#Otherwise I lose the desire to write it at all and/or forget details

[theskeletoninthegarden]

I cracked the code for day dreaming before bed. I imagine my WIPs in modern day, drama free, coffee shop or whatever AUs, and I'm good

[quarantineroulette]

12 Things That Didn't Suck this Year, plus 12 Films I watched and Liked

For me, 2023 was a somewhat easier year than most in recent memory. In the wider scope, everything remains very demoralizing and bereft of even a shred of hope. With whatever motivation I can find, my aim in 2024 is to refine aspects of my personal life I'm currently unhappy about; outside of that, things feel pretty much unsalvageable. May the new year surprise us all and give us a few glimmers here and there, culturally or otherwise. In the meantime here are 12 points that brought me some sort of comfort or release in the past year -- and also a dozen movies as most would agree it's been a great year for those. Maybe just maybe I'll finally take a crack at writing a screenplay in the new year so long as the world doesn't careen completely off its axis:

Traveling: In late 2022 I got it into my head that it would be really cool and fun to plan a trip as if we were touring, going from location to location within a span of 2 weeks. I really wanted to go back to Spain, James has always wanted to go to Morocco, so I routed a trip from Madrid to Tangier and back, with stops in Granada and Seville along the way (and also we went to see Suede, because why not). This was an intense journey that involved multiple buses, trains, shuttles to ferries, and plenty of taxis, and I'm pretty shocked and impressed that we pulled it off without sleeping through any departure times or losing any belongings (apart from a pair of earrings of mine that fell out of my purse and got crushed in Granada). The whole trip was a highlight not only of the year but of our lives in general and I'll absolutely never forget getting lost in the Ancien Medina in Tangier, something which I still dream about on the reg.

I Think You Should Leave: This has been an intellectually rich year in terms of films and television shows. The third season of Tim Robinson's completely unhinged Netflix series isn't part of that particular conversation, yet nothing I've watched this year has brought me more joy. I've easily watched the "Jellybean" sketch alone about 15 times, and could easily watch it twice that many more with no threat of it ever getting old. Absolutely insane, ceaselessly hilarious, and sometimes even emotionally stirring. May Netflix renew this 100 times over.

PJ Harvey - I Inside the Old Year Dying: I'm maybe a minority PJ Harvey fan because I find her later output far more interesting than her early, more iconic records (excepting To Bring You My Love and Is This Desire? here). This maybe didn't stir me quite as much as The Hope Six Demolition Project, which I found to be truly radical, but it neither felt like a retread (although surface listens might lead some to write it off as a return to White Chalk-era atmospherics). Outside of the record itself, the video for the title song is outstanding, and all her collaborators (including the directors of the video, animators Cristóbal León and Joaquín Cociña) were expertly chosen. Personally, Ben Whishaw singing lines from "Love Me Tender" is something beyond even my wildest dreams (Fun fact: I met Ben Whishaw forever ago and gave him a PJ Harvey button I made, so this collaboration in particular is quite the full circle).

Books By Friends: This year I read several recent books: HellSans by Ever Dundas, Our Share of Night by Mariana Enriquez and The Ghost Theatre by Mat Osman, all very different novels but all incredible in their own right ( I believe I technically read Ever's book last year but including it here anyway because I loved it that much). HellSans is a dystopian cyber-horror that satisfied my love of experimental writing and body horror alike, Our Share of Night is a touching story about a complicated familial relationship with heavy occult overtones, and The Ghost Theatre is a lush historical fiction that at times reminded me of Patrick Suskind's Perfume in terms of sensory details. All three novels solidified all future output from these writers as must reads for me, regardless of genre designations.

Movies: A short sub-list of 12 movies I watched this year that I liked enough to rank:

12) The Passenger (director: Carter Smith): Kyle Gallner is the #1 scream king to me and I'll watch pretty much whatever he's in as he usual picks interesting roles - plus, he makes me happy to be from Pennsylvania, and I can't say that about many people. Anyway, I've watched like three movies he was in this year alone but The Passenger was the stand out for its Falling Down-esque intro and fucked up reveals.

11) Beau is Afraid (director: Ari Aster): Docking this a few points because I think Ari Aster is pretty overrated, but I can't deny that this was an absolute trip to see in a movie theater. A quietly brilliant performance by Joaquin Phoenix as well.

10) The Royal Hotel (director: Kitty Green): Anything set in Australia instantly piques my interest, even moreso when it's as indebted to Wake in Fright as this film is. It wasn't the strongest year for horror films, and The Royal Hotel would probably be largely categorized as horror-adjacent, but it made me feel absolutely dreadful all the same.

9) Infinity Pool (director: Brandon Cronenberg): The unease I got watching this didn't totally stick, but the weird as shit Mia Goth performance certainly did.

8) Dream Scenario (director: Kristoffer Borgli): Very on the nose but I still laughed like a fiend over the whole "dreamfluencer" bit. Tremendous Nicholas Cage performance to boot.

7) Saltburn (director: Emerald Fennell): Sorry, loved its audacity and the way everybody in it dressed and how everything looked. A bit shallow but sometimes if everything looks great, I can hardly give a shit about any deeper meaning. Also, Barry Keoghan is absolute superstar and I don't use that term lightly.

6) Talk To Me (director: Danny and Michael Philippou): Easily my favorite straight-up horror film (not horror-adjacent) since It Follows, to which it certainly owes a debt. Funny, fucked up, and an amazing debut by Sophie Wilde, who gave the most underrated horror performance of the year imo.

5) Oppenheimer (director: Christopher Nolan): I liked it enough but what I liked even more was an on the surface "men's film" being embraced and subverted by a diverse, sometimes irreverent, audience (just look up Oppenheimer on Know Your Meme or TV Tropes and you'll get what I mean). July 2023 was a glorious period of people celebrating films and for one brief moment everyone seemed to love small, beautiful men just as much as I do.

4) Asteroid City (director: Wes Anderson): I'm generally iffy on Wes Anderson but this was just gorgeous and a truly profound experience that I'm still revisiting regularly and piecing together in my mind. If Jarvis Cocker doesn't get an Oscar nomination for Best Original Song with "Dear Alien," I will punch through a wall and all the way into a different reality.

3) Killers of the Flower Moon (director: Martin Scorsese): No movie has angered me this much since Judas and the Black Messiah in terms of a despicable moment in human history, but of course it was extremely gripping and moving, too. Say it's boring all you want but nothing this year has packed as much poignancy as that ending.

2) Anatomy of a Fall (director: Justine Triet): Best ever child acting in a film, best ever dog acting in a film.

May December (director: Todd Haynes): Todd Haynes is so intelligent, I love hearing him discuss his films and he's without a doubt one of the all-time greats for me. Even with my high expectations for everything that he does, May December still blew my mind. The marriage of Lifetime aesthetics with arthouse cinema is insanely deft, the "final showdown" between Julianne Moore and Natalie Portman's characters is absolutely chilling, and Charles Melton crying behind that fence will stay with me long, long after this year has ended.

Protomartyr Live at Johnny Brenda's: I really liked Protomartyr's 2023 release Formal Growth in the Desert, but it didn't fully hit until I attended this gig. It's been hard to get excited for gigs in the post-Covid era, but when that happens I'm reminded again of the pleasures of live music and its overall importance. I've seen Protomartyr several times in the past but in my humble opinion they've never been better than right now. Wanted to experience the whole show again as soon as it ended. The projections were really cool, too.

Living with a Cat: My parents got a kitten this year and shortly thereafter a cat mysteriously appeared in our alley. She was very scared and hungry, so we fed her and she found her way inside our home shortly after that. Cats are a lot of work, but she also brings us a lot of happiness and comfort. Sometimes she'll for real wink at me and it's very cute. Her backstory is a total mystery but she was clearly a house cat and we're very delighted to give her a new, happy home.

Swarm: Atlanta is one of my favorite things ever, plus fandoms and horror are two major interests of mine, so it was pretty inevitable that I would love this. The show was brilliant in itself, but Dominique Fishback was particularly phenomenal and delivered the horror monologue to beat going forward. A wild, funny, wicked ride.

Our first gig in Boston: We only played three shows this year but the best by far was our set in Boston at the Dark Springs Boston festival this past May. We played a bunch of our new, as yet unreleased, songs for the first time, met some bands we'd been longtime fans of, and just generally had a great time. Sitting down at the bar afterward, we met some festgoers who were genuinely star-struck, which was both flattering and very, very funny. May that be the first of many such experiences.

The Bear Season 2: Fishes and Forks. Enough said.

Cillian Murphy's Radio Show on 6Music: I listened to previous series of Cillian Murphy's Limited Edition radio show and it was my favorite thing then, but 2023's iteration was somehow better than ever. Played lots of Aldous Harding, my favorite cover song ever (Sonic Youth's cover of "Superstar"), and I'm still shocked that he threw in something from Cindy Lee, whose music I had just discovered like two weeks prior (and from a Protomartyr interview! Everything is connected!).

The Curse: There's an episode of Succession in which Roman Roy utters the phrase, "I cringed so hard I turned into a fossil." That's me with every new episode of The Curse. This would be way higher but it won't actually end 'til 2024 so it could possibly show up on next year's list as well! Also, let's give it up for Benny Safdie, who rules in this and in every other role he's played this year (and also on late night tv appearances).

[alfredosauce50]

whenever youre free, can you write yandere 2p china headcanons? im just thinking abt him 👉🏽👈🏽

Yandere 2p! China headcanons

Getting together with you was hard enough. But now that you’re his, he can’t go back to being a second choice he’s always been. He’s never letting you go.

Zao doesn’t have a single yandere characteristic by default, but when he does, ooh boy. It’ll take some time for him to deviate from his normal personality and mental stability, but given enough paranoia and infatuation, he will start losing his sanity, then, his ability to distinguish between right and wrong. And the terrifying thing is, he doesn’t even know it. By this logic, he is by far, the craziest yandere you’ll ever have the misfortune of encountering. 

(There isn’t a lot of fanart on 2p! China so have this fanart of Wei Wuxian for visual purposes)

Home life

He’s very into kissing, so much that he’ll sneak some in while doing the most mundane things. When he talks to you, he will hold your waist and fill the brief moments of silence with kisses. In his eyes, having his lips on yours while a conversation happens is being ‘productive’ as he makes the most out of being with you. Before anything escalates, which ends up happening more often than you’d prefer, you’ll pull away and clamp a hand over his mouth. He’ll lick your hand and laugh at your reaction. 

He bathes with you. He could’ve gone with the more economical option of showering, but he’s far from broke. And plus, he can do so much more while sitting down. You usually stay on the opposite end of the tub, but he’ll pull you onto his lap and whisper this in your ear, “Don’t be shy, kitten. This is your throne.” As you sink into his embrace, which ends up hotter than the water you’re submerged in, he will caress your back and make out with you. Once you’re pleading for air, he will pull away and trail a tongue up your neck instead. When you’re with him, he never actually lets you catch your breath, ever. 

Zao is very mindful of your comfort. Perhaps not when it comes to something sexual, per se, but he will always bring you a blanket if it gets a little chilly. If you forget to put socks on, he will put them on for you without asking. Whenever you go out, he will bring a bag with him and most of the things inside are either yours or for you. 

Spoiling you is a given. He can’t imagine a better way to put his hustle to good use--to give you things you want. Even if you don’t ask for anything, he never fails to get you something you end up loving. But there is one thing he won’t ever let you touch. Substances. Zao is so overprotective in all aspects of your life, he doesn’t even like you drinking. He’s a little more lenient on weed, and will let you have a few puffs of his joint. 

He always covers up at home, and will get a little flustered if you catch him indecent. Zao doesn’t wear a lot to bed, like tank tops and underwear, so he isn’t shirtless very often. The only time he doesn’t get embarrassed is when the mood is... You know. And he’s doing you-know-what with you. Otherwise, he will call you a pervert, but really, he’s teasing you more than expressing embarrassment. Because clearly, that’s rich coming from him.

Yeah. It’s not news how big of a pervert he is. Nor is he ashamed of it. Any dirty thought that crosses his mind, he will never fail to relay to you. It leaves you mortified when he tells you what he wants to do to you, in detail, especially when he isn’t being self-aware. Save that for when you get home, you idiot! But the private sphere only makes him even worse. 

He calms down at night, thankfully, and lays in bed with you on his chest. This is where his love language starts speaking to you. Connecting to you emotionally and mentally is how he shows he loves you. This takes place in long, deep, and random conversations, and if not, he will just captivate you in his dark eyes and stare at you endearingly. “What are you thinking about, kitten? I hope it’s something related to me~” Then, he’ll dig his hands through your hair and massage your head as he breathes you in until he gets intoxicated with you. 

When he gets jealous

He’s the type to get so jealous, it becomes suffocating for him--especially when he doesn’t outwardly show it. So whenever anyone remotely shows interest in you, he’ll keep his cool for the most part, but will get very irritable and clingy. It doesn’t matter how subtle they were, it could’ve been a single glance, even, but alarms will go off. He will pull you into a tight embrace and bury his face in your neck until they leave. You don’t really mind because he isn’t giving anybody trouble, but you do find it cute when he immediately returns to his soft side afterwards. 

Zao isn’t the biggest fan of conflict, even if he’s more than capable of it. Instead, he will gravitate towards his intelligence and cunning to outdo anybody he hates. Stalking is definitely on the table if he needs to get to know someone, then, when it comes down to it, sabotage. He will do anything to keep them busy so they wouldn’t have to see you. And he succeeds every time without you finding out.

Unlike most SO’s, it’s easier for him to get jealous over friends than love interests. He values the emotional aspect of your relationship with him the most, and gets very upset if you bond with people other than him, platonically or not. To make up for it, he demands your attention and ensures the time you spend with him is two times more fulfilling than whoever it was you were with. This is the fundamental reason why he’s more susceptible to getting jealous--literally anybody is a rival in his eyes. 

This is all the more reason to be so much more paranoid and restless than other typical yanderes. 

When you argue

He doesn’t agree with you on a lot of things, so it’s like talking to a brick wall. Objective subjects are easy to get through when it’s straight up facts, but if the topic is about what he can or cannot do in the relationship, save your breath. You will never get through to him. When he feels entitled to something, he takes his own side, regardless of what you feel about it.

Nevertheless, he will do the bare-minimum of leaving you alone in the meantime when you’re upset. That’s how he somehow respects this boundary he just crossed. But a few hours later, he will go back to normal, which means he will be affectionate even when you’re not in the mood. This cues the second phase of the fight. While you’re trying your damndest to push him away, he will corner you, physically and mentally. 

While he hugs you tight, he will force you to look at him while you cry. It’s invasive and suffocating, but the night always ends with you making up with him. Be it kissing or other means. It’s unfair, but no matter what he does, you can’t help giving in to him. And he knows this very well. That’s why he keeps doing it.  

Psychology + When he snaps

He is much more intelligent than he lets on. Even though he already knows you like the back of his hand, he studies you every day. If you asked him what you were thinking about, he could probably guess it. That’s what makes him such an intense lover. You can’t hide anything from him if you tried. Hence, he has a terrifying amount of control in the relationship, and he will use it to his advantage.

Zao is a good multitasker. He can juggle his ‘job’ and hobbies while keeping you in the palm of his hand. There is absolutely nothing you can do without him finding out, and this is precisely how he keeps himself miles ahead of you. 

As everything progresses, he will tolerate less and less. His love language is how much quality time he gets with you, along with emotional connection. Eventually, he will start ruling out the prospect of you having any of these things with anyone besides him. That includes friends, so he will start isolating you from them, all until the only soul you are truly close to is him. Soon, you will have to rely on him for everything, which he absolutely loves. He will make himself the only person in your life. 

As this continues, he will become obsessed with the idea of your co-dependency on him. Zao always loved looking after you, but he isn’t satisfied with that anymore. Being your own person? Hell no. Every single thing you do, he will be in the backdrop. If not, he will be next to you, and start influencing your own thoughts until you can’t even trust yourself. 

At this point, he is manipulating you to accept everything he does. And he succeeds a lot of the time, especially when he’s so unfazed. You start wondering if you should be this unfazed, even when what he’s doing is wrong. 

If one of your friends tries to intervene, he will make sure they won’t see the light of day ever again. He has a lot of connections, and combined with how cunning he is, he can get them to disappear with the snap of his fingers. He will keep doing this until every single person in your life is gone if he has to. 

Zao acts purely on his own desires. It’s his moral compass. Right and wrong will blur together so long as it’s for you, and there’s nothing he won’t do. Murder is as casual of a topic to discuss and do as having breakfast. 

A lot of psychopaths would at least get the thrill of doing something so heinous, but he won’t give a shit. He won’t bat an eye. He won’t feel the smallest shred of remorse and carry on like nothing happened. But what he will feel is satisfaction. 

If you find out what he did

You can cry all you like. He’ll only feel remotely guilty because you’re heartbroken, but it passes pretty quickly when he’s happy with what he’s done. You could try running away too. Try. But he always finds you. It doesn’t matter if you leave the country and go into hiding. He will follow you to the ends of Earth for the rest of his life. What can he say? He loves a good chase. It’s a fun game of cat and mouse he knows he’ll win. 

Every time he finds you, he’ll sneak up to you from behind and whisper, “Are you done, now? Let’s go home already.” If you try to run away again, he’ll just catch you and hold you tight, even while you’re thrashing in his arms. “I can do this forever, kitten. You have nobody else to go to, and nowhere else to be. So don’t waste your energy and come back with me.”

Response to ask: 

Of course :) I’m honored you submitted an ask to me after thinking about him 🤗 He’s definitely one of my favorites! Zao’s gotta be the most fleshed out 2p next to Allen. Since 2p’s aren’t canon, they rely solely on the fandom’s interpretation and ability to dish out content on them. I haven’t seen any proper yandere stuff on Zao, so I think this is a first. And boy, he’s a terrifying one for sure. I feel like he embodies the worst of the yandere trope because he’s into psychological manipulation. Worst isn’t the right word, actually. I believe ‘accurate’ is a better way of describing it. This is what a real yandere looks like. 

[jamiiviper]

The Jamil Essay

this is a reupload of a post i made a couple of weeks ago - previously it was an external link to a google doc, so it never showed up in any of the twst tags, but i worked so hard on this and i would really love it if more people read it, so i’m reuploading directly to tumblr.

to put it simply, this is a 3.7k word character analysis purely about jamil. and even with a word count like that i wasn’t quite able to cover everything i wanted to say, so who knows, maybe there’ll be a part 2 one day. i’ve also decided i do want to write a kalim version, so i’ll probably start working on that sometime soon! stay tuned!

trigger warnings: mentions of child abuse

jamil is the vice dorm leader of scarabia, who’s been kalim’s caretaker practically since birth. he puts on a facade of not standing out, preferring to remain completely average, and plans his life around kalim’s antics. as we learned in chapter 4, however, his true feelings are that he bears a lot of resentment towards kalim, and that he wants to stand out - he just wasn’t allowed to, as he can never surpass kalim.

in this essay i want to cover not just my personal interpretation of jamil, but also some common misconceptions that people tend to have about him. twitter doesn’t have this problem as much, but with tumblr i’ve found that there are very few jamil stans, especially in the theory and writing communities - meaning it’s quite common for people to misunderstand his character. in the fandom as a whole, it’s common for people to only acknowledge him insofar as “gay for kalim”. 

firstly, jamil’s character development in the main story - i would say he’s arguably the best-developed character in twst, since yana now has enough chapters available to flesh out characters after their main story arc ended. jamil holds very deep-seated resentment against kalim, to the point that he plotted to betray him for probably several years. he plotted to have kalim not just thrown out of nrc, but thoroughly ruin his reputation in the process. after his overblot, those feelings did not magically vanish - far from it. i think earlier twst chapters suffered from arcs being wrapped up a little too neatly post-overblot, but pomefiore’s arc has already proved itself to be the exception and thoroughly covers not just jamil’s continued dislike for kalim, but also the wider consequences for what he did.

since the twst school year begins in september, we know jamil is about 9 months older than kalim. from literally the day kalim was born, jamil’s life has been dedicated to kalim. possibly since the day jamil was born, and he was always fated to be kalim’s caretaker. it may even have been the reason he was born at all. either way, it’s not like he remembers those 9 months. all jamil has ever known is that his sole purpose must be to serve kalim. he must not have desires of his own, he must not do anything for himself - from childhood he was expected to be ready to give up his life for kalim at a moment’s notice. he can’t be good at anything - kalim must always be better (i’ll cover this in more depth in a later paragraph, this philosophy is key to his character). his own parents drilled this into him, even going to the extent of hitting him if he didn’t comply. it seems he has a normal relationship with his family despite this - he bickers with his sister like regular siblings, and pre-overblot he indicated that his desire to be free from servitude wasn’t just about him, he wanted to free his family. nonetheless, the psychological damage his childhood caused him is severe. is it any wonder his unique magic is mind control, when he’s never had an ounce of control over his own life?

moving onto his early teen years, we know both jamil and kalim were severely poisoned at one point, both falling into comas for around two weeks. although we don’t have a timeframe for jamil’s coma, we know kalim’s was when they were around 13 years old. if jamil’s was around this age too - probably a short while afterwards - i think it’s plain to see why jamil’s resentment began to build. he’d have been around the age where he first started to question why his life has to revolve around kalim. why should he be expected to die for someone he doesn’t even like, who’s spoiled and doesn’t realise how much jamil does for him? kalim takes everything for granted: status, friendships, freedom, and jamil is meanwhile left in the shadows with nothing. then one day kalim gets poisoned so badly he falls into a coma - how much do you want to bet jamil was blamed for that, at the age of 13? after that he’s expected to taste-test anything kalim eats beforehand, and eventually starts making all his meals for him because the risk of poison is so high otherwise. then one day he slips up, or it’s an undetectable poison, and jamil is the one to fall into a coma. is anyone blamed for that? does anyone pity jamil outside of his immediate family + kalim? no, probably not. after all, he’s just doing his duty, right? it’s truly… no wonder jamil’s resentment became so intense. he finally has proof that his life truly does not matter. although kalim certainly cares about him, he doesn’t understand jamil’s position. he sees jamil as a friend, an equal; jamil knows this can never be the case, and he also knows kalim is too privileged to ever hope to understand. 

fast forward on a couple of years to jamil receiving his nrc acceptance letter. he thinks that finally, finally he’s going to be free. four years of freedom - and who knows, maybe after that he can be free forever! he can finally excel at his classes and be his true self, without fear of upstaging kalim! 

and then kalim gets accepted a month late. for no reason other than his surname. 

and then kalim gets sorted into his dorm.

it’s a miracle he didn’t just overblot on the spot - but that’s his nature as a scarabia student. careful foresight and planning. this moment was, undoubtedly, the moment he started planning his betrayal. he had his one month of freedom ripped away, just like that. 

oh, don’t forget the fact that not long after, kalim was made dorm leader not because he notably embodies scarabia values at all, but because of nepotism. (side note: most scarabia stans agree kalim does actually reflect scarabia values, just not as obviously as jamil does, but either way jamil himself wouldn’t see it this way. this is a jamil essay so i won’t go in depth about this unless asked to!)

under kalim’s watch, scarabia - known for its intelligence and cunning - is turned into “the party dorm”. this seems to be the fandom’s perception of them too - i mean, just ask any non-scarabia stan what goes on in scarabia, that’s probably the answer they’ll give you. jamil would have probably loved the original scarabia; although we don’t know much about it, we know scarabia students are on a par with octavinelle when it comes to intelligence (paralleling azul’s constant interest in jamil). yet by winter break, scarabia is doing so badly in those same exams that they didn’t even place in the rankings…? without meaning to, kalim clearly harmed scarabia. instead of getting chance to study magic and show off, jamil is now essentially an unpaid, full-time party planner by the time his second year starts.

a few months later, winter break finally arrives, and jamil executes his plan to dethrone kalim. i may have just spent the last two pages defending jamil’s grudge, but his actions themselves are still indefensible. there’s evidence to suggest kalim knew what was occurring on some level - refusing to answer jade’s question about who was hypnotising him proved that 1) he probably had some idea deep down that jamil was betraying him 2) he doesn’t want jamil to get in trouble for it. nonetheless, this does not make what jamil did okay in the slightest, even if kalim allowed it to happen. jamil is, undoubtedly, the bad guy in this situation, no matter how sympathetic his childhood makes you feel. i could go into detail about why kalim acted the way he did, but again, this is jamil-focused.

i’ll skip talking about his overblot, because i covered his hatred for kalim in a lot of depth already and i want to talk about the general aspects of his personality like his desire for praise later on. so moving onto the end of chapter 4, we see jamil’s true self: a snarky, heavily opinionated boy who honestly just wants to be free to be himself.

but just like his freedom, that side of jamil once again only lasts for a brief moment. jamil almost loses everything after his overblot. practically every scarabia student hates him and wants him thrown out of the dorm - even kalim, his sole defender, can’t call him a good person. he’s a traitor. he says he trusts the scarabia students to work out that it’s better for them if he stays, but that day won’t come any time soon, and until then he’s keeping his distance from them all, because their hatred is that strong. if azul truly had been streaming to more people than just jade, his life would have been ruined beyond repair. so what does jamil do? he goes back to serving kalim. as a scarabia student, his foresight is good enough that he knows the option he hates the most is the only one that’ll be good for him in the end. for jamil, being himself is nothing short of a death sentence.

now i’ve talked for far too long about the timeline of his character arc, i can finally get to the good stuff: jamil’s personality, and how it’s changed throughout the stories we’ve seen so far.

the first thing that springs to mind when you think of jamil, other than “snake”, is probably “tired”. or “he’s going to snap”. something along those lines. which... yes, we know he is. he did snap. after chapter 4, this doesn’t seem to have changed too much, but i do get the impression that he’s somewhat less stressed out by kalim. his resentment has dissipated, for the most part (he does still openly insult him, though), so while he does grumble at kalim there’s no suppressed fury behind it. what replaced that fury?

guilt.

in 5-10, jamil tells azul that he intends to continue to obediently follow kalim around in order to restore his reputation, both inside and outside of scarabia. this does of course make him sound pretty selfish (as per usual), and in classic jamil fashion he doesn’t let his true emotions show, so it’s easy to take this at face value and assume he just doesn’t really care. i think in this case, we need to look more at his actions that we see throughout chapter 5. namely, the way it’s being emphasised how he’s silently watching kalim from afar - something he’s always done, yes, but yana seems to be really making a point of it in chapter 5. it’s not just kalim he’s distancing himself from, either. he’s staying away from the rest of the scarabia students too, as mentioned earlier. he never had any friends at all to rely on, even before his overblot. so by doing this, he’s effectively completely isolating himself. he clearly has a lot of thoughts about everything that he’s not sharing with anyone - just listen to the way he sighs at the end of the flashback in 5-10, how annoyed and frustrated he seems. if jamil was telling the truth about just wanting to restore his reputation, he’d probably appreciate kalim’s efforts, even if he dislikes kalim himself. he shouldn’t be upset by kalim persuading the scarabia students to give him another chance. not if he truly just wants to get back to normal. i think on some level, jamil feels incredibly guilty over his actions. he might not have even admitted to himself yet that he feels this way, and by saying things like “i just want to restore my reputation” he’s just trying to convince himself. after all, that’s something he has a history of doing.

ever since jamil’s first introduction, we’ve known jamil lives his life by the philosophy of “not standing out is the best way to succeed”. he hates standing out or receiving any kind of positive attention at all, because he thinks that it’ll only attract trouble. or so we thought, because as we learned from his overblot, jamil desperately wants to stand out. he’s powerful and intelligent, and he wants people to acknowledge that. he wants the praise and recognition he knows he deserves. this means that whenever he said he didn’t want to stand out, he was lying through his teeth - he probably constantly tried and failed to convince himself of this throughout his childhood. during his lab SR story, he even repeats it to himself in his thoughts, like a mantra - “I want to avoid standing out. I can’t be satisfied with this. I cannot be too good, nor fall behind, and neither should I get satisfactory grades or fail. This is the best shortcut to success.”. much like his feelings of guilt, jamil refused to acknowledge how much he truly wanted to show off, even in his own thoughts. he is awful at being honest to himself.

post-ch5, we find out that despite everything, jamil does still hold this philosophy, to some extent. he of course shows off his singing and dancing skills enough to be chosen as a main vocalist, and he says he wants to make a name for himself and show various people just how talented he truly is: kalim, his family, the asims and MC, to name a few. yet in the chapter before that, when kalim compliments his singing and dancing, he’s like “i don’t really want to stand out, but…”. which is honestly a little confusing at first because he does want to. i’d probably interpret it as something along the lines of he wants to show off to the people he cares about, but he still wants to keep his head down in general. so i think that to some extent, maybe he actually has internalised that philosophy now. the one time he truly expressed his desire to stand out, it ended in catastrophe for him. he has this tiny seed of doubt within him now, telling him his parents were right all along. but... he’s working past it, and applying himself as and when he’s comfortable doing so.

going back to him being bad at being honest, jamil’s a pretty big tsundere. there’s one person he does regularly receive praise from: kalim. yet despite desperately wanting to be praised, he often gets annoyed at kalim and tells him something like “this isn’t about me right now” or “what does that have to do with anything?”. plus when the praise is coming from kalim, it’s often in the context of kalim praising him to other people - as a servant, he can’t be seen accepting all these compliments, right? he can never be better than kalim. so he has to reject kalim’s praise. when it’s just the two of them alone, though, is when jamil gets embarrassed to the point he has to hide his blush under his hood. given his childhood, chances are that he doesn’t really know how to process being praised. he knows he wants people’s approval, but when he actually gets it, he just short-circuits. it was the same at his birthday celebration; although he wants to be the centre of attention, when it actually happens, he gets all embarrassed and tsun. i was trying not to let my own personal feelings spill in this but oh my god he’s so cute i can’t

next... this isn’t really linked to any previous topic, but i want to talk about jamil’s cooking! jamil cooks all of kalim’s meals, and regularly cooks entire feasts for kalim’s parties, too (as well as being in charge of getting any animals kalim wants to show off, decorating the dorm, making sure everything runs smoothly… you get the idea). his cooking is very good, and he has a lot of technical knowledge about cooking too - azul, whose parents run a restaurant, didn’t know about emulsification, but jamil was able to explain it to him. despite being so good, though, according to his dorm SSR homescreen lines he doesn’t actually like cooking very much. he says the fact that he cooks so much is “just how things turned out”. of course, he could just be being a tsun, but i do feel like he’s being honest with this - what reason does he have to seriously enjoy something he was forced into doing his entire life? However there is evidence that he might enjoy it after all; he’s particularly good at alchemy because of his cooking knowledge, and according to magical archives he’s completely neutral in motivation for both flying and history lessons, but has slightly higher motivation levels for alchemy, indicating that he can’t stop himself from putting a little bit extra effort into that class. i think it can be interpreted either way with the canon info we have currently, but regardless i would not say he’s the cooking fanatic people often depict him as. 

also, when jamil cooks, although his cooking is good, visually it’s usually very boring, to the point he and his sister would bicker over it. he has the technical skills to cook good food, but no idea how to present it. similarly, in his fairy gala SR he was told that although he perfectly memorised the dance, it was boring to watch - it looked like he was just executing the routine without any passion behind it. jamil is so emotionally repressed that he has no idea how to express his individuality. even in his bedroom, the only truly personal items he owns are a first aid kit (related to his servant position, not him as a human being) and a stereo + headphones set for dancing. he doesn’t have any other hobbies or interests - he doesn’t even know what people his age do for fun, because he’s never been allowed to think about such things. 

dancing is all jamil has that’s not directly related to serving kalim, really - but even that ties into his servant status. although he genuinely enjoys it nowadays and dances by himself for fun, he only picked it up as a hobby because kalim wanted to go to dance practice, and of course jamil had to accompany him. when his flashback after his overblot talks about him deliberately losing to kalim, the story focuses specifically on a dancing competition. which is why it’s honestly so important to jamil’s character that chapter 5 focuses on a singing and dancing competition. jamil finally has the chance not just to show off his skills in general, but his skills at the one thing he’s been allowed to love throughout his life. the one thing where losing to kalim at it hurt so much that it was such a prominent memory for him. when jamil was chosen as a main vocalist, he instinctively tries to say kalim would be better suited for the position, but stops himself and accepts it. it clearly means so much to him that he was chosen for this.

okay i started to scare people with how long this was getting when it was only 50% finished, i think if i write anymore people will actually be concerned for my health so i’ll leave it here. if you read all of this, thank you so much for putting up with my anime boy brainrot for over six full pages! i really.. really like jamil. again, i most certainly do not think his actions should be defended, but god if they’re not fascinating to read about. and i hope i covered the other sides to him well enough, the things that you’d never ordinarily pick up on because so few people talk about him outside of him and kalim as a pair (both platonic scarabia + romantic jamikali, i mean). he has so much depth to him that people don’t see and god i could easily have gone on for another few pages if i wasn’t forcing myself to stop. but please please talk to me if you want to hear more...

yana has treated him so well, jamil stans get too much food if anything but i’m absolutely thriving off it as you can see! thank you for allowing him to exist, yana-sensei!

having said that, i couldn’t stop myself from adding some extra facts about him below. please enjoy.

some fun jamil facts for your soul:

his sister used to bake him cookies on his birthday - specifically, these!

when jamil and kalim went to eat at the cafeteria with ruggie and leona, leona took one look at jamil and went “you look like you’d kill kalim in his sleep”

sebek and jamil find each other’s positions enviable. sebek wishes he could have been by malleus’ side from birth as jamil was with kalim, and jamil just… wishes he served someone he respected as deeply as sebek respects malleus (but he does think sebek is too enthusiastic)

jamil hates surprises with a burning passion, and despite being with kalim for 17 years is still not used to them. for his previous birthday, kalim held a huge surprise party, and i think he still hasn’t recovered from the shock

i think a lot of people already know that in his birthday SSR story he said he wanted a parrot after graduation so he could teach it to call him master, but it goes a bit further than that? it was actually first mentioned during his lesson chats, when kalim gets a parrot. jamil has to research how to care for it, and ended up wanting one of his own afterwards (but got too tsundere to admit it at the time).

also, he heard that the sorcerer of the sands’ parrot (iago) could speak as fluently as a human, and he got excited and watched a bunch of parrot videos on magicam, but was of course disappointed to find out that this was not the case.

he frequently uses flattery to try and get his way, like when he attempts to flatter vil during his SSR story - unfortunately he misjudged vil, as vil’s actually the type of person who hates meaningless flattery. because he does this so frequently, when he genuinely does give compliments people don’t always believe him.

according to the halloween event, jamil is surprisingly environmentally conscious, and insists on holding a sustainable halloween theme. after organising so many parties and seeing the waste they probably produce, i think there’s no wonder he’s so concerned about it.

[askfallenroyalty]

I don't think you did anything wrong. When a story is being written, there are a lot of different ways to adress and express something and maybe that's why you're being misunderstood. I think there are just too many things to adress in this story that maybe some people will get when these things are implicitly implied and some people will not. So when a breaking point comes, they'd think it came out of nowhere. You can see this with the amount of asks you receive asking you often the same thing.

Does that mean it's wrong? Ofc not! I myself was a little bit confused with Frisk's reactions and conduct in general until you explained it in your recent asks, and I thought man, that was what I was missing!

Now, yes I believe some parts of the story could have been explained in a different way, because in my opinion there's a lot to read between the lines. If you don't try to understand the characters, you'll clearly be confused as hell. But that's why I love this story! As you said before, there's nothing meant to be black/white coded, and I really appreciate the world and the character's complexity in general. You don't have some of the answers in hand, an that's when you have to analize! (At least that's what I do haha)

I also really felt like telling you something I've been relating to, so I'm putting the respectives tw if someone doesn't want to keep reading (TW: Suicide mention).

In the DW Arc, when the Christmas and Feylow stuff happened, I realised through Chara that I was doing the exact same thing with a friend of mine. He was going through a lot of stuff, and tried to commit suicide multiple times. I was focusing a huge amount of energy on him because I was afraid to lose him, and when he suddenly stopped talking to me so he could take a break, I felt really lost. Because he was the person I talked with the most, one of my dearest friends, and the idea of losing him and not being there to stop it made me insanely anxious, because that used to be the situation most of the times. Now it's been a year since he's stopped talking to me, and I don't exactly know the reason. But I couldn't keep running behind someone who didn't seem to keep wanting me around. And if it wasn't for you, I couldn't have realized how much this was hurting me.

And now, as much as it hurts me to see him acting this distant and cold with me, I'm okay with it. I really am. Because I now have the tranquility to see him continue, even when things are not okay. I can't force a friendship and I really needed to understand that back then. I trust him as much as he trusts me.

I really wanted to thank you for writing this story because it has helped me in a way I didn't expect, and I'm sure it will help a lot of people too! I'm even learning from your way of taking and discussing things haha.

I just wanted you to have this tranquility I have with this story because I trust it'll work out and explain itself once it's finished. And I just can't express how thankful I am to be reading your story.

Thank you again,

I'm looking forward to more of your work and please, take care! Don't stop doing what you enjoy! 🦋

putting it under a readmore because of how long the ask/response is, sorry!

i’m at a loss of words because wow, this ask really hit in a way i’ve never really could of anticipated. when writing AFR, i write a story about things I felt. I’ve been Chara, I’ve been Asriel and Frisk at points in my life. I write because I need to tell their stories and make it real, specifically for my own sake of getting through my own pain and to tell the world this is who i am and that I will be ok, there is hope in this world. It’s a selfish desire for me, but ultimately that’s what art is i feel. I couldn’t draw this much and put so much time and effort into something without it being meaningful or personal.

but art is communication, and when I write to be seen and to be heard, I know there’s others who are reading and are connecting with the work. (otherwise, I wouldn’t be getting asks right? its a lonely process, i forget there’s the second half of the equation -you guys) and i’ll do my best to make sure people are accommodated and can experience this story without hurting in a way that’s past enjoying a emotionally gripping piece of media. i don’t want people to be upset or hurt for my work, and I want to ensure I can make this without hurting others.

I try to leave a lot of ambiguity and room for people to interpret stories and I don’t mind people missing the point or interpreting things vastly differently than what I intended. that’s fine, that’s what art is all about. i don’t want to hold people’s hands and tell them what’s happening or what they should feel -i want them to choose and decipher and think things over. stories should be stimulating and thought provoking, and i can’t decide what those thoughts are. I wouldn’t want to. Personally, if it means people become more confused and lost over the story -well, that’s a trade off I have to take. if it means the story is more up-to-interpretation, than it’s worth it to me.

i do regret with how fast and punchy the arc ended up, and I feel my hints may have been too weak. asriel/flowey has been bluntly surprised/asking to be killed twice, he hasn’t felt like himself since dying and has lost his support systems ect. as a person who’s Been Through Shit, I thought it was as obvious as the sun what was to come but thinking on it now?

with how distance asriel is, how limited the perspective is to chara (who hasn’t known Asriel has been going thru the same depressive/suicidal thoughts as they have this whole time) it was a shock to the system. and in a way that’s fine in my eyes if the reader was completely shocked as you can emphasize more with chara that way... but in the same sense its horrifying for them, it must be for the reader as well.

and I do feel I should of thought of a way to handle the scenario to where it was less in your-face with Asriel’s decent into desperation and attempts. I don’t want to ever show it on screen, I don’t want to ever go into detail and make it any sort of fun for the viewer. it’s supposed to be disturbing and painful and I tried to show how greatly painful it was affecting both chara and frisk. Suicide victims are victims and everyone involved suffer from it. It’s ugly and never something one should be anything but ugly.

that is my intent for it be that, but as I’ve heard from people it’s still a shock and went too far. Authorial intent doesn’t matter when people react to your stories. yes, the context can be good to have, but people’s feelings and reactions mean the world more. I hope with the added context of the complete story that helps it in the long run, but as it is I’m very unhappy with how I tackled it and I don’t really have a good answer to how I should of gone about it. but at the end of the day that doesn’t matter as it happened and I can’t change it.

i’m sorry about your friend and i’m sorry for the pain you’ve experienced as well. it’s not easy being in that position (nor is it for ur friend as well of course) and it’s perfectly fine to feel hurt and to take time for yourself to address those feelings. You, as a person, matter and your feelings are justifiably important as well. nobody asks to be mentally ill and your friend’s choices aren’t fully theirs because of that, but it doesn’t change how it’s affected and hurt you. Losing someone’s friendship has always been a painful and inevitable experience people must go thru in life. I’m sorry that you’ve gone through that, but I’m glad -so happy that my story has helped you in any amount. I sincerely wish you both the best and to heal, I’m proud of you anon for getting through this.

I can’t really express how much it means as a writer to see how my work helped you. Like I mentioned before, I write and feel like it’s by myself that makes this work but it’s a 2 way street -you guys contribute to the story and the story only exists and is perceived by you. without an audience, it really truly is just me here. what you gain and experience within a story is just as important as the writing of the work itself and I often forget that.

Thank you. This was a really nice and eye opening ask and it’s going to be on my mind for a while, haha. I hope once the story is done and I can post-correct how I handle the story, people can learn and gain meaning to it like you have. Sorry if this was a bit rambly, I’m very thankful for your response (as well as everyone else who’s messaged!) and I’m very happy and excited to continue and to do my best. Thank you all so much.

[2manyfandoms2count]

You can count on me (I will be there for you)

@sallteas art has been living in my mind rent free for a while, turns out my exams were the catalyst for me to actually start writing a fic inspired by it. Priorities, right?

This first chapter is a little sappy and melodramatic, but I hope you’ll enjoy nonetheless!

Read on AO3 | Part 2 | Part 3

---

Chapter 1

Marinette stares at her reflection in the full-length mirror, fiddling with her dress gloves. Her veil falls elegantly from her updo and rests on her bare upper back; it tickles her a little. No matter how real the fabric feels against her skin, though, it’s like she’s looking at somebody else.

The woman staring back at her is beautiful, in what seems like an effortless way. She knows better, though; she spent her morning swarmed by hair and makeup artists, and she has to say, the result is truly phenomenal. Never, in a million realities, would she have expected to look as much like a princess as she does now. Her wedding dress is a true work of art; a strapless, ivory ball-gown, cut in the smoothest silk faille on the market, and, incidentally, a perfect recreation of what she’s always dreamed of. 

In fact, the whole wedding is straight out of her teenage daydreams, down to the man she’ll be joining at the altar in less than an hour. Adrien has been so good about accommodating her wishes. Everybody was already saying it would be the wedding of the century before the details had even been settled.

As she observes herself, she knows that she should be happy. 

Then why does it all feel so wrong?

She tries smiling at her image, but it doesn’t sit right on her face. There are just too many thoughts swirling in her mind for it to look genuine. 

Her first concern is the plan. Just a month, which feels like eons, ago, it had seemed like a good idea. Ladybug and Chat Noir had been happily dating for a little over a year, they were confident about defeating Hawkmoth and Mayura. Everything felt right in the world. They had plans for the future. She’d felt unstoppable.

That was before her world had crumbled. 

She wasn’t sure when or where it had happened. What she did know was that someone had caught her in her transformation. 

She didn’t know who they were, or what they wanted, but something told her they were up to no good. They wouldn’t have used butterfly-themed stationary to contact her otherwise. 

They wouldn’t have sounded so ominous, either. 

I know. An envelope on her way to work had read.

Didn’t think I’d spot you, did you? Another, stuck in her mail.  

You’re a little careless, for a hero of international renown. This one on her balcony.

It had been difficult to continue to pretend it was all a coincidence.

She’d had no other choice than to reveal her identity with Chat Noir. Not only did he deserve to know, but she needed someone to share her increasing fear with. Someone to help her come up with a plan. And who better than her partner, in all senses of the term?

The gripping feeling in her stomach hadn’t even let her enjoy how happy he’d been to learn who she was. And passed his initial reaction of picking her up and spinning her around, his lips finding hers in the process, his face had lost all exhilaration. Her words had kicked in, and he'd cursed. A lot. 

Especially when she’d admitted she’d feel safer with protection.

He’d immediately volunteered -of course he had- but she’d turned him down as a long term solution. It broke her heart, but they couldn’t live that way. And she refused to know who he was. Not like this.

Even years later, Master Fu’s fate was still too fresh a memory; she didn’t want to have to resort to giving up her memories of Chat Noir, of them, if she could help it.

He’d paced around a little, lost in thought, before stopping in front of her, fever in his eyes.

I have a solution, he’d said quietly. You might not like it.

She’d listened as he’d told her how Adrien Agreste, the boy she’d once loved, now a friend she saw every once in a while, owed him a favour. How dating him, and marrying him, could solve their problem. He couldn’t go anywhere without a bodyguard. He was sure he’d do the necessary for her to get one as well. It wouldn't seem conspicuous at all.

She’d felt her heart tear in her chest at the idea of marrying somebody else than the man who stood before her. He’d told her it would be alright, though, and she’d believed him. Was there any other choice, anyway?

Even now, standing in a suite of the small castle she and Adrien are getting married in -a real royal wedding-, she can’t think of a better solution.

As she smooths her skirt, her thoughts drift to Adrien. He’d been so good to her. But why was he so onboard with the plan? He’d been all in from their first meeting. He’d orchestrated their whirlwind romance perfectly, pulling all the stops. Their very mediatised outings in the most romantic places in Paris. Whisking her away to Venice for a weekend. The interviews, in which he described their love was “meant to be”. Everybody had fallen for it, even their closest friends. It was no secret Marinette had had feelings for him, and he’d confessed to Nadja Chamack that he’d loved her as well when they were in collège. And seeing each other years later, after losing touch a little, had made it dawn upon them that their feelings had never really left.

The proposal had been the cherry on top. He’d privatised the Trocadéro, from the esplanade to the Iéna bridge, hired a private Chef, musicians, tipped off the paparazzi. Doves had flown when he’d gotten on one knee. They’d slow-danced in the gardens to "their" melody.

She’d done her best to conceal her tears as they did. It had all been so beautiful. But what if it didn’t work out?

She and Adrien were friends, sure. He was close with Chat Noir, by the look of things. What had her partner done for him to owe him such a huge favour? Why was he accepting to marry her, knowing that her heart belonged to someone else? She knew his did, too.

And a few moments before the ceremony, it still wasn’t too late for him to back down. 

Marinette bites her lip as she thinks about Chat Noir. And jumps as she hears a small tap on her window. 

She turns around in time to see the black-gloved hand retreat from the pane, and her heart soars. They weren’t kidding when they said they were in sync. It was like he could read her mind, and know exactly when to show up for her.

She looks outside. Chat Noir is leaning on the folded shutters, softly humming to himself as he looks out onto the garden that stretches out behind the castle. He doesn’t look at her directly when she opens the window for him, but he definitely smiles.

“Hi m’la-” he doesn’t have time to finish his greeting. She pulls him inside and closes the curtains behind him. 

“You can’t be seen lurking around, we don’t know who’s watching.” She searches for his eyes, but they keep escaping. She reaches for his hand and squeezes it gently. “Hey, is everything okay?” 

He finally looks up, and his eyes fill with warmth as he takes in her appearance.

“You look stunning, my Lady.” He breathes as she resumes her tugging at her gloves.

Having Chat Noir with her soothes her, but it also highlights just how wrong the situation is. As much as she knows how necessary this all is, she can't forget that he is the person she wants to be with. It takes all her willpower for tears not to spill out.

He notices, of course.

“Why is my lady looking so glum on her wedding day?” He teases, coming behind her and resting his head on her bare shoulder. He’s looking at his bride’s reflection. Does it really count as seeing her?...

She turns around and looks at him sternly. “You can’t call me your lady anymore, I’m getting married!”

“Oh yeah, my apologies.” He smiles; he doubts he’ll ever be able to drop the habit, although he knows that he really should, lest he slips up as Adrien. As her husband. His heart flutters at the thought, and he’s so distracted by it he almost misses her next words.

“What if… what if he changes his mind at the altar?” Marinette’s voice is barely above a whisper, but her eyes are full of worry. 

Fuck, she’s cute, what do I even say to her? Chat Noir’s heart skips a beat, and he’s tempted to come clean to her there and then. It’s me, Adrien Agreste, Chat Noir, whatever, you could call me anything you desire, I’d answer. My heart is yours, it has been since the first day we met. Nothing, absolutely nothing, you hear me? would make me say no at the altar. I’d never do that to you.

It takes a minute for him to battle his instincts, during which he twirls her around and takes her in his arms. He feels her shake a little as she sobs against his chest. 

He hates having to hide information from her, especially this one. Everything would be so much easier if he didn’t have to. She wouldn’t be so miserable on her wedding day, their wedding day, for one.

“Hey.” He tilts her chin up lightly, and wipes the tears off her cheeks with his thumb. “He won’t. I… I was just with him, before I came to check on you. He wants you to be safe. You’re his… friend. Not to mention, the saviour of Paris. He says it’s a pleasure to help.”

She sighs. “What about the girl he loves?”

“It’ll work out, don’t worry.” Chat Noir represses a smile.

“What about you?” Marinette looks so anguished at the thought that he may be suffering that it’s difficult for him not to kiss her. 

“What about me? Are you worried I won’t still want to marry you after the whole situation is over and we can be together in peace? I’m not that shallow, you know.” His eyes twinkle mischievously. “Unless,” he gasps theatrically, “you’re worried you’ll fall for Adrien again!” He points at her accusingly, although his grin says otherwise.

Marinette lets out a little chuckle, the first since he’s arrived. He’s so grateful for the sound. “I promise I’m not.” She cups his cheek and brushes her thumb against the rim of his mask. “I like Adrien very much, and he’s been very sweet, but somehow my heart seems to prefer a questionable cat boy to a respectable model.”

“His loss.” Or not, he thinks as he kisses the palm of her hand.

“You’re staying for the ceremony, right? As your civilian self?”

“You can count on me to keep an eye on you two. I promise I’ll tackle Adrien if he tries to make a run for it.” He winks. He backtracks when he sees the panic in her eyes. “Joke aside, I paw-mise everything will be fine. And that I’ll always be there for you. Never doubt that.”

Marinette blushes as they stare into each other’s eyes. 

I love you, they both think, but don’t say. Now is not the time.

“Marinette?” There’s a knock on the door as Sabine calls for her. “It’s nearly time to go, can I come in?” 

“Uh, yeah, just a second!” Marinette jumps away from Chat Noir and checks the lock of her room is closed. 

She then walks over to him, he has already opened the window to leave. He smiles and kisses her forehead tenderly before backing away.

“See you later, my Lady. I know, I know, I shouldn’t call you that.” He throws his hands up before she can protest the nickname. “But I like to think that you’ll be my Lady until you say yes to Agreste.” 

And even that won’t change anything, they both think as they part ways.

[auty-ren]

The Offer: Chapter 2

Touches

Pairing: ClanLeader!Mando x fem. Reader

Rating: T (Mature for future chapters)

Word Count: 3.5k

Warnings: Injury, Touching, Insinuations of sex, Cursing (just a tiny bit), Fluff, Yearning (a lot).

A/N: I’m having so much fun writing this. Please let me know what you think! Comments and feedback appreciated always. It’s also on AO3. Hope y’all enjoy💕

Chapter 1 | Chapter 3

Mandalorian lore via mandoa.org (I dont own it)

ClanLeader!Au created by @magichandthing​​

Gif by @coredrive​

Summary: You finally get to speak to Clan Leader Djarin again.

Your nose was definitely broken.

The elder assessed that much on her initial exam of your face. 

The bile in your stomach churned and nausea flooded your senses at the thought of having to reset the broken cartilage. You knew they would have to realign your nose otherwise it would never grow back properly. However, your stubbornness took hold and you wouldn’t let the elder anywhere near your face. You knew the pain that was eventually going to happen, but you dreaded the process. You wanted to postpone it for as long as you could. You tried to rationalize other options, internally debating and trying to come up with excuses for Mira and the Elder. Maybe if it was left alone, your nose would heal just fine; it seemed like a probable outcome you just hoped Mira would see it that way and leave you be.

Mira, of course, had different plans.

It took Mira straddling you, completely immobile due to her weight pressing into your chest, and the strength she held your arms with for the Elder woman to be able to fix your nose from its dislocated position. When she finally did, you're sure your scream reverberated off the walls.

“We underestimated your strength ad’ika.” The woman joked after giving a final dose of a bacta shot. Your eyes were still watering and you just huffed in response, causing Mira to chuckle from across the room.

Mira’s company started to grow on you, even though at first your time together was filled with silence. She often busied herself around the hut; shining her armor, cleaning her assortment of weapons, tinkering with different pieces of mechanics that littered the shelves. You would offer to help and she accepted, reluctantly at first, but you were starting to think she enjoyed your company as much as you did hers.

Most of the conversation was you asking questions about Mira and her people. You had some knowledge of the ways of a Mandalorian but Mira always explained it better. She always answered you with a sense of patience, explaining everything to you in detail you could understand. You appreciated it, the last thing you would want to do is offend her people with ignorance. She seemed to enjoy your enthusiasm for learning about Mandalorian culture.

“Ba'jur bal beskar'gam, Ara'nov, aliit, Mando' a bal Mand'alor, An vencuyan mhi.”

“What?”

“It is a rhyme taught to children, so they can better understand our way of life.” She put down the tool she was cleaning her armor with, handing you the piece to polish. Before you could even ask, she recited the same phrase to you in basic.

“Education and armor, Self-defense, our tribe, Our language, and our leader, All help us survive.”

Days bled into weeks and you started to lose count of how long you had been with Mira. Your injuries had healed fully thanks to Mira and the elder that visited you. Light remains of your still healing bruises were all the evidence of the encounter. As you felt better, Mira invited you to accompany her into the village. It had almost become pleasant, the little routine you two had. The fresh air always felt nice, and Mira filled the time telling you more stories of her clan.

“That man,” you paused, debating whether or not you should even bring up the topic. “The one who I met when we first arrived, who was he?”

Ever since then you found yourself wondering about him more than you liked to admit. He and Mira had been the first people to treat you with kindness in a long time, so you figured the reaction to him was just grateful. Your curious nature made it almost impossible to not want to know more. You had learned much about Mira the last few weeks, and the persistent thoughts of him would certainly cease at knowing more of him. At least that's what you told yourself, but it was hard to forget that blooming you felt in your chest when he first spoke to you. How the deep timbre of his voice felt like honey that settled in your bones. You caught yourself daydreaming how his voice would sound without the mask of his voice coder, just as rich and deep but something new and soft against your ears. It probably felt heavenly to hear him whisper things to you, his breath gentle in your ear.

Mira turned to you and watched as you waited for an answer. It was as if Mira could read your thoughts from the way her head tilted to look at you. You were thankful she didn't pry, that was a conversation you didn't want to have.

“He is the strongest and conscientious of us all, which is why the High Elders chose him to lead and defend our clan. Each of the pendants he wears is a testament to his fortitude.”

You listened intently, hanging on to every word Mira spoke.

“They say he received his signent by hunting a Mudhorn that terrorized the village and killing the beast with a viro-blade as his only weapon.”

“Oh,” was all you could say, your voice just a whisper in the silence left behind her words. As much as you will yourself to be satisfied with this information, it only seemed to stoke the fire that had been set ablaze by him. You wanted to know so much more, the desire to be around him was something you tried hard to ignore.

—

Much to Mira’s protest you mostly stayed to yourself, already feeling so out of place. Aside from her, the elder, and the brief encounter with the clan leader Djarin you hadn’t spoken to anyone else since being here. She tried all she could to get you to attend their weekly dinner, a celebration every clan member attended, she insisted. You eventually caved to her persistence. So you sat with her at one of the long wooden tables, chipping away at the plate full of food in front of you. Every so often you stopped to pull at a loose thread in your sleeve, somehow hoping the action would ease the anxiousness you felt.

The clan had given you new clothes shortly after settling with Mira. She presented the garments to you one night, explaining that the leaders agreed you would feel more comfortable in them. A simple, deep red, long sleeve tunic, and a long brown skirt that flowed around the movement of your legs. It was similar to the attire you’d seen some of the women in the village wearing.  It felt unusual at first, you were so used to wearing the same few articles, almost threadbare in places from the years of consistent wear. These clothes seemed almost new, soft to the touch, and fit your body perfectly. The gesture nearly brought tears to your eyes, no one had given you such a thoughtful gift since you were a child.

It was so refreshing to see that not all the hope had been purged from the galaxy. Mira's people were just as legend had described them, fierce warriors with integrity and strength that rivaled entire battalions of soldiers; but there was also love and kinship that was deeply rooted in pillars of their society. It seemed almost surreal, this warrior race had taken you in; had healed and cared for you. It was something you had to witness first-hand, no amount of stories could convey the community the Mandalorians had, at least no one would believe you if you had tried.

You opted to observe the events of dinner, not wanting to cause any more trouble than you felt you had already. Mira had not lied when she said everyone would be there. The tables were filled with people laughing and enjoying the company of each other. It felt so peaceful, and the unsettling feeling in your stomach subsided as the dinner went on. The evening eventually started winding down when dusk had settled over the village. You thought it would be rude to leave without Mira, so you waited patiently on the sidelines wanting to return to the hut.

“How are you feeling?”

Din leaned his shoulder against the wall behind you, his arms crossed and his head tilted to the side. You jumped, you hadn't even heard him coming towards you. He seemed amused at your reaction, letting out a huff that slightly jolted his shoulders.

“I’m fine,” You felt that same pull start in your chest. “Mira has taken very good care of me.”

“Good.”

He became silent, watching the clan mingle like you were. This was exactly what you had been hoping for, to be alone, to be able to talk with him, and ask all the things you had been pondering since your initial meeting. But now you felt so small, every word you had readied was lost on your tongue, swallowed by the intimidation you felt. He was the noblest warrior of his clan, strong and authoritative in his ways but he made your heart flutter in a way you didn't know could. It was suffocating, being around him but you craved it nonetheless.

He moved to sit next to you, straddling the bench you sat on. You could feel him looking at you, but you didn't dare tear your gaze from in front of you. You felt your face flush all the way to the tips of your ears. He hadn’t said five words to you and you were already a mess.

“I should find Mira,” you broke the tension, hoping to escape so you could finally breathe again. “It's late.”

Before you could distance yourself he spoke, halting you in your tracks.

“I can return you to your hut,” he paused pushing himself to stand. He considered you for a moment as if to debate his next words.

“If that's what you wish.”

—

“I haven’t seen you since your arrival.” It wasn't really a question, more of an observation. You turned to look at his helmet, still trained on the path in front of you.

“Mira forced me to break my isolation.”

A huffed laugh came through his helmet, effectively melting some of the tension that had built up. Your own smile stretched across your lips, he still made you incredibly nervous but he at least had a sense of humor.

You didn't exchange any more words, silence falling back over you both. It felt just a little different than before, the tension wasn't drawn so tight. A light airy feeling replaced the energy that flows between the two of you. You could feel your muscles relaxing just the slightest bit, the bubbling worry in your stomach replaced with a dull ache.

Your senses focused back on your surroundings, cool darkness had enveloped your path, lit only by the torches mounted against the huts. People still congregated in the street, groups exchanging wishes of sweet dreams as most of them prepared for sleep. As you passed, side by side with their leader, each person stopped to give a small bow. Some of their gazes lingered on you, not in a judgemental way, most of them just seemed curious in nature. It was probably odd, seeing some strange woman being escorted by the most respected man in their village. If he noticed their looks, he didn't make it known.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw a small flash of bright color, sticking out noticeably against the neutral tones of the earth. You stopped and tucked in between two of the homes lining your path home, was a small flower bed. Some of the buds had yet to bloom, the new petals poking through the green shell that encased them. Others were full and brilliant, ranging from every color under the sun. You kneeled down to gently caress the buds in the palm of your hand.

Din didn’t realize you had stopped at first. He noticed the absence of your footsteps and turned around, watching you admire the flowers. He walked closer to you, essentially blanketing you in his shadow. Like before, you failed to notice his presence behind you.

“Sorry,” you apologized once you realized he was waiting for you. Standing up and brushing the dirt from your knees. You awkwardly clasped your hands together in front of you, waiting for him to respond. He stood still, completely static and it felt like a standoff of who would move next. You thought of saying something, anything to get him to act again but before you could he cut you off.

“You like…” He seemed to carefully consider his next words, in some ways it almost seemed meek the way the syllables rolled off his tongue. “Flowers?”

You turned your head to glance at the bed behind you. Realizing now how odd you must've looked, stopping to smell flowers like some child. You looked forward and he had yet to move still staring directly at you, at least that's what you assumed it was hard to tell with his visor.

“Yes, um…” Your mouth felt dry and tightened around your words. You know he didn't ask for an explanation but you gave one nonetheless, trying to ease your embarrassment.

“My mother used to have flowers on my home planet,” You turned your face down to your hands, rubbing your thumb at the juncture of two of your fingers. “I haven't seen any since the day I left...”

It had been a long time since you had thought of your old life. Ever since the war it had become painful to even entertain the good memories. Your parents had become ghosts of what they once were.  Their faces were just flashes in your mind, reduced to the few reminders that stuck with you. The smells of cedar and earth reminded you of your father, his clothes always permeated with the smell of the outdoors. Sometimes you could recall how kind his eyes were, seeing a glimpse of them in your dreams. You remembered your mother’s flowers, how they grew during the warm season filling beds of green with vivid, swirling color.

“I didn’t realize they still grew.” You tried your best to keep the emotions these memories held from finding your face, but Din sensed them nonetheless. He hesitated for a moment before gesturing for you to follow him again.

—

“Thank you, for walking with me,” you said turning to him with a small smile on your face as the hut came into your view.

“Of course.” He stopped just a few feet away from you, turning to mimic your position.

“Goodnight,” you said, turning and walking up the few steps of the porch to Mira’s home.

“You never told me your name,” he said, causing you to stop just in front of the door, you turned back to face him.

You told him, giving a slight smile at the end of your words. He parroted your name, climbing up the stairs becoming level with you again. He moved closer to your body, leaving just a few inches between your chests. You looked up into his visor, your reflection more noticeable with the close proximity of your bodies.

He repeated your name, his hands going for one of the necklaces resting against his chest. He lifted it away from him, bringing the necklace around your neck, the cool metal of the pendant resting just above your breasts. You looked between him and the mythosaur skull, the same one you saw plastered on nearly everything in the village. You wanted to say something, your mouth opening, and closing while trying to focus long enough to string a few words together.

“You’re so beautiful.” He leaned his arm against the door behind you, pinning you between him and the wood of Mira’s hut. His other hand came up to trace along the length of your neck, his knuckles stopping when they reached your chin.

You felt like you were on fire, your blood running white-hot under your skin, leaving a blushed tint in its wake. You didn’t dare look up at him, afraid you’d melt under his gaze that seemed to bore straight through you. You kept your eyes fixated on the expansion of chest level with your eyes.

“Have you thought about staying?” His fingers gripped your chin, bringing you to look directly at his visor.

“Stay?” You were a little taken back, your voice coming out as a squeak compared to his. “Here?”

“Yes, here.” He chuckled, his voice dropped mocking the whisper in your tone. A smile threatens the corners of your lips and you bite on the inside of your cheek to stop the spread. He thought it was entertaining, watching you become giddy under his attention. You turned to look just past his shoulder, willing the flush you felt on your face and neck to subside. You had wanted his attention and now you had it but you were failing miserably at being anything but at his mercy.

“Do you like it here?” He said sensing your hesitation, forcing you to focus on him again.

“Yes, of course.” It was true, you enjoyed your time. But to stay? What place did you have here? They had made you feel so welcome but you were an outsider and you had yet to offer any contribution to their way of life. You had felt better than you had in years. Like a familiar version of yourself had taken over again, replenishing the life you so desperately tried to find before. It felt invigorating but you knew it couldn't last forever, and with your injuries in the final stages of healing, you knew that time was coming to an end.

“Then stay.” His voice was firm but held a sort of gentleness that made your heart flip in your ribcage.

He grabbed your hand, leading your palm to rest in the middle of his chest. Your fingers instinctively spread over the warmth of his skin, he interlocked his fingers with yours, effectively trapping your hand behind his.

You couldn’t see his face, but it felt as if you were staring right into his soul. You imagined the depth and piercing look of his eyes. You imagined they were just like the rest of him, fierce and intriguing but with a softness hid behind them. Mesmerizing you and making you want nothing more than to fall deep in their hypnosis. You wanted to kiss him, to feel him against you, flesh and bone to be explored by your fingertips. You wanted to be encased totally by him, to drown in the warmth he exuded, to feel nothing but him for the rest of your days.

With a newfound boldness, you slipped your hand away from his slowly trailing down the center of his chest. The pads of your fingers moved over the toned muscle of his chest, doing exactly what you had daydreamed about since you met him. His skin was a beautiful tanned color with scars scattered, telling the story of his battles. You traced a few, fingers delicately moving across the raised skin. You felt his breath released from behind his helmet, so quiet you may have not noticed if it weren't for the rise and fall of his chest. You continued your movements, traveling down until you met the trail of hair that peeked out from his trousers. He abruptly grabbed your wrist, a groan filtering through to your ears. His grip was firm, stopping your actions but being careful not to hurt you.

“You should get some rest.” His voice was so low, gravelly, barely registering with the voice coder of his helmet. He released his grip, moving your hand back to your side.

You were afraid you had fucked up, misreading him and crossing some forbidden line. Shame flooded your mind, causing your gaze to drift to your feet. He reached up to your face, pushing the hair that fell in your face back, revealing the timid look that fell on your features. He held his palm against your face for just a moment longer than necessary. As his hand fell from your face, you were back to staring into the darkness of his visor, surprised by the tenderness of his actions.

“Goodnight,” He whispered, turning back to walk down the steps, leaving you stunned and missing his warmth.

“Goodnight.”

—————

Taglist: @queenofheavenandhell​​ @youmeanmybrain​ @theocatkov​ @dreamgirl-67 @duker42​ @spxcedxdddy​ @vikingqueen28​ @hdlynn​ @leo-moon​ @tiffdawg​

(Let me know if you want to be added or removed!💕)

[booksbeyondimagining]

Bring Me Their Hearts (Bring Me Their Hearts #1), by Sara Wolf

Publish Date:  June 5, 2018 Published by: Entangled Teen Length: 370 pages Genre: YA Fantasy My Rating: ★★★★★ (5 out of 5 stars)

Synopsis:

Zera is a Heartless – the immortal, unageing soldier of a witch. Bound to the witch Nightsinger ever since she saved her from the bandits who murdered her family, Zera longs for freedom from the woods they hide in. With her heart in a jar under Nightsinger’s control, she serves the witch unquestioningly. Until Nightsinger asks Zera for a Prince’s heart in exchange for her own, with one addendum; if she’s discovered infiltrating the court, Nightsinger will destroy her heart rather than see her tortured by the witch-hating nobles. Crown Prince Lucien d’Malvane hates the royal court as much as it loves him – every tutor too afraid to correct him and every girl jockeying for a place at his darkly handsome side. No one can challenge him – until the arrival of Lady Zera. She’s inelegant, smart-mouthed, carefree, and out for his blood. The Prince’s honor has him quickly aiming for her throat. So begins a game of cat and mouse between a girl with nothing to lose and a boy who has it all. Winner takes the loser’s heart. Literally.

My Review:

This is one of those books that got me. Everything from the characters to the world-building was absolutely soulful. It filled me with wonder, heartache, laughter and anticipation. The plot may have been what drew me into this story, but the writing is what captured my heart and held it in a jar until I reached the end. I loved so much about this book. From the minute we were introduced to her, I knew Zera was going to a character I would not forget. She is witty and quick, full of biting one-liners that had me laughing out loud. She is also caring despite her desire to be selfish. Her struggle throughout the novel to keep herself focused on her task and not fall for Lucien was heart-wrenching. She is complex and simple in a wonderfully human way - a made monster who longs to become human again, and in pretending to be one finds someone who makes her feel like one.

Lucien is a swoon-worthy type of prince that, from the moment he appeared on the page as a thief in the streets, had me falling for him immediately. He is both strong and easily breakable, forced to put his emotions at a distance and letting them down only around those he truly trusts and loves. I love his true self that he hides behind a facade for the court - he cares so much for his people and wants nothing more than to see them well and happy. The romance between these two was beautiful. It was strong and slow, blossoming slowly but steadily over the course of the story. The way Lucien found someone to lean on in Zera, and the way Zera found someone who was willing to share their soul, their heart, with her - it was breathtaking in how much it made my emotions soar. As for the other characters - I thoroughly enjoyed Malachite, for sure. He is hands down my favorite in this book. He is funny, smart, and an absolute friend to Lucien. But he can also be understanding when the time comes, and be there when he is needed. Fione was a little single-minded at times, with her quest to find evidence against her uncle - which I was all for - but was also a nice contrast to Zera and someone I hope continues to be present in the future stories. Then there is Y’Shennria, who definitely goes through the most personal growth of the characters in the novel, going from fearing Zera to loving her like a daughter - their relationship is one that I enjoyed thoroughly and hope to see continue as well. Now, the plot itself was excellent. It was both intriguing and captivating, and had everything I could have wanted in it - witches, monsters, infiltration, court intrigue, mystery, and of course, romance. It swept me along, and, despite some minor issues here and there (small things like continuity detail errors that didn’t actually affect the plot), had me loving every second of it. I especially loved the world building. THE POLES ARE AT THE EAST AND WEST. THE EQUINOXES AND SOLSTICES ARE SWITCHED. THERE ARE THREE MOONS. I cannot tell you the number of times I have sighed at a fantasy novel that is set in a world that has the same geological and astronomical existence as our own. (Or worse, the same months.) It is such a nice change to see the world designed beyond just the land and sea layout. I will admit there were some things that annoyed me, mostly to do with the plotline concerning Gavik. [SPOILER] Clearly, Gavik is the one inciting the second war against the witches, and is the one controlling the king in return for “finding his daughter’s killer”. So, to me, it didn’t make sense that Zera was still focused on Lucien’s heart as the solution? I get that the hunger was probably a driving force, but I would have thought “hey, what if we take out Gavik instead?” I wish there had been some communication with Y’Shennria or even the witches about that because I think, if things had gone as planned, taking Lucien as a political hostage wouldn’t have changed Gavik’s mind in any way. He would have just seen it as an excellent excuse to kill off Lucien and follow through on whatever nefarious plans he had in store. Considering that they found proof that he was involved in Princess Varia’s murder, that along would have gone a long way to stripping Gavik of his power and bringing an end to his personal tirade against witches. And then, at the end, there were some things he said that didn’t make sense. He mentioned that Lucien’s bodyguard told him where he was - but why would Malachite have told Gavik that at all? He also said that Lucien’s father would believe that his son had been killed by a Heatless “too”. But, wasn’t Gavik thrown in jail for proof that HE had had Varia killed? Why would he assume that the king would think otherwise when it came to his son? Unless there is something that the reader hasn’t been told yet? [END SPOILER] Honestly, I just loved everything about this book. I could not stop thinking about it. My only regret was starting it during a busy month that left me too exhausted to read for lengthy periods of time - but on the other hand, that pacing stuck for the rest of the book, making it last longer, and linger more in my heart (something I secretly love).

[r6shippingdelivery]

OTP Question Meme!

I was tagged by the wonderful @simonxriley​, thanks! 💜

Tagging: @mirrorworldangel​ @krystlandotherstuff​ @painfulstitches17​  @grain-crain-drain​ @retrodisaster​ @glitchky​ and anyone who wants to do it! Be warned that it is pretty long tho, so don’t feel obligated to do it if you don’t want to.  

(art comissioned to the amazing @aonghus-the-highlander​)

Timur “Glaz” Glazkov x Maxim “Kapkan” Basuda

DISAGREEMENTS

Who is more likely to raise their voice? None/both? Whoever is feeling more agitated at the moment, although it usually is a small outburst and not consistently yelling at the other.

Who threatens to leave but never actually does? Neither.

Who actually keeps their word and leaves? Kapkan, sort of. He doesn’t threaten to leave, he just needs to leave and have some time alone in the middle of nature after a difficult argument, to think on it and put his ideas in order.

Who trashes the house? Because of an argument? Neither. Although Glaz might have trashed the house one time Kapkan got seriously injured, as in Doc wasn’t sure he’d make it through the night.

Do either of them get physical? No, never.

How often do they argue/disagree? Bickering and small disagreemenets are common, serious arguments are rare.

Who is the first to apologize? Whoever feels more guilty for how they acted, which usually is the one in the wrong (once they realise that).

SEX

Who is on top? Depends on the position, but if you’re asking who is The Top, that’s Glaz.

Who is on bottom? Look at the previous answer.

Who has the strangest desires? Kapkan thinks it’s him, but nah, he’s just a bit repressed.

Any kinks? Bondage, marking/biting, dirty talk, discipline.

Who’s dominate in bed? They like to “fight”/rough house for it, although eventually Kapkan will gleefully give up control.

Is head ever in the equation? Yes.

If so, who is better at performing it? Glaz, he has more experience.

Ever had sex in public? Sort of: in the base’s showers, and out in the woods while camping.

Who moans the most? Kapkan, he can get loud.

Who leaves the most marks? Both.

Who is the most experienced of the two? Glaz.

Do they ’fuck’ or ‘make love’? Depends on their mood.

Rough or soft? Middle ground, veering more towards rough most of the time.

How long do they usually last? Depends on the day and their stamina, but it’s not uncommon they’ll go for 2 rounds.

Is protection used? Not always.

Does it ever get boring? Nah.

Where is the strangest place where they’d had sex? At work, during training.

FAMILY

Do they plan on having children/ have children? Maybe, it’s not something they have considered in detail yet.

If so, how many children to they want/have? Both agree that at least they’d adopt two kids, three at most.

AFFECTION

Who likes to cuddle? Both do, even if Kapkan likes to pretend he’s just indulging Glaz.

Who gets naughty in the most inappropriate places? Glaz, he is a horny boy and likes to see if he can get Kapkan flustered. It’s difficult to do so, but he looks so adorable.

Who struggles to keep their hands to themself? Both, but mostly Glaz.

How long can they cuddle until one becomes uncomfortable? If they don’t fall asleep first, then around an hour or so?

Who gives the most kisses? Both.

What is their favorite non-sexual activity? Spending time together. They go camping pretty often, since it’s a multipurpose activity: Glaz paints the landscape, they hunt, they can be as loud as they want when having sex, etc.

Where is their favorite place to cuddle? Under the stars. The couch and bed are good too.

How often do they get time to themselves? Everyday probably? If they’re not sent on a mission, once they’re done with the training and maybe Kapkan tinkering with his gadget for a bit, they’re free to do whatever.

SLEEPING

Who snores? Both.

If both do, who snores the loudest? They’ll both say it’s the other.

Do they share a bed or sleep separately? They share.

If they sleep together, do they cozy up together or lay separately? They cozy up together, or more accurately, Glaz cuddles up to him and Kapkan oh so graciously lets him... although he’s the one who clings to Glaz when he tries to roll away. If the weather is really hot they’ll leave some distance between them tho.

What do they wear to bed? Just their boxers, sometimes nothing at all.

Are either of them insomniacs? Not really, although if woken up from a nightmare, Kapkan will have a hard time falling asleep again.

Can sleeping pills be found by the bedside? Nope, no sleeping pills.

Do they wrap their limbs around each other or just lay side by side? Yeah, they wrap their limbs around each other, mostly if one is trying to prevent the other from leaving.

Who wakes up with bed hair? Both, although whoever wears it cropped shorter at the moment will have an easier time with bed hair.

Who wakes up first? Both are early risers.

Who prepares breakfast in bed for the other? None. Breakfast in bed? That’s not their style.

What is their favorite sleeping position? Either spooning, or one of them using the other’s chest/shoulder as a pillow.

Do they set an alarm each night? Yes, they do have to wake up for work.

Can a television be found in their bedroom? Nope.

Who has nightmares? Kapkan. Glaz only occasionally.

Who has ridiculous dreams? Neither, the one in the team with the weird and ridiculous dreams is Fuze.

Who sprawls out and takes up most of the bed? Kapkan, Glaz often compares him with a cat stretching out and taking up more and more space until there’s none for Glaz.

Who makes the bed? Both, they take turns.

Any routines/rituals before bed? Kapkan likes to read for a while, psychology books mostly, while Glaz tries to distract him because he doesn’t do anything especial before bed and either wants to talk with him or tries to get handsy.

Who’s the grumpiest when they wake up? Neither.

WORK

Who is the busiest? Kapkan, aside from training, he also likes tinkering and trying to improve his gadget and traps in general, and helps train the recruits too.

Who rakes in the highest income? They seem to rank the same withing Rainbow so they probably get paid the same?

Are any of them unemployed? Nope.

Who takes the most sick days? No fucking idea.

Who is more likely to turn up late for work? Neither, they’re punctual.

Who sucks up to their boss? None, the idea of them sucking up to Harry is so out of character it’s hilarious.

What are their jobs? They're part of the Spetsnaz team within the counter-terrorism group Rainbow.

Who stresses the most? Both, but Kapkan probably a bit more.

Are they financially stable? I suppose?

HOME

Who does the washing? Kapkan, he is a bit neater than Glaz. Although he drags Glaz into washing too, he refuses to be the one always doing it.

Who takes out the trash? Whoever finds the trash full.

Who does the ironing? Both do. You gotta keep the formal uniforms crisp smooth, so why not iron too whatever other clothes need ironing.

Who does the cooking? They cook together.

Who is more likely to burn the house down just trying? None, they’re not iditos.

Who is messier? Glaz.

Who leaves the toilet roll empty? idk dude, some of these question are so fucking especific, I swear. A lot of this stuff doesn’t come up most of the time when I’m writing

Who leaves their dirty clothes on the floor? Military life has trained them to not keep throwing dirty clothes on the floor, amongst other things. The only exception is when they undress each other and fall in bed kissing and marking each other, they can’t be bothered to think about that in the heat of the moment.

Who forgets to flush the toilet? Neither.

Who is the prankster around the house? Bandit whenever he is invited into their house.

Who loses the car keys when it comes time to go somewhere? No fucking idea.

Who mows the lawn? They have an apartment, not a house with garden, so neither. If they want nature, they go camping, Kapkan isn’t a fan of lawn as a concept tbh.

Who answers the telephone? Both, but more often Kapkan, since Glaz tends to ignore the phone if he’s painting.

Who does the vacuuming? Kapkan, he got used to vacuuming often since he adopted Marsha, otherwise there would be cat hair everywhere.

Who does the groceries? Both, and they go together if they can.

Who takes the longest to shower? None, they keep to short and efficient showers... unless they hop together under the spray.

Who spends the most time in the bathroom? Glaz, he takes his sweet time trimming his beard and making sure it looks right as he wants it to be.

MISCELLANEOUS

Is money a problem? I don’t think so.

How many cars do they own? Each had their own car, so when they start livign together they technically have two cars.

Do they own their home or do they rent? They rent an apartment near the base. Neither of them is close to retiring, so they haven’t thought yet of what they’ll do after Rainbow, or in which country they’ll live then.

Do they live in the city or in the country? The country, most probably.

Do they enjoy their surroundings? For the most part. Surroundings are secondary, what matters the most is the company.

What’s their song? I hate song questions and this is no exception.

What do they do when they’re away from each other? If they’re away from each other that means one of them went on a mission, so they do their damned jobs.

Where did they first meet? When they got selected to be part of Rainbow.

Who spends the most money when out shopping? Depends, Glaz is a danger if let loose on an art’s supplies store, and Kapkan impulse buys knives for his collection.

Who’s more likely to flash their assets? Neither.

Who finds it amusing when the other trips over? Glaz finds it funny when the graceful hunter stumbles and trips over, while Kapkan thinks it’s hilarious when Mr. Details fails to see something in his path and trips.

Any mental issues? Yeah, both have PSTD (especially after Outbreak, all ops who were on that Operation have it, imo), Kapkan more than Glaz.

Who’s terrified of bugs? Neither.

Who kills the spiders around the house? Whoever sees the spider, if it’s bothering them.

Their favorite place? Their room, or their apartment when they move in together.

Who pays the bills? Both.

Do they have any fears for their future? Both are terrified of losing the other during a mission. Them dying is something they have more or less assumed, but the other dying? Unthinkable.

Who’s more likely to surprise the other with a fancy dinner? They’re not the type for fancy dinners. Surprising the other with a nice home-made dinner tho? Glaz has done that on occasion.

Who’s the tallest? Kapkan, he’s 1.80m while Glaz is 1.78m. The 2cm difference is negligible tbh.

Who’s more likely to just randomly hop into the shower with the other? Both, but mostly Glaz.

Who wanders around in their underwear? I don’t think either of them would be probe to walking around in their underwear.

Who sings the loudest when singing along to the radio? Glaz, he sometimes sing along while painting.

What do they tease each other about? Glaz teases Kapkan about how he’s a tsundere like a stubborn cat, trying to deny he likes affection but then he practically melts when he gets some. Kapkan teases Glaz about how he looks like a baby when he shaves his beard.

Who is more likely to cringe at the other’s fashion sense at times? Neither, although Glaz might sometimes poke a bit of fun about how Kapkan’s wardrobe seems to have only hoodies.

Who crushed first? Glaz.

Any alcohol or substance related problems? Nah.

Who is more likely to stumble home, drunk, at 3am? Both, all the Spetsnaz go drinking together as a team, so the boys stumble home drunk together.

Who swears the most? Glaz, and that bit is canon if you listen to their voicelines! 😄

[kiruuuuu]

I had the pleasure of talking this through with you, @cerosin​, and the end result is.... definitely unhealthier than your initial request, but I hope you’ll like it anyway :) I also certainly took my time with this, thank you for waiting and thank you for the request 🖤🖤 (Kapkan/Glaz, Rating E, angst fluff + smut, ~4.6k words)

.

He can tell when it gets bad again.

Obviously, there are the spontaneous bursts, attacks he can neither predict nor prevent and therefore has to react on the spot, but those have receded: the people around them have learnt how to avoid triggering anything, and Glaz has learnt how to remove Kapkan from these situations efficiently. No, this isn’t about sudden, blind panic, not about shortness of breath or wild eyes. This is about the prickling right below Glaz’ skin; like a constant stream it erodes the sense of safety that’s built up over weeks or, if they’re lucky, months. Erodes the complacency like it’s dust settling in bit by bit, undisturbed and growing. Glaz has stopped minding boring. Because boring implied a routine, and calmness, and freedom from -

From the alternative.

From what’s happening right now.

If anyone asked, he’d reply that he feels safe no matter what. That he’s in control, and even if he’s not, that he knows how to regain it; after all, he senses it coming as it accumulates slowly, yet not so slow he doesn’t notice. He’s safe, even if he wakes up to a sharp jab in the side or a hand around his throat, because he can deal with it. He’s safe, even if temper flares hotly at him like an open flame, because he knows it might lick him, leave a stinging burn, but it will never consume him.

He justifies himself to this non-existent asker, someone on the outside, a concerned citizen. He does this a lot, conducts conversations like he’s Plato writing a dialogue between his teacher, Socrates, and someone unimportant, someone only necessary to play dumb and prompt the next wall of text. Glaz goes into great detail until this imaginary person is convinced. He wonders what this says about him.

So yes. He’s as confident as ever, though he takes the warning signs seriously. He listens to the tone rising in volume with each passing day, powerless to stop it but capable of manipulating it.

.

“You’ve already asked me twice what I want for breakfast so stop fucking talking about it”, snaps the love of his life, a man who leaves him breathless in so many ways each and every day.

Glaz doesn’t mention how Kapkan has failed to give a straight answer so far, and instead defuses the tension with a bratty: “Guess I’ll just feed the leftovers to the neighbour’s dog then.”

He can basically hear Kapkan perking up at this, even if his back is turned. If possible, his lover would eat meat for literally every meal, and heated up for breakfast, he’s even more unable to say no. “You know I’d eat it out of her bowl if necessary”, he grumbles, the fire having died down as quickly as it reared up. Glaz has gotten extremely good at appeasing him over the years.

“I’ll take that as a yes then”, he summarises and tosses the scraps in question into the microwave. Self neglect is one of the largest red flags Kapkan wears on his back whenever it gets bad, and it’s the one Glaz will combat head on. It’s the one he’s allowed to mention as it doesn’t scream you’re abnormal, you’re ill, you’ve got issues – instead, he can disguise it as stress, something easily forgettable, low priority. As such, it’s easiest to deal with as he can remedy it immediately: suggest taking a bath together, which is something Kapkan never refuses, or he offers to cook, pretends he’s not feeling well and needs company so Kapkan joins him in bed early. Once there, his lover falls asleep quickly, but left to his own devices, he’d stay up till morning.

No, he doesn’t need to babysit him, Glaz informs his imaginary interviewer politely yet firmly. Kapkan can and does take care of himself. But if he can facilitate it, why shouldn’t he? He receives more than enough in return. Kapkan would die for him in a heartbeat, he knows this because it almost happened before, he’d do whatever Glaz demands of him, he’s a reliable presence in Glaz’ life, loving, supportive, strong. Their infatuation is mutual and not diminished by demons which are not Kapkan’s fault.

It’s difficult to predict how this episode will go. Some cumulate in a fight, be it verbal or physical, others peak unnoticeably and then ebb until Glaz nearly forgets about the whole thing, can’t imagine a universe where they aren’t the world’s most perfect couple. People often don’t appreciate their health until they fall ill. Glaz has learnt to fiercely appreciate the days on which every smile is teased out gently instead of requiring heavy machinery to surface.

.

They met in Spetsnaz, a perceived eternity ago, and by all rights should’ve separated unscathed instead of their lives intermingling the way they did in the end. Glaz’ hand to hand was rubbish and Kapkan consistently disappointed in him, leaving them both frustrated with each other, yet not to the point of memorability. Kapkan should’ve remained that morose instructor with the hard set to his mouth, and Glaz his largely incompetent yet well-meaning student of which he’s probably had plenty. Nothing about him was remarkable – nothing about either of them, really –, until some people fell ill and some others got married, and suddenly Glaz was accompanying his fellow Spetsnaz on an extended hunting trip. As if Glaz had been fifteenth in line for the throne and fate removed all fourteen in between, and now he was at his coronation, not entirely sure how he got here.

It wasn’t the two of them alone, of course, a few acquaintances and curious souls went with them, but overall not enough people to comfortably hide one’s personality for an entire month. This is when Glaz noticed that Kapkan, when talking about his passion, was easy to look at. The glint in his otherwise piercing pale eyes was contagious and Glaz inquired a lot more about hunting in general and Kapkan’s experience specifically than he’d originally intended.

Usually, Glaz falls easily, almost at the drop of a hat. Someone smiles at him wrong, someone does him an unexpected favour, and he’s gone. Lost. If this happens, it’s fleeting. But when it takes him a while to even realise he’s staring and hovering, it means it’s serious.

They require five years to get together.

During that time, they keep invading each other’s life almost by chance, end up assigned to the same place or on the same mission, and the grin he receives when they meet once more is a genuine one. Glaz longs for more and ever more: a laugh, then a touch, time spent alone, time spent alone that’s timeless and neverending in their minds. Every new bit which he almost wishes into existence he treasures and keeps it close to his heart so it warms him during the time between their meetings. This is how he thinks of his days now – either real, actual events, or merely waiting. When Kapkan isn’t there, reality loses its focus.

He doesn’t remember the words leading up the kiss and it’s something he regrets to this day. Vaguely, he recalls words too brazen and brash for his otherwise quiet, timid character, though they probably were nothing but innocent to others. But Kapkan – Kapkan understood, Kapkan who’s known him for years and can tell it’s unusual for him, and he let it happen. Despite nothing coming back, Glaz wasn’t under the impression of his flattery to bounce off the hard exterior, rather he noticed it penetrating the roughness, finding holes in its defence. Kapkan soaked it up. He refused to dance but admired Glaz’ efforts nonetheless. And so they kissed.

Kissed in full gear, the relief of an uneventful mission flooding their systems, perched in the snow next to each other and lost in conversation instead of paying attention to something their colleagues had under control anyway. A routine extraction, no support needed, and Kapkan pulled down the cloth hiding his lower face when Glaz offered him some warm coffee, and then their lips are touching, their breath visible in the icy air and Glaz’ shoulder killing him over this odd angle.

Despite going home alone that day, he got no second of sleep. His heart wouldn’t calm down, and neither his thoughts. I’m the happiest man alive, he thought, clear as day and not a doubt in his mind.

.

“Strip.”

It does have its good sides. Two, as far as Glaz is concerned: Kapkan sticks to him like Velcro to wool, knowing nobody else can keep him in check the way his lover does. The worse it gets, the more excuses pop up to stay at home, to go out alone, to take Glaz along. He doesn’t mind switching topics and reading body language like a hawk if he can hold Kapkan’s hand in return, witness his dry wit and remarkable patience.

The second positive side effect is linked to the first. Being around each other constantly leads to certain things.

Glaz takes his time because he knows Kapkan likes it this way. He follows their established routine and discards his sweater first without revealing any skin on his torso. The motion exposes his arms, which he flexes subtly – he doesn’t need to cast a glance at his lover to know his eyes have strayed from his face. His t-shirt is next, showing off his chest and the ridges of his abs through controlled breathing and contracting his muscles at the right moment.

It’s slow, this ritual of theirs, deliberate, hides nothing. Glaz feels more and more naked in more ways than one, as if he’s laying his soul bare together with his body. Undressing is too profane a word, can’t come close to denoting what’s happening between them. He bathes in Kapkan’s attention, normally is indifferent about his own body but now takes pride as he’s being desired – a conscious action for its own sake. Kapkan wants him. It’s a state of being rather than a base need.

He isn’t unaffected. The more fabric lines the floor, the warmer the air gets: Glaz is sweating in the cool bedroom, cheeks reddened and his excitement visible, even more so once he’s fully nude. He breathes hard and dares not meet Kapkan’s gaze. This isn’t about him, after all, this is about obeying and allowing Kapkan to let off steam and an exercise in control. This is how Kapkan convinces himself he’s in control. He needs to be, desperately. And challenging him on this is the last thing Glaz wants.

“Lie down.”

The command is sharp yet leaves Glaz’ skin unmarred: he’s used to this, even looks forward to it when he begins noticing the change in Kapkan’s behaviour. Complying is natural, the sheet a cold relief under his heated body. He expected to be ordered to suck him, which is the most common request he receives in moments like these – he likes drawing it out but Kapkan usually can’t wait to be inside him, so he rarely gets to blow him under normal circumstances. Right now, when it’s about showing off the power he holds over Glaz, Kapkan doesn’t mind dragging it out. Quite the opposite.

“Hold these.”

A twitch between Glaz’ legs, he can’t tell from which body part (or maybe both?), because he knows what these words mean. He doesn’t have the peace of mind for this, he’ll fail and it’ll all be over, he already knows this. Not once has he passed this challenge, not once was he able to see it through to the end, resulting in a heavy throb in his crotch for the rest of the night until he could take care of himself without Kapkan knowing. It’s the sweetest torture, but torture it is nonetheless. He’s sure he’ll disappoint his lover.

Regardless, he lifts his hands until he can put his fingers together, letting Kapkan place objects between each pair of fingertips. Tonight, they’re bullets, threatening to slip out and fall onto his belly immediately. Whether or not he’ll be satisfied today relies entirely on his ability to hold them, restrain himself from sudden movements, concentrate until it’s over. If even only one drops, Kapkan will stop.

His tongue is hot, scorching hot, and velvety smooth, and Glaz’ eyelashes are fluttering. He stares at the bare ceiling, praying to an unknown deity for strength and presence of mind, and then he’s enveloped whole. His body shakes with his stuttering in- and exhales, but he keeps the ammunition where it is. For now.

This is what it must feel like when he services Kapkan. Hardly more than teasing, only just enough to keep his pleasure climbing and climbing, however minuscule the progress. Glaz cherishes every centimetre he slips further into the wet heat and curses it simultaneously. His mouth is struggling to produce sound as it doesn’t seem to know what’s appropriate; no moans escape him, his gasps are aborted and all that leaves his throat is a pained gargling, almost unwilling because he wants this so bad, wants to enjoy it yet has to stop himself from losing to the overwhelming pleasure.

Only when Kapkan sits up does Glaz realise how tense he is, that every muscle in his body was painfully taut. Bit by bit, he relaxes consciously, fighting back the memory of how it felt to be touched, licked, loved like this in order to focus. One of the metal objects has shifted, so he corrects it. Just in time before a hand closes around him.

The callouses on their own do nothing for him, but paired with perfect technique and the knowledge of all his sensitive spots, it’s nearly too much. Glaz moves into the motion, lifts his hips in the hopes of a speedier resolution, cursing inwardly when the rhythm slows to a crawl in response. Kapkan isn’t making this easy for him, that’s the whole point. The ministrations cease again for a moment, Glaz’ thighs are lifted, his legs bent, and this time, when he feels a tongue exploring him, it’s further down.

He squeezes his eyelids shut. This is too much. He can’t bear it. His toes twitch with pangs of discomfort, but when the hand returns, the mixture tilts into nothing but pure bliss. With every lick, his hands jolt, and he’s somehow still holding on to the bullets, without knowing how but not caring, not when he’s being opened through nothing but Kapkan’s mouth. He can feel his breath ghosting over his skin.

When he can’t take it anymore, he seeks other outlets. He digs his heels into the mattress, throws his head left and right, moans and whimpers and keens at the digits probing deep while a slick muscle tugs on his rim and a tight grip brings him closer and closer. He’s shivering as if it was below zero, and still his fingers don’t budge. The centre of his universe are these five gleaming items, and fanning out from there is deep elation emerging from inside him. Moving isn’t against the rules, so he writhes and rises and falls, strains upwards and downwards and rides towards his climax with chattering teeth. He can’t lose himself or everything will be in vain. But he wants to, oh does he want to.

His orgasm shatters him. His back curves as soon as the first wave hits him, and there he remains, right on the zenith, the sensations hardly fluctuating – instead it’s a steady stream of impossible pleasure and relief flooding him and his rigid form. He’s so tightly coiled that he presses out the bullets from between his fingertips, the warmed metal falling to his stomach and mixing with the long stripes painted onto his own skin, but he couldn’t care less. It’s monumental and leaves him shuddering for a minute afterwards, still revelling in the intensity of the moment.

Sinking back into the pillows, it’s as if a spell has been lifted. Kapkan regards him with a mixture of pride and smugness, warming Glaz’ heart: gone is the no-nonsense stare, the hard set to his mouth, the roughness in his touch. They smile at each other, a soft palm trailing over Glaz’ hips and thighs, and all he wants is to sleep curled up against this man whom he knows so well.

“Turn around”, says Kapkan. And though there’s a gentle hint in his voice, it’s obvious he won’t accept a no.

He doesn’t ask whether it’s alright for Glaz, because he’d let him know if it wasn’t. They’re both aware Glaz would speak up, meaning his compliance directly implies permission. This unspoken rule makes a lot of things easier.

No preparation needed, Kapkan has worked him open with his mouth and fingers already, so he slides right into the sensitive and overstimulated hole. Up to the hilt. Glaz’ whine is lost in the pillows.

“You’re beautiful”, Kapkan whispers and Glaz feels it in his throat, balls his hands into fists and clenches them around the sheets because he won’t be shown any more patience this evening.

Despite the discomfort, he likes this, too, the rawness of it and the glimpse he gets of undisguised emotions. In between sharp snaps and hard thrusts, Kapkan compliments him, each of his words melting Glaz below him, and the kisses now and then mask the loud noises. He doesn’t dare reciprocate, keeps his vocalisations garbled and takes it without moving, drinking in the growls and not commenting on the teeth burying into his skin. They’ll leave marks, he knows this.

This is what Kapkan’s composed attitude from before hid, this is what he really feels. Glaz would never deprive him of this, no matter how uncomfortable it is, because it’s one of the purest displays of Kapkan’s love. He can’t get enough of Glaz, doesn’t seem to know what to do with all this affection he harbours, so now and then it spills over. It’s reassuring. Their feelings for each other are this strong.

While Kapkan showers, Glaz gathers the bullets and lines them up on the bedside table. Reflecting the soft light from outside, they shimmer like golden stars.

Glaz is aware they might use them to end someone’s life.

.

This time, the climax announces itself. Like a freight train, it makes itself known from quite a distance away, whereas Glaz is chained to the tracks; he’s got a date and even a time when he’ll be able to stare into the conductor’s eyes. He realises with horror that he’ll have to ride this one out, no way around it: Kapkan is scheduled for the exercise and found out before Glaz did, eliminating the possibility of approaching Harry about it. His defence would’ve been weak yet honest – in the moment, Kapkan will act and react exactly like his intensive training ingrained in him, no doubt about it. It’s the after which causes Glaz considerable anguish. But re-assigning him would draw his attention and then Glaz would bear the brunt of it personally and not by association.

Kapkan has been getting worse for a while now, his light, restless sleep a good indicator for rising agitation, and as soon as he hears about the exercise, he knows. No way around this either: he knows. Stubborn as he is, he’ll walk right into it expecting a different outcome, will deny any parallels locked in his mind between watching his colleagues go down, not knowing where the shots were coming from, expecting to be next, and experiencing much of the same in a controlled setting. I know it’s not real, he says, and then a different voice must pop up in his mind later: But this was. Remember? Let me remind you.

Glaz is fully aware of what will happen and Kapkan too, and still inaction is his best option. He distracts him with little sessions of having Kapkan describe a mutual acquaintance or friend while drawing exactly what he says and then prompting outraged chuckles when he presents the final result. He cooks every day, either breakfast or dinner, and Kapkan lets him. This is what worries Glaz the most, because he’s sure Kapkan can tell he’s walking on eggshells around him, and instead of calling him out on it, he accepts it quietly. Seems to appreciate the kid gloves. He’s never done this before, and it’s terrifying.

Two days before the scheduled catastrophe, Glaz finds himself in the kitchen, staring at the open cutlery drawer and catching himself wondering where he should stow it all. It takes him a long while to realise he’s crying, and even longer to understand why – Kapkan is in good hands tonight, out with people Glaz knows he can trust, and he’s had a relaxing evening involving a long bath, a good film, and delicious leftovers. He should be feeling better than he did all week, yet it’s achieved the opposite effect: all the pent-up tension is flowing out of him in salty droplets now that he doesn’t need to be painfully aware of his surroundings at all times. His joints are aching and he’s shivering; stress has caught up with him as well as all the thinking he postponed to less rainy days.

He thinks about how eerily calm Kapkan has been. How much he has postponed as well.

Slamming the drawer shut, he heads straight to bed and ignores the icy tendrils curling around his limbs, even though they only recede once Kapkan has joined him hours later.

.

The next morning, his outburst and physical discomfort become crystal clear, though the newfound explanation does nothing to quell Glaz’ dread. He’s ill.

Neither the first time nor the last he’s dragged himself into work despite a fever, though most of his co-workers care enough to point out his paleness. Staring back from the mirror is an ashen-faced shadow of a man drenched in sweat, and though it’s probably only the flu, the implications are far-reaching. Depending on whether he gets better today or not, he won’t be able to work tomorrow. Or accompany Kapkan. Cushion his fall.

At the end of the day, it seems an impossibility – concentrating on anything requires much more brain capacity than he has to spare, and keeping himself hydrated and fed is a task so monumental he can’t possibly shoulder it twice. Barely does he notice Kapkan shoving him into the shower to wash off the uncomfortable clamminess left on his skin, and the next time he’s lucid, he’s in bed with a jug of water on the nightstand. He must’ve been forced to take some medicine as the aching isn’t as bad anymore, he no longer feels like shedding his own skin and the pounding in his head has subsided. Like this, he can hardly depend on himself.

The air is fluffy snow on his skin, impeding his movements and causing his teeth to clack together as he fights his way to the living room, intent on spending every minute he can in Kapkan’s presence to soothe them both. All he gains, however, is an angry snarl and a manhandling the way he came – his lover isn’t having any of it. Still. He remains by Glaz’ side and he probably has his own pitiful whining to thank for it. Throughout the rest of the evening and the night, whenever he wakes up, there’s a solid presence behind his back. And even if Kapkan barely sleeps himself, he stays right where he is.

.

Waking up to an empty bed is a blow Glaz could do without. He feels better – marginally –, but what sends him into a full blown panic is the realisation that it’s out of his hands now. However Kapkan reacts today, he won’t be present to absorb the shock, and he can’t figure out the best course of action when he’s ignorant of what happened. Calling someone else to inquire in detail seems messy as it’d get them talking, meaning all he can do is wait.

So he waits.

Waits like someone on death row, barely touches the food Kapkan placed next to the refilled jug and skims the books next to the food listlessly. And waits. Waits for the inevitable jingling of keys, steps which might be soft or loud or disorientated, maybe the calling of his name. Several hours, he waits for it and when it happens, he’s still not ready.

“How do you feel?”, is Kapkan’s only question as he helps Glaz up, wraps him in a spare blanket and changes the soaked sheets.

He takes an eternity to answer. “Better”, he says through the headache and the shivering.

A stern glance. “You’ve always been a horrible liar.” And that’s that.

They spend the evening next to each other once more, Kapkan devouring his dinner while awkwardly perched on the mattress and reading something on his phone, and Glaz still waits. It’ll happen. It can happen any moment now, he knows this, knows the exercise took place as he got a text about it, and so he waits.

He recovers over the weekend and returns to work on Monday. They went for a few walks which left him weak but sharper-minded due to the fresh air, but as much as he scrutinises the mild-mannered man by his side, he finds no indicators of a lurking rage, simmering deep below. He knows it’s there. He knows it will surface in some way, maybe not directed at the environment but inwards.

Kapkan showers without a reminder. He brings Glaz meals and drops a comment about Glaz’ schedule being so messed up he doesn’t even know when to eat anymore. He tries to draw a squirrel for half an hour and only stops because Glaz is dizzy from laughing so much.

Gradually, he stops waiting. Healthy again, he knows he can deal with it whenever it comes, and so he focuses on the present.

And it never happens.

.

About four months later, Kapkan snaps at a grocery clerk for something insignificant. He leaves Glaz drooling, panting, shuddering and wholly satisfied that night after two hours of rigorous teasing. The next day, he jumps a foot in the air over someone dropping their phone.

A few people ask Glaz whether Kapkan is alright. He just smiles and assures them that yes, he’s doing fine. No, he doesn’t need any support. Yes, he’s got it all under control.

This time, he doesn’t need to justify himself to anyone made up.

That evening, he develops a fierce headache. It turns into a migraine so bad he can barely walk, so he whispers to Kapkan that he’s going to bed early and no, he doesn’t need to join him, he’ll be alright, he doesn’t need anything, and still he’s encased in strong arms not five minutes later and forced to swallow a pill which he instead hides under the mattress. He suggests some ice cream might help, and a shoulder massage, and miraculously, he feels much better the next morning.

When he enters the kitchen, Kapkan is whistling to himself, horribly out of tune and unconcerned who might hear him. He only whistles on good days.

“Better?”, he greets Glaz with a tone implying it’s Glaz’ own responsibility to remain healthy, but pulls him to his chest regardless, carding a hand through his hair gently. He’s soft. When Glaz nuzzles him with his nose, he lets out a low chuckle which reverberates in Glaz’ own torso. He’s never felt this safe.

“Yes”, he mumbles against warm skin. “Much better.”

[blackrose343]

Unforgettable Night - NSFW

This fanfic is for 18+

Warnings: Sex

Kuroshitsuji / Black Butler - Sebastian x Female Reader

Fanfic Summary: For a long time Arthur Wordsmith could never forget his time at the Phantomhive manor. As his friend you tried to comfort him yet he would never reveal what happened. Every time you would mention it, Arthur would automatically become frightened. A new professor arrives to the school you both teach at. Your acquaintance with the new professor makes Arthur uneasy. Yet you can’t help yourself from indulging in your desire.

4,129 words

Still binge watching Kuroshitsuji and decided to revisit this fanfic too.

It was just past nightfall. Drizzles of rain were starting to come down, becoming liquefied tears. Lightning was hitting the ground with a mighty fist. Thunder could be heard from all over. There were stacks of papers to grade, a medium sized candle, and a cup of Earl Grey on my desk. Professor Wordsmith, my colleague, was seated at the desk waiting for me to bring some snacks. He seemed to be more tense and worried than usual tonight. I admit, I knew him for quite some time, but I could not tell what was bothering him right now or any other time there was a thunderstorm.

He has been like this ever since he came back from a party held by Earl Phantomhive. I have asked him multiple times to tell me what had happened, but he always starts to shake with tremendous fear and becomes as pale as a ghost. I would advise him to go to a psychologist, but I - along with the majority of the people - am extremely skeptical about them. 

I set the tray of food down on the table and looked into Wordsmith’s eyes through the candle’s flame. He gives me a small and innocent smile, trying to hide the fear radiating off of him. I wanted to put the poor man’s head in my bosom and rock him back and forth like a child, but refrained from doing so. “Arthur, you need to let this go. It has been years since that night has happened.”

“I wish I could, but that night is stuck in my memory. It is as if that entire time at the Phantomhive manor happened yesterday. I can never forget that night. Never.”

“Please, drink some tea. It will calm your nerves.” His hands shook as he took a sip of his tea. I took a bite of one of the cookies I set down. Its crumbs got on my dress, but I paid no heed to them. I wanted to calm Arthur down as much as possible before we went home for the night. “I wish you could forget about that night. Your wife is very worried about you. It may not be long till your daughter notices. You did say that she saw you burn a stack of papers, which I am assuming was about that night.”

“Let’s change the subject. Just saying ‘that night’ is starting to get me scared.”

“Do forgive me. I did not think it would. What a horrible thing I have done to you, my good friend.”

“Do not fret over it. You do not completely understand how it has affected me.’

“But, if it wasn't for that event, you would have never gotten an idea or inspiration for that story you wrote.”

“I know, but please.”

“Of course, I understand. Oh, did you hear of the new professor that is going to start working here tomorrow?”

“No, I did not. Have you?”

“Yes, some of the women said they were able to get a glimpse of him when he filled out an application to work here.” As I explained to Arthur what the other faculty members said about the new professor, his face paled. It was as if a vampire was sucking all of his blood from thin air. He quickly got out of his chair and ran through the door. “Arthur!”

I grabbed the candle and followed him. I did not think Arthur was the athletic type. He was running away from here as if a ghost was haunting him. He went around the corner towards the exit. As I turned the corner, I slipped. I had to claw my nails into the wall to prevent myself from getting caught on fire. Once I got my footing right, I stood up and saw that Arthur was gone. I quickly went back to my office and called his household. I told his wife what happened and to call me if he came home safe.

Today, I awoke to such a wonderful morning. Everything about it was perfect. Bright and warm sun, chirping birds, everything that Spring stood for in a nutshell. I thought it was a shame to waste, so I decided to have my class outside and have my students write about what they thought Spring meant to them.

I was on my way to my classroom when I caught Arthur from the corner of my eye. I went over to him and greeted him a good morning. He did the same and apologized for his actions from last night. I told him not to worry about it. He calmed down when I told him my plans for the day. Arthur thought it was a marvelous idea.

We started to talk about how his wife reacted to his actions and what he did to calm himself down when he returned home. He then told me how his daughter asked him to tell her a story to help her fall asleep. Arthur said that he made her pray to God before he told her a story. Honestly, I think it is stupid that people waste their time doing that, but I will not judge him for it. “Speaking of which, why are you wearing a pin of a cross? This is a public school.”

“To calm my nerves.” He gave a nervous laugh while he rubbed the back of his head. I wanted to tell him wearing a pin would not do anything, but I will accept anything that makes him feel safe. I also wanted to ask him why now of times he would wear it, but the bell rang. I was about to say goodbye to Arthur, but he beat me to it and sprinted away. I was bewildered, but turned around.

My face crashed into someone’s chest. Instinct made me take a quick step back. A strong, lean arm wrapped itself around my waist helping me regain my balance. I looked up to be met by a pair of crimson eyes behind a pair of glasses. Slightly messy raven black hair was framing the man’s pale face. It was the most handsome face I had ever seen. I can see why the women were awestruck when they saw him. “F-forgive me. I was not paying attention to my surroundings.”

“The fault is all mine madame. It was so rude of me to run into a beautiful woman such as yourself.” I had the feeling he was only saying that because he was trying to falter me, but I was faltered. I could feel a rosy blush run across my cheeks. Everything about this man was getting me hot. I felt like I was going to melt. This man was every woman's dream. He was handsome, intelligent, polite, and strong. I want to know what type of man he is in bed.

“Forgive me for I must get to my class.” I quickly left him like a school girl running away from her crush. I never knew I could feel like that again. The first time I felt like this was when I first met Arthur in high school.

Once I arrived to class, I apologized to my students for making them wait for me. We went through with my plans from earlier and they were successful. I also found out about the new student in my class, Ciel Phantomhive. I was shocked that his father would make him go to a school like this. It wasn't particularly bad per say, but usually the children of high social status would have private tutors come to their home.

The rest of the day was nice. Arthur seemed to have calmed down a bit and I got the majority of my papers graded. I finished most of what needed to be done, but alas, I could not get Professor Michaelis out of my head. Damn, that man is such a charmer.

As the next couple weeks passed by, I became more acquainted with Professor Michaelis. I noticed Arthur started to drift away from me and barely said a word when we had lunch together. It was making me become depressed. I want to be friends with Michaelis, but I do not want to lose Arthur in the process of it.

I was in my office grading timed essays from today when Arthur came in. He seemed a bit paranoid. He locked the door and came to my desk. His eyes went directly to mine, penetrating through the candle and locking my eyes with his. It had been a long time since I have seen Arthur like this. I had a feeling it was about my acquaintance with Sebastian. I was correct.

Arthur tried to convince me to stop trying to be friends with Sebastian, but I refused to do so. He did not explain to me why I should stay away from him. I gave him reasons to keep trying to convince me otherwise. I was so caught up with supporting my choice that I did not notice Arthur getting furious. He slammed his hands down on my desk, making everything shake momentarily. Shock took over, making me stop in the middle of my sentence. His hands were curled into fists. His teeth were clenched together.

He took a couple deep breaths and then put a stack of journals on my desk. I looked at him, bemused. I did not know what to do with these, but he would not answer. I gingerly picked up the book at the top of the stack. I quickly skimmed it and then read it meticulously. My eyes widened. These journals contained the story of that night at the Phantomhive’s party. I understood what was happening. Not only was Arthur finally allowing me to know what happened, but the books also had the reason why I should stay away from Sebastian.

Days passed as I read his story. I got so absorbed in it that Arthur offered to grade all of my papers until I finished reading them. Sebastian seemed to notice and only spoke to me for a few moments. Arthur really did remember everything as if it happened yesterday. Everything was so detailed: the dresses, rooms, even the food. I understood why Arthur did not want to see another body, but I did not understand why he was afraid of Sebastian.

I was in my office, finishing the last part of the book while organizing my office. This certain part was making chills go up my spine. I started to forget that this was what Arthur experienced. All of it was merging into a fantasy novel. I stopped reading it to give myself a break and to remind myself that this was real, not fantasy.

I started to boil some water and grade some papers Arthur left for me. I sat down at my desk and took a deep breath. I did not want to grade papers, but I knew I had to since I had to give them back and go over them tomorrow. Grading papers made me realize how much I missed over the past few days. I started to remember conversations I had with the other professors. Some of the women always talked about Sebastian and how they envied me. Some faculty members talked about how brilliant Ciel was. I was looking over Ciel’s essay when I remembered that conversation. “Damn, he is brilliant. The others weren’t lying. Well, his was the last essay to grade. Now I can finish that book.”

I took a sip of my tea as I reached across the desk to get the book. My middle finger pushed it off the desk, but did not hit the floor. I looked in the direction the book fell and saw someone getting up. The candlelight didn’t give off enough light to reveal the black silhouette in front of me. However, the candle’s light was able to reveal the silhouette was reading Arthur’s story. “Excuse me, but that is private. Please give it to me.”

“I’ve been wondering what you’ve been reading for the past few days, but I did not think it was this.” The silhouette turned towards me, letting the candle’s light reveal who it was. I knew it was Sebastian since I could never forget those eyes. He was looking down at me with the book in the air, a smirk on his face. I started to get a good idea of why Arthur wanted me to stay away from him even though I did not get to the real reason yet. “You are about to get to the greatest part. Though, I am shocked that Mr. Wordsmith would allow you to know this was all real.”

“As you probably know Mr. Michaelis, Arthur and I have been friends for a long time.” A thunderstorm started, making me feel how Arthur does every time one occurs. Fear started to creep up my body, but I was not going to allow Sebastian to see it. Sebastian smirked and started to read where I have left off. The room became eerie and cold. Goosebumps were appearing on my arms. Sebastian was taking his time walking to me. A dark aura (which Arthur described as an ill feeling) started to surround me. I looked all around me and saw that I had no escape.

“Do you want to know why Mr. Wordsmith fears me?” It was difficult to see yet I saw Sebastian change. Not his clothes but his appearance. His eyes glowed red with a slight pink hue. Claws formed. It was obvious Sebastian was not human. My instincts told me to try and run, but I knew it would be of no use. I also did not want to leave. I seemed to feel more at home around his aura for some peculiar reason. I wanted to reach over to him and pull him towards me. I wanted our lips to connect. I wanted his aura to engulf me. I wanted this man to drown me in pleasure. Sebastian’s smirk grew as he noticed what I was starting to crave.

He was in front of me. My heart was pounding so fast, so hard. I thought it was going to explode. My forehead was forming droplets of sweat. My lips were parted, waiting for either myself to say something or for Sebastian to claim them. He bent down to my level, letting one of his claws lightly caress my face. He was watching my every move, every expression, everything about me.

He had his thumb on my lower lip, slowly sliding and pressing it. His claw left a shallow cut on it. My saliva dripped on it, making it sting. It did not hurt, but made me give him a low moan. My breaths got shallower with each passing minute. He lightly blew on the cut, hearing me sigh in pleasure. He wrapped his arm around my waist again, just like the first time we met. He pressed my lip some more, forcing blood to come out of the cut. He was going to place his lips on mine, but changed his mind at the last second. He stuck his tongue out and started to lick the blood coming out of my lip. I took a sharp breath and moaned. I could feel my breasts hitting Sebastian’s chest.

He stopped licking my cut and brought his mouth to my ear. He softly whispered that he did not have to be as scary as Arthur described him. I knew that he was telling the truth. I knew that this was going to be a one time thing. I allowed him to do as he pleased. I knew this was his way of making me not tell anyone his secret. Right now, I did not care about anything except the pleasure Sebastian was going to give me. I wanted it and would do anything to have it.

Sebastian sucked on my wound and then claimed my mouth. I wished that he did not force my arms to stay at my sides. Oh, how much I wanted to wrap my arms around his neck and deepen our kiss! Our tongues fought for dominance, but he quickly took it. I could feel saliva going down my jaw and onto my neck. I could feel my breast coming out of my dress.

His grip loosened as his lips left mine. A pout formed on my face. He chuckled and licked away my line of saliva. His warm tongue traveled from the base of my neck to the corner of my mouth. I turned my head towards his tongue, wanting it to claim my mouth again. Sadly, Sebastian pulled his head away and offered me his hand. I looked at it questioningly. I did not understand why I would have to get up. “I think your tea would have been better if it has some ‘milk.’“

Sebastian was showing me the sexiest, most erotic smirk I had ever seen. Butterflies started to flutter in my stomach. The darkest blush was forming on my cheeks. I had never been talked to so inappropriately. I knew I should have been appalled, but I was one of the rare ones that liked that type of stuff. He seated himself in the chair with his legs spread apart. He was waiting for me to make my move. I gave him a sweet and innocent smile then got down on my knees. I placed one hand on his thigh and the other on his hardened member. I started to gently rub it, earning a slight grunt from him. I then undid his fly and let his member come out. My blush deepened, for it was huge. I had to admit, his cock was the greatest I had ever seen, for I did not see that many in my lifetime. Everything about it was perfect: its condition, size, thickness, the tip, everything. I started to do exactly as he did to my lips - I licked the tip of his member. I could sense that he was becoming annoyed with me, but I did not care.

I took the tip into my mouth and swirled my tongue around it. I closed my eyes as I started to bob my head back and forth. I varied my rhythm. I could feel him pulsing inside of my mouth, ready to come. He pushed his member into my mouth, partially going down my throat. His claws punctured my head, but I did not notice. He took his member out of my mouth. I was able to taste some of his seed as it sprayed my chest. 

I leaned my head on his leg and gave out a sigh of satisfaction. I was looking up at him, waiting for his next command. He raised his hand and motioned for me to come to him by swinging his index finger back and forth. I quickly got up and Sebastian ripped my dress off. I was standing in front of him with my corset and panties. My breasts were completely exposed to him. I wrapped my arms around my waist and looked down. He pulled me towards him. One of his hands was swirling around my breast. He then pulled on it hard. I let out a scream mixed with pleasure and pain.

He set me down on his lap. My knees were right next to his buttocks. I lowered my hips so they were above his member. He started to play with both my breasts. He sucked on one and pinched the other. I couldn’t stop my loud moans from escaping. The pleasure from my breasts and precious spot were killing me. His member was rubbing against my “lips”. I wanted him to penetrate me and rip my underwear apart. I couldn’t hold myself back any longer and came. “Se-Sebastian!”

After I regained enough stamina, he made me squat above his lap. He told me not to move and tore my panties off. Slowly, I lowered myself onto him. I whimpered as I got closer to the base of his cock, but sighed when he was completely inside of me. I felt as if I was going to come again and it felt so good. I held onto his shoulders and started to move.

It was very clear to Sebastian that I had never had sex in this position. He held onto my waist and started to guide me. When I got the hang of it, he loosened his grip and resumed to playing with my breasts. My moans started to fill the room. I could hear some of Sebastian’s grunts in the background.

I had one hand on his shoulder; my other one was getting my hair out of my face. My head was leaning back. My breasts were jumping up and down while Sebastian played with my nipples. I could feel my climax coming again and picked up the pace. I was so close to coming again, but Sebastian stopped me. I looked at him with dismay on my face and pleading eyes. Again, he smirked at me while he laid me down on my desk.

I was flat on my back with my hands pinned behind my head and my legs spread apart. I quickly covered my opening and started to rub my insides together to reach my orgasm. I was panting, looking up at my tormentor. He brushed his fingers down my sides. It sent chills up my spine. I loved and hated the anticipation.

He continued this torture to the rest of my body until he sensed I was reaching my orgasm. He quickly put his hands between my legs and forced them apart. A little mewl escaped my lips. He stopped what he was doing and forced himself inside me. The top half of my body lifted itself up while my head was forced back. He was pounding into me so hard that I thought he was going to break me. I couldn’t stop mewling and moaning in pleasure. Something told me that he loved that sound. I wanted to do anything he liked so he could pleasure me.

My legs were wrapped around him. My feet were clinging to his pants. My wrists were fighting for freedom. My body was sliding up and down my desk. My mind became hazy. I could hear things falling off of my desk: papers, books, pens. I could feel our sweat mingling, the fire he sent through my mouth and body, and his claws that were cutting me. I could also feel my orgasm coming.

My moans became louder and sighs were escaping my lips. He actually let me come this time, but he was not done. He was still pounding into me. I could not stop my juices from flowing freely from me. Tears were forming in my eyes. I felt something playing with my clitoris for the first time. It felt wonderful and made me come again. Sebastian entered into me once more and released his warm seed inside.

Before his orgasm finished, he took his member out of me and let his seed cover me from head to toe. My body couldn’t stop shaking. My lungs were trying to gather as much air as possible. Sebastian unwrapped my legs from his and let them dangle off of the desk. I felt like a whore, but I guess I was one for tonight.

As Sebastian tidied himself up, I lifted myself on my elbows and watched him. There was neither a wrinkle nor a crease on him. He looked impeccable. It’s impressive how he can always look like this even when having sex. It was more impressive that his clothes were not dirty. Everything about this man was impressive.

After he left, I quickly ran to the school’s showers and cleaned myself. The next day we both acted as if nothing happened. Though I admit, I could not help but blush when he passed by me. Arthur is still worried about me hanging around Sebastian, no matter how many times I reassured him that he would not harm me.

When I got to class, I gave my students a free day. Some of their papers were covered in come or destroyed. It was a good thing I recorded the grades in my grade book. Sebastian came in and asked if he could speak with me. I gladly agreed to do so. Ciel looked at him, annoyed. I blushed, knowing that he knew what happened last night. Sebastian pulled me out of the room and told me to ignore him. He lowered his head and kissed me. I gave in immediately. I would do anything to have him again.

[ears-awake-eyes-opened]

Impossible things

(Hayffie 💙. For months I’ve been wanting to write about a Hayffie breakup, but I didn’t have language that felt authentic to me. Sensuality, angst, and playfulness are just pieces of the complex dynamic that makes them interesting to me. I see them stuck for years in dysfunctional relating, full of emotional highs and lows, struggling together and suffering even more when apart.)

***

Effie knew it wouldn’t take long for her return to the Capitol to become a curiosity of the press. Even with the passage of time and without her old facades, she was still quite recognizable. Her moving to 12 had been regarded as everything from sensational and romantic to scandalous and foolish.

She was prepared for the question when it came. Her cards were committed to memory.

“Can you tell us about your split from Haymitch Abernathy?”

She responded as she’d rehearsed, “I gave the relationship my best. But when it was hurting more to be in than out, I had to do something. I was losing myself. I had to stop and find myself again."

***

Haymitch sat in the dark with the screen flickering, tuned to the channel she’d watched sometimes. Her showing up on screen, right there in front of his face, wasn’t a surprise. If he was being honest with himself, he’d acknowledge that’s why he had the damn thing on most evenings since she’d left — wondering if he’d catch a glimpse of her.

Between his fingers, he twirled her hairpin — the one he’d kept for years. The twirling was a trick he’d learned with coins. While most people around him had been starving, he’d had enough coins to fuck around with and let them fall between the floorboards. That was a long time ago.

He clenched the clip in his hand, hard enough for the decorative metal to cut into his palm. He crossed the room in three angry steps and hurled the thing out the window.

“No comment!” He yelled at the screen. “You were supposed to tell those bastards ‘No comment!’”

When reporters had come knocking earlier, Haymitch hadn’t given them the satisfaction of hearing even those words. He just slammed the door in their faces.

Effie’s eyes were concealed under dark glasses, and he was as pissed about not being able to see them as much as he was pissed about her words to the reporter. Her hair was blowing in the wind. She caught a lock of it and tucked it behind her ear. Her lips were shiny pink like the flesh of white peaches.

Losing herself? He didn’t understand why that was a bad thing. She’d said it weeks before she’d left, and he brushed it off then. She was always complaining about something.

Losing himself was his OBJECTIVE not his complaint. He’d been doing that most of his life in alcohol. And for years, he’d been losing himself in her — her lips, her hair, her eyes, her body. Life had been less intolerable that way — being lost. Ah, hell. With her, life was better than tolerable. It was even good sometimes. She’d made it good.

But she’d been hurting?? For how long? She’d never said it in those words, and now she was telling the whole country.

***

The call that came through after the interview aired could have been anyone. “No doubt Mother has prepared a diatribe of the ways I’ve disgraced the family.”

When Effie answered, the extended silence told her the person there wasn’t her mother. The deep breath he took filled more than her ears. Her hands started shaking, and she tried to keep her voice steady. “...What do you want, Haymitch?”

Frustration throbbed in his head. The silence between them was more deafening than anything they might otherwise be screaming at each other.

“...We agreed to leave one another alone.” Her voice was everything but steady.

“We agreed to tell the press, ‘No comment,” he seethed.

“We agreed to spend our lives together. Obviously we don’t have a great track record with keeping our agreements.”

“You’re the one who left.”

“You’re the one who made me feel invisible — and insane.”

“Invisible? You make yourself impossible not to see! And insane?? Your feelings aren’t my responsibility.”

“Impossible?? You have at least a dozen ways of not looking, not listening, and not caring about what matters to me.”

“Just because I’m not paying attention to *The High Priestess* every second doesn’t mean I’m not caring.”

“That’s not what I mean. That’s not my expectation.”

“Then what DO you mean? Because it’s been a month, and I still don’t get it!”

“I gave up EVERYTHING for you!”

“Don’t put that on me! Your choices aren’t my responsibility either. If me and the kids weren’t part of ‘everything,’ then why’d you even come here and stay?”

Her voice softened. “That’s not what I meant. And you know why I stayed.”

“Tell me.”

“Damn it, Haymitch, you KNOW why.”

“Say it anyway. ...You say every other fucking thing a hundred times.”

“Fine! It was the curtains.”

That wasn’t the answer he was expecting.

“...The little flowers on the curtains I hung in our— in your bedroom. I imagined those flowers opening when the sun came up, and I wanted to be there every day to see them. I wanted all the words you said to me when you talked in your sleep.”

“What words? What’d I say?”

“You weren’t awake, so why does it matter?”

“Since we’re through, what’s the point in not telling me?”

“We’re going round in circles, like always. You exhaust me!”

“If you’re exhausted and you were hurting here, then it’s better that you’re gone.”

She hesitated. “IS it better?”

It’s hell, he didn’t say. “It’s pointless to be living a life that hurts. If you’re not hurting now, then you ought to be where you are.”

“Who says I’m not hurting?”

“ARE you?”

“Are YOU?”

“This is ridiculous. Forget I called—“

“You told me not to leave! When you were sleeping. You gripped my arm and murmured the reasons I should stay. So many mornings you did that while I imagined those flowers opening. THAT’S why I stayed so long.”

“Effie...”

“But I can’t keep living off of unconscious words. I’ve been lost in something that isn’t even real.”

“Not real?! Just because I don’t say it all when I’m conscious doesn’t mean it ain’t real.”

“Well you seem conscious now, so tell me what’s real.”

He got quiet. She always wanted him to talk about the feelings he drank to avoid. He waited for her to push him, but she just let the silence get bigger until it was pushing out from inside his chest.

“My hand is bleeding.”

“What?... Why?”

“I was holding your hairpin so tight the damn thing cut me. ...I hurt so bad that there aren’t words for it.”

“Haymitch...”

“I don’t know how to give you what you want.”

“I’ll be damned if it’s your hand that’s hurting beyond words. Why do you do that!? Why don’t you just tell me what you’re really feeling?”

“I just did! You knew who you were making a life with. Why expect me to be different now?”

She didn’t answer. The silence between them grew so pregnant that something needed to either be born right then or die.

“I love you.” She said the words he’d expected earlier.

“Me loving you in the way I do isn’t enough for you. ...And that’s bullshit.”

She was crying now. “This separation is killing me.”

“Then why are you doing this?”

“Because my needs aren’t bullshit. ...More hours than not, I was in that bed alone while you were passed out somewhere else. Those flowers opening was a fantasy.”

“I wanna be in that bed with you now. It’s OURS. ...Damn it. I hate this.”

“I hate this too. Do you have any idea how hard it is for me to pass that train every day and not get on it? But if I come home, our clothes will be off before we’ve even said a word. Our bodies will be saying a thousand things and fixing nothing at all. I’ll go from flying... to feeling certain we can make a life together... to feeling uncertain... to feeling that it’s impossible... to being completely deflated. Until the tension gets to be too much, and we’ll try to fix it again with sex. And it’ll be so good, so impossibly good that I’ll be flying and the cycle will start all over. That’s a roller coaster, Haymitch, not a life. I need to find my life again.”

Tears were welling up in his head, and if he didn’t end the call right then, she was gonna hear them in his voice. And if she did, she’d get on the train, and she’d be in his arms. He knew all that was true. — And she’d just gone into painful detail about why that wasn’t the right choice for her.

“Listen, I’ve gotta go. There’s something I need to do. I’m sorry for not leaving you alone like you wanted.”

“Haymitch—“ A click and a long tone told her he’d ended the call. She knew too well the sound of him shoving down his feelings. He was trying not to cry, and he was failing. The picture of him in her mind was so clear, and she could hardly stand not being with him. She wanted him like that. It was exactly how she wanted him, sliced open with his feelings showing. She felt desperate to call him back, but she knew he wouldn’t answer.

***

If forgetting her was something he could have done, then he would have headed to the liquor cabinet and drunk himself into the unconscious state that he apparently used to pour out the contents of his heart.

But since forgetting about her was not something he could do, he headed outside with a flashlight. And he combed the yard in full consciousness until he found the goddamn hairpin.

He went to bed that night holding it in his hand. The curtains blocked out the light from the night sky, and he couldn’t see the flowers. They were so small he’d rarely noticed them, but he wanted them now. He turned the lamp on low and rolled toward the window. They were tiny buds, golden like her hair.

He turned off the light. Tomorrow he’d take the curtains down. It hurt too much to look at them.

***

There was no angel on Effie’s shoulder advocating the wisdom in holding the line and finding herself again. There was no devil on her other shoulder advocating the indulgence in desire. All at once, both shoulders were filled with wild horses pulling her in a single direction — home. She didn’t need to inquire about the train schedule. She’d committed it to memory.

The roller coaster was pulling out of the station again, and she was already on it.

[storytelling-101]

On Planning Out Characters

Today, I want to take a closer look at forging characters with you all.

It might seem exaggerated, but your characters are your story's greatest asset. There's no use to the best thought-out, elaborate story with lots of twists and turns if the reader can't identify with at least one character. And writing a likeable character, whether it's a protagonist or an antagonist, is much harder than some might think.

When you think of a likeable character, of course there are things that come to your mind almost immediately. Beautiful characters that are kind and gentle as well as intelligent and selfless. That seems like the perfect character, right? Even though it would be nice if everyone was like this, it would also be utterly boring. So you'll have to dig a little deeper when thinking up characters. And by doing so there are a few things that I would like to highlight.

For one, not every character has to be a beauty. The desire to have beautiful characters isn't unusual and it mostly stems from the social environment most people grow up in. Those who are deemed ugly are mistreated, antagonized or straight away bullied. But even though I won't go into more detail about the social grievance of this topic, I just wanted to point out that there are those who are called beautiful and those who aren't. And society has trained us to think that beauty equals goodness. That, however, isn't necessarily true. Personally, I know far more kind and gentle people who are average-looking or what would be considered ugly than beauties who treat others kindly.

The second part I want to go over is that a character shouldn't be too perfect, even when he or she has flaws! For those of you who are familiar with fan fiction, these too-perfect characters are generally those – mostly self-inserts – who are labeled as Mary Sue or Gary Stu. I have witnessed such characters even in original fiction. However, in my opinion, it is always necessary to add some kinds of flaws to a character, but it's highly unlikely that the character in question is aware of all of them. There might be hidden flaws the character doesn't even realize he or she has, so let them suffer harsh consequences that result directly from their hidden flaws.

Another thing I see frequently is the misconception that knowledge equals ability. Knowing something or how to do something and having the ability to act upon it aren't the same thing. One can have extended knowledge about a lot of things (scholars for example) but no or hardly any ability to put that knowledge into practice. So it is absolutely fine for a character to know lots of things, but more than unlikely that they'll be able to pull it all off.

Something I personally feel is very important is keeping even side characters consistent! I know very well that this seems a bit excessive and that one might think that it's fine to just do whatever because those characters don't appear often anyway. But that's not how you should think of these characters. Though their appearance may be limited, they can become kind of supportive existences that keep your story together. A well-introduced side character can save you a lot of explaining the next time they appear.

What people tend to forget as well is that you should take a break sometimes. That doesn't only apply to the author, but to the characters and the reader as well. We all need breaks to function properly, fictional characters are no exception to that. As fun and exciting as imagining action scene after action scene or drama after drama sounds – it isn't. Of course, sometimes events like that do happen closely after one another, but doing that deliberately will leave not only the characters but also the reader exhausted! Everyone needs a break at some point to take a breather and recharge. Don't think of your characters as robots or something else inanimate but as real living human beings. That will automatically give more life to them.

As an addition to the prior point, remember that your characters need to develop throughout your story. Treat them as real people who grow with every experience, every success and every setback. Stagnant character growth is often considered to be one of the things that most likely make a reader lose interest in your story. And that's because it will get boring – very fast at that. It's not only that the character will seem unnatural but also that they will become predictable to a point that it gets annoying. Character growth is all about surprising your readers with a character's unexpected reactions to familiar situations. Of course, it won't spark interest in every reader, but a lot will start to wonder how the character will behave next time and continue reading.

I wasn't sure if I should include this point because it is one of my pet peeves, but after thinking about it I guess it is kind of important: Don't go on a killing spree! This is directly related to the popular phrase "Kill your darlings." Yes, the death of a character can indeed be the trigger for important events and especially when war is involved death is inevitable. However, don't kill off characters just because you can! Don't let the death of someone - be it primary, secondary or tertiary characters or even one of the masses - be meaningless. Nothing is more of a turn-off for a reader than seeing characters that they love die because the author thought something along the lines of 'someone had to die, so I rolled the dice.'

I guess this last point also applies to storytelling in general, but it is also applicable to characters. Absolutely everything is allowed. I am aware that this sounds strange in an age where every other reader is offended because of something a creator deemed a minor (or no) issue at most. But you should keep in mind that it is you work and that you can write whatever you want. If it offends someone then they don't need to read what you write. It's as easy as that. So don't refrain from telling a story about something just because it might potentially upset a specific group of people. In fiction (as long as not stated otherwise in your respective country's laws), you can do whatever you want. Write what you are comfortable with. Write your characters as warped and dangerous as you like them. Because fiction is a safe space to explore the things that you wouldn't want in your real life.

So, forging a character is much more complicated than throwing a few likeable traits into a pot and giving it a name. I, for example, use a character sheet for my primary and secondary characters where I answer no less than 139 and 88 questions respectively for each character. The questions cover general, physical, mental, emotional and social aspects of my characters and it helps me a great deal to come up with their reactions to different situations.

I'd like to know: Do any of you use character sheets? If yes, how many questions do you usually answer for you character?

[druidsim]

i like to think of myself as pretty organized when it comes to my cc collection, and especially with my probably-too-extensive cc genetics, so like?  here are some tips i guess?

tidy details !!  literally don’t know what i’d do without this mod

decide on specific slots for specific features, and make a point of editing the package on any new skin details you dl to keep them in line with your organizational strategy.  for example, all of my skin overlays are under the forehead crease slot, nose masks are under left cheek mole, etc

write down where you’re keeping what.  i use a txt file bc i know i’d forget otherwise lmao

delete! extraneous! swatches!  know you’re not going to use full coverage skins? delete those extra swatches, and just keep the overlays.  don’t forget to export the thumbnail so you don’t lose it, and you can re-import it onto the overlay swatch!!

(also, don’t be afraid to edit a texture into an overlay!  just export the lightest swatch, change it to black and white in ps, adjusting to your desired contrast & opacity, and then import the new one into the package, remembering to change the composition method to 3)

disallow! for! random!  literally run that batch fix on everything that isn’t a default replacement (you should be keeping those separate anyway!)  it’ll help your game run faster, and you won’t have people serving your drinks with angel wings taking up the entire bar :)

don’t change filenames.  removing fancy characters doesn’t actually do anything, and you’ll run into less problems with duplicate files, because your computer should tell you that there’s already something with that name in your folder

if you’re like me and you merge your files, keep a backup of the unmerged packages.  organize the backups the same way you organize your merged files (categorize!!!) and it’ll make it so much easier to organize and edit the cc

speaking of categories, whether you’re merging or not, the more specific the better

[thestrongestonethatgotaway]

Dear potential reader

Dear reader, in my first blog I wrote a letter to the person who abused me the most in my life. I did this because I could never safely say the words to him without endangering myself. I can never tell him and he will never know if it is up to me. I also did it because I wanted to pull myself out of a difficult situation. But the reasons why I put it online is because nobody in my family knows I have experienced this. They have no clue. I wanted to leave something behind so that they could one day find out what happened, should I ever disappear or if something ever were to happen to me that I cannot control. So maybe they can take a hint from my blog. I’ll leave them the option to discover this if they want to and discover who my letter might’ve been addressed to. The reason why I put both in Dutch and in English is because I talk to people from everywhere online. I find a bit of comfort in that, even though there is still such a great distance away from them. Whether I consider them friends or not, I prefer to keep that to myself. People come and go. Are you really friends if you know each other so superficially and then discover later that you do not like each other enough to keep in touch? I don’t think so, but in time such things can be exposed. Anyway, I don’t want to put too much focus on that.

My abuser is still out there somewhere and if he sees a chance to come back into my life, he will abuse it. The disguised messages I wrote about, were fairly recent. That is why I felt the need to write this blog. As a matter of fact, everything I have written is completely true. The words that I write about my soul, my heart and everything that happens in it are written very figuratively, but it still holds true to me. I've always been a dreamer and I can't hide that. What I wanted to express with that is that I am constantly changing. That I keep losing my inner voice and have to find it again. That little voice that knows what is good for me and what makes me happy. I wanted to express that I always hurt myself by living selflessly by counting myself away. That I have to keep thinking about how much that’s actually worth to me and how I should prioritize myself instead. That I have to take care of myself over and over again and find new ways to move on in life. That I have a hard time setting boundaries and dealing with people. That I sometimes live without really living and just go along with the flow, or sometimes even against it.

But there are a few strong qualities that I have: endurance, perseverance and vulnerability. I bear so much pain that sometimes I don't understand how it is humanly possible to handle all of that. Every time I wanted to kill myself, I could resist it and I kept saying it wasn't worth it. That I don't have to run away. That I can handle it and that I don't really want to step out of life. I acknowledged that what I felt was unbearable to drag along for the rest of my life, but I didn't have to. That there was a way to get rid of that terrible feeling. That feeling was a combination of sadness, anger, fear and despair. Sadness for the good times that I no longer experienced. Anger for the things that happen to me over which I have no control. Fear of what may have been waiting for me and despair, because I didn’t see a bearable way to live on. The fact that I was able to experience this emotional pain several times without responding to it, is what I call endurance. I have chosen again and again to live, even though I saw no way of doing it bearably. That is what I call perseverance. I was quite ashamed that I even considered dying afterwards and that I let myself be swept away by my emotions. But to this day I do not believe that it is entirely my fault and I try to forgive myself for that.

I am vulnerable, but how on earth is that a strong characteristic? I feel all my emotions with 10,000 volts without any way to escape it. I speak from the heart mostly. I’m a horrible liar if I chose to lie, which I often don’t do. I am completely imperfect and have allot of things troubling my mind. Problems that people with bad intentions can take advantage of, but only if I let it happen. But I am always myself. I am myself when I make mistakes. I am myself when I show remorse. I am myself when I try to run away from my problems. But I am also myself when I hold true to my promises. But most of all, I am myself when I pursue my dreams and desires in life. I will always do that no matter what. That is my strength. If I use my vulnerability to my own benefit, then I cannot be messed with. But I cannot promise that I can do this continuously, because at the end of the day I am no more than one of the many people walking the earth. I am not invincible. We all live in the same world and none of us is safe. Even if you locked up anyone who somehow abused me, I wouldn't be safe. too bad not all of them can run away to Berlin. That is actually what I’ve been trying to express.

But why do I call myself the strongest one that got away? I am not the strongest, certainly not, but it is my way of acknowledging my strength to survive on that moment he tried to kill me. For the moment that I saved myself on my own without the help or support of anyone else. I only owe that to myself. So I am stronger, but not invincible. I am stronger than him in many aspects, but I constantly forget, because he only needs 1 weak moment to completely destroy me.

What I actually try to take from it is that not everything is entirely my fault, but that I have to solve all my problems by myself. Abuse, violence and rape happen every day. Not to mention many other crimes in the world. Nobody wants it to happen to them. But the crimes that I mentioned have happened to me and I still have to live, knowing that this has happened to me. Crazy, right ?! Yes, that may be, but I don't want to live by only 10% of my capability every day of my life because I'm afraid to experience it again. That is also crazy. So what on earth can I do to guard myself without isolating myself from the entire population on Earth? I can live with my full attention in the moment and make myself aware of what is happening around me. A trick to become better at this is called meditation. That is something that everyone can practice and the professional doctors who tell me that I cannot because my IQ is below average, they may light their high-quality diploma on fire if you ask me, because they know absolutely nothing about Autism Spectrum Disorder. Nobody can contradict me in that because it is absolutely true that they have too little information about the disorder to treat their clients with it, because otherwise I would’ve likely been better off today. But I think certain things will always go unnoticed to me when I try to be attentive to my environment. I am not a superhero.. and that has nothing to do with my autism! That is human. I can still open up to people without sharing my vulnerability to them and decide whether I want to do that when I get to know someone. Then there is still a chance that something will get past my attention and that my vulnerability will show. I can flee or fight if there is a situation that requires me to do so, but there is not always a place to flee. Sometimes there are also threats that are too big for me to overcome. So will I ever have to pay for that horribly? Perhaps. But will I regret it? Never. So this is the way I want to live with it. Fear of threats that are not there are irrational. but I can feel it. Those fears were taught to me by my abuser, explicitly and implicitly. I also received them implicitly from other people I have had in my life. That is why I am not trying to keep my memories of events alive. I have not written about it in detail as you can see. That's because it's not important to me. What is important to me are the lessons that I learn and take with me in my life.

What I have learned is that I can choose to be sad, scared and desperate for as long as I want. I learned that even long before the events. I have learned that those tough, sad times can evoke even worse memories that make the situations even harder to deal with on their own. But the most important thing I learned is that I can find new strength if I just keep moving forward despite the sad view I have on life. If I just keep sulking and going through the motions of life without participating, everything will perhaps remain as difficult as it is to bear. It may even become harder to bear. But if I choose to be attentive, look for solutions, and try to take the initiative to get out of that bleak, tough situation, I may succeed. Maybe I can even pursue my dreams and discover joy in small improvements. That is worth everything to me.

Dear reader, you can form your own opinion. You can draw your own conclusions. You can do whatever you want. My hope is only that I have somehow been able to inspire you to move on with your life when you discover that you cannot seem to get out of a tough situation in your life. I wish you all the happiness, strength, love and friendship that the world can offer you.

[arcanalogue]

Music For Diviners - ‘The End of Time’

Thusfar, these Music For Diviners posts have explored soundscapes that aren’t merely inspirational, but may have some kind of practical utility. (To the extent that one considers divination “practical,” but why not just humor me?)

This is the history of music itself; for as long as humans have been making it, we’ve used it as the gateway to other realms of existence, other parts of the self. Our ancestors used it to elicit and express feelings there weren’t words yet to describe. Even now, language often fails us in these areas. That’s how I feel every time I sit down to write about music. 

Living in New York City is what drove me to incorporate music into my practice; no matter where I lived, silence was never an option. Like so many of you, I find it much easier to relax with a controlled background layer of noise —otherwise everything in the goddamn world distracts you by making its own tiny noise, including our own goddamned bodies. 

*duodenal gurgle*

Music is also an enticing mode of creative expression for any magician. Look, I have almost no musical talent whatsoever, and artistically I tend to stay in my lane, but tinkering with unique tracks to accompany certain experiments allows me to bypass that self-censor. Because I’m the only person it has to be good enough for, right? 

This is a neurotic preamble to explain why I’m posting some of my own homespun little music bits alongside others made by ACTUAL MUSICIANS. Because you might actually find them useful? Or perhaps they’ll help you feel permission to create some of your own. 

CASEFILE: TITANOBOA

I won’t bore you with too many of the details, but I spent a couple of years harboring a magical fascination pre-human life forms. It began with researching humankind’s most recent common ancestor with birds, as a way of retracing our evolutionary steps to the point where, had things gone one way instead of another, you might be flying and singing and laying eggs today instead of reading these words. (By all means, don’t let me stop you!)

In case you’re curious, here’s how close scientists have it pegged: 

• Archaeothyris (on the mammal side) - 306M years ago during the late Carboniferous Period (Protoclepsydrops is possibly older, but fossils are too fragmentary to be certain.)

• Hylonomus (on the bird side) - 312M years ago during the late Carboniferous Period

So at some point predating both of these species, there existed some kind of weird, ratty little lizard creature whose descendants ended up reaching VERY different conclusions about, for example, what to do about breakfast.

But I digress! Already! 

In 2012, I happened to catch the Smithsonian Channel’s documentary “Titanoboa: Monster Snake.” The gist is that 60 million years ago, an area of Colombia was dominated by the largest snake that ever lived, now known by the name Titanoboa cerrejonensis. 

Look, I don’t know what kind of serpent-y magick-y stuff you’re into... Hecate? Quetzalcoatl? Kundalini? Cthundalini? Whatever it is, I can only assume it could stand to benefit from associations with the largest ding-dang snake our planet ever produced... that we know of! 

On a lark, or perhaps as a gesture of blatant self-disregard, I attempted a couple of rituals geared toward making contact with Titanoboa across the eons and applying its symbolic potency toward certain magickal aims.

Hi mom, if you happen to be reading: sorry I’m like this! 

I shouldn’t have to point out how many of our feelings and desires are tethered in complicated ways to the experiences of our non-human forebearers. The needs which have historically compelled our species to “magical” solutions run deep, deep! We tend to forget about that since our own feelings are so painfully immediate, and our consciousness tends to remain very rooted in the present tense, to the point where we have to strain to see beyond it. Once upon a time our very survival hinged on this, but our needs have gradually evolved to the point where we crave far more than mere safety. In fact, a lot of what we crave runs completely counter to our survival instinct. It’s complicated, ya know?

Musing over all this, I decided my Titanoboa work demanded a sonic backdrop blessed by Our Lady of Poor Self-Preservation Instincts. That’s right, I’m talking about Lana Del Rey, whose “Born To Die” album happened to be released the same year as that Titanoboa doc. Coincidence? Gosh, I sure hope so!

I would only be slightly full of shit if I described this album as a fantasia of proto-human desire, expressed in the most cold-blooded ways through the idiom of American capitalism. 

To Lana (in that stage of her songwriting, anyway), love itself is an expression of darwinism. Nearly every song is about survival and sacrifice, eating and being eaten, thanatos bleeding over into eros. 

“I sing the National Anthem While I'm standing over your body, hold you like a python...”

I could go on, but you’re probably better off just going back and listening to the album.

This doesn’t even count as a digression though, since my Titanoboa devotional track — embedded up at the top of this post! — ended up consisting of just one line from the song “Blue Jeans,” the part where Lana sings: “I will love you till the end of time.”

The song is about a woman left to eternally rehash the details leading up to her gangster beau’s disappearance. You may recall, the music video (embedded below) featured LDR lounging with her love in a pool that turns out to be full of alligators — Titanoboa’s snack of choice! What a potent visual metaphor for attempting love in a world teeming with danger, recognizing one’s role at the bottom of the food chain and then wading in anyway. What do we have to fear from any mega-reptile, when our own desires are enough to cut us off at the knees? Might as well at least go ahead and pick out a nice one-piece and get our legs wet before we lose them.

The author Lawrence Durrell meditated on this at length in his Alexandria Quartet novels, and nothing would surprise me less than finding them on Lana’s nightstand. He writes:

“I realized then the truth about all love: that it is an absolute which takes all or forfeits all. The other feelings, compassion, tenderness and so on, exist only on the periphery and belong on the constructions of society and habit. But she herself — austere and merciless Aphrodite — is a pagan. It is not our brains or instincts which she picks, but our very bones.”

And later:

“By one of those paradoxes in which love delights I found myself more jealous of him in his dying than I had ever been during his life. These were horrible thoughts for one who had been so long a patient and attentive student of love, but I recognized once more in them the austere mindless primitive face of Aphrodite.“

 This may end up being a LOT of setup for what’s ultimately just a simple ten-minute chunk of “music,” which was achieved by plucking out that one lyric and sloooooowing it down, then layering it, slooooowing it down again, blending into a chunky primordial soup. The result is a many-layered hymn of cthonic moaning, with no words clearly expressed: just a slurry of proto-mammalian melancholia: austere, mindless, primitive, coiling and uncoiling in warm pools of black water. 

The warmth of it is actually what surprised me; I imagined it might turn out to be too bleak and desolate to use for any real length of time, and the last thing I need is to work even harder at depressing myself. But I’ve played it on a loop for hours at a time while I was working on... stuff, without feeling oppressed by it. I don’t really fux with Titanoboa anymore, but this bit of “music” has remained a useful tool in my magickal arsenal.

I tested the track on an unsuspecting friend recently, who detected a “strong generative energy” in it and said they’d love to use it for goddess work. Incorporate this into your appeals to Hekate, or to Venus, or your preferred source of succor in all matters primally personal. As a backdrop for divination, it’s the sonic equivalent of black candles on a black tablecloth, with things squirming in the shadows. 

So there you have it! I’ve opened up to you about my creative process and certain absurd inspirations, standing bare before you in the full splendor of my nerdiness, “blurring the lines between real and the fake,” as a certain living snake goddess avatar might put it. 

Like I said, the ultimate goal in sharing this is to remind you to take these same deep dives yourself. Follow your obsessions to their (un)natural conclusions! Risk making terrible art in pursuit of articulating the uncanny! You never know what might end up taking on a life of its own. The end of time could prove to be just the beginning!

This has been yet another installment of Music For Diviners. Thanks for tuning in!