At least go the Alien route and make the enemy a single organism, so there’s no funny business. I mean I’d also kill for more movies like Valerian where there are so many normal, human-tier aliens that just exist together in a society like actual sentient (sapient) beings. Baby steps, though. I just want good aliens.