#ouroboros idol

[andizoidart]

Stop, okay, I found some Idol Geno content I never posted-

This is during his health decline, probably between shows, losing a venue, etc.

[idolkilling]

caramelise

[papillondusublime]

Dis-moi, Beauté, combien d'autels Ai-je bâtis en ton honneur Sous les yeux du Dieu éternel Qui me foudroient avec horreur?

Combien de liturgies maudites Ai-je fredonnées en tremblant? Voilà : les idoles s'effritent Tel mon cœur, cendres dans le vent.

Demain, la fleur se fanera Et l'oiseau ne chantera plus. La mer du temps emportera Ce qui hier courait les rues.

Le papillon perdra ses ailes, Sous le poids de mes longs soupirs. Et les Gorgones du Réel M’imagineront pour le pire.

Pétrifiée par leurs prunelles, Je plaindrai ma chair amollie. Mieux vaut ne voir l’être mortel Que dans un bouclier poli.

Ma propre queue, je la mordrai; Vivre est le début de la fin. Quel caducée les soignerait, Mes pennes trempées de venin?

Ma tête, faut-il la brûler, Sans quoi elle repoussera? La lune, tenant torche et clé, De plumes d’aigle m’ornera.

Astres! Regarderez-vous ça Avec des yeux sourds et muets? Dans dix tentes, éteints déjà, Vous dormez serrant les nuées.

Puis-je me reposer auprès De vous, tant que le jour sommeille? Car, quand je me réveillerai, En pleurs je fondrai au soleil.

-Poésie: "Complainte devant la Beauté", à lire dans "Genèse d'une femme" par Marine Mariposa, disponible gratuitement sur https://sites.google.com/view/papillondusublime/gen%C3%A8se-dune-femme -Image peinte par Tito Corbella

[nawumika]

putting smth i said on twt in nov onto here bc i keep thinking about it

i genuinely cant stop thinking about jun beating hiyori in 4piece. like i feel so unwell about it. my bestie translated them talking about it and Man. Ohhhhh. I feel so ill

like. fuck. hiyori was always the ‘saviour’ who picked jun up from the darkness. and now he’s shining even brighter than the sun

hiyori probably will feel nothing but pride n be silly about it but oh my god JUN……. jun… jun who cares A Lot about these kinds of interpersonal things…….

and hiyori playing off being upset about them being separated as complaining that he wont have a slave 😭😭😭

eve went from jun needing hiyori to hiyori needing jun. i need to lie down

[fallendev0tionvn]

Im slow.. when it comes to lore of Clive lmao but hey its interesting, so may i ask what's Nietzsche philosophy.. so like i can watch his philosophy, so i can understand! :D

i've been stalking your account to understand Clive but I just realize i am slow when it comes to lore LMAOO, oneee... question that is a Slight NSFW (Maybe..?), is Clive gentle when it comes of Him and MC do it for a first time?

(i just realized i change topic to add one question which is not related to Clive's lore :P)

I'll answer the second question first, Clive is always gentle! He only wants to bring you pleasure, not pain. The only time he gets a little rough is when he's feeling jealous🏃‍♀️.

ANYWAY.

I'm SORRY for the person I'm about to become, but get ready for a LONG yapping session (I was Dostoevskij in my past life) that probably won't make sense (keep in mind that I wanted to be either a comic artist, a psychologist or a philosophy professor...explains a lot). Half of this is from my notes when I was studying for my graduation exam💀

First of all Nietzsche is one of the most misunderstood philosophers. Why? He's either "idolized" by those red pill/looksmaxxing guys without realizing that he actually goes against their morals, or edgy wannabe "nihilists" for the quote "God is dead." (Nihilism is a form of extreme pessimism, in simple terms, it's the belief that there's no true meaning in life, nothing can be known or communicated. But if Nietzsche is telling you to destroy the old meanings of life TO create your own instead of listening to what others say, would he still be considered a nihilist? Sure, active nihilism is a thing- but in my opinion he is NOT a nihilist).

His philosophy has also been used historically for the worst things that I won't even mention. Why? his sister edited some of his last unfinished works based on HER own beliefs when he ended up in the asylum. Many think he was a "....", when- let's be real and study a bit of history- if Nietzsche's mental health deteriorated the year THAT political figure was born (1889), how could he possibly be associated with him? Literally, tf.

The reason for this is because I think many don't read or study his philosophy in the correct order, nor do they know the timeline of his ideas.

To understand the concept of the "Übermensch", you have to start from the very beginning, when he first mentions the Dionysian and Apollonian spirits- the übermensch is supposed to bring back the rebirth of the "tragic spirit". (Übermensch= overman, the highest version of oneself a person can become, the "better" version of you, basically).

What key concepts did I take inspiration from? (I say inspiration because not everything is directly related to Nietzsche, I started from his main concepts to create characters, lore etc.)

ETERNAL RETURN:

(Bad ending: The cycle ends here)

See Clive's necklace? The symbol on his bicep and the main menu? The ouroboros.

It's such a deep concept and it asks: "What if every moment of your life had to repeat itself endlessly, in the exact same way, forever?"

This means everything, every pain, every joy, every regret, would return again and again and again. This NOT about whether it's scientifically true, we don't know if we're destined to relive the same life after death. It's a thought experiment, a way to ask yourself "would I still want to live my life if I knew I'd relive my worst moments forever? How would I act?"

If your answer is no, you're not affirming your existence. If yes, you're embracing life fully. In a way, you'd try to be more yourself and live with fewer regrets, right?

DIONYSIAN VS APOLLONIAN:

(The intro of the game, Silas and Clive's conversation)

To simplify it: Think of the two hemispheres of the brain.

Right brain = Dionysian (chaos, passion, music, imagination, intuition, emotion). This side is emotional, creative, raw, deeply human. It's the spirit Nietzsche believed humanity lost.

Left brain = Apollonian (logic, structure, rules, order). This side is rational, clear, less human.

Why did Nietzsche use greek gods to describe this? Because he rejected the "classical and elegant" image of Greece we learn about in school. To him, archaic Greece was the perfect society because it embraced chaos, suffering, and the tragic. (That's why I added greek mythology :3)

He also saw greek tragedy (a form of ancient drama/theatre that expresses human suffering, fate, and moral conflict) as the perfect fusion of the Apollonian and Dionysian. This fusion created a form of art that embraced life in all its beauty and suffering.

With Socrates (ancient greek philosopher), the Dionysian spirit was killed. We began to exalt reason over everything, meaning everything had to be explained, justified, or made logical. This made humanity obsessed with truth and control, disconnecting us from the fullness of life.

"And those who were seen dancing were thought to be insane by those who could not hear the music."

Clive tried to force himself to lean more towards the Apollonian, he suppressed his emotions, tried to follow "moral rules", and tried to look "normal".

To explain the change between his younger self and current self there's an iconic quote:

"Become who you are" In the sense that in life, we constantly follow models that are necessary- because we grow through imitation. Children grow by watching, by imitating. But then, we must detach from this imitation and become who we truly are, a process of self reckoning.

After his "death", Clive starts being himself. There's a balance now, but you can still influence him to lean more towards his Dionysian or Apollonian side.

To live a full, healthy life, we need to embrace both sides:

"The tree that grows to heaven must send its roots to hell."

GOD IS DEAD:

(Who helped Clive?)

Nietzsche's most misunderstood quote.

Saying "God is dead", as he writes, implies that God once existed, or at least, that he was once central to the way humans explained the world. After all, only something that has existed can die; things that have never existed don't die. That's why Nietzsche has this declaration spoken not by an atheist, but by a madman. The atheist and the believer ARE part of the same system aren't they? One says "yes", the other says "no", but they're both within the same structure of thought, a world where God is STILL a reference point.

The madman on the other hand, speaks from outside that system. When he says "God is dead", he's not just denying the existence of God- he's saying that the world is no longer ORGANIZED around God. There was a time when everything was explained through God, when God gave order and meaning to existence. But today, that's no longer the case.

We must understand that Nietzsche, often read in an oracular and overly dramatic way, is actually a profundly coherent philosopher. His thinking is rigorous; If churches are now empty, if they became museums, tombs for god (visiting them for the "Affreschi", example: "La cappella sistina"), it's because he is dead. We killed him, or more precisely, we forgot him- because already with the scientific revolution, and even earlier with Renaissance, man placed himself at the center. We no longer live in a world explained through God, but through human reason, science and self determination. (That's why I chose literally the "forgotten God" from greek mythology. If you figure out who he is, you'll learn he actually died.)

Now if you want to learn more about Nietzsche:

His philosophy goes through THREE major phases;

- The youthful phase: Influenced by Schopenhauer (another amazing philosopher, highly recommend reading about him too), celebrated ancient greece, wrote "The Birth of Tragedy", Introduced the Apollonian and Dionysian spirits.

- Enlightment phase: Distanced himself from religion and idealism, embraced critical thinking, dismantled traditional values, wrote "Human, All Too Human".

- Mature phase: Developed his core concepts -> eternal return, übermensch, death of god, wrote "Thus Spoke Zarathustra" "On the genealogy of Morality" "Ecce Homo"

[sunlit-ruler]

@enstars-selfship-event

Rating: 18+ for implied/referenced sex, mentions of vices and military trauma.

Genre: Black Comedy, Angst, Character Study

Ship: Snakesling (Ibara Saegusa x Milton Pelage) (Us!)

Notes & Warnings: Future AU (Ibara is 28) and Drunken OOC. I have not read Ouroboros yet, but I know it covers something similar, so I tried to workshop this so it could happen regardless.

What is Snakesling?

Ibara is 28 and Cospro President. Eden has gone solo for profit maximisation. He deals with that by letting loose at his new resort, Limbus Tropicae, and my sona Milton is unfortunately(?) the bartender. Read my yume intro to find out more about my setting!

Summary:

Ibara spent his teenage years eating barely nutritious meal replacements and workouts that could nearly tear his limbs off. Now 28 years old, he can feel the wear and tear in his bones. Stubborn as he may be, he knows no amount of scheming can relieve him from the clutches of age.

After being apart from Eden for so long, it takes just a few daiquiris for doubts about his ability as an idol to resurface.

Milton, his personal bartender and minder, has waited forever for a good night’s rest. Surely, the new outdoor karaoke stage in the resort won’t be an obstacle to that - because who in the fresh hell would perform his unit's entire album, alone, with full stage lighting at three in the morning?

Play while you read!

“Hey, Goose. What’s the difference between an idol and a prostitute?”

The daiquiri pouring through Ibara’s lips went straight back into the cup through his nose. 

The dim lanterns under the attap roof of the bar cast ominous shadows over the hard lines of his face, contorted into the stare of both a starving wolf and a stung horse. Red bloomed on his cheeks, and not just from the alcohol. A better sight, for sure, than that cold, obsequious grin he wore out while sober.

“Woah there, bud. You’re only supposed to drink those with your mouth.” Milton belched with laughter as the idol gasped like a fish, still trying to subtly lap up the streaks of orange liqueur trickling from the glass. Even at the top of the world, the CEO of Cosmic Productions was allergic to a single drop of waste falling from his lips. Mostly worrying, but partly entertaining, and that’s what really mattered.

“Firstly, do not call me that. I do not care how much you like your mass-produced Hollywood military movies, or their characters. ”

Milton frowned. “But… Goose."

“Do not bastardise my name.”

Ibara cleared his throat.

“Anyway. A reasonable question for someone with your level of abject ignorance.” He hissed those last two words, as if to express hate for all matters of incompetence right then and there. “Shall I put things into perspective, Pelage? You escape halfway across the world from your responsibilities to a resort which I own, receive an allowance from my own pocket that keeps you out of that shipping container I found you in -”

“It was rustic and cozy, dude.” Milton stopped wiping his glass for a moment and sighed with nostalgia. 

“It was rust-y. If I had known better, I would have had you vaccinated for tetanus - then neutered like a stray.” Ibara cleared his throat and straightened himself. “You do all of that, and proceed to ask…”

He looked straight ahead into Milton’s soul, voice lowered to a deadly baritone.

“The difference between myself and a common harlot.”

The corners of Milton's lips could not stop curling. 

“...Damn, you were an idol?”

“Oh, fuck you.” The glass bounced onto the table. Management had to order rubber ones just because of this habit of his. “Another will do. Make it quick."

Milton hummed a tune of approval as he took his shaker in hand and began to prepare his guest’s next dose of happiness. 

“Welcome back, Goose. But hear me out on this one, alright. Idol and prostitute - you entertain with your looks, your body and your charm. What’s the difference?”

“There is no art to inducing that sort of lowly pleasure.” Ibara shook his head. “We dedicate our lives and bodies towards more complex, extreme endeavours to convey our own unique creative ideals. The effort we expend on this is beyond your understanding.”

“And who’s anyone to say what’s worth testing your body for? On God, I’ve seen strippers put more thought and expression into their routines than some of your rivals. And every month it’s like another one of them gets caught with his pants down.” The bartender shrugged, then shook the metal cup for emphasis. “The end goal? Pleasure. How to reach it? Selling sex, or actual sex. It’s all the same.”

A low ‘hmph’ sat in Ibara’s throat, followed by a hint of fangs. 

“A sex worker sells their body to test their soul. An idol tests their body to sell their soul.” He drummed his fingers on the glass, faster and faster, until the rattling sent a creeping feeling of dread up Milton’s spine. “Does that suffice, O’ righteous defender of the common people? Do you feel the urge to shelter them in return for their compliments on your out-of-season Armani shirts?”

Turning his head, the bartender caught the sight of his fingers deftly smoothing over the fabric of his collar, a pattern that’s been missing from his wardrobe for a while now. Noticing the mortified curdling of his expression, Ibara shot him a smirk. 

That asshole was leaving his room naked next time.

“You forgot one thing.”

He swiped the glass away and thrust a new one in front of him, landing perfectly in between them. Craving the sweet, fresh temptation of rum-strawberry slurry on his tongue, Ibara embraced the wide brim of the coupe glass with both hands. He took a deep breath, then coughed on the noxious sting of bourbon and an orange peel.

An old-fashioned.

“Both of them don’t make it past thirty.” 

Milton dropped his shaker in the sink and with a cheeky cat-stretch over the table, nudged his shoulder with his wrist. “Good thing you’re more of a producer, so you don’t have to worry about that, right?”

“This isn’t what I ordered.” 

“Oh, you don’t order it. It comes to you, and you just have to acquire the taste.” Flinging his batik overshirt onto his shoulder, Milton shifted his attention to the glasses in the sink at the side of the attap hut. Of all shapes and sizes, they assembled themselves into a crude mockery of a celebrity host’s champagne tower.

“You are way over your quota today.”

“Which I set”, came a grumble from behind. 

“And I regulate. Need me to walk you back to your room?”

No response. 

Worried (and somewhat relieved for his liver) that he’d finally passed out, Milton swerved back to Ibara’s favourite seat at the edge of the table. But there was only the lone orange peel, dipping its toes into a grave of brown, watery disappointment.

Ibara stumbled around, above and between the candles leading up to the hotel residence. The wisps of flame at his feet flickered with amusement before being snuffed with a kick from his sand-covered Oxfords. 

Today and tomorrow blurred around him. His only audience in five, going on six years, and it was going to be a Black Ocean.

“10 years.” followed the breathy pop of his chapped lips from a hip-flask on the inside of his blazer. One night together after another had led Milton to offer to send his clothes to Laundry on his behalf, and made the mistake of not smoothing the hair-thin seams on the pocket lining caused by his fingernails. But there were just so many things about him that the preening parrot and his big beak couldn’t pry into. “For 10 years of my life I make Eden fucking perfect - ”

Another stray candle pulverised beneath his boot.

"And that's what I am to him!?"

He’d seen it coming from lightyears away that his self-sabotage would lead him down this path, wrestling every ounce of wealth and power from the feet of those who tried to take it away from him. That would fill every hole that, by sending him to that camp, they had bore into him even before it was born.

But it was lightyears away. So ensnared he was by that distant twinkle of righteous satisfaction, from a life of not needing to use or be used by anyone except himself, that he didn’t stop to consider how he’d live without anyone needing him.

“'m just a pretty face and a body, huh?” He grumbled, kicking over another candle - on purpose this time. It rolled and splashed into the artificial lake nearby. “You spoiled little brat, that’s not the only reason yoi last long as I do in this shitty - ”

The sandstone beneath his foot shifted under his weight. He lurched forward and was punished with an electric jolt to the base of his spine. 

“Goddamnit!”

There was a pop, like Christmas Crackers at his waist (not that he had the sufficient levels of nostalgia to have used those outside of garish office parties, their horrific artillery-like sound notwithstanding). 

He gritted his teeth through the ringing in his ears. Nagisa, Hiyori and Jun’s absences since their breathtaking overseas debut as Eden were loud enough of a reminder, but he supposed the fickle god that made him related to an idol dynasty had its own mysterious ways. 

His foot slipped, landing him on the stone. A parched water lily leaned out, and with petals that oddly matched his hair, seemed to stroke his head. Instinct compelled him to throw a fit at the landscaper’s laziness, but surrounded by the mocking dance of half-snuffed candle flames, he reprimanded himself for the lack of perspective. 

Idols were a galaxy of dying stars. In their early 20s, they’ve already exploded as supernovas on their finest stage. The audience continues to bask in that light for a good five, ten years, without noticing that last glint of purpose petering out. He’s been burning away with every crinkle of a Caloriemate wrapper, every last rep he’s missed from a strange muscle ache the strictest routines could never alleviate.

Good thing you’re more of a producer, so you don’t have to worry about that, right?

Fucking bastard.

He marched through the slimy water dripping onto his ruffled bangs away from the french doors of the reception, straight into the dark. Whatever that stepped out of line in his life could, and would be whipped into shape, including the creaky protests of his joints. 

They brought him far enough through the undergrowth of the nearby reserve and towards the other shore for something to smack him at full force in the waist. Ibara wasn’t as worried for his manhood (his… ‘lifestyle choices’ and contract didn’t have much practical use for it anyway) as for why the hell it had been built so close to the tide. 

He scrambled onto it like a cat desperately trying to avoid a bath by the incoming waves. Looming over him was a tower of scaffolding and light fixtures. Speakers lined the steps down to the sand, which he had only just noticed. 

“...Oho.”

Ibara smirked. That old upgrade he’d commissioned looked much better in person.

The parrot was just going to have to try and put him to bed.

With the crisp new linen hugging his sore body, his fluffy sunset-coloured mask finally over his eyes, the haze of sleep washed over Milton faster than a bottle of fine scotch.

“FALLING DOWN!~”

A flash of light, like he’s turned his phone screen on in the pitch darkness.

“FEELING UP!~”

The mask flew off his head and he scrambled to the window. He flung the blackout curtains open and was drowned in Magenta.

“YOU WANT IT!~”

“Damn you, Saegusa, it’s not even pride month yet!” The viper’s minder threw on a spare shirt and squeezed into his flip flops with so much force the friction could’ve burned down the whole building. 

nido to mo-do-re-na-i!

“二度と戻れない!”

The rest of the staff had popped their own heads out of their little mouseholes for dorms. In hushed whispers, they dismissed it as another one of their boss’s neuroses, exchanged noise-cancelling earplugs and went back to sleep. The whole resort was closed for the week for inspection, after all; putting up with him was their job.

“Seriously, guys?” Milton was left alone in the hallway, gesturing wildly to the closed doors, while the shockwaves of the bass turned the floor into the deck of a cruise ship in a storm. “Like, I know he comes by every so often, but it’s not like we’re married, y’know?”

They were completely synchronised too. Was it because it happened so often, or did they just exchange a wordless ‘not it’ so he’d have to wrangle him?

He flung the hotel doors open and was greeted with a hurricane of light and thunder towards the horizon - yet the skies were completely clear. From the glittering purple eye of the storm sprang forth a spectacle of multicoloured lasers that he wished could taunt a fighter jet into firing missiles at them both.

Milton raced towards it without hesitation. Flip flops were not good shock absorbers, and he could feel each step in every bone in his body. He knew he was close when he could no longer hear his own screaming – partly in the most raw frustration he’s ever felt, partly to keep himself awake – over the synths burning through his precious night. 

“FALLING DOWN!~”

He broke through the jungle clearing -

“YEAH I SURE HOPE YOU DO, YOU ASSHOLE!”

And emerged on the other shore.

What he thought this whole time was an audio recording, meticulously parsed and edited in a studio setting, was Ibara Saegusa in the flesh. One fluid sway of his hips after another, he dominated the otherwise empty platform. Sweat glistened down the patches of skin where his shirt had become untucked, drawing the dazed parrot’s attention to the glint of sinister delight in his smile. 

The annoyance welling in his gut petered out to… confusion. Intrigue, even. Each thrust of the idol’s lower body brought a chuckle, seeming rather out of place for the flurry of sophisticated and complex breakdances, but the way he commanded his own body left him drinking the sight. Whatever he was feeling now, he was sure a protagonist in a particularly bad Wattpad bad boy story somewhere could sympathise. 

“Miltoooon!” The 28-year old fought through his own stupor into his next set of thrust-swerve-thrusts. “How kind of you to join me at my inaugural solo concert!”

“What the hell are you doing, man!? Turn it off!” Milton shouted over the pounding music. 

“And a question, if I may, for some mandatory audience engagement -” Both the vibrato of his voice and body swayed from side to side. Ibara survived a brief slip of his foot unscathed and even slipped into an improvised breakdance. “Can a whore do this, you son of a bitch!?”

“I said, turn it off!”

Ibara raised an eyebrow, and while still dancing, stretched his hand towards the nearby iPad controlling the sound - then jerked it away to flip Milton the bird. 

There went the bad boy magic. 

Milton seized the opportunity to pounce on a nearby mic, which had been left connected to the audio system during their very first test run.

“I mean, when you’re doing that with your hips, kind of defeats the purpose of what you’re trying to say.” He deadpanned. “Okay, look. I get it.  We’re all very impressed. I don’t know how you did all of this yourself. But it’s like, 3:30, so please stop before you get hurt -”

“No, Milton. You don’t.’

He planted his foot into the ground. No more coy glances. His limbs stopped their pretentious fluttering, freezing solid into squared shoulders.

“You think I spent my childhood digging mass graves in Kosovo so I’d be quirky enough to sell tickets to parasocial women?” Colder than the whites of his knuckles was the fury on his face, that magazine-cover complexion wrought with something Milton couldn’t recognise. “You think I do it all for the money, the sex, the attention?”

The extra mic fell from Milton’s wrist to his side. When he knew what it was, a sharp pang in his chest forced him to look down at the sand at his feet. There were many things about Ibara that eluded him, but for the first time, something didn’t seem so alien after all.

“No, look at me.”

A quiver in his voice. The rheuminess in his eyes, coating them like glass.

The electronic beat was overtaken by Milton’s own heart.

“Being an idol is leverage. It’s release. Because I wasted 18 years of my life making myself a tool for everyone’s dirty jobs, before realising I could be more than what I was born to do.” Ibara’s wounded voice reverberated across the island. "I don’t care if you think it’s pathetic that I thrust my hips onstage for a living. Or that it’s pointless for me to act like I can do it forever. It’s the only thing in my shitty life that has ever made me feel like a person!”

With no time to waste, Milton leaned into his mic. There had to be something, anything he could say.

He was never really that good at figuring where the lines were unless it was just to cross them. With the way things turned out back home - his track record was the very thing that sent him in that shipping container in the first place. But there was nowhere else he could go - and nowhere he would rather be. He had to try. 

Static grazed his lips. 

He was stopped by the cracked gurgle of Ibara’s throat, amplified by the speaker.

“And for a while - for a really long fucking while.” Ibara shook his head, wiping his eyes with his wrist. “I thought that thing was you.”

The speakers screeched, then fell silent. The Eden member began to storm off the stage, rubbing his back and grumbling to himself. 

“What am I even doing? Ah, that hurts… ”

Milton rushed up the stage.

“You’re my number one oh-shee!”

A high-pitched whine shattered the eardrums of Milton, Ibara and probably everyone within a ten-kilometer radius. 

“Too close, too close!” The idol covered his ears, looking to be both in pain from the sound and the pronunciation. He rolled his eyes and hissed. “Hold it further from your face - ”

“I wasn’t trying to -”

Another screech.

“Still too close!” Ibara groaned, having to catch himself against the scaffolding this time.

“...Better?”

Milton assumed that was a yes, judging by how Ibara continued to walk away on the platform. It didn’t matter. He was going to put on an even more spectacular performance for this whole island, whether they liked it or not.

Whether Ibara liked it or not.

“I didn’t ask you that because I wanted to make fun of you.” Milton insisted. “I mean, of course there’s the banter, but what I really meant was - are you happy spending your whole life pleasing others!?”

Ibara’s foot didn’t touch the next step, just barely hovering over it. 

“I don’t just read the papers to find stuff to embarrass you with.” Milton furrowed his eyebrows. “I’ve seen what happens to other idols. They do the things you do and go out like a light. I just - I hate seeing you push yourself over the edge.”

“...You’re treating me like a child.”

Milton sighed and unplugged the mic.

“I guess I got so used to managing this place that I’m even trying to manage you, now.”  He walked towards Ibara and sat at the precipice of the stairs, right at Ibara’s feet. “I don’t know, I just… I love that you keep me on my toes, and I thought telling you straight up would just stop making things fun. It was an awful way to go about it. I’m sorry.”

The nest of red curls atop his head greeted the playful embrace of manicured fingers, the cool steel touch of their multitude of rings.

“You do have bad taste. But I suppose that’s one of the things that make us well-suited for each other - that being, our ill-suitedness to everyone else.”

Ibara sat down next to him.

“...Hey, Goose.”

“Mm?” Ibara mindlessly twirled his index finger around Milton’s bangs, gaze affixed to the ships passing in the night.

“If you weren’t a descendant of that Godfather of yours, would you still want to be an idol?”

His gentle whispers back held the cracks of sobriety. “I tend to find it… inefficient to focus on hypotheticals rather than the present. But a place like this defies time, slowing it down for me to realise - what I knew as inefficiency, I unmasked to reveal avoidance.”

Ibara brought a kiss to Milton’s temple. A rare display; for someone whose stage language (and bedroom language) mastered the art of innuendo, these chaste little gestures were nothing short of blasphemous in a public setting. As the tide did to his feet, he bit his tongue and let the warmth wash over him.

“Rest assured, if I were reborn into a world where I was free to choose this profession… I could have used someone like you as my producer.”

“Why be reborn? We can do it now.”

Ibara’s head tilted with surprise. 

“...I beg your pardon?”

“I just have to decide what you sing, right?” Milton grinned. Still confused, Ibara went limp like a ragdoll as he grabbed his shoulders and shook him from side to side. “Well, as your producer, I’ve decided that you can sing whatever you want.”

“My, ahem… outburst notwithstanding,” Protesting, Ibara desperately tried to mask his childlike intrigue. “Don’t you have to work in one hour?”

“Well I could think of someone who could make that one day instead. For all of us.”

The owner of the resort took one of the longest breaths he had ever taken in his life.

“Very well.” He nodded. “On one condition: you must sing with me on this very stage.”

“You got a deal. So what are we singing?”

Ibara took his hands away from Milton’s head and clasped them together, cackling.

“If I recall,  there were quite a few songs in my youth that Shuetsu Academy would never let me sing…”

Drenched in warm hues, the acrid mist from the Java Sea greeted the rolling waves, which caressed the silent graves of sea creatures across the empty shore. Birds of paradise began their whooping chorus in their nests to announce the arrival of the rising sun. 

Here, at Limbus Tropicae – the edge of the tropics, a peaceful suspension of daily life between the equally dangerous arctic ‘paradise’ and deserts of ‘hell’ — the stillness of nature created a different world to behold. 

“BUT SHE WEARS SHORT SKIRTS, I WEAR T-SHIRTS ~”

…Or at least, that was what some intern wrote on the branding kit.

“SHE’S CHEER CAPTAIN AND I’M ON THE BLEACHERS!~”

The birds scattered. Fluorescent lights cut through the smoke, revealing the stage in all its glory. But there was neither the entrancing vocals or complex manoeuvres of the idols of ES, nor a lovestruck audience to receive them.

“DREAMIN’ BOUT THE DAY WHEN YOU WAKE UP AND FIND THAT WHAT YOU’RE - LOOKIN’ FOR -”

Ibara croaked, lying flat on the floorboards like a dead fish. He swatted at a can that had toppled and rolled near his shoulders: cheap beer he’d ordered in from the nearby convenience store, the sixth one this time. 

He poked Milton’s cheek with the mic.

“...Has been here…” Milton choked back a snore and hiccuped. “ the whole time…” 

“Oho. Is that the extent of your stamina, ‘Producer’? The setlist for Eden’s final live show was thirty, if I recall.”

“Dude, we went through your whole Spotify, can you cut me some slack?” The parrot shook himself awake, groaning as he sat up. “And out of all the songs your school banned, you chose this one? Don’t know about you, but I would’ve loved growing up thinking Swifties didn’t exist.”

“It wasn’t so much of an affair related to the quality of her music, fans or even moral character.” Ibara shrugged, then grimaced. “Even today, Eden, myself and some of our fans could be identified with that sort of… profile. It wouldn’t have made sense on that basis.”

“So what was it?”

“To prepare us for an industry that permitted limited contact with the opposite sex, all love songs by female artists were banned.”

Milton scoffed and started tidying Ibara’s shirt. The inconveniences of timezones led his board meetings to happen while they shared the same bed, and before he knew it, this habit became hard to kick. 

“And how did that turn out?”

As he finished the top one, Ibara’s palm ghosted his own.

“What do you think, Pelage? That we are a happy coincidence? I’m afraid not: you have Ms. …Ms?”

“ - Yeah, still not married.”

“Good for him, whoever that is.” Ibara huffed, then continued. “But I digress: you have Ms. Swift to thank for our… arrangement. Because without those thrice-divorced temptresses that define the face of romance pop-rock, came the throes of BL CDs - some of them more explicit than others.” 

“Wait.”

“I did not own any myself.” Ibara was quick to snap. “Whatever I did was research material for Eden.”

“I mean, I don’t care. I know you’re lying.” Milton lay back down, then spread out his arms and started to make a snow angel from all the cans around him. “So you said that music was banned… but who banned it? Hey, weren’t you like the Supreme Leader of Shuetsu at the time -”

“I have a meeting in five minutes.”

Ibara picked up his own pile of cans and buried Milton in them, then sped deep into the forest.

And we've made it to the end of the fic! I'm Mod Serpent. I can't thank you enough for being interested in my yumeship, even if you just scrolled down here to see if it was really that long, haha. If you're reading this, Rumi, thank you for reblogging and taking the time to organise such an event for us all!

"Goose" is a Top Gun character. It has less to do with the character's background and film genre than Milton saying "SaeGUSa" out loud and going, "heeeey..."

Why Taylor Swift, you might ask? Well ES! is set in 2015, so any songs he would've listened to and influenced Eden would have come out a couple years before then. I just thought Taytay would be hilarious because it's so jarring compared to Ibara's self-imposed image, yet the, ahem... 'toxicity' element is there in the lyrics.

Being a future AU, Snakesling is not your standard coming of age enstars setting, and I like to imagine what problems/personal growth Ibara will face when he has to undertake adult responsibilities. I wrote my heart out in the confrontation scene - it was very emotional for me, having to empathise with his abuse and a long search for an identity not defined by his trauma.

I'm going to write lots more to unpack this. I love my dumbass snake. Stay tuned!

[raayllum]

I know you like to analyze thematically in TDP a lot and you write top down the same way, so I’m curious, what are some of the themes/motifs in your upcoming novels? and do any of them coincide with TDP?

(GASP you get a gold star oh my god thank you!! and i will try to not make this too Long but i'm very excited!!)

Basic premise for ppl who have never heard of my novels before:

Latest generation of a reincarnated group of chosen ones have to grow up in a world of increasing violence and political instability that they're supposed to fix while also facing their own choices and demons. The main character, Ally, starts off as an 'unchosen one' — she lost her powers as a young child and has been trying to get them back, which kinda makes her resent her chosen one friends just as much as she loves them. The other two co-leads are her twin sister, a former child soldier with death powers she doesn't want, and her friend / one sided rival, a draconic-powered prodigy looking for redemption and to escape her past.

The funny thing is that when I was writing out my series (2014-2017 has all the pieces we currently have, though things have ofc been finessed since then) only ATLA existed as an inspiration point, which was, "How do you always know the Avatar is going to be a good person (and what if you didn't? What if they weren't)?" + "what if there was more than one running around?"

The rest was all from my head. There's a mystical magical heart broken into pieces. A continent divided in two with a long history of war. Characters anchored to the idea of Autonomy who then go through a loss of powers arc (hi Callum s2) and then brainwashing/possession arc (hi arc 2 Callum) that was probably by far the funniest coincidence. Circles and cycles and children and choices. The fact that these all just also found their way into TDP shows just how much it feels like the show was Made For Me in the best way creatively, and one of the reasons I think I've found TDP so personally rewarding to analyze—happy coincidences all around.

There's other coming-of-age themes of course that are shared between the two—grief, identity, friendship—but being prose I get to lean more into religious and political worldbuilding in much more detail.

I think my novel(s) are also more grey and angsty (especially later on) than TDP was at the start, too. A good chunk of my protagonists don't have any moral reservations about assassinations or killing/torturing people push come to shove while also still wanting and trying to be Good People, but that just makes the ethical dilemmas more interesting to explore. That said, everything is ultimately more Hopepunk, I just prefer to never pull punches on the way there

Motifs I like to use:

a tarot inspired in-universe version of chess for foreshadowing purposes

stage motif (who are you when you're performing for everyone around you / constantly fronting?)

birds / ravens

wolves

knives

eyes / the ouroboros (snake eating its own tail)

Themes: gods vs monsters (vs humanity), complex family and friend dynamics, living vs survival, grief and cycles, loss of sense of self, idolization and scapegoating as two sides of dehumanization, etc.

I also wanted to have unique power sets (Moon is one of my favourites with leaning into shadow magic and being able to make things temporarily out of moonlight, or Life not just being all fuzzy plants and animals and showing more of the well, brutality of being alive).

People have said my main protag is basically if Claudia and Rayla were the same person and yeah that's a fair assessment, Unfortunately for her.

I feel like I blabbed enough here but if you want more info on writing things from a top-down approach / what it's like to build from theme first I'd love to talk about it more in relation to TDP (and also my books, mayhaps!)

[ibarap]

[Event] Ouroboros / Transforming Ring 3

Hinata: Boo~, you guys don't play fair!

<A few days later.>

Ibara: ...And so, Anzu-san was instated as CosPro's president!

Everyone welcome her with a round of applause! (claps) ☆

Hinata: Welcome to Cosmic Production! I'm Hinata Aoi, a critically acclaimed, rising idol here at CosPro!

I'll be in your care from now on, New President Anzu. ♪

Yuuta: I told you that'd come off as cold, Aniki. Weren't you going on and on about how happy you were that Anzu-san was coming here?

Hinata: Wait, wait, what are you saying, Yuuta-kun? Your Onii-chan's the same as ever~?

Hiyori: Fufu. Here, Anzu-chan — I'll help you put on your presidential sash!

Jun: I'm the one who placed the order for it, though~. Even then, the best I could get was one that said 'President for a Day'.

Mika: Ya really are the president now, right? Somethin' 'bout that feels weird t'me.

Kohaku: I get that ya said she took up the position and all, but how long is she gonna be president for?

'Cause I doubt it's just gonna be for the day, like the sash says.

HiMERU: There's also a limit to how much she can get done in the span of a single day, so I'd imagine she's acting as a placeholder until he finds the next president?

Ibara: Good guess! It'd be more accurate to call her our temporary president.

I've been searching through the potential candidates, but... I personally see no issue in having Anzu-san work as president to her heart's content!

Let's all work hard to impress our newly-instated president on a large scale!

Yuuta: (whispering) But guys like Akehoshi-senpai and Tenshouin-senpai aren't just gonna let it slide if he pulls something like this...

HiMERU: (whispering) As vice president, he must be expecting as much. Regardless, looking deeper into it would be stirring up a hornet's nest. [1]

Hinata: Anzu-san! Now that you're CosPro's president, let me fill you in on what goes on around the agency. ☆

Yuuta: You say that, but she's been to the agency a ton of times already, so there isn't anything new you can share with her, is there?

Hinata: That not what I meant~. I know she probably knows her way around the filing cabinets or where the break room is.

But there's no way she knows about the rules we have over here, right?

Yuuta: You mean stuff like 'whoever's first to get to the office each day has to wipe down everyone's desks until the next person clocks in'?

Mika: Ehh?! We had rules like that all along? I didn't know!

Hinata: Ahaha, that's 'cause we made them up just now. You're all good.

That said, if there's anything you don't know, feel free to ask us! As your senpai in CosPro, you can rely on us. ♪

Ibara: Alright, alright — it's time to cut this conversation short.

His Excellency and I will be showing Anzu-san around the agency, so the rest of you should get back to work.

Hinata: Boo~, you guys don't play fair!

Ibara: There's nothing unfair about it. It just so happened that the two of us were the only ones that didn't have any work lined up this morning.

Hiyori: That's too bad, but there's not much we can do about it. I mean, we have plenty of time to talk afterwards.

Nagisa: ...Hiyori-kun and everyone were at work before this, correct? You can leave guiding Anzu-san to us.

...It's the least we could do. We'll be in your care, Anzu-san.

Ibara: Let us show you around right now! Starting with the president's desk!

In short, I'd appreciate if you could work on simple tasks here!

Then next, we have... Come again? You want to get to work already?

Nagisa: ...When you became president, you started to think of a variety of projects you'd like to do, I see.

Ibara: (Well, I had a feeling she'd say something along those lines. But is she really that much of a workaholic?)

(Either way, there aren't any simple tasks that I could let her handle herself at the moment...)

(On the other hand, as long as she's unaware of the agency's inner workings, it'd be risky to give the more complicated ones to her too.)

Nagisa: ...I'd also like to know what kinds of projects you have in store for us.

...As I'm interested to see how you'd manage us.

Ibara: —Ahaha! Even I'm quite happy by how much you're looking forward to it!

However, Your Excellency, Anzu-san had just recently become CosPro's president! She needs to familiarise herself with the agency first.

Introducing her to each section here is vital for her to proceed with her work unimpeded!

...So please understand that before anything else! Well then, come over here — I'll show you the next section.

Your Excellency, please allow me to take over as Anzu-san's guide from now on. You can make the time to talk about her projects with her at a later date, after all!

Nagisa: ...I suppose? I wouldn't mind if we spoke as we walked, though.

Ibara: No, no, I insist. When it comes to her projects, each and every one of them is surely profitable! I meant that you should ask her about them at a more appropriate time and place.

That's all...

Nagisa: ...Ibara, shouldn't you be following after her?

Ibara: Huh?

Wait, Anzu-san?! Just because you know your way around the agency to some extent doesn't mean you can move around as you see fit!

<A few hours later, backstage at a TV set.>

Ibara: It looks like His Highness and Jun are still getting ready.

Hm? You're asking if I'm here for Eve's work often?

No, I usually let His Highness and Jun work on their own.

There are times where I've had a staff member accompany them as a result, but those have been few and far between.

It's not like they're newly-debuted idols, so I don't need to attend to them.

And, knowing them, in the event something does come up, they'd be able to handle it right then and there. But if they ever deem an issue far too troublesome to handle themselves, I told them to contact me.

Well, there have been rare occasions where they've caused trouble with their snap judgment instead, though.

—You want to know why we came here today?

Fufu, of course. It's because we wanted the new president to see how Eve does at work. ☆

...Oh? You look like you want to say that I must have another reason for coming here with you. Well, you'd be correct.

There's something I wanted to discuss with the program's director.

And I figured it wouldn't hurt if you'd observe how things are currently going in the meantime.

(If I left her behind at the agency, she'd do as much work as she'd like. As long as she's busy observing things here, she can't get anything done.)

...Ahh, if only this rumoured director had spoken to me beforehand... I'll be excusing myself for the time being, so please enjoy observing everything to your heart's content. ♪

...Why, thank you so much for your hard work today as well! I'm very grateful you extended the offer out to Eve this time!

Jun: Just when I thought that voice sounded familiar... That's rare~ Ibara coming to watch us work, I mean.

Anzu-san... Actually, I know it's only temporary, but would you prefer it if I called you 'President' instead?

"Either's fine"? Alright then, I'll keep calling you Anzu-san like usual.

Wait, why'd you get closer just now?! Don't tell me I should've gone with something else?!

Hm? Oh, I had some dust on my outfit, huh. Thanks for getting it for me.

Ohii-san would've gotten on my case if you hadn't noticed it while I was fixing myself up.

"Congratulations on your international debut"?

Ahaha, it's a bit too early to be saying that. Actually, you had to have known about it too, right?

When you "went over the docs, there were signs that Ibara had edited Eden's schedule"? And that piqued your interest so you found out what that was all about, huh.

Nah, I don't mind. You don't gotta hide it from me anymore.

Well, I don't wanna admit it... but with all this talk about everyone making international debuts, I just realised how I actually felt about everything.

While I was preparing myself to start working overseas, I'd ask myself, "What are my weak points?" "What can I do to get closer to that day?"

...and "Would doing this mean I'd have fewer chances of standing on stage with Ohii-san?" Stuff along those lines.

Things around me are changing, so I started thinking I had to put in all my effort into the things I can do now more than ever before.

'Cause if I only consider my international debut, but don't take the work I have in front of me seriously, I'm pretty sure Ohii-san would get fed up with me~.

And I hope Ibara doesn't get on my case either.

Hiyori: It's not fair you get to have fun chatting all by yourselves. What were you two talking about?

Jun: Uwoh?! Ohii-san, when did you get here?

Hiyori: Just now, actually. I was held up for longer than I thought.

Oh right. Anzu-chan, is it true that Ibara's here?

Someone here says they had a project they wanted to discuss with him. It seems like they hurried over once they heard the rumours.

Jun: I dunno where he is, but isn't it rude to not make an appointment about that kinda thing ahead of time?

Hiyori: Exactly, so I have them waiting outside for now!

...You'll handle it yourself? Since you're CosPro's temporary president?

Fufu, I'm looking forward to it! Knowing you, it'll turn out fine, so could I leave it in your hands?

Notes:

藪蛇 (yabu hebi, lit. 'to poke the bush to let out the snake' from a longer idiom): Nothing really, I just thought it was cute HiMERU was the one who brought up the snake allusion.

also i haven't dropped this story or anything, april was just really bad timing 💀 between holy week and uni enrollment and etc. but i should be back on (my very self-imposed and already loose) schedule! but i'll probably go back and tweak prev chapters again knowing me.

» Prev | Masterlist | Next «

[andizoidart]

Previous Idol Geno and his need to collect other idols’ merchandise, he loves supporting the younger idols.

Also free lore: The only idol he’s been able to keep consistent contact with is Idol Outer (Stage name Outkast). He’s the only idol friend that’s consistently made an effort to come see him. Lust is another that he has contact with, but Lust went straight into the costume design side of things after a short Idol stint and does pretty well off of that, working for current idols.

[idolkilling]

Dinner Date 💕

I started this comic back in 2018 and finally finished this April 😭  Pleased w/ how it came out, but more than that, glad I learned so much from doing it :’)  Originally posted on twitter.

[mimisempai]

Unexpected

Summary

When Casey followed Hunter B-15 to meet the man she called O.B., he certainly didn't expect to meet his lifelong idol, Ouroboros, the author of the book that never left his side.

But what he also didn't expect was that the other man would be so kind and have the most charming smile.

Notes

I fell in love with these two sunshines…

On Ao3

Rating G - 870 words

Casey followed Hunter B-15 and had no idea where she was taking him. But he appreciated not being tied to his desk and finally felt like he was doing something useful, so he eagerly followed her.

They arrived in a semicircular room that seemed empty, and B-15 called out, "Hey, O.B., this is Casey. I thought he could help."

A voice answered, "We're all gonna die!" but no one was visible.

Advancing into the room, B-15 called out again, "O.B.?"

Rapid footsteps drew their attention to the left, and Casey saw a man emerge from the stairs, shouting again, "We're all gonna die!"

Then, to Casey's surprise, he stopped in front of him and shook his hand vigorously, saying, "Oh. Hey, nice to meet you."

Then he gave him a quick smile and, not giving Casey a chance to react, continued on toward B-15, repeating, "We're all gonna die."

The hunter asked, "What do you mean?"

The man, O.B., put his things on a desk and turned to them and said, "The blast doors won't open."

Casey interjected, "Did you try the C-12 bypass?"

Then, putting his money where his mouth was, he pressed the appropriate control button as O.B. replied, "That won't work.

Casey chuckled slightly and asked a little mockingly, "Are you sure?"

The man casually replied, "Of course. I wrote it."

Casey froze and said nothing for a moment, mouth agape.

This guy had just said he'd written the command. But then... that meant...

Casey managed to articulate despite his stupor, "Wait..."

He pulled out the booklet he always kept in the back pocket of his pants and asked, barely able to contain his excitement, "You're Ouroboros?"

O.B. looked surprised that Casey had asked as he replied, "Yes?"

Casey, wanting to be sure, asked, pointing to the orange booklet, "You wrote the TVA guidebook."

The other man looked absolutely delighted when he asked, "You've read it?"

Casey immediately replied, not a little proudly, "Read it? I practically memorized it," then laughed slightly as he looked at B-15 before asking the other man, "Will you sign mine for me?"

O.B. replied enthusiastically, "Of course I will. Happy to do it."

They both leaned over the book and Casey showed him where to sign, "Yeah, just next to your picture."

"Hold on." 

It was B-15.

Casey had completely forgotten about her, and apparently O.B. had as well.

When she got their attention back, she continued, "You just said we're all gonna die."

O.B. became serious again, and in the same state of stress as at the beginning of the conversation, as he said, "Oh, right. The containment doors are locked, and only the person who designed it can open it with a live scan of his temporal aura."

B-15 caught on and calmly said, "He Who Remains."

O.B. continued, "And he's dead. So without Miss Minutes to help us override the lock, we're stuck."

Casey replied matter-of-factly, "So we have to convince a rogue artificial intelligence to come back to work.

O.B. replied, "Whatever we're doing, we gotta do it fast. The more those branches grow, the closer this thing comes to melting down. I'll build the device, but you need to find a way in or it won't matter."

They stood in silence for a moment, overwhelmed by the magnitude of the task, then B-15 was the first to come to her senses and headed for the door. Casey followed suit when he was held back by O.B., who had put his hand on his arm.

Casey turned to him and although he looked worried, O.B. asked gently, "If you don't mind... uh, Casey. I'd like you to come and talk to me about what you learned in my manual. That is, if we can get this mess straightened out. You're the first person to talk to me about it like this in... I don't know how long, and since I've never had any real feedback, I'd love to hear yours."

The last few months had brought many changes to Casey's life. Sometimes unsettling, sometimes very destabilizing, but the fact that someone wanted to talk to him and listen to what he had to say wasn't one of them.

And there was no way he was going to turn down an invitation from his all-time idol. The mysterious person behind the ingenious and practical words of the TVA guide.

So with a big smile on his face, Casey held out his hand and said, "It's a deal!"

O.B., also smiling, took Casey's hand, and this time the handshake was not hasty and rushed like the first one, the glances and smiles were not the polite ones of people who don't know each other, but of two people with a common interest. That, too, was new to Casey.

As he left, he told himself that he'd try to help as much as he could on his own level so that he could visit O.B. as soon as possible.

Of course, he was looking forward to talking about the manual, and his haste had absolutely nothing to do with O.B.'s smile.

Nothing at all.

_________

Still not beta'd

Still not my native language

Still hoping you'll enjoy this story 🥰

Still thanking you for bearing with me 😝

[mogwaei]

Mogwaei, tis the anon obsessed with Ouroboros return. Needed to pause and run a lap around my house!! I wish to kiss your brain for the Fade scenes (maker I love Hawke and Alistair and would love to know more about their canons for you) I’m so excited to keep reading I needed a pause and fangirl a moment🫡

AHHAHA I LOVE YOU ANON

I'll put some aimless thoughts beneath the cut for you <3

Ngl I think writing Fade scenes is where my strength lies. I certainly have the most fun writing those above anything else. The possibilities are endless! 😌✨

Lemme seee uhmmm my Hawke is a bastard and she knows it. She's a horrible person and will do just about anything to skirt responsibility. She's largely self-serving. This attitude (and her pettiness) is how she ended up as the last remaining Hawke. After DA2, I think she realises just how isolated she has become and decides to keep digging - i.e. figure out how deep this shit goes (the idol, red lyrium, etc) because if there's redemption to be found for her, it's finding answers. If really pressed, she might confess something like "I'm doing this for those I hurt", but in reality, she's doing it mostly for her and Varric.

And Varric is really the only one she cares about and loves deeply. I hint at them having a romance here and there throughout the fic...they keep it hidden but they're definitely secretly married LOL. Hawke's other love is magic. And blood magic.

As for Alistair...?? I'm not sure what to say here! His relationship with Novferen was not a romantic one, though she did lead him on for a while because she's a horrible person and thought to teach him some kind of fucked up lesson. If you think my Hawke is terrible at all, Nov had no restraints like family or friends to think of. Power hungry, manipulative, and at the beginning she was often cruel for the fun of it. Her true love is Morrigan and if there's any light to be found within my wretched Warden, it's thanks to her. Except, I think every companion eventually found a little give with Novferen, but MAN did they have to weather a storm to get there. Leliana has a little dialogue about her in chapter 148.

But ALISTAIR, RIGHT. Nov would have grown to tolerate him. She kept him off the throne because she was pissed she couldn't take it (as a dalish mage, not a chance shhh i know it's breaking canon). If she could have put a nug on the throne instead of anyone else, she would have. Or let Ferelden burn because she wanted the throne. Right, ALISTAIR: she had no patience for his 'naivete' and he despised her cruelty toward everyone they met. This caused the others in the crew to sort of lean on each other on occasion out of emotional-survival...and I like to think they really really wanted to weather Novferen out of spite. He and Leliana fought back at her with kindness and it did eventually work. To an extent. Nov's another one of my ocs who hates "hope", if that adds any more shape to the weird picture I'm trying to paint.

anyway...I guess that's something to chew on lol

[sammialex]

Babel

The grey, pebbled wool of your oldest sweater slips down over your hands as you type, words flowing out of your fingers and across the keys of your computer. Live and let live, you plead into the void. Vitriol spits back at you. Naive, the kind ones say. Idiot, say the rude. Traitor, say the rest.

You close the computer with a soft click, and spots burst in front of your eyelids as you press the heels of your palms into hollow sockets. Darkness has crept into the room while you were absorbed in the screen's blue brightness, and shadows loom from potted plants, various towering stacks of papers and books, and furniture that is cozy in the light of day.

No one listens. Every day you put out another letter to the editor. You write another blog. You post another picture. Every day you turn on the news and see another disaster, another shooting, another suicide, another law called FREE that will only limit freedom.

It's enough to turn someone to drastic action, you muse, and you're joking, really, you are, but some tiny part of you wonders what that drastic action would even look like. If the pen is not mightier than the sword, and surely it isn't if none of the articles and posts and memes make any sort of difference. If the sword is not mightier than the pen, and surely it isn't, if all of this violence can be caused or calmed by a word from the right person.

You don't have an answer.

The stairs creak beneath your feet, slow shuffling steps carrying you higher, closer to your bed. A slice of silvery moonlight through the window crosses your pillow, and you lean against the sill, just looking out at the sky. Stars struggle to peek through the light pollution from the nearby city, and you strain to see the brightest—there, Orion's belt. The hunter. There, his faithful dog, forever at his heels.

They watch over the sky, proud and sure, chests thrown out and blazing. Do they fear for us? You wonder. Do they know how much less we look to the sky, how hard it is to see them if we glance up? Do they resent our cynicism as it grows, generation after generation, scoffing at gods while looking to the false idols who live among us?

Perhaps they are unsurprised, watching another cycle of struggle and loss. You remember a quote you once heard, that the Earth is littered with the ruins of empires who believed they were eternal. You think of the boneyard your home is built on, the blood that was spilled to make room for your life.

The curtain grates over the rod as you close it with a sharp jerk, plunging the room into darkness. What would it take, you wonder as you crawl into your warm bed and feel guilty that you have one at all. What would it take, for humanity to stop acting the ouroboros, wrapped around and eating itself alive? Have we always been this way? Or did we climb too high, a species of Babel, meant to tear itself apart at the seams?

Your head hits the pillow, cool sheets against your cheek. Your eyelashes drag against the fabric as you blink once, twice, and then leave them closed.

What would it take, you wonder. You see how easy it would be to turn to violence, to let this helpless rage seep into action, to try and grab something, anything with two hands and do something people would have to acknowledge. You know how useless it is, that your name would be lost to the next one, and the next, day after day as the violence continues to mount, endlessly escalating.

Your sleep is uneasy.

The sun rises. Another day.

also posted on ao3 here.

[inafieldofdaisies]

2 in 1 uquizzes

Uquiz #1: What does your OC heart look like?

Uquiz #2: What does your OC path lead to?

broken, missing pieces that once were there: your heart has been torn before, chipped and maybe even shattered. Some pieces will never be recovered, and you are shaped by the loss. But it can still be shaped into something tangible, something good, even with its flaws and imperfections. You don’t have to do all the work of rebuilding by yourself. Allow other hands to leave their fingerprints on the new heart you create from the remnants.

the messenger: a creature of flesh and bones but wrong, wires wrapped around limbs and a steady ticking accompanying each step. His home is in the forest, pale trees with dark eyes, and he clutters on, his bones creaking with every step. The clock keeps on ticking, every moment a blink in the eye of the universe as the years fly by. His steps continue forevermore, an ouroboros lumbering on and on, a mechanical being made from the dead. On and on he clatters, a void that can never be filled, with bloody feet and a chittering voice.

i'd say quite fitting, but the fact the second result is titled "the messenger" definitely sent me

a tangled ball of red strings: who are you without the company of others? You aren’t sure, but you know that you aren’t fond of whoever it is. You are an actor, a pretty face and a pleasant song. Many idolize you, or love you, but you can never be sure of how sincere it is. Your heart is buried under the letters they leave you, sealed with a kiss. It can’t be untangled from the red strings they’ve attached to you. You deserve to find something, someone, true and faithful to hold your heart in place. You don’t have to be everything to everyone.

the path: the memories left behind by others, each one taking their next step along side you. Softly rustling leaves in the wind, the full moon bathing the forest in a silvery light. A beaten path between towering trees, giant shadows slinking between them. Glowing eyes staring down at you, the animals' gazes piercing right through you. The fluttering of thousand of moths, each flap of their wings accompanied by whispers and the knowledge that somewhere someone's fate has taken a new path.

I'm screaming at the actor result for Mer. OMG. the path is also ironic considering her role chosen by Joseph

molten lava and charred flesh: your heart burned so fiercely that it burnt itself out, leaving horrible scars in its wake; scars inside your chest and on the hands of those who touched you, the hearts of anyone who got close enough to connect to yours. The person you are now is no longer recognizable, burnt up by your own anger and passion and love. The injuries can never be fully erased, but they can be soothed with time and trust and forgiveness.

the virus: Game Over. Try Again? Yes [ ] No [ ] I am tired [x] You are psydelic colors, no clear edges but instead just flowing into the ether, just floating somewhere in-between. You have played their games and lost, tried again and again and again but it could never be enough, no, you have been flawed from the start, always wrong wrong wrong. Aren't you tired yet? Hasn't it been enough, you have done your best but your form was never supposed to fit into the cutout they've created for you, each time you played their game you snipped parts away. And it still wasn't enough, would never be enough. Darling, don't you want to break them as they broke you? Darling dear, remember, they called you toxic and vicious, a virus they sought to eradicate. So stop playing the games you could never win and play your own, you are bright colors as a warning sign, sharp words spilling like toxic fumes from a sharp toothed mouth, you are a predator of this new age.

I am once again asking Cal to stop breaking my heart. Ooochie. The fire symbolism, the forgiveness.

Tagging @thesingularityseries @cassietrn @direwombat @strafethesesinners @madparadoxum @poisonedtruth @detectivelokis @shegetsburned @nightbloodbix @aceghosts @jacobsneed @josephslittledeputy @theelderhazelnut @josephseedismyfather @trench-rot @g0dspeeed @adelaidedrubman @clicheantagonist @neverthesameneveranother @voidika @v0idbuggy @socially-awkward-skeleton @aceghosts @clicheantagonist and anyone that would like to do the tag <3

[theredofoctober]

OUROBOROS— DEAD RINGERS FIC PART 3

Cross posted from ao3

Pairing: Beverly Mantle/Elliot Mantle

Synopsis: The sisters reconnect in the most intimate manner...

TW: incest, abusive relationships

Read after the cut ✂️

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Chapter Three: Beverly

Primitive, my sister was, a feasting animal, and I gave myself up to the ferocity of her desire with an abandon that was strange to me, retentive to the last, but for that night. Her mouth between my legs was as though I had summoned a thoughtform of myself to pleasure me, or else called on my own ghost through time, such was the exactness of her understanding of me, her taut lips and rasping tongue waking me to star scapes of ecstasy.

I caught my own scream in my hand before it ever left me, bunched my shoulders to stop my back from buckling into an unseemly arch as she unlatched every tightly wound want I had in answer to her.

My hands closed like ferns upon the couch cushions, drawn in by Elliot's contact upon me, the velvet light that each rough curve of tongue and fingertips struck bright, inducing a blindness in which I saw only her, my sister; she raised her head like a desert wanderer from a mirage, and her eyes flashed, black jewels studding the satin of her beauty, that was mine.

"That feels good," she crooned, through that red mouth, her lips and tongue awash with me. "Doesn't it?"

I couldn't answer, only yawned in silence over the cries that I could never let go for fear that I could not stopper them in the glass bottle of myself again. So down between my thighs she went, my loose-haired doppleganger, her free hand clawing my breasts, my waist, my hips with a greed that told me it wasn't quite enough, would never be enough unless, by some eldritch miracle, she were able to plunge her whole form within me, or draw me into her, making us one sole idol of pleasure.

My feet dashed a pillow from the end of the sofa, digging as they did into the fabric beneath me for purchase, something to pin me to the earth that I longed to leave in the ether of that feeling. Only Genevieve had ever come close to achieving that flawless Eden, yet she was an ancient memory in the face of all I that I endured, then, the unwriting of myself on the tongue of my twin.

"Ellie," I whimpered, at last, through lips drawn so thin as to pretend I had not spoken.

She scrambled up my body with a sloppy eagerness to kiss me, filling my mouth with the musk of my own pleasure, with the wine-darkness of the saliva I swallowed without question, as though, like water, it might ease the thirst that haunted me in even my happiest times. I gave myself entirely to that kiss, my hands on her cheeks, holding her to me with a force that left pale marks when she drew back to lap me to my vertices again.

"Good girl," said Elliot, against my sodden thigh, so sweetly that I moaned like a crow with a broken wing, unfit to fly. "I want you to come for me, Beverly. You are going to come for me, Beverly. Do you hear me? Tell me."

Tears of joyous desire crystallised in the corners of my vision, cracking my vision into a dream as seen through frosted glass.

"Yes," I said. "I hear you, Ellie. I love you. Please..."

Her fingers had returned to me, inciting such sensation where I had once known nothing but the shadows of her own achievements, the lovers Elliot had hunted for me as a wild cat in some sensuous wood. My hands went out to her, wishing to entice her mouth back to the seam that craved her cunning repair.

"Then don't be so fucking quiet," said Elliot, laughing, the lovely devil. "I want to hear you. Moan for me. Say my name. Tell me you need me."

She saw the difficulty of it, how desperately I suppressed the carnal madness that Elliot inhabited as simply as a selkie its skin. That was how it was, always, between my sister and I: she, the first primal hunter to set fire to a spear and prowl beyond the cave in whose safe darkness I remained. Now I saw that I had no option but to follow, a shallow mimic, echoing the sounds I hoped that she would make for me, in return.

"Ellie," I cried. "I need you."

Her eyes were night gems, all precious, wicked mystery in which I saw the moon of my own face from afar. Then her tongue was parting my heat again, and I gasped as, in that anointing fire, I sensed every mote of resistance give itself over to sin, and sumptuousness, and sugar lacquered symphony. I moaned, and Elliot's arm went about my hips, hauling me so flush to her mouth that it was though we were joined there, sealed forever in that rapturous stance.

My orgasm made me realise how long I'd been a somnambulist, a listless wisp that, through existence, walked sleeping, feeling nothing of it but a colourless suggestion of things. Now it seemed the world had awoken into lurid colour, the red of a tongue and the inner aperture of me, all crimson, all-knowing, the ruby eye of Elliot's God watching us take our fists to the ten commandments.

My back curved off the couch in a coiling 'C', and I released a dozen calls of soft pleasure that moved the quiet house with their melody. Then down I fell, breathless and flushed all over in my sister's arms, who had risen from my pink thighs to lie across me, her head at my breast, planting a kiss with saucily nipping teeth to one nipple.

"That," I said, when I could find the air to speak. "That was... I've been waiting all my life for this, I think."

Elliot raised her head and smirked at me with such coquettish self-satisfaction that I was almost shy.

"I love how you taste," she declared. "I could eat you for every meal of the day, and I'd never be bored. Yum."

She rubbed one hand across her face, smearing my wetness away, and then licked a kittenish stripe across her palm, gathering the salt of it.

I tried to sit up, my legs near helpless to assist me, and settled in a half slouch, nursing my brow, watching Elliot stride a lap of the room, the wine glass back in her hand again. It was impossible not to look at her. Her beauty was so bold, mine but a faded replica of she, who had been born first.

"Elliot," I said, gently. "Come and sit down."

"The General and her orders," Elliot retorted, but she obliged, tangling herself back amidst my limbs in an embrace that was comfort and desire all at once.

She turned her face to mine, garlands of hair looped against her wet cheek.

"Your turn," she said. "Don't you think?"

[darkarfs]

I need to learn to love how I look post-shower. Fucking rained-on St. Bernard. (That's a Drumstick, which I got from my neighbor's freezer. I'm watching her cat this week while she's on vacation, and she said I could have a few.) I'd never been to a show at a college campus before. It was a 4,000 seat venue and it was almost completely full. And the crowd was exactly what you'd expect at that kind of show: the Venn diagram meeting place between anime nerds, stoners and metal nerds. We got there for opener Jason Richardson, a guy who did shred instrumentals with programmed blastbeats. Every song was indistinguishable from the other. He went on for too long. Totally admit going in that I only knew 5 or 6 Babymetal songs, but the ones I knew I more or less liked. I'm not a person who sees them as a novelty act, either, like "oh isn't that interesting, these Japanese pop-idol singers are fronting this riff-heavy metal band." The songs and performances speak for themselves, honestly, and the enthusiasm and energy are absolutely there. They choreograph the shit out of it, and they take it seriously, and yet...it's objectively very silly, and I like that. There's a video vignette at the start about how the infinite universe needs more love and free will and heavy metal in it, and these people want to bring it to us. There's footage of ruins, the desert, the world as seen from space, the Ouroboros, animals chasing one another. It dissolves into this vague "the universe at play, the cosmic ballet" sort of thing, and I take solace in the fact that metal never lets go of that imagery, ever. It shouldn't. Pretend metal is the music of the universe loving and strangling itself, always, because it really is, and I always wanna lose myself in that mess. They didn't do "KARATE," my favorite song of theirs. But they were giving 100% of themselves, and I admire commitment, even if I only knew 5 or 6 songs. Dethklok are currently Brendon Small, a tiny woman in spandex whose name I missed (I think it was Nili?), a bass player, and drumming legend "Atomic Clock" Gene Hoglan. And they are...listen, I've been going to metal shows since 1997, since my freshman year of high school. I've seen Cannibal Corpse, Opeth, Sepultura, Between the Buried and Me, Megadeth, Mastodon, Gojira, Slayer...these are maybe the tightest metal band I have ever seen play. And I think that has everything to do with the fact that they have to play to match the visuals on a giant screen behind them, and it was millisecond-precise, airtight. They're basically playing note-perfect live versions of every Dethklok music video you've ever seen, in real time. You'd need Gene Hoglan for that. FaceBones addressed us twice on the monitor, reminding us to stop being such dickfaces for not showering when going to shows and that we're all friends because we smoke weed. Smalls also took the time to address us as every character he voices on the show. He could do Pickles and Skwisgar, but his Nathan suffered because he had just sung 7 songs beforehand. Not blaming him for that! This is probably the only show I'd ever been to where I knew the words to EVERY song, too, which is weird to think about. Like, even when I saw bands I loved like Motorhead or Gwar, there's always a song I don't know, or a deep cut they do that I'm not familiar with. I knew all the Dethklok stuff.

So much fun. Good to be among the enthusiastic metal dorks, universally the best and most accepting crowds on Earth. Did a shirt count, and other than the two bands performing, the most represented band that I saw, weirdly, was Megadeth. Shout-out to the girl dressed as Dr. Rockso. People being let out to get back to their cars looked like the opening to Gravity's Rainbow. On our way back to the car, I overhear this conversation: Guy behind me: "Those visuals on those two songs were from the movie that just came out." Other guy: "Oh, there's a movie? Where can I watch it?" Me, turning around: "KIMCARTOON DOT ELL-EYE!" GBM: "Well, I'd like to pay them to watch it, yeah?" Me: "Oh, well, in that case, you can rent it on iTunes." Other guy: "Oh, well, fuck that, I'm not going through all of that." Me: "Y'all can't have it both ways, dudes!" An incredibly fun and lovely evening. Glad I did it, glad I had good company for it. I'd do it again.