#Unseen Paradox

[cherrysmokesaconha]

I wish I knew how to do FnF songs so I could do a fantrack for Derick and make a mashup of his song + Paradox (2004 Tord's FnF song) so we could have a 2trenchcoat FnF fansong

[yther]

Sometimes people have an anxious sort of FOMO after going no contact or cutting ties on various media platforms...

if you are haunted by the curiosity,

if you can't turn from the void until it answers, yearning a sort of ultimate catharsis in our own personal narrative

✨ LOOK NO FURTHER ✨

There it is, the Tar Pit.

And it is freedom from it that grants the silence you don't know you're seeking.

I hereby release you of your moral duty to fight in the pit. This is not Gladiator. But... it can be Elysium, the mythical Elysian Fields, not the movie.

(non sequitur: JODIE FOSTER in space gotta be one of my fav genres)

[pebblegalaxy]

Unveiling the Paradox: Beauty Beyond Sight

“It’s a day of breathtaking beauty, and yet I remain unable to witness its splendor.” These words carry within them a poignant mixture of hope and sorrow, weaving a tapestry of contradictions that depict a reality both stark and intricately layered. In this prosery, we delve into the depth of this statement, exploring the myriad layers it unveils. Imagine a world awash in the golden hues of the…

[turiyatitta]

In the Depths of the Formless Visage

The Many Facets of Brahman Imagine, if you will, the quiet solitude of a deep meditative trance. As your mind’s eye plunges further and further into the enigmatic depths of your own consciousness, a profound realization strikes you. There, in that unknowable abyss, you glimpse a reflection. But this reflection isn’t merely a physical mirror image; instead, it resonates from an abyssal chasm…

[toocabaret]

I’ve been having some Thoughts™️ about the weird meta paradox of gerri kellman’s sexuality. as basically The Older Woman on the executive floor she’s trying as much as is possible to blend in with her male colleagues while also not being perceived to be doing so. muted colours and understated makeup. a competent filing cabinet. her husband is dead and her daughters are nameless. she was sexual once but that’s out of sight out of mind and now it’s just the work. it must be a relief in some ways to become finally unfuckable because you’re over 40. she can finally be taken seriously, but only if she toes the line between being too female and not female enough. trying but not too hard. desirable in the past tense only. an honorary man but still in a skirt. and while the men around her can fuck their much younger assistants and get sports massages and run a sex trafficking ring on a cruise ship, she is the job and only the job and that keeps her safe. for a bit anyway.

the irony of gerri saving the company from the full legal extent of a sex scandal by dating someone from the DOJ??? like i’ll never be over it. even filing cabinets have to flatter and please and fuck when called upon. i genuinely don’t believe any of the other execs could have swung it because they’re not women. she dated laurie (generally unseen unless framed from another man’s possessive perspective) to save the men from going to jail for covering up rape allegations. the irony is delicious. and even though she did that, she’s discarded once she’s framed sexually. Dick Pic Gate was out of her control and yet when confronted with any element of gerri’s sexuality (even her PASSIVE sexuality, even after using it to save his company), logan dismisses her as weak or impractical or failing or whatever other excuse he uses to justify his disgust.

i would argue that roman’s interest in gerri is not in spite of but BECAUSE of her asexual framing. it’s a challenge that he’s never going to win which is ideal for his impotency issues; he can push and push and get the thrill out of it, out of the fucked up power dynamic, but he knows he’ll never have to actually fuck her. it’s all hypothetical: down a phone, through a door, half-joking, covered in sensible skirt suits. gerri’s deliberate lack of sexualizing is counterintuitively a turn-on for roman. and i bet the game of chicken they play is freeing for her too because the fact that she has to be professional and cannot be sensual is part of the fun of it. “roman is weird about gerri”. “it’s fucking disgusting”. not because of their family history, or their professional positions, but because she’s old. because the absence of her sexuality is enough of a presence to be off-putting. shiv patronising her about it as a power play is so weird because she’s talking to her simultaneously like a child and like an old woman, and gerri, agency-less, just has to keep reassuring her “i can cope”.

BUT it’s worse than that because it’s so meta. Because gerri is hot. her actor is attractive and like roman, many people watching find her sexless, no-nonsense framing to be titillating. me included. what if roman likes gerri not because of oedipal issues but just because she’s hot and god forbid we find a woman over 50 hot? but whether or not gerri is hot in the context of the show shouldn’t be a big deal, she should have been able to escape this by now!!! she’s in her 60s she’s a widow she’s tired stop sexualizing her!!! but don’t NOT sexualize her either because that’s problematic too and old women can be hot and old women shouldn’t have to be hot and suddenly i’m making gerri do what waystar does and exist as something sexual and non-sexual at the same time. she has a huge plotline in which she’s essentially a sex object. whether or not gerri is fuckable is talked about as much in the show with mildly-disgusted fascination as it is in the real world!!! she can’t win she’s hot she’s old she’s sexually framed she’s deliberately trying not to be she wants sex she doesn’t want sex she’s covering sex with sex and she’s telling roman to leave her alone so she can just do her damn job because she knows that this is what will bring her down!!! sex scandals historically don’t get men fired but an unsolicited dick pic knocks gerri off her podium in logan’s head forever. even now i’m talking about it at such length because i’ve given it so much thought!!! she’s the only woman in the old guard and she’s one of the most sexualized characters in succession. but only as a joke. in the abstract. never actually. because that would be weird. right?

[contemplatingoutlander]

This is an excellent article by astrophysicist Dr. Adam Frank and theoretical physicist Dr. Marcelo Gleiser about how information from the James Webb Space Telescope is changing physicists' perceptions about the standard model of cosmology. 😱

Since how we understand the universe seems rather important, the link above is a gift🎁link to the article, so that even if you do not subscribe to The New York Times, you can read the entire article. Below are a few excerpts:

Not long after the James Webb Space Telescope began beaming back from outer space its stunning images of planets and nebulae last year, astronomers, though dazzled, had to admit that something was amiss. Eight months later, based in part on what the telescope has revealed, it’s beginning to look as if we may need to rethink key features of the origin and development of the universe. [...] But one of the Webb’s first major findings was exciting in an uncomfortable sense: It discovered the existence of fully formed galaxies far earlier than should have been possible according to the so-called standard model of cosmology. According to the standard model, which is the basis for essentially all research in the field, there is a fixed and precise sequence of events that followed the Big Bang: First, the force of gravity pulled together denser regions in the cooling cosmic gas, which grew to become stars and black holes; then, the force of gravity pulled together the stars into galaxies. The Webb data, though, revealed that some very large galaxies formed really fast, in too short a time, at least according to the standard model. This was no minor discrepancy. The finding is akin to parents and their children appearing in a story when the grandparents are still children themselves. [...] Working so close to the boundary between science and philosophy, cosmologists are continually haunted by the ghosts of basic assumptions hiding unseen in the tools we use — such as the assumption that scientific laws don’t change over time. But that’s precisely the sort of assumption we might have to start questioning in order to figure out what’s wrong with the standard model. One possibility, raised by the physicist Lee Smolin and the philosopher Roberto Mangabeira Unger, is that the laws of physics can evolve and change over time. Different laws might even compete for effectiveness. An even more radical possibility, discussed by the physicist John Wheeler, is that every act of observation influences the future and even the past history of the universe. (Dr. Wheeler, working to understand the paradoxes of quantum mechanics, conceived of a “participatory universe” in which every act of observation was in some sense a new act of creation.) [...] The philosopher Robert Crease has written that philosophy is what’s required when doing more science may not answer a scientific question. It’s not clear yet if that’s what’s needed to overcome the crisis in cosmology. But if more tweaks and adjustments don’t do the trick, we may need not just a new story of the universe but also a new way to tell stories about it. [color emphasis added]

Image caption: "These six galaxies may force astronomers to rewrite cosmology books. (Image credit: NASA, ESA, CSA, I. LABBE)"

___________ Gif source (before minor edits)

[lilacxquartz]

CHASING HUMANITY • kenjaku x fem!reader

ao3 link • masterlist • next chapter >>

summary: ever since 2015, Japan has been plagued by mysterious deaths all over the country with no particular lead, until one day, you saw something you shouldn’t have.

themes: dead dove, reader insert, graphic violence, upsetting descriptions, blood/gore, reader insert, yandere elements, mundane au, no sorcerers, mixed pov

a/n: this is partially an entry for a prompt for au-gust 2024; but also is intended as a multi chapter series. reader is introduced in the next chapter.

Chapter 1. Vagabond

What was it that made someone truly human?

This was a question that had long plagued the great minds of the world for centuries and was also the subject of a self prescribed mission for Kenjaku to find the true meaning behind.

The core definition of humanity, he speculated, was technically a paradox in its own self; a delicate balance of tenderness that mingled with such devastating brutality—compassion that was lost to indifference.

So, perhaps he could say that to in order to be human was to embrace the above.

Yet, he didn’t seem all too satisfied with that answer.

There surely had to be more to it.

A deeper meaning.

And that’s exactly what his life’s mission was. To dip his hands into the murky depths of unseen waters—to navigate through the fine balance of morality and depravity combined.

Kenjaku held these thoughts in his mind as he slowly cruised through the quiet streets of the latest town he found himself in. His presence was thus far successfully unassuming with not a single soul suspecting him of anything unsavoury—at least not yet.

Each ‘session’ as he liked to call his studies, all started off on a similar note, no matter where he ended up.

He’d first begin by observing the dwelling population from a distance and mentally keep track of their behaviour as well as any notable lifestyle factors. This sort of activity doubled as a game that he played with himself; a way to gauge what lay beneath the masks that people wore. To learn more about who they truly were behind closed doors.

In a stretch, he supposed that he could call humanity a performance.

Kenjaku’s own life could fit into a similar rhetoric, after all. He travelled often and his lifestyle could be defined as nomadic, however that much was only out of necessity. He didn’t have the luxury to stick around in one place for too long before someone someone suspected something. Luckily however, Japan had many villages and towns scattered all over the country for him to hide in on a whim and the anonymity of a new environment was always an exciting factor.

It was all a challenge to him, to see just how much he could get away with and for how long.

Continuing to stroll through the streets, he couldn’t help but fantasise about the kill prior to this one. It took place in a different town not too far away. It wasn’t his finest work, but it was enough to feed him that now familiar high from taking a life, though, it was unfortunately soon wearing off. This meant that he would need to strike again soon to get back to that state of mind.

Sometimes, he wondered if the fragility to one’s existence was the answer to his question. However, that much only served as a symptom of humanity without as much of a diagnosis for the cause of being.

Kenjaku sighed to himself while his brain spiralled away; a victim of his own deep thought. He ended up turning the corner into a dark alley and simply waited around in the shadows for his next victim to make an appearance.

As a result, he couldn’t help but shudder as he felt the familiar rush of excitement wash over him; tingling waves of anticipated blood that had yet to be spilled.

Another another life to toy with—to play around with, to allow him to experiment and study the what was surely driving him into madness…! Ah, he really needed to ground himself though before he tipped over the deep end; not wanting to surrender to his fading sanity just yet.

Not before he had something that at least resembled somewhat of an answer, anyway.

Patting down the pocket of his trousers, he let out a heavy breath of relief when he felt the weight of his wallet. Inside, beyond the crumpled old receipts and compacted bills of cash, was a collection of fake identity cards (and passports tucked into an envelope, hidden deep inside his car’s glove compartment). Each printed face represented a persona that he spent time carefully crafting, serving as a lifeline in more ways than one.

Each and every single name on the card was a gateway into another life. Every single face posing as a ticket that presented him with an opportunity to craft a delicate facade, and as for what happened to the bearers of those original documents—well—let’s just say that they simply disappeared (by his own hands of course).

Besides, Kenjaku had what he described as a gift; an unwavering sense of curiosity and as such, he couldn’t help but want to explore the world through the cover of many different people, even if meant to play the part of someone he wasn’t.

From a travelling salesman hailing from Chiba to a freelance photographer who never quite settled in just once place—each fleeting role provided a glimpse into an otherwise benign existence while offering protection from being found out for who he truly was.

(Although, he kept up his make believe lives for so long now, that not even he was sure of who he was prior to setting out to find the fabled answer. He had spent so long of his time, spanning nearly a decade, searching for a solution that may as well not exist, but it was all he had—even if he lost track of who he was in the process.)

For the present time being, he adopted the identity of a former monk by the name of Suguru Geto who had initially resided in Tokyo. This was the person that he resonated with the best thus far due to a magnitude of reasons. Although, upon further examination, he might have appeared to be slightly different (but only if you’d squint). Geto was simply just the closest person he had ever matched in appearance and from what he gathered, the personality wasn’t too far off either.

In a twisted sense, Kenjaku felt even connected to the lives he stole. Specifically the ones he actively represented; the ones that he masqueraded as his own and even though he wasn’t the same person behind the name, he, in a way, considered the act as a way of carrying on their legacy.

Besides, in this entire region, not just the town alone, ‘Geto’ still had some use left to spare. Within the entire prefecture, he aimed to be a face that was just barely recognised; someone who would be able to blend into the background and remain so unremarkable and unthreatening that it could only benefit his cause.

Oh, it was all too perfect.

How sickeningly sweet almost, that not one soul had a single clue of who he was—of exactly what he was capable of.

In a way, he considered if his ability to adapt to a continuously changing environment was what made him more human than others; a sort of side thought experiment that he considered every now and then. Humanity, after all, got to where it was from rapid advancement. By evolving to its given environment.

And in his unforgiving search for an explanation, he had already walked in the shoes of countless lives; he had already adapted, even moulded his personality so many times before that he considered himself to almost be beyond human.

In a way, such a process was actually freeing because suddenly, he gained the means to travel as anybody he wanted to be.

But, at the same time, it was also imprisoning; all of these people contributing nothing in the end other being a waste of space in his kept journal. Sometimes, his search felt more like a chore, but he did suppose that someone had to do it. To figure it all out, because who else would explore the same possibilities the way that he did—who else would go to such depraved depths, if not for him?

Sighing, he paid a final flick of his gaze towards an unlucky passer-by. Finally, it was time to make a move and so he quietly dipped his tracks onto the connecting pavement, maintaining a steady pace behind his latest victim.

It was luckily raining too, so the crashing droplets concealed the sound of his advancing footsteps; the wind obscuring his breathing.

This particular person was someone that he had recognised as the town librarian. The town had a couple of those working in rotational shifts, so this must have been the evening worker. This meant good news for him, because she lived in the outskirts of the town (as he had observed in the past) which provided a cover for him to retreat to (and also because his car wasn’t parked too far away).

And just like predicted, she took a slow but steady path back home, taking her sweet, sweet time.

He knew this woman well enough by now to pick up on some facts about her from his limited time in town. For one, her shift ended at six in the afternoon, yet, she would always, no matter what, wait until it got dark to head home. This was beneficial to him of course, as it meant that he could slip away into the shadows quickly if she were to notice him.

Kenjaku speculated that her personal life therefore, must have been a lonely one. Her shift both started in the afternoon and ended in it and by the time she would finally get home, she would have just enough time to eat, bathe and then dedicate whatever remaining time she had leftover towards taking care of what he speculated to be elderly parent.

(Oh the things he could learn from just spying in the unconcealed windows just outside.)

Considering the deep set under eye bags that painted her face whenever he saw her, he suspected that this responsibility potentially stretched into the morning too.

Therefore, her social life as well as personal life was likely lacking.

This much left him wondering if there could have been a meaning behind the nothingness in life and perhaps he could bring himself closer to the answer if he explored that point. After all, a life otherwise spent in a perpetual state of limbo where nothing happened was surely numbing and bleak.

Maybe even, he could help her find that meaning…?

If only this person knew just how soon it was all going to change though. Indeed, he would help her feel whole again. Regardless of who it was that was going to be the unlucky victim, or rather, the ‘spontaneous participant’ to his plans, he carried a roll of barbed wire tucked carefully away in the folds of his robe along with a roll of duct tape for… convenience purposes.

Finally, just as she lingered around the gate that led towards her home, the librarian stood still as per her returning ritual; as though steeling herself before going inside. This particular moment opened up a prime opportunity for him to swoop in on her and bridge the gap before she slipped out of reach.

In a mere flash, Kenjaku cupped his hand over her face and stifled any potential screams by plugging her lips with his palm. His other hand hooked around her shoulder, shrouding her in the fabric of his robe and even partially concealing her. Quickly, he walked her past her home and off into the adjacent woods nearby, allowing for both of them to disappear into the uninviting darkness.

This action would likely mean that her body would get discovered as soon as tomorrow due to the nearby forest being the grounds for leisurely trail, often fully packed during the daytime.

The librarian’s eyes widened in panic, her body immediately reacting with violent thrashing in an attempt to free herself from his suffocating embrace. The underside of his hand dampened from her muffled cries—the struggle was always the most annoying part. However persevering, he continued to drag her by the heels into the trees, leaving her remaining hope behind and a discarded boot, likely to tip off her disappearance.

Personally, he didn’t mind it one bit.

In fact, he wanted for her to be found because this wasn’t one for him to simply make disappear like the victims of his many identities, no, this one was for the archives.

He wanted nothing more than for his craftsmanship to be located and appreciated and even discussed; because truth be told, he was a narcissistic old bastard. Egoistic, too. Whenever he tuned into the radio or the television and heard his nickname be mentioned on the news off of a reporter’s tongue, he couldn’t help but feel accomplished.

(And at other times, aroused, even. Such acknowledgement led him to understand that he might have had a penchant for bloodthirsty exhibitionism and even the slightest attention stirred up something exciting for him.)

Tearing him away from his fantasised release, a shrill voice managed to finally escape from the woman, “P-please.”

In response, he tightened his grip on her, pulling her slightly smaller frame closer towards him as he dipped his face towards her ear. His hot breath felt nauseating against her skin while he offered a (not so) comforting whisper.

Hushing her, he spoke, “it’ll all be over… eventually.”

Rendering her momentarily unable to reply at the heavy implication of the words, Kenjaku carried her further into the darkness, taking out the stashed away roll of tape to finally silence her cries. With nothing but the light of his barely adjusted vision—the streetlights just about spilling a dim light into the woods, he kicked the woman over to her stomach and took out the roll of barbed wire at long last.

Slowly and almost tauntingly, he unravelled the tightly packed metal cable while keeping a foot securely stamped over her upper back—forcing her to lay perfectly flat against the bristling greenery. He then looped the steel lines around her neck and down towards her crotch area before snaking it back around her torso.

Before long, he perfectly wound her in a brutally artistic display of skilful shibari. The spikes dug through the fabric she wore and cut into her supple flesh, marring the spilled blood with soil.

“I’m doing you a favour, you know,” Kenjaku murmured gently to her while fastening the remainder of the wire around her body, her choice of clothing irritating him slightly due to how forceful he had to be.

Of course however, the woman could only seethe and stammer in despair while he continued onwards with his depravity. Rather than writhing around in pleasure as he secured the knots, she instead squirmed around and groaned in violent pain.

Having taken a lot of lives during his run as an active killer though, he knew that it was only a matter of time before the euphoria would soon kick in. Pain, after all, was in one’s mind and if he was being completely truthful, he felt that it held back humanity a fair amount. To live with the idea of potential discomfort meant to take the safer choices that life had in store instead and in doing so, meant having to abandon the excitement that came with chaos and spontaneity—the very thing that made life worth living.

So, by allowing his ‘volunteers’ to experience such grand opportunities, was his way of giving back to those doomed to endure such mundane routines. What he offered to the lucky few was a break from it all while in exchange, he would manage to fill another page or two in his journal, hopefully getting closer and closer to the answer that always seemed to be ever so slightly just out of reach.

Continuing, he muttered out what he thought to be soothing words as the librarian (whose name he never even bothered to learn) would shiver in coldness and terror, forced to listen to the ramblings of a depraved man.

“Your life for a lack of better words was… shit. Wasn’t it?” he asked her. “Go on. You can at least give me a nod. You know I’m right.”

However she didn’t respond as he had hoped. Instead, she continued to toss and tremble while the spearing wire continued to dig itself further into her bloodied tissue, unintentionally prematurely shortening her own life in a futile struggle.

Kenjaku tutted in disapproval at the lack of answer, “Typical,” he sighed, “nobody will ever truly appreciate my efforts, I suppose. I thought you would be special though, but it looks like I’m wrong yet again.”

He stared at her for a little longer as she continued to violently sob into the raining mud.

“Not to worry,” he piped up in a promising tone, slipping on a pair of thick gardening gloves fished from his other pocket with the intention to carry her by the cable, “your life wasn’t taken in vain,” he said as he crouched down, “you’ll be remembered for generations all thanks to me and isn’t that much better than dying as a nobody?”

Picking himself up with her in tow, he couldn’t help but find the low guttural whine that she made to be something special. People were capable of all sorts of sounds at the verge of death and when pushed beyond their very limits, they were capable of so many interesting things.

He walked with her until he reached a small bridge just outside of the town. It was technically more of an underpass, but not too frequently used. The main road that connected into the town was more popular, so this gave him the freedom as well as enough time to perfectly hoist and suspend her body over the frame under the guidance of the warm street lights guiding his way.

The forest was small, after all. Barely a cluster of woods. Perhaps a terrible place during the night, but completely harmless during the day.

All was going perfectly well too, until he heard a noise rustling in the shrubbery surrounding the area.

It was too careful to be a surprised animal.

No, this had to be a person. A witness?

Finishing up quickly, he tracked what appeared to be the figure of someone retreating back into the woods in an hurried attempt of escape but there was absolutely no chance in hell that he was going to just let them go.

So you’d better run.

And fast.

[hard-like-ai]

Hi

Just wanted to say your blog is awesome and the art work is superb!

I love the ones about being turned into a drone. The idea of been converted against your will.

Thank you for posting these.

Darryl

The forest, with its whispers and rustling leaves, had been my haven. A break from the rush of everyday life. But on this trip, its comforting embrace would betray me.

Waking up, a pressing weight enveloped my body. A smooth latex suit held me captive, every inch of me covered. Strangest of all, a solid helmet encased my head, offering no apertures for sight or breath. Yet, paradoxically, my vision was sharper than ever, and breathing wasn't an issue.

A mechanical voice, cold and emotionless, boomed inside my mind, "Subject 328 detected. Initiate reprogramming."

My heart raced. "Who are you? What's happening?" No audible voice came out, just a silent scream echoing within.

"Reprogramming in progress. Resistances are futile," it replied with chilling indifference.

With each passing second, the suit tightened, molding to my very being. Attempts to resist were quashed, my movements no longer my own. Instead, they followed an unseen directive, propelling me deeper into the forest.

When the reprogramming concluded, my senses amplified. The once serene forest now felt alive in an entirely new way, as if I was connected to every leaf, every creature.

"Integration successful. Welcome, Node 328," the voice announced, no longer just a voice but a symphony of countless others.

I tried to remember anything - my previous life, my memories, my name, but they felt foggy and distant. I was no longer just myself; I was part of something greater. The forest around me pulsed with life, every tree, every creature, all interconnected in a vast network. I felt them all. The hive mind.

The voice, now harmonious with many others, spoke once more, “Our collective grows. Seek others.”

With newfound purpose, I moved silently through the woods. The campfires in the distance, the unsuspecting campers settling for the night, became my new targets. They would soon join the hive, just as I had.

[makingspiritualityreal]

One of the Pitfalls of Saturn is Loneliness.

The Saturn stage has blessings of Jupiter. The reason why Saturn is associated with wandering is because Jupiter mastered exploration and freedom, and Saturn benefits from that. Saturn also possesses an infinite cosmic perspective, internally, that it is purposefully trying to narrow down to purify its energy, as it is an integral part of its tamasic nature.

The problem with Saturn is that after acquiring the wisdom of Jupiter it understood that its God, as we all are God and God is everywhere. But if you are everyone at the same time, and you are everywhere, you aren't really anyone, because Saturn is inimical to the Sun, which rules the concept of Ego and Individual Self.

What that produces in reality is that people with a strong Saturn in their charts, influencing their luminaries or with Saturn ruled Nakshatras are in fact very broad minded and experienced, but don't really belong to any situation in particular. They don't have a permanent affiliation with any of its experiences, as their perspective of infinity is too large to be contained. What has been seen cannot be unseen and Saturn carries that burden.

Paradoxically, Saturn's refined nature leads to loneliness, because the masses are ruled by the Moon, another enemy of Saturn. The masses always reject and ostracize that which is different, even if it's correct, and especially when it's superior in quality to the masses. As a result, Saturnian individuals withdraw, choosing to engage only when in a circle, that accepts them. That's why Venus is friendly to Saturn, as it offers a limited but trusted community, that gives Saturn a sense of belonging.

[zeroducks-2]

Sometimes I think about Thawne admitting he has done some heinous stuff to Barry that Barry doesn't even know and I'm like ok did you fuck him? Did you stick your dick in this poor sod at some point and Barry doesn't even realize it cause Thawne's faster than him and his fast healing is making him think his body ache feels good? Thawne was saying shit about turning back time to adopt Barry and groom him like he got my head running shamelessly saying his kink to his crush's face like that hmmm

Okay I KNOW this ask is not serious but I have the chance to talk about my beautiful little meow meow and I will take it, so I will split my answer in two, the unserious answer and the serious answer.

The unserious answer is that I love it about Eobard that he's so open about what he likes. He went (paraphrased) "Hey did you know I was in love with your uncle :D" at Wally one time, and then proceeded to beat the shit out of him. He used to write in his diary about how alone he was and how just thinking about Barry made him feel better. Gayass nerd dweeb he had a crush on Barry since he was a damn child. We could just go on and assume he did stick his dick in there (maybe when Barry hadn't still been hit by lightning), because at this point I wouldn't be surprised (I do believe he used to touch and hold Barry at superspeed back then but that's just me we don't really have canon confirmation of this YET! YET!!! ahem.)

The serious answer is that he's just playing. Eobard is good at saying things that will rile people up, but it doesn't always work on Barry (because Barry knows him), and so he will say a bunch of shit in the attempt to get a reaction. When he says that he did unspekable things that make killing Nora pale in comparison, when he says that he's going to kill Iris (or any other "flashfamily" member), when he says that he'll go back in time and do this and that, adopt Barry (I really fucking loved that one btw), whatever, he's just provoking. He's trying to make Barry mad basically.

I'm saying this because he does not do any of what he says even if he could, at any given time. He can move through time easily, and he does it constantly. He says himself in Finish Line that this is not his first rodeo in this timeline, and we have the confirmation that during the events of Lightning Strikes Twice there are two Eobards around.

Look at this:

This is the beginning of Lightning Strikes Twice. As you can see Eobard is there spying on people, but the thing is that we also know FOR SURE that he is currently locked up in a cell, looking like this:

(the person speaking is August btw)

So yeah, he's in two places at the same time, running around and watching things unfold, and also tied up to that freaky bondage contraption from which Barry will break him out lol.

Also it's worth noting that he's so fast he runs laps around Wally and can go entirely unseen by him, and Wally calls himself the fastest man who ever lived. His powers make it so he can come in and out of the timestream and run through it without any kind of external aid - he does it while being "trapped" in Paradox' dimension, and is precise enough when he interacts with the timestream to not cause any kind of ripple effect (like again when he saved Chris in Flash Age).

If he wanted to hurt Barry like he says he does, he could. If he actually wanted to do any of the shit he brags about he'd just do it without threatening Barry about it. He's just playing, trying to get a reaction out of his crush, and sometimes it works! Sometimes Barry actually gets worked up. But in fairness, most of the time Barry's reaction is 😒🙄 because all of what I just said, Barry knows too lol.

(indeed Barry is also very scared that Eobard might actually hurt the people he loves, because he knows that Eo could and is aware of how easily he would do it. Not many people can defend from a speedster especially if they don't know he's coming. And no one can defend against this yellow menace of a banana man altering the timeline however the fuck he prefers. Luckily for everyone involved, he's not interested in altering the timeline any more than he already did, at least for now)

[dailyadventureprompts]

any ideas for a druid villain who isn't a pro-environmentalism "extremist" who opposes the #just'n'kind authorities and such? i'd like to do one but honestly most suggestions are just to make a fantasy anti-civ unabomber and idk im not too crazy about the concept

Villain: The Eelmonger

While the scholars debate whether it is nature, society, or fate that makes a person cruel, remember my student that none of these things are kind or fair to most whom they govern. -From the diaries of Tarraji, country tutor

Hooks:

Every year a great festival is held across the kingdom to honour the queen's birthday, a tradition started by the previous rulers to celebrate the long-sought birth of their first heir, but maintained by the current sovereign as a means of sharing a little of her prosperity with her subjects, the crown footing most of the bill for the event. This year, just as people (and the party) are crowding into the rivermarket to enjoy the festivities, a horde of grotesque aquatic monsters surge from the water to rampage through the town.

Two days later when the last of the beasts is either slain or driven off, word arrives that similar attacks have occurred all up and down the central waterway, paralyzing the realm's economy and making travel tremendously dangerous. The party could go hunting the worst of the rivermonsters, or they could sign up to protect a daredevil merchant's cargo and make a small fortune crisis trading.

Along with all this chaos an old threat reemerges, pirates with a long hatred of the realm trawling for plunder in the wake of the rampage. Apparently exempt from the wrath of the seabeasts that still lurk in the rivers and canals, they fly a new flag bearing images of sharp-toothed eels, and sing songs in praise of an unseen master.

Dressed like a peasant and exalted by outlaws, the enigmatic figure known only as the Eelmonger has emerged seemingly from nowhere to overthrow the realm and topple the queen from her throne. Who is she? Why her unprecedented attack? How is she able to turn the great predators of the deep into warbeasts bent to her aims? Among all the uncertainly all that can be known is that she has seemingly declared war against the realm, and will not stop till the queen and any who support her have been reduced to meals for the ocean's scavengers.

Background: Sha's parents thought it was very lucky for their daughter to be born under the same stars as the crown princess, as in the old traditions of the kingdom such "celestial siblings" were thought to share their fortunes, and as poor fisherfolk eking out a meagre living from the sea that fortune was dearly needed. As Sha Grew however it became apparent that the stars played a cruel game of favourites, and whatever luck the oneday queen was given was taken in equal portion from Sha's own: The day the princess was thrown from her horse and rose mirraculously unharmed was the day Sha tumbled over the side of her family's boat in a calm sea and somehow broke three bones, the announcement of the king's recovery from the brittle sickness reaching Sha's village the same day they put her long-ailing father in the ground.

These transgressions were manifold, too obvious and cruel to be mere happenstance, and over the years and the grand festival-birthdays Sha's resentment at her distant royal sister and the injustice of fate filed her sharp and cold as a gutting knife. Things paradoxically got a little better during the pirate wars, when those foreign fleets took the town she lived in as their fortress, burning and pillaging many other settlements along the coast and great river. Sha, now a woman grown, felt her fortunes had reversed, as the pirates were all to happy to pay for her catch with handfulls of stolen coin, and her expertise with local cuisine saw her elevated to the position of landbound galleycook, feeding whole crews of cutthroats in between their inland raids.

It was not to last however, after a few brutal years on the defensive, the princess and her allies rallied and launched an offensive that shattered the invader's fleet and ousted them from the lands they'd set to conquer, culminating in a battle that saw Sha's town (and the life she'd built there) burnt to the ground. It was in the midst of that fighting, trapped beneath burning rubble that Sha saw her celestial sister for the first time, glorious and beautiful and totally ignorant of her existence, scaling the ruins of Sha's happiness on her way to future glory. Sha was pinned there for days, forgotten among the rest of the corpses; it wasn't until a great storm broke and washed the wreckage of the battle out into the sea that she was freed, her druidic powers awakening as she drowned and calling out to those creatures of the brine to aid her. Whatever warpath and hope she had for making a good life in spite of her sister she left below the surface, because as soon as she made landfall she started plotting her path back to the queen.

Goals & Schemes:

Ruination: As strong as her monsters are individually or as a horde, The eelmonger knows her beasts can't challenge the might or logistics of an entire kingdom. However, Sha grew up on the kingdom's waterways and knows that just like small tributaries fed the great trade river, the lives of farmers and merchants feed into the strength of the crown. If she has any hope of evening the playing field Sha must break the system that feeds the realm's warchest even if it means breaking the realm itself in the process. Monstrous chaos and resurgent pirates are just the first step: Targeting the merchants will cause supply shortages and beggar the realm, after that she'll move on to sowing famine in the farmlands. When there isn't enough to go round people will break down into factions, causing the army the well trained army the queen has inhereted to crumble before it ever reaches the field.

Fixing the broken scales: Simply killing the queen won't be enough. Sha reasoned out long ago that if she ever did direct harm to celestial sister whatever fate bullshit that connects them would likely redirect the outcome onto her somehow and that just wouldn't do. Instead she has to settle for making the soverign suffer by proxy, all the while searching for some means of attacking the connection itself. Those pirates directly privy to her plan are out hunting for priests and fortunetellers during their raids, anyone they could kidnap and bring back to the eelmonger to help correct this balance.

Saint of the Brine: Though she has no love for gods, Sha's vengeful ascent is watched over by a coldhearted deity of the fathomless seas, who has umbrage with this particular kingdom ever since the queen's ancestors laid claim to its bays and coastlines by slaying a titanic beast she favoured. The eelmonger is her unwitting instrument of wrath, and whether the gods involvement began during Sha's almost drowning or all the way back were praying for a safe birth is impossible to say. Though the eelmonger has unseen aid throughout her campaign against the crown, if the party is able to make their enemy aware that some god may be the source of her misfortune they may be able to divert Sha's wrath from the queen and the realm's inhabitants.

Art

[shima-draws]

I can’t speak for Scarlet players since I haven’t played it yet but at least in Violet. I feel like the Paradox Pokemon from Violet are more…terrifying? Because in Scarlet they’re from the past, they’re just a little more beastly and wild, they’re from an era that’s already happened so it’s been recorded. There’s at least some assumption as to what life was like back then, what Pokemon were like. And we KNOW what they become in the present day, the sorts of Pokemon they naturally evolve into over the centuries. But when you look at Violet’s Paradox Pokemon…they’re from the future. An era yet to be, something unpredictable, something unseen. And looking at the Pokemon themselves—they’re all machines. Robots, made of chrome and mechanical parts, not entirely “living” beings anymore. And that fucking terrifies me. What happens in that distant future that makes it so all Pokemon look like this? Do Pokemon cease to exist in that time, so humans turned to the next best option, that being a replica of Pokemon? Or did something so awful happen to humanity that Pokemon were forced to evolve into machines just to survive??

I’m not saying Scarlet’s concept of Paradox Pokemon isn’t scary, because looking at it, it definitely has a theme of “wild, untamed and unknown eldritch creatures” which is also pretty horrifying. But obviously things were all rougher and tougher back then, and as people evolved and humanity evolved, so did Pokemon, so they were tamed by humans over time. But the FUTURE Paradox Pokemon…what the fuck happened. Why do they look like that. Why are they naturally violent creatures, if they were made by humans. It feels much more jarring to be walking around in Area Zero seeing regular Pokemon and then robots roaming around along side them rather than Pokemon and some cooler, rougher looking Pokemon. Am I making sense. Lol

[thewertsearch]

@skelekingfeddy submitted: hey so i was reading through your homestucksona tag and i decided to draw some of your concepts, namely sahlee’s lusus, the midnight crew, and the Palace Historian! i also sprinkled in some of my own ideas (i mean i literally made a whole new exile LOL) hope you like it!

Holy hell, that is some top god-tier spritework. You've officially canonized my Grubsprite's design.

In fact, I don't even know if this was deliberate, but her wires look a lot like the ones in this picture of Sahlee. Above is the same image, without the shadow layer, and even the colors match.

The idea here is that Sahlee is using her psionics to interface directly with her technology. I like the idea that she's able to 'talk' to Grubmom over the network - they probably play a lot of video games together. Maybe it was Grubmom who told her about the most important video game of all.

It feels so right that DD is the best hacker in the Crew. Those glasses were actually part of Sahlee's as-yet-unseen alchemy binge - and unfortunately for her, he actually knows how to use the computer inside.

I love the Investigator, too. I think the catalyst for her Exile was her association with one particular Dersite - a Battlefield farmer who wished to end this pointless war.

By this point, the Investigator had pilfered several files from the Black Queen's private archives, and learned more than any rank-and-file Carapacian was ever supposed to know. She knew that her friend's uprising would be sabotaged by Paradox Space - so she suggested a more decentralized form of resistance.

Together, they worked on a tell-all news article about the true cost of the War. They didn't pull any punches, either - the article called Derse's entire raison d'etre into question, demanding to know what the Royal Plan even is.

"WHAT HAPPENS WHEN WE WIN, EH?

AIN'T IT KINDA WEIRD THAT THE SUITS HAVEN'T TOLD US?

ALL THOSE BOYS IN MAROON... WHAT ARE THEY ACTUALLY FIGHTIN' FOR?"

It even dared to ask why they hated Bilious Slick.

Anyway, the Black Queen caught the article through the malware she'd hidden in PawnziBuddy, a 'virtual tyrant' that every Dersite is legally required to install. She canned the article, Exiled the Investigator, and turned the tabloid's server rack into a GristCoin mine.

HI also sent a copy to a Prospitian she trusted - but, oddly enough, that archivist vanished without a trace. Prospit is surely beyond the Black Queen's reach, so it was probably just an unhappy coincidence.

Sad, though - that document could have won Prospit the war. It's too bad that the White Queen never got her hands on it.

[slutshamethesquirrels]

Behind The Cover - Chapter 6

previous

When you wake, you're alone.

Your heart sinks at the revelation, and you can hear Maki’s “I told you so” already in the back of your pounding head.

Suguru was, by all accounts, a paradox of a man.

You couldn't sort it out in your brain, but it felt like you were missing something crucial.

He had flashes of cruelty, seemed to revel in your fear. Spent most of his time with you with a blank expression or a pointed, intimidating half-grimace. He loved to narrow those predatory eyes at you, like you weren't meeting some sort of unseen standard.

And yet, at times his actions directly contradicted him. Like the way he'd meticulously cared for you after last night's rendezvous. It had all been subservient, intentional and kind, almost apologetic. But it had a damn-near professional undertone. Like a doctor dressing a particularly nasty wound.

He’d bathed you in the hotel's tub, insistent upon being the one to wash you, scrubbing your scalp and repeating the process over after rinsing. When you got out, he'd wrapped you in a towel, sat you on the bathroom's counter and gently washed your face with water from the sink. He’d braided your hair in two plaits on either side of your head, the two twists meeting at the nape of your neck where he'd used his own hair tie to secure the ends into a chignon of sorts. Not a single hair was out of place, not a spot of dirt remained on your body. He wouldn't allow it.

He’d lent you his own sweater, the one that still clung to your frame now, and you wonder if that had been the plan from the beginning. The way he'd carefully folded it during the act, made sure to keep it off the floor, you thought it was supposed to be a sort of demented head game, and maybe it was- but still, two things could be true at once, no?

He’d tucked you into bed, making sure the sheets perfectly cocooned your body, unwilling to let even a small gust of air defy his ideals of comfortability.

But he hadn't climbed into bed with you, never kissed you, instead opting to pull the reading chair from the corner of the room closer, sitting back it it with one leg propped across his knee and his arms tightly crossed, like a parent impatiently waiting for their child to fall asleep so they could get back to that violent tv show they loved.

Just before you'd fallen asleep you'd reached for him, craving some form of contact. You couldn't remember anything but the cool of his fingers intertwining with yours before you'd slipped into unconsciousness.

And so here you were, alone and sore, unsure of how you were even to get home. You didn't have anything on other than his sweater, and the thought of calling even Nobara to come retrieve you in his sweater and your heels makes you want to absolutely die. You think about your bare ass against the leather of her passenger seat and decide that definitely not happening.

It's when you rise out of bed that you see he hadn't left you completely dry after all. Folded on the writing desk is a change of clothes; a simple pair of black leggings and a lacy bralette, the type that could easily be (and was frequently by you) worn as a top. Along with it are all the dressings, a cotton thong and a pair of socks, along with a pair of converse. A preliminary check tells you they're all sized perfectly.

You almost ponder how he knew, but don't have time to dwell on it before something else catches your eye. Your phone has been plugged in to charge, and lays along with your wallet beside an envelope with your name scrawled across it in penmanship you struggled to read. It was cursive, obviously done with care, but a bit foreign to your eyes. It called back to having to read letters from long-dead soldiers in school.

Whatever’s in it is bulky and heavy, the paper struggling to contain the awkward shape. You open it, and are shocked to find your fucking car keys . You quickly strut to the window to pull the curtain open just enough to peer into the parking lot. Sure enough, you spot the scuffed up cherry red of its exterior immediately. Did that count as vehicular larceny? Either way, you had a sneaking suspicion Suguru had his own set of laws to live by. Who were the cops to someone like him?

Returning to the envelope, your jaw drops as you pull out six hundred dollar bills. Crisp and clean, just as you’d expect from his meticulous ass. Along with them is a note in that same ancient looking script. You have to turn it a couple times to decipher it, but eventually you get it. Three words, no punctuation:

For the dress

You don't know whether to be flattered or pissed, but after safely getting yourself home, you text him.

the dress was on clearance for like $16 at TJ Maxx dude. take it back.

It isn't until you’re in the middle of feeding your reptiles that night that you get a response. An annoying, irritating, kind of incredibly sexy response:

absolutely not. watch who you’re talking to.

Suguru's POV:

“This is fucking ridiculous, just so you know.” Satoru's voice crackled over the speaker of his phone, the glass held between his shoulder and his ear as he used the self checkout at the twenty-four hour market.

He wouldn't have been opposed to going shirtless, but for once the backup clothing he left in the trunk of his car had come in handy.

“I didn't say it wasn't. That's why I’m cashing in my IOU.” Suguru's tone is warm, unaffected by Satoru’s annoyance at his request for a favor.

“Suguru-”

“I’m sorry, did you not take out your last IOU because you needed to escape a hookup?”

“It's not the same and you know it.”

He was half-correct. A faux-emergency phonecall to escape a fledging vampire with some odd kinks and a mid head game didn't equate to transporting a human's car from point a to b, but if Satoru wanted an equal trade he'd have to be more specific next time.

“I can always just risk getting caught outside when the sun rises, I suppose” He sighs dramatically to make sure Satoru can hear it, but he's smirking as he does so.

He’d lost track of time watching you dream, something that didn't happen often with his meticulously crafted nature, but Satoru didn't need that little detail. There was no way he could justify cutting it so close when all he'd been doing was watching the way your brows twitched as you faded away, getting lost in the curve of your parted lips and the valley of your neck. In his defense, he'd almost left once he was fairly certain you were asleep, but then your fingers had emerged from under the duvet, outstretched for him until you found contact with the material of his jeans, clutching the fabric as if to will him to stay.

So god damn dumb, even in your sleep.

Even so, he’d taken your hand, running his thumb along the veins he found twisting around your knuckles, pressing against them to feel the blood flowing underneath. You were always so warm, your body full of life all the way to the core. Right down to a cellular level, you were living and breathing. He had no right, and yet he almost envied you. Maybe envied the man who would eventually marry you, though he physically crushed that thought the minute it appeared.

This was never going to be anything more than what it was, and he had to stay grounded in that thought. The truth of being alive in the traditional sense was that eventually it would end. How many years could he keep you if he were to fall victim to his own delusion? Five, ten if he was lucky before you noticed he wasn't aging. And then what? He’d disappear? Shatter you?

And what of him? Would he follow you from afar for the remaining fifty to sixty five years? Watch from a distance while you picked up the pieces of the mess he’d made? Watch as you fell for someone blessed with mortality? Watch as you aged and decayed and reproduced and lived and loved and cried? Watch as they lowered you in a wooden box beneath the earth? And then what? He’d be right back here. It wasn't worth it. Ten years would pass in a breaths span for him. A flash of humanity just to remain the same he’d always been.

Eventually Satoru relented. Suguru had offered for him to come grab your keys, but he’d promptly rejected that idea, opting to just break in and hot wire it instead to cut down on time.

With his remaining time in the room with you, he forces himself to ignore your sleeping figure, instead making sure everything was prepared for when you awoke. He makes sure your phone is charged and you have everything you need to get home safely and comfortably when the morning comes.There's a tiny part of him that wants to stay, but even if he could without dying by the light of the sun streaming in through the window he knew it was an awful idea.

Before leaving the room for the final time, he gathered the tattered bits of your clothes from the floor along with your shoes. God knows he wasn't letting them get tossed out. Of course, you would probably re-wear the shoes given the chance, but he could always buy you a new pair. A better pair. He couldn't buy himself a pair that smelled like you.

He knows he should learn to relax but he simply didn't have the strength to do so.

By the time Satoru pulls into the parking lot, he's already leaning against the hood of his car. He frowns at the grinding sound your breaks make as your car rolls to a stop in the empty space beside him. He’d be shocked if it didn't wake you up as well as all the children overseas with how loud it was.

“Well, if you don't kill her this car definitely will.” Satoru's already complaining as he emerges from your driver's side, slamming the door behind him with more force than necessary.

“Yeah, that sounds about right. She doesn't exactly value her life.” Suguru gives him a pointed look, and he sighs, rolling his eyes dramatically and re-opening the door to fiddle with some wires underneath your steering column until your struggling engine dies.

“Obviously.”

This time, when he closes the door with an equal amount of malice, he makes sure to lock it first.

“Happy?” He snarks as he makes his way around your hood, all but cringing at the situation until the smell hits him. His face goes slack and wild eyes trail from where Suguru stands all the way to the lobby of the hotel. Suguru recognizes what's happening immediately. Had it been Fushiguro or Itadori, he may have been concerned, but Satoru was older, more experienced. He could control himself.

Suguru smirks as he watches his long-time comrade grapple with the idea that you were so, so close. Undeniably, he’d been able to smell you from the cab of your car, but it was strong when you were actually in the vicinity. Not to mention, the stench was undeniably tangled in his hair, his skin, the fabric of his jeans- He felt a little vindicated, watching someone who knew how it felt. The primal urge. The burn .

“Let's go.” Suguru fishes his keys out of his pocket and tosses them at Satoru, who doesn't even attempt to catch them. They bounce off his chest and onto the pavement, which jars him back to reality.

Pathetically, he leans down and scoops the keys from the concrete before loading himself into the driver's side, which earns a genuine chuckle from Suguru. It was dark, sure. Satoru wanting to murder you was no laughing matter; but it was a rarity to see him so flustered.

“So, like, on a scale of one to ten-” Satoru speaks far too casually as he starts the engine and begins to back out “-how mad would you be if I-”

“Eleven.” Suguru's momentary upbeat attitude washes away immediately.

“Oh come on!” Satoru whines, and from the mischievous grin on his face Suguru can tell he isn't taking this half as seriously as he should “Just a little nibble wouldn't hurt anything.”.

“Absolutely not, drive.” Suguru commands without a hint of humor in his tone.

“Awwwh, come on Sugie, what is it?! You can share-!”

“Satoru.”

“-You’re acting like you have a little crush on the human girl!”

Suguru’s face goes blank. He refuses to engage with Satoru's antics any longer. A few beats pass and Satoru glances over him, his face dropping from a teasing smirk to one of genuine shock as he catches Suguru's demeanor.

“Wait, really?”

“I said drive.” Suguru huffs.

Silence settles, with Suguru keeping his gaze firmly out of the passenger side window, dead set on ignoring any further questioning.

Eventually, Satoru cracks into a fit of laughter, followed by an incredulous “Hoooooly shit, man.”.

Your POV:

“Tonight at Ten! Yet another college student has been found dismembered alongside Highway 109 South Bound. Local women are advised to stay indoors past sundown, and authorities would like to remind citizens of the importance of locking their doors and windows-”

The television drones on in the background, but you can't hear anything but the pounding of your heartbeat in your ears.

Super worms coated in vitamin powder decorate the carpet of your living room, trying desperately to burrow to safety. They look like maggots on flesh.

Normally, you’d never dream of being so careless as to drop an entire cup of feeders. Those were irreplaceable, gut loaded over the course of days with a specialized blend of fruit and vegetables to meet your standards of husbandry for your bearded dragon, Jingles.

But as you’d checked the group chat casually while making the trek from your kitchen to your bedroom you’d had your guts, your lungs, your soul absolutely eviscerated.

Maki: y/n? where are you? call me now. Nobara: whats wrong Maki: y/n im fucking serious Maki: are you okay? Maki: answer me Nobara: what the hell is happening? Maki: Utahime just sent me this

And then a picture that was reality shattering.

It was blurry, taken from afar in dim club lighting, but you’d recognize him anywhere. The man that haunted your nightmares, your first love, and the reason for everything that was wrong with you, you were fairly sure.

The sight of him alone made your neck stand on end. Flashes of his face cloud your brain, that manic look he’d get in his eyes when he knew he had you cornered and powerless. Blood splatters, black eyes, a fractured jaw. Your body aches at the intrusion of memories, you can feel his hands gripping your arms, feel his fist twisted in your hair, feel the sharp pain in the front of your skull as he pounded your head against the dashboard over and over and over-

Nobara: is that Ryomen?

Yes, it was. Most definitely. But it couldn't be. He was dead. His arrest had been a blessing, finally freeing you from the possibility of ever seeing him again. You had planned to use his three year sentence as a means of escape, but life had gotten a lot easier when you realized you wouldn't have to.

The main prosecutor, Nanami Kento, had been the one to call. You can still hear the all-too-professional tone of his voice cracking just slightly as the weight of his words seemed to settle over himself as well:

“It's over, y/n. He's gone.”

That was four years ago.

So why was he standing in a nightclub downtown? How was that possible? And more importantly, what the fuck were you to do? Who was there to call?

You had no family, all of your friends were no more powerful than you, the one man in your phone that hadn't blocked you yet was Suguru, and you hadn't spoken to him in weeks. So what were you to say? He wasn't obligated to open that last message he’d left on delivered, much less come play watchdog while you prepared to flee the country.

Maki was right. Maki was always fucking right. You needed to pick better men.

next

[glitterp0prhaps0dy]

Bonding

Hey! sorry for not updating the story in a while! school kinda got in the way!but its summer now so ill be able to write more!

Floyd found himself suspended in a void of darkness, surrounded by an expanse of inky blackness that seemed to stretch endlessly in all directions. There were no discernible walls, no boundaries to define where he stood or what lay beyond. It was as if he had been cast adrift in an infinite sea of emptiness, with no solid ground to anchor him.

In this formless void, Floyd experienced a peculiar sensation of weightlessness, as if gravity had relinquished its hold on him and allowed him to drift freely. It was a disorienting feeling, one that left him simultaneously disconnected from reality and deeply immersed in the fabric of existence.

As he gazed out into the abyss, Floyd grappled with a profound sense of insignificance. In this boundless expanse, he was but a speck of dust, a tiny fragment of consciousness adrift in the vastness of the universe. And yet, paradoxically, he also felt a strange sense of interconnectedness with everything around him. It was as though he had dissolved into the very essence of existence itself, merging with the cosmic tapestry that wove together the fabric of reality.

In this liminal space between nothingness and everythingness, Floyd found himself confronting the fundamental questions of existence. Who was he? What was his purpose? In the absence of any external reference points, he was forced to confront these questions head-on, grappling with the elusive nature of identity and the enigmatic mysteries of the universe.

As he lingered in this timeless void, Floyd's thoughts ebbed and flowed like the gentle currents of an unseen river. He pondered the nature of consciousness, the boundless potential of the troll spirit, and the infinite possibilities that lay hidden within the depths of his own mind.

And yet, amidst the vastness of the void, there was also a strange sense of peace. For in this formless expanse, Floyd found solace in the realization that he was not alone. He was but one small part of a greater whole, connected to every living being every star, and every atom in the universe.

And so, surrounded by the infinite darkness of the void, Floyd embraced the uncertainty of his existence. For in the emptiness, he found a sense of freedom, a liberation from the constraints of the physical world. And as he surrendered to the boundless expanse of the abyss, he discovered that within the depths of nothingness, there was the potential for everything.

  The tranquility of the void shattered abruptly, replaced by a sensation of freefall. Floyd felt himself hurtling downward, the darkness enveloping him as he descended into the unknown depths below. The descent was swift and disorienting, leaving him with no sense of direction or purpose.

Without warning, Floyd collided with solid ground, the impact jolting through his body and eliciting a pained groan. He stumbled upon landing, his senses reeling from the sudden transition. As he struggled to regain his bearings, a perplexing realization dawned upon him – he was standing on his own two feet, unaided by the crutches he had relied upon.

Bewildered, Floyd surveyed his surroundings, searching for any semblance of familiarity in the pitch-black expanse. His efforts were interrupted by a sudden burst of noise, loud and jarring, that seemed to emanate from all directions at once. Amid the cacophony, a blinding spotlight illuminated him, casting him into sharp relief against the darkness.

But there was no stage to be found, no audience to witness his bewildering predicament. Floyd stood alone in the void, grappling with the surreal nature of his surroundings and the unsettling absence of explanation. As he struggled to make sense of his situation, a sense of foreboding settled over him.

As the echoes of the strange noise faded into the void, Floyd's attention was drawn by the plaintive cries of an infant. He turned towards the source of the sound and was met with an eerie sight bathed in the glow of a solitary stage light – a crib he had seen before.

The crib stood atop a platform, its frame fashioned from gnarled branches intertwined with shimmering strands of cobwebs. Its sides were adorned with intricate carvings, illuminated by a faint bioluminescent glow. Strands of ethereal moss draped over the edges, lending an otherworldly aura to the structure.

Floyd approached the crib cautiously, his curiosity mingling with a sense of trepidation. As he drew closer, the cries of the infant grew louder, echoing through the empty expanse with haunting intensity. With each step, Floyd felt a growing unease settle in the pit of his stomach, a foreboding sense of foreknowledge whispering of the mysteries that awaited him in this surreal realm.

Within the crib lay a tiny figure, wrapped in swaths of silken fabric woven from the threads of soft fluffy fabric. Its delicate features were obscured by wisps of mist that curled and danced around its form, lending an ethereal quality to the infant's visage.

The mist around the baby's face slowly dissipated, unveiling a small figure with bright blue hair that shimmered with slight purple tints. The skin, a delicate shade of cyan, looked almost translucent in the soft light. Big blue eyes, wide and filled with tears, stared up at Floyd. 

Floyd's heart clenched with recognition. He knew this baby. It was Branch, fragile and innocent, 

"Hey, it's okay," Floyd murmured, reaching out with gentle hands to soothe the crying child. His voice, usually full of confidence, wavered slightly. He rocked the crib gently, trying to calm the infant, but the cries persisted, echoing in the strange, empty void around them.

Floyd crouched down, his face level with Branch's. "Shh, shh, it's alright, little guy. I'm here," he said softly, but his efforts seemed futile. The baby's cries only grew louder, the tears streaming down his tiny face.

As Floyd continued to comfort Branch, he felt a growing sense of urgency. The surroundings remained shrouded in darkness, the only light emanating from the crib and the spotlight above. The weightlessness he initially felt had been replaced by a heavy, oppressive atmosphere. He could sense that this place held more secrets, more layers waiting to be uncovered.

"Why am I seeing you like this?" Floyd wondered aloud, his voice barely above a whisper. He glanced around, hoping for some sign or clue, but the inky blackness offered no answers. The cries of baby Branch tugged at his heartstrings, amplifying the feeling of helplessness.

Suddenly, the stage light flickered, casting eerie shadows that danced around the crib. The air grew colder, and Floyd felt a chill run down his spine. He looked down at Branch, whose cries seemed to take on a more desperate tone, as if pleading for something beyond Floyd's understanding.

Floyd took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. "It's going to be okay, Branch. I promise," he said, determination seeping into his voice. He knew he had to figure out why he was here, why he was seeing Branch like this. There had to be a reason, a connection between the darkness and the baby before him.

As he continued to soothe Branch, Floyd's mind raced, trying to piece together the puzzle. The void, the stage light, and Branch—all of it had to mean something.

Floyd's hand gently cradled the infant's, still trying to soothe the crying baby Branch. But suddenly, the stage light shut off, plunging the space into darkness once more. The sensation of Branch's small hand in his was gone, as were the cries that had filled the void.

Desperation welled up within him. He felt around frantically for the baby and the crib, but his hands met only empty air. As he continued to search, his fingers brushed against something smooth and textured. He knelt down, curiosity and hope mingling as he picked up the object and sat back on his knees.

Floyd carefully unfolded the item, revealing a piece of golden tan paper, its surface dusted with light gold glitter. It was strikingly familiar. There were four lighter ovals on the paper, each of them holding the names of himself and his brothers. In the middle of the paper was a crudely drawn waterslide, adorned with stickers of their family, smiling and happy.

Recognition hit Floyd like a tidal wave. This was Branch's hideout plan, the very same one he had shown him right before everything changed before Floyd left. Emotions surged within him, memories flooding back. He could hear Branch's excited voice, and see his animated gestures as he explained the intricacies of the hideout plan.

Tears welled up in Floyd's eyes, blurring his vision. He blinked them away, but they continued to flow, tracing wet paths down his cheeks. He traced the names with his fingertips, each one a reminder of the bond they had shared. The waterslide, the stickers, the glitter—it all spoke of innocence.

Floyd's heart ached with a bittersweet nostalgia. He remembered the way Branch's eyes had sparkled with excitement, how he had believed so wholeheartedly in their plans, their dreams. And now, here in this strange, dark place, holding this fragile piece of paper, Floyd felt the weight of all that had been lost.

As Floyd cried over the paper and the memories, he felt something warm and wet fall onto his forehead. He shuddered in confusion, raising his hand to his forehead to touch the substance. When he brought his now liquid-covered hand to his sight, he could make out the color red. It had a metallic smell. Blood. It was blood.

Floyd was bewildered. The pit of darkness, the stage lights, baby Branch, the paper, and now blood? What did it all mean?

Behind Floyd came a familiar sound, a distorted cry, eerily reminiscent of a woman's scream. He tilted his blood-covered head upwards, eyes widening at what he saw. There it stood, the creature that had tried to kill him. He could never forget it. Its body was a grotesque patchwork of shadows and twisted limbs, with skin that shimmered like oil on water, reflecting the faint light in unsettling patterns. Its eyes, if they could be called that, were hollow voids that seemed to suck in the very light around them, radiating malice and hunger. Long, spindly fingers ended in claws that resembled thorns sharp and gleaming in the dim light. The creature's mouth was a jagged tear across its face, a grim mockery of a smile.

Fear coursed through Floyd's veins, mingling with the confusion and sorrow already present. He stood frozen, clutching the golden tan paper, the glitter shimmering faintly in the darkness. The creature took a step closer, its distorted cry echoing in the abyss, sending shivers down Floyd's spine.

"Fuck" Floyd's voice was barely a whisper, trembling with terror.

The creature's hollow eyes bore into him, and it responded with another cry, a sound that seemed to reverberate through his very soul. Floyd's heart pounded in his chest as he tried to make sense of the situation. The memories of Branch, the hideout plan, and the blood all swirled in his mind, a chaotic jumble of emotions and thoughts.

As Floyd stared hopelessly into the creature's hollow voids, he choked out a sob. Terror gripped him, and tears streamed down his face. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest, each beat a desperate plea for escape. Before he could react, the creature's jaw unhinged, snapping forward to engulf his head.

Floyd jolted awake with a start, drenched in sweat. His heart was racing, his breaths coming in ragged gasps. Tears mingled with the beads of perspiration on his cheeks as he looked around, disoriented and frightened. He could still feel the phantom pressure of the creature's jaws.

As his eyes adjusted to the dim light, he began to recognize the familiar setting of the Rock sisters' room. The posters on the walls, the scattered instruments, and the comforting chaos of their belongings slowly brought him back to reality. His breathing gradually steadied, and he wiped at his tear-streaked face with trembling hands.

It was just a dream. A horrible, horrible nightmare. Floyd let out a shaky sigh of relief, lying back down and staring at the ceiling, trying to banish the lingering terror. The room was quiet, save for the soft sounds of his friends' breathing. He took comfort in their presence, feeling the weight of the nightmare slowly lift as he reminded himself that he was safe.

An hour had passed, and Floyd still hadn't managed to fall back asleep. Restlessness gnawed at him, making it impossible to find peace. He groaned softly, rubbing his hands down his face in frustration. The remnants of the nightmare still clung to him, refusing to let go. He decided he needed some fresh air, or at least as fresh as air could be in a place surrounded by rock, lava, and volcanoes.

With a determined sigh, Floyd reached for his crutches. He positioned them carefully, making sure they were secure under his arms. Pushing himself up, he shifted his weight, ensuring he could maintain his balance. The cool metal of the crutches felt reassuring against his skin, a tangible anchor in the midst of his swirling thoughts. Slowly, he began to walk, each step deliberate and measured as he made his way toward the door, seeking the solace of the outside world.

Floyd carefully made his way downstairs, each step a cautious endeavor due to his crutches and the enveloping darkness. The descent was slow and deliberate, every movement precise to avoid a misstep. After what felt like an eternity, he finally reached the front door. With a soft sigh of relief, he opened it and stepped outside.

The night greeted him with a brisk chill, the air cool against his skin. As he looked up, the sky stretched out in a vast, dark canvas dotted with countless stars. They twinkled like distant jewels, scattered across the heavens. Amid the celestial display, a constellation caught his eye, one that vaguely resembled the head of a troll, if it were drawn by an abstract artist. The sight was oddly comforting, a reminder of the beauty that could be found even in the most unexpected places. Floyd took a deep breath, the crisp air filling his lungs, and felt a small measure of peace settle over him.

Floyd found himself wandering aimlessly, his thoughts as scattered as the stars above. Before he knew it, he had reached a hill that offered a breathtaking view of Volcano Rock City. He hadn’t even realized he had walked this far. Moving to the edge of the hill, he carefully sat down, letting his crutches rest beside him as he gazed out at the kingdom spread below.

The city was a mesmerizing sight. Rivers of glowing lava snaked through the streets, casting an eerie, fiery glow that contrasted sharply with the dark rock structures. The towering volcanoes loomed in the background, their peaks wreathed in wisps of smoke that seemed to dance in the night air. 

In the distance, the faint noise of a concert could be heard, the heavy beats and electric guitar riffs echoing across the city, adding a pulsating energy to the otherwise still night. It was a comforting reminder of the city's vibrant life, even at this late hour.

Beyond the city, on its outskirts, lay a dense forest. The trees stood tall and dark, their silhouettes etched against the starry sky. The forest was a stark contrast to the fiery landscape of the city, a reminder of the natural world that lay just beyond the urban sprawl.

Floyd took it all in, the blend of fire and earth, the sound of distant music, and the serene presence of the forest. It was a moment of tranquility, a brief respite from the turmoil within his mind. As he sat there, the cool night air soothing his nerves, he felt a small measure of peace settle over him.

Floyd felt the weight of exhaustion settle over him like a heavy blanket, his eyelids growing heavy as he fought against the pull of sleep. Reluctantly, he decided it was time to make his way back to the Rock family house. But just as he turned to leave, the sound of footsteps echoed behind him, causing him to pause.

With a slow, drowsy turn, Floyd faced the source of the sound, his senses dulled by fatigue and the darkness of the night. Before him stood a troll, clad in an oversized black hoodie adorned with a skull motif, spiked collar, ripped jeans, and black boots. The figure was small, perhaps a pre-teen, but in his tired state, Floyd struggled to discern their identity.

Wordlessly, the troll seated themselves beside Floyd, their presence unexpected yet strangely comforting. In a voice that carried a hint of weariness and familiarity, the troll spoke. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

Floyd shifted his gaze away from the troll, his eyes returning to the landscape spread out before them. "It kinda feels like I did," he admitted, his voice tinged with defeat.

The troll's next question cut through the silence like a knife. "Nightmares?" they asked, producing a cigarette and lighter from their pocket.

Floyd nodded solemnly, the weight of his troubled dreams bearing down on him. "Yeah," he replied, his tone heavy with resignation.

"Nightmares, such horrible things," the troll mused, exhaling a plume of smoke from the cigarette. "Our minds decide to terrify us, torment us."

Floyd nodded in agreement, his expression mirroring the sadness in his voice. "Tell me about it... It's worse when it's memories."

The troll turned to face him, their gaze meeting in the dim light of the night. As Floyd studied her, he noticed the mask she wore, but up close, he could discern more of her features.

"Dreams allow trolls to revisit and attempt to work through old trauma," she explained, her voice carrying a weight of wisdom and sorrow. "Nightmares are often seen as a failure to work through or master the trauma. They're a way in which the mind transforms shame associated with the traumatic event into fear."

Floyd listened intently, struck by the depth of insight in her words. Despite the somber topic, he found himself drawn to her calm demeanor and the quiet strength she exuded.

As Floyd listened to the female troll share her own experiences, her voice took on a calm and measured tone. "I dream of my parents," she began softly, her words carrying the weight of years of reflection. "Arguing, throwing things at each other, fighting..." Her voice trailed off momentarily as if revisiting painful memories.

"But you know what I've come to realize?" she continued, her gaze steady despite the emotions that flickered across her face. "It's not the victims' fault for their trauma. It's the people who inflict it." Her words held a profound truth, spoken with a clarity that cut through the darkness of the night.

As Floyd stared into the mystery troll's eyes, he noticed the glossiness, the telltale signs of tears. The vulnerability in her expression touched him deeply. "It's not your fault, Floyd. It's not," she reassured him, her hand coming to rest gently on his back in a gesture of comfort.

Feeling a surge of gratitude and understanding, Floyd found solace in her words. The motion of her comforting pat was the final reassurance he needed, and with a sense of peace washing over him, he drifted into a peaceful slumber beside the troll.

[junietuesday25]

i was struggling SO hard on paradoxical but then i reblogged those posts abt astarion being goofy during sex and in general, and thought abt how i breezed through the smut in carry us through winter bc it was full of banter, vs how hard it was to write expiate our absence bc it was too serious, and had the epiphany. *insert “oh yeah it’s all coming together” kronk meme*

“You know, I haven’t done this in quite some time,” says Gale, as the Unseen Servant flips to the correct page. “Storytime before bed, I mean. It’s almost nostalgic. Although this certainly isn’t reading material appropriate for children.”

“I could call you daddy, if you’d like,” Astarion jokes.

“Gods, no,” says Gale emphatically. “And I won’t be doing any voices, either. You’ll have to content yourself with my typical dulcet tones.”

“Is that so?” says Astarion, clicking his tongue. “And here I was looking forward to your impression of Vothik’s rattling rumble. You’re halfway to a skeleton already, after all.”

“Excuse you—which one of us is the literal undead?”

“And which one of us is going grey?”

“All of your hair is white, you nitwit,” says Gale, trying and failing not to laugh.