#you know. one must imagine sisyphus happy

[autistic-shaiapouf]

Prepping my little transponder to go on my car so I can pay for toll roads with it but it's refusing to let me finalize my account due to "unpaid debt" associated with my bank account :')

[ghostlyerlkonig]

Sharing my philosophy of life here too, keep living, okay? Cool. Cool cool.

[pyaarisms]

med school is truly making me into sisyphus

[unoisveimved-un-proffesional]

can i be honest for a second...

we not staying silly :(

we seriously sad and sopping...

[tim-official]

one must imagine sisyphus actually pretty miserable. because he has to roll a huge rock up a hill over and over and that sounds like it would get old fast. i dont know why you would imagine him happy

[gerogerigaogaigar]

Phineas and Ferb fascinates me from a structural standpoint. I'll admit I haven't watched the show front to back, but I've caught the odd episode here and there and I certainly get the gist of it.

The first time I saw P&F it seemed charming but unremarkable, the second and probably third time it became obvious that it was a clever but formulaic show. At some point it clicked. Children's shows are usually formulaic, Dee Dee will destroy Dexter's invention, Elmer Fudd will fail to hunt the Wabbit, He-Man will defeat Skeletor, and Sisyphus will roll that boulder up that hill. Phineas and Ferb asks not just that we imagine Sisyphus happy, but that we imagine that he is ecstatic to see that boulder roll down the hill.

Where the status quo is an unspoken rule of older cartoons it is the explicit law of the P&F universe. There is a roadmap to every episode, you probably already know it but I will spell it out regardless. Phineas will say the phrase "I know what we're gonna do today" thus kicking off their project for the episode. Candace will try and fail to get them "busted". There will be a musical number. Meanwhile Doofenshmirtz will have made an -inator that Perry will be called upon to destroy. Perry will get caught, Doofenshmirtz will explain his plan, Perry will escape, destroy the -inator and the ensuing chaos will clean up Phineas and Ferb's backyard shenanigans just in time for their mom to get home. Ferb says something at the very end, often his only line in the whole episode. The end.

There are stock lines that must be said. "I know what we're gonna do today" "I wonder where Perry is" "Busted" "🎵Doofenshmirtz Evil Incorporated🎶". The show doesn't just have a cartoon status quo, the universe operates off of the laws of cartoon status quo to the extent that characters actively notice when the cycle doesn't complete correctly. The characters seemingly know that their world operates on cartoon physics, but to them it's just physics. In P&F a giant whirlwind carrying away a giant backyard amusement park is as natural as gravity.

Candace's place as the character who knows this is all insane must be a tortuous existence considering the whole world is conspired against her. Not out of a cosmic meanness but a deep thematic kindness. Candace is the only character whose intent is to cause purposeful harm and the universe will not let her get away with it.

Truly this is one of the most unerringly kind shows I've ever seen. It is unreal how much faith it puts into wordplay, running jokes, and raw absurdity to carry itself while never stepping into the realm of cartoon cruelty.

You know cartoon cruelty. It's why Tom gets punished for Jerry's actions and why the Trix rabbit can never eat his own damn cereal. At its best cartoon cruelty manifests as Ed, Edd n Eddy or the Looney Tunes short Duck Amok where there is catharsis in seeing the characters hoisted by their own petard. At its worst you get CatDog which is so intensely cruel to the character of Cat that I can't comprehend what the writers were going for.

The confident lack of irony is part of what makes Phineas And Ferb work. The show is a parade of cartoon cliches and dad jokes and it never it never winks at the viewer or lampshades how silly this is. It just has absolute faith that the corniest jokes ever really are that funny. And so they are. I actually laugh out loud every time they do the "Aren't you a little young for this?" "Yes, yes I am" bit. Maybe it's the delivery, maybe it's just the confidence in the bit. Probably a bit of both. I am smiling to myself just thinking of this dumb running joke.

But what this all amounts to is what every bit of fandom wankery amounts to. I am of course talking about shipping. For my money the best bit in the show is the romantic framing of Doofenshmirtz and Perry's rivalry. This is where the show's cartoon logic and unrepentant kindness synthesize perfectly. The homoerotic undertones of the spy/supervillain dynamic are an extremely tired observation and are usually only emphasized in an ironic sense to poke fun at pieces that never intended the gay subtext. P&F flips this joke by not being even a little bit ironic about it, but still adhering to the unspoken nature of the gag.

The end result is that Perry and Doofenshmirtz's status as a romantic couple is tacitly understood to be part of the shows status quo, but never commented on. The world of P&F is too inherently kind to be homophobic (homophobia being a key component of the joke) but it still has a joke shaped hole to fill. So it does the funniest possible thing and fills the hole with nothing. The joke is the lack of a joke. The expectation of a joke that is met with a shrug from the show's own internal logic. And that's really funny. An evil scientist and a platypus are in a loving relationship that happens to also be a hero/villain rivalry. Don't worry about it. It's not the weirdest thing happening in the tri state area I promise.

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

after reading the ending and seeing the meltdown on twitter over the mistranslation before the official chapter it's just kind of annoyed me how people view gojo as some perpetually insecure, self deprecating dude when he was never that.

Ofc geto's defection fucked him over and that loss of a valuable bond was the guiding force behind a lot of choices he made in life but he was always, always fond of jujutsu itself, it's the orthodox structure and lone burden on his shoulders he disliked.

Even nanami clocked him for that in 236. That he enjoyed the thrill of sorcery. I hate satoru's uwufication (and don't get me wrong he's very much my cutie patootie) but to view his complexities as just insecurities is such a narrow view.

It's also why it didn't really surprise me when he "went south" in 236. So many people called his confession in that chapter ooc but in my opinion that raw vulnerability was so intriguing and on brand for him lol. Loving the fight, not being able to hate sukuna, trying to reach him through his skills, admitting the distance he created with others because the gap was just that big, and choosing to stay in the blue spring this time because that period was the most blissful time of his life..it's the first time he chose himself and chose life as Satoru and not just as the strongest.

And to see this same effect happen during the leak mistranslation with so many gojo stans babying him again and it was so..like bro 😭 are we sure we read the same content

THIS . THIS . THIIIIIIIS

anon thank you for putting this into words bc i have been struggling to do the same 💀 but i absolutely agree!!! i also have a big issue with people viewing him as insecure or sad because i truly think gojo was fully comfortable in his own isolation . he’s never pitied himself, and that makes him more tragic, not less. the mistranslation thing in 271 with ’i also have love and dreams’ just made me sigh because that’s just something gojo wouldn’t say 😭…. obviously he has dreams and he has love but he’d never frame that sentence in such a self-pitying way — he’s only telling yuji to carry on his dream if he dies. that’s all.

i can’t explain it super well but to me the greatest tragedy of gojo’s character is that he so rarely gets upset over his own situation — he’s been used and abused in plenty of ways but i don’t think he actually minds, because that’s all he knows. he’s staggeringly mature and resigned and that’s an aspect of his character i think isn’t talked about enough. he even finds joy in his own situation, through fighting and teaching, despite how much weight he has to carry. how overworked he is. ’one must imagine sisyphus happy’ applies really well to gojo, i think…….

and that’s why a lot of fandom takes just . irk me 😭 the truth is that gojo probably wouldn’t mind having his body used after death. and like he himself says in 271 — he doesn’t mind if people forget him. that’s just the kind of guy he is. he’s tragic in the sense that he goes with the flow and accepts the reality of his own existence without wishing for anything different. i think he did have hope that he wouldn’t have to be alone when he was with suguru, but after his defection that hope disappeared. suguru’s importance to satoru is one thing i don’t think anyone can ignore, but i don’t think he turned into some kind of empty shell after he left, either — suguru was simply the end of satoru seeking out meaningful, equal human connection.

…… until sukuna :3c

which!!! for the record!!!!!! i 100% agree with you on. 236 is one of my favorite chapters and i will literally fight the ooc allegations until the day i die bc i don’t think they understand gojo 💀 sorry to say. him finding value in fighting someone like sukuna makes all the sense in the world considering he’s the closest thing satoru has gotten to being on truly equal grounds with someone. and the fact that satoru wanted to teach sukuna about love speaks volumes about his character, how much he detests the isolation of strength. satoru isn’t a saint, but he’s a good guy with very particular motivations. and him finding peace in the bliss of his youth, right after being referred to as ’satoru gojo’ by sukuna …….. must have felt soooo liberating. criticisms about the aftermath of his death aside, i do think this was the happiest ending for someone like gojo.

i will say that nanami’s comment in 236 is often misunderstood as well — he’s specifically talking about teen gojo, not adult gojo. adult gojo fights for plenty of things, not just the thrill — but obviously he still enjoys that even now. i think a lot of people make the mistake of either viewing gojo as some morally corrupt fight loving feral maniac (which is just plain wrong), or viewing him as this sad, sad man who never wanted to fight (which is also plain wrong)…. he’s a deeply tragic character with a lot of kindness in his heart, and even at the very end i don’t think he was truly sad over his own circumstances.

i hope . that was semi-coherent ;;; sorry for just hijacking your ask anon but this was a good opportunity for me to talk about some things that have been bugging me for a while 😭 gojo is a wonderfully written character and i don’t think he was ooc even in 271 (though the talk with yuji felt sloppy to me in execution), i just wish his death had been handled as well as it deserved to be ….

[lesbianphan]

The Myth of Sisyphus and PHILosophy (lol) - a brief essay on two nerds playing a game that might not be that deep but hey who's gonna stop me from pushing this boulder up the hill of writing this?

Disclaimer: it's finally my turn to use my useless degree that included a lot of literary analysis for something extremely important to society: analyzing Dan and Phil content!!! yay!!! This is about to be incredibly nerdy and waffly, but like what else are you doing with your time anyway on phannie tumblr?? (pls read it, I just reread Camus for this for the first time in years okay I'm dedicated to my craft)

"The struggle itself towards the heights is enough to fill a man's heart. One must imagine Sisyphus happy." Albert Camus

As a part of Camus' essays on absurdist philosophy, The Myth of Sisyphus deals with the pointlessness of existence, through retelling the story of the greek myth about the titular character who, as a punishment for defying Death, was condemned to spend eternity pushing a boulder up a hill just to watch it fall back down. That may sound bleak, such is the futile nature of getting up every day and doing tasks, after all.

However, that's not really what the essay conveys. As the quotation provided in the beginning shows, Camus' takeaway about the myth of Sisyphus isn't about how easy it would be to take the option of not engaging at all with the repetitive tasks that make life what it is, or even focusing on how disappointing this pointlessness is. It's about how the journey of getting up everyday and motivating yourself to hit the peak of the hill is all there is to life, really. The absurd conclusion is, ultimately, that pushing the boulder up the hill everyday is what true revolt against the senselessness of the universe is. If there is no reason, we make the reason by climbing up with our rock everyday.

We choose to be happy every day and appreciate our rock, our hill, our existence as a whole. We choose to believe Sisyphus is happy, and, as disappointing at it may sound at first, it's worth it to live your existence, as long as you decide to appreciate your present more than your future (the destination, that elusive peak of the hill).

In Dan's words, you decide to have "just one good night" together every night on tour, you appreciate the journey of climbing out of that mental health hole again. You climb up that hill again and again, because it's worth it, and there are things - bigger than yourself or your personal boulder or even your destination, - that are worth fighting for every day. You embrace the void, and have the courage to exist today, not tomorrow atop the hill.

As Camus' Myth of Sisyphus was, admitedly, one of the inspirations behind We're All Doomed (and it shows!), it makes it even more intriguing to inquire about how much of their reactions to that particular game about Sisyphus informs their perspectives on the world and their personal philosophies.

As a disclaimer, I must add: I don't claim to know Dan and Phil personally, and I only have acess to the parts of them they decide to share, the performing side of them. So, quite obviously, I can be fully off the mark on this one. Still I think it's interesting to dive into, if not for accuracy, at least for better understanding of the personas they portray online, and how their worldviews bleed into it.

The first big point a lot of people brought to the table is the shift in Dan's philosophy ever since writing and performing We're All Doomed and (most likely) a lot of therapy and work on himself over the years. Gone are the days of existential crises being treated as a joke, or mental health in general being discussed without care for what the audience may take from it. During the video, it's quite apparent that he tries very hard to mantain that voice of reason (sometimes breaking it out of frustration, which is fair!), to somehow guide us into an understanding of what this philosophy means to him personally and to his self-proclaimed magum opus WAD.

This is relevant, of course, insofar as this becomes the thesis of the video, silly gameplay and jokes aside. So I couldn't not mention it here, as it's extremely noticeable and commendable of him to now have a different kind of perspective towards the topic of mental health, in this more mature era of their content. You can tell it's relevant to him to try to get the point of the myth across, in a way that tells his audience, as much as it tells himself, that giving up isn't a choice. You must keep pushing that boulder and you must believe that Sisyphus is happy, and so will you be during that journey up the hill. Even when it falls down again and you meet frustration, you pick yourself back up and keep trying to enjoy the present once again.

Secondly, regarding Dan's behavior during the gameplay, it's notable that he gets extremely frustrated when the boulder falls down (who wouldn't?). However, he always tries to catch it and put it back in the path upwards, instead of throwing his hands and giving up like Phil seems to do. This shows, very loosely, how he handles frustration in his own life: trying to fix things and get them right on path again. It's sometimes the most difficult choice to make, but it's extremely corageous to just keep trying in face of extreme frustration. We've seen it all over gaming videos, but also on his own personal projects getting shut down, and Dan still insisting on carrying on creating things that are personal to him, even in face of rejection.

Phil, however, seemed to give up out of frustration extremely easily, so much so that Dan kept pointing it out how he'd let go of the controls and let it happen. It might not mean much, but since he himself claims he gives up on things that are too difficult, it might just be an aspect of his personality to literally let go in face of things he perceives as impossible to achieve.

It is also notable that when he made a mistake, no matter how competitive they usually are on the surface, Phil decided to ask Dan for help, or try to tag out entirely and hand it over. This may not only be related to frustration, but also to knowing how to ask for help, and also a belief that Dan is "the strongest one out of both of us" and he will be there always to help (quite adorable). Dan's tenacity in front of difficult situations is a great complement to Phil's anxious eagerness to hand over the controls when things get overwhelming.

It's interesting to point out how their personal worldview influenced their gameplay as well. Dan was focused, sharp, driven to get to the top of the mountain by keeping in complete control of the boulder at all times. He held on tight to the challenges and kept going, and he wasn't afraid to run back and catch himself enough to try again. Phil's style showed something very interesting about him that is notable in gaming videos in particular: Phil's propensity for making little goals and celebrating the little things in the path to a goal.

Getting through one obstacle that was once difficult is enough to make Phil seem content with his progress. He celebrates every little step of the journey and, in that way, it's easier for him to appreciate it naturally. He's focused on the little tasks more than the big picture, and that makes the experience more enjoyable. His goals shift, of course, as they progress through the level, and the difficulty ramps up. Even so, he's still more likely to point out that's the farthest they've gotten and, hey look at this ramp, let's get through this ramp and then we've won, because that's my goal right now, and that's enough to make me happy in the present.

This counterbalances Dan's more bleak outlook wonderfully as well. While Dan is focused on making it to the top of the hill, and gets extremely discouraged seeing there's a lot more ahead they'll never get to experience, Phil's view is that they got through that one challenge and, surely, next time they'll get through one more, and so on and so forth. Focusing on smaller things is, ultimately, a good way of finding happiness in the process of pushing up that boulder.

Moreover, Phil's brief comment about how you could "make up little stories in your head" is also extremely telling of the kind of person he is. As Camus' philosophy claims: the only way to live with an absurd world is by living through it and learning what it means to be happy in a world that doesn't make sense. In Phil's mind, a bearable way to get through the harrowing experience of every day existence is making up stories, which matches up with his creative mind. Art and creation are indeed things that can make life worth living, and it seems that even subconsciously, that's the path he'd choose against the pointlessness of repetition. The joy of creation is, certainly, and extremely human and beautiful way to find meaning in life.

The most interesting point I'd like to raise, though, is how they got through that game together: as much as Dan accused Phil of distracting him, it was interesting to see that he didn't notice that's entirely the point. The boulder falling down is nothing compared to the stories we share, the conversations we make. What is important is the journey you take, and hearing about your best friend's weird school inter-sports anecdotes, even if you have to start over because you got distracted.

And that's entirely the point I'd like to leave this of with: pushing up that boulder is only worth it if you learn to live, if you learn to love, if you learn to enjoy the present moment, instead of focusing on that ever elusive destination. Therefore, what makes not only the video interesting, but also the game bearable at all, is their interaction with each other. Much like in life as partners, Dan and Phil would, obviously, climb that hill together. They would find the joy in the little moments together, laugh, yell, get frustrated, pick each other back up again in moments of frustration, and keep going up that hill together.

The only way to live is if one imagines Sisyphus happy. The only way to exist is if you decide that, no matter what, you'll create your own meaning. The only way is to find joy in the now instead of later. The only way to make those grueling day to day tasks happy and fun, is by choosing hapiness. Dan and Phil have, in every sense, decided to keep climbing up that hill of existence together. It may be slow and clumsy and loud at times, but it's their own experience. Ultimately, the only way to experience that gaming content is by imagining Dan and Phil are happy to make it for us, and that we can all share a little bit of our hill in moments of laughter and community. That's what makes life worth it in the end.

A/N: this may be the weirdest thing I've ever done, pls accept me for who I am, thank!

[chimaerite]

the eternal absurdity of hannigram

In Greek mythology, Sisyphus is condemned to endlessly roll a rock up a hill. His eternal labour underscores the importance of embracing the present and finding joy in process, no matter of absurdity.

“I've never known myself as well as I know myself when I'm with him” Will Graham confesses, his head lifts up, eyes retrieving from the sodden ground to meet Chiyoh’s. The woman sighs a shaky breath, her graceful hand moves forward for a handshake, head nodding.

“Fine, we will go find him.”

While there are other means to violence, as Chiyoh puts it, love had never been Will Graham’s first instinct to project. Inadvertently, he found himself oddly drawn to Hannibal. Whenever with Alana, he felt indifferent. More importantly, he feels ashamed to have professed his love for her yet felt so immature to act on anything apart from a singular kiss. He builds up a false swelling of emotion in his heart, yet is condemned to have it all roll down, back to the beginning. Only then, can his footing change, and he return back to the start.

He's happy, he says. He leans down to his dogs each day with a softly bright smile that the dogs refract. He laughs at Price and Fisher’s jokes, even if they jab at him in the slightest. He smiles for Jack Crawford, for Beverly, his co-workers – and, though they have learned to never bring it up, they know deep down something in Will has broken like a teacup to carpeted ground, silent yet shattering.

It's absurd, the situation. Will knows this. Absurd is Hannibal’s thirst, his ego, his looks, his brains, his blood, his scent of stupid smell and Will cannot shove him out of his chambers. What’s even more absurd is the current situation of a false identity by Hannibal, which presents Will with an infuriating challenge to find him in Florence. He squeezes his eyes shut and explores the darkness. The chapel stained glass casts an ambient light around him, although it does not affect him.

One must imagine Will Graham happy.

He should be deep in thought about the case on his hands, but he finds his mind seeping towards Hannibal. Does Hannibal believe in God? Likely not – yet he plays his cards as such. Spoken outwardly to be in the image of god, Hannibal claims killing to be morally passive. In fact, if Hannibal is God in the abstract, metaphysical form, then Will would be damned. For he is condemned for eternity to have such a boulder hindering the rest of his life – in the acts of love or not. He rolls the boulder forward, hands splayed against the jagged harshness, and pushes; desireful, he finds himself sweating profusely.

Unknowingly to Will, the wendigo has crept up behind him as he seats in the gallery. Will opens his eyes to meet Hannibal’s, the glare shining behind him like a glory light. He’s nicely suited as always, on the contrary to Will, and his eyes are crescented as always, but light presents itself differently this time in his eyes. Before any coherent words came from the unfaltering passion behind Will’s inner voice spoke out:

“If I saw you everyday, Will, I would remember this time.” He speaks carefully - tenderly, even - his hands clasp in front of his legs as he takes a seat next to Will. The man rolls his eyes, but a faint smile, more genuine than the one he generally shows, plays on his battered lips.

Chiyoh was right, there are other means of influence than violence, and an eternity more to combat it.

Based on NBC Hannibal Season 3 Episode 6: Dolce

[sorcerous-caress]

to dance with you | Astarion

[ fluff, heavy angst, bad end, character death, trauma, nb!reader ]

[Before the events of bg3, Reader is one of Astarion's victims ]

I am very sorry.

There was no taste to numbness, no colour, shape, or smell.

Just an absence, an emptiness. 

You couldn't escape it, no matter how much you tried. Much like total darkness, the abyss waited for you back home at the end of the day.

And while you knew it was hopeless to attempt to rationalise your way out of it, to cling to some justifications that explain that lack of warmth in your life, that just maybe it somehow made you superior to endure, you knew deep down it was a waste of time.

There's no dignity in suffering. There's no prize for enduring agony. 

Your drink was getting cold.

Lifting the cup to the edge of your lips, you swallowed down what you could of the lukewarm liquid. Barely registering the taste of it.

You're spiralling again. You always did around this time of year.

People say one must imagine sisyphus happy, and yet you've dragged your own corpse up this hill too many times to count. Clawed your way out of rot and into a resemblance of a functional adult.

Staring out the cafe window into the snow-covered city, you finished the rest of your now cold drink. It was barely night, and yet the sun has already said its goodnights.

The streets will fill out soon. The buzzing of the nightlife was just on the horizon. 

You found it ironic in a way, for how much Lathander's followers loved to proclaim the sun as the symbol of absolute goodness, then how come people only felt like being their true selves at night.

It felt like a curtain being drawn at the end of the show, when the angels slept and the pressure to perform melted away.

You should take your leave soon.

Your eyes shifted to stare into the bottom of your empty cup, traces of the remains of your drink have dried up in various shapes. 

"Good evening" a voice called out to you, someone standing in front of your table, next to the empty chair.

Looking up, you were met with ruby eyes. Silvery hair and curling around pointy ears, framing the pale face and.

"Would it be alright if I joined you, my dear?" The elf continued, voice gentle as if coaxing a rabbit out of its nest.

You don't know why, but at that moment you nodded.

He sat down on the opposite chair.

You weren't superficial. At least you didn't think so. People couldn't control their appearance, so what right do you have to judge them based on it?

Yet when you took in the man in front of you. His half lidded eyes made you the sole point of his focus, the subtle smile to his lips. You would've been blind to pretend that it didn't affect you in some way.

"Do you mind if I buy you a drink? Something to warm you up, maybe?" Clear concern in his voice, "it tends to get very cold quickly at night, and we don't want someone as lovely as you getting sick now, do we?"

He was…worried about your health? A stranger you've never met before?

You shook your head. "No, it's alright." He was probably just trying to be nice, "I wasn't aware I looked miserable enough to worry a stranger, I was just about to leave anyway."

His eyes widened, his smile dropping. "No wait…I'm sorry, I didn't mean to offend" he cleared his throat, seemingly embarrassed by the misunderstanding he caused, "But where are my manners? You may call me Astarion." 

You stared at the hand that he extended to you, he didn't seem phased by your hesitation to shake it. In fact, he patiently waited for you.

Not wanting to make this more awkward than it already is, you took his hand. He smiled again.

You told him your own name, and he said it suited you. His cold hands let go of yours after running his thumb across your hand.

"Please excuse my previous…failed attempt. I'm not used to approaching people." His eyes looked to the side, probably to mask his nervousness, you thought.

He seemed so bold and confident moments ago, yet the second you mentioned leaving, he immediately switched. 

Huh, people really aren't what they seem like, you thought to yourself. Who knew behind his confident facade was just someone like you.

"It's alright, I'm sorry for my rushed assumptions." You felt bad. This person was just trying to be nice, and you were rude to him for no reason but your own paranoia.

"I noticed you since you walked in," he admitted, "you looked…simply breathtaking." His eyes drank you up, taking in every detail of your form.

You've barely noticed him. You've barely noticed anyone in the cafe. You were too occupied wallowing in your own misery to give the outside world more than a passing glance.

"I'm flattered, really." You admitted, "but I'm not sure if I will live up to your expectations…" as shameful as it was to admit, you thought it was better to warn him early on than to pretend to be someone you're not.

Astarion's hand reached over the table, holding your own in a loose reassuring grip. Giving you enough space to pull back if you wanted to.

"Oh no, trust me." He gave your hand a comforting squeeze, "you're simply perfect." His voice dripped with honey, warm and sweet sliding down your throat.

You held his hand back.

"Then let me make it up to you, how about I buy you a drink? To warm you up." There was a playful edge to your voice as you repeated his words, "well by how cold your hand is, you probably really need this drink."

Amusement filled his face as he chuckled. "You clever little thing." Your eyes followed his tongue as he licked his lips, "I'm starting to like you already."

After a couple of drinks and some time, the two of you ended up leaving the establishment together. Light conversation flowed seamlessly and weaved into one another between you both.

To say he was easy to talk to would've been an underestimation. You felt like you're hanging out with a lifelong friend instead of a stranger you've met a couple of hours ago.

You really didn't pay much attention to time flying by, not when the night sky looked so mesmerising above you. Not when Astarion sat next to you on the garden bench.

And while your conversations didn't stay light for long, he didn't seem like he minded as he leant you his shoulder to lean on while you expressed your worries.

"I think you should tell them. They're your parents, after all." His arm kept you close to his body, "Isn't it their job to help you during rough times and all of that?"

"I don't know, I'm supposed to be an adult." You hid half your face in his shoulder, "I much rather suck it up until I find a new job, and then maybe I'll tell them."

Easier said than done. It's been a week since you've handed in your applications, and yet not a single letter was sent back to you.

"I just don't want to be a burden," you continued "sometimes I wish I didn't worry them so much. Maybe they'll do better without me holding them back." 

Astarion didn't reply. His hold tightened around you.

"Sometimes…I wish I could just disappear." You buried your face in his neck, taking in his scent and closing your eyes.

Again, no reply, only the sound of the night breeze rustling the nearby bushes. The moon looming over the both of you and showering you in her light.

A waning moon.

"I ruined the mood, didn't i?" You let out a bitter laugh as you pulled away from him, "I'm sorry."

There was a somber expression on his face, his usually sharp eyes appearing soft and round.

"No, not at all." He said, "I was just thinking about your words. Wishing to disappear."

With a heavy sigh, he turned to you. "I could preach to you all night about how valuable a single mortal life is like they do all morning at those temples, but we both know that's bullshit." His voice sounded more natural, vastly different from the smooth sultry tone he had before. "Life will still move on, with or without that person."

You snorted, "What, not a fan of the church and gods?" 

"More like they're not fans of mine. But I suppose we can't all have taste." Getting up from the bench, the moonlight illuminated the edges of his hair like a halo, completely facing you.

"I suppose they're missing out." Walking by his side, the two of you strolled through the garden at a slow pace. Hands occasionally brushing against each other.

"Definitely, who wouldn't want this face on their side. I'd probably get them more visitors than their clerics ever could." Leaning closer, Astarion stopped in his tracks as his hand held your face.

"Actually, something tells me you'd do very well at that job, helping others." You leaned into his hand, eyes fluttering shut for a moment.

With a sarcastic laugh, he said "Please, me?" 

"Yes, you." When you opened your eyes, you were met with his intense gaze, "you're really good at making people feel at ease, letting them speak their worries. Like you did to me."

"Darling, I did no such thing." He lowered his eyes to your lips, licking his own. Maybe he was using this as an excuse to avoid your gaze.

You gently lifted his chin to look at you again, "Sometimes the best way to help someone is to listen to them, truly listen." 

His lips pressed into a thin line.

"I have been cold and rude to you, and yet you've treated me with warmth…that's a gift, you know. I won't ever forget it." Your own hands cupped his face, contrasting against his pale cold skin. "So yes, if you ever consider being a cleric or something one day, you'll definitely have my recommendation." 

Closing the distance between the two of you, your lips gently pressed against his forehead. Wishing his safety and well being with a quick peck as you pulled away.

His own hands left you long ago, laying abandoned on his sides. His fingers twitched.

Taking a deep breath, you saw his usual easy going smile come back. You felt at ease again as he returned to what you knew as his normal self. "I can think of a way or two you could repay me then, something we would both enjoy greatly." he said.

You felt a subtle touch against your hips, his hands asking permission to hold you.

It was getting really late, you realised. Your dogs must be worried sick back home. Their anxious figures waiting in front of the doorstep, you remember kissing them goodbye before you left.

...

It will be alright, it's just one night. You always left them more food than normal just in case, so they'll be safe and happily fed until your arrival.

Maybe you can even introduce Astarion to them tomorrow. You have a feeling they'll absolutely love licking his face until his hair is a mess.

"Yeah." You pushed his hands to fully grip your hips, his smile grew. "That sounds good to me."

-

The time spent during the walk to his home flew by. He was very good at making you lose yourself in the moment. 

Stepping inside, he kept a tight hold on you as he led you through the corridors.

Huge oil paintings adorned the crimson walls, a red carpet to match. You immediately noticed the lack of windows, and whatever ones you could spot had a thick layer of black curtains drawn closely shut over them.

He ignored any servants you passed by, and likewise, they seemed to pretend you didn't exist either, as if you were invisible like a ghost.

Astarion's demeanour shifted the second you stepped foot inside the palace, and his replies reduced to one word or less whenever you tried to start a conversation. 

You had a sinking feeling in the pits of your stomach, gnawing at your flesh and slowing down your steps.

"Is something wrong?" You asked him after he led you into a bedroom at the end of the hall. "You don't seem well."

His back was turned to you.

You took a step forward, placing a hand on his back. "Astarion?"

He flinched away from your hand the second you touched him, as if you burned the flesh on his back. A low hiss of pain escaped his lips.

Turning to face you after a few seconds, his expression was schooled back into the most charming smile.

"I just tend to get nervous when it comes to initiating intimacy." He told you, a nervous look in his eyes as he shifted slightly.

Oh, is that why he has been acting this way? You offered a comforting smile. "That's completely alright. We don't have to do anything you're not comfortable with."

"... really? Even when you came the whole way here?" He said with a sceptical tone, "nonsense, my dear, I will get over it in time. I just…need a couple of minutes, yeah."

"I really mean it, Astarion, we don't have to do anything." You repeated yourself more firmly.

You thought your words might offer him some relief, yet the subtle frown to his lips only grew deeper. 

"How about we just get comfortable on the bed and see where the night takes us?" He offered, unbuttoning the cuffs of his embroidered shirt and sitting on the lush bed.

You didn't like his total disregard for your offer. You could tell he wasn't believing you. But you didn't want to push him at the time, so you just let it go.

After making some adjustments to your clothes until you were in a comfortable state, you joined him on the bed. He immediately turned to face you. His body was so close to yours.

"Now…" he whispered so close to your ear. "Just how much I wanted to make you mine since the moment I saw you."

One thing led to another, a teasing touch there, a promising squeeze here, and the taste of his lips against yours.

He just knew how to take your breath away, how to get you to melt into the kiss. Wanting more, chasing after his tongue for another taste.

His hand going down your body, feeling your throat, your chest, your waist, and then your thighs. Heat collected between your legs. You could feel your body respond back to his expert touches, completely ignoring your brain and forming a mind of its own as it grinded against his hands.

Pleasure was overwhelming you. It was both too much and not enough at the same time. It was addicting and consuming.

Was he enjoying it, too? Did seeing you this needy and responsive to his touches make him burn with lust and desire for you?

You tried breaking the kiss to get a good look at him, but he wouldn't relent. Wouldn't give you a chance to even think about anything else but your own pleasure.

When you finally managed to pull away from his lips, you couldn't get more than a glance at his expression before he immediately went for your neck. Sucking and marking the flesh with vigour, teeth sending shivers down your spine.

You didn't realise how sharp his teeth were until you felt them graze your neck. They were almost alarmingly sharp, one wrong move, and they'd glide easily into your flesh.

"Astarion…" you called out to him. His lips left your neck and took it as an invitation to kiss you again, stealing your breath away. "Astarion no wait- " you mumbled between each kiss.

That got him to stop, his hands pulling away from your body.

"Yes my love?" He breathed against your lips.

Your eyes met his, you took in his dishevelled appearance, the flush to his cheeks and his wet glistening lips. His eyes looked like they held desire in them, inviting and tantalising.

But the more you stared into them, the less they seemed to look at you and instead look through you. Deep inside his eyes, he was a thousand miles away. 

You couldn't even see a hint of desire in them if you took away the facade.

"I don't want this." You whispered.

"Did I do something wrong?" 

"No…I just don't want this."

He got off of you, giving you your space back.

Neither of you mentioned it, instead each of you stuck to their own side of the bed.

It was clear he didn't know how to proceed forward, a crease to his eyebrows while in deep thoughts, as you assumed.

The silence was uncomfortable, unbearable even. Your mind wandered back to your home, your comfortable safe haven. 

In an attempt to lighten the mood, you said, "one time, Luna cost me over 5000 golds."

Seemingly coming back to reality, it took Astarion some seconds to fully register your words, "Luna?"

"My dog," you said, "the sweetest shepherd you'll ever meet. I came home from work late one time and she wagged her tail so fast that she fractured it." 

"She sounds charming." Astarion let out a soft laugh, "although, why Luna?"

"She's black and white, you know like the phases of the moon. I thought it was clever at the time." You admitted, "or are you more of a cat person?"

"I'm not an animal person at all, honestly." 

"What, are they also not fans of you?"

That got another chuckle out of him. "They tend to be too smelly for my liking, but I'd take a cat over a horse any day." 

He turned his body to face you again, you did the same.

"Really? Luna adores horses, she could teach you a thing or two."

"Are you really not only suggesting that the dog and I meet up, but that she'd also take me as her pupil?"

"I mean…well yeah, I was kinda hoping I'd take you to meet her tomorrow morning." You cleared your throat, "well that's if you want to.

His focus seemed to drift again, "...you don't happen to have cats, do you?" His tone was quieter than before, eyes not fully meeting yours.

"There's a stray that comes to visit Luna daily, he's not very friendly to other people but who knows." As corny as you thought your line sounded, you still proceeded to say it in hopes it will lift his mood up, "maybe he'll also fall victim to your charm like I did."

Instead of the reaction you expected, you were met with genuine scepticism.

"Ha" his laugh was bitter, "you don't have to spare my feelings darling, I know you don't see me that way."

You sat up on the bed.

"What do you mean?"

He looked up at you, you felt like he was attempting to make himself smaller against the pillow.

"Oh I'm not holding a grudge or anything." He claimed, "I can admit it when I'm not someone's type or whatever."

Brushing a strand of his hair behind his pointy ear, you tried to coax him to meet your eyes again. "...Astarion, I am very attracted to you.

He leaned away from your hand. "Then why did you want to stop?"

The truth burned in your throat to admit. "I just…I didn't feel like you were enjoying it. Like you wanted it."

That look, the eyes staring through you.

Astarion seemed very conflicted, about what? You weren't sure. But you wanted to comfort him, to take away his pain and carry it yourself instead.

He never denied your words.

You pulled your hand away from his hair, still not laying down beside him as you watched his body curl under the covers.

"It's alright, you don't have to explain anything." You got up from the bed, "I can leave if it's-" just as you were about to pick up your clothes, his hand immediately grabbed your wrist in a desperate grip.

"No," he said with dread in his eyes, "you can't."

It was a complete switch from his previous state, you weren't sure what to even make of it.

"I can't?" 

He seemed to catch himself, letting go of your wrist.

"stay with me, at least for tonight." His eyes were pleading, "we can just hold each other, isn't that what you want?" 

He sat up from the bed, gently taking your hands in his as he led you back to the comfort of the sheets.

"It's what I want." He whispered, voice so inviting and beckoning you closer, "I swear." 

You weren't strong enough to resist.

Following after him, your bodies pressed together under the soft sheets. You only felt your own heartbeat in your chest as he held you close. He was cold, so you shared your own body warmth to warm him up. 

The candles in the room were burning out, a calming silence fell. Lulling you to rest and let the day end.

You could only hear your own heart beating.

This was nice, it felt nice and safe so it must be.

Just as sleep was about to steal you away, Astarion's voice nudged you back awake.

"What do you like about me?" His voice was raw, sincere.

You couldn't see his face, "you, of course."

He moved against you, "obviously, now be more specific."

You tried to think about it. It felt like one of these important questions that'd shape your future relationship with him, so you tried to give it all of your thoughts.

There were so many things to love about him, but many of them were things you'd still love him without.

Yet they were still parts of him, but how many parts were actually him.

"Your nature." Was the answer you gave, still not quite satisfied with it.

"Oh shit." His serious tone didn't last long before being replaced by a playful one, "I didn't invite a druid to my bed, did i?" 

You snorted, "very funny, but I meant it." 

Even without seeing his face, you felt his lips curl upwards against your skin. Claiming that small victory was enough for you.

"You know" you found yourself rambling, "my day was going absolutely horrible until you showed up. I don't usually really believe in gods or miracles, but…you were the closest thing to a guardian angel I've ever had."

A yawn escaped your lips, you continued.

"I was too inside my head. I forgot that a whole world outside existed. A world with people like you." Your eyelids fluttered, sleep lurked behind them. "As shitty as life can be, somehow I believe things will be okay." 

Adjusting your position so you could face him in the dark, you felt his body stiffen against yours.

"Goodnight Astarion." you gave his forehead a small kiss, wishing for his safety and well being. "Rest well."

-

The deep hours of the night is when the Szarr palace fell the most silent. Merely an hour or two separating them from dawn.

A warm living breathing body laid next to him, just like many others before. And Astarion embraced them just like many others before.

But the waves of emotions swirling inside him like poison were definitely new.

He didn't get a hint of rest, he couldn't. As much as he wanted to just close his eyes for the remaining hours and ignore the waking world. After all they will definitely disappear in the morning, so what's a few hours of blissful ignorance?

But he just couldn't, the thought itself threatened to turn his stomach inside out. Disgust he has never felt in years lurching at his insides.

It's their fault, it's all their fault.

They should've made it easier for him. They should've just closed their eyes, spread their legs, and ignored his existence. 

They shouldn't have mentioned their stupid moon dog. They shouldn't have made him leer inside at the idea of having parents to support you yet still choosing to suffer alone.

How dare they be so cruel? How dare they kiss his forehead so tenderly.

He was choking. His throat burned so much that every breath felt like needles being dragged against the inside of his neck.

Worst of all, he could still hear their heartbeat. Did his own sound like that before? Is this what it felt like to have a speck of evidence that you're alive? 

A constant reminder of your mortal life, of your endless potential, of your stupid naivety and your pointless kindness.

His whole body was shaking.

Cazador will be here soon. Just like so many times before.

He needed to act fast. He needed to do something. Otherwise, he felt like he would go crazy.

They don't deserve whatever that monster did with all the others. They don't deserve a fate that cruel, not someone like them. Please God, anyone else but them.

He prayed, holding them closely as he begged and pleaded with each one of the Gods he could recall the name of in his state of panic.

If not for his miserable life then please do something for them, they're still a mortal, they're still one of your children. Please god just save them.

Like always, no answer came.

Astarion felt hopeless, useless and small. 

He stared in horror at his own hands, still in the same praying position. He truly had nothing to offer.

Nothing except a dignified death.

Death would save them from Cazador, Death would save them from torture.

Death was what he should've picked that night almost two centuries ago. 

Careful not to disturb their peaceful rest, Astarion grabbed a pillow.

He took one last good look at them in the dark, he engraved their face into his memory.

He wanted to lean over and give them one last kiss. He didn't feel like he deserved to.

The pillow pressed against their face, slowly cutting off their oxygen.

Astarion held tightly. He kept his hold firm even as they struggled.

He couldn't take his eyes off of the pillow, his tears falling and staining its white cover. A drop after another.

As their struggles died down, by that time, he had gotten his side of the pillow entirely wet. He still held firm, despite his shaking fingers, despite the blood slowly joining his tears onto the pillow from how hard his teeth dug into his lips.

At these hours, the Szarr palace was the most silent. He couldn't risk making a single sound.

Only when a heartbeat ceased to exist did he let go of his grip.

He got off the bed, closed their eyes and covered their face with the sheets. He sat on the floor, head next to their cold dead feet.

Despite his clean hands, he swore he felt their blood on them, seeping into his skin and marking him forever.

Not just their blood, but the blood of every innocent miserable person he lured back into this hell.

He just wanted to save them, to save this one person. Take a life in stride and carry the guilt to the end of his days. 

It was just one life, one very precious person.

Was a very precious person.

But he forgot to account for the hundreds of lives he has taken indirectly before, it was easier to forget when it wasn't his own hands stopping their heartbeat.

His whole world felt like it stopped because of one life.

As he sat there on the cold floor, naked, shaking with tears streaming down his face, he heard the very familiar tapping of a staff against the floorboards.

All of his feelings vanished in an instant, as if he was drowning in a deep volcanic abyss before getting pulled into the freezing surface.

He could not feel his fingers, numbness spread throughout his whole body.

The tapping got closer. It was heading towards him.

Cazador was heading towards him.

There were no feelings left inside him, just pure numbness.

There was no taste to numbness, no colour, shape, or smell.

Just an absence, an emptiness. 

He couldn't escape it, no matter how much he tried. Much like total darkness, the abyss waited for him back home at the end of the day.

[forgot-how-catflap-works]

Hot take: Sisyphys got a sweet deal

We must imagine Sisyphus happy, according to existentialist philosopher Albert Camus. It’s one of his hottest and most widely known takes. The idea that when confronted with the meaninglessness of his existence, condemned for all eternity to push a boulder up a mountain only for it to roll back down, dear old Sisyphus may find contentment. What other choice does he have after all? 

(Showing my age here with the rage face meme and will not apologise #MillenialPride)

The assertion is that we mortals are faced with a similar conundrum. Life is unpredictable, chaotic, and frequently terrifying. With nothing but the infinite void to look forward to, how are we to spend our days? Either we embrace religion and pray for eternal salvation, skip the queue to the void by killing ourselves because it doesn’t make any difference in the end, or laugh at the absurdity of it all and find joy in the simple act of being here. It is up to us to create our own meaning. 

On my good days this notion provides me a lot of comfort, and links in nicely with the zen buddhist idea that this moment is the only thing we truly have. So the take home is to embrace it, and live fully for the moment. It’s all very Dead Poets Society or, if you’re like me and have never seen that film, the B plot in Season 1, Episode 3 of Community.  In the immortal words of Professor Whitman, “Seize the day Jeff, for real. Go running naked in a hailstorm, kiss a girl in the middle of the day, fly a kite but do it for yourself! Or you wot just fail my class, you’ll fail life.” 

On my bad days however, I’m just salty about it. Suddenly the pressure to create my own meaning in the limited time I have becomes crippling to the point of paralysis. Every moment not spent living my best life is a moment wasted. I move steadily towards the grave, the years ahead steadily becoming fewer than those behind. What have I achieved with these dwindling hours, these precious days in which I am burdened to create my own meaning? I’ll tell you what I’ve done; play RuneScape and be depressed.

The problem with transferring this thinking from Sisyphus to a human living under late stage capitalism in the 21st century, is that Sisyphys didn’t have to go to a fucking job everyday. All he had to do was push a boulder! All day! Piece of piss mate. 

What I wouldn’t give to just push a boulder all day. No laundry, no dishes, no reletenlessly targeted advertising and no more fucking work emails or meetings. I bet Sisyphys never once had a melon-related panic attack in the fruit aisle of Aldi. On top of that, pushing a massive boulder to the top of a mountain is an incredible workout. Right now I have to drive nearly 30 minutes to go and sweat in a leisure centre while strangers grunt in my periphery. Give me the boulder any day. I want that head empty, no thoughts, brain scampled egg life baby. Release me from the curse of my own self-awareness. 

Okay, I get it that Albert Camu grew up in poverty, survived tuberculosis, and lived through the Second World War. I readily admit that my “melon crisis” doesn’t stack up in comparison.  All I’m saying is, it’s pretty easy to imagine someone happy when they are free from the mountains of bullshit that besiege us every single day. I am completely overwhelmed by the mere act of existing under capitalism. The sheer number of decisions I have to make every single day just to get from one end to the next breaks my autistic brain. I can’t handle it, didn’t ask for it, and I certainly don’t want it. But surely we could do literally anything else? 

I know it’s sort of laughable to say, “Let’s all go back to a simple, agrarian existence where we live off the land and chill by a waterfall smoking phat blunts.” Like, obviously that sounds a thousand times better than what we’re doing now, but short of a catastrophic societal collapse and then thousands of years of recovery, that’s not going to happen. Did you know it (sort of) takes six months and over $1,500 dollars to make a single chicken sandwich from scratch? Sustaining a single human life requires an incredible amount of work. 

There are so many of us, and we’re so connected and interdependent on each other as a species. No organism on the planet comes close to what we have built for ourselves and it is an amazing feat by every conceivable metric. But what is it all for? Have we ever once as a civilisation stopped and asked ourselves why we’re doing any of this? 

For whatever reason, we are apparently limited in our conception of all that remains possible. A civilisation disjointed and misaligned, adrift on this rock hurtling through space at mind boggling speeds, confronted with the meaninglessness of it all and refusing to collectively acknowledge it for even a moment. 

It’s like we’re still locked in that primordial stage of evolution, where we must accrue resources to survive the harsh winter and outlive our rivals. When we predominantly existed as smaller bands or tribes, that made a lot of sense. But now we are a single connected superorganism, our sense of competition is squarely in opposition to our sense of collaboration. 

We broadly recognise the need to collaborate in tackling existential threats like climate change, yet our primal competitiveness sees us knee jerking our way back towards fascism. It’s like we’ve gone to the doctor about a backache and they prescribed a dozen hungry tigers to be administered immediately. We’re still acting as though there is not enough to go around, when there is in fact plenty; it has just been misallocated. I am left always wondering why? What do we have to gain from eating ourselves alive?

I cannot help but think it comes from a petulant refusal to collectively acknowledge the void. We struggle desperately for meaning, to leave a legacy, but forget that it is impossible. Even those who live on in infamy after their death will one day perish from the collective consciousness. Our sun will die, all heat will fade from the universe until it is nothing but a barren, lifeless waste. No tower you build or lineage you foster will outlast that. Yet we sit watching helplessly as oligarchs and plutocrats rail against their own mortality to catastrophic and destructive consequences for the rest of us. I suppose in the long run, that doesn’t really matter though does it? 

We have made a home for ourselves in the belly of a vast, insatiable beast. A beast so hungry for our blood and labour that it stifles anything that cannot be effectively comodified. How are we to find happiness and peace under such conditions? It is simply not a priority. 

To quote folk punk band AJJ: 

This is no exaggeration, we're living in a death machine

And no, it's not just your imagination

You've been living in a death machine

Some of us are passengers, and some of us are driving

Almost everybody's getting bled to death to keep the motor running

Sisyhus at least is free from its roiling guts, and in that freedom it is not difficult to imagine him happy. For the rest of us, it takes a little more effort and a lot more work. 

[dimensionzero]

so anyway if y'all've got an insatiable craving after atsv, here's some spiderverse fics that deserve some love!

gotta start with Spiders' Night Out! by Chaos_and_Sparkles, my favourite of the rapidly forming pavitr-and-hobie-rob-the-british-museum genre --- in this one, their master plan drags the Spot along for the ride and it's great

courage (never forgotten) by stars_and_scars1 is an interesting character study on miles during atsv. I'm very intrigued by the writing style. it might go well with Look at me, falling fast by umwelt, gwen's POV of her visit with miles, which manages to be extremely funny and kind of heartbreaking at the same time.

speaking of gwen, State of Grace by Fichistory is gwen's POV of itsv, and I love her and miles in this one, I will be imagining it as her inner monologue every time I rewatch itsv after this. I'm also obsessed with how 14Passionz describes earth-65's mood-ring watercolour style throughout ink pallette, a great fic to cry about over gwen and her dad. and rounding out my gwen recs is the mark of a true spider-man by joshriku, in which gwen crowd-sources the meaning of being spider-man and has a conversation with peter b about, y'know. the elephant in the room.

if you're in the mood for a laugh, please read restorative justice by Nanashi07, the one where miles decides to rehabilitate miguel using restorative justice techniques while gwen and hobie heckle them and peter b cackles from the sidelines. for a slightly angstier post-atsv fic, there's also i only see you in the city light by yukla, in which miles has struggles and hobie is a bro. and you can find yet more post-atsv fics with the run run fast as you can series by Quillium (speaking of Quillium, they've also got equifinality, in which prowler!miles gets forcibly befriended by spider-man. while trying to murder him. it's complicated.); my favourite of the series has to be pavitr prabhakar and being spider-man, a character study that addresses how pav must feel over his friends knowing about canon events and not telling him in a way that feels very true to his character.

speaking of pavitr, Chaos_and_Sparkles is also writing a character study/speculative backstory for him in One Must Imagine Sisyphus Happy, which starts off very sweet and funny and halfway through takes a deep dive into angst. if you want sweet and funny all the way through, try na dekhi koi aisi girl by whatcaniwriteinthis, a pavitr/gayatri meet-cute. Who wants to punch a fascist? by I_have_hella_nice_abbs is a different kind of sweet and funny with noir and hobie bonding, three guesses how--- I like noir's internal monologue in this one a lot. and speaking of hobie, my favourite fic centred around him has to be Teenage Anarchist by gender_bender08, a character study that runs from his recruitment into spider-society to his exit-stage-center from atsv. it does both hobie and his relationships really really well.

and lastly, this is technically an older one but I can't make a spiderverse fic rec and not recommend Spider-Man Is Dead (Long Live Spider-Man) by aetataureate, it's a series of character studies on ripeter, gwen, peter b, and miles during itsv and it's insane how few hits it has for being some of my favourite pieces of writing in anything ever. anyway that's all for now, have fun y'all

[forgetmynamepleasethanks]

IF YOU write for hazbin x helluva boss could you do a oneshot stolas x raven!reader whos family only recently became royals and are treated as lesser by the other royal families. the ravens arent as fancy as the other families and dont really care about all the royal stuff so they're kinda looked down upon. they meet at some meeting or you can decide. and make this take place after season 2 episode 9 so blitzo and him have broken up at least for now. thank you a ton!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I write for everything. That's why it takes me so long to write because I get a request, watch the entire show/consume the entire source material, then I start writing until I get a new request and the cycle continues. I am the Sisyphus of fanfiction. One must imagine forgetmyname happy. Anyways. Thank you for the request. I needed an excuse to watch season 2 of Helluva Boss. And shoutout to my favorite mutual for inspo for this I lowkey stole major plot elements from your story please forgive me. They're a better writer than I am so if you're interested in reading the inspiration for the latter half of this fic check out this. Also this isn't particularly romantic, just two straight guy cool guy besties (peak reference).

-----

If the parties weren't bad enough, the meetings were. Was being a royal really worth it? Sure, immortality, woo. How nice it is to spend the next ten thousand years sucking up to other pompous avians.

Despite your less-than-enthusiastic outlook on royalty, being the youngest of your brothers made you the prime target for all the busy work one could hope for.

That's why you found yourself here. Due to your family's relative youth in terms of royalty, you're positioned to the very far end of an uncomfortably long table seating representatives from all the royal houses in hell.

What a bunch of pricks.

The etiquette that your parents had drilled into you from such a young age- you truly believe they conceived you to be the perfect little delivery boy to turn errands for them- is the only thing keeping you in your seat and this stuffy cape and outfit on your body.

After a wait that could have lasted from 15 minutes to 15 years, the host of this meeting finally makes his entrance. As much as you like to pride yourself in your blasé attitude, being in the presence of King Paimon is enough to shut you up and sit you down.

"Welcome everyone please stop your yammering and listen to me. God when did there get to be so fucking many of you." Paimon announces as he makes his entrance.

"As I'm sure a few of you know hell is currently experiencing some unfortunate economic... blah blah blah"

Could this get any more boring? As you fight to keep your eyes in focus you notice someone standing by the door behind you. It's one of Paimon's sons. Stolas. Long time no see. You and Stolas used to be close, but the weight of royalty split you two apart.

Wow, he looks just as bored as you. I guess being Paimon's son would mean you get dragged along to a lot of borin- "You! Raven boy. Not to be rude or anything but what do you people even do?" Your internal monologue is cut off by Paimon. You don't respond for a beat, internally laughing at how Paimon literally doesn't know who you are or what your family does but you still have to be at this stupid meeting.

"We keep the humans out of hell, Your Highness." You respond dryly. It takes you a second to even notice that you've responded. The line is so ingrained into your lexicon that it practically says itself.

"Right! That's the totally important job I gave your very... snicker... esteemed family." Paimon snorts out, barely containing his mocking laughter. A handful of other representatives stifle laughs at your expense.

Oh, the joys of being a Corvus Arcana. The least royal royal family in hell.

"Yes well, you're dismissed. You're needed for other important tasks. Prince Stolas will direct you. Thank you for your time." Paimon says with mock sincerity.

Oh. Stolas. Yes. You know Stolas. You're flooded with memories of the two of you back at the old "Center for Princes to be" It was a glorified daycare, really. You two got up to a lot. He taught you a lot about the starts, and bugs, and everything he read about. You taught him how to make spit balls and get out of trouble you put yourself in.

You rise from your seat, flipping your cape as you walk to the door. In royal etiquette flipping your cape at someone is somewhat rude. Exactly what you wanted.

The conversation behind you restarts as you reach the door. Stolas is waiting for you with a nervous smile on his face, almost like he's got bad news.

"Ah, I remember you! I didn't know it was you who my father was talking about! Let's head out, shall we?" Stolas remarks oh so professionally. He's looking right at you, using his eyes to try and convince you he's excited about your new task, but you know him well enough to tell he'd rather be anywhere else right now.

"To what do I owe the pleasure?" you respond sarcastically. Both of you know you were chosen for this because of your less-than-stellar family image.

"Ah! Well! You see- You were chosen for your... unique skills and inspired professionalism! Yes of course!" Stolas sputters out trying to respond without admitting that you were chosen because you're the trailer park trash of the royal family.

A smile creeps onto your face at the owl's half-baked response. He was never the most socially perceptive, even in his youth. You follow the tall owl out of the meeting room and down some of the winding hallways of Paimon's manor.

"Well hopefully my 'inspired professionalism' landed me something to do besides sitting in that room. How bad could it be? As long as it's not something stupid like stacking boxes." You respond lackadaisically. You look to Stolas for a reaction but he seems fully focused on looking at some dusty old paintings on the wall.

Then you round a corner into a freshly moved into bedroom. So fresh that boxes are strewn about. You look up at Stolas who's scratching the back of his head and looking anywhere and everywhere but your direction.

"No way. It's stacking boxes." You state dumbfounded.

"If it's any recourse I will be helping you unpack. That's our mission. Isn't that... heh... fun?" Stolas replies. You look him up and down. Both of you know how stupid this is.

You just sigh.

Twenty minutes later you're unpacking boxes. Your cape is discarded on the bed, the effort of moving boxes with both magic and your birdy body causing you to break a sweat, and as promised Stolas is helping. You can't help but sneak glances at him. He really has changed a lot since you were kids. He's a lot taller for one thing. Besides the obvious physical change, he seems to never have really put himself together. You can tell he's struggling.

Ruffled feathers, quick to anger, and somewhat mopey. To an average royal this would seem pretty normal. Royals aren't known for their vigor and lust for life. To you, these are signs that he's not doing so hot. Struggling to lift a white cardboard box labeled "FRAGILE!" the tall owl is surprisingly human- well, demon? Humanized? He seems a lot more likable than the rest of the royals.

You decide to break the silence. "So tell me. What's a big important bird like you doing unpacking boxes with lil old me?" It's almost self-deprecating the way you look down on yourself.

"Me?- Ah of course he means you- My father brings me along as a secretary of sorts to his meetings when I'm available." Stolas responds while trying to not trip over a box of pillows as he places knickknacks he got out of a box around the dresser.

You snort at his response. "I have a secretary but she doesn't unpack rooms." You banter at him. This seems to irk Stolas. "Yes well since my divorce it seems my father can't resist the urge to assign me silly tasks as if I were some child in need of a distraction." Stolas snaps at you. He drops his volume at the mention of his divorce, which has surely affected how he is perceived by the other royals.

Despite how peeved he sounds by your comment, it sounds more like he's disheartened than truly upset.

You had heard of his divorce. You didn't care. Your family was never huge on the whole arranged marriage thing. You weren't even married yet, which for a prince of your age was unheard of in most other families.

You smile, half sympathetically, half filled with schadenfreude. "Join the club." An uncomfortable silence fills the air after your response. Stolas was aware of how your family is treated. It seemed silly to complain about being assigned trivial tasks like unpacking a room to a Corvus Arcana. It's sort of like complaining about a paper cut to a man missing both his arms.

"I apologize," Stolas says.

"For what?" You respond quizzically. "For how the others treat you. Merely because your lineage is young does not justify the lack of respect or meaningful assignments they've received from the other royals." Stolas says.

The uncomfortable silence fills the air once again. Stolas had always been the only person to treat you like a true royal. Back in the day, he was the only one to play with you, share with you, or even really acknowledge you. You two unpack in silence. After another ten minutes of unpacking you finally can't take it anymore.

"This blows. Wanna ditch this stupid "assignment"?" You stretch your arms and let the box you were carrying fall to the ground with a thump. Stolas looks at you dumbfounded.

"Ditch? Like... 'play hooky'? No... I could never! I'm much to old for that type of behavior now." Stolas seems aghast at the idea of offending his father. You turn around and grin at him. "Oh like anyone's gonna miss us! There's a million servants around here that can unpack this dumb room. Let's ditch this. Or are you gonna tell me you're having a blast?"

"That's not the point. I can't just leave!" Stolas retorts.

"You're an adult now. Plus King Paimon clearly doesn't care what we're up to. No one's checked on us. C'mon, we used to do this all the time. It'll be like back then when we used to sneak away from the nannies at daycare." You rebuttal. You can see Stolas fighting with himself over what to do.

The look on Stolas' face is priceless. There's nothing quite like a royal trying to decide if it's worth doing something considered "non-royal".

"I suppose it's okay to leave unannounced... I read something about the human country of Ireland and how its people say goodbye without saying anything and-" Stolas realizes he's rambling. "Ah well... yes. I guess I'd like to leave."

You shake your head in mock surprise at his overly introspective response. "Follow me."

You two walk in silence for a moment. You're spending the quiet time considering your current circumstances. You and the prince of the Ars Goatia are playing hooky from a meeting neither of you were really invited to. Huh. Interesting spot you've found yourself in.

Conversely, Stolas is trying his best to keep his cool. He's not so used to just leaving these types of things. You two have also not spoken much since you were young. There was never any bad blood or anything, being a royal is just time-consuming.

Stolas follows closely behind you as you walk out of the castle. "So... if you don't mind me asking..." Stolas begins, waiting for your confirmation to continue. After a quick nod from you, Stolas furrows his brow, contemplating his words before speaking, "Your..." He pauses, searching for a diplomatic way to phrase it. "casual demeanor seems almost at odds with your status as a royal. It's always been quite intriguing, I must say. Most other royals tend to carry themselves with a certain..." He gestures with a hand. "formality, shall we say. Your informal manner is indeed a rare sight." Stolas asks you.

The owl's attempts at not offending you are admirable. "Well. My family is much younger than yours, as you know. While your family and all the others gained power at the very start of hell my family rose to power a short three hundred years ago. To put it bluntly, we don't really do all the royal stuff." You respond, trying to explain your family's situation.

"I see... fascinating." Stolas offers. The two of you make it out of the castle without another word.

You two find yourselves behind the castle. You hop up on a small ledge to see over the hedges. Stolas, being tall, can see over just fine.

"Well. The world's our oyster." You say. The night is fresh upon you and the city shines spectacularly below you. You look up at Stolas with a mischievous grin. "How quickly would your dad notice if his fancy schmancy car went missing?"

Stolas snickers at your question. "We'll just have to find out I suppose."

-----

I don't really like how this turned out but I also feel like I say that after everything I write. I'm also pretty rusty (and slightly intoxicated). Life has been up my ass for like two years so that's where I've been. Once again, massive props to freakyfrye for a lot of inspiration behind this. I had no clue where to take it but I read their story and it was great! Worth checking out. Anyways I hope you enjoyed.

[jackfruit432]

There came a point where Joy got angry

Further down the line Joy wept

Drowning in her tears, she sunk deeper and deeper into despair

Maybe that's what happens when you grow up. You feel less joy

But we both know that's not true is it

We often drown ourselves in darkness

The problems that we currently face

The regrets and mistakes we've made

Or the quiet comprehending that nothing we do actually matters

Even our tiny glowing light can turn dim

And yet she's still there

No matter how faint it may be, you can still find Joy in the darkness

Some people may call us delusional

To find Joy in the bleakest moments

But isn't that what Joy is

To find peace in happy moments and troubled times

To have hope, to find love

To not give up despite everything

We can be delusional, too proud, too selfish to accept reality

But when push comes to shove, and I need a helping hand

I turn to Joy to help me stand

Because even when things seem hopeless or pointless

One must imagine Sisyphus happy

[simmyfrobby]

i know the phrase one must imagine sisyphus happy gets thrown around a lot but my god leafs twitter every year

and like. of course you can be critical of someones performance. of course you want your team to do better. of course you should be allowed to make jokes about sports teams losing but oh my god. is it necessary. to rip this guy to little bits. every year.

[theterribletenno]

Well it's time to start brainstorming for the next season of Bad Warframes. One must imagine Sisyphus happy.

Current candidates include Patriot the 1999 Warframe

Vauban's twink boyfriend

Kung Pow: Enter the Fist

and a fan submission for a Falconer warframe. I know Falconer has been proposed before but this submission is more fleshed out.

Guess I'll play the random number generator game again.

Absolutely banging start, sadly I already have one or two Saryn clones.

Under no circumstances should anyone attempt to milk their warframe.

Oh I kinda like that. Nasty stuff like toxic and corrosive damage. Eh, idk, I've been using corrosive a lot lately I should play with other elements.

You get defenestrated, and YOU get defenestrated, EVERYONE GETS DEFENESTRATED!

Hmm honestly maybe. A dedicated "metal" themed warframe might be neat. But maybe a more exciting metal, like titanium or tungsten idk. Might need a second theme to weave into it.

Depending on who you ask every warframe is strapped.

God I wish.

Don't let DE hear you say that or you'll get banned.