#His initial thing to relate to the mirror was him having a habit of ‘reflecting expectations’

[writingjourney]

how it feels | cardinal copia x reader

summary: You've been struggling with your body image lately, Copia notices and tries to comfort you.

content: 2k words, emotional hurt/comfort, tw for body image issues, reader is gender neutral with no physical descriptions, established loving relationship, Copia is an absolute sweetheart angel baby.

This is absolutely self-indulgent, but I kept it very vague so that it’s as relatable as it can be. It’s more on the emotional side for sure but (I hope) still ends with a positive message. Please don't read this if you’re acutely triggered by negative self talk.

Ao3 link – Masterlist

It happens by chance.

You have been avoiding the big, ornate mirror in your room for a few days now, pretending to wear blinkers. If you weren’t sharing a bedroom with Copia, you might have covered it with a sheet. But this morning, as your love gets ready for work, humming to himself in the bathroom, you can’t find your habit. Panicked that you can’t immediately cover yourself, you start a frantic search and your gaze gets caught by the reflection of your hectic movements. Your eyes meet your full-length mirror image, not the small one you’re used to seeing in the bathroom, and it’s like looking at a stranger. For a second you’re in shock, wondering who this body you feel so unfamiliar with belongs to. But then you realise that it’s yours. Instead of walking away, your eyes focus on every single part of it and the vile thoughts that enter your brain meet you like old friends.

You know the image in your head, the view in the mirror and your real body are three separate things. You know that what you’re seeing is distorted by the pain and self-loathing you’ve been harbouring for the past week. And yet no rational thought fully settles in. They pass, they don’t even puncture the disgust you feel.

You startle when you feel two strong arm wrap around your midsection, when the smell of freshly-applied cologne hits your nose. Copia pulls you into his chest and it takes you every ounce of restraint not to flinch back, not to fight your way out of his arms and hide like a wounded animal.

“Hmm, you look beautiful today, amore,” he whispers, then stamps a wet kiss to your cheek. “You always do.”

The disconnect between his reaction and your own perception is enough to make you frown. Copia’s eyes widen, like he’s afraid he said something wrong. He stares at you in the mirror and he must see the tears that colour your eyes red.

“Car-"

You slip out of his grasp, in search for the habit. It sits on a chair next to the bed, waiting for you, your saving grace. But before you can pull it over your head, Copia takes your arm, gently holds it in his strong grasp.

“I need to get ready.”

“Something is wrong, amore,” he states. “You are upset.”

“I need to get dressed, Copia.”

He shakes his head vehemently, nearly dropping his red biretta. “Is it about last night? You said you were tired, too.”

“I know. I was.”

You truly were. But if you’re being honest, exhaustion was not the reason you were glad that he didn’t initiate anything last night. There is no way you would be able to let go right now, to allow yourself any pleasure.

 “I know, I have been busy lately, we did not have much time for… for intimacy.” His thumb rubs a slow circle over your wrist. “But that does not mean I desire you any less. Ti amo, ti desidero, con tutto il cuore. Always.”

His words caress the wounds on your soul. But even so they can’t heal them, not after you ripped them open for days. “I know.” You try to force out a smile. “It’s okay, really. You did nothing wrong.”

“Che cos’è? You are almost crying, amore. I don’t believe it. You don’t even say you love me back.”

You desperately want to, you wish you could find words for him. But instead you vaguely shrug, not sure what to tell him for fear of lying, of abusing his trust. You stare at his hand on your arm. Even though his grip is loose now the black leather of his gloves makes it look almost violent. As if he has the same thought he moves his hand down in favour of linking your fingers together. You wish he would just let it go, that his touch wouldn’t make it all worse, even with the leather as a barrier. How is he not repulsed, how would he willingly be close to you?

“Maybe I am a little upset,” you admit, finally.

“With me?”

His soft voice breaks your heart. You look up at him and see the insecurities plainly written on his face. Of course he assumes that he is the reason. Even now, after being together for so long, he is still so scared of messing up.

You squeeze his hand. “No, not with you. Never with you. I do love you back, so much.”

His shoulders visibly relax and he pulls his brows up into a pleading look. “Can I hug you?”

Despite feeling so ashamed, so miserably vulnerable, you nod. You cannot refuse him, no matter how scared you are of what his touch will do to you. So you wrap your arms around his neck, feel him sink into you. The fabric of his cassock is stiff, hiding the shape of his body and making you feel even more naked. His hands rest on your bare skin, the leather warm as his fingers spread over the small of your back. You feel his warm cheek on yours, the only true skin contact, his sideburns tickling when he nuzzles your neck with a deep sigh.

“Tell me why you are so sad, amore,” he whispers. “Help me understand.”

You know you would never have told him if you’d had to look at his face. But here, hidden in his embrace, your senses busy taking in his scent, his warmth, you feel infinitely safer. Completely filled with the affection you don’t feel like you deserve, you whisper your question. “Copia, do you think I’ve changed?”

He lets go just enough to look at you. “Changed how?”

You shrug, averting your gaze as you fiddle with the buttons just below his neck. “Changed… physically?”

“Your body?”

“Mhm.”

He frowns and you regret the question. This must seem so trivial to him, so pointless. He may not be able to see any changes, he may not even have payed attention, so swamped with work and more important things to worry about.

“I don’t think so,” he finally says. “Did I miss something? You did not get a haircut? New clothes?”

“No. No, that’s not what I mean.”

“What do you mean, amore?”

You fight back tears. Satanas, you feel pathetic, so embarrassed by the situation. How is he still asking? How is he not giving up and telling you to get a grip, that he needs to go to work? You cannot help but feel a bit crushed, undeserving of this love that he has for you, of his patience, all the comfort he offers. You wish you could love yourself like he loves you, be gentle and kind with your body.

Copia takes your chin between his fingers and gently tilts your head up. 

“You know I think you are bellissimo?” he asks. “That you are a gift, not only for my eyes but for my soul?”

You close your eyes, trying to let his words sink in. “Yes. Yes, I know.”

He clicks his tongue. “No, you forgot. I made you forget because I was so busy. I did not love you enough.”

You don’t have the heart to tell him that it’s not a lack of compliments or displays of affection, not when he seems so happy to have found a solution. How could you explain that you’re just messed up sometimes? Maybe it is unfair to let him try, to exploit his affections. You can’t let him think he’s lacking in any way.

“You did, you alway love me enough. You–“

“No, it is alright.” Copia shakes his head. “I will make it better, amore.”

His soft, plump lips press against yours. Before you can reciprocate, he moves them to your jaw, to your neck, featherlight touches that make you shiver. For as long as his body covers yours, they feel wonderful, but then he lets you go and you’re exposed again. Copia sinks down before you and his lips dance all over your chest, leaving a trail of black lipstick.

“So beautiful,” he whispers against your sternum. “Sono tanto fortunato.”

His words, as genuine as they may be, ring hollow. Your mind is telling you that he’s lying. That he can’t possibly mean any of it. He’s saying it because he has to, because he wants to cheer you up, because he is kind and generous like that.

“Tesorino, sei tutto per me. More than I could ever deserve.”

His hands trail down your sides as he kisses your belly, moving down to your navel. That’s when you tense up completely. You can’t take it, it’s like he’s trying to extinguish a flame by adding more fuel. His words, his kisses, his obvious display of his undying devotion, they are too heavy.

“Stop,” you say, barely able to breathe out the words. “Please.”

He looks up at you in utter confusion, chin resting against your stomach. “Amore?”

“I’m sorry,” you blubber out. “I’m so sorry, I don’t think I can do this right now.”

“Nonono.” He moves his hands up and down the backs of your thighs. “I am just trying to show you how beautiful you are. How much I adore you. We don’t have to do anything.”

“That’s not it. Its’ just…” You feel the first full tear rolling down your cheek. “I don’t think I can believe any compliments right now. They are wasted on me. You are wasted on me.”

You can practically see his heart break at your words and you cry silently – for yourself and for him. 

“What are you saying, tesoro?”

You know the question is rhetorical. He perfectly understands. “You deserve so much better, my love.”

He stands up and you watch as he takes off his gloves. With his now bare hands, he cradles your face, wipes the tears away. He’s too slow to catch them all and you wish he would not have to see you cry, he would not see you puffy and pathetic. But you are too weak to move, too weak to fight him when your whole body and your very soul are so desperate, so hungry for his love.

“Can you feel this?” he asks. “How my hands feel on you?”

You nod and he strokes your cheeks. He is so gentle, his fingertips massaging your skin like he’s trying to rub the sadness out of you.

“When I touch you, do you think about how it looks or how it feels?”

“How it feels.”

He brings his face closer, waits for you to flinch, to pull back. But you don’t. So he kisses you, firmly, tenderly, and beneath the salty tears you can taste his love for you.

Ever so patient, he doesn’t pull away. His lips linger, barely grazing yours, as he whispers against your mouth. “And when I kiss you, what do you think about, amore?”

“How good it feels.”

Copia smiles, a pained but beautifully heartbreaking smile. “What about when we make love? What do you think about then?”

“I think about how much I love you, how good you make me feel.”

“Me too. It’s all I think about when we’re together. But it is more of a feeling than a thought. You agree?”

Again, you nod and he nuzzles your nose, keeps his hands on your head. He pushes them into your hair, angles your head up just slightly so that he can kiss the tears from your cheeks. For the first time today you don’t want to leave your body, you want to stay exactly where you are.

“If you cannot believe my words, then maybe you can accept my affection? My love?” he asks. “Can you accept that it is not tied to your body but to all of you, even the things you cannot love about yourself?”

You take a shuddering breath. “I don’t know, Copia.”

“Let us try, amore. Let us try every day to love each other the best we can, sì? To focus on how good it feels?”

You hum in agreement and he hugs you again, pulls you so close that you barely even feel your body anymore, just him and what he does to you. Maybe you can accept his love, even if you are not always capable of understanding it. And maybe by loving him with all your heart you can find a way to extend that love to yourself as well. One day.

Thank you for reading! I hope you're feeling okay and that this story helped a little bit – and if not, my inbox is always open. Take care now, I love you, I like you. Get sleep, get well etc etc ♡

[tillidontneedfantasy]

A Track-by-Track Breakdown of Taylor Swift’s 8th Studio Album: ‘folklore’

Taylor Swift’s 8th studio album, folklore, starts off with the lie, “I’m on some new shit.” Perhaps to someone who hasn’t been paying attention this would seem to be true. But to those listening, folklore is the essence of her skill and success throughout her entire career stripped down for all to see, but more refined, enhanced, and impressive than ever.

Even prior to her pop-world domination with 1989 (2014), Taylor’s storytelling ability has always been her most compelling strength as a writer. In 2010, she released her third album, Speak Now, penned fully solo to prove to the cynics that she does, in fact, write her own music. And it’s damn good. Widely considered her best song, “All Too Well” from Red (2012) is a five and a half minute epic about love had and lost, all in walks through autumn trees, almost running red lights, dancing round the kitchen, and a scarf reminiscent of innocence, unreturned.  

Yet her pop prowess over the last six years perhaps leads to her storytelling being overlooked to those more focused on the music. There is a particular genius in writing a successful pop song, let alone three successful pop albums, that still has hard-hitting lyrics underneath the synth. Take the excellent “Cruel Summer” from Lover (2019) for example. The song is just under 3 minutes, and the production is so enthralling and infectious that it can take such a hold on you, you might miss the tale being told along with it about a fraught summer relationship that was actually just the beginning of her own love story.

But without the pop production, her stories on folklore demand attention. Swept up by a strong wave of creativity and inspiration, Swift secretly wrote and produced this album in around three months with Aaron Dessner of The National, one of Swift’s favorite bands, and long-time collaborator and friend Jack Antonoff. A surprise album is a new endeavor for Swift, as she generally spends months meticulously planning an album rollout. It is refreshing, and as a dedicated, long-time fan of Taylor, it is thrilling. Due to the album cover where she is standing in the woods, and the genre of the album itself, there have been think pieces regarding the “man in the woods” trope and what it means that Taylor seems to be embodying it. As a result of over-exposure, people are unable to stop focusing on her image and the way she presents herself. It’s understandable, as she is a very smart and deliberate businesswoman, and clearly cares about how she is perceived. But with this album, it is clear that none of that was at play. We are in the middle of a pandemic. Her mother has been battling cancer for years. Isolate a creative person in a dangerous world and they will dream up an escape. She understands more than ever how precious each moment is, and does not want to waste another one. The woods being the landscape for the photo-shoot is most likely attributed to the fact that it is the safest place to have one under these circumstances. She’s not pretending she removed herself from society and became enlightened, she didn’t dabble into a more alternative sound to prove anything; she is just sharing stories she wants to tell that she is proud of, and nothing more.

Of course the music of the album is important, but the lyrics are the heart of it all, and I wanted to focus on them. Upon its release, Taylor explained in a foreword that the album was a mixture of personal and fictional accounts. The beauty of stories is that once they are shared, they never live one single life; each person who consumes a story interprets it uniquely, and the story becomes a multiverse, with different meanings and outcomes than what initially drove the pen to the paper. As explained by Swift in a YouTube comment prior to the album’s release, three songs on the album are all one story, which she has dubbed “the teenage love triangle.” The three points of the triangle are “cardigan,” “august,” and “betty.” But if someone had not seen her say that, they might not have figured it out. Maybe they’d interpret each song as their own story, and connect it to their own. Taylor knows this. It is why she loves storytelling and is why she is so good at it. The album itself is a mirror ball, shimmering with every version of the stories being told, reflecting a bit of each person who listens. These are my interpretations, but they can mean whatever you make of them. 

1. the 1 The melody of this song helps set the scene; picture yourself skipping rocks on a lake, reminiscing on the one that got away. “the 1” is about learning to assimilate into a life without them, resentfully accepting that they might be moving on, too. She ruminates on what went wrong and what could have been. In a very Swift fashion, she puts the blame on herself when she sings, “in my defense, I have none / for digging up the grave another time.” Perhaps this song is fictional, perhaps it’s a revisit of a past feeling or relationship, but its relatability makes it feel real and present. She searches for explanations, restraining herself from asking, “if one thing had been different, would everything be different today?” But it’s good she didn’t ask, because she’d never find the answer, anyway. Best lyric: “We never painted by the numbers, baby, but we were making it count / You know the greatest loves of all time are over now.”

2. cardigan (teenage love triangle, part 1: betty’s perspective) “When you are young they assume you know nothing,” Swift sings in her smooth low-register on this Lana del Rey-esque single. “But I knew everything when I was young,” she asserts. They say wisdom comes with age, but there is wisdom lost, too, of what it felt like to be young; but she has held onto it. In this track, the narrator (Betty) is looking back on her relationship with someone she once loved (James, as name-dropped in “betty” later on in the album). Her insight on his character was always spot on; she knew he’d try to kiss it better, change the ending, miss her once the thrill expired and come back, begging for her forgiveness in her front porch light. As soon as she was feeling forgotten, he made her feel wanted, his favorite. The ending in question is unclear, whether she granted him her forgiveness or not. But what is clear is Taylor’s understanding of the pull of young love, the intensity, the immortalization of all the smallest of details, the longing to be someone’s favorite. It’s why we look back on it so often, read stories and watch films about it, even as we grow old. It’s the cardigan we put back on when we want to be Peter Pan and remember what it was like to fly with Wendy. Best lyric: “You drew stars around my scars / but now I’m bleeding.”

3. the last great american dynasty The story of Rebekah Harkness and her destruction of the last great American dynasty, Standard Oil, is documented in this track, as each verse covers a different part of Rebekah’s life, going from a middle class divorcee to one of the wealthiest women in America by marrying into an empire. Swift paints Rebekah as an outcast, the Rhode Island town blaming her for her husband’s heart giving out. Rebekah used her inherited fortune on her ballet company, throwing lavish parties with her friends who went by the “Bitch Pack,” playing cards with Dali (Yes, as in Salvador Dali. It’s not clear if they actually played cards together, but her ashes were placed in an urn designed by him), and feuding with her neighbors. Then, fifty years later, Taylor Swift bought that very house and ruined the neighborhood all over again, bringing with her the triumphant return of champagne pool parties and women with madness, their men and bad habits. It’s a note on how women will be blamed for tarnishing what is sacred to men rather than celebrated, specifically when its related to wealth and power. They will call them mad, shameless, loud. But just like Rebekah, Taylor learned to pay them no mind, and just have a marvelous time. It is also interesting to note that Rebekah went by Betty. Perhaps Taylor felt inspired by and connected to her and gave her a whole backstory, and thus the birth of “the teenage love triangle,” or maybe it’s just a coincidence; but that’s the fun of it all. Either way, this track is a standout showcase of how Swift has truly mastered her craft as a songwriter. Best lyric: “Holiday House sat quietly on that beach / free of women with madness, their men and bad habits / and then it was bought by me.”

4. exile ft. Bon Iver You know that feeling when your parents are fighting and it’s upsetting you but you can’t help but listen? That’s kind of what listening to this song feels like. Bon Iver’s Justin Vernon co-wrote the track, and he lends his gorgeous vocals to play a man who has been exiled by his ex who has moved on with someone else while he desperately tries to understand where it all went wrong. The bridge is particularly poignant, both proclaiming, “you didn’t even hear me out,” while talking over each other. He thinks he was expected to read her mind, but she is adamant that she gave him plenty of warning signs. Miscommunication is one of the most common downfalls of a relationship, and the emotion in Swift’s and Vernon’s voices really draws you into the argument with them, transporting you back into your own exile from people you once called home. Best lyric: “I couldn’t turn things around / (You never turned things around) / ‘cause you never gave a warning sign / (I gave so many signs.)”

5. my tears ricochet Taylor describes this song in the foreword as “an embittered tormentor showing up to the funeral of his fallen object of obsession.” If you know enough, you can put the pieces together that the tormentor is Scott Borchetta, the head of Big Machine Records, and the funeral is of their professional and personal relationship. Taylor was the first artist ever signed to Big Machine. Borchetta and Swift had to trust each other in their partnership for it to be a success, and oh, how it was. But prior to Lover’s release, Taylor announced that she would be signing to Republic Records as her contract with Big Machine had ended and Republic offered her the opportunity to own all of her masters moving forward and negotiate on Spotify shares for all their artists. It all could have ended amicably there, but then Scott Borchetta sold all of Big Machine, along with Taylor’s masters from every album prior, to Scooter Braun. Braun manages some of the biggest stars out there, and had previously managed Kanye West. Taylor publicly spoke out about this purchase, stating that she was not made aware of this before the announcement, and how much of a betrayal it was considering she had cried to Scott before about Scooter’s mistreatment of her. Taylor has continued to be vocal about this, and so she sings, “I didn’t have it in myself to go with grace.” There is a lot to unpack in this song, but the main takeaway is that this betrayal hurts him just as much if not more than it hurts her, because his career was built on her achievements. He buried her while decorated in her success, becoming what he swore he wouldn’t, erasing the good times for greed, all just to be haunted with regret for pushing her out and stealing her lullabies. The pain is palpable, and it is notable that this is song is placed at track 5, the spot generally reserved for the most vulnerable on the album; it shows that there are different types of heartbreak that can shatter you just as much as those from romance. Best lyric: “If I’m dead to you, why are you at the wake? / Cursing my name, wishing I stayed.”

6. mirrorball On Lover’s “The Archer,” Taylor expresses her anxiety over people seeing through her act, her own grief at seeing through it herself, wondering if her lover does and whether he would stay with her regardless. “mirrorball” is about the act, one of the more obviously confessional songs on the album. She talks about how a mirror ball can illuminate all the different versions of a person, while also reflecting the light to fit in with the scene. Taylor’s critical self-awareness is heart wrenching, and it’s clear that the anxiety that surrounds the public perception of her is still prevalent. She describes herself as a member of a circus, still on the tightrope and the trapeze even after everyone else has packed up and left, doing anything she can to keep the public’s attention. It hurts to hear the desperation in her voice, but there’s hope in the song, too. She is speaking to someone (we can assume her long-term boyfriend, Joe Alwyn) and thanking them for not being like “the regulars, the masquerade revelers drunk as they watch my shattered edges glisten.” In 2016, the height of Taylor’s fame and subsequently her farthest fall from grace, all the people who pretended to be her friends and attended all her parties celebrated her (temporary) demise, continuing to dance over her broken pieces on the floor. But he stayed by her side as she put herself back together. And so now, when no one is around, she’ll shine just for him, standing even taller than she does for the circus. Best lyric: “I’m still a believer, but I don’t know why / I’ve never been a natural, all I do is try, try, try / I’m still on that trapeze, I’m still trying everything / to keep you looking at me.”

7. seven Her voice gentle and haunting, Taylor recalls the freedom and innocence of her childhood in Pennsylvania. She asks to be remembered for how she was, swinging over the creek, before she learned civility when she would scream anytime she wanted, then letting out a very pretty one. She sings to her old friend soothingly about taking them away from their haunted house that their father is always shouting in, where they feel the need to hide in a closet, perhaps literally, or figuratively, or both. They can move into Taylor’s house instead, or maybe just to India, just be sure to pack their dolls and a sweater and then they’ll hit the road. She can no longer recall her friend’s face, but the love she had for them still lives in her heart, and she wants it to live forever through story. Just in the way that folklore itself blends reality and fiction, but the truth within it passes on, so will the purity of that love and friendship. Best lyric: “Please picture me in the weeds / before I learned civility / I used to scream ferociously / any time I wanted.”

8. august (teenage love triangle, part 2: the other girl’s perspective) If you had to assign the feeling of longing to a song, it’d be “august.” It’s when you’re teetering at the edge with someone, unsure of where you stand with them, clinging to anything they give you and doing anything just to raise your chances, “living for the hope of it all.” August, the last month of summer, its heat causing it to slip away the fastest in a haze before reality hits. This track is a display of how sometimes losing something you never had causes an even deeper ache than losing something that was yours, and Jack Antonoff’s signature production intensifies the emotion even more. It’s the story of shattered hope, and the longing for the days where it could still fuel you. Best lyric: “To live for the hope of it all / cancel plans just in case you’d call.”

9. this is me trying “this is me trying” is like a drive through a tunnel at night, hearing your loudest anxieties and insecurities echo all around you, caving in. The track is another apt insight into Swift’s struggles with her self-image, with the pressure she puts on herself, so much so that she sometimes pushes herself too close to the edge, her fears luring her out of the tunnel and down, down, down into her own cage, stunting her own growth and keeping those who care out of reach. She tells us how she was “so ahead of the curve, the curve became a sphere.” Every action has an equal, opposite reaction, meaning that she was pushing herself so hard, she rolled back to where she started, and now has to reset. This could be referring to the period between the end of the 1989 era and the release of reputation (2017), or a different time in her life, or just a general sentiment. It doesn’t really matter, though, because no one’s growth is a neat, straight line; growth is jagged. Just like any of us, Taylor will always have to face new obstacles, new pitfalls, new reasons to get back up. She sounds most vulnerable as she cries, “at least I’m trying,” and you feel comforted knowing someone so beautiful and successful has to push herself to try, too, and yet that motivates you more to try yourself. Best lyric: “They told me all of my cages were mental / so I got wasted, like all my potential.”

10. illicit affairs A quiet, slow-build testament of the passion, the tragedy, the secrecy, the inimitability of a romance that shouldn’t exist, “illicit affairs” demonstrates how you can ruin yourself for someone from just one moment of possibility or truth, quite like the narrator of “august” does for the hope of it all. An illicit affair can be many different things: infidelity, forbidden love, a love that can never be fully realized, a relationship that is inherently wrong but electrifying all the same. It’s a reminder of what so many of us would do just to see new colors, to learn a new language, even if the one moment of enlightenment destroys us forever. We might lose the iridescent glow but we don’t forget it; we carry it with us, but must be careful to remember its blinding effect, to remember how fatal the fall is from the dwindling, mercurial high. Best lyric: “Tell your friends you’re out for a run / you’ll be flushed when you return.”

11. invisible string Clearly the most outright autobiographical track, “invisible string” is the plucky pick-me-up needed. The song is like sunshine, as Swift endearingly links all the little connections between her and her boyfriend, Joe Alwyn, since before they even met. She compares the green grass at the Nashville park she’d sit at in hopes of a meet-cute to the teal of his yogurt shop uniform shirt, and gives a nod to her smash hit “Bad Blood” from 1989 with the delightful line “bad was the blood of the song in the cab on your first trip to LA.” She reasons these coincidences as a fateful, invisible, golden string tying them together since the beginning, always destined to meet at the knot in the middle. She thanks time for healing her, (a callback to “Fifteen” from Fearless [2008]), fighting through hell to make it to heaven, transforming her from an axe grinder to a gift giver for her ex’s baby (the ex in question, Joe Jonas, and his wife Sophie Turner, happened to have their first daughter two days before this album’s release). As she has on her previous two albums, she uses the color gold to illustrate how prized their love is to one another. It’s sweet to know in all the gloom that the string has not been severed, and the trees are still golden somewhere. Best lyric: “Cold was the steel of my axe to grind for the boys who broke my heart / now I send their babies presents.”

12. mad woman Throughout her entire career, Taylor Swift has defiantly defended female rage, all the way back from throwing a chair off a platform on her Fearless Tour during the impassioned “Forever & Always,” to her patient, vengeful reliance on karma in reputation’s lead single, “Look What You Made Me Do,” to her most recent tackling of the matter on Lover’s last and final single, “The Man,” where she explores society’s acceptance and encouragement of angry men yet disdain for angry women. “The Man” is catchy and upbeat, and a fun thought experiment into how Swift’s career would be perceived if she was a man, something that is even more interesting to think about now as she releases an album in a genre heavily dominated and lauded by males. But on “mad woman,” she further explores the creation and perception of female rage, though masked under a smooth, haunting piano melody, her vocals subdued, taunting. In the album foreword, she describes the inspiration behind this song as “a misfit widow getting gleeful revenge on the town that cast her out.” This could be the continuation of Rebekah “Betty” Harkness’s story at her Holiday House in Watch Hill, RI, and how she further alienated herself from the rest of the neighborhood as they cast stones at her for the collapse of the last great American dynasty. (Or perhaps Daenerys Targaryen’s descent as the Mad Queen played a part in the song’s inspiration, as Swift has spoken of her love for Game of Thrones and her character specifically.) Taylor herself could also represent the widow, her music and masters as her love lost, and the men behind the crime as the “town that cast her out.” In the first verse she sings, “What do you sing on your drive home? / Do you see my face in the neighbor’s lawn? / Does she smile, or does she mouth ‘fuck you forever’?” It’s the first f-bomb of Taylor’s career (though a much more playful one will come two tracks later in “betty”) and it speaks volume. Taylor has received a lot of condemnation for expressing her anger at their transaction, for calling out their greed for what it is. Some view Swift’s stance on the ordeal as petty and trivial; they see the men as orchestrating a good business deal, and Swift as the girl throwing a tantrum. Ask any woman, and they can tell you about a time a man told them they were crazy for being justifiably angry; it only makes us angrier. “No one likes a mad woman,” Taylor states, “You made her like that.” Swift underscores that here, how they will poke and poke the bear but then blame it for attacking, as if they had never provoked it at all, and how dare it defend itself. Just as they blamed Rebekah for her husband’s heart giving out, they somehow manage to blame Swift for not being allowed to purchase the rights to her own work. And yes, she’s mad, but the song is measured and controlled; she’s used to her anger now, and knows just how to wield it. Best lyric: “Women like hunting witches, too / doing your dirtiest work for you / It’s obvious that wanting me dead has really brought you two together.”

13. epiphany This is another track Swift provided some background on, stating it was inspired by her “grandfather, Dean, landing at Guadalcanal in 1942” during WWII. The first verse paints this image, while the second verse depicts a different kind of war, happening right now, fought by doctors and nurses. She speaks of holding hands through plastic, and the escape folklore has granted you suddenly lifts. Watching someone’s daughter, or mother, or anyone suffer at the hands of the COVID-19 pandemic, just as watching a soldier bleed out, helpless, is too much to speak about. As she points out, they don’t teach you about that vicarious trauma in med school. We are living in a tireless world with barely any time time to rest our eyes, but too much going on while we’re awake to make sense of any of it. “epiphany” is a cinematic prayer, pleading for some quiet in order to find an answer in all the noise. We’re still waiting for that glimpse of relief. Best lyric: “Only twenty minutes to sleep / but you dream of some epiphany / Just one single glimpse of relief / to make some sense of what you’ve seen.”

14. betty (teenage love triangle, part 3: james’s perspective) It makes sense that a song reminiscent of Fearless would exemplify some of the best story-telling on folklore. The final puzzle piece of the teen love triangle, “betty” is a song sung by Swift from the perspective of the character of her own creation, James, attempting to win back his true love, Betty, who he slighted in some way. He proclaims that the worst thing he ever did is what he did to her, without explicitly stating it. Though the infamous deed is unclear, here’s the information we collect from this song: James saw Betty dancing with another boy at a school dance, one day when he was walking home another girl (from “august”) picked him up and he ended up spending his summer with her yet still loved Betty, and though he ended things with his fling and wanted to reconcile with Betty, he had returned to school to see she switched her homeroom (James assumes, after saying he won’t make assumptions. Classic men). So in order to make it up to her, he shows up at her party with the risk of being told to go fuck himself (the second and charming “fuck” on the album! Which is repeated!). Upon his arrival, there is a glorious key change (ala “Love Story”) and all the pieces fall into place for the listener; we realize Betty is the girl singing in “cardigan” as he lists the things he misses about her since the thrill expired, like the way she looks standing in her cardigan, and kissing in his car. He’s 17 and doesn’t know anything, but she knew everything when she was young, and she knew he’d come back. The way I see their story conclude is that she led him to the garden and trusted him, but as they grew older they grew apart, but the love she had for him never faded completely. Listening to this song is like being back in high school, whether you were the person who did someone wrong or the person so willing to forgive in the name of young love, or Inez, the school gossip, you’re right there with them. The other great thing about this song is that it is sung to a girl, and though it is set up so we understand it is most likely from a boy’s perspective, it doesn’t have to be. It’s really great that girls in the LGBTQ community can have a song in Taylor’s voice to fully connect to without changing the pronouns or names (even James, which is unisex and is one of the names of the daughters of Blake Lively and Ryan Reynolds, Taylor’s close friends, mentioned in this song). That is the beauty of folklore: the infinite ways a story can be told, perceived, retold from a different perspective, and told again. Maybe you’ll hear it from Inez. Best lyric: “But if I just showed up at your party / would you have me? Would you want me? / Would you tell me to go fuck myself, or lead me to the garden?”

15. peace One of the most beautifully solemn songs of her career, “peace” echoes the same fears explored in “Dancing With Our Hands Tied” from reputation; will the person she loves be able to weather the ever-present storm that comes with the life of a superstar, but also dwells within herself? Will holding him as the water rushes in be enough? Will giving him her wild, a child, her sunshine, her best, be a fair consolation? Presumably another confessional track and about Alwyn, Swift puts him up on a pedestal, praising his integrity and his dare to dream. She proclaims that she would die for him in secret, just as she told him she’d be on her tallest tip toes, spinning in her highest heels, shining just for him in “mirrorball.” She highlights some of the greatest gifts of love, such as comfortable silence and chosen family. She knows what they have is special, but she also knows the value of peace, the ultimate nirvana, and does not want to deprive him of that. It is so deeply relatable- to me, at least- to feel like you can give someone so much of yourself but know it still may never be enough, and to fear either losing them or robbing them of something better. But looking at what they have together, maybe peace is overrated. Or maybe, she’s looking for peace in the wrong places. The calm is in the eye of the storm, and sometimes, there’s nothing more freeing than throwing away the umbrella and soaking in the rain. Best lyric: “I never had the courage of my convictions / as long as danger is near / and it’s just around the corner, darling / ‘cause it lives in me / no, I could never give you peace.”

16. hoax The truest enigma of the album, the closer, “hoax” is a devastatingly dark ballad about the uncertainty, or perhaps incredulity, of someone’s love for you, a love that is your lifeline. The lyrics are ambiguous, which gives way to a plethora of interpretations. Perhaps she is speaking about a hypothetical situation that has yet to happen (and hopefully doesn’t) in which someone she loves and trusts betrays her. Maybe she is talking about a relationship, real (hopefully not) or fictional, in which despite the torment it brings her she holds onto it for dear life. I’m most inclined to believe that the song represents her difficulty in accepting that someone is willing to love her through such dark periods, that their love must actually be a hoax, but she chooses to believe in it anyway and uses it as the motivation to rebuild her kingdom, to rise from the ashes on her barren land. And even through the downs that come at some point in every relationship, she can still see the beauty in it all. Yes, their love is golden, but waves of blue will crash down around any partnership, because life does not exist without them. So even when things are as blue as can be, she’s at least grateful it’s with him. Best lyric: “Don’t want no other shade of blue but you / no other sadness in the world would do.”

Although we still have yet to hear the deluxe track, “the lakes,” as a fan of Taylor for almost 12 years, it feels so obvious that this is her strongest work yet. The storytelling I fell in love with on Fearless as a teenager (which, much like folklore, was highly inspired by imaginary situations and real emotions) is even sharper now as we have both grown into adults. The music on this album might not be everyone’s speed, and that’s okay. But it allowed Taylor to dip back into what made Fearless such a success: using pieces of her own truth and the whims of her imagination to develop a multi-faceted narrative that becomes universal. During her Tiny Desk concert, before performing “Death By A Thousand Cuts” from Lover, Swift explained the anxiety she felt around the possibility of stunted creativity when people would ask her what she would write about once she was happy. Taylor has released an abundance of beautiful, fun, complex love songs since the start of her relationship almost four years ago now. But “Death By A Thousand Cuts,” which is a fan favorite, helped her prove to herself that she can still write a killer breakup song while being in a happy, fulfilling relationship; the song was the last track written for Lover and was inspired by the film Something Great on Netflix. And so it makes perfect sense that Taylor used folklore to continue exploring this new avenue for songwriting. All of her discography and all of her life experiences have culminated to the folklore moment: as all the best artists do, she will never stop finding inspiration in hidden corners of this dark, mystical, wondrous universe, and falling in love with new ways to share those wonders. And that love will be passed on.

DISCLAIMER - REVIEWER’S BIAS: I love Taylor Swift more than any person in my life, yes including my parents, they are aware and have accepted this fact long ago ❤️

[recentanimenews]

FEATURE: Why The Early Pokémon Anime Was So Important To Its Audience

  The '90s was a big decade for anime. Iconic series like Neon Genesis Evangelion and Cowboy Bebop were born, shows that are still presented as the gold standard of what the medium can achieve. Studio Ghibli continued their string of soon-to-be classics, helping to cement Hayao Miyazaki into a globally-recognized “auteur” status, a title usually reserved for the creators of live-action fare. Meanwhile, Dragon Ball Z, Gundam Wing, and others made their debut on the programming block Toonami, effectively introducing anime to an entire generation of Americans who may have otherwise never been exposed to it. 

  But what about the importance of Pokémon? That was pretty big, too, right?

    Obviously, the status of the Pokémon anime as it relates to Pokémon as a whole is clear. There has perhaps never been a franchise with more coherent brand synergy, none better at directing traffic so fans of one aspect could be easily guided to another. Aided by an almost supernaturally compelling catchphrase “Gotta catch ‘em all!,” the uncertain development and angst surrounding the first set of titles in the core game series Red and Blue were quickly left in the rearview mirror. Pokémon is seemingly an undefeatable pop culture hydra with the anime serving as one of its many heads.

  So how does Pokémon fit in the grand scheme of anime and what it can give to us? Because with all of that in mind, it’s hard not to look at it with a kind of cynicism, viewing it less as a fictional series with all the pros and cons that come with it, and more as an advertisement for itself and other parts of the franchise that has lasted over 20 years. However, I believe the Pokémon anime can be, depending on the specific section, very good at times. And though the explosion of “Pokemania,” as it was dubbed when the franchise landed in the United States, seemed to render it as an extended commercial urging kids to get their parents to buy them a Game Boy as soon as the "PokeRap" finished, I think the early parts of the series are particularly strong. 

    Because while the anime has formed a kind of cyclical pattern in its storytelling, one that allows newcomers to easily latch onto the series whenever they happen to discover it, I think the portions set in Kanto and Johto are extremely cool to examine. The space from the first time Ash Ketchum wakes up too late to grab one of the three “starter” Pokémon from Professor Oak to the time he says goodbye to Misty and Brock at the crossroads following the Silver Conference contains a really touching narrative. One about growing up and learning to rely on others and then, eventually, learning to rely on yourself.

  When we first meet Ash, he can barely keep things together. He’s desperate to be a Pokémon Master, but clueless when it comes to most of the techniques involved in actually doing that. He’s stubborn, but his confidence often reveals itself to be brittle bravado, a ten-year-old puffing his chest out only to be deflated when overtaken by an obstacle. His travel partners, Misty and Brock (and Tracey Sketchit for a little while,) obviously adore him, but their greatest shared trait is likely patience. Ash has a lot of learning to do.

    This learning is usually slow and painstaking. Critics of the series are often quick to point out that Ash rarely wins his gym battles outright, something that’s a requirement to progress in the games the series is based on. Thus, more important than a solid KO is the lesson learned due to the battle, often something centered around taking care of your Pokémon, yourself, and other people. The “monster of the week” structure usually has Ash learning these lessons again and again, like a child that needs to be politely reprimanded until they fall out of a bad habit.

  As the series moves from Kanto to the Johto region, Ash gains legitimate wins with higher frequency, gathering experience while his style remains eager, clumsy, and definitively Ash. His rivalry with Gary Oak — one initially informed by Ash’s seeming inadequacy and Gary’s loud, yet often precise assurance — evens out. At the end of the Indigo League in the Kanto region, Ash finally gets to battle Gary and loses. Then, in the Johto League tournament, Ash defeats Gary and the two make amends thanks to Ash’s defeat of his bully and Gary’s newfound serenity. It’s a nice payoff to their relationship, and Gary’s change of heart reflects the themes of personal growth found in the Original Series.

  Meanwhile, Ash’s personal growth often comes with much more heartache. In “Bye Bye Butterfree,” he bids farewell to his first-ever caught monster because it would be happier with its own kind. A few episodes later, in “Pikachu’s Goodbye,” he seems all too ready to let Pikachu live with a pack of the little yellow critters, likely because his experience with Butterfree indicated that it was the right thing to do. Of course, Pikachu comes back to him, because he’s Ash’s ride or die.

    Another relationship Ash learns from is the one with Charizard. Evolved from an abandoned and emotionally distraught Charmander, Charizard is rebellious to the extent that it causes Ash’s Indigo League loss, not because it gets knocked out but because it just doesn’t feel like fighting anymore. What follows is one of the most disheartening scenes in the series, with Ash shouting in anger and sadness at his Charizard to continue while Charizard just doesn’t respect his trainer enough to stand up. Though they eventually gain a sense of mutual reverence, their partnership is marked by this uncertainty.

  And finally, the ending, which sees Ash, Misty, and Brock go their separate ways, recalls one of the franchise’s most resonant homages, that of the '80s film Stand By Me. Referenced in the opening moments of the first game, the movie about setting off on your own adventure as a youth and learning where nostalgia ends and the harshness of growing up begins mirrors the ethos of the franchise constantly. At the end of that film, the characters depart one another and the main protagonist muses to himself, “I never had any friends later on like the ones I had when I was twelve. Jesus, does anyone?”

  You can get the same feeling from the affirmations of the importance of their friendship Ash, Brock, and Misty make when they head off on their own (though Brock quickly re-joins Ash in the next season of the anime). It’s here that Pokémon displays why it deserves its place among the notable anime of the '90s, not because of its massive marketing push (though that certainly helped its popularity) and not because of how it retold the story of the games (which, as adaptations go, is pretty hit or miss).

.

  Instead, it’s a story about growing up. By the end of Ash’s time in Johto, it becomes clear that strength was never the objective, that the point of the whole affair was not Ash becoming a "Master." It was about teaching Ash enough so that when the time came for him to go out on his own, he could. And though he finds new companions in the regions to come pretty quickly, the impact of this is not diminished. If you began watching the show when it first appeared in America in 1998, you likely grew up with Ash to an extent, and you likely experienced some major life events during that time, whether it was going to a new school or facing some kind of family change or attempting to achieve some new, grand goal. 

Ash and the Pokémon anime’s message was that you could do it. That the trials you’d experienced and the lessons you’d learned and the relationships you’d made had prepared you for it. And that while the future seems scary and unknowable, it isn’t insurmountable. Pokémon teaches you that you’ll be okay. That sounds pretty important to me.

      Daniel Dockery is a Senior Staff Writer for Crunchyroll. Follow him on Twitter!

  Do you love writing? Do you love anime? If you have an idea for a features story, pitch it to Crunchyroll Features!

  By: Daniel Dockery

[ohblackdiamond]

little t&a (gene/paul, nc-17) (part 23 of 29)

part 1   part 2   part 3   part 4   part 5   part 6   part 7   part 8   part 9   part 10   part 11   part 12   part 13   part 14   part 15   part 16   part 17   part 18   part 19   part 20   part 21  part 22   part 23   part 24    part 25   part 26   part 27   part 28   part 29

Four weeks before KISS gets back on tour, Gene discovers that Paul’s been cursed by a groupie. For the sake of KISS’ finances, Paul’s comfort levels, and Gene’s libido, this crisis must be resolved. Sexswap fic. In this chapter:  Paul and Gene watch T.V. and continue to delay the inevitable.

          They went home after that, stopping only to pick up some more takeout for dinner. Paul was bemoaning it a bit, and offering to make them both sandwiches instead, even when he was pulling up to the restaurant.

         “I’ve gained three pounds just this past week.”

         “You’ve been weighing yourself?”

         Paul looked at him weirdly.

         “Well, yeah. Every day.”

         “Even since this happened?” Gene was a little bewildered to think that even getting cursed hadn’t been enough to distract Paul out of that particular concern.

         “Yeah. I think I’m still gaining it all in the abdomen.” Paul took a disgusted glance down at himself, assuming he could even see his stomach past his chest. Gene was beginning to wonder. “We can’t keep eating like we’re on the road.”

         “Can’t we?”

         “Fuck, no.” Paul grimaced, shaking his head as he parked the car and turned off the engine. “I spent the entire break trying to get my weight down.”

         “You look fine. Why are you so worried?”

         “The costume girls’ll have a fit.”

         It was the first time either of them had mentioned anything related to the tour all day. It cut through the Central Park fantasy like an Exacto knife. Gene wasn’t going to have some cute girl—this cute girl—hanging on his arm for much longer. Maybe no more than a few hours.

         Gene rubbed his elbow uncomfortably. Paul, gazing at his own reflection in the car mirror and pushing his hair in front of his shoulders, didn’t seem to notice, so Gene pushed the rest of his thoughts aside. They got out of the car together; Gene paid for the food, and they returned to Paul’s place soon after. Half the takeout was gone before they’d even gotten home with it. They finished off the rest at the kitchen island, then laid around on the couch awhile, T.V. running in the background while Gene read and Paul doodled.

         It was kind of funny, really. Occasionally it felt like nothing had really shifted. Still watching T.V. together like they used to in the hotels, back when getting laid after the show was a distant hope and not an inevitability. Eating out of Styrofoam boxes. Joking around and shooting the shit.

         The rest of the time, Gene was painfully aware of how much had shifted. There was the sex, sure, even if they hadn’t gone all the way, but that wasn’t the whole of it. He’d still have his gloomy spells, sure, but overall, Paul seemed so happy. So open. So—maybe Gene was giving himself too much credit, but Paul seemed—taken with him. He’d never been aware of anything like that out of Paul before. If those big, dark eyes had ever looked Gene’s way with half the warmth and attention he was getting now, then—well, then, Gene hadn’t noticed.

         He’d thought Paul didn’t like him a bit when they’d first met, in fact. He’d been high on his own bravado, and Paul had just hung in the periphery of his circles. Somebody had introduced them, and Gene had popped off immediately, something like oh, you write songs?, and Paul—well, he’d been Stan, and Stanley if you wanted to piss him off, back then; he hadn’t gone by Paul until a year or two later—had snapped right back with an affirmative.

         He remembered asking him to play one for him, and Paul had. The song was a lousy, incoherent mash-up of the Stones, Bowie, and the Beatles at their most soused, and his playing was worse. But somehow after, they’d just… Gene didn’t know. He couldn’t remember a definitive point where they’d clicked. Paul had still been in the process of nearly flunking out of high school, while Gene was a sophomore, or maybe a junior in college. But he remembered starting to call him up after classes, inviting him to parties and jams. He remembered thinking Paul was standoffish and nervous, not cut out at all for the rockstar career he was so desperate for. But he didn’t remember ever getting the feeling Paul dug him. More that he was just lonely.

         He didn’t want to delve into it too deeply. Rethink nearly ten years of interactions. It wouldn’t do any good, and it wouldn’t change any of the way things were right now. He watched Paul kick up his ankles against the arm of the couch, and finally spoke.

         “What did you take us out for, anyway?”

         Paul glanced up from his drawing. It was something weird and abstract, not the eerily-accurate dick sketches Gene was accustomed to out of him. Hatchmarks, parallel lines, and weird, elongated shapes were well on their way to completely covering the sketchpad.

         “To pay you back. I told you.” The pencil resumed its scratch across the page.

         “No, why did you really do it?”

         “Because we’d never get to again.”

         That was all he said for awhile. The words hung like streamers. Gene sort of wanted to argue him down, even though he wasn’t wrong. He couldn’t pretend he didn’t know exactly what Paul meant.

         “You can take me out anytime.”

         “Not like that.”  Paul shifted abruptly. “I’m gonna go shower.”

         Gene raised his head, half at the words, half at the slight thump of Paul’s sketchpad next to him on the couch.

         “Want some company? I hear there’s a water shortage.”

         Paul shook his head. Gene felt guilty at his own weird relief. For whatever reason, Paul wasn’t ready yet. They could keep on pretending for awhile longer.

         “Maybe later tonight.”

         Gene nodded. Paul’s expression seemed a little bit strained, but he turned and headed for the bedroom, not closing the door behind him. A minute or two later, Gene could hear the sound of the water running.

         Then he got up, looking through the living room’s bookshelf as if he hadn’t done it prior. Paul didn’t really read for pleasure. He had stuff like  The Power of Positive Thinking,  Games People Play, I’m OK – You’re OK, and a ragged copy of  How to Win Friends and Influence People, the last of which was highlighted like a book of scripture. Gene had been flipping through it while Paul drew.

         Then he had magazines with his face or KISS’ picture on the front cover. No intellectual reading material at all, though that wasn’t what he was looking for. At the bottom of one shelf were Paul’s junior and senior annuals and a small line of photo albums. Gene pulled one of the older-looking albums out at random.

         It was green and typical, with thick black pages. Probably one Paul’s parents had started of him. The initial contents weren’t surprising. A faded birth announcement. A taped-in lock of baby hair dated August 2, 1952—Paul’s parents hadn’t bothered with upsherin, so maybe it was no wonder he’d never had his bar mitzvah. Sepia infant photos—Gene swallowed a bit when he realized that even in the pictures where Paul was barely able to sit up on his own, the photographer had him posed with his head turned to the right, to hide the microtia. Some pictures from birthdays. A picture of him along with the rest of his second grade class. They were lined up by height, and Paul was standing towards the back, easily recognizable just from the eyes and expression. By that point, he’d apparently figured out the pose on his own; he was almost aggressively facing right, while everyone else was looking the camera head-on.

         All that misery and insecurity over two square inches of missing cartilage.

         Gene shook his head. He flipped past most of the rest of the pictures of Paul as a kid, past even the awkward handful from when he was a teenager, before finally coming up on photos slightly closer to current. He’d apparently kept a few Polaroids from Wicked Lester and the earliest days of KISS, before they’d even had the makeup. Then, as he turned the pages, he found a scattering of random, more recent shots. Paul goofing off in hotel rooms. Paul lounging in swim trunks by the pool. Paul in a tux sucking cake frosting off his fingers at Ace’s wedding.

         He was trying to hammer in his head that this was how Paul really was and really looked. He was trying to figure out if he’d still be attracted to him once he was back to normal. If he’d feel something while he looked at the pictures. Start getting hot under the collar, maybe, the way he did with Playboy centerfolds. But—well, Paul only tried provocative poses when he had on the greasepaint, and most everything in the album was barefaced and fairly candid. Gene wasn’t sure he was feeling anything beyond some fondness while looking over pictures of Paul in front of the Eiffel Tower or eating poi in Hawaii.

         That bothered him. Not that he was planning on jacking off to a stupid picture of Paul sitting shirtless on the hood of his car, but—he’d—he’d wanted something definite out of this. Arousal or repulsion. He needed to know. Whether Paul had wanted him for four days or four years, Gene owed him that much.

         The dull white noise of the shower cut off. Gene put the photo album and the book back on the shelf and waited for Paul’s returning footsteps. Maybe later tonight, he’d said. Maybe later than that.

--

         Paul spent longer than he meant to in there. Cleaned himself up, washed his hair and shaved. He’d gotten into the habit of shaving almost everything but his chest and sometimes his underarms because of the tours. Now that he was basically down to only having to worry about his underarms and legs, the effort took two minutes or less, leaving him just standing useless for awhile under the spray.

         He knew what his next move ought to be, just as well as Gene did. Invite him in, get rid of the whole virginity problem, and get back to normal. There was no reason to keep delaying it. He’d had his time with Gene. More of it than he probably deserved, the way that they’d already wormed themselves out of the curse’s terms of consummation, like wily lawyers with contracts.

         He wasn’t scared. Well. He wasn’t just scared. He knew it was probably going to hurt. He hadn’t tried to penetrate himself since that second night with Gene, and even Gene’s fingering had pretty much been rubbing. If he couldn’t tolerate a finger inside him, a dick would be even worse. Paul was tempted to blame it on Carol, but if one less-sexy Playboy article was anything to go by, it was really just his nerves. He’d have no bulwark against them, either, no drugs or alcohol, when he slept with Gene. When he really slept with Gene.

         That wasn’t his real problem, anyway. His real problem was the same as ever. Knowing it would all be over as soon as he let it happen.

         He skimmed a hand over one newly-smooth thigh, fingers sliding across his wet skin. Up to his stomach, then his breasts, idly pushing them together. Considering. Wondering how it must’ve felt for Pinocchio once he got everything he ever wanted, once he was flesh instead of wood. Funny how that was Gene’s takeaway from that movie. Work hard, get your wish. Input-output. But he wasn’t going to get his wish here. Paul couldn’t be a real girl for him. No part of him ought to have ever wanted to try.

         He’d just have to steel himself up for the end, that was all. Delaying it too long was only going to make it worse. It was—it was abysmal, not having taken care of it already, when he’d been so desperate to do it only the day before. But he couldn’t bring himself to commit just yet. Whether out of cowardice or longing, he didn’t know. He wanted to keep messing around with Gene as long as he could. Have Gene keep looking at him, keep touching him. Keep being with him. 

         He swallowed thickly, stepped out of the shower, and dried his hair off a bit with a towel, pulling on a bathrobe before heading back out to the living room. Gene was still on that same couch,  Hawaii Five-O playing in the background. Jack Lord was really starting to look craggy now.

         “You wanna go to bed?”

         “This early?” Gene looked a little amused, but Paul thought there might be something else there. Something on the border of disappointment.

         “There’s nothing on T.V.”

         “Did I play my cards right?”

         “You didn’t play them wrong. We can fool around some more. I’ll keep my top off.”

         It was a lousy offer for a guy who had girls chomping at the bit to sleep with him, and Paul knew it. But the grin he got in response was enough to make some of his guilt, some of his self-disgust, ease off, if only briefly.

         “C’mon, I’ve got an idea.”

--

         Gene followed him to the bedroom affably, taking off his borrowed t-shirt and tossing it on the floor. He didn’t start on his pants, but Paul did for him, unzipping and tugging them down. Gene’s mouth crooked up, uncertain but pleased.

         “You’ve got an awfully wide berth for fooling around, Paul.”

         “I’ve got an awful lot of practice.” Paul untied his bathrobe but didn’t take it off yet. Unsurprisingly, there was nothing beneath it. His hair was still pretty wet, skin pink from the shower. The musky scent of him was almost gone, rinsed away by the shower and soaps, only readily apparent again when Gene’s hand moved between his thighs. It was kind of a thrill to find that earlier hadn’t been a fluke. Paul just kept getting wet for him easier than even a groupie.

         Kissing down his neck as he kept stroking, getting a couple soft grunts in response, Gene wondered what Paul was up to. He was positioned a little awkwardly, legs spread wide, with Gene kneeling in the space between them. Paul kept shifting on the bed, posture a little stiff. Not like yesterday; he just seemed like he was deliberating, anticipating. Gene didn’t think Paul was comfortable enough to pull out any toys or handcuffs. Even light bondage seemed like a little much. Possibly—

         “Did you want to 69?”

         “Nah, I hate that shit. Give me your hand.”

         “Paul, if you’re going to tie me up, I want a striptease first.”

         Paul shrugged off the bathrobe and tossed it at him with a grin.

         “I’m not gonna tie you up, Jesus. Just give me your hand.”

         Impishly, Gene offered the right one, already soaked in Paul’s fluids. He was surprised when Paul took it, grabbing his wrist and pressing Gene’s palm into his cleavage, guiding it up and down. Gene felt a shiver run up his back, dick stiffening to full attention when Paul let go of his hand. The thin streaks of clear fluid left behind were their own promise, one that only got more definite as Paul lowered himself onto the bed, gesturing for Gene to come forward. He did, straddling him carefully, cock resting between his slightly-slick breasts. Paul squeezed them together experimentally, the brief pressure enough to make Gene twitch. Fuck. He hadn’t even fantasized about this one. Fucking Paul against the wall, eating him out--sure, sure. Paul letting him go for a titfuck had been way too far out of the realm of possibility for him to picture.

         “It’s enough, right?” Paul’s voice was soft, vaguely pleased. Gene grunted an assent. They were definitely enough. Another squeeze, though Gene hadn’t tried to thrust yet, Paul watching for his reaction. “Figured we could put them to some use.”

         “What’re you getting out of this?”

         “The same thing you got out of me getting off on your leg. A good view.” Paul reached a hand up, stroking along Gene’s arm. “Now c’mon, I don’t wanna have to put K-Y on my tits.”

[prophezeiung]

ways of realizing that you’re falling in love with your best friend pt. 1: the murdering of his girlfriend a holden vaisey x pollux parkinson drabble @vorhersage​

A young woman had been killed, murdered in cold blood, the papers said. Whatever noteworthy family members she had left behind were not only, understandably, in mourning, but also desperate to find whoever was responsible for this tragedy and hold them accountable. Among them were her sister, Ophelia, who some people claimed had gone a little insane over this loss; and her boyfriend, Pollux, who wore the darkest shades of black and the hardest facial expressions in the weeks after her death. Among them was her killer. Holden Vaisey, this killer's best friend, had watched the events unfold like the one-man audience at the enactment of a drama. He had missed most of the lead-up to this breaking point, by his own volition, but he had been there when she had died. He had seen the desperation creep into her eyes the moment she realized that she had put her trust in the wrong person, and the gravity of this mistake. He had seen it leave her eyes as well, along with every last glimmer of life at one stroke of his best friend's hand. The months that had led up to this moment had been agonizing to watch, but now his front row seat was paying off. He supported Pollux fully in this decision, not only because their relation had become more than a nuisance to Holden, but because he thought it better for Pollux to rid himself of this unsustainable foolery. He surely would have helped out, had Pollux himself not come to the conclusion that entertaining a charade like this was anything but beneficial to him. Taking matters into his own hands had proven to Holden that Pollux, when it came down to it, was still the man he took him for. They had not talked about it, Holden hadn't known the plan or if there even was one, but he had sensed it, the stern determination and the cool composure that had taken over his friend, and he had felt at ease, just as much as if he had taken this life himself.

Somebody who did not know Holden Vaisey might see this: A deeply disturbed man reenacting the traumas of his youth. An affinity for the violent things in life born from the foreignness of affection and devaluation of empathy. An untrue self-image through distorted reflection. The physical denial of feeling — quite literally the drowning of emotions to the brink of extinction, self-torture under the pretense of betterment. Somebody who did not know Holden Vaisey might also see this: A love, like a flame, obsessive, hungry, scorching and selfish to the core, yet oxymoronically sacrificial. The sickening satisfaction over the misery of somebody else, only unusual and therefore more twisted in the context of their mutual and exclusive love. The routined incomprehension and denial of either.

Holden Vaisey himself was happy. Not the pure, unadulterated form of happiness, the innocent joy that grows rarer with wisdom, nor the twisted schadenfreude, the malicious pleasure at others' despair. He was simply and wantlessly content. It did not matter that someone had died and that consequentially something had to die. Things were like they were before, or soon they would be. He had not cared at all for this phase, this short-lived phenomenon that had been his best friend's relationship, and so it was good that it was over.

He didn't know how it had started, and he wanted and didn't want to understand it in equal measures. The less he knew the better, it should seem, but the material with which his mind filled in the gaps was at times just as unsavory as the sting of the truth, if not worse. He caught himself asking Pollux to decide in his favor time and time again, a little private experiment conducted in order to measure how invested in their friendship he should remain: "Stay a little longer?", "Are you coming?", "Any plans for tonight?"

The girl — rather than a woman, because they too barely were men — was secondary to Holden. They had met before, of course they had, whoever met Pollux would subsequently meet Holden as well, but she had instantly fallen in the same category that Holden filed most acquaintances in: Useless, uninteresting, unimportant. She was but background noise to him. The more surprised he was when Pollux began to seek her favor. She was not plain aesthetically, but she lacked even a spark of charm to Holden, and beyond that, she represented the class of leeches and lowlives that neither of them had ever paid much mind to, as well as political opinions that should alert even Pollux' sense of self-preservation. She was not only their inferior, she was their opposite. And yet Pollux spent every moment he could afford by her side — time that had previously been reserved for Holden, because of course they spent every spare minute of their life together. It was elemental to their bond. It was all they knew.

Someone who wasn't Holden Vaisey might have seen this: Jealousy.

Pollux Parkinson had withdrawn his attention slowly but noticeably, and even someone like Holden, who took the only meaningful bond he had for granted — because since he was born until now, it always had been granted —, noticed. When the unthinkable suddenly becomes reality, the first natural reaction is apprehension. When the only stability suddenly becomes unreliable, the first natural reaction is wariness. When the source of mutual trust is suddenly opened to a stranger, the first natural reaction is reticence. So Holden had just flashed his bloodhound growl grin and let Pollux believe that nothing had changed. He didn't let him know how unbalanced he became when Pollux went to spend time with his lover, he didn't show his disdain for his new strange lifestyle, he didn't express his doubts over how this choice would affect either of them. They barely spoke about her or Pollux' feelings, and Holden was quite happy with that.

He did not understand what they meant, anyway. The love that he had seen was this: A thoughtless devotion that made you blind and deaf to the world. The sacrifice of freedom and rationality. Bitter disappointment and lifelong aching for a never-real fantasy. It was this: Weakness. He didn't claim to know it, neither to want it, nor to understand it. But what he had seen of it did not match what he knew to be true about his best friend. The Pollux that he knew was clever, alert, rational. He was strong. To Holden's mind, it was easier to believe that what Pollux claimed to be love was false than to believe that his view of him was. The possibility that there were things that transcended previous beliefs and devotions lay so far outside of his reach that it wasn't even within sight. Any dark inkling that the person he'd known his entire life and was confident he knew by heart had a side that to him that was unknown and incomprehensible was buried as quickly as the victims of the manhunts that Holden conducted with increasing frequency. With or without Pollux, though more and more without.

Finally Pollux had seen how vulnerable he had made himself, how he had lost control, and so he had taken it back by force. Given her what she deserved. To Holden's eyes, it had been long overdue. The only consequence of Pollux' decision to kill this alleged love of his that Holden cared for, then, was the relief he felt at the prospects of things going back to how they were. Pollux had, to him, changed beyond recognition, but not beyond reversal. Whatever this girl had done to him, he had shaken it off, and even though Holden presumed that some of it might preoccupy him for another while — Pollux had always been the quieter of the two, and neither of them had a habit of prying innermost thoughts from the other —, nonetheless this choice must surely mean that he had found closure, or was confident that he would.

Someone who knew Pollux and the thing most important to him might see this: Two lovers, heartbroken, torn apart by the expanding gap between their two worlds. Doubt, rearing its ugly head for the last time, so strongly this once that the bond that had always managed to squash it before now snapped under its heel like a twig. The admittance of a true nature, supposedly, against all previous efforts of salvation, and the destruction of any proof that there had ever been such.

Nobody, not even those who knew Pollux and the thing most important to him, would see this: Two lovers, oblivious, each breaking their own heart and turning away from help and each other. Love masked as habit, desire masked as codependency. Knowledge of one another, so intimate it might predict actions even before they are initialized, yet an intentional blindness towards the most basic psychological processes, their own and the other's.

That Pollux was keeping his distance even after the deed was done and the circumstances had shifted back to something familiar was always part of the equation. Holden knew his friend, and he was patient with him. Not the calculating patience he had for everyone else, people that he expected to gain something from and would therefore suffer through their antics if the price was right — no, for Pollux he would wait, however long and for whatever reason. In this case he knew what he would win from it, and it made him display an almost childlike anticipation that grew with every day, but it made no difference. Holden was certain that, sooner or later, Pollux would return to his old self, return to him.

Because in turn, nobody knew what Pollux Parkinson meant to Holden, not even Pollux himself. It was this: Glue that held together something irreparable. A silver lining for someone irredeemable. An extension of himself, as irreplaceable as a limb and as vital as an organ. A mirror, and at the same time, guidance. The promise of safety, taken for granted and the only reason why his world didn't collapse daily.

Had he been provided with this clear-cut definition, cold as steel, and asked, was it love? The answer would undoubtedly be yes. But a man who let a sick mind decide over a healthy heart would never consider that it was able to love when he had decided long ago that he didn't subscribe to this strange concept. No, the admission to anything but self-sufficiency would certainly crumble the so carefully constructed self-image.

For a person so keen on controlling every single aspect of their presence, Holden paid very little mind to the routines pertaining to his best friend. Whatever he felt like doing, he just did; Pollux understood, he was the same. There was no reason to overcomplicate matters that so smoothly ran on their own. If a future without the other was impossible, why bother trying to live any other life?

[theorynexus]

Pseudo-Liveblog Experiment Begin:  Chapter 1B.

The name that will be settled upon will be John Egbert. This name, like all of the other human children of importance in the world, will be four letters long in its first, personal half; whereas the latter half-- the surname --shares with the Harley children but 6 letters. Such a matter symbolizes the ectobiological bond which is shared between the Egbert and Harley families.  The nature of that bond essentially establishes that if neither of their guardians had had children, the four members of those families who were produced in John’s ectobiological experimentation would be the only humans who had direct genetic relationships with one another among all members of the human species (general genetic features that ensure one fits the definition of “human” in a biological sense, notwithstanding).  (Irony, by the way: It’s his birthday in more than one sense.) Other factors to note on this page are: ---     The plain white style of his room feels typical of MSPA works, but the splash of color on both his shirt (a ghostly figure, symbolic of the fantastical) and the SBURB logo suggest that there is a bit more:  perhaps the colorless, bland nature of his room are in fact trying to communicate that this mundane life is not for John-- either in his destiny, or his personal opinion.  These themes are later explored as he has a bit of a mental breakdown (played for laughs) at his father’s Serious Business(man-ly) career, when John is unable to find any peace whilst confined to the ship as he traversed the Yellow Yard, and finally, as he gets depression and drifts away from all of his friends in the aftermath of the victory in the Alpha Kids’ session. This desire for adventure and incapacity to handle confinement directly relates to (and could be considered an early hint at) his Breath Aspect. The apparent colorlessness shall be dealt with later. ---       The rolled up poster shall be related to one of his Interests, later on, and displays the relatively active nature of this interest (meaning his collection habit is ongoing). ---        The accompanying fatherly note will be one of many, which become something of a joke later on, but at the same time display the fact that his love for John is very genuine, despite the fact that John is responsible for the accident that killed his mother, and he is not his Dad’s biological son, but half-brother. ---          The fact that John is playing the SBURB Beta is vaguely important insofar as it corresponds with the fact that the Alternian Trolls are also playing the SGRUB Beta. This serves as a part of a chain of mirrored sessions that doesn’t seem (at least to me) to be indicative of any wider meaning than to emphasize the fact that the human and troll session/universes are inherently linked and destined to work together:   Alpha/Beta|Beta\Alpha ========> C. ---           It should also be noted that the SBURB/SGRUB logos (beyond in the former’s case also being visually representative of the Plothole Juju/Ultimate Juju) have important thematic resonance in their color.  There are many, many points that the Green/Purple/Red/Blue color patterns will come up in the story. For instance, they can obviously be shown to be the colors of the Beta Kids. Furthermore, these colors are the colors of the Alpha Kids’ sprites (likely suggesting that the kernalsprites will always be colored based on the theme of one’s guardians). While these colors might initially seem to be meaningless noise, in fact, they are quite symbolically important:   Each color represents a component part of Lord English, and hold an apparent connection to those parts in some way or another. Particularly:                      ~The Alpha Trolls’ session was largely obscured from the reader, and not overly important compared to the others (Equius casts his vortex of Void upon it, as it takes up his strong bl00, presumably, though no actual SGRUB Alpha symbol is ever seen [which is another way that Void is effecting it]);        ~The Beta Trolls’ session was bomBARDed with destructive Rage, to the point that none of the trolls could overcome their fear to die in order to God Tier, all but a few of the trolls wouldn’t even TRY to hear their Denizens out when they were attempting to give them The Choice, Karkat’s frustration and impatience led to his group not finding the last genetic sequence for the Genesis Frog, and many other tiny instances of Rage clouding people’s judgment came up (Eridan constantly hunting angels; numerous dramatic confrontations between players occurring, both before and after the Reward door appeared; people began to troll the humans without thinking it through; et cetera). This would obviously link this purple-themed session with Gamzee;         ~The Beta Kids’ session was the one that coincidentally birthed the Knight of Time as a player, which coincidentally meant that there would be a very small time for a great deal of growth and gameplay. However, there were also more temporal shenanigans going on in this session than any other, especially when one considers the fact that, despite the fact that the Trolls were the ones who brought time-hopping Trollian into the picture, Karkat was the only one in their session who appears to have suffered greatly due to its potentially vexing capacity to railroad people into certain actions and generally be troublesome. (These factors together [along with the fact that this is where the Lil Cal puppet essentially originated, despite its thereafter circuitous path through Paradox Space] point to Caliborn’s influence as Lord of Time afflicting this session particularly savagely.);           ~The Alpha Kids’ session was generally host to a great deal of relationship drama, and saw the very nature of the Game itself shifted and broken. While this could also be a result of an extremely powerful Life player working to undermine the DOOM Aspect’s constraints on )(er agenda, given the fact that fully developed Prince of Heart powers can warp the very nature of the Narrative to serve their master’s purposes, it is not too much of a stretch to suggest that this too could be categorized as a sign of Lil Cal/The Auto-Responder’s influence warping the nature of their session. (Interestingly, one could argue that at the same time that Lord English is exerting the various vectors of his will on these sessions in particular [which are particularly important to him insofar as they end up producing the conditions which allow him to come into being], they are also the four sessions whose events lead up to the eventual defeat and apparent destruction of Lord English. This is likely a result of Alt!Calliope passively balancing out power with their own, but is also an example of the law of Paradox Space which suggests that the cause of some problem will also inevitably be its solution, as Aradia explained and I quoted a few posts before this one.) ---            This is the first usage of the Num3r4ls of th3 Bl1nd Proph3ts, by the way, though it is not immediately obvious.  These come to play various important roles in the story. The primary and most obvious one is that the humans’ sessions (both Alpha and Beta) start out with 4 13 year old kids (though I think the first event after this for it to come up again is on John’s Cruxtruder timer).  One which is more final and perhaps more interesting is that both in order to properly begin and properly end the Alpha Kids’ session, 4 initial players would eventually have to grow to a sustained 13 (John, Rose, Dave, Jade, Karkat, Gamzee, Terezi, Kanaya, Vriska [replaced later by Calliope], Jane, Roxy, Dirk, Jake) in order for victory conditions to be achieved.      While it’s obviously impossible to know for sure, the addition of another player (and thus the symbolic evocation of the Numerals) may have been the reason the 8-Ball Session’s bad luck was counteracted, and the players were able to win, unlike in the [S] Game Over. timeline.  The fact that this (initial) 13th player was a luck-oriented Light player doesn’t hurt, either. ---                 The cake on the left is but one of many, reflecting the fact that John Egbert’s birthday is that day, and the fact that Dad Egbert mysteriously has a great liking for Betty Crocker products.  (This is in fact because his mother’s adoptive grandmother WAS Betty Crocker.  While he did not inherit the company due to the fact that Betty Crocker gave it to Grandpa Harley in her will, he may or may not actually work at the company. The company at which he conducts his Serious Business was never quite named, and Betty Crocker is one of two major businesses which play a role in Homestuck. All things considered, this is not much of a stretch.)

[crookedhalc]

headcanon questionnaire: susie campbell.

—    BASICS.

▸     IS  YOUR  MUSE  TALL  /  SHORT  /  AVERAGE    ?

average. although she runs on the shorter end of the average-height spectrum.

▸      ARE  THEY  OKAY  WITH  THEIR  HEIGHT    ?

definitely. not overly short, yet not nearly too tall. perfect for high heels.

▸      WHAT’S    THEIR    HAIR    LIKE ?

black, wavy, medium length  –  unless caught in some storm outside, her hair is always styled and ends around shoulder-length, give or take a couple inches.

▸     DO    THEY    SPEND    A    LOT    OF    TIME    ON    THEIR    HAIR     /    GROOMING ?

yes.  my god, yes. however; unlike what her coworkers may believe, this habit does not stem from vanity.  underneath the charm and confidence her acting abilities have allowed her to easily project, lies deep-rooted insecurities.  although many factors contribute to this fact, her appearance is one of them.  susie will usually wake up early each morning just to be sure she looks her best.

▸      DOES  YOUR  MUSE  CARE  ABOUT  THEIR  APPEARANCE  /  WHAT  OTHERS  THINK ?

again, yes.  for the same reason listed above. susie has struggled with insecurities since childhood despite her striking features.  she is also big on impressions and dressing for occasions, so she is always styled accordingly and will think sour of someone for not doing the same.   if someone were to, for an example, dress sloppy at work? judged.

—    PREFERENCES.

▸     INDOORS  OR  OUTDOORS    ?  

indoors. although a walk around the city occasionally never hurt. she does enjoy snow, though.

▸     RAIN  OR  SUNSHINE    ?

sunshine. rain can be awful messy.

▸     FOREST  OR  BEACH    ?

beach.  she’s a “sunbathing, sunglasses and floppy sun-hat wearing under a large beach umbrella” kind of gal.

▸     PRECIOUS  METALS  OR  GEMS    ?

gems.  diamonds are a girl’s best friend, are they not? fun fact: susie’s favorite gem is a ruby.

▸     FLOWERS  OR  PERFUMES    ?

flowers, although she is one to wear perfume. it’s just that flowers typically are given by someone else, so there is sentiment behind them.

▸     PERSONALITY  OR  APPEARANCE    ?

appearance.  at least, regarding herself. when it comes to others and the company she keeps? personality is what matters to her.

▸     BEING  ALONE  OR  BEING  IN  A  CROWD    ?  

both.  when it comes to her role and career as an singer/voice actress, naturally she prefers to address a crowd.  susie has no issue talking to the press or greeting fans -- she puts her heart into Alice Angel and wants nothing more than for the people to love the character as much as she does.  susie also adores her job, so she will socialize with coworkers often to be sure everything on her end is done fluidly and correctly the first time.  sharing her passions and relating to certain people may encourage her to go out of her way to talk to them occasionally, however; once she is off the clock and home, susie is always alone.

▸     ORDER  OR  ANARCHY    ?

order, preferably.  but she causes anarchy at times.

▸     PAINFUL  TRUTHS  OR  WHITE  LIES    ?

painful truths.  as pretty as white lies can make her feel, susie would rather be hit with the painful truth. she values honesty and being upfront; this prevents both parties from wasting another’s time and doesn’t keep her blissfully unaware of some secret, which in turn makes her feel like a fool once the truth is revealed. “alice, though? ohh, she doesn’t like liars.”

▸     SCIENCE  OR  MAGIC    ?

magic.  "dreams come true, susie. dreams come true.”

▸      PEACE  OR  CONFLICT    ?

conflict. as much as she wishes and likes things to run/resolve smoothly, her fiery temper can often cause escalation and conflict arises if she feels wronged.

▸     NIGHT  OR  DAY    ?  

day. it’s during daylight that she is able to do what she loves and inch herself closer to accomplishing her aspirations.

▸     DUSK  OR  DAWN    ?  

dawn.  see above. susie is that gal to get up super early not only to start her long, morning routine -- but simply out of excitement to get to work.

▸     WARMTH    OR    COLD ?    

warmth. although later in “life”, she gets used to the cold.

▸     MANY  ACQUAINTANCES  OR  A  FEW  CLOSE  FRIENDS    ?

many acquaintances.  although not particularly healthy, susie would prefer to have many acquaintances all held at arm’s length. although fairly easy to get along with and not one to necessarily look to start trouble (unless particularly spiteful due to an event), it’s susie’s inability to completely trust other people that keeps her from opening up. it takes a special type of person to earn and maintain her trust.

▸     READING    OR    PLAYING    A    GAME ?

reading.  scripts, headliners, music sheets - oh my!

—    QUESTIONNAIRE.

▸      WHAT    ARE    SOME    OF    YOUR    MUSE’S    BAD    HABITS ?

pettiness, primarily. susie campbell may have an outstanding work ethic, a passion for her dreams that rivals joey drew’s himself, and an enthusiastic determination that sets the bar - but she is the definition of “hell hath no fury like a woman scorned”. get on her bad side and it will be nothing but dagger-like glances, spiteful sabotage, backhanded remarks, and a redirected determination to see that person wriggle like a worm on a hook until they bleed out. 

▸      HAS  YOUR  MUSE  LOST  ANYONE  CLOSE  TO  THEM    ?        HOW  HAS  IT  AFFECTED   THEM    ?

this answer is rather timeline dependent. while alive, susie was not terribly close to her family. her own birth hadn’t been planned and she was born rather late in her parents lives; her own always felt overshadowed by her overachieving, elder sister. susie keeps in contact with her mother via letters, but only updates the family when there is good news to boast about. in a way, losing her studio family was susie’s biggest loss. she lost not only coworkers, but the closest she’d allowed herself to friends in the longest time. she lost her dream and she lost love. mix that level of heartbreak with surfacing desperation, and then a failed ritual to become the one thing you feel your truest self being, and it would cause anyone to slowly lose it.

▸      WHAT  ARE  SOME  FOND  MEMORIES  YOUR  MUSE  HAS    ?

her life at joey drew studios. up until the afternoon where she had walked in on allison pendle in her recording booth, the time spent at joey drew studios were the best years of susie’s life. she felt as if she had it all: a dream role where she genuinely related to the character and cared about its workings, a stable job where she was valued and treated more than fairly, a position in a booming company that would one day elevate her name in lights, she had coworkers she got along and could finally laugh with, an unexpected love she found more than charming - everything she had worked towards and that you could write home about. 

▸     IS  IT  EASY  FOR  YOUR  MUSE  TO  KILL    ?

oh yeah.  easily. at least, when she has become “malice” angel post-sacrifice. when alive, the concept of committing murder never crossed susie’s mind, despite her high level of pettiness when scorned. however; once the ritual is performed and is confirmed a failure, malice’s mental spiral downward eventually creates a monster that finds disemboweling fellow ink beings for personal gain as nonchalant an action as drinking morning coffee.

▸      WHAT’S  IT  LIKE  WHEN  YOUR  MUSE  BREAKS  DOWN    ? 

a solitary affair.  a private struggle carried out behind locked dressing room doors and drawn blinds.  her inability to fully open up to other people results in any battles lost within the confides of mock confidence in her head being dealt with alone. typically taking place in her apartment, often triggered by her own reflection or paranoia having built up after a rather rough week, clothes from susie’s closet may end up thrown on the floor as well as her elongated mirror covered or possibly broken - depending on the degree of the breakdown.

▸      IS  YOUR  MUSE  CAPABLE  OF  TRUSTING  SOMEONE  WITH  THEIR  LIFE    ?

no, not until it was her life and soul susie was handing over to joey willingly in order to become the living Alice Angel.  up until then, her trust was scarcely handed out.

▸      WHAT’S  YOUR  MUSE  LIKE  WHEN  THEY’RE  IN  LOVE    ?  attentive and passionate, susie is a soulmate before all else. while she enjoys the flirts and compliments of suitors like the next gal, it takes a very someone special to tear down the nailed planks around her heart and encourage her to give it away. once in love; however, susie is completely and utterly loyal. to be at the point where love is involved, she would already have a tight grasp and understanding of the man in question. his change of mood and when something is upsetting him wouldn’t be concealed from susie easily and her attentive nature would hone in on attempting to correct the situation for his sake. because she does not let people in easily and finally doing so meaning she’d have bonded with the individual, there would also always be an underlining fear that she would lose said love. on a more surface level, though, susie is also very passionate. considered a modern woman for the time period, she will not hesitate to initiate a kiss or more once in a relationship with someone she truly loves. looking at you, @drewgod ‘s joey drew.

TAGGED  :    by the very missed @overindulges < / 3 !

TAGGING  :   @drewgod, @monstriiss, @deliciousfear & anyone else ! remember to repost, NOT reblog !

[missolitude]

Carolyn / Eve (Killing Eve) Headcanons + Character Exploration (Part II of ?)

[Ship meme]

for @ballion 💓 Find Part I here

Who said “I love you” first

They don’t. There is always a lot boiling under the surface between Carolyn and Eve - probably everything except love in the romantic sense. Curiosity and intrigue, suspicion, sexual tension and attraction, sometimes even something that resembles jealousy. Eve truly doesn’t like Carolyn’s lovers and ex-boyfriends, they rub her the wrong way. Does she ever self-reflect on why that is? No.

Carolyn on the other hand is barely aware of Eve’s husband. She knows of course that he... exists, and she has files on him that she’s barely skimmed through but she doesn’t need them to know that he isn’t the brightest light bulb. Beyond that, she can’t even be bothered to remember his name. (Honestly, same.) Now Eve’s obsession with Villanelle is different, Carolyn doesn’t fully understand it but she knows it’s what makes Eve so effective, it’s why she’s hired her in the first place. But it also makes Eve unpredictable and unreliable and Carolyn doesn’t like that. She’d love to have everything and everyone neatly under her control and the part of Eve that is obsessed with Villanelle is outside of her reach. Is there a part of her that gets jealous of Villanelle? One can only speculate. If there is one I doubt Carolyn is conscious of it.

Who would have the other’s picture as their phone background

Neither. But, ironically, Eve did more research on Carolyn when she first hired her than the other way around. Eve was intimidated by Carolyn, and utterly in awe. Eve read up on all she could find on Carolyn online, all the famous stories about how she’s supposedly saved the world three times over, and it gave her a huge ego boost that this remarkable and outlandish woman took a personal interest in her, even appreciated all of her particular skills that her previous environment dismissed as weirdness (looking at you Niko). Carolyn was the first person in Eve’s life that made “you are intuitive and make insane suggestions” sound like a compliment and Eve really loved that.

Who leaves notes written in fog on the bathroom mirror

Eve is the kind person that would leave Carolyn’s bathroom mirror absentmindedly smudged. And Carolyn is too absorbed in her own mind to even notice or care. It’s not like she cleans her own house either, she’s a couple of pay-grades above that.

Who buys the other cheesy gifts

They don’t really buy each other things often but when they do they manage to make it awkward. Eve might even go so far as to buy Carolyn flowers or a small trinket in thanks for Carolyn’s help and for letting her stay over night a couple of times (some of them steamy, some of them not) and Carolyn doesn’t really know how to react. The first thing she says is probably something inappropriate and slightly offensive, like she doesn’t even care for flowers or has no use for them, while throwing them in the bin. Or she’d make a random nerdy comment that has only a vague relation to the gift itself. Carolyn might even return the gesture, purely because this is common behavior among humans and she’d probably even make that particular remark, as though she doesn’t even consider herself a human specimen at all. Eve sometimes does wonder.

Who kisses the other awake in the morning

If they have a morning ritual it’s that they are always late when Eve stays over. Not for any steamy reasons, mostly, but Eve has a habit of sleeping through ten alarms, while Carolyn is very particular about the way she looks, and she wouldn’t leave the house before every hair is in place, and not a single wrinkle on her jacket. She is fully aware that she always looks stunning and she uses it to her advantage. In stark contrast to that, Eve barely has time for a shower in the morning and her biggest concern is not to misplace her house keys.

Who starts tickle fights

Eve is dying to find out what happens when a mere mortal dares to tickle Carolyn Martens and Eve being Eve, she does it the same second the thought crosses her mind too. Carolyn merely raises her eyebrows in utter confusion and asks Eve what that was for.

Who asks who if they can join the other in the shower

If they have time to shower together Carolyn invites Eve, usually very unceremoniously. She just says something like “Shower?” or “Are you coming?” Eve never says no.

Who surprises the other in the middle of the day at work with lunch

Carolyn. Making sure that Eve eats is one of her rare forms of love language - or well, let’s call it affection language. Either she brings her lunch or she briefly reminds her to have one - it’s usually necessary. Sometimes they go out together and share lunch while they brief each other on new developments. Well, mostly they just ask each other questions while the other is avoiding answering them and Carolyn always wins at that. Carolyn does share random bits of personal information with Eve however, and Eve manages to get to know her a little better over time. The secret to Carolyn’s mind is to connect the dots and Eve is an expert at that.

Who was nervous and shy on the first date

Neither. They don’t perceive their little lunch or dinner dates as romantic dates and they really aren’t. But Eve sometimes initiates playful banter or she attempts to flirt with Carolyn. Random spectators would barely make sense of their... unique conversation style and nobody would consider it flirting but it works for them.

Who kills/takes out the spiders

Eve makes a mess when seeing one and Carolyn is completely unperturbed as she watches the disaster unfold. It’s not like she has to clean it up afterwards. Carolyn is intrigued by the spider and observes it a little before she puts it outside.

Who loudly proclaims their love when they’re drunk

Carolyn barely ever gets “drunk”, she can drink most Russian bears under the table. But she gets profound when she drinks, or what she considers to be profound. She likes to philosophize about the world, relationships, cases, whatever interests her at the moment and Eve is usually either intrigued, amused or utterly puzzled by Carolyn’s detached statements.

Eve gets all dorky when she gets tipsy and likes to babble. She then asks Carolyn more questions than usual and more often than not, she gets an answer. Is it because Carolyn finds Eve endearing in that state or because she knows Eve will have forgotten all about it in the morning? We’ll never know....

[d-noona]

AERO

SUMMARY: In a future of political, economic and moral collapse, a genetically enhanced superhuman prototype named Y/N escapes from military confines and dwells amidst the decadent underground street life of *Seoul* to avoid government agents who want to bring her back into the fold.

WORDS: 2943

Jeon Jungkook x Reader

M.LIST | CH. 10

CHAPTER 09 - THE VISITOR

After getting extremely annoyed coming back home empty handed once again in search of Taehyung and Hoseok, Y/N enters her shared apartment. She calls out for her best friend "Choon, are you home?" But to her dismay she realizes that her best friend is working late shifts at the hospital. Y/N pulls off her leather jacket, drops it on the floor. She kicks off one boot, then the other, then peels off her black turtleneck revealing a black lacy bra underneath, she dives onto her futon and sighs. Not out of fatigue, more like the weight of the world weighing on her tonight. Reminiscing on her two lost friends. She lies there beat, then she senses something. Call it vibration, intuition. She sits up suddenly and is very still, like deer in the forest listening for a predator's approach, then she turns and look behind her and sees the Gold Statue on a milk crate bookshelf against the wall.

Y/N gets up, crosses to the statue, picks up the item and look at it a long moment trying to run the math. Then, impetuously she heads out of the room colleting her just doffed clothes as she goes.

She rides her rice-burner without any helmet, flaring through the night to a familiar alley way as she jumps up the tall building. She steps over the ledge and sees the very familiar building across. The apartment that she once attempted to rob.

The luxurious apartment, subdued lighting. Y/N drops down from the familiar skylight landing in a crouch. She sees Jungkook, standing in the dining room, just lighting a candle at the long table. There are two place settings. He looks at Y/N and blows out the match. "Have you ever noticed how cats always seem to turn up around dinner time?" he smirks at Y/N as he continues to fix the table with food and drinks for his astute guest. Y/N giving Jungkook an icy glare responds "I won't be staying"

"I'm not a half bad cook" he smiles at his guest. The tastefully arrayed table suggests this is an understatement. Wary of her surroundings Y/N paces slowly towards the living room "Like following me around and pestering the people I work with wasn't bad enough, but breaking into my apartment?" Jungkook tilts his head to the side, seemingly like a bad habit. "It was open"

"You got a lotta nerve" Y/N responds in anger. "Me? You're the one who tried to rip off this place." Jungkook continues to put the salad on the table for his guest, not paying much attention to Y/N as she glares at him. She spat in irritation "Completely different situation. I steal things in order to sell them. For money. It's called commerce, but some stranger sneaking into a girl's bedroom is bent."

"Bent?" amused Jungkook raises his eyebrow with a smirk on his face. "Bent. How am I supposed to ever sleep there again knowing some pervert probably touched everything I owned?" as Y/N paces left to right in a slow sultry manner, just like a cat would. Jungkook gave out a naughty laugh and smiled "If you're that nervous, you're welcome to stay here."

Y/N feigns complete revulsion at the thought as Ruben the security guard enters in a rush, drawing his gun menacingly, some ace wrapping on his wrist and a bandage on the bridge of his nose. "Whoa there boy, we've been through all this." As Y/N raises both hands in order for Ruben to see that she is no way going the let the man touch a single hair of hers. "It's okay Ruben, we're fine" says Jungkook as he sits at the chair nearby. Y/N raises an eyebrow at Jungkook "We are not fine"

Ruben lowers the gun but continues to watch Y/N suspiciously. "This is a tactical exposure which I go on record as not liking" says the muscle man. "Noted, Ruben do me a favor and look in on Janna and Juliette." Replied the walking hot stick with a mole right below his luscious lips.

Ruben grudgingly exits and Y/N circles the table. She idly kicks the plywood which has been fastened over the window she broke the last time she was there. Jungkook sighs at his failed plan. "Look, Y/N if I made you feel uncomfortable or creeped out. I am truly sorry. It wasn't my intention, but I had to see you."

Y/N doesn't know what came over her, perhaps the heat is coming on as she looks at the man in front of her she feels the sickening grudge pulling her from below. She attempts to stay away to avoid his eyes and his touch. She turns slightly looking at Jungkook briefly "You'd think a guy who's taken on the job of saving the world would have a few more important things to do than traipse around after some girl."

Following on the lead of flirting which Jungkook knows all too well, he rides on "I haven't been able to get you out of my mind" he says. He reaches out for Y/N's hand "Come here. I want to show you something." Putting a hand on each shoulder, he steers her over to an ornate mirror hanging above the sideboard. "Tell me what you see." As Jungkook point out to the mirror.

"Gold leaf, art nouveau, French, early nineteen hundreds. I could probably fence this for about three or four grand easy." Y/N says while observing the piece of art hanging. However Jungkook points to her reflection in the mirror. "No, I mean this" as Jungkook gently places his hand on Y/N's chin. "Probably the most singularly beautiful face I've ever seen."

Y/N was caught off guard and was embarrassed, face turned red as she looks down "Expensive gifts, surprise late night visits, over the top flattery. You really always come on this strong?" as she questions, looking up at Jungkook. He gently massages Y/n's nape, as he brushes his hair from behind "Only when I meet someone I have to know everything about." He continues to lean in giving soft kisses and licks on her ear. Y/N doesn't resist feeling a tying knot forming below her pelvic line, she heaves and inhales him drunken at the arousal building up. He brushes Y/N's hair more revealing a bar code on her neck. "And now I think I know pretty much about everything." He abruptly pulls away, leaving Y/N standing there hot, bothered and confused by the interruption.

"Suppose I can help you locate the other ones." Jungkook says as he moves towards the living room of the apartment. Y/N follows him with a confused look on her face then realizes the predicament she's in. Turning pale and wary of the man opposite of her. She plays dumb "The other ones?" she asks. "You lost me" she continues.

"Come on Y/N. first I watch you dive headfirst out the window fifteen stories up like you're Super woman. Then, I found this in your apartment." Jungkook continues as he pulls a vial of pills out his pocket. Y/N registers outrage, however this doesn't stop Jungkook "L-Triptophane. A neurotransmitter sometimes used in homeopathy to control seizures. Then the light bulb went off." He smirks at Y/N since he knows he got her good.

"You did go through my stuff" Y/N states in horror. As Jungkook turns and head into his study, Y/N follows him, Jungkook starts typing information on the computer keyboard. "I got an anonymous report years ago from a guy who was a lab technician at a covert genetics lab in Daegu Mountains." Jungkook blabbers on as he continues to pull out a file labelled Project Aero. The same file fills the computer screen.

"I don't know what you're on about but I'm out coz you're fucking insane" says Y/N as she starts to back away. However Jungkook didn't acknowledge her as he continues to speak "He said they were working on something called Project Aero, which was using recombinant DNA to produce a superior human. A warrior, an advance infantry soldier. Apparently these soldiers have special abilities. Super strength, speed, endurance, and who knows what else they might've cooked up in your genes" as he stares at Y/N.

Y/N stops at her tracks and turns in anguish "Not that I don't enjoy a good urban legend but what does any of this have to with me?" Jungkook looks up at Y/N. "The barcode on your neck Y/N. I know who you are and what you're running from." The revelation freezes Y/N in her tracks, she suddenly bolts but Jungkook rushes to her, catching her, and looks up her eyes with utmost concern. "There were two other transgenic males captured from the initial escape, and in 2020 a few months after the pulse, they escaped. There were only 3 of you left that were successful to this project Y/N. Only 3 out of hundreds genetically enhanced hybrids. The rest died during experimentation."

Y/N struggles and loses her balance. Her brain goes out of her wits when she hears this. "Taehyung and Hoseok?" The emotion is plainly evident in her eyes. "You're one of those transgenics Y/N. Now you'd be called a hybrid." Jungkook attempts to steady Y/N as she starts to fade and bend over to peer at her eyes. "Look at me. Listen, I am not your enemy. You are safe with me. Trust me." As Jungkook gently massages Y/N's arms as she looks straight into his eyes, for some reason unknown reason this man knows a part of her life, he may use her, and he just be the death of her, but no matter because she for some reason trusts him. Y/N sits on a couch relating the specifics of her history to Jungkook.

"We got separated right away. I never knew if they made it." As tears fall from Y/N's eyes. "How old are you exactly?" Jungkook's curiosity got the best of him. Y/n gave Jungkook a small smile "Well I was 33 when they took me in way back 2017, whatever they injected seems to make my aging stop, also allowing me to look younger than my normal years." Y/N shrugs off the surprise look on Jungkook's face.

"How well do you remember the lab?" He trails on question after question. "I remember fine after the lab and the plane crash. We and several other survivors were dragged into the lab. We could've been declared dead by the government, however anything prior to the crash is just a blur. None of us remembers our previous lives prior to being dragged in, when we got to the lab there were prior experiments. Hoseok and Taehyung were one of those in vitro babies, they were already living in the facility before we got dragged in, they were the younger yet earlier generations, Taehyung was 14 and Hoseok was 15. The rest were plane crash survivors. Ages ranging from 9 to atleast 50's. As far as I can recall we all had a normal life before all this, though most of our memories have already been erased. I was the only survivor left in the crash that was successful to the project. My DNA structure was changed after birth as compared to Tae and Hoseok, their DNA has been etched since birth. I just didn't understand what was going on during the time. They held the survivors for months, did experiments, we never questioned anyone. We we're all too scared. They never told us anything except what to do. I was in a cell block with Hoseok and Taehyung and the others. Then slowly as months pass by it was just down to five. There were two other girls with us from the escape but they were in such bad shape before we bolted. I'm not sure if Jondy or Max survived. They were younger than I was at least."

"How much do you know?" as Jungkook continues to question Y/N which she obliges to answer seriously. She felt good having to share such valuable information of her life with someone after many years of trying to hide what she is. "I know they made me. Got the branding on my neck to prove it. Whoever I was prior to the accident was no longer existent." She sighs.

"Yeah, the technical term for you is a Chimera." Jungkook adds. Y/N stares blankly into Jungkooks eyes. "Yep, a made-up creature. Like in mythology, head of a lion, body of a goat and a tail..." Jungkook cuts Y/N "Of a girl" he says and gave her a weak smile.

Y/n chuckles in Jungkook's attempt to stop her from describing the monster she sees her to be "Your basic freak" Y/N adds in. Jungkook stares at her in amusement "Hardly. I meant what I said earlier, you truly are beautiful" Y/N acknowledges the compliment with a brief glance, then looks out the city lights as her cheeks reddened. Then she speaks "Christmas is a snap when you've been kidnapped from your family, no parents, and no relatives. Just a bunch of gene sequences from probably twenty different people and animals." She smirks at Jungkook. He laughs "Like extra virgin olive oil, the best of the best" he says.

"You know the weird thing is Taehyung and Hoseok lived in the lab for years, prior to us being put in together. I guess the Corporation was testing out possible outcomes of having to recombinant DNA on both in vitro babies and after birth. We got the short of the stick. They saw the opportunity and took us from our families. Prior to us being joined in the barracks with these kids. They were so different. Taehyung and Hoseok, they knew nothing but training. Nothing from the outside world. It's like they have no emotions. At all. But I guess that's where Aero messed up. They mixed us over with this kids and ended up confusing the kids, confirming true emotions. I owe my life to them you know." As Y/N blabbers away, tears fall from her eyes. Jungkook leans in and wipes her tears with his thumb. Y/n snaps out of it.

Turning from the window to face the young man "You said you could help." Jungkook got up from his seat approached Y/N, "I could search for your friends, since considering the predicament you're in they're the only family you have at this point in time. I can ask for my informant to gather information about the old lab you were held in and see what side effects their studies may have for you and your peers, maybe we can also find out more about your family and get you back." Jungkook holds Y/N's hand and rubs his thumb across it, she stares at the young man "I prefer not to find them, my family I mean. While I have the corporation following my ass, I don't want to endanger them. Though I would love to see and be with Hoseok and Taehyung again." Y/N stops for a brief second and turns to Jungkook again "What's in it for you?" He stands up and looks out the window "Your help."

Y/N stands up abruptly "I already don't like the sound of this."Jungkook acknowledges the threat and danger that he is asking of the girl but he has no choice in order to survive this he needs Y/N. "The woman you met. Janna, she supervised workers removing cortodiazapine from gel caps by hand and replacing it with powdered sugar. The real drug was being shipped out of the country to be sold to the highest bidder at the black market. The placebos were distributed to County VA Hospital and six veterans' clinics in the area. Janna Reid is prepared to testify that was instructed to this by one of Sonrisa's men. You know who Edgar Sonrisa is?

Y/N turns to look at Jungkook "Yeah, I caught one of your hacks. He's Satan's spawn or something." Jungkook attempts to reach out for Y/N's hand "So you know the lengths he'll go to keep Janna from going public. I'm turning Janna over for a witness protection but if you're with her the risk of her safety goes way down."

Y/N avoids Jungkook's gaze afraid for what may happen. "I didn't make it this far by attracting a lot of attention Jungkook. I am still on the run. They want me bad, I have people on my ass either wanting to put me back in a lab to do weird experiments on me or worse have me killed." Jungkook sees the fear in her eyes. A flash of the scared innocent by stander once shown. Wondering who Y/N was prior to all this mess she's in as of the present.

"They've lost track of me and I intend to keep it that way." Y/N stands up ready to leave as Jungkook attempts to stop her "You're a soldier Y/N. That's what you were put here for. But soldiers need a mission otherwise they tear themselves up." He says in desperation.

Y/N huffs at Jungkook "That's deep. But before you lecture me about the meaning of life, maybe think about my family who's been missing me, thinking that I died along that place crash years ago. Think about how I came to be, how this special abilities were made, you want a lesson in life? Maybe you oughta start getting one. Ta ta!" Then, Y/N leaps up and grabs the combing of the skylight. She pikes sharply, like a gymnast and pulls herself up though the opening, and just like that she's gone.

[sj-meteora]

You are to all eternity the evil, the horrible, the covetous, the insatiate, the godless; eternally also shall you be the unblessed, the cursed, the damned! [1] And you will be damned and condemned if you confess, and damned and condemned if you do not confess, because you will be punished as a perjurer! [2]

This is direct religion, which is full of anxiety and responsibility for him who attempts its steep cliffs [3]. It is the basis on which is constructed the power (…) to define and regulate all matters (…) on all the aspects of the life of those who consider themselves members. As a consequence, it is expected that the behavior of the members will conform to the tradition and the doctrine diffused by the institution and presented as (…) being the same for everyone everywhere [4]. Religions have established themselves on dogmas, the dogmas do not change [5]. They leave no room for discussion, everything is already defined. You either follow the rules or you are damned. 

In the Freihaus, the statement that everything has already been solved and that there is a ready-made answer to every question is no longer accepted [6]. There is no longer a matter of reflection, of probing (…) for right or wrong, but an uncertain project in abundance of potentials, a dance with analytic paradoxes [7]. In the Freihaus, the simple dichotomies are refuted [8]. It is a place where one can express uncertainty; an asylum for the doubt. It is a refuge for discussing sin without fear of being judged; a Sanctuary for the Damned. 

Observe, question and discuss; these are the rules of the Freihaus. In this Sanctuary, words still have power, they are the only remaining support, the last social reality [9]. These words speak of destabilization, deconstruction, dehiscence and, first of all, dissociation, disjunction, disruption, difference [10]. They question the spontaneous everyday "naive" notion of objective reality [11] and might well be injurious to religion and dangerously subversive [12], but they are necessary. The Sanctuary mediates thoughts and allows their expression. It is the boudoir of religion [13]. 

Glazed surfaces extend between the curved and sculptural ribs of the Sanctuary [14] and lead the Damned to its inner chambers. It is so constructed that when the visitor approaching along the axis of the nave reaches the central vanishing point under the center of the dome, the perspectives "make sense" as a sort of triptych whose three distinct chambers form one coherent space [15]. Each chamber differ in their essence and character when experienced individually but when looked at as a whole, they find themselves reconciled into a single narrative or perspective [16].

Walking through the Sanctuary, one must be careful not to destroy freedom [17], for freedom here is presented in such a way that, by definition, God cannot impose any restriction upon it. The Freihaus calls for a freedom capable of triumphantly overcoming (…) mere humanity, one capable of transhumanizing [18]. Observe freedom, question religion, discuss sin; these are the rules of the Freihaus. If one follows these rules, he who thought himself eternally damned finds himself ecstatically involved in his own resurrection [19]. 

Sensuality is condemned; it is considered the root of sin [20]. Yet, the everyday world is sensual [21]. The first chamber confronts the Damned to their sensual nature. The body to the body. The experience of the chamber is sensual, yet what is remarkable is how the experience challenges habits and suggests new ways of engaging the world [22]. It offers a new appreciation of sensuality, comfort, and the body—almost a hedonism, which challenges the mundane, the prosaic, the matter of fact rationality of religion [23].

The chamber is a bath, presented as a dematerialization of architecture in its ontological form and of a sensual experience [24]. The bath becomes a sort of cathedral of pleasure at the heart of the city, where the Damned can go as often as they want, where they walk about, pick each other up, meet each other, take their pleasure, eat, drink, discuss [25]. In a complex ritual, after wrapping themselves in golden towels, they ascend a staircase to an upper level where they enter a holy bath [26]. 

Its interior of enormous embossed marble columns appear (…) as the interior of a catafalque, embroidered with black, with pink and silver [27]. The bath itself is built of ivory, its inaccessible purity is still more emphasized [28]. The luxuriousness, the rich yet unified variety of surfaces and the effeminate sensuality of this architecture [29] interact with the Damned. The impressive visual and sensual effects of the sound, water, and light displays are the most effective demonstration of the chamber's intent [30]; to question why they are here in the first place.

In this chamber, it is possible for the soul to escape from its sensual bonds and from its awareness of itself and to sink for a moment, motionless and unconscious, into the bath [31]. Surrender to sensual impulse is here represented as necessary to prove the freedom and inwardness of the mind [32]. Along with the spatial praxis (…), the sensual architectural reality is not experienced as an abstract object already transformed by consciousness but as an immediate and concrete human activity [33]. For it is only by recognizing the architectural rule that the subject of space will reach the depth of experience and its sensuality [34]. The damned are thus bathed in another light [35].

Idolatry is condemned; it is considered the most heinous sin (…), the beginning and end of all evil [36]. The second chamber confronts the Damned to their idolatrous nature. The mind to the body and the body to the mind. Religion forbids imagery, it condemns idolatry, it silences the mind. Proscription of images was not only designed to strengthen religion externally, but also internally, since it was aimed at those (…) who found in the images and in their cult the most powerful sanction for their acts [37]. The Freihaus does not forbid, just as it doesn’t condemn, just as it doesn’t silence. Instead, in the chamber of Idolatry, it presents imagery and iconography as the infinite source of all things and analyses the necessary processions within this maximum [38].

The subject, as each picture makes plain, is the ultimate idolatry: a false image (…) surrounded by visible evidence of the debauched sensuality into which men and women fell as a result of their adoration of the artistic, manmade, golden substitute for the God they could never see [39]. Instead of coming from man, the chamber of Idolatry generates images on its own. The accused is not guilty [40], he is only the observer. Indeed, the chamber becomes a kind of reflecting mirror of the observer's soul, delineating the viewer exactly and leaving the viewed object obscured [41].

The walls are constituted of 26’983 screens displaying ever-changing icons. There is no order, no control over what is shown, they are procedurally generated and influence one another. It starts as the image instructs, by opening a window through which to display (…) bedsheet after bedsheet, a cracked mirror in a gilt frame, or an overstuffed chair waiting to meet its embroidered twin down below [42]. The chamber becomes a symbolic crystallization of the polarity between holy image and mundane [43]. The virgin and the tree [44], the tree and the light [45]. 

The chamber becomes so mechanistic, so overloaded with information, that it reaches a point at which it fails to excite comprehension or spiritual purpose within its recipient [46]. Overload has become a potential means of destroying monopoly [47]. The strange associations between these icons enable a discussion. It is the starting point for a new way of thinking about living presence [48]. Speech remains a paradoxical image which sublates itself as image and thus avoids the trap of idolatry [49].

Denial is condemned; it is considered the greatest sin (…), there is no such thing really and truly as unrighteous [50]. The third chamber confronts the Damned to their Denying nature. The mind to the mind. What starts as a seed of doubt transforms into denial, which in its turn blooms into argument. The incertitude of radical doubt turns into the certitude of cogito ergo sum [51] and becomes an argument from the self and for the self. The chamber reinforces the denial of the real givenness of other minds, and of any knowledge of an external world. (…) In this chamber, the Damned experiences his own existence, his own inert given character, and thus relates to himself as passive, as affected. [52]

The space itself is evidently that of a church, and its stylistic affiliations are clearly classical, but it has about it the feel of industrial plant [53]. The Damned battles with the madness of its architecture: step, threshold, staircase labyrinth, (…) wall, enclosure, edges, room, the inhabitation of the uninhabitable [54]. The chamber of Denial is without finality, aesthetic aura, fundamentals, hierarchical principles or symbolic signification, in short, in a prose made of abstract, neutral, inhuman, useless (…) and meaningless [55].

However lost they might feel, the Damned must remember the rules of the Freihaus; observe, question and discuss. They must be convinced that this chaos contains an unexplored richness, unlimited utilizable possibilities [56]. Denial will only condemn them further into perdition. The orders, then, are nothing more than the organizational work of the spirit, which introduced an ordering division into this chaos [57]. By studying the structure of the chamber, one could discover the vestiges of mankind's initial steps toward rational thinking [58]. 

Each individual element constituting the chamber has to be reasoned and put together through rational argumentation. All of these pieces of the puzzle deserve to be seen together, so that greater sense can be made of their complex interplay [59]. It is a floating part of space, a placeless place, that lives by itself, closed in on itself [60]. This means, though, that whatever meaning or significance the Damned find in the chamber will have to come from their own collective efforts at giving them meaning [61]. 

[1] Etlin_In Defense of Humanism [2] Eco_The Name of the Rose [3] Hugo_Les Miserables [4] Coomans_Loci Sacri [5] Schumacher_The Autopoiesis of Architecture [6] Coomans_Loci Sacri [7] Hovestadt, Buehlmann_Printed Physics [8] Coomans_Loci Sacri [9] Lefebvre_Critique of Everyday Life [10] Hays_Architecture Theory since 1968 [11] Zizek_Less Than Nothing [12] Levy_Lexikon of the Hispanic Baroque [13] Payne_Renaissance and Baroque Architecture [14] Leatherbarrow, Eisenschmidt_Twentieth Century Architecture [15] Tronzo_St Peter’s in the Vatican [16] Cole, Zorach_The Idol in the Age of Art [17] Schmitt_The Cambridge History of Renaissance Philosophy [18] Cacciari_The Withholding Power [19] Girard_Violence and the Sacred [20] Warner_Alone of All Her Sex [21] Sykes_Constructing A New Agenda [22] Leatherbarrow, Eisenschmidt_Twentieth Century Architecture [23_25] Hays_Architecture Theory since 1968 [26] Belting_Likeness and Presence [27] Payne_Renaissance and Baroque Architecture [28] Hirn_The Sacred Shrine [29] Payne_Renaissance and Baroque Architecture [30] Bonnemaison, Macy_Festival Architecture [31] Cohn_The Pursuit of the Millennium [32] Zizek_Less Than Nothing [33_34] Hays_Architecture Theory since 1968 [35] Belting_Likeness and Presence [36] Levy_Lexikon of the Hispanic Baroque [37] Adams_Empire and Communications [38] Schmitt_The Cambridge History of Renaissance Philosophy [39] Levy_Lexikon of the Hispanic Baroque [40] Hovestadt, Buehlmann Quantum City [41] Adams_Empire and Communications [42] Naginski_Sculpture and Enlightenment [43] Freedberg_The Power of Images[44] Coomans_Loci Sacri [45] Mandel_Sixtus V and the Lateran Palace [46] Whitehead_Castles of the Mind [47] Adams_Empire and Communications [48] Van Eck_Art Agency and Living Presence [49] Zizek_Less Than Nothing [50] Cohn_The Pursuit of the Millennium [51_52] Zizek_Less Than Nothing [53] Cruickshank_A History of Architecture in 100 Buildings [54_56] Hays_Architecture Theory since 1968 [57] Semper_Practical Aesthetics [58] Stafford_Symbol and Myth [59] Bork_Late Gothic Architecture [60] Hays_Architecture Theory since 1968 [61] Houlgate_Hegel and the Arts 

[trisestry-blog]

Kayla J: Journal Entry #06

THE PERFECT IDOL

“Plagiarism is the fear of a blank page.” – M. Mokhonoana

Thomas Hall Debut Passes Hot 100!

“My daily morning routine?” His lips curves up into an amiable smile. “Well, the one thing I never fail to do every morning is to go to the roof, stand on the edge, and take in the fresh air. Really helps me relax and put things into perspective for the day.”

“That sounds kinda dangerous.” A voice chirps back.

“I’m a bit of a daredevil like that.” Adding a little wink, collective laughter brims from the sea of reporters sitting adjacent to him. It was a curious habit, but mundane enough for the others to see him as human; relatable and “just like a normal guy”. In the corner of his eyesight, his manager nods in approval.

A perfect answer for a perfect idol.

Thomas Hall’s New EP Hits Top 40 In Less Than a Week!

“How long does it usually take for you to compose a song?”

He feigns a contemplative pause. He knew what to say before a beat even passed. “The instance for every song is different. Some can take less than an hour, others can take days.” Less than an hour to suggest him as a genius in his line of work. Days to suggest him as your everyday guy with his everyday struggles. “I get writer’s block, too.” He adds, another round of laughter ensuing from the crowd.

Thomas Hall is Our Pick as the Fresh Face of Tomorrow!

No mention of tireless hours holed up in his studio, or staring at his sunken face in the mirror, desperate to create the next big thing. No mention of the constant fear in the back of his mind; a fear of being forgotten unless he vomits another “brilliant piece of work in the history of modern music”. That would be far too grotesque for his image. He wouldn’t look perfect.

Thomas Hall: A Look Behind His Newest Album.

“What was the inspiration for your new album?”

This was a harder one. Nevertheless, he had an answer a paragraph long memorized in his mind. “To be completely honest, my friends and family has been the biggest inspiration and motivation for me during the making of this album. The past two years has been an amazing roller coaster ride, and—”

A tone rings from the audience. Thomas pauses on his words as someone by his side reminds the reporters to keep their phones on silent. But from his perspective, he sees head after head ducking towards their phone screen in a similar manner, like a continuing wave. Each receiving a notification for the exact same thing.

“…And I wouldn’t be able to get through it all without my loved ones standing by my side.” He continues in a rather unsure manner. Something had changed in the room. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but he sees reporters whispering among themselves, not as immersed with each and every word he utters as before. A feeling of unease settles on his stomach.

A wave from one of the staffs guarding at the back of the room helps him focus back on the reporter currently taking the stand. A man with a controlled sort of poise, pushing the frames of his glasses up the bridge of his nose in a human yet stoic manner.

There’s a certain unspoken rule in press conferences like this. The questions you’re asked are supposed to be repetitive, with several mundane “how’s your life” type things slipped in between. There are no room for controversies or scandals, unless the press itself served to address the scandal.

“Is it true that you used the hook from Anita Ward’s 1979 hit for your title track?”

Upon hearing that, Thomas did the one thing he shouldn’t have done. He froze.

And like a cue, everyone else speaks out at once.

Thomas Hall’s Title Track Sounds Really Similar to Anita Ward’s Ring My Bell.

“I—” he starts, but for a few seconds all he can do is gape at the now sea of clamoring reporters. The album was already out. The credits were there for everyone to see. “Every song I make is from the heart. I can’t imagine someone taking them and claiming it as their own. I would never do that to another artist.”

As the staff struggled to keep the situation calm, Thomas reflects on what he had said. He knew those were the right words, but the silence that soon overtook the room spoke a different message, the same way his initial silence to the question did. It was as if each reporter stood with a different stance against him.

Thomas Hall Faces Backlash for Ripping Off Classic.

The ride back with his crew and manager had a deafening silence. He thumbs at the lit up screen of his phone, scrolling through social media applications until his manager tells him to put it on silent. He doesn’t say anything, but Thomas knows he’s seen it. Everyone has seen it.

It’s as if he can simply close his eyes and see the foundation he has built crumble to nothingness, see his success plummet to the ground.

Thomas Hall Reportedly Sued for Alleged Plagiarism.

The next few weeks, he stays in his apartment. For his own safety, says his manager. He ignores the ringing of his phone, the people lining up with questions whenever he opens his front door to the delivery man or the newspaper guy, and strictly avoids any channels with entertainment news.

Despite all these efforts, he knew. Thomas was no longer the perfect idol. He was no longer the future of the music industry. A different youthful face is plastered over the covers of magazines that usually displayed him.

Thomas Hall’s Career Has Reached Its Most Scandalous and Final Peak.

So one morning, he did the one thing he shouldn’t have done. Standing on the edge of the roof as he always has, Thomas takes one extra step, and falls.

I don’t think plagiarism is the fear of a blank page. If that were so, having myself sit in my bedroom, attempting to write down this entry would be plagiarism. If that were so, then should you sit ten aspiring writers in a room, all of them could very well be considered plagiarists. In my opinion, plagiarism is succumbing to that gnawing fear and personal insecurity. It is letting that fear overtake you, throwing all means of logic and care out the window. Plagiarism is a sign of internal defeat.

[emilyclementinehayes-md]

 @dr-caelebmcarthur  ⇾   65 Days || Emily & Caeleb

               They had bought a house, granted it had taken them a month to do so, but they had bought a house. While it had been her own suggestion, Emily had been filled with a quiet apprehension upon their first inspection––too many bombarding memories that demanded a great portion of her concentration, of house shopping with Christopher. It had been before everything had turned terribly upside down, and the fact that they’d been happy then and her and Caeleb were currently happy now, well the parallels were undeniably uncomfortable. Still, it had been her suggestion and Emily was above all else, determined that the relationship her and Caeleb were currently tangled up in would be her last and thus her happiest. There was no room for the flashing memories and the quiet voice in the back of her mind reminding her how quickly said happiness can turn on a dime.

        Just because it happened then, it doesn’t mean it has to happen now. That’s what she kept reminding herself.

               The move-in process had happened in glitches, a few boxes here and there and one truck worth of her furniture. Partly because the house in question wasn’t entirely habitable to begin with––they’d found something with charm, a five storey home built in the late 1800′s situated in Bay Village. It wasn’t suburbia, and it wasn’t a white-picket-fence kind of home, but its bones were beautiful and there was enough of a space for a small yard without sacrificing the city. Emily had wisely hired a small team of men to polish the original floorboards and fit the kitchen and bathrooms they’d selected together, but upon Caeleb’s insistence, they were doing the rest. 

                For the most part though, the moving and the renovating had been ground to a halt when complications with her pregnancy arose. There had been issues with Grace too, perhaps a big flashing reminder that Emily Hayes was not supposed to be a mother and although on some level she’d been expecting it, waiting for the proverbial other shoe to drop, it still terrified her when it did. She’d been carrying a box of crib sheets and comforters that she’d ordered online into the newly painted nursery when the denim hugging her thighs dampened with a deep red. There’d been no pain, which was a ‘good sign’ she’d assured Caeleb as he drove her to the hospital, even though he also held that medical knowledge and the assurance was mostly for her.

              Placenta Praevia had been her diagnosis, minor but worrying enough with her age taken into consideration that she was hospitalised and monitored for the following three days.

               Caeleb had requested she begin her maternity leave there and then, but the honey blonde denied his request with the simple fact that she’d go mad being at home for the next ten weeks. Not to mention that she simply couldn’t, because she had an eighteen year old patient flying in from New York whose surgery had been scheduled months ago. Emily had first consulted on his case when he’d been eight and had presented with ongoing issues relating to tetralogy of Fallot and the initial surgery he’d had as an infant. He’d been delightful for what she could remember, and had been pleasantly surprised to receive his father’s email requesting her as lead surgeon to replace his pulmonary valve.

                The honey blonde still held a quiet caution when she returned to work though, and while she never allowed herself to drop the proverbial ball, she discreetly cut back her hours and was careful never to be on her feet for hours on end. That morning she’d been woken early to the insistent pattering of feet against her bladder and it had been enough to remind the cardio surgeon just how much she had to lose. Their daughter was real to her now, as real as she could be without holding her in her arms and every one of her thoughts was consumed with the welfare and health of the little girl that was growing steadily in her womb. While Emily had managed to keep a strong facade when she’d wound up in hospital, the real possibility of burying this baby alongside Grace had shaken her to her very core. 

               Night terrors had been endless and persistent and night after night she’d awoken dampened with a cold sweat and a racing heart. Visions of tiny mahogany caskets, disturbed earth and pools of warm metallic blood. That morning had been no different and it was enough to have soft words floating past coral lips as she buttoned a blouse over her rounded stomach. “I think after my scheduled surgery today––on that tetralogy of Fallot boy from New York––that I might cut back my practice until she’s born.” Golden speckled eyes rose from the buttons to the mirror before her, in time to catch Caeleb’s gaze in the reflection. 

              In truth, Emily struggled to picture the young boy she’d treated all those years ago. Ironically she had been pregnant then too, however much smaller than she currently was and her situations vastly different. While her first daughter had been a blessing, the pregnancy had been an unexpected nightmare and her marriage had been less than desirable. It was almost frightening to look that far back and realise how different and yet also how little her life had changed in some ways. Heels clicked against the hospital linoleum as Emily rounded the corner and found the room that currently held her awaiting patient, the one who had unknowingly brought with him a hoard of memories. She’d been on the tale end of answering a question posed to her by one of her shadowing interns that hazel eyes hadn’t brushed over her patients face until she was at the foot of his bed.

      What greeted her was not at all what she’d been expecting.

               He was Caeleb. In the same rounded dark eyes hooded with thick lashes, mop of chocolate curls and nervous smile. The caramel apple of his cheeks rounded the same when his smile widened, and for a moment Emily thought she ought to add ‘hallucinating’ to her growing list of pregnancy symptoms. When she finally gathered the composure to adjust to her surroundings, she caught the voice of the intern to her left reciting his medical history.

             “––Evan McArthur, eighteen years old. Presenting with a failing pulmonary valve as a result of the previous diagnosis made in infancy of tetralogy of Fallot. Admitted and scheduled for a pulmonary valve replacement today.”

               Her entire twenty minutes in his room was spent making mental comparisons between the father of her unborn daughter and the eighteen year old she was about to open up in her OR. She’d told herself not to jump to any rash conclusions, but by the time they’d vacated his room she was already on a mission to find Caeleb––which she managed rather quickly. It had been one quick trip down to the Pediatric floor and she’d found him leaning against the nurses station with a file open before him. “Cae,” she managed to get out as she pulled to a stop in front of him. “I don’t know if it slipped your mind or if you just don’t know but I––I think you have an eighteen year old twin and I’m due to prep him for surgery in two hours.” It came out more fluent than she’d expected which in hindsight she was grateful for––it helped her not sound half as mad as she felt. 

             “...He has your last name and your eyes, and your face. Jesus Cae, he even does that odd little twitch thing with his lips when he smiles but isn’t really sure if he’s happy or uncomfortable.”

[whiteladymary-blog]

Lord s birthday.

Mary Also known as Lady in Heaven Virgin Mary.

Heavenly Mother and the wife of God the Father.

This last woman, who sets in motion the entire rescue operation, can only be Mary, the virgin mother of Jesus according to Dante’s faith.

The Blessed Virgin of the Comedy is the Blessed Virgin of Christian faith. One of the unfortunate and doubtless unintended effects of the Reformation has been to create among many believers suspicion as to Mary’s role in the plan of salvation. What need have we for any mediator but Christ himself? Devotion to Mary is thought to intrude between the soul and God, or to divert the soul in its journey to God. It is a commonplace that many converts found the Catholic emphasis on Mary a great obstacle to be overcome.

“Lady” (birth name: Mary) - Named after The Blessed Virgin Mary who appears in The Divine Comedy as a symbol of Divine Mercy to aid poet Dante Alighieri on his quest calling on  Beatrice to assist him. “Lady” is likely a reference to one of the virgin’s other names, “Madonna” (Italian for “Lady”).

Lord name meaning:

A name for God or Christ.

Lord is better reserved as the male counterpart for Lady

A person with the ability or power to use, control,or dispose of something

A man of noble rank or high office; a nobleman.

An owner of a slave, animal, etc. An employer of workers or servants. The male head of a household. A person who has authority, control, or power over others; a master, chief, or ruler. A person who exercises authority from property rights; an owner of land, houses, etc. A person whose teachings others accept or follow:

A Zen master. Being master; exercising mastery; dominant.

To conquer or overcome

A person with exceptional skill at a certain thing

A person who is a leader or has great influence in a chosen profession

Supreme God of Heaven, Heavenly Father and husband  of Heavenly Mother Mary.

In monotheism, God is conceived of as the Supreme Being and principal object of faith. The concept of God as described by most theologians includes the attributes of omniscience (infinite knowledge), omnipotence (unlimited power), omnipresence (present everywhere), divine simplicity, and as having an eternal and necessary existence. Many theologians also describe God as being omnibenevolent (perfectly good) and all loving.

In traditional Judaism, God is conceived of as the eternal, omnipotent and omniscient creator of the universe, and the source of morality. God has the power to intervene in the world.

Lord also known as The White Lord  takes his character inspiration from God   In the game he appears as playable character in Devil May Cry 6 as an assassin archangel who came to secure the peace on earth once more.

He doesn’t trust anyone except for his childhood friend, Lady which he grew up with. He is very calm and silent. Often works as a lone wolf. However he always prepare for a mission. Always prepares for work by looking for information about target. Knowledge about week points of enemy, their allies and enemies.

Later in the game he meets Lady and joins the Devil Mary Cry shop as her partner in fight against the demons.

He is originally an Archangel and right hand of the Father of Heavens. After The Great War that resulted with the banishment of Lucifer he earned his place at the right hand of the Supreme Father. Now days he is sent to Earth and given the task to secure the peace on earth once more, by eliminating all demons who come to create chaos. He is viewed as a cold blooded killer who shows no mercy to demons instead of words or prayers he prefers cold steel and swift deaths. His second task is to find and protect the High Priestess which bears the sacred catalyst pendant that can close the door between earth and demon world forever.

Dante is the main protagonist of the Devil May Cry series.Dante is a paranormal mercenary, private investigator, and vigilante Devil Hunter dedicated to exterminating evil demons and other malevolent supernatural forces; a mission he follows in pursuit of those that killed his mother and corrupted his brother.

Devil Hunter Son of Sparda Legendary Dark Knight

Occupation(s) Paranomal Investigator Mercenary Devil Hunter

Appearance(s) Devil May Cry Devil May Cry 2 Devil May Cry 3 Devil May Cry 4

As a puppet of Mundus, Trish was originally cruel and uncaring, but after Dante saved her, she began to develop emotions towards him, and eventually sacrificed herself to save him from Mundus's attack. After being revived, Trish joined Dante at his shop, and showed excitement at being his partner. She rejoins him in Devil May Cry 4 she has basically the same habits, and additionally seems to enjoy pizza, like Dante, though with a different behavior, such as sitting with her legs over one and the other on dantes table, while flirting with Dante, licking her fingers after finishing the piece she got from the Dante's pizza box, doing a stereotypical girly thing, reapplying lipstick while looking into the reflective blade of Sparda, similar to a vanity mirror. She also executes taunts, such as mentioning "May the Savior be with you." until she chuckles and mentions "As if.", and showm to be lovey-dovey with demons by blowing an explosive kiss.

While disguised as Gloria, Trish is very flirtatious and sexually teasing.

Vergil was the eldest of twin sons born from the demon Sparda and human Eva, and is the main antagonist of Devil May Cry 3: Dante's Awakening and a playable character in its special edition. Following the death of their mother as children, Vergil and Dante go their separate ways, with Vergil rejecting his humanity and embracing his demonic heritage, contrasting his younger brother's embrace of humanity and initial rejection of the demonic. Stoic and reserved, Vergil displays a willingness to do anything in his quest to obtain the power of his father, Sparda. In an unknown conclusion to a confrontation with Mundus in the secret ending to Devil May Cry 3, he is corrupted and becomes the Dark Angel encountered in Devil May Cry known as Nelo Angelo (also alternatively spelled Nero Angelo[2]). After numerous conflicts throughout the game, he is finally defeated by Dante.

He later makes a playable appearance in Devil May Cry 4: Special Edition, where he is featured in his own personal campaign detailing his actions in the city of Fortuna decades before the events of 4, and shortly before 3.

Agrippina details: N/A

Nero is the main protagonist in the fourth installment of the Devil May Cry series. Nero serves as a Holy Knight in the Order of the Sword, a religious group that worships Sparda and fights to protect the world from demons. Kyrie is the childhood friend of Nero, who he shares a strong romantic bond with; this romance plays a major part in driving Nero throughout the events of Devil May Cry 4.

Nero has some sort of relation to Sparda, due to the connection he has with the Yamato, and his alleged place in the Sparda bloodline.

He is also very rebellious, much like Dante and Sparda before him: he wields a gun, despite the Order's general prohibition against them; he doesn't really believe in the Order's religion; and cares little for the legend of Sparda. Despite this, he is also very loyal to his friends, especially to Kyrie and Credo. Even though he doesn't care for the Order of the Sword's religion, Nero still participates in some of their activities out of respect for Credo and Kyrie. However, his rebellious nature leads to the Order having him work alone on "special jobs." In fact, Nero actually prefers to act as a lone wolf.[4]

Like Dante, Nero is a somewhat arrogant and cocky person. He shares Dante's habit of casually mouthing off to even the most powerful of his enemies, making taunts and sarcastic jokes on the battlefield. Nero also taunts in a similar, sarcastic fashion to Dante: One taunt involves him bowing mockingly and asking, "Shall we dance?"; another has him aiming the Blue Rose at his enemies and saying "Bang!" instead of shooting; and another has him applaud his enemies.

Kyrie is a supporting character in Devil May Cry 4. Born and raised in Fortuna where she spent most of her days, she is the younger sister of the leader of the Order of the Sword's Holy Knights, Credo, and songstress for the Festival of the Sword. Kyrie is the childhood friend of Nero, as well as his love interest[1]. She carries a necklace that was given to her by Nero at the beginning of the game as a present during the festival. The love between Kyrie and Nero seems to have started before the events of Devil May Cry 4, but their love is used as a major plot point on several occasions during the game.

Sparda was a mighty demon knight who is known as the "Legendary Dark Knight" (Densetsu no Makenshi, lit. "Legendary Demon Swordsman"). Two thousand years ago, he "woke up to justice" and alone defeated Mundus and his legions. When sealing the netherworld, sensing his power had grown too strong, he intentionally sealed himself and his own demonic power in as well.[1] Later, he escaped his prison under unrevealed circumstances and quietly reigned the human world and continued to preserve harmony. Before his death, he resurfaced in the modern day and married Eva, who gave birth to his twin sons, Dante and Vergil.

Eva was the human wife of Sparda and mother of the twins Vergil and Dante. Little is known about Eva. She appears only as a photo on Dante's desk and as a voice in a flashback in the first Devil May Cry game. For Dante and Vergil's 8th birthday, she gave each of the boys one half of Sparda's Perfect Amulet. Afterwards, she was killed in a demon attack ordered by Mundus. She hid Dante underneath two stones and told him never to come out, no matter what. She gave her life for her sons[1]. It is unclear where Vergil was at this time. Eva's death is most likely the event that shaped the paths Dante and Vergil took, causing Dante to fight demons and Vergil to search for Force Edge.

Devil May Cry

Lord OC belongs to x-lord-x

Lady/Mary

Dante

Trish

Vergil

Agrippina

Nero

Kyrie

Sparda

Eva

[inhalareexhalare]

The Dean Team and the Victim Reflex

...Ms. Charree expected me to join them for lunch! I was happy to join. She seems to like seeing me become more social and more emotionally open. I also decided to tuck my slightly over-sized collared shirt today, since upon looking at a mirror, I saw the imbalance in my visual appearance; I always loved wearing cardigans, but loose shirt plus dangling cardigan is a shapeless creature. 

Coincidentally, Ms. Charree had been egging me on to wear crop-tops since yesterday, and I got reminded of that when she smiled, seeing that I’m making an effort now, even just a bit.

I worry if she thinks I’m lying when I tell her that I eat with my old org-mates for lunch sometimes haha. Ms. Dianne also worries about that, but I think she won’t tell me. They’re both worried that I’m hiding from social interactions. They’re half-correct.

This time, I got to eat with Ms. May too! There were four of us, with Ms. Bel. Ms. May doesn’t talk a lot. More because she’s a bit older than any of us three. I’m going 23 this year, Ms. Bel is probably in her late 20s, MS. Charree alse in her late 20s. Ms. May seems to be in her late 30s. She usually can’t relate unless it is about habits or discipline or kids haha. In general she isn’t very talkative either but blends well with people, much unlike me when I first joined them.

Ms. Charre is... how do I put it. She’s crazy hiding under elegance. She isn’t even hiding the crazy part haha. She just looks so ladylike when she’s in a neutral mood. I can still see her teen-rebel self even now. She becomes irresponsible when paired with Ms. Bel.

Ms. Bel is a health-conscious environmentalist. Although she doesn’t want to be considered any of those things because she still has trouble having a completely zero-waste lifestyle. More like, it’s impossible haha. But I love her passion when she talks about these things. She fights for what she believes in, but knows her boundaries and won’t force you to subscribe in what she stands for.

It’s been fun! Too bad I can’t hang out with all of them at once. The other big group (Ms. Len and the gang) is too many for one room and inviting these three people would create chaos and smaller space for individuals to shine.

I want to hagn out with all of them in moderation (since I still haven’t built up good social stamina), but if I’m going to have to choose, I’ll go with Dean’s for now (we’re secretaries under the Dean, Ms. Charree, Ms. Bel, and Ms. May)

I guess I’ll call the other group the Big group haha.

Comments? 

Weakness: 

(1) I unconsciously grab my phone and open PDFs to read when I hear dead air. The problem is, it breaks my attention from my social goals. And, it helps me ignore my share of responsibility in the group dynamics/atmosphere. I didn’t get to read though, thank goodness. But opening it is already a no-no.

(2) My thought to tongue translation still needs work, so that I can express context and content clearly to people I speak with.

Strength: 

(1) I don’t write journal entries in the moment anymore. As I said in the previous paragraph, it breaks my attention. 

(2) I have more initiative to ask now too, despite still lacking good thought translation. 

(3) There is a bit more comfort in what I call the sufficient-frequency of eye contact now. (too much or too little are both no-no’s!) I observed that Ms. May opened up more in different topics when I initiate a dialogue with her when I share my opinions while making sure to match her eye contact timing.

plus bonus long rant:

I’m also gonna post my tucked-in shape here, for the sake of exercising a bit of shamelessness. I’ve always been fine with my body type, but other people having different perspectives sort of encouraged me to be more doubtful of my body image. I’m severely underweight. For most of my life from elementary. My mom said I was heavy at birth, but I haven’t really weighed myself again until elementary at PE and discovered I was, yes, severely underweight.

Also, it doesn’t help that my arms are naturally proportionally longer than they should be compared to my somewhat long legs. But I’m not so tall. I’m just 5′2 feet tall. So don’t imagine a slenderwoman just yet. I mean relatively long. Longer arms make my arms look even thinner bwahaha This was why my official pen-surname is Armslong. Lobo Armslong. HAHA

I don’t get sick a lot. Besides when I lack sleep for consecutive days, my immune system is actually pretty good on its own, without vitamins and shit. Though my attention problem during eating when I was from the age of ~4 until ~9-ish years probably contributed to me developing a small body, my bones are actually also really thin (dense?) as you might have seen from the little pictures I post. Wrists don’t enlarge. That’s just bone size. Also, my mom was as thin as me for most of her life (she had my body when she got married. She was real pretty though! So beautiful she was, even in her last moment alive in this world with her socially acceptably “normalized” body), until she reached around the early 40s and gave birth to us siblings. (She had trouble forming a child.)

I eat double the amount that my peers do, and healthier food too, and the most I’ve gained in years is 2 kilos. It normalizes back. I am stronger than most of the girls I know (except a few extreme exceptions, like martial arts practitioners). I do have some slightly more developed muscles and they show now, but it’s like it’s the only flesh I got; I have no fat.

I was worried for Karu and I and our potential child/children since I do consider the possibility that this is unhealthy even if my body is working just fine and actively. What if my body can’t take it? And what if my body is incapable of giving enough nutrients? Typical practice in the field of medicine is that the life of the mother comes first. But I don’t want to waste opportunities and time and resources and tears and blood just to cause someone else pain. But it seems this is normal... Waste analysis (feces and urine) shows that my digestion is pretty okay. Nothing weird.

But doctors keep telling me to eat better and buff up some muscles. I strengthen my body with work-outs and dance, and with Karu around, I have the healthiest diet in my whole life since my mom, but my weight doesn’t change.

Anywayyy, nothing big. Just leavin’ this here. For myself, really.

wrist btw. 

2019-02-21 14:41 Philippines Thursday

I should be careful to balance some good time with myself.

It's been fun recently, but I must not let myself lose my way. Exciting things can be so intoxicating.

Balance, balance.

I wonder if Karu's at home today? I don't feel like I have to know, and I won't ask. But right now, I'm actually looking forward to, and getting excited planning what good time I'm gonna give myself!

If Karu wouldn't be home, what fun would I do?

And if he is, it'd be fun to experience being alone despite him being around!

2019-02-21 18:06 Philippines Thursday

Huh. Tonight's the first night I ever didn't compulsively look up to see whether there were people upstairs.

My body literally feels light. I have more confidence in the presence of more people now. Maximum of five now, in contrast to two before.

But I won't get sidetracked. I'm here for self time. Reflection.

2019-02-21 18:52 Philippines Thursday

So I had some awesome self time! I got to listen to my old music tastes for the sake of memories, I got to see my super old college original character designs (two of my best ones, Loki and Liam), finish three scribbles for the Peak posts, write my third poem of the day, and meditate in silence.

I took a nap to rest my eyes and to conserve energy. And I got to do this all without a shred of hate nor sadness towards anyone or anything. Despite it being so late, and despite Karu still being away, and despite not having dinner yet.

A pair of feet scrambling around woke me up, and there was Karu! I was overjoyed! I did my best to express that through my voice. I was so proud of being able to be comfortable on my own tonight, and there was balance between my social mission and my self mission, my day and night.

And then, Karu's voice started to sound too loud. He said I should go eat ahead of him. His adrenaline was clearly still pumping. He just got finished with his long errands. For some reason, he scared me. No, the phrasing is wrong: I was scared of him. All he did was give me a light tap to the cheek as a jest form of reprimand when I wanted to say that I had fun waiting for him tonight without panicking or blaming for the first time in a long time.

Then I cried. Quietly as I can. It was hard to breathe. I needed the open window.

And then Karu's energy calmed down amd he wondered what was going on. He did well trying to comfort me and be as safe as he can be even though he didn't know yet that I was afraid of him. But I got to tell him, after a few minutes of being mute. I know he was worried about me. He only really was doing what he can to take care of me.

But that's also why Ma used to beat me up when I was a kid. (I'm thinking now that maybe my childhood reflexes are related to this.) As a kid, I understood enough that she really loved me, and she only ever wanted the best for me. No one can be perfect. Everyone has flaws. One of my angelic mother's was poor anger management. (Even Karu's better at it now than she was before. But she recovered and improved A LOT before she died.)

Everyone has flaws. I wanted to be able to embrace hers. I wanted to understand her better. I wanted to make it work. And we did love each other a lot. But punches still hurt, that's the thing. A slap on the lips tear open the skin and blood comes gushing out. It all still hurts. So in some way, I had to develop my own way of defending myself. I would get destroyed if I didn't.

Fear. Fear became a new sensation. It protected me, and motivated me to keep away from harm, from damage my little body is not built to take. I began internalizing all the unintentionally hurtful things she started to say. I was wrong, I was stupid, I was useless, I was... Many things. All those things, she proved deserved pain.

(Please don't hate my mom. She didn't know how to cope well. We were four siblings, and she had to take care of all of us. In a traditional Chinese family, the dad only takes care of business. Moms hire helping hands but would still prefer to take care of all the children anyway.

It's not her fault. And it's also my responsibility to learn to take care of myself better.)

But now I should know better. I'll be okay.

I'm still learning.

Anyway, so when Karu became a potential threat in my mind, two things happened that led to a major thing:

(1) I got scared of him. I preferred to be inferior and quiet to him. I started to feel that I make wrong decisions and that I can't make decisions, and my feelings don't matter.

(2) I felt discouraged. I feel guilty about wanting to celebrate my latest self improvements.

...And my posture broke.

I'm not kidding. This is a major thing to me. I adapted to the dancer's upright posture, and it honestly gives me a good flow of energy. Having the posture gives me energy, and having energy gives me the posture.

But it broke. Unconsciously. I notice that my back is slouched when I feel depressed or weak or inferior or shit. So you know. Quite a big thing to realize.

Now, writing all these things and accomplishing one of my missions (putting thoughts into words a.k.a. Oral Thought Expression) were good. I told Karu my perspective of today and tonight.

And he gave me his. I've calmed down.

2019-02-21 23:03 Philippines Thursday

This part of my head must somewhat be rewired though. It's better to replace this reaction where I drop myself and roll into a ball (not literally, although I would hug my knees and break my posture so I guess the ball part isn't far off).

It's another thing to overwrite.

But how?

A raised voice isn't exactly a trigger though. I deal with those reactions "excellently" as people at work would say. I humble myself (but not belittle) and allow the other party to have time to cool down. Their favorite was that I​ don't hold any of it against them personally. Apparently I was good at handling prideful doctorate professors.

I am sidetracked. A raised voice does not suffice as a trigger.

Here are the noticeable requirements. They must all exist:

(1) raised voice (has to be directed at me, claiming the stress/problem is BECAUSE of/IS me whether or not it's true)

(2) physical contact/pain

(3) the source being someone I deeply love or highly respect

Sometimes number (2) is not necessary. Like my father's case. I immediately feel all the things he blurts out when he's desperate to be in control are true—ignorant, unbecoming, stupid, dumb, stupid, a waste of resources, a waste of time. I wouldn't give a shit if one of my highschool friends told me that, but because it's him, I instantly take the inferior position and join him in beating myself up mentally.

I'm not isolating this possibility to mere coincidence either. It's the same with my beloved sister Nynaeve who has never done anything particularly abusive to me. There were at least two instances when she snapped from so much stress and her words ripped though me. I took it to heart emotionally even though I knew the truth was that she was just stressed. I almost immediately assumed a surprising inferior position then, and almost cried, feeling like I'm going to be deprived of my sister's love forever. That was unusual because we always treated each other as equals, and I usually responded to her stress in a calm manner (so I guess the difference that made it was that the stress in those specific instances was directed at me).

Heck, when I was raped and physically beat up, I had full capacity to speak calmly and I even tried fighting back (when his skills were proven lethal, I resorted to calming him down. Instant victory/ escape weren't options).

His identity in my emotional aspect still freaked me out so much after the incident though, but less so now. I still don't think myself a victim. I don't give enough shit about him to be hurt, other than physically. In a way, you could say I'm only really actually hurt mentally/emotionally.

So now, what are the things I can do?

(1) Of course, communication is a must. Since this is the human condition that I have, it's important to let the other party know, while making sure they know they are not a monster and I am not a victim. I was just too used to feeling like one, so I now have this victim reflex (oh that's a good name)

(2) Take time off. It's necessary to have a quiet time to recover and assess the situation inside and outside properly. It would allow me to both (a) be reminded that it's just my victim reflex acting up, and (b) be available to empathize and understand more clearly the why of the other party's actions.

This ensures that I am in a proper state of mind before I choose my next moves.

2019-02-21 23:52 Philippines Thursday

[talesfromthefade]

Eloise Trevelyan x Cullen Rutherford || SFW || 2406 words

“Ellie,” he ventures softly, one hand reaching out for her arm before hesitating halfway between them, uncertain whether his touch might be welcome. It has never been more so, but the young mage doesn’t know quite how to tell him so, watching sadly out of the corner of her eye as his arm drops before he makes contact. “Are you alright?”

“I-” she hesitates, biting her lip. “It’s foolish,” she mumbles softly, feeling a traitorous flush creeping up into her cheeks as she shakes her head.

“Tell me anyway?” The request and his expression, the desire simply to help in whatever capacity he is able, is so plain and earnest on his face telling him no seems suddenly far worse than the embarrassment of sharing the truth.

“Do you still love her,” the brunette asks softly before she can lose her nerve.

“What?”

“Warden Amell,” Eloise continues. “Marina. You knew her when she was still an apprentice, saw her become an Enchanter. ’A lovely woman,’ you said,” she reminds him.

“I-” Cullen considers frowning a little.

“I see,” Eloise nods, biting the inside of her cheek to fight down her tears.

“Ellie, wait,” he calls a bit desperately as she turns on her heel and flees the room. She doesn’t stop or look back, however until she’s reached the quiet attic alcove where Cole often resides. She doesn’t immediately see him, but trusts as she sits down in a lone chair in the corner that he will come- her desire to see him and her hurt calling out to him like a siren’s song. He appears at her sides seemingly between blinks, frowning sadly as he studies her.

“I need to be unseen, Cole,” she tells the spirit, before he can ask or say anything. There is, only one way to reach the safety and solitude of her chambers, and it will mean walking passed untold number of eyes- both friendly and entirely unknown strangers- through the great hall to get there. Any number of them staring at her unkempt and emotional state, any of them able to inform an inquiring Commander of where she has gone. “Can you help me.”

“Always,” the spirit nods without a moment’s hesitation. “But… Varric says sometimes it helps to talk about the hurts instead of trying to forget them-”

“I will,” Eloise nods in agreement. “But not yet.” It’s all too fresh just now. The young woman isn’t truly certain where she’d even begin relating it all to anyone else. “Please,” she pleads. “I just need to be alone for a while.”

“Alright,” he nods. “Take my hand?” She does, following beside him at a leisurely pace across the courtyard and through the hall until they’ve ducked behind the door and pause on the steps leading up to her room. They’ll look for her here eventually, of course, but not right away, not with no one having seen her head this way.

“Thank you, Cole.”

“Yes,” the spirit nods. “Thank you for letting me help.” Eloise doesn’t really know how the spirit feels about the gesture exactly, but she hugs him gratefully before turning back and making her way up the steps to the safety of her quarters and collapsing on her bed, grabbing and dragging a pillow into her chest and clutching it tight.

As ever the young mage feels like a fool, a child playing at knowing what she is doing- at being competent, an adult… she should have known better. Some part of her must have done. Cullen is a number of years older, but hardly past his prime and undeniably attractive on both a more superficial and a deeper more spiritual level. He will have had other loves and lovers before.

But it hurts, seeing the way he had lit up when Marina Amelia, the hero of Ferelden had walked through the gates of Skyhold, even if the other woman had made a very pointed beeline and public display of affection with her fellow and eagerly waiting warden Alastair. They are absolutely besotted with one another, she knows. Anyone with eyes could see it. That dopey grin of unadulterated happiness has not left Alistair’s face since her unexpected arrival, and Marina for her part, seems just as delighted, every bit as eager to catch up with him. From what the young mage has had the opportunity to hear about or observe herself, the former Warden Commander’s initial meeting with the leader of the Inquisition’s forces was… awkward.

They seem to have found their footing now, however, if the scene she stumbled upon with the pair side by side talking and laughing on a bench in the gardens earlier that afternoon is anything to go by. She pushes down a flare of jealousy rising up from the pit of her stomach at the thought. Marina is here to help them in their fight against Corypheus. The Inquisition cannot afford to turn down any assistance or advantage available to them. And it’s clear the other mage has no intention of straying from her lover.

That doesn’t mean she can’t have Cullen’s heart wrapped around her little finger, however. Warden Amell simply seems to have that effect on people. She is a stunningly beautiful and- Eloise reluctantly assesses-‘lovely’ woman. She’s no real right to be jealous or angry. Marina is no more responsible for her flawless ivory skin and long blonde tresses, than she for her plainer olive skin, dark brown locks, or scarred brow and cheek. More importantly, however fondly she’s come to regard Cullen there isn’t any understanding between them of any relationship besides their regular friendly chess matches and sometimes walks along the battlements trading news, reports, and occasional jokes and smiles. She’d never dreamed after what she survived in Ostewick that she might ever let a Templar- even a former one- so close. That she might allow herself to begin to fall for one. But more and more Eloise had found herself hoping…

It doesn’t matter anymore, she thinks defeatedly, burrowing her face into the pillow she’s been crushing against her and hugging tight, letting lose a muffled and frustrated shout. She feels the tears, hot and fat pouring out, beginning to soak the pillow, but doesn’t fight them anymore. Foolish, she thinks, scolding herself. To think that she could be happy in the midst of all of this. That she even deserves to be. That someone like him could ever…

A gentle series of knocks on the door interrupts her inner-monologue. The young mage stands, crossing the room to check her reflection in the mirror, brushing off tears with the sleeve of her robes and fixing the more flyway and wild strands of her hair, until she’s decided she looks- presentable at least for whichever member of her inner circle is calling upon her. Josephine, with another proposed meet and greet with some important noble or other perhaps, she muses as she makes her way to the door to admit the advisor. In her time with the Inquisition, particularly since accepting the role of Inquisitor, Eloise has become far better and more patient in the ways of the game than she ever was as a younger girl. Had she not suffered the misfortune of being 'cursed’ with magic, it’s entirely possible she would have proved everything her mother and father once hoped for as the next head of house Trevelyan, though she shudders to think what manner of suitors they might have proposed for her.

But it is not the young and bright Antivan woman who waits on the opposite side of the door. “Eloise,” Cullen starts softly as startled and wide hazel eyes meet his own amber ones, the young mage’s mind already frantic grasping for excuses, someplace else to quickly flee to. “I-” he hesitates, suddenly seeming to realize where they both are, the possible impropriety of his being her quarters, and blushing ever so slightly. “Could we talk? Please,” he asks gently.

She doesn’t want to. Doesn’t need to hear whatever excuse or apology he may have to soften the blow or attempt to soothe her bruised pride and ego. She’s grown sadly accustomed to not being anyone’s first choice. Even here in the Inquisition she knows Cassandra and Leliana had sought out Marina and Hawke to lead them all before a strange twist of fate had delivered her to them. Whatever it is he’s come to say, Eloise is quite sure she hasn’t hardened herself enough yet to hear. But she nods, not trusting her own voice yet where her throats feels like it’s swollen shut, and gently steps back to let him in.

He closes the door behind himself, but waits to follow her up the stairs, pointedly stopping near her desk far from the bed and her more personal effects. His hands glide for a moment, seemingly on instinct towards the familiar stance of resting on the pommel of his sword before he catches himself, and Eloise notices for the first time that he has taken the time between when last he saw her to shed most of his usual armor in favor of a more relaxed tunic and trousers. He’s still armed, because it wouldn’t really do to be caught off guard, but stops himself before he can rest in his sword as he so often dies, and instead allows one to travel up to run through his hair and rub the back of his neck. A nervous habit, she recognizes with some confusion, though she can’t imagine what he might be nervous about. She is human, yes. Grieving a bit for something she had no right or reason to dare hope for, but is he really so afraid she might not be able to handle his rejection? That she might allow it to affect things between them professional or make he or the Inquisition pay for her childish mistake?

“You asked me if I still loved Marina Amell,” Cullen begins finally, Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows, then presses forward. “The truth is… I don’t know,” he admits with a small frown. Eloise nods, mostly on instinct, even as her heart clenches, encouraging the other to continue. “Even now, it’s difficult to sort out how much of it was idolization and youthful infatuation on my part- perhaps hers as well. I think, perhaps I did- love her once. And I think-” he hesitates again, worrying his lip a little as he considers how best to proceed. “Maybe, when you love someone- really love them, that you always do, no matter what happens or however much time passes.”

Eloise looks away, first at the stone floor, before turning her gaze over his shoulder to the mountains beyond the balcony. She will hear him out, but meeting his gaze-those bright and burning amber eyes- seeing what can only be pity there is too much for her to bear now.

“But things change. Just as we all do,” he presses on, cautiously reaching out to take her hand and hold it between his own. “I read once somewhere that there are many kinds of love, but never the same one twice,” he smiles a little, the expression pulling a little at the small scar that rests above his lip, and Eloise does her best to keep her composure. “I didn’t think to find love again. For many years I wasn’t ready to, and many more I didn’t think I deserved to. I’m still not entirely convinced,” he admits truthfully, in a rather uncharacteristically vulnerable declaration of feeling that simultaneously breaks her heart and makes her long to hold and comfort him.

“You’re the Inquisitor,” he continues, shaking his head. “We’re at war. These last few months, I’ve cherished every moment we have spent together, but I never really thought it was possible. Seeing the way you became upset about me spending time with Warden Amell this afternoon… it gave me hope,” the commander admits causing the young mage’s gaze to snap immediately back to his in utterly bewildered surprise. “Not that, that was my intention in speaking to and spending time with her,” the Commander adds hastily, a bit more like himself, or at least the side of him the young mage has seen more of in their stolen moments of peace and solitude together. “Is that wrong? To hope? Am I foolish to-” he begins, but Eloise cuts him short, rushing forward to close the gap between them and stopping his speech and train of thought as her lips crash into his.

She doesn’t know what she’s doing precisely and is entirely grateful when after a moment’ shock Cullen takes over, enthusiastically returning the embrace and kiss, arms wrapping around her and pulling her close. The young mage’s hands fly about searching and learning his body through the cotton of his tunic, before one comes to land over his breast, thrilling at the way she can feel the muscles his armor often hides, can feel his heart beating, hammering beneath her flattened palm. The other continues traveling, first across the expanse of his back to pull and hold him close, his neck to keep his lips pressed to hers, then finally tangling in his hair as his own larger hand has done in her rich brown curls.

“Ellie,” Cullen whispers breathlessly, smiling softly, and Eloise feels as though her heart is fit to burst.

“No, Cullen,” she replies finally, beaming and shaking her head when they break away ever so slightly to catch their breath. “It isn’t foolish.” Though perhaps they are, for dancing around this and one another for so long, she thinks fondly, mind still reeling that this can possibly be anything more than a dream.

“Maker El, I-” Cullen replies a bit breathlessly. He bites the inside of his cheek. Courage Rutherford, he thinks steeling himself, you’ve said everything but and she hasn’t thrown you from her quarters yet. Maker’s breath, but it’s only now occurring to him where they are, the impropriety of it all being alone together in her chambers. “You are-” he begins again, before shaking his head with a soft huff of amusement. He’s never been known for poetry. Short and direct, more than anything. “I have never felt anything like this,” he manages finally.

“Neither have I,” Eloise replies, unable to hold back the smile that spreads across her face, “but I like it.”

[onestowatch]

OTW Staff Picks: Our Favorite Songs of 2018 (So Far)

Throughout all of 2018’s faults, one thing remained true. Good music prevailed through all the murk and dejection of the year. After all, what is music’s purpose beyond providing a moment of escape, a respite from the world around us? It’s for this reason that we here at Ones To Watch wanted to share with you the songs that have affected us the most this year (so far). And in doing so we hope that you can find a moment of musical respite, as well as a new musical discovery. Here is to all the amazing music that 2018 has brought with it so far. 

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Still Woozy & ODIE – “Lucy”

When I think of 2018 in music, the emergence of “anti-pop” and continued growth of the urban sphere are two trends that immediately come to mind. This song not only combines the two, with Still Woozy’s groovy cuts and ODIE’s worldly rhymes, but it also does so in the most sonically pleasant, feel-good manner. It’s simply impossible not to bob your head and sing along to “Lucy” – highly recommended keeping this one high on the summer road trips, barbeques, and beach party playlists.  

-Yasmin Damoui (Content Editor, Ones To Watch)

Turnstile - "Moon"

Since I'm not quite sure I could pick my "favorite" song of 2018, because there are about 30 different songs I could pick here, I went ahead and chose a song I have probably listened to the most. Turnstile's "Moon" is perfect in so many ways. It's fast but not too fast. Heavy but not too over the top. It's catchy and, well, that might be it. The song is so damn infectious it just crawls into your head until you're singing ''Now there's nothing I can dooooo, Man up on the moooooon" for hours on end. Plus the video is pretty rad too!  

-Jimmy Smith (Content Editor, The Noise)

BROCKHAMPTON – “Tonya”

Following the recent removal of Ameer Vann after sexual misconduct allegations, a delayed album, and a canceled tour, the future of BROCKHAMPTON was looking uncertain, to say the least. The internet’s first boy band made a grand return with their late-night television debut on The Tonight Show Starring Jimmy Fallon, where they debuted “Tonya.” The somber track and captivating performance, featuring guest performances by serpentwithfeet, Ryan Beaty, and Jazmine Sullivan, signaled more than just an announcement of their forthcoming album, the best days of our lives. “Tonya” was a reaffirmation that through it all, BROCKHAMPTON remains one of the world’s most inventive and brilliant boy bands.

-Maxamillion Polo (Lead Writer, Ones To Watch)

Jorja Smith – “Lost & Found”

I’m old enough to call someone a generational talent and Jorja is just that, a throwback chanteuse with all the coaxing credentials of her predecessors. “Lost & Found” would hold up against any love-gone-delinquent song since the summer of ’79, and it’s an appropriate midyear benchmark for a year deep in songwriting excellence.

-David O’Connor (VP Artist Development, Live Nation)

Omar Apollo – “Erase”

Omar Apollo is getting ready to hit the spotlight. He’s a young multi-instrumentalist with a natural knack for soul and melody. In addition to his relatable lyrics on songs like “Erase", he’s going to be on everyone’s radar in a couple of months.

-Malcolm Gray (Social Media Manager, Live Nation; Writer, Ones To Watch)

Jay Prince – “In The Morning”

I want to start off by saying that I initially chose “Big Bank” by YG but figured that it wasn’t very Ones to Watch of me, so I’m going to go with Jay Prince’s “In The Morning.” The East London MC really lets his versatility shine on this groovy summer track, and I can’t help but sway my shoulders side to side and activate my trap arms whenever the beat kicks in. Everything just blends perfectly with Prince’s rapping and infectiously catchy hook over the afrobeat-inspired production. Ah, I can picture the beaches and pool parties. I can already taste the Modelo! OOOH WHEE!

-Green Lee (Social Media Coordinator, Ones To Watch)

Cloves – “Wasted Time”

Old habits die hard–and putting down the proverbial bottle is easier said than done, whatever that bottle is for each of us. “Wasted Time” is a poignant look at the pain of going back to a bad habit again and again. The rawness of her voice and stripped-down production mirror the sheer honesty of the song and her simple, unaffected lyrics. Feels.

-Alexa Schoenfeld (Junior Booker, Live Nation)

Mallrat – “Groceries”

There is an innate and profound simplicity in Mallrat’s “Groceries.” The melody, which sways between a delicate sense of ease and full-out dance-inducing jam, embodies the overarching feeling of effortless joy the song gives off. As the Brisbane artist sings about such seemingly modest things as grabbing groceries, spending time together, being in love, ensuing heartbreak, it’s hard not feel a sense of universality to it all. It’s a humbling and beautiful track, perfect for the summer.

-Jenna Singer (Artist Development Coordinator, Live Nation)

Rainbow Kitten Surprise – “Painkillers”

How To: Friend, Love, Freefall, the third and most recent album from indie rock outfit Rainbow Kitten Surprise, is occupied with an undeniable spirit and boldness, largely thanks to its impressive lyricism and genre-defying approach. While singles “Fever Pitch” and “Holy War” are terrific displays of that declaration, the true highlight comes in the form of the track, “Painkillers.” While melancholy and disheartenment resonate within this mellow tempo driven effort, it’s not merely a straightforward downer by any means. Frontman Sam Melo coos with an inviting and favorable gentleness throughout the course of the song. Moreover, the stunning sonic configuration and poignant yet browbeaten lyrics really stir the soul, no matter what state one may be in.

-Sean Kayden (Writer, Ones To Watch)

FRENSHIP – “Mi Amore”

Eighties pop meets seventies funk in FRENSHIP’s “MI Amore,” a bitingly honest homage to pursuing a dream in a cutthroat industry. A deliciously groovy bass line underscores the electronic fuzz and vibrant synth as the electropop duo sing, “Don’t come between mi amore,” for a sound that is altogether irresistible. The positively sizzling chorus is preceded by a flash of bitterness with the lyrics, “There’s a high price to pay for fame / Put the shame on you for your hollow ways.” This unyielding emotional honesty paired with refreshing sonic creativity is exactly what FRENSHIP does best, and why “MI Amore” deserves a spot on your summer playlist.

-Dana Jacobs (Writer, Ones To Watch)

The Night Game - “American Nights” 

My favorite song of the year so far is "American Nights" by The Night Game. I have a major soft spot for things that sound like ‘80s classic rock and The Eagles, plus Martin Johnson's song structures could not be more perfect. I can't wait for his forthcoming album, which comes out in September. "American Nights" is super reminiscent of "Born in the USA." It sounds magical, but the lyrics are a contrast to the actual struggles of American life, which makes it super relevant lyrically.

-Angie Piccirillo (Writer, Ones To Watch)

Chloe x Halle - “Everywhere”

Chloe x Halle are goddesses with their new album The Kids Are Alright. "Everywhere," a clear standout on the album, shows what the duo is capable of when they’re completely unrestrained. It is an anthem for boss ass bitches who work hard and do not let the haters get them down. The track is an excellent showcase of Chloe’s knack for production and demonstrates their versatility for a wide range of musical styles. Chloe X Halle proves that they’re more just their impressively gorgeous vocal harmonies."

-Jordan Grace (Writer, Ones To Watch)

What So Not – “Be Ok Again”

My favorite song from this year so far is probably What So Not’s “Be Ok Again.” Being one of my favorite producers, it’s really hard for me to choose a favorite song, but I loved the entire album that this song came from–Not All The Beautiful Things. I had seen him shortly before this album came out and had the chance to see a lot of the new music live, including this song. After hearing it live, it will always have a special place in my heart.

-Eden Kraus (Writer, Ones To Watch)

Joy Oladokun – “Sober”

My favorite song of the year, thus far, would have to be Joy Oladokun’s “Sober.” Ever since its release, I have not been able to get this brilliant gospel-soul infused tune out of my head. This track has everything I look for in a song–an infectious melody, relatable lyrics, and a unique lead vocalist. “Sober” marks the first release for Oladokun since 2016, and it is well worth the wait. The song is a soulful anthem for anyone who has gone through an addiction-fueled, unhealthy relationship and came out the other end with a clearer head. The repeated line, “Now that I'm sober my temperature's a little colder / I see it clearly now, I only fell for you ‘cause I was young, dumb and broken” is overwhelmingly real, and perfectly expresses the overall sentiment of the song. The lyrics and music are both sanguine in nature, reflecting the hope and revelations that come with time and personal growth. The musical elements of the song in combination with Oldaokun’s enticing sound makes “Sober” an instant add to any 2018 playlist.

-Jessica Thomas (Writer, Ones To Watch)