#again these are all drawn from memory with zero reference

[zerohallows]

Quiet Places || Zero

Synopsis: Not the usual ghost story.

Zero meets someone among the gravestones.

Sometimes what we want, truly, is to be haunted.

CW: ghosts, mentions of death and mourning practices, child ghosts, reference to animal death, insects

He wasn't, contrary to what people who didn't know him very well assumed, automatically drawn to hollow places, to resting spots, little corners hidden away where people went to, hopefully, not be misplaced.

He'd always mindfully sought them out rather than only being pulled along.

And of all of the places that he had learned people built their monuments and wrapped up their loss in flowers and silent moments, graveyards felt very much like the rest. Special, but only equally as much as the other ceremonies, practices and places the living found comfort over the dead.

Different forms of course, he had learned; there had been months where he had spent hours and hours tucked away in libraries, searching through pages about all the sorts of different ways that people mourned.

Not because he felt he needed to cultivate some familiar kinship with death, truth be told he'd felt more frustration with it in those days than anything else, but because he had a friend, once.

Illness had declared that the world, and himself, wouldn't be allowed to keep her very long. And it was unfathomable to leave her trying to make decisions that seemed incredibly cruel at sixteen, because there was no one else who would help make them for her. Immortality was not, he discovered, the right of youth, even though he still sometimes felt it should have been.

So Zero had learned a great deal about mourning before even experiencing his own for the first time, as an overwhelming effort to help her feel just a little bit better about the things after, the things left behind.

Although searching for a way to convince your best friend the ideas that fell to funerals and ceremonies would somehow be the sort of close to a chapter she wasn't finished writing for herself was awfully hard at sixteen yourself.

So he visited places, still, because he couldn't visit the one where Cece rested anymore since she didn't rest anywhere. She had wanted to be free, wanted to be part of everything, and thankfully humans had customs for that as well and he supposed, even if the notion was for his own comfort, her ashes were still out somewhere chasing sunsets in new places life had never granted her time to see.

It's where fairies go, he'd told her once, to everything, in the end. She wanted the same, to meet again, although he's still not sure if he told some lie, even a kind one, in agreeing perhaps they would.

He doesn't know, really, if humans are made of the sort of stuff that allows for it.

But he hoped then, still did.

It wasn't why he had come to the graveyard that evening though, he'd come because the month was special to him and nearly spent, he liked the quiet, he liked the names on stones he would never know them stories of.

Zero liked feeling connected to what was, sometimes more than he wanted to know what lay ahead. He coveted the somber stone crumbling with time and the mossy burst of life that carpeted them in a silent cry of victory.

Zero found a certain lovely awe in that, a bittersweet poetry.

A wordless shout, the most patient cry he liked to think he could hear, without hearing; I rest here but look, just look at how life grows from my very memory.

See how important my place in this world is while from my very self the leaves curl and the grasses grow and I, truly, am eternal.

If he could only ever learn once he wanted to learn enough.

If being everything is where it ends I would like, he'd thought often, to be just myself for now and look at those names as who they once were too.

Zero rarely felt alone, even drifting amid the stones, the bending branches above and the ground below that he could feel in the core of his being alive with the toss and turn of change in endless motion.

But he was surprised not to have been truly alone that evening as he wandered the graveyard, watching the creeping growth of vines and greenery merge with the headstones, and a flicker of motion among them as his fingertips brushed a few headstones in passing.

It was quite small, no more than a dart, a notion, something barely out of the corner of his eye because for all his connection to the way the world fell apart in time Zero couldn't see human ghosts. At least not the ones who didn't want to make themselves seen.

It that hardly mattered, didn't keep him from pausing and trying to decipher what he finally made out to be the faintest outline of a child standing watchful, as he guessed she may have stood for far longer than any restless soul should have.

"Hello," he had called out carefully, satisfied that the hint of a person didn't suddenly flicker away. Perhaps she, he wasn't certain why the sense of it was there when he could not see her but he felt it clearly enough, was lonely, or curious. He didn't always understand how he knew the things he knew.

Which led him to a comfortable spot to sink down to the welcoming earth where he felt the twisting, curling, timeless growth and fade of infinite tiny lives most never knew of; scurrying, tunneling insects and burrowing creatures who lived and then did not, giving birth to the soil that held tight the roots of the giant above them with its branches turned skyward. He always felt it, always welcomed it, a familiar comfort as he studied the evening's dying light for another glimpse.

Zero continued speaking as though she could answer, knowing she could not.

"I can't see you," and his tone was laced with a bit of regret over that, "but I know you're there. And if you don't mind me staying for a while I was going to spend some time here too."

The breeze was all that met his words but he thought, perhaps, he heard a tiny giggle hidden away in it.

And that was how it had gone, every few nights he returned, because he always felt a bit nostalgic in October and the small motions that gradually became echoing little footsteps and playful rolling of his pencils just out of reach while he drew reminded him of something he couldn't quite place but enjoyed immensely.

"You want to see?" He'd asked once, looking up from the sketchbook in his lap as a tiny twinge of cool air graced his arm and just at the very corner of his eye a figure hinted that someone was there.

She might have been peering over his shoulder, but he knew if he turned his gaze to her she'd disappear into that not quite a place where human ghosts lingered.

The edges of the paper fluttered up, he had come to understand was a gesture of her approval over his work. The image of one of the older gravestones and the flowers that had begun to grow up through the cracks and worn places to decorate its surface in a flourish lay scrawled in sketchy lines there; another marker the peaceful place held.

He wished he knew where she had been meant to rest, where she came from, where she was going.

But he didn't know those things. He didn't know who had remembered her, or if any were left to do so.

That was the only troubling part of mortality to Zero; in its fragile cradle it held so much memory.

He had always entertained a very certain opinion on that, a mantra of let me outlive all those I know.

Not because he was afraid of his own end.

Let me outlast them so I'm not the sadness they feel one day.

No goodbye, no matter how long or how short a time it took to arrive, ever felt as if it came exactly on time and always showed up too swiftly.

"My birthday is very soon," he had mentioned as much before during those one-sided conversations, each time he did the grass stirred and he saw the shift and sway of that almost-shadow of a very small person.

"I'm sorry I don't know when yours is, but you can share mine. I have a present to bring you next time I visit."

The rustle and sway of grass caught his attention, a quiet laugh reaching his lips with it and the excitement he could tell marked the flurry of unseen motion around him.

Children were children, after all, no matter what world they were a part of.

It was a few days more before he returned, the chill in the night air pleasant and his footsteps nearly soundless on the stones, knowing she would find him far sooner than he might have her. With the bending of tall grasses and a gentle sound that might have been a sing-song whisper.

Ghosts did not often forget things, he supposed.

The month had dipped late, drawing closer and closer to its end and that lovely, magical time when the restless souls could reach just a little further into the places they had once dwelt. Zero enjoyed it, the graveyards were inviting when he could feel that subtle hint of energy in the air.

He waited for the impatient little brush of cool air past himself, the stir of echo excitement that blurred around him.

What was it like to have a birthday again after having others forgotten? He wondered, he hoped it hadn't been too many. He wished there was a stone she could have led him to among the others, but she never had. She didn't seem to know herself, if he had to guess by the way the wind wove restlessly through the stones each evening.

So he made due with what he could.

"I promised you a present, didn't I?" He uttered, unclasping his bag to reach into it and remove an unassuming object, small enough to tuck into the palm of his hand as he made his way over to the place he often sat in the nestled spot at the base of the weathered old tree that stood guard over soft, lost souls.

Zero could not see human ghosts, but that didn't mean he was fully detached from the spectral side of things. The ghosts he saw were the lingering presence of other creatures, those bound to places by their remains, far too easily forgotten, too often cut short and unwilling to move on simply because they thought it made no difference if they carried on in flesh and blood or wisps of awareness.

He had a resounding sympathy for them, the Geist, the creatures who flew or crawled or roamed wild places and existed as nature did without connection anymore to the physical; the misplaced animal souls. Because he certainly couldn't imagine what had ever led people to believe that just because they lacked human souls meant any other being had no soul at all.

Fairies did not have human souls either, but he'd always assumed that a soul was only the tie one had to how they reached whatever lay next.

It didn't trouble him.

The breeze drifted, somewhere the not-being and the gray between a little girl lost watched him reach just high enough to work the fragment of bone into the trunk, his fingers urging a crack wider, then soothing it over again with a faint scar in heavy bark.

Watched the firefly flicker of what Zero could see for himself as that anchor settled itself.

The same way many others had when he'd come across them in lonely places they had met unfair or ends they didn't understand; he always searched for better places, more welcoming spots. An empty road was no place to spend your time, especially after the end; he knew this was better.

The curl of motion, thin as a breath of air on a foggy day, stretched and uncoiled itself, a tumble of silvery-gray light fashioned back into four legs and what once might have been the softest fur, when it had been something a person might be able to touch to tell. A pouncing roll and a swat at swaying grasses that dipped in play; but he only saw one side of the game, he could only see the kitten as it delighted in having a playmate again.

Nobody liked to be alone or forgotten.

"I'll still come to visit," he reassured before stepping back to sit on an upturned stone large enough to make a fitful perch. "But I can't always be here, and you both need some company."

He would be back many times, he supposed until the day she found one reason or another to move on, or his time ended; whichever happened to come first.

"Oh, there you are," he added softly, a sort of subtle and pleased reverence at being granted it when, for an instant, there in the overcast evening light from a lethargic moon above he saw a shimmer of a form. A small girl adorned with ribbons in her hair, teddy bear in hand and eyes wide upon him before she flickered away, a spectral kitten weaving against her leg with a soundless purr that made its faint light from within pulse brighter.

He might have missed if he had blinked, was glad he hadn't, although even if he had he would have smiled regardless.

Zero turned to retrieve his sketchbook, to rest his shoulders against the towering trunk of an ancient tree, and let the pencil scratch across the paper in make-believe images of a little girl he couldn't see with her new friend playing among the headstones on a particularly crisp October night.

And the wind still whispered as it filled the space but sounded, to him, a little more like laughter.

[alicemitch09writes]

birthday date

pairing: oikawa tooru x fem!reader

summary: happiest birthday to one, oikawa tooru.

author’s notes: this is an old fic of mine that’s actually been on my ao3 for a while, so i thought why not transfer it to tumblr, too?

for reference, please do check this commercial that inspired me to write it :)

also available on ao3.

disclaimer: i own NOTHING but the plot.

“Hey, Hajime, can you do me a favor?” 

…

 When Iwaizumi told him that they were going out, he honestly thought that he was coming on to him. And how could he not? They went to the bake shop near Kindaichi’s for breakfast, and Iwaizumi actually treated him!

Afterwards, they went to the Sendai Astronomy Observatory, where Oikawa was going to work at months from now, having gone through strenuous some masters abroad.

And to top it all off, they went shopping! Iwaizumi almost never goes with him, even when they were in high school.

Despite the kindness he was showing, Oikawa knew that there was something up his sleeve, there had to be – Iwa-chan wouldn’t just up and be nice to him today, especially today of all dates!

Thus, his conclusion that Iwa-chan was coming on to him.

He even joked him about it all day.

It was almost like he was a kid again, a carefree kid with zero to little care in the world – no responsibilities, no bullshit, no nothing.

He could almost be happy about it.

He could almost be satisfied with how the day went, no matter how simple it was – a date with his childhood best friend.

He could almost be glad to live through another year.

Almost.

But when they went to beach, to a particular bench that overlooked the ocean, he felt his heart quicken, breath hitching.

To anyone, it may seem like an ordinary bench – a wooden bench that was years old, withered but strong – but it wasn’t.

No, this bench was special. It held a lot of memories – good and bad, especially with a certain someone. That bench was the reminder of how his life began.

And standing there, together with Hanamaki and Matsukawa, were his children – six-year-old, Ringou, and barely-ready-to-walk-three-year-old Katsuo. At the sight of their father, the two quickly ran to him.

“Daddy!” they both cried.

Getting to his knees, he took the kids in his arms, who gave their father kisses to his face. Even with his children around, his confusion grew, mind going blank.

Iwaizumi nodded at the two, allowing him to Oikawa to his confusion: there were balloons everywhere, a sloppily made ‘happy birthday’ sign standing beside the bench, and was that the stuffed Chewbacca stuffed toy she bought him?

He felt his heart rapidly beating against his chest, as if ready to burst out, hands beginning to shake.

He looked up to his best friend’s gaze, hardened and filled with sorrow. “Have a seat, Oikawa.”

Oikawa did as he was told, Ringou and Katsuo ran to their uncles, staring at the balloons in awe. He smoothed his fingers through the hard wood, surprised that it was still in one piece after all these years. And as felt on a particular side of the bench, he could see a carving of a love umbrella he had drawn so many years ago, his fingers brushing against one particular name.

‘(Surname) (Name)’

‘Together forever.’

At the sound of his name, Iwaizumi handed him his phone, telling him to hit play. Although still in confusion, he pressed his thumbs to the play button, feeling scared at what may pop up.

Black faded from the screen, of an outstretched hand, before it revealed a familiar face. He gasped, choked at the sight of her.

A smile graced her face, contrasting the mood of her situation – dressed in a dull gray garb, her hair (or lack thereof) bundled in a wrap, deep bags under her eyes, sunken cheeks. Still, she was as beautiful as ever – as beautiful as the day he lost her.

“Hi Toru, happy birthday.” Her voice resounded, silencing everything out – the seagulls, the waves, his children’s laughter, and his breath hitching. “I’m sorry, I couldn’t be there with you. I don’t think I can make it.” His vision began to blur, hot tears streaming down his face as he brought Iwaizumi’s phone closer to his face, to see his wife better. “Toru, I’m sorry. I’ve asked Hajime-nii-chan to celebrate with you. Now that I’m…you know.” Behind him, the trio’s expressions grew grim. “I want you to be happy, Toru. Even if I’m not there anymore. And even though they bully you a lot, I know nii-chan, Makki-nii-chan and Matsun-nii-chan cares about you a lot. Always remember that I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you.” She was openly crying now, but smiling still. He hated seeing her cry, but she managed to look effortlessly beautiful at the job, especially now. “I’ll always be with you, Toru. You, Ringou, and Katsuo.” At the mention of her name, Ringou, her mini-version with his hair but her beautiful (eye color) eyes, and Katsuo, Oikawa’s carbon copy also bearing his mother’s eyes, appeared holding out a makeshift cake made out of milk bread, a reminder of when they first celebrated his birthday together and she was low on a budget.

“Happy birthday, daddy!” the two cried, even though Katsuo barely spoke and said it in garbles.

He laughed through the tears, reaching out to his children, pressing a quick kiss to their foreheads as they watched the video together. “I love you all so much. Don’t forget me, okay?”

Just as he thought the video ended, their wedding footage popped up, specifically to their vows.

“Daddy, is that you?” asked Ringou. He replied with a nod.

“Wawa~” cried Katsuo, eyes brightened at the sight of his mother.

He couldn’t help but smile, wrapping his arms around his children.

Another video played, of Ringou’s first ballet recital, followed by Katsuo’s first steps, their Christmas at their grandparent’s (where Iwaizumi was still in denial that Oikawa was his brother-in-law). He could feel the three looking over his shoulder, smiling at each video that played.

The last video that played wasn’t a video, but a photo of their family, all sprawled in bed, sleeping and looking adorable. Hanamaki had taken it, (Name) had declared it her favorite. It was his, too.

When he was done, he handed Iwaizumi his phone, needing a moment to compose himself.

“Daddy, stop crying!” says Ringou, using her skirt to wipe her father’s tears away. Katsuo mimicked his sister, using his stubby hands. But instead of wiping them away, he just seems to smear them across his face.

He laughed, touched by the gesture, tightening his hold on the two.

“Is Daddy ugly when he cries, Ringou-chan?”

“No! Daddy’s the handsomest!” declared Ringou, making his heart swell. They laughed at the declaration, Katsuo laughing along even though he had no idea what was going on.

“Happy birthday, Oikawa.” The three greeted. Ringou raised his ‘birthday cake’ a wide grin on her face.

 …

  “After I’m gone, celebrate his birthday with him in my place.”

[angstyaches]

my fatal flaw is loving fluff more than whump, but i love whumpy nightmare scenarios…? so…what about charlie having a bad nightmare again, either due to being sick or resulting in getting sick, and being so distressed that he has to call shayne? the reverse scenario (shayne calling charlie) would also be so good but i feel like he’d be more hesitant to do that 🤧 i’m imagining lots of shaking and shaky breathing and self-loathing remedied just a little with some physical comfort? like being held idk. ANYWAY this is my request hehe

I spent ages trying to figure out a scenario where Charlie could call Shayne and Shayne could actually get to him, but when they’re apart, it’s hard for Shayne to spontaneously decide to go to Charlie’s. I could have swapped Shayne in for the sickie but I wanted to do Charlie. Sooo, the comfort is mostly verbal, although Charlie recalls physical comfort from the past. I'm sorry if it's not what you had in mind! Feel free to request more nightmare whump anytime, because I adore it.

The events of this fic are referenced (sorry for the first-person POV lol I was trying something out when I started this blog)

CW: nightmare, emeto, crying, anxiety, brief referenced past violence and blood.

___

It was the middle of the night, and the only thing Charlie could hear was the sound of the toilet tank refilling. That, and the tiny gasps that escaped him every now and then as he tried to catch his breath.

His stomach muscles were practically on fire from clenching, and he was still getting his breath back as he leaned against the side of the bath and held his phone to his ear.

The light bounced against the tiles and burned his eyes, but it was better than the dark. The dark had sprouted wings in his dream, along with a set of claws.

Charlie gasped and shook his head, burying it quickly between his knees and trying to get the image out of his head. His spine felt like his skin was crawling all over it.

“Charlie?”

His heart felt like it was going to slip up his throat at the sound of Shayne’s voice on the phone. He had to clamp a hand over his mouth to stop himself from whimpering with sheer relief. He hadn’t quite acknowledged it, but part of him had been terrified that Shayne wouldn’t answer the phone at all.

He’s okay…

“H-hey.” Charlie cringed at how badly his voice was shaking, and it echoed against the empty bathroom shelves just like his retching and coughing had done a few minutes ago. “I’m – I’m sorry.”

“Hmm? What’re you sorry for?” Shayne mumbled on the other end of the phone.

“You were probably sleeping, I – I just…” Charlie rubbed at his eyes, desperate to get them dry. Nausea was still trickling lightly through his stomach, and he wondered if he’d have to rush back to the toilet bowl sometime soon.

“What’s wrong, what happened?”

“I got sick…” Charlie pulled his legs up to his chest, resting his forehead against his bare knees. His voice almost disappeared completely down his throat. “I… don’t feel well.”

“Shit. I thought you were finished with all that.”

It took Charlie a moment to realise that Shayne was referring to the food poisoning Charlie had accidentally given himself (and Rin) the day before yesterday.

He swallowed thickly, pulling a face at the memory. He’d felt so much better before going to bed; in fact, he’d been starving, his body feeling hollow and achy after purging itself for a day and a half. He’d cooked an entire bag of chicken nuggets from the freezer, made himself four slices of toast, finished off a tub of Ben and Jerry’s, and had gone to bed feeling blissfully better.

He struggled to find a way to gently tell Shayne that the problem that had woken him at 4am had less to do with his stomach and more to do with his brain.

Although the amount of heavy food in his belly admittedly may have contributed somewhat.

“Charlie, you okay?”

He started a bit, realising he hadn’t replied in a while. “I’m – no. Not really,” he whispered, a sharp sob jerking his ribs and scraping at his throat.

“Put me on the, um, the video thing.”

The phone jingled beside Charlie’s ear, telling him that Shayne was requesting a video call. Charlie made an attempt to clean his face off with his pyjama top before accepting it, propping the bottom of his phone against his knee.

“You know, you sound sixty when you call it ‘the video thing’,” he said, trying to sound upbeat.

“Really?” Shayne narrowed his eyes into a glare as soon as he appeared on Charlie’s screen. “Would you say that to my face if it was actually this close to you?”

Charlie managed a weak smile. Some of the tension bled out of him just at the sight of his boyfriend and his sleepy brown eyes. His chin wobbled uncontrollably as emotions swelled in his belly and chest. “I wish it was this close to me.”

“Yeah. Me, too.” Shayne folded one arm behind his head and leaned back against his pillow. His room was mostly dark, but he seemed to be lying on his back. “Wait, are you real-crying? Not just throwing-up-crying?”

Charlie sighed shakily, rushing to rub away the tears that had sneaked up on him. He felt his lips quiver as he tried to keep the smile from turning into a grimace.

“Did you have a bad dream?”

Charlie gulped and nodded. “How could you tell?”

“Give me some credit. I feel like I know you pretty well by now.”

Charlie’s eyes were drawn towards the shrunken image of himself in the top-right corner of the screen, and tried to hold back even more tears. In his own – admittedly warped – opinion, he looked about as disgusting as he felt. He hated that he felt trapped in front of the camera, forcing Shayne to look at him in this state.

“Charlie,” Shayne murmured, his eyes softening in the light of his bedside lamp. “Talk to me, yeah?”

“They’re get – they’re getting worse,” Charlie breathed, burying his face in one hand. It felt a little silly to keep his phone held steady in the other, camera trained on himself even as he covered his eyes and wept, but he didn’t want to cast Shayne aside either. He peered out over the top of his hand, still covering his mouth to try to keep the volume under control.

“I know, but they’re just dreams, remember? They’re not real.”

A gag pulled at Charlie’s throat and he had to shut his eyes. But it was real…

“Deep breaths,” Shayne said, his tone in complete contrast to Charlie’s sobs. “You want to count back from ten with me? Sometimes I need some help. I can get to nine, and then I just get confused.”

Charlie almost laughed through the tears. He wondered if he should have been insulted by Shayne’s attempt to use Charlie’s own method on him. He decided to humour him though, rasping out numbers while thinking that it would never work because he was thinking too hard about it, but by the time they got to zero, he was able to take a breath without his chest hitching.

Shayne said nothing for a few seconds, watching to see what Charlie would do next. He frowned when Charlie shuddered harshly, making the picture wobble.

“You cold?”

Charlie nodded.

“Then go get into bed, idiot.”

He did his best to keep his phone elevated as he walked, but in his exhausted state, Charlie probably gave Shayne a prime view of the stubble under his chin as he made his way back to bed. He shakily propped his phone on the nightstand, next to Vincent the teddy bear, and went to grab a fresh t-shirt from the drawer. He’d sweat through the one he’d fallen asleep in, ruining it even before it had vomit and tears on it.

He finally crawled into bed, his stomach letting out a hollow, unhappy groan as it settled into the new position. Charlie groaned too, reaching out to take his phone in his hand again. He hated how the bedside light made his face look haggard and washed-out.

“All good?” Shayne asked.

“All good,” Charlie slurred, his eyes drooping already. “I miss you, though.”

“I miss you too, love.”

Charlie pulled his blanket tightly around himself, keeping one arm outstretched with his phone so that he and Shayne could still see one another. His sheets had cooled down a lot since he’d flung himself out from between them earlier, and after crouching on the tiles for so long, it was nice to be surrounded by something soft and pleasant.

Shayne tilted his head slightly as they both lay in silence for a moment, just looking into each other’s eyes through their cameras. “How’s the nausea?”

“A little better,” Charlie sighed. “My tummy just kind of hurts.”

Shayne clicked his tongue. “Fuck. I wish I was there with you right now.”

“No.” Although his chest panged with longing for the same thing, Charlie shook his head. “You’re better – you’re safer there, and I don’t –”

The whoosh of dark, leathery wings in the night and the splatter across the hardwood flashed in Charlie’s memory. In the dream, the blood had been Shayne’s; Charlie had watched as Watson had torn his heart right out of his chest before dragging the rest of him away into the sky.

In reality, the blood had been mostly Charlie’s; he’d cut his hands on the broken glass left behind by Watson’s exit through the window.

“Lately, I just…” Charlie swallowed sickly. “I can’t stop thinking about that – that night, remember? When Watson came to my room to find you?”

Shayne fell silent for a moment, seemed to shift position slightly. “Mmhmm.”

“I was dreaming about – about that, but… worse.”

“He won’t come for you,” Shayne said. He seemed like he was gritting his teeth. “If he or Madelyn even try to get near that house, they’ll –”

“I know.” Charlie chewed the inside of his lip. He ducked his face below the blanket and quickly dabbed at fresh tears that were starting to form. “But I was so… I was so useless, Shayne, I knew I could have stopped him, but I didn’t, I was frozen solid, I –”

“Ssshhh…” Shayne whispered, the sound crackling gently through the phone’s speaker. “Charlie, love, come out.”

Teeth chattering in his head, Charlie sniffled from under the blanket.

“Please, I want to see you.”

When he crinkled the blanket into his fingers and revealed just the top half of his face to the camera again, Charlie wished he hadn’t gone into detail about the dream at all. Not only did he look like a mess, now he sounded like one, too. He felt himself blush when Shayne’s eyes lit up on the screen, realising Charlie had come out from behind the blanket.

“You know what I think of when I think of that night?”

Charlie swallowed thickly, shaking his head.

“I think about the way you let me fall asleep on your bed, even though I was being an asshole to you.”

He couldn’t help nuzzling his head against the pillow where Shayne’s head had been that night, while Charlie had sat lengthways with Shayne’s legs across his lap. He’d had crazy butterflies in his stomach, barely able to believe that his crush had shown up in the middle of the night, unconsciously looking for comfort from him.

“It was the first night we fell asleep together, too,” Shayne said.

Without realising it, Charlie had slid one hand around the side of his own neck, fingers running lightly through the hair at the back of his head. Shayne had never touched him before that night either, but he’d ran his fingers through his hair as though he’d been doing it for years. Light shivers of pleasure trickled over Charlie’s skin. The panicked pounding in his chest was starting to slow. “That’s true...”

“You’re anything but useless,” Shayne murmured, turning onto his side and adjusting the angle of his phone. His eyes were starting to close. “I think that’s what my point was. I forgot.”

Charlie gave a light, breathy laugh which was cut off by a deep yawn. He hid his face from the camera again, to avoid giving Shayne a view of his tonsils this time. By the time he looked at the screen again, Shayne was struggling to keep his eyes open, but neither of them said anything.

They never found out whose phone dropped out of whose hand first.

[mx-metronome]

Hello, skyblr! Finally coming out and sharing my ideas/theories for Sky! This post is INSANELY long, but I hope you’ll stick around for the entire deal! Spoilers under the cut, just to warn you! (also I refer to the elders by the names given to them by the skyblr community)

tl;dr: It’s suggested even by TGC’s concept art that each of the realms represents a stage of life. I’m gonna take it a step further and say that not only is that true to the individual, but also the civilization pictured throughout the game.

 We’ll start from the beginning of the game and establish some evidence as we go.

Part the First: The Isle of Dawn

Birth. Nascence. The first establishment of existence. The Isle of Dawn is aptly named, being the first point of contact of the people that fell from the stars. They came on ships of stone, riding the newborn winds into this uncharted land, hoping to eventually settle. Pictures drawn of light can be seen carved out of the walls, a primitive method of documentation akin to cave paintings in the earliest times of our own society.

Remnants of the ships can still be found throughout a number of the lands, but especially so here, buried in the sands. The spirits that can be found here are identified as voyagers and stargazers - sailors making land for the very first time.

The elder of the Isle, Daleth, carries a cane, which is significant enough to make up the isle’s constellation. Perhaps they are like a shepherd, guiding the people to their new beginnings. Perhaps the cane just looks really, really cool.

The emotes learned here are directional, like pointing and following.

Part the Second: The Daylight Prairie

They locate the prairie, which signifies childhood. The flowers and the butterflies of light are in abundance here, symbolizing the purity and innocence of youth  still untouched by society.

Here, the society is still in its infancy. The people see the untapped potential in this land, and they begin to plant their roots. Any notable settlements are still small and scattered, but supply lines are quickly established via boats carrying large pots across the clouds. The pots seem to be full of light, a valuable resource that several spirits here can be seen gathering and transporting.

The elder of the Prairie, Ayin, is also pictured as a worker of some kind, and they are depicted with a pot of light, hence the constellation’s shape. The transporting of light is critical to the continued development of the civilization.

The emotes learned here are very basic (like learning to wave hello) or childlike (like charming butterflies or laughing), among a few others.

Part the Third: The Hidden Forest

The forest is a symbol of adolescence: it’s a seeking of identity and all the growing pains it entails.

This light painting (the last one the can be found in the game’s progression [I think], another sign of the advancement of this people) shows the population carrying themselves deeper into areas of richer resources to further expand. And expand they do!

Their structures grow larger and more sturdy. Additionally, the doors through each wall are made of iron and small crystals of....blue light? A similar blue to that of the strange plants that can be seen growing everywhere. These plants of darkness seem to be appearing in larger numbers now: there were zero in the Isle of Dawn, and few enough in the Daylight Prairie that they’re easy to miss. Here they’re not rampant, but they are starting to command attention.

The darkness isn’t necessarily an absence of light, but rather an antithesis to light: the two are opposites but equally powerful in their own unique ways, and both can be seen in the forests’ constructions. There is also some evidence that darkness literally spreads through negative emotions such as hopelessness and sadness, as shown in the memories of the Tearful Light Miner:

While their crew is mining, there’s a cave-in, and all of their friends are injured by the falling rocks. One friend survives the initial collapse, but they are mortally wounded by the affair. This scene here could be their friend resigning to their unavoidable death, and their hopelessness manifests itself as a darkness plant growing out of them. A small detail which is only symbolically important, but tucks itself into the meta quite nicely later.

Returning to the story, the big theme here in the forest is industrialization. Lumberjacks, miners, prospectors, and pioneers can all be found here, striking their claim on this new soil and its resources aplenty. Structures are larger and more numerous, but at the cost of deforestation and putting a lot of holes in the cliffs for mining. Butterflies are not as common now, so alternative sources of light had to be found (more discussion about the harvesting of light from the light creatures can be found here in this post, and it’s this post that in fact inspired this entire post of my own).

Both light and darkness are being harvested from the earth (and possibly even synthesized, if the negative emotions becoming dark plants is taken literally) and fashioned into tools and machinery. The elder of the Forest, Teth, is a blacksmith, and the constellation is a hammer and anvil, a testament to the people’s industrial revolution. Their temple itself is a massive piece of machinery, an impressive feat of engineering only indicative of a civilization accelerating its growth and advancing towards a golden age.

Coincidentally, this oncoming of darkness is also reflected in the emotes learned here, such as apologetic, anger, worry, and crying.

Part the Fourth: The Valley of Triumph

The Valley of Triumph symbolizes young adulthood and is the pinnacle of this society’s achievements. Buildings and structures here are HUGE: entire cities, castles, and the technological advancements are like nothing anyone’s ever seen.

Here the populace has put less focus into expansion and more into the development of its culture. The architecture is much more colorful and stylized. Sporting events such as the races down the slopes or through the clouds are means of entertainment. The citadel’s orrery could indicate a deep understanding of astronomy and mathematics. 

There are twin elders in the Valley: Sah and Mek, and they’re athletes! Whatever sport it is they play involves the use of long sticks, and it’s their two crossed sticks that make up the constellation, emphasizing the establishment of life’s greater pleasures and a thriving culture. A lot of the spirits found here are either athletic in some capacity or are out here living their best life.

The emotes learned here are of pride and athletic ability. Cheering is also noteworthy here, as happiness and enjoyment are highlighted in this realm.

The most curious part of this realm is that there are no darkness plants to be found, and I think the reason for that is that the populace is so swept up in its shows and studies that it’s distracted from its inevitable collapse that will soon follow. Perhaps these people don’t realize what is coming. So what is coming?

Part the Fifth: The Golden Wasteland

The Golden Wasteland symbolizes late adulthood, maybe even a sort of midlife crisis. It’s in this stage that the society begins to break down. The reasons for the upheaval are part of the game’s unsolved mystery, but there are some details of note to be highlighted in this realm.

The structures here are the biggest we’d seen so far, and many of them are a lot like strongholds: Huge, thick walls; pipes of awesome size; and what used to be giant columns dot the sandy wastes. The water is polluted beyond purification; bones of large, long dead creatures are scattered across a hunting ground; and not only are darkness plants in abundance here, but an entirely new embodiment of darkness is also introduced: the krill. 

Krill are a curious creature: not much, if anything, is known about their origins, but their presence as active seekers and destroyers of light could symbolize war and hatred, as an angry or upset individual would try to drag down others from feelings of happiness to the alternative. It is easier to succumb to the darkness and fall from light than it is to climb back out, and it appears that’s what this civilization has done.

In their pride and vanity, political disagreement had sprung into full-scale battles and skirmishes. Barricades pepper the land, especially just outside the temple. The people resorted to weaponizing darkness and blotted out light altogether (notice how fewer candles can be found here than in other realms). The world drowned in despair which only spread the darkness faster. It was like a nuke that left fear and anger in its wake with no chance for light to flourish again. All that remains now are the skeletons of stone and bone, memories of a dying people.

The elder here, Tsadi, is a warrior of renown strength, proficient with the constellation’s shape: a spear and shield. They likely fought along the barricades just outside the gates, desperate to protect any survivors that made it inside.

The spirits here are fighters, survivors, people that are struggling to stay alive in the chaos, and their emotes match that. 

So, after this civilization burned itself to the ground, what remained?

Part the Sixth: The Vault of Knowledge

The Vault of Knowledge symbolizes old age. With no more strength and no more people, all that remains is the collection of knowledge they had accumulated throughout their history, from the Isle to the Wasteland, and any lessons that could be learned from it all.

The realm itself is one giant structure: a tall tower packed to the brim with knowledge stored as light. Light is in abundance here: it fills the room as you climb it, and memories of mantas and other light creatures dwell within here as well. There are little bits of buildings, floating platforms, and large skeletons on display, almost like a museum of the world that once was. 

The elder here is Lamed, and the Vault’s constellation resembles a codex: one of the many lanterns found throughout the vault where texts are kept. In their cutscene, they appear tired and hopeless. The Vault is all that’s left between the source of the darkness and the rest of the world.

Scholarly spirits walked the halls and recorded as much history as they could before they too were wiped out by the impending darkness, vainly hoping that their mark on the world would be left behind in the stories they told so that they might not be forgotten. The emotes learned here are of praying and meditation, strongly suggesting the theme of pausing and reflecting on all that had transpired.

It is here that your journey begins to come to an end as you reflect on the realms that you’ve seen and the people you watched rise and fall. They weren’t forgotten because you witnessed it all. They succeeded, in a way.

The Vault of Knowledge is unique in that at the top of the level, not just one elder statue sits, but all SIX are there. This realm isn’t a part of the society’s story: it IS the story. 

As you progress through the level, the constellations are revealed to you, one by one.

In the cutscene where all six elders bow to you and thank you for guiding the spirits home, a song plays. What’s the official title of that song in the soundtrack?

“The Story So Far.”

Lamed and the other elders told you their story. About the rise and fall of their people, blinded by ambition and by a thirst for both light and darkness. In their attempt to balance the two powers, darkness ultimately won, and now no one remains.

Only a vault. The room of six statues is a new addition, as they all seem cleanly cut and without any wear. They were built intentionally, shortly before the darkness destroyed everyone, as a means to tell that story to whomever may find them.

This was the old room. Where Lamed’s statue once stood is now an empty pedestal. The light is now gone, and the soft blues and blacks of the rest of the level are now a dark, dull gray. The only decent source of light is from the occasional flashes of lightning from the storm beyond. The rest of the Vault was sealed off to protect its contents and its people who all died within, leaving this top chamber to be consumed.

Finale: The Eye of Eden

The most mysterious of the seven realms, Eden symbolizes death, an inevitability for all. I don’t have a lot to go off of for this part, but the red diamond that rests at the top of the mountain seems to be neither light nor darkness. It’s emitting a ray of golden light up to the heavens, but it’s also showering the mountain in a dark storm of rocks. So, which is it?

The scene shown from the Vault cutscene depicts the mountain with the diamond at the top. There also sits a monarch of some kind underneath it. Is this king the one that weaponized darkness and brought the fall of his people? There’s a lot of speculation behind this one.

I believe the diamond is death itself. Death is the most powerful tool a king can have, for there’s no threat to your power if all your competition is in the ground. But a warmonger invites violence to his doorstep, and he and all his people perished as a result.

But the diamond itself is not to be feared. Yes, it’s spouting darkness across the land, and that’s all a mortal will ever see. But on the other side of that dark storm is the beam of pure light shooting into the heavens, something only the deceased will embrace and understand. Death is an ending. Death is a release.

The spirits all needed a little light to find their way to that other side. So you lit them with your candle. You taught them how to feel love and happiness again, something that widespread darkness took from them. 

And when you fell and collapsed under the darkness yourself, some other sky kid came along and granted you their winged light so you may pass on too.

And you and the spirits, now freed from the suffering of darkness by way of just a taste of light, returned to the stars from whence you came.

....Uhh, the end? That’s my super hot take? Add to it if you like?

[biaswreckingfics]

No Limits: Part 8

Author: biaswreckingfics

Genre: Mafia AU - Warnings? Everything that goes on in a mafia AU

Word Count: 4.2k

Previous Chapter

Sehun's POV

Sehun could feel it the moment somebody had started following him. He didn't know how, but he assumed it was because of his prior training. He was already on edge thanks to his suicidal mission to help EXO, and he definitely did not need another person following him. He barely managed to get rid of the Baem member that had been following him.

Was it a coincidence that just minutes after he drops off his note to EXO someone had started following him? Could it be a member of EXO? Or did the Baem send more than one person to watch him?

He glances behind him to see who it was that was setting off his alarms. He saw workers, families, kids... and a girl running full force toward him. It couldn't be her though, could it? Why would a girl be following him, and why would she make it that obvious?

Still, the closer you got to him, the more his hackles raised. Something wasn't right.

He ducks around the next corner, which thankfully leads him to a nearly empty street, and comes to a stop. He readies himself for you to come around the corner, and it wasn't long until you did.

You came around the corner so fast, if he hadn't been prepared, you would've both been on the ground. Instead, you run directly into him and then step back with wide eyes. You clearly hadn't been expecting him.

He takes advantage of your disorientation and quickly wraps his hand around your throat. Surprise swept through your face before confusion and fear followed. It took only a couple of seconds for you to reach for his hand and attempt to pull him off of you.

"Who are you?" Sehun growls out.

He could tell you were trying to answer him or maybe trying to breathe because you looked like a gaping fish. A part of him felt bad for doing this, but he needed to find out who you were and fast. There was no time for games.

You were stronger than you looked, and his hand on you started to loosen, so he quickly throws you up against the brick wall next to him and brings his other hand up to your throat.

"Why are you following me?"

The fear on your face grows as your hands claw desperately at his. Sehun pushed away the guilt and worry he was beginning to feel and focuses on your hand reaching for his. There was something... oddly familiar about them...

His hold loosens minutely, as he stares at them, almost mesmerized. That annoying alarm in his head begins going off, just like it did when he remembered those numbers and the P.O. box... Something wasn't right...

"Sehun..."

You gasp out his name and startle him for a second. He looks back at your eyes, and he can tell you're beginning to lose consciousness. The fight your hands held was dimming, and your actions were slowing. His eyes are unwillingly drawn back to your hands, and suddenly he's transported to a different time and space.

He was standing at a sink... terrified thoughts about losing someone ran through his head... His hands were covered in blood that wasn't his... Someone was gently washing that blood away from his hands... He was feeling whatever had happened was all his fault, and he was barely holding on to his cool.

The memory became even more vivid as he could hear the worried voices of his brothers behind him, murmuring about Jongin. He remembered staring at the hands that washed the blood from his, and with a jolt, he realizes that those exact hands were weakly grabbing at his right now.

He slams back into the present and looks up at your face wildly. It was you. You were the one washing the blood from his hands in that memory... He knew you.

He let's go of you in shock and then dazedly watches as you drop to the ground like a doll. You immediately begin drawing in deep breaths and coughing as the air passes through your slightly damaged throat but even as you struggle to catch your breath, you attempt to stand back up.

Sehun drops down to your level and pushes down on your shoulders gently. "Don't try to stand up yet. You need a minute to recuperate."

You slowly nod as your rub your hands along your sore neck. You cautiously meet his gaze and search his face in confusion. Sehun avoids your scrutiny and glances down at his hands on your shoulder. With a shiver, he removes his touch from you and stares at his hands. He had just tried to kill you with them. He shouldn't be touching you in an attempt to comfort you with them.

Once you're able to breathe normally, you attempt to say his name, but he quickly shakes his head. It sounded like your throat was full of rocks, and it sounded very painful.

A wave of sadness overcomes him at the sound. He did this to you. He caused someone, that clearly cared for him, pain.

"It's me..." You cough out, even though Sehun tries to get you to stop. "It's Y/N."

The name sounds vaguely familiar, and while everything in him told him he could trust you, he still couldn't remember who you were.

It all clicked a moment later when he recalled the memory he had just had. Something had happened to Jongin... a member of EXO... and in those thoughts, he referred to EXO as his brothers... A moment later, your name ran through his head, and it dawned on him that you were the leader's sister.

"Y/N..." He quietly says, testing the name out like it's a new word.

What did all this mean? Why was he with EXO? Why was the leader's sister washing blood from his hands? Why did he care about something happening to Jongin?

Unless...

No... It was too far-fetched, wasn't it? Then again, with everything he was beginning to remember and what he had overheard the Baem leaders talking about... Maybe it wasn't...

Had the Baem been lying to him all this time?

Was he actually a member of their rival group? Was he a member of EXO?

He's brought back to the present by your panicked voice as you speak his name over and over again. He looks down at you as you get into a kneeling position across from him, almost like you're about to plead with him.

"Where have you been, Sehun?"

He watches your reaction closely as he responds. "I've been with the Baem..."

You close your eyes as a look of pain crosses your face, but then you open them again and meet his gaze. "Have they hurt you? Are you okay?"

He meets your questions with a look of confusion. He wouldn't even know how to begin to describe his thoughts to you.

"But if the Baem have you, how are you outside and alone right now?" You ask him in clear confusion as you look over his body for what he would assume were marks or wounds.

"I'm not alone... There are others here."

Panic washes over your face as you look over your shoulder and at the surrounding area. You quickly get up to your feet, pulling Sehun up with you. "We've got to go."

"I can't," he says as he stops you from pulling him back around the corner.

You stop and turn around to face him with an incredulous look. "What do you mean you can't?"

You stare at him like he's lost his damn mind... and he has.

"What are you talking about? You have to come home! To EXO. To Chanyeol. He's a fucking wreck without you, Sehun. He needs you to come back. We all do."

He can hear the sincerity in your words, and he knows you're telling him the truth, but he was so goddamned confused by everything. He didn't know what way was up or down at this point.

"When was the last time you saw me?" He curiously asks.

You meet his stare, and he can see the denial in your eyes. You knew something was seriously wrong here, but you didn't want to believe what you're brain was telling you. That Sehun had forgotten all about you and EXO.

"At the warehouse, remember? You were saving me... The Baem had kidnapped me..." Acceptance begins growing on your features as you quietly finish. "But you don't remember, do you?"

Sehun slowly shakes his head, and you gradually look down at the ground in devastation. The want to comfort you rises, but he makes no moves. He feels like he should apologize for not remembering, but he wasn't sure it would do any good.

Before either of you can say another word, he hears it... the call signal.

The Baem were coming.

He quickly grabs your arm and pulls you further down the block. You almost drag behind him at the suddenness, but your feet quickly catch up.

"Where are we going?"

"You need to hide." He responds, pulling up short when he notices an alley to his right.

He spots a couple of metal dumpsters and pushes you toward them, but you spin back around and immediately question him.

"Why am I hiding?"

"The Baem are here. They're signaling for me right now. You need to hide." He quickly tells you as he points towards the dumpsters.

Thankfully, you immediately get the hint and sprint to hide behind one of the giant metal bins. Once Sehun makes sure he can't see you, he walks back out of the alley and heads toward the whistling that's grown exponentially louder.

He tries to calm his racing heart and puts a causal mask back over his face. His thoughts, on the other hand, were frantic. Not only did he hope and pray that you stayed hidden, but now he had to not freak out because of the two things he had just learned.

He was not a Baem member, and he sure as hell didn't belong with them.

Y/N's POV

You stayed hidden behind the giant garbage bin as your thoughts tripped over themselves. What in the actual fuck was going on?

You steady your breathing and try to listen for any sounds, but the alley was like a wind tunnel. Noise traveled in from both entrances, and cars masked the sounds the pedestrians made.

Your throat fucking hurt and your body wanted to slump against the brick wall behind you in exhaustion but the alley walls were coated in a multitude of substances, none of which you wanted to touch, and the garbage bin was no better.

You drop down into a crouch and run your fingers through your hair as your mind still tries to process the situation. Sehun had no freaking clue who you were. There was absolutely zero recollection toward you or any of the words you had said to him. On top of that, he tried to fucking kill you. Even more, he was working with the Baem?!

What were they telling him? How were they able to keep this charade up? ... How were you going to get him back?

But... he couldn't be all the way gone... He knew enough to hide you from the Baem and to send EXO important information on them... and there was a small spark behind his eyes when you mentioned EXO and Chanyeol but maybe that was an illusion due to the lightheadedness you felt after being fucking strangled.

There was a way to get him back. You just had to figure out how.

After a few more minutes, you stand back up and cautiously make your way back down the alley. Once you emerge back onto the sidewalk, you suddenly feel like you're in a liminal space, like you had just walked out of a movie theater after being transported to another world.

After getting to the end of the block, you can no longer keep up the slow, cautious pace, and the need to get back to Minseok was almost unbearable, so you break out in a run. The looks the other people walking on the sidewalk threw at you didn't phase you one bit.

As soon as the car was in sight, you spot Minseok pacing frantically next to it while shouting orders at two of his men who waited next to it. It's only a couple of seconds later when one of his men notices you coming up the block and points you out to him.

Minseok spins around to look at you, and his blazing eyes cause you to slow down your pace. Oh... he was pissed, and you were about to be in so much trouble for just abandoning the vehicle and taking off by yourself.

He immediately begins walking towards you, shouting, "What the fuck were you thinking?!"

People around you look over curiously, and Minseok snaps his head toward them.

"Can I help you?!"

You quickly reach him and grab his arm before he can draw more attention to the two of you.

"You can be pissed at me all you want, but we need to get back to the house. Now."

"Jesus Christ, what happened to your voice?" He immediately questions, concern taking over the anger he once felt.

He searches your face for an answer before his eyes make their way down to your neck. He pauses as he looks at it, and then his hand slowly goes up like he wants to touch it to get a better look, but decides against it. You close your eyes and figure out exactly what he was seeing. Sehun must've left marks...

"What the hell happened?" He lowly asks.

"I don't know if you'd believe me if I told you..."

"Your neck is turning fucking purple, so you better tell me something."

You sigh and bring your hand up to rub your sore neck. You could only imagine the reaction your brother was going to have.

"I saw Sehun."

Minseok's eyes widen into saucers, and he starts throwing a million questions at you. Where? With who? Why wasn't he with you? It was all too much.

You throw your hands up in front of you in a stop motion and snap Minseok's name to get him to stop talking. Once he quiets down, you fill him in on everything that happened and what you suspected was happening. Minseok looked like he wanted to interrupt you multiple times, but he managed to hold everything in.

One of his men steps up to the two of you and gestures toward the vehicle with his head. "I don't think you should be having this conversation on the street."

In the excitement and shock of what happened, both you and Minseok had forgotten all of the rules in place to keep EXO safe and you guiltily look around to take in your surroundings before the two of you head back to the vehicles with his men following closely behind.

As you get into the car, you can't help but ask the one question on your mind. "Do you believe me?"

Minseok sighs and crumples back into the driver seat, then reaches his hand into his pant pocket and pulls out a slip of paper. He hands it over to you and turns his head to see your reaction, while saying, "I do."

You unfold the slip of paper and take in the string of numbers before you. 1248-94.

"What is it?"

"That," Minseok says while turning the car on and shifting the gear into drive, "is Sehun's emergency code."

The two of you speed home as you discuss what all of this was supposed to mean. Sehun had no memory of you or apparently who he was, but he could remember random numbers? He was working with the Baem, but he also hid you from them? You pondered and theorized the entire ride home until Minseok killed the engine in the driveway of the compound.

The two of you get out and spot Jongin and Baekhyun a little farther up ahead. You ignore the pang you feel in your heart as you see Baekhyun. Those feelings would have to wait. There were more important things going on.

"I thought all you had to do was check a box?" Jongin jokes. "Did you guys get lost on the way home?"

Neither you nor Minseok laughs as you approach the duo, and Baekhyun shakes his head before looking away.

"You know, it doesn't hurt to laugh or smile. In fact, I hear it's quite good for you." The youngest continues on, much to your dismay.

"If you had said something funny, I'm sure you would've gotten a reaction." Minseok replies as the two of you come to a stop in front of them.

Jongin goes to reply, but before he can, Baekhyun takes a step toward you. Your eyes are immediately drawn to him, but his eyes were glued to your neck. The anger on his face was clear, but when he raises his eyes to yours, you actually let out a gasp.

You had never seen such a murderous expression on someone's face before, and it literally stole your breath. Baekhyun looked beyond terrifying like he was ready to set the entire world on fire just to watch whoever had hurt you burn with it.

He reaches his hand up to touch your neck while growling out, "Who did this to you?"

Even though he looked like he was ready to stab everyone, his touch on you was still feather-light like a caress. It was enough to make you temporarily forget everything bad that had happened between the two of you.

Jongin steps forward to see what Baekhyun was fussing about, and when he spots your neck, the anger finds his way to his face as well.

"What the fuck happened?" He demands as he looks between you and Minseok.

"I'll tell you guys inside." You say as you turn away to head into the house, but Baekhyun's strong grip stops you.

"Tell me now." He gets out through his barely checked anger.

You turn to face him and grab his hand from your arm, firmly but carefully breaking his hold on you. "It'll be easier to tell everyone at once. Trust me."

You start the walk toward the house, and the three men quickly follow suit. It was quiet at first, everyone processing their own thoughts, but it doesn't stay that way for long.

"You know Junmyeon is going to kill you, right?" Jongin asks Minseok.

The eldest shrugs. "Maybe. Maybe not."

"Is that optimism I hear?" Jongin jokes before pausing. "Actually, why does that scare me?"

You walk into the house and head straight for your favorite spot in the living room. The others could worry about grabbing the rest of the guys. You were going to take a minute to yourself before all hell broke loose.

As everyone begins filing into the living room, you make sure to hide your neck with your hair to the best of your abilities. Once everyone is there, your brother looks expectantly between you and Minseok.

"So, what'd you find?"

"You mean, besides the bruises all over your sister's neck?" Jongin chimes in when he notices your attempt to hide them.

Junmyeon looks at Jongin like he's trying to decide if the younger man is joking, but when he takes in the seriousness on Jongin's face, his gaze snaps to you. All of theirs do.

You let out a scoff as you shoot daggers at Jongin before gathering your hair and pulling it behind your head. Junmyeon's eyes bulge as he takes in the marks, and Yixing quickly gets up from the couch and comes over to examine your neck.

You cautiously look over at your brother while Yixing assesses the bruises, and you find the same murderous intent that was present on Baekhyun's face. Great. Now there were two of them.

"Are you having any trouble breathing or speaking?" You nod because you knew he was going to figure it out the second you started talking, and he looks at you in concern. "When this is over, come with me down to medical. You're going to want to ice that, and I want to make sure there's no real damage."

Once you tell him okay, he heads back to his seat, but his troubled gaze remains on you. Junmyeon, on the other hand, immediately turns on Minseok.

"How could you let this happen?! I literally just told you to keep her safe!" Before Minseok can respond, he turns to you. "Who did this to you?!"

You bite your lip. Seven expectant faces watch you, but your eyes fall on Minseok, who gives you a small nod.

"It was Sehun."

You could've heard a pin drop. An ant walking by would've made an actual sound. You almost began to wonder if someone paused the simulation with the way they all froze.

"What did you just say?" Chanyeol asks with a deadly calm.

"Are you seriously saying you not only saw Sehun but he strangled you?" Jongin quickly asks.

Jongdae gets his question in there before you can respond. "Are you sure it was Sehun? It wasn't someone who just looked like him?"

You give Jongdae a disgusted look as anger quickly rises in you, and in the most sarcastic voice you can muster, you say, "Yep. You're right. I forgot the person who literally had their hands around my neck as he tried to choke me to death. My bad."

"Okay. Everyone just hold the fuck on." Your brother shouts.

You run your hands through your hair in frustration. This wasn't going to be easy, and you knew that, but you didn't think that they would straight up dismiss the idea.

The sensation that someone was watching you sweeps over you, and you look over to see Chanyeol eyeing you intently. You meet his stare and wonder what thoughts were running through his head.

"I believe her because this," Minseok says to the group as he pulls out the note, "was put in the P.O. box around the same time."

Junmyeon takes the note Minseok held out to him and reads the numbers out loud. Once the last number comes out, the room explodes with questions, everyone talking over the other in confusion and excitement. It was chaotic enough to give you a headache.

You drop your head down into your hands to rub at the growing pain, like that would make it better, when a hard grip on your arm wrenches your hands away from your face. You look up in alarm and confusion to see Chanyeol's frantic face in front of you. His wild eyes searching yours as he demands to know what else happened with Sehun.

Before you can say anything in response, Chanyeol is ripped away from you and thrown up against the wall next to your chair. You watch with wide eyes as your brother squeezes the front of Chanyeol's throat, putting enough pressure on Chanyeol's vocal cords to cause the man to yell in pain.

"Don't you ever touch my sister like that again, Chanyeol, or I'll fucking kill you."

The parallels between what your brother was doing to Chanyeol and what Chanyeol's cousin had done to you were not lost on you, and you sat there with your mouth open in shock.

The rest of the guys quickly pull the two apart while you sit there frozen, and it takes a few moments for everyone to calm down.

"I'm sorry, Y/N..." Chanyeol sadly says in a weak voice.

"That's not good enough, Chanyeol." Junmyeon snaps at him.

Chanyeol, who had been dropped on the floor by the couch, nods his head and brings his knees up to his chest like he was trying to protect himself from the world. He looked so lost...

"I just don't get why Sehun would strangle you but then leave his help code... and where the hell has he been?" Jongdae asks.

"There's more to the story," Minseok says, giving you an opening to tell them what was going on.

One by one, the members all look over at you, even Chanyeol, who slowly raises his head to you with a wince as he sees the marks on your neck.

"Sehun..." You trail off, not knowing how to say it. "I think Sehun lost his memories..."

You're met with silence until your brother croaks out a "what?".

"He didn't remember me. When I brought up EXO and Chanyeol, he said nothing... He doesn't even remember the warehouse..."

The men slowly took in the information, each one of them silently trying to figure out how this happened. Your eyes find Chanyeol, who looks utterly devastated, and even though he was being a giant dick, your heart went out to him. Chanyeol did everything he could think of to try to find Sehun and bring him home, and when that failed, he lost himself. Now, he had just learned that Sehun didn't even remember him...

"That's not all... He's also working with the Baem."

Tagging: @knjkitten​​ @kpopserene​​ @multifandombxxch​​ @tashaxvamp​​ @kpop---scenarios​​ @bhyunni​​ @chanyeolismybaby​​ @flaming-laboob​​ @taetaeeyong​​ @lilbitoflyssa​​ @misstressporkchoppp​​ @hoseok-wang​​ @spiltkpop​​ @isha454 @depuis2mille​​ @marovekian1​​ @ladylynae​ @abby8451 @lynniev​​ @insta1010​​ @sawadabegum @avxngxrrogxrs​​ @equesasprokishi @imstuckinafictionaluniverse​​ @layisanangel​​ @mongryong-the-corgi​ @overthelamebowz​​ @lizbether01​ @thatanonymousgirl-as14​​ @nothingbutadeadesceane​​ @kim-ji-hyeons-world​​ @suhappysuho​​ @futuremrspcy​​ @lovebuginlove​​ @skylions-den​​ @precious-seungwooya​ @softysuho​ @kuppyjiminie​ @blushinyouth​ @bat-shark-repellant​ @vickylamore​ @heartshapedenchiladas​ @cardtak​ @tanithrea​ @wooya1224 @multifanstuff​

[moldisgoodforyou]

love you for a long time

gif from @anakin-skywalker​

warnings: graphic depictions of abuse, physical and verbal, cursing

wordcount: 3.2k

________

In the afternoon of Christmas day at Charlie’s house, the excitement had calmed down and everyone was recovering from the aftermath of the activities that morning.

“You don’t mind if I head out for a bit, right?” JJ asked, scuffing the floor with his boot as he spoke. “No, of course not. Go hang with the pogues, I’ll see you later.” Charlie nudged his shoulder. He paused before leaving. “I’ll be back, promise.” She furrowed her brow slightly. “I know, J. Go have fun.” He turned his lips up in a smile, a little forced, and gave her a quick kiss before leaving. “Love you.” She handed him a plate of cookies she had set aside just for his friends and smiled. “Love you too.”

The afternoon was fun, relaxed, and he felt at home again in the Chateau, boots kicked up on the couch and Kie knocking them away like normal. He only felt slightly guilty when a joint was passed around but limited himself so he felt just a small high, brief enough for the moment. He only allowed himself to smoke when he was in the Outer Banks, in the safety of the Chateau, and he didn’t want to come home high to Charlie - mainly for her family’s sake. (If he even heard one teasing remark about him being a bad influence on Jamie, he’d swear off drugs forever.)

 “Didn’t bring your girl, JJ?” John B greeted him, slinging his arm around his shoulders and pulling him in for a hug.

JJ beamed the way he always did when someone referred to Charlie like that, as his girl, but shook his head and lied straight through his teeth. “Nah, they went to her grandparents’ house. I get to spend the day with you fools.” 

“Lucky you.” Pope quipped, joining the hug. JJ grinned and tucked his head in with the two, finding a familiar comfort in their embrace. “Missed you guys, you know.” 

Really, he knew he wouldn’t be able to stop by his dad’s if he had Charlie in tow. He did this every year - showed up, got yelled at (sometimes worse), and was sorely reminded of why he didn’t talk to his dad or get replies if he sent him texts of what he was up to at school. His text thread with Luke was a string of unanswered messages from JJ, with a picture of him and Charlie dressed up for a formal - ‘hey dad, this is my girlfriend’ or a short message about school - ‘got an A on my marketing midterm today, kind of a big deal.’ Despite the pain it caused, JJ kept going back, like a moth drawn to flame.

When JJ came back to the Walker’s home, later than expected, he headed straight to Charlie’s room, barely giving her parents a greeting as he passed. His fists were shoved in his pockets and he gave them a brief nod and an excuse of “gonna go grab a hoodie from Charlie” before heading upstairs, even though it was technically off limits. Her dad went to say something but her mom registered his change in demeanor and stiff posture and stopped him, cutting him off from speaking and waving JJ upstairs.

Charlie was playing a card game with Jamie on her bed when JJ came in, awkwardly standing in the doorway. The siblings glanced up at the same time and Jamie grinned, gesturing for him to come play, while Charlie frowned as her eyes scanned over his set jaw and eyes rimmed red. “I’ll finish playing with you later, Jamie, take the cards.” She instructed calmly, not taking her eyes off JJ.

“But I -”

“Jamie. Go.” Jamie huffed and gathered the cards, then slipped out past him, JJ ruffling his hair affectionately as he left. JJ stepped forward slightly, shutting the door behind him, and finally took his hands out of his pockets, flexing them. Charlie spoke quietly. “What happened, J?”

“I, uh.” His voice cracked but he stood tall, unmoving. “Saw my dad.”

She stood and tugged him toward the bed by his wrist, noticing his split knuckles. “Did he...?” She trailed off curiously, frowning. He had only joked about his dad being a deadbeat in passing, and never quite elaborated on the extent of the abuse. Just said he was hit as a kid and left it at that, and Charlie was so shocked into silence that she left it too. 

JJ took a careful seat next to her on the bed and hissed when he bit his split lip. She took his hand in hers carefully, rubbing her thumb soothingly over the knuckles. “JJ, what...what exactly...” Charlie asked quietly, unsure on how to approach it.

____

The first time something happened, JJ was ten.

His mom had just left him and Luke, and his dad had drunk practically half the liquor store’s supply within a week. JJ stayed out all day, only returning at sundown after he had stolen a sandwich or so from the grocery store (sometimes of his own accord, sometimes the teenager working the other side of the counter looked at the messy unkempt kid with pity and slid one surreptitiously across the counter). He had done his best to avoid his dad when he knew he’d be active and was often able to creep back into his rickety old house and into his room without incident.

One night he miscalculated.

He returned home after playing with John B out on the beach all day, hair still wet and bare feet sandy. When his little feet made enough noise to alert his dad sitting at their decrepit kitchen table, cigarette in hand, he froze.

“Where the fuck have you been?” Luke drawled, eyes narrowing at JJ’s presence.

“School.” JJ replied hurriedly. “I gotta shower. G’night Dad.” He tried side stepping past his dad, but he caught JJ’s scrawny arm in his grip. He eyed over his child’s appearance, zeroing in on his eyes.

“Blue eyes just like your mother.”

JJ merely nodded, unsure.

“You remind me of her. Every fuckin’ day.” He snarled. “You’re the reason, you know that?”

“What?”

“She packed up and left me with you. Didn’t want to take care of you anymore.” His grip tightened on JJ’s arm and JJ’s heart rate quickened, suddenly aware this wasn’t the normal lecture he was used to receiving from his dad.

“I can take care of myself.” He offered meekly.

Wrong answer.

JJ’s dad brought his hand to his face and slapped him across the cheek, hard enough for JJ’s ears to start ringing and his cheek to sting with the imprint of his dad’s fingers. JJ stumbled backward out of his dad’s grip, hand to his cheek as he just stared at his dad in shock.

“You can’t. You’re a fucking kid, a fucking kid we didn’t need, and now you’re a fucking burden!” Luke roared, spitting at JJ’s feet. JJ never let his wide eyes stray from his dad as he backed up, further and further out the room, until he was scrambling out the window in his bedroom and taking off as far as he could get away from the tiny little shack he called home.

He slept in a hammock by the beach that night, letting the sound of the waves rock him to sleep after he cried himself to exhaustion. A mistake. A burden. Just like his mother. Those words echoed through his head in his dreams and he tossed fitfully in the hammock, little fingers curled into the woven material.

___

As JJ recalled those first moments, a memory he had tried so hard to suppress but was unsuccessful each time, he stared ahead and stayed stiff, jaw set. “He started when I was ten, after my mom left. Then I moved out when I was 18 and avoided him like hell.” He laughed, no humor to his tone. “Guess he’s not done with trying to hit his kid though.” 

“How often?” Charlie’s voice was small and pulled JJ abruptly out of his thoughts. Her gaze flitted over his expression, filled with worry, afraid to hear the answer. He shrugged. “Twice? Three times?”

“...a month?” 

He laughed again, bitter. “A week. Sometimes in a day, but I learned how to run fast enough.”  

“JJ.” She breathed out, horrified. 

“Don’t.” He replied quickly, still not looking at her. “Don’t need your pity.” 

“It’s not - J, you should have taken me, I would have stopped it - I’ll go and -” He grabbed her knee suddenly as she moved to rise. “Hell no, Charlie, you’re not going there over my dead body.” JJ finally made eye contact, swallowing hard as he tried blinking back tears. Truthfully, he was more overcome with emotion at her immediate willingness to protect him than anything.

At that, she went to throw her arms around him, moving too quick, and he flinched out of instinct. Charlie’s face dropped as she pulled her arms back to her side, until he leaned slightly into her and rested his head down on her shoulder. 

She moved slower at his permission, tugging him gently to lay back on the bed, his head rested on her chest as she combed her fingers gently through his hair. After a while, she broke the silence. “J? Why’d you go?”

He shrugged, curling his hand around her hip. “Dunno. Thought he might come around and be nice for once. You know, Christmas spirit and all.”

“JJ, hon…” Her voice cracked and she tried choking back a sob, but it still eked out. JJ lifted his head, dried tear streaks down his cheeks as he’d let himself cry when she couldn’t see his face. “Hey. No crying on my account.” 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I’m just -” She took a deep breath, trying to compose herself. “I’m so fucking angry, JJ. The thought of anyone hurting you - especially your dad - you don’t deserve that.”  

“Hm.”

“JJ.”

“Maybe I do.”

“JJ, don’t you fucking dare go there.”

He set his jaw and tucked back into her before continuing. “I said some stuff today I probably shouldn’t have.” 

“That doesn’t give him any right to hit you, fucking hell.” Charlie seethed, though she rubbed his back soothingly. “I thought about hitting back.” He mumbled. “Does that scare you?” 

“No. He would have deserved it.” She muttered, lips pressed together in a thin line. 

JJ’s lips turned up in a small smile and he lifted his head, glancing up at her. “You’re hot when you’re mad,” he tried deflecting. She scowled and tugged him up to kiss him, hard. “Listen.” Another kiss. “I love you. So much.” Another one. “You are so, so, special to me, hon, and you don’t deserve any of that. Not a single second of it.” 

As he opened his mouth to argue, she cut him off with another kiss. “Don’t you dare protest, because I won’t listen. You’re the most loyal person I know, J. You deserve the world.” 

He kept silent but the corners of his eyes crinkled into a smile and the tips of his ears burned red in embarrassment. “Charlie.”

“No, I’m not done. I feel so safe when I’m with you. Sometimes I get overwhelmed with how much I fucking love you. Always will.” Her kisses turned sweet and she peppered them all over his face until he flinched as she reached his cheekbone, a red mark blooming. “Careful, sweetheart.” He murmured and she pulled back, frowning. “I’m going to get ice and rubbing alcohol, then I want to clean you up. Your knuckles look rough.”

JJ shook his head quickly. “It’s fine, Charlie, I don’t want your mom and dad to -” 

“I won’t tell them. Stay here.” She cut him off and kissed him quickly before heading downstairs. 

Her dad was whispering to her mom in the kitchen, a deep frown on his face, and stopped abruptly when Charlie rounded the corner. Her mom looked shocked and raised her eyebrows at Charlie. “Charlotte, is it...?”

“Were you eavesdropping?” Charlie asked, affronted on JJ’s behalf.

“I went to go check on him and I overheard. I’m sorry.” Her dad apologized quickly. “We won’t say a word.” He added, cutting her mom off from saying anything else.

“Don’t you dare. He only just opened up to me and I still don’t think I’m getting the whole story.” She grabbed an ice pack out of the freezer and paused before heading back upstairs. “Don’t treat him differently, he’ll know. He’ll think I told you and then he won’t trust me, I - just - don’t.” She snapped, then ran back upstairs before her parents could object.

When she returned, JJ had his shirt off and was inspecting a blooming bruise on his ribs in the mirror, frowning as he splayed his hand over it. Charlie gasped and shut the door quickly, crossing the room in a few short strides to hand over the ice pack. “It’s not that bad.” He told her quickly, trying to reassure her. “Just a beer bottle, fists are worse.” 

“That’s not...that’s not right, J. They’re not broken, are they?” She asked, reaching out. He let her tenderly prod the bruise, oddly disconnected from the pain under her gentle touch. “I think they’re okay.” She told him, demeanor going professional. “Lay down for me?” 

He nodded and did so, letting her wrap the ice pack in a towel and press it gently to his side. Charlie sat next to him then wet a cotton ball with the rubbing alcohol and took his hand, glancing over. “It’s gonna sting.”  

“I know. Go for it.” He only let out a low hiss when she swiped the cotton ball across all his knuckles, hand squeezing hers reflexively. “You said you only thought about hitting back.” She pointed out, pressing her lips to the back of his hand. He nodded and looked a little sheepish. “Hit the tree out front.” 

“Hm.” She replied, looking closer for splinters, then set the rubbing alcohol aside. 

“He’s called me a good kid before.”  

“Yeah?”  

JJ nodded. “A couple times.” He added vaguely, though he remembered each time clear as day. “But I’m not sure he’s ever said he loves me.”

“I love you.” She frowned and adjusted the ice pack for him, keeping it in place. “I’ll tell you that every second of the day if you need it.”

“I know. But it’s different.” He mused, falling silent again. She didn’t push the topic, knowing she’d never quite understand. “Your mom, she…” He started, getting a little choked up.  

“What is it, J?” She asked, combing through his hair again. 

“A few days ago, she said it. About me.” 

She furrowed her brow slightly. “When?” 

“When she was about to lecture you.” He smirked a little and she felt herself relaxing just at the small sign of his usual demeanor. “She was talking about us having a kid, and she said as much as I love JJ…” He trailed off. “I don’t remember the rest. But she said it so easily. I’m not even her kid.”  

And my heart doesn’t work like that, JJ thought to himself. He stayed guarded, putting his trust in very few people. It was a miracle that he trusted Charlie so much, after only a short amount of time.

“Doesn’t matter. She still loves you. My dad does too, you know? And Jamie.” 

His brow furrowed slightly. “You don’t have to lie, Charlie.”  

“I’m serious. Everyone shows it in different ways. My mom made sure to ask your favorite recipes before we came home just so you could have something special over Christmas. My dad will text me with articles to share with you, or a song he thought you’d like, only because you two talked about Led Zeppelin once. Jamie practiced surfing with his friends every single weekend before we came back, just so he could impress you.” She paused, running her thumb gently along his jaw. “Family is family, even if it wasn’t yours from the start.” 

When he teared up a little, her eyes went wide, slightly panicking. “Don’t cry, J, please.”  

“You can’t say things like that and not expect me to have an emotional response, Charlie.” He teased, sitting up and pulling her in for a deep kiss. She smiled against his lips, holding back a little so she didn’t hurt him. “I mean it, JJ. I’m gonna love you for a long time.” 

“Love you too, sweetheart.” He promised sincerely, before drawing her in for another kiss. 

_____

After some time, the two made their way downstairs, hand-in-hand, tempted by the smell of dinner cooking. Her mom clapped her hands together with a grin, eyes only flitting over JJ’s cheek for a  moment. “Just in time for dinner, you two! JJ, dear, I heard mac and cheese was your favorite, so I put that together with some cornbread and brie stuffed chicken. Oh! And apple pie for dessert.”

JJ scanned over the table with wide eyes, impressed. “This looks incredible, Mrs. Walker, you didn’t have to do all that.”  

“Well, we had to do right by our favorite guest.” She smiled and handed him a plate, urging him forward. “There you go, eat up.” 

“What happened to your face?” Jamie questioned, without tact. 

“James!” Her mother scolded, sending JJ an apologetic smile. He shook his head, ruffling Jamie’s hair. “S’okay. Fell when I was out surfing with my friends.” 

Charlie frowned slightly at how easily he covered the lie. Jamie’s jaw dropped, indignant. “You went without me?” 

JJ laughed. “Had to take on the big waves for a second, kiddo. I’ll take you tomorrow, alright?” 

“For real?” Jamie brightened, his insolence short-lived. “I’m learning how to cutback, I can show you. And you can help me too, I know you’re good at it.”  

“For real.” JJ promised, beaming at Charlie. She pressed a kiss to his cheek, smiling. “Told you.” 

“Yeah, yeah.” He dismissed, but was beaming ear-to-ear.

Once they finished dinner and dessert, JJ’s mood was considerably lifted as he realized how truly comfortable he felt around Charlie’s family. “JJ, come help me with the fire?” Her dad asked, pushing away from the table. JJ nodded and followed dutifully. The two built the frame mainly in silence, until JJ shoved a log under the a-frame, arranging the kindling on top. 

“Never seen it done that way.” Her dad commented with raised eyebrows, but handed him the matchbox anyways. 

“Uh, cuts down on the wood you need to burn. But we can do it your way if you’d like, yours might be better -” JJ started, hurriedly going to rearrange the wood. Her dad caught his arm gently and JJ froze, forcing himself to exhale. “Let’s try it your way, bud, might be better.” 

JJ nodded and lit the fire, and her dad whistled in appreciation when it caught quickly, roaring to flame. “I’ll be damned.” Charlie came out, handing both of them a beer, a little hesitant with JJ. He accepted it with a grateful smile, leaning into her when she curled her arm protectively around his waist. “You’re handy with a lot of these things, aren’t you, JJ?” Her dad asked. 

“A little. I like working on physical things.” 

“I heard you changed the spark plugs on Charlie’s car, I’ve been trying to figure that out for ages. I’m impressed.” He offered an encouraging smile and JJ ran his hand through his hair, grateful it was dark enough to hide his blush. “Yeah, well. Didn’t want something to happen when she was driving, so I took care of it.”   

“I appreciate that. You’re good at taking care of her, kid.” Her dad lifted his beer bottle and JJ tapped the neck of the glass against his, grinning once he took a sip. “She’s worth it.” 

[stevenuniversallyreviews]

I don’t need you to respect me, I respect me

I’m gonna miss writing about Amethyst.

As the most sisterly Crystal Gem, a firebrand in the new role of middle child after spending millennia as the baby of the group, Amethyst’s story is about growing from a wild teen to a responsible adult. Like Steven, she feels the need to prove that she’s a Crystal Gem too, but unlike Steven, she already is a Crystal Gem, so she carries a different kind of resentment as she continues to be treated like a child. It’s made even worse by her warrior instincts clashing with her small frame: she lives with the constant anxiety that she’s a mistake, a Gem who came out wrong and doesn’t belong in her family, so she comforts and distracts herself with hedonism and shapeshifting. Her problem goes beyond not feeling respected: deep down, she fears that she doesn’t deserve respect.

But she changes her mind.

“This isn’t normal.”

The Return and Jailbreak culminated the first act of Steven Universe, giving our characters subtle achievements (Amethyst and Pearl casually fuse into Opal, Greg reveals a deeper understanding of the Gems than we once thought, Beach City comes together as a community when Steven is in danger) and huge changes (Steven summons a massive shield, Garnet’s status as a fusion is confirmed, Lapis goes from prisoner to imprisoner). While not an official finale, Beta and Earthlings culminated the second act, narrowing the focus to five characters as they each reach one milestone or another: Lapis and Amethyst find a level of peace, Peridot defends her new home, Jasper succumbs to corruption, and Steven helps his friends but fails to help his enemy.

In a way, Change Your Mind culminates the third act with an even narrower focus. Sure, it gives big moments to a ton of characters (there’s fanservice galore, and we see the three Diamonds in particular take enormous steps), but we zero in on Steven in the same way the entire act has zeroed in on Steven, because this is a story about identity. It isn’t only about who he is, but who he wants to be moving forward, and fusing all the insights he’s learned from his human family, his Crystal Gem family, and his Diamond family into a song that encapsulates his growth over the course of the series.

We start in the most lifelike of the Diamond dreams, so real that Steven still sees himself as Steven rather than embodying Pink. Once again, this connection emerges from sleeping in a location where Pink once dwelled, but while he wasn’t feeling her impatience and rage in Jungle Moon, nor her hardening resolve in Can’t Go Back, nor her whimsy in Familiar, this time they share the same headspace when they’re both locked in a tower.

Considering how bombastic things get in this episode, I love how low-key this final dream remains until White Diamond interferes. We’re as lost as Steven at first, worrying about Connie and baffled at Blue’s recognizable mood but incongruous accusations, but as the truth becomes clear, he transforms into Pink off-screen without any fanfare, both in body and in mind: Steven isn’t questioning Blue’s warning about Pink Pearl, Pink Diamond is apologizing for her own behavior in Zach Callison’s voice. Still, looking down jolts him out of it, and after seeing the Crystal Gems poofed at the ball for a more definitive Steven memory, we cycle in Rose’s horror at her family launching a final attack on Earth. The rapid-fire identity shifts that follow inspired the most haunting piece of promo art for the episode, drawn by Rebecca Sugar herself, but I didn’t wanna display it without a seizure warning.

It’s excellent exposition, hitting the highlights of the Diamonds’ many wrongs and establishing Steven’s fraying sense of self in a way that’s both artful and brief; it’s important to remind younger viewers about the stakes, but Change Your Mind doesn’t pretend that anyone should be watching this episode without context, so it doesn’t prioritize thorough explanation. And despite how frightening the nightmare becomes, Steven gains a new sense of clarity after seeing the pattern laid out in front of him. The Diamonds are hurting him in the same way they hurt his mother, and if he’s going to help everyone, he needs to help himself.

When Blue Diamond returns to the tower in modern day, Steven isn’t afraid, and he isn’t alone. The first of many puns riddling the finale emerges (“Déjà Blue!”) before Connie proves why she’s the perfect partner for our hero, platonic or otherwise. He’s terrible at confronting the people that hurt him—this would require him to acknowledge he’s hurt in the first place, which he’s also terrible at—but if she was comfortable enough with confrontation to call out her best friend when he wrongs her, Blue Diamond doesn’t stand a chance. Connie comes out swinging, loading the bases with candor and sass despite Blue’s confusion over why a human even gets an opinion about this stuff, which makes Steven’s refusal to apologize hit the Diamond like a grand slam.

I love that Steven’s flat “no” takes Connie by surprise as well as Blue, because yeah, it’s uncharacteristically blunt for someone who’s spent his entire trip to Homeworld bending over backwards like he usually does to accommodate others. When he doubles down by explaining that he isn’t sorry about creating a show that celebrates queer characters whoops sorry I mean fusion, Callison makes it sound like the most obvious thing in the world, and this is what upsets Blue enough to inflict her tears on him. We’ll learn even more about Pink’s temper in Steven Universe Future, but the simple act of not bowing to authority makes Steven “worse than ever” in Blue’s mind: violence is more acceptable than insubordination. (Also, violence in cartoons is more acceptable than queer folks just sorta existing in cartoons, but that’s neither here nor there.)

Change Your Mind is about combating bigotry and cycles of abuse, and Blue is the obvious first test. She’s a bigot who doesn’t think she’s a bigot (compared to Yellow, who doesn’t care that she’s a bigot, and White, who’s quite proud of being a bigot). She passively perpetuates a toxic status quo (compared to Yellow, who actively perpetuates it, and White, who established it in the first place). It makes sense that she’s the first of the remaining Diamonds to change her mind, because all it takes for her to realize that something is wrong is thinking about it a little harder.

This doesn’t let her off the hook, of course: Blue’s sloth—the sin, not the animal—might not look flashy next to Yellow’s wrath or White’s pride or Pink’s envy, but she still chose to do nothing for thousands of years rather than contemplate how her actions and her society might have wronged Pink. If it was this easy for Blue to realize she was hurting Pink, it makes it that much more of an issue that it took her this long to figure it out. Unintentional bigots might be the “best” option by default, but they can be just as harmful as intentional bigots, and there’s a special sort of damage that can come from an oppressor who truly believes themselves an ally.

That said, while it’s important to acknowledge her blame (emphasized here when she only stops attacking Steven when he calls her out rather than the Diamonds in general), Blue is also a victim. She’s one of the most powerful beings on Homeworld, but she’s still trapped by White Diamond, and resorts to putting others down as a means of reclaiming a sense of that power. In the same way oppressed people often turn to sexism and racism and homophobia to make themselves feel bigger, Blue (and Yellow) reinforce White’s sweeping bigotry in the same way they echo her family-specific abuse. It’s not a good coping mechanism, in this show or in the real world, but understanding the problem is key to fixing it.

So it still feels like a victory when Blue turns, even though it should’ve happened ages ago, and even though she’s a tyrant. She isn’t just deciding to help Steven, she’s breaking out of that cycle in a way that allows for growth beyond our hero’s immediate concerns. Lisa Hannigan captures this transformation beautifully, shifting from manipulative whining about Pink’s behavior to a crushing realization that she’s the one who’s wrong. And even as she joins Steven’s side, she remains weighed down by her longstanding prejudice: Hannigan stutters as she refers to the Crystal Gems as his family, and her triumphant defense of Steven’s name to Yellow comes with the caveat that she’s still misgendering him.

But before we get to Yellow, we take a pit stop that grounds us back to Steven and Connie’s hunger. It may seem small, but this is a critical moment in establishing Steven’s humanity in a way the show has quietly done from day one: with food.

The very first scene of Steven Universe establishes our hero’s human half in a donut shop, upset about dessert. From there, the next five episodes drill in that Steven will take a unique approach to his magical Gem heritage, and they all involve food in a major way: Cookie Cats, then his father’s saying about pork chops and hot dogs, then the Cheeseburger Backpack (important enough to be the episode’s name), then the Together Breakfast (ditto), then creating a monster based on fries.

It’s not just Steven, either. The first few Connie episodes involve eating and drinking in ways that show hints of growth (worrying about trans fats, then sneaking food into movie theaters) and mark key moments in her life (sharing a juicebox, taking her parents to dinner). Lars’s development is tied with his love of baking, and on top of him and Sadie working at the Big Donut, the Frymans and the Pizzas are so tied to their food service jobs that it’s in their names. And speaking of names, we’ve got Vidalia calling her sons Sour Cream and Onion. It even extends to the Gems: Amethyst’s connection with Earth means she loves food, and Pearl’s greater distance from humanity means she can’t stomach it.

Food is fundamentally something that humans require and Gems don’t, and just like we saw in Lars’s Head, Steven’s physical body forces him to think about his own needs despite his usual focus on others. Both his humanity and his ability to stand up for himself are key to his eventual victory, and what could’ve been a generic transition between Blue and Yellow’s big scenes instead becomes a quiet Steven scene. Steven changing into his usual clothes (including his mom’s star) and Connie changing into her own outfit (including her dad’s jacket) is the perfect finishing touch before we dive back into the drama.

True to their natures, Yellow Diamond gets a starker introduction than Blue’s dream sequence: as the lights burst on, we get two shots focusing on a horrifying number of mutated Gem Shards floating around in the room, then the Crystal Gems’ thankfully intact gems in one big bubble, before panning down to the villain who caused all this pain. The menace is palpable before she even opens her mouth, but Patti LuPone’s low tone keeps the mood from boiling over just long enough that when she loses her cool, it hits like a freight train.

Blue’s passive bigotry endured because she lacked introspection, but Yellow’s active bigotry requires constantly justifying actions she knows are cruel by presenting it as a matter of superior reasoning. We’ve known from her first appearance that Yellow’s seething fury undermines her reputation for cold logic, and now more than ever the connection between her behavior and that of “sophisticated” bigots is clear. You know the type: openly, smugly hateful, but couching their hate as something derived from some deep knowledge about the subject, whether in religious convictions or whatever “science” they can scrape together to confirm their worldview.

Sure enough, even in her rage, Yellow lays down what she sees as a rational explanation for why it was okay to mistreat Pink, and why it’s okay that they themselves are mistreated: if they make exceptions for anyone, even other Diamonds, they must make exceptions for everyone, and chaos reigns. Besides the slippery slope being a fallacy, her argument is punctured by Connie’s second big retort of the night, pointing out that this extreme conclusion of Homeworld Gems living free actually sounds pretty nice. But you can’t force this type of bigot to change their mind through reason; if such a person was actually interested in logical worldviews, they wouldn’t have become a bigot in the first place. You need to change their heart.

Fortunately, emotions are Blue’s domain, so she’s just the person to help. Unfortunately, in the same way she still can’t get Steven’s pronouns right, Blue lacks experience with healthy communication, and strikes a first blow against Yellow on instinct. The ensuing brawl is brutal, switching between the massive scale of two warring titans and the smaller scale of Steven and Connie scrambling to save the Crystal Gems as Blue and Yellow unload millennia of baggage on each other. It’s so important that Blue is the physical instigator here, as it fuels Yellow’s white-hot self-righteous streak like nothing else, and it keeps the fight from being one-sided all the way through: Yellow pretty much needs to be the one dealing the final blow for the scene to stick, so it gets balanced out by Blue’s opening punch.

Blue uses her powers on Yellow, and Yellow uses her powers on Blue, but Steven’s power is talking. So just like with Blue’s conversion, Connie gets the opening words while Steven gets the finisher. When he finally gets her attention after being ignored throughout the scene, he makes Yellow listen to him by using the same food-based expression I mentioned from all the way back in Laser Light Cannon. It’d pack a bigger punch if Greg said “If every pork chop were perfect, we wouldn’t have hot dogs” at literally any other point in the show, but it still does the trick.

Blue was emotionally ready to accept that Pink was suffering, but hadn’t considered the Diamonds’ role in that suffering. Yellow knew that Pink suffered thanks to the Diamonds, but suppressed her emotions to the point where she couldn’t empathize with her sister’s plight. Blue needed to be more thoughtful to change, and Yellow needed to be more in touch with her emotions to change, and thus the stage is set for the Battle of Heart and Mind against White Diamond.

Except that this isn’t the lesson of Change Your Mind. Blue and Yellow show that some bigots can be reached, which is great! But despite their differences, Steven uses the same basic strategy in both: he doesn’t let them belittle his identity, he confidently dispels their wrongheaded assumptions, and he gets help from allies instead of shouldering the burden himself. We spend the beginning of the episode seeing that in the right circumstances this approach can work, but from here we’ll see that with some bigots, it’s a non-starter.

So long as you can engage with bigots while maintaining your self-respect, it can be good work to try and help them see the light. It’s not an obligation, but if you want to change hearts and minds, Steven provides a good template for how to do it. Now the rest of the episode can focus on the bigger lesson: if someone refuses to respect your humanity when you’re steadfast and forthright, it isn’t your job to breathe in their poison, or to hold your breath until you asphyxiate waiting for change.

But more on that after the break!

I Can’t Believe We’ve Come So Far

As we reach the end of the original series, it would be criminal not to acknowledge three long-time storyboarders who are on their way out. This isn’t their final contribution to the series, as only one of Change Your Mind’s twelve credited writer/boarders didn’t go on to work on The Movie in some way (Christine Liu, whose tenure was brief but great), and Hilary Florido stayed on as a supervisor for Future. But I wanted to write the big sendoffs here, as this is the last proper “episode” that these three worked on as regular boarders. So it’s time to say goodbye to Katie Mitroff, Hilary Florido, and Jeff Liu.

First up is Katie Mitroff, who clocked two early knockouts with Alone Together and The Test alongside Florido. Mitroff’n’Florido went on to make other classics like Maximum Capacity and Joy Ride before the former teamed up with Lamar Abrams and the latter teamed up with Jesse Zuke for their next batch of episodes.

With Abrams, Mitroff deepened the lore of the show with We Need to Talk, Steven’s Birthday, Bismuth, Buddy’s Book, Three Gems and a Baby, and especially The Answer. She gave us the harrowing revelation of Back to the Moon, and the most ridiculous episode of the series, Restaurant Wars. Her final partner was Paul Villeco, finishing strong with The Trial, Back to the Kindergarten, Your Mother and Mine, Pool Hopping, What’s Your Problem?, Reunited, and Change Your Mind, 100% of which are either in my Love ‘em ranking or my Top Episodes. (Oh, sorry, spoiler alert I love Change Your Mind.)

It’s strange, because she didn’t work on any of the major episodes of Amethyst’s big arc at the end of Season 3, but Mitroff is one of my favorite Amethyst boarders: she’s the consistent thread between Maximum Capacity, Back to the Moon, and What’s Your Problem?, three cornerstones of the character. She excelled at going outside the show’s usual style, as seen in The Answer and Your Mother and Mine, and it’s no coincidence she helped animate Isn’t It Love? to bring Cotton Candy Garnet back for one last ride.

Katie Mitroff is an absolute rock star, I wish her well and you should too.

[wlw-lovestruck-fiction]

How about a sequel to the Naida/MC? When Nadia invites MC on a heist with her, the Poppy is worried for MC so they test to see if Nadia really cares about MC by making it look like MC’s will be caught (but it’s one of them as a fake guard) to see if Nadia stays to help MC and she does. When MC realises it’s the Poppy she’s upset bc they didn’t trust her judgement and leaves with Nadia, but Nadia convinces her to talk with them bc while she’s angry about being tested they were looking out for MC

Written by @an-awkward-ghost

Flashpoint’s heists were different than the Poppy’s. Nadia, back when she thought she was infatuated with Vivienne, had spent days studying their methods. They truly had the best combination of abilities and talents someone could ask for, and Nikolai knew how to put everything to good use. Nothing was wasted, any chance of failure would be immediately squashed before it could so much as exist. And if something unexpected did happen during a heist, well, they knew how to improvise. It was annoying, yes, but something that Nadia could respect – they were the best for a reason, after all. Part of that was remaining untouchable.

And while Nadia was aware that safety should be top priority, there was a unique thrill in doing things more freely that she would never give away. Flashpoint preferred to go all in, figurative guns blazing, taking what they wanted while everyone watched, unable to do anything.

She loved committing their expressions to memory, all stunned fear and enraged surprise. It was much better than imagining their reactions to a calling card, in her opinion.

When she had invited MC to work with them on their next heist, she knew the Poppy wouldn’t approve of her methods. They were like one big, stubborn, overprotective family she had to win over – the most disapproving “in-laws” in the world.

Fine, that was fine. Nadia could have Flashpoint play it safe for one heist. She’d never let Karina come to any harm, and hell to anyone who believed otherwise – she’d show the Poppy she can be trusted.

Thing is… she didn’t quite think she’d have to prove it this way. She expected a talk, maybe a heated debate, but nothing this dramatic nor extreme. Weren’t the Poppy supposed to play it safe?

And everything had happened so fast.

Karina had been telling her about her recruitment, high on adrenaline, laughing freely and warmly like the wind in spring. The whole experience had been invigorating, even if the heist wasn’t as crazy as Flashpoint usually preferred.

“I wish it had been me who discovered you,” Nadia had told her, in one of those moments where she didn’t feel the need to be dominating, in control. Karina had softened at the admission, had looked at her as if she were an undiscovered treasure she was itching to commit to memory.

They walked together to the back exit of the mansion Flashpoint had infiltrated in. Nadia wasn’t concerned about the rest of her crew – they were probably already waiting for them, since Karina and her might have gotten a bit… distracted… during the heist.

Just as she was reminiscing, feeling proud delight bubble in her chest and a spark of delicious heat, the Poppy had sprung into action.

Or, well, a “guard” did.

He came out of the literal shadows, unexpected like rain in September.

Nadia had been walking ahead, already out of the mansion. If this had occurred before Nadia had become aware she had feelings for Karina, she might have snorted and continued on to safety, glad to have gotten rid of Vivienne’s little toy.

But that’s not what happens at all.

The first thing Nadia hears is Karina’s surprised yelp. All rational thought leaves her at that moment. Before she can even blink, she’s already turning around, heading inside again like a demon let loose, hand moving towards her knife.

It takes her a moment to understand the scene before her, but the moment she does she sees red. Karina is caught in the guard’s grasp, expression open in honest surprise. Nadia can detect a tinge of panic twisting alongside ever eternal frustration, and understands this situation has happened before, and Karina had been as powerless then as she was now. Everything shifting with volcanic rage in her expression, Karina stomps on the guard’s foot with vigor.

The guard curses and yelps and flinches and Nadia instantly sees her opening. She pounces, eyes zeroing in on the spot that would guarantee a kill. It was second nature at this point.

True, she had promised to change for Karina. To hold back. To search for other methods, for other solutions. Nadia had grumbled and accepted it, but the instinct was never gone, not really. It’s the first thing that came to mind when something went wrong.

It’s the first thing that she was doing now, falling back into old habits.

The guard blocks her, still holding to Karina. She moves with him, a harsh tug that sets his balance off. That’s everything Nadia needs. Her knife is light and sure in her grasp, hungry for vengeance. She won’t miss.

“Nadia, wait!”

Against her better judgement, her body freezes mid strike, automatically responding to Karina’s yell- no, to her order. Unable to do anything else, she fixes the guard with a fulminating glare, daring him to do anything.

Karina continues. “I know that voice. Leon?”

The guard remains tense, though now thoroughly non-threatening.

“Leon?” Nadia repeats, with a huff. She can see it now, in his wide shoulders and tall frame. The knife would have been ineffective against someone like him, a mere bee’s sting. She huffs, relaxing her posture, still somewhat wary. “Explain. You didn’t betray them, did you?”

“Us,” Karina corrects, eyes narrowing. “And he’d never…”

She trails off at the same time Leon lets go of her, moving to take off the mask covering his mouth. His expression is filled with silent, thunderous determination.

“You guys planned this, didn’t you?” Karina asks, quietly. “You wanted to see what Nadia would do if I was in danger.”

Leon doesn’t shy away from her, which Nadia has to give him credit for. Karina could be scary when she wanted to, eyes dark like the deep end of the sea, where you couldn’t do anything else but drown.

The Poppy was hellbent on believing she was only deceiving Karina, weren’t they? After all this time? All of this?

Indignation burns away all other feelings. She distracts herself playing with her knife, frowning.

“Do you really trust me so little?” Karina explodes. “Do you- do you think that I don’t have a brain to make decisions or something? I know Nadia is dangerous. I’m not blind. I’m not a poor judge of character. I just- what were you guys thinking? Doing this- this… this test! What the hell were you trying to do? Provoke the inevitable? Nadia wouldn’t have abandoned me!”

Karina turns around, hand grabbing Nadia’s and dragging her off without another word. Leon remains where he is, resignation clouding his face, but even from here his relief is evident.

“I can’t believe their nerve! God! What if you hadn’t stopped and ended up stabbing him?”

“We are talking about Leon here. He can tank a knife.”

“I mean, yeah, but this could have been worse! It could have drawn in real guards, and then what?”

Nadia shrugs, knowing silence is the only option. Karina needs to vent.

“And I can’t believe they don’t trust me. I’ve told them about our dates, you know, you’d think they’d see-” She cuts herself off, quickly switching topics without really ending them. “I just know Remy and Jett must have driven all the other guards away. If we run into them, I’ll- oh my god, the maid we saw on the third floor! That’s it, I’m yelling at Vivienne too. I’m yelling at all of them.”

Nadia squints, vaguely remembering the maid Karina is referring to. The Poppy had clearly taken measures to ensure Karina wouldn’t be in any real danger whatsoever. This little test of theirs…

She sighs.

“Angel-”

“And don’t get me started on Zoe, she probably-”

“Angel.”

“-was watching the whole time! The moment I see another camera, I am-”

“Karina?”

“-so flipping her off!”

“Angel. Darling.”

That seems to make the trick. Karina whips around to glare at her.

“Don’t use darling. Please.”

Nadia nods. “Yes. I apologize. You weren’t listening.”

“Listening? Oh! I’m sorry, Nadia, I didn’t consider how this would make you feel… they are just acting like complete assholes, I know you would never-”

“No, no. It’s fine.” It’s not. Nadia is a woman of her word. She had told the Poppy that as soon as Karina and her had started dating, and to have her word so quickly brushed off…? It irked her. A lot. But she sucks it up and faces her girlfriend with the most neutral expression she can manage. “They are your family, Karina. I understand why they are worried.”

“They shouldn’t be.”

“But they are. As much as I dislike being tested like this, I’d say it helped win their favor. We should have no further problems from them.”

“But to go this far… they really crossed the line this time. I won’t forgive them.”

Gently, Nadia tugs Karina’s hand so she’ll stop walking. “If only humans weren’t this emotional... but the fact is they have a right to feel worried, just like you have a right to be angry.”

“We. Just like we.”

A small smile curls up her lips. “Just to be clear, I’d have done the same.”

“Huh?”

“If you were dating Vivienne. I would have tested her, too.”

Karina’s eyes go wide. “Hold on. That day, on the rooftop. You came to test me.”

Nadia swallows the fact that she had originally intended to kill her and just nods. The memory of her past self’s plans still made her skin crawl, even after all this time. She can’t fathom why she’d ever want to harm this woman, this angel. At least those thoughts are long gone, now.

Her girlfriend huffs and shakes her head.

“Am I the only one that would just choose to have a talk?”

“A shovel talk, you mean.”

“Hah. Maybe. So, your point was… I should forgive them? Really? Are you sure?”

“Oh, no, you can still bring them hell. Actually, please do. I was just trying to make you see things their way.”

Karina’s smile is downright predatory. “Oh, I’ll give them hell all right.”

[bigskydreaming]

Do you have any character in any fandom that you hate so much or a character who bothers you so much that you can't look at any media without getting annoyed/ upset? Not like villain character, a normal or even fandom fave character, someone most others won't find anything wrong with but your guts hate them, that kind?

I mean, the most obvious example of this for me is definitely Stiles in Teen Wolf lol. I know that a lot of people didn’t start disliking him until later seasons but I just flat out never liked him from the get go, and like....it built and grew due to a lot of fandom attitudes towards the character?

Because like......I just do not enjoy characters who constantly seem to be making digs at or undercutting their supposed friends or family, the way Stiles was with Scott from the very pilot. Its like yeah great, I can absolutely see and recognize all the times he was there for him and did in fact do good friendship type stuff, but the problem for me lies in the way fandom tends to make that TRANSACTIONAL with the stuff I had a problem with where its almost like, well, see, since Stiles tried so hard to save Scott in this one episode Motel California, he GETS to casually insult and demoralize him all the rest of the time, and holy shit no that’s not how that works, y’know? (Especially because Scott’s shitty self-esteem was the bad guy’s way in for almost killing him in Motel California, and gee what connection could there be between shitty self-esteem and constantly being belittled and talked down to by your literal best friend in the whole world BUT I DIGRESS).

And a lot of people over the years have been like, okay but friends tease each other and give each other shit all the time, are you saying they’re all bad for doing so? And no, I’m not, but the thing people tend to gloss over here is the key phrase “each other.”

Because its one thing when you have friendships like this. Its another thing when those friendships flow entirely one way in this specific regard.

When one character is not only ‘allowed to’ but almost EXPECTED to take pot shots at their friend at every available opportunity, but any single time the other friend does the same, no matter how playfully, its fixated upon as being mean and unfriendly, like...THAT is the problem.

And while I don’t have a specific single character that answers your question here in terms of Batfandom, the exact same phenomenon rears its head there and I holy hell object to that too, lol.

Like, we see it SO often with how Dick’s brothers are habitually characterized as mocking his relationship with Bruce, work ethic, standards, jobs, apartment, fashion choices, cooking, NAME......with it just taken for granted that there’s nothing wrong with them all calling him Dickhead or saying he’s ‘really lived up to his namesake’ practically once a fic, if not once a chapter......

And again, the common refrain is “well siblings are just like that?”

And they’re not actually, is the thing. I mean, I grew up with siblings too, and YES we gave each other shit all the time, but again its that exact same key phrase: EACH OTHER.

Like in comparison to the above, how often do people read fic where Dick casually insults his brothers every time he meets up with them, or makes snide, backhanded offensive references to their own parents or memories/reminders of them, or insults their standards not even as a point of specific conflict, but just as a casual, generic expression of contempt?

Its not a two-way street there either at ALL, and THAT’S the issue.

(Also similar to the example I outlined with Motel California, a lot of people write stuff about Dick having shitty self-esteem, but again like.....when you pair this as hand in hand with Dick regularly being insulted and talked down to by his own family, who never ever seem to have anything good to say to him or about him until AFTER he has some kind of breakdown, its like......where do you think shitty self-esteem so often comes from?)

Like, I’ve had people tag fic/drabble posts where I have Dick engaging in what to my estimation is the equivalent of gently teasing Jason or Tim.....and people tag these with “I feel funny about this because Dick seems kinda mean to his brothers here”.....and then nine out of ten times, if I go onto their blog, within a PAGE or two, I see some post where Jason and Tim are calling Dick a Dickhead or mocking his intelligence with NO sign of funny feelings from that person and its like......its not the criticism I mind, lol, its that uh, one of these things (standards of behavior applied to each character) are not like the others.

Because a lot of times when pressed on this subject, people will respond with “well it wouldn’t be in character/Dick or Scott are too nice for that to be their sense of humor” and again its just kinda glossed over that uh, this is basically a tacit admission that the characterization you’re going with for everyone else is ‘not that nice, actually.’ BUT any time people call this specific kind of behavior out when these characters do it, THEN the response is not “well yeah, you’re right, its not that nice actually,” its a defensive “well okay but that’s just how these characters are, are you saying they’re assholes?”

And its like well no, actually you basically were the ones who said they were assholes when you made this a core part of their characterization, and now you’re using this weird kinda circular logic to loophole your way out of them being actually held up and acknowledged as such WHEN they’re characterized this way. 

If these specific other characters never get to retaliate or return fire BECAUSE they’re too nice, then there should be no problem acknowledging that when the characters who DO engage in this behavior are actively engaging in it.....they’re being assholes, and no, its just how friends/siblings are is not actually a defensive/deviation from this if their targeted friend/sibling is never actually able to do the same without being held up specifically as stepping outside the territory of “being nice.”

Few things bug me more in terms of basic character interactions/dynamics then the tendency fandom has of building up certain characters as having free reign with how they treat other characters, while simultaneously limiting these other characters from any kind of equivalent spectrum of behavior by using their own positive traits AGAINST THEM.....but with fandom at the same time being willing to full on go to war in defense of the first kind of characters if anyone draws any kind of connecting dots between their examples of frankly asshole-ish behavior and the implication that they might, in fact, be not that awesome as a result.

Its this annoying sleight of hand wherein certain characters can do or say anything without it being a reflection on who they are character-wise, while other characters step the SLIGHTEST toe out of the line that fandom has drawn for their character and how they’re EXPECTED to behave at all times in order to avoid active criticism.....and this then absolutely is an indication of how they’re actually flawed and gross and even abusive, because of how not nice what they’re doing is, and if people want them to NOT be perceived that way, they need to go back to characterizing them or focusing their characterization of them on all the times/ways in which they just placidly accept whatever’s dished out without any kind of reciprocation.

So yeah, Stiles was always a big example of this for me, but it was far from limited to just him. Any time a fandom is like “these characters can make fun of this character or be super critical of them but this character is never ever allowed to do the same in return, that’s against the law,” I’m like yeah no, that’s a swing and a miss for me. Hard pass on those particular fandom faves....at least so long as their fandom fave status seems to go hand in hand with their ability to inflict maximum psychic damage upon their alleged loved one any time they’re feeling down or are just in a mood, all while facing zero consequences for it....even in the simple form of their targeted ‘loved one’ ever simply being like yeah I just choose to not want to be around you when you’re being assholes to me/if you’re going to just be an asshole to me.

[bcwallin]

One Nostalgia Later

Zero barely talks about his great lost love. As the “aged proprietor” of an “enchanted old ruin” known as the Grand Budapest Hotel, he tells his life story by skipping around her presence, touching on the existence of his “darling Agatha,” but avoiding falling into the pit of despair. Beautiful things don’t get to be completed in his world, where poems are always cut off, nice sentiments are interrupted, and the dark specter of war and disease cuts short any hope of living long, living with love. The man who “struck one as being, deeply and truly, lonely” knows what it is to lose.

For a brief time, Zero and Agatha shared a love. They were outcasts, ignored, working in service jobs that required self-abnegation—he as a hotel lobby boy; she, the pastry girl at a bakery. We see them in their bedrooms; it’s not much. “We did not have 50 Klubecks between the two of us,” recalls the older Zero. They worked long, demanding hours and had few moments to spare. Zero’s meals were held with the rest of the hotel staff. Agatha suffered the overbearing, watchful eye of her boss at the bakery, Herr Mendl. Being together was difficult, but the few moments they shared were rapturous. Their courtship felt like young love feels: furtive, secretive, and bursting with flushed emotion.

That young love never gets to mature. Agatha dies too early. “An absurd little disease,” the older Zero says parenthetically of the cause of death. So, every moment is preserved in amber, but never lingered on for too long. “She is a nearly absent presence in the story, by Zero’s choice: a narrative door marked ‘Do Not Enter,’” writes Matt Zoller Seitz, in his book about the movie. “He won’t speak of her. It’s too painful, and he’s too private.” But the aged Zero can’t tell his story without including her, try as he might. And we get glimpses.

On one good day, Zero and Agatha go to a carousel. They’re accompanied by Herr Mendl, but they barely notice. Zero gives his love a gift. He’s so anxious for her to like it, he can’t even wait for her to open the wrapping before he bursts out with what it is. He can’t contain his love in the inscription, either: “For my dearest, darling, treasured, cherished Agatha, whom I worship. With respect, adoration, admiration, kisses, gratitude, best wishes, and love.”

Throughout their courtship, the world around Zero and Agatha bursts at the seams with the portents of war, as newspapers tease, armies gather, and the brightly colored, idyllic world of the fictional state of Zubrowka teeters on the brink. The start of the war, after all, sees the appearance of black-clad death squads, and eventually, the draining of color from the film itself. Darkness and death loom quietly, but no matter what’s going on in the world, a first love is a first love. And it’s all encapsulated in a single image.

Agatha’s face takes up the center of the boxy frame—her gaze is transfixing. She stares lovingly, straight through the camera. We’re Zero, locking eyes with her. The colors shift over her face as carousel lights turn behind and around her. She is radiant, then shadowed, then red. She has the slightest hint of a smile, her head tilted, just so. Agatha stares with her deep blue eyes and it’s near-impossible to look away. But who would want to?

In this single moment, the music fades as if it’s playing somewhere else, the lights haze, as the focus can only be directed toward Agatha. Time is frozen, if only for a moment, as we experience the ecstasy of loving and knowing you are loved. Of early love, with its rushed heartbeats, tingling limbs, empty stomachs, stuttering lips, and sweaty brows. We hold onto this eternally familiar moment. As Italo Calvino once wrote, describing a different, frozen moment in time: “The suspicion that has gripped me is precisely this: that I have come to find myself in a space not new to me, that I have returned to a point where we had already passed by.”

* * *

The Grand Budapest Hotel continues a literary tradition that’s stretched from Dante to Moulin Rouge!: women die tragically and their lovers memorialize them in their writings. Agatha is an ideal, an image. Like Madeleine to Scotty in Vertigo (but less creepy), like the woman of an aged Mr. Bernstein’s tale in Citizen Kane (but more meaningful), Agatha exists as a memory or a reference.

With its frames within frames of shifting perspectives and aspect ratios, The Grand Budapest Hotel is distinctly literary. Its opening monologue is lifted nearly verbatim from Beware of Pity by Stefan Zweig, an author whose work is credited with inspiring the film, whose mustache seems to appear on more than one character’s face, and whose disappearing world is fictionalized as the setting. Zweig’s non-fiction is a great example of the longing for a lost place; his fiction for lost people. In his novella Journey into the Past, Zweig chronicles the long-awaited reunion of a man and a woman who had once been deeply in love, years ago. “How much time, how much lost time, and yet in the space of a second a single thought took him back to the very beginning.”

Zweig’s stories are often framed as recollections told over, as stories shared with strangers because of their absolute meaningfulness—much like the memorializing by grieving lovers of literary tradition—because these memories needed to be stories, to be remembered by somebody else. Zweig’s framing characters look to create the literature of their own lived stories. Journey into the Past sees two characters, Ludwig and an unnamed woman,  returning to their own story, with one seeking to consummate his unrequited love of nine years’ distance. They had had an emotional affair, tucked into passionate glances and tacit communication, years earlier, while her husband was alive. They kissed where they could, but they had to hide from the servants who always seemed to be around at the least opportune time. Ludwig’s desires were never fully satisfied and he was called away on business so he could build his fortune. And he and his love made a promise to be together once he’d return.

But the trouble with remembering love is that its amber glow sets up dangerous expectations. After being away far longer than he’d have liked to be, Ludwig is greeted fondly by the woman’s staff. He joins his love to the literary tradition and wonders to himself, as Zweig writes, “Odysseus…the household dogs recognize you, will the mistress of the house know you again too?” He’s been away for nine years. He’s gotten married, but he still returns for a rendezvous with the woman he loved and lost, to fulfill a promise she had made him, but which she realizes she cannot keep. Ludwig recalls a couplet from a French poem by Paul Verlaine: “In the old park, in ice and snow caught fast / Two specters walk, still searching for the past.” The poem, which cuts off there in Zweig’s story, imagines a dialogue between lost lovers:

—Does your heart still surge at my very name?

Do you still see my soul when you dream?—No.

—Ah, the beautiful days of inexpressible bliss

When our lips met!—It may have been so.

—How blue the sky, how hopes ran high!

—Hope has fled, vanquished, to the black sky.

Like Jay Gatsby or Mr. Bernstein or Lemony Snicket, wondering what might have been, Ludwig and Verlaine’s narrator and an old Zero romanticize their visions of love as time goes by.

“Any adequate view of nostalgia will acknowledge that it involves a felt difference between past and present: the very irretrievability of the past is salient in the experience,” wrote philosophy professor Scott Alexander Howard. We may seek to stay in the past through memory, Howard tells us, because the present seems worse, because we didn’t realize how good life was, or because we’re spontaneously overtaken by nostalgia. Nostalgia may mean that we see the past as a time that was better, and while that doesn’t necessarily mean that our vision of the past is false, it does mean that things get amplified to a whole other level:

The nostalgist knows the past in question was unpleasant at the time, but in memory it is altered by certain effects: for example, the memory has acquired a gold patina, or it seems to be an uncanny distillation of a whole time period. Neither effect strikes the self-aware nostalgist as true to the quality of one’s experiences at the time when those memories were encoded. Yet they are part of what is targeted by nostalgia. The emotion seems to be directed precisely at the “fictional” features of the memory image—things which one recognizes to be not inside the scene on the other side of the window, but drawn onto the glass.

That amber glow or gold patina grows as we distance ourselves from a disappeared world. Zero’s story, his world, his love are by definition irretrievable.

The carousel (in reality, a wood frame built around a camera setup) is irretrievable. The lights (in reality, constructed to be evocative more than representative) are irretrievable. The shared moment—stolen between long shifts of service as Herr Mendl looks on—is gone, and its memory is a fictionalized, amberized construction of nostalgia and longing.

As the elder Zero looks back, the once garishly pink and red hotel now looks like a holdover from Soviet-era architecture, its colors a drab collection of beiges and oranges. The grand ballroom holds few diners and the place, in general, is empty. Guests push their own elevator buttons, serve themselves from vending machines, and, at times, even retrieve their own keys.

And Agatha. Zero holds onto her memory, but reveals very little of it. She has 15 lines in the film’s screenplay. The first time we hear of Agatha, the older Zero avoids saying much, and talks of her only when he has to. It’s all gone and irretrievable. Sort of.

* * *

One cold November night at Penn Station, the poet Alandra Markman, then going by the pseudonym Allan Andre, wrote a poem for me and a friend (we missed our train, but the delay was worth it). “One nostalgia later” gave a compelling portrait of family meals, “as winter nights dissolve into warm / recollection and company we’re still keeping.” The way the poem goes, we create our nostalgia as we live through moments, readying our stories to be told and remembered some time later on. “Let every glow, mechanical or felt, be one / with the shadows we’re still casting, / and guide our bodies into greater light.”

The story of Zero and Agatha’s love was created on the carousel. In that moment, we see their love blossoming, deepening, exploding with the soft-focus lights of ecstasy. The elder Zero tells us he’s exercising restraint, avoiding talking about Agatha as much as he can, but if he were truly offering a utilitarian telling, there’d be no need to include this gaze frozen in time. In that moment, we never see Zero head-on, never see the reverse shot of adoration. It’s only Agatha and light. And us.

The elder Zero tells the story to a writer, the writer remembers it long enough to write it as an older man, the older man’s book becomes important enough for him to become a beloved national author, and through the eyes of a devotee, we read this book. When Stefan Zweig incorporates listeners into the story, it’s not just for the purpose of framing. The value of a memory is in how it feels to the rememberer, but the value of a story is in how it feels to the one who hears it. It is the storyteller himself who seeks out the opportunity to tell his story—the older Zero needles the writer into admitting his curiosity and offers, of his own volition, to tell it  in full. The telling is not for the benefit of Zero himself; he is giving something to the author, creating an experience for his audience. With its multiple framings, The Grand Budapest Hotel tells us that we are the viewers, the listeners, the readers. We are part of the experience, and we create our nostalgia as we experience it, so we can tell the story later of a place with bright reds, dark blacks, and swirling lights.

I remember The Grand Budapest Hotel, and I remember those swirling lights and the clutched breath and the deep longing. I think about that one frame of Agatha, frozen in time, holding her lover’s gaze—holding our gaze—as the darkness briefly clouds her face. Every time Zero and the writer and Wes Anderson tell me the story, I see that darkness and I face the irretrievability. I don’t feel nostalgia; I feel regret. For Zubrowka and everything it represents. For the grandness of the Grand Budapest. For Agatha.

* * *

When Calvino wrote about his frozen moment, it was in the story “t zero,” in which the narrator, a hunter, faces a lion L, the arrow A just fired from the hunter’s bow at the time tx. The hunter considers the possibility that A will collide with L at point X and he will be saved, or that A will miss the target L, which would then sink its very sharp claws into his chest in the less preferable of situations. It feels familiar, the narrator tells us, though not because of a comparable lion he’s fought or some feeling of ancestral memory lodged in his DNA. “If I say this moment I am living through is not being lived for the first time by me, it’s because the sensation I have of it is one of a slight doubling of images, as if at the same time I were seeing not one lion or one arrow but two or more lions and two or more arrows superimposed with a barely perceptible overlapping, so the sinuous outlines of the lion’s form and the segment of the arrow seem underlined or rather haloed by finer lines and a more delicate color.” He is experiencing a sense of timelessness, as if he’s lived through this moment in time and space, again and again. “What, after all, is the use of continuing if sooner or later we will only find ourselves in this situation again?”

While the elder Zero withholds a lot, rewatching The Grand Budapest Hotel can feel like a slight glimpse into the heart of an old man, thinking about his lost love and the potential of bright colors and bursting emotion that could have continued for the rest of his life (the internet loves a revisionist theory about a movie—what if the Grand Budapest Hotel of the past only looks that way because of how Zero remembers it?). Calvino’s hunter is doubtful. Zero seems assured. He memorializes his beloved with the hotel that stands for their love. With the story he tells of her. And he lets us see a little.

And we see the near-imperceptible smile, the tilt of a head, the unblinking eyes, the brightness and the dark. We see the warm glow of memory that says how great this was and the hint of sorrow asking how great this could have been.

Originally published on Bright Wall/Dark Room

[microcos-pod]

Micro-Cosmos S1E7 Transcript: Miraculously Misplaced

(“Hello world. This is Chronicling Log One, of Doctor Felix Augustine Couvillion.” CONTENT WARNINGS: yelling, peril, brief claustrophobia, mentions of unreality, paranoia, and the fear of going insane.  Transcript begins below break.)

[THEME MUSIC PLAYS]

ANNOUNCER Futuristic Trail Mix Productions presents Micro-Cosmos: A Science Fiction Podcast.

[THEME MUSIC FADES OUT]

*** [sfx: external storm ambiance echoing through the cave, button press]

FELIX Um... hello world. This...This is Chronicling Log One, of Doctor Felix Augustine Couvillion. I am the science officer on duty with Omnitarian Establishment Crew, erm... zero three... no, we're um...

Zero-one-three-seven-F. Yes. It says so right here.

You'll have to forgive me. Ordinarily, when I make these recordings, they're for my own notes, or for my scientific peers. I am not used to simply... documenting the goings-on, especially... my goings-on... when confined to a cave.

According to Athena, this is for a chronicling protocol called a Code Drag. It refers to, if memory serves, a distress situation without a contingency that, at present, makes mission objectives impossible to complete. That is to say, we have been "dragged" off course. There is no contingency plan for a cinderburst. Cal says they're too rare to even warrant such a thing, nor is there enough research to determine how one could occur here. If these storms supposed to be characteristic of desert terrain, however, I would say Ophiuchus is hardly a suitable candidate. Not that I can research such a claim when I have no signal to reach any external databases that could be of help. No, that would be too easy.

Instead of that, what I do is I sit inside of a cave, talking to myself, and try to avoid going... slightly mad. If I wasn't there already, of course. I wonder how Athena manages it.

For the sake of my friend, however, I am sucking it up and beginning with these entries. I've been procrastinating for long enough, so, I will see to it that I make this log faithful to its purpose, and as honest as I can manage. I'll start with a caution, though. This cave is dull, even considering what you would expect from a cave, namely: not much. For that reason, I'm afraid I cannot guarantee you anything riveting, my dear listener. Consider yourself to be warned.

So, I hear you ask me: What have I, Doctor Felix Couvillion, been up to, now that myself and my friends have spent about... oh, a day and a half inside a damp, cavernous lair of darkness? You ask me, 'Felix, what are the Tales from the Tunnels? The Stories from the Stones? The Accounts of'... a, a, um... a cave. The cave, which I'm sure I will have memorised every vein of by the time daylight decides to reappear.

In short, I've been working. Making note of the vegetation in here, and how it might help us. I've found a new variant of fruit-bearing vine, actually. Edible. Similar to a terran gooseberry. It will make for a decent snack, once my trail mix finally runs out. A sad day, that will be. Somehow I don't find this discovery as exciting as I should. The Commander, she tries hard to keep our morale afloat, but... you know. It hasn't been long, and somehow, I already feel as though we are... contained. Stuck in some version of a time capsule, and... preserved until the next moment we are meant for is to resume.

[Felix sighs.]

FELIX (CONT'D) There's no wildlife in here, as of yet. No water either. That makes sense, on paper. The fact of the matter is that carbon-based animal life needs water. Including us. In a worst case scenario, our current water supply wouldn't last us. So, I either solve this problem, or we all slowly die of dehydration, sucking the juice out of vine berries as a last ditch attempt to survive. Yeesh. Not a pretty picture, hm?

Which is why I will make my third trek to scout a potable water source this afternoon. If I'm able to find room in my busy schedule Oh! In between my rounds, though, I have found something to pass the time-He stops again. This is... what a chronicling log is for, yes? Cataloguing however our time is spent inside an unavoidable disaster?

Sure it is. Anyways. I have... wait for it... I have rediscovered my love for card tricks! And I can still manage to do them, too. It's like it never left me, in a way. Like riding a bike for the mind. Or, as Morgan once put it, riding a bike for nerds. Here, I'll show you. ...You can’t see me. Dammit. Well, let's try it like this, then. Were you here, dear listener, you would shuffle the deck. You would pick a card, only in your mind. And then, you'd give the deck back to me, and after a series of convoluted detours through what seems like a magical process, the card would end up in your pocket, a place it certainly shouldn't be. Ta da! Okay, okay, a magician shouldn't reveal his tricks, I know. But I can't contain myself, so I'll give you a tidbit. I forced a card on you, at the start. You thought it was your choice. It wasn't. It was, likely, the Ace of Dishes. Good card. I'm fond of it. It's an interesting thing, that trick. According to the logical part of your brain, the card should be in the deck, with the rest of its friends. It’s family, if you will. Your eyes told you it should be there, and so of course, you're expecting it to be there. Or were you? That card, from the second you or I chose it, when you saw it, and we convinced each other that it was special, or different, the, hm... well, the zeitgeist of the situation told you that by the end of the trick... that card wasn't going to be in it's rightful place. It wasn't going to be like all the others. It was going to be... miraculously misplaced. In reality, the misdirection relies on both expectations. It needs the voice of reason, and the voice of the little child inside your brain that really really really wants magic to be real, just so it can stir a whit of joy. In my experience, though, most things in life that are misplaced from where they belong, it's... not a good situation. Take our example. One looks down at the flowers for a moment, giving the storm just enough time to sneak up and tap him on the shoulder, and... Abracadabra. Misdirected... misplaced from mission objectives. This kind of thing... does not bring much joy, does it? That's my insight, anyways. And that's about as much as I can fill a Chronicling Log with, for now. I'm going to check up with the others. Um, Doctor Felix Augustine Couvillion, ending Log One.

[sfx: button click]

***

ATHENA ... That's a dog?

MILES Yeah. It's supposed to be! Like... bark?

ALEX Sorry, I... honestly thought it was supposed to be a sock puppet.

MILES Sock puppets don't have ears!

ATHENA ...An ear?

ALEX That's an ear?

ATHENA I mean I figured it was an animal of some kind, but-

MILES I never claimed to be good at shadow puppets, okay?

C41 Clearly.

MILES Cal, you don't have tangible hands, you don't get an opinion.

C41 At least I know that dogs aren't that long.

[sfx: approaching footsteps]

ALEX Yeah, actually, kinda... looks like that little cat thing that bit Felix.

FELIX It was a spray, not a bite. That makes it sound a lot more gross, actually.

[Alex claps her hands.]

ALEX Nice to see the party's finally here!

FELIX Hm? "Party"? That's new.

ALEX Did you bring the deck of cards?

FELIX Of course.

ALEX Then you're the party.

[Felix laughs.]

ALEX (CONT'D) Where've you been?

FELIX Recording my first chronicling log. I figured an update on my perspective was in order.

ATHENA Oh, good, thank you. How'd it go?

FELIX Um... well, I think. A bit meandering, maybe. Not anything special.

ATHENA Honestly, however they end up going is fine. It's just a matter of getting an account from everyone of how they're doing and what's going on. That's all I really have to do, most of the time. You'd be surprised how useful a ramble is when you have it on file. What did you meander about?

FELIX Oh just... you know. Something that I've been brushing up on. Here, I'll show you, actually.

MILES Sure, just share your talents with the class I guess.

C41 This should be interesting.

[sfx: unboxing and shuffling playing cards]

MILES What is this?

FELIX It's a card trick.

MILES A card trick...

FELIX Correct. Can I have a volunteer?

[Athena, Alex and C41 respond positively.]

FELIX (CONT'D) Miles, thank you, so kind of you to volunteer.

MILES My hand was not up.

FELIX Here, shuffle these.

MILES Ugh. Fine.

[sfx: cards shuffling]

FELIX No, don't give them to me! That's against the rules.

MILES Oookay. I'll keep em.

FELIX You're thinking of a particular one, I can tell.

MILES Uh... sure. Six of stars?

FELIX No, no, that's not it. Come on, this one only works if we convince each other that it's going to work. It was a low card, something... special.

MILES Low, and... special? Like an Ace?

FELIX It was an Ace?

MILES Yeah. Yeah, an Ace.

FELIX But not the Ace of Stars? We've got Planets, Comets, Dishes and Stars, but... How about you pick two of those, Officer Abbott?

MILES Dishes and Stars.

FELIX We'll keep the Dishes and the Stars then, and get rid of the other two. But it wasn't Stars, so the Ace of Dishes, then?

MILES Yeah.

FELIX The Ace of Dishes was the first card that came to mind, you're sure?

MILES Yeah.

FELIX Perfect. Athena, could you pick a number for me? It could be anywhere between, er... one to ten.

ATHENA Seven.

FELIX Seven. Very well. Miles, can I have the deck back?

MILES Oh, that's allowed now?

FELIX Of course, don't be silly. Now, I'm going to pull seven cards off the top of this deck that Miles shuffled and, well... we'll see what happens.

[sfx: cards being drawn from the deck]

FELIX (CONT'D) One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven.

Oh... dear, that's not it.

MILES Jack of Comets. Figured it wouldn't-

FELIX Indeed. Wait, Miles, what's that?

MILES What's what?

FELIX In your shirt pocket.

[sfx: an emphatic rustling and card flip.

FELIX This?

MILES The... Ace... of Dishes. Wait.

[Athena applauds.]

[Alex laughs.]

ALEX Hey now, how the hell did you do that?

FELIX Ah, ah. Magicians. Secrets. You know the rules.

ALEX I bet Cal knows.

C41 I have... an idea or two, but I'm not exactly sure, really. Nice job.

FELIX Thank you.

MILES I don't know how you did that. I am going to find out how you did that.

[sfx: lots of movement]

[Indistuguishable frenzied comments from the crew.]

***

[sfx: echoing footsteps, very distant external storm ambiance.]

[sfx: button click.]

FELIX Doctor Felix Augustine Couvillion. Recording Chronicling Log... Two, I suppose. Though it hasn't been long.

I had to escape from Miles's endless, somewhat terrifying questions. I fear those will be a common occurrence from this point on.

Anywho. I am currently... well, I don't know exactly where I am. My analog compass says I am southeast of our campsite, which is just outside the entrance to the tunnel system. But, I'm not so sure. You would think this little gadget would be unaffected by the storm, but the cinderbust seems to be acting on all of our other equipment as if it were somehow a geomagnetic storm. This, of course, may mean it is confusing the compass needle as well. 

So I'm not sure I can trust in that bearing. What I do know is, I took a left. So at least I have that to go on.

I did promise the Commander that I wouldn't stray too far from the camp when I'm alone. But I'm not alone. I'm on the hunt for a source of water, and I'm taking you, whoever will listen to this, with me for the journey. So technically, I'm keeping my promise, while getting results. Hopefully. Hopefully getting results. It isn't like I have any real reason to be concerned about my safety. Like I had mentioned, there have been no encounters with wildlife as of yet. Then again, I've been wrong before. It would be just my luck to end up being wrong again. But, I survived Mercutio, ergo, I could likely survive anything. The little devil.

[sfx: flashlight clicks on]

FELIX (CONT'D) Let there be light.

Ah. It appears we've reached a choice to make. Hm. Left... or... right. I'd rather not go in a circle. Right it is.

Left, then right. Left, then right. Left then... right. Okay.

So, anyways. I hadn't had any previous luck taking a right initially, where I first chose to go left. My left. Not... upon return- never mind. I know what I mean. I hadn't gone too far that way, in any case. 

Only today did I figure out the loophole in my promise, and... in terms of balancing my very busy schedule, I figure that it's best not to spend all my time fretting over dehydration. Going prematurely mad is not in my plans.

There are some interesting mineral formations on the ceiling. It may be worth taking a sample to submit on my way back. They're a sort of bluish-white, and they seem to form in hexagonal clusters, about three to four centimetres in length. Quite pretty. Pretty enough to understand the appeal of geology, if only for a moment. No offence to geologists, of course.

No luminescence is visible from the formations. My torch is the only current source of light. I suppose luminescence would have been too much to hope for. It is... rather dark, this way. Miles wouldn't like it. I don't think Miles likes many things, come to think of it. There's a grumpy individual if you ever did see one. But, a decent traveling companion when the mood strikes them-

[sfx: walking stops]

FELIX (CONT'D) Dead end. Hm. I'll make a mental note.

[sfx: footsteps resume]

FELIX (CONT'D) That's annoying. Back the way we came, then.

It might have done me good to bring Cal along. Most of their functions may be, er, rusty, at present, but they still have the sensors for these sort of things. Or perhaps I should have brought the Commander. Navigations, and all. Eh. I'm still not too far. And I have you, don't I, my trusty comms friend?

Even if you're not one for conversation. The brooding type. Strong and silent. I can work with that. And I can be fairly sure that I'm-

[sfx: footsteps stop suddenly]

FELIX (CONT'D) What?

[A long silence.]

[Felix swallows and chuckles nervously.]

FELIX (CONT'D) Well. I... must not have been paying attention as well as I'd thought.

I've just... I've just come up against another dead end. Where I thought... no, where the entrance to this passage should be. Where... where it just... was.

It can't have just... filled behind me. I would have heard the crash.

Right?

Same tunnel. Same... crystals. Perhaps a bit more on the indigo side that I had originally noticed. No more, or, um, less lacking luminescence.

Alright, er... Perhaps I took a turn and passed it. I'll retrace... my steps. What you're looking for is always in the last place you check, right?

[sfx: footsteps]

[Felix breathes shakily.]

[sfx: sound of distant running water fades in]

FELIX (CONT'D) Do you... do you hear that? That sounds like...

[sfx: the water sound recedes, replaced by storm ambiance]

FELIX (CONT'D) Sounds like... wishful thinking.

No, I could've sworn. I could have sworn. I'm not mad. I'm not.

FELIX (CONT'D) Don't you look at me like that. You're a bundle of wires and metal. You're not capable of going mad, only getting broken.

I... I wonder which is worse.

[sfx: a draft blowing in from the right side]

FELIX (CONT'D) Well. I... hadn't noticed that before. There's an offshoot path here, in between... I suppose in between dead ends. It must... it would have to lead deeper into the cave. I can't... This doesn't make any sense.

[Felix struggles to look inside the narrow path.]

FELIX (CONT'D) I can't make out anything inside. Very dark, but... But there's a draft. Meaning... it must lead outside. No daylight, however.

Well, of course there's no daylight, Felix. Remember why you're here in the first place.

[sfx: the draft stops unnaturally abruptly]

FELIX (CONT'D) Well, that doesn't make any sense, now does it?

The wind from the passage seems to have... turned off. Just... just like that.

I should just go back the way I came. Yes. That's what I should do.

[sfx: the sound of running water resumes]

FELIX (CONT'D) Wait... is... am I hearing that right...?

Not right now, thank you. I could do without the difficult decision.

Fine. Fine! Fine then, I'll just...

[He struggles further to get inside the path, with a few laboured mutterings.]

[Felix pants.]

[sfx: water droplets hitting the ground.]

FELIX (CONT'D) Yahtzee.

[sfx; unscrewing a thermos, letting water drip inside]

FELIX (CONT'D) I'll have to ensure this is potable, first. Or if I can make it potable. I'm sure it will be fine... Either way this is a good sign for our continued survival.

[sfx: extremely loud shifting of rock]

FELIX (CONT'D) What in the... What was that?

I've got enough of this to test but... The only problem is, I don't know that I could find it again. I... almost certainly don't know where I am.

[sfx: another creaking shift of rock]

[Felix gasps and exclaims.]

FELIX (CONT'D) What... I'm sorry, I just... felt a shift there, it startled me.

There's obviously an explanation for this but... I don't think I'm in any state to continue this trip. I need... I need to get back to camp.

[sfx: footsteps resume]

FELIX (CONT'D) Next time, if I ever come back this way, I'm bringing someone with me.

[sfx: running water fades out]

FELIX (CONT'D) Wait, uh... where... but I had just looked through...

I can't see that passage anymore. Where I got the water. Can you?

Of course you can't. I'm talking to myself. I bet no one will ever even listen to these. It isn't as if you care. You let this happen in the first place, sent us somewhere new without contingencies, and I'll bet you still don't feel responsible.

It's there. You can't see it from this angle, but it's there, you just can't see it in the dark.

[sfx: extremely loud stone creaking and moving]

FELIX (CONT'D) I need to go. I need to... I need to leave.

[sfx: running footsteps]

[Felix pants.]

[sfx: footsteps slow and stop]

FELIX (CONT'D) Left or... right? I swear, this doesn't... what was that goddamn sound?!

No. No, you shouldn't hear this. Am I transmitting, or... is this a recording-

[sfx: comms click]

***

[sfx: comms click]

ATHENA -were just looking for you.

FELIX I know, I know, I lost track of time-

ATHENA Alex was worried sick, we thought we heard you yell-

FELIX Well, that's very kind of her, but I-

ATHENA Felix... are you okay? Did something-

FELIX I'm fine.

ATHENA Okay.

Next time, maybe, take one of us with you. Or at least tell us when you'll be back.

FELIX Sure, sure. In any case, it was a success.

[sfx: unscrewing a thermos]

FELIX (CONT'D) Water. Fresh. Hopefully potable.

ATHENA That's great! That's a relief. Okay. Where did you find it?

FELIX Oh. Heh. Funny you should ask, actually.

ATHENA Oh?

FELIX Yes, I... see I was fine, but along the way I got a little... lost, it wasn't anything to be concerned about, but... I may have a little trouble finding it again.

ATHENA Oh.

FELIX Ah, but, don't worry.

I kept the recorder running.

ATHENA Uh... well, that's good. It definitely makes my job a lot easier.

FELIX Well, yes, and I... wasn't alone.

ATHENA Right.

FELIX And! And, perhaps if I give this a listen, it would help me figure where I got turned around. Nothing a second journey won't fix.

ATHENA Not alone this time.

FELIX Not alone the first time because I personified my comms but... yes I see your point.

ATHENA Well, let's give it a listen, then.

FELIX Okay. Okay, okay, okay.

[sfx: button pressing]

FELIX (CONT'D) It should be my most recent... input, let's see here. Ah. There.

[sfx: button press]

RECORDING FELIX Doctor Felix Augustine Couvillion. Recording Chronicling Log... Two, I suppose. Though it hasn't been long.

[sfx: a sudden click, lasting static]

ATHENA Um, Felix?

FELIX ...Yes?

ATHENA Was that the end of the recording?

FELIX No. Definitely not.

ATHENA Then why... did you stop talking?

FELIX I didn't stop talking, I kept it running the whole time, I only turned it off just before I saw you!

ATHENA Something must have happened, then. Can I see it?

FELIX Sure, sure.

ATHENA It doesn't look like a corrupted file, in fact, everything seems to be working fine. Out here, at least.

Maybe the storm messed with your comms too, somehow. Or maybe... maybe there's some good conductors in the stone too, deeper in the cave, that could have thrown off your signal, or...

FELIX Or it could have been my own fault.

ATHENA It happens to the best of us, Felix.

FELIX Well, finding that source again just got infinitely harder, didn't it?

ATHENA Maybe? I don't know. Either way, we have time before that search becomes urgent, and, at least we know it exists. Hopefully we never really have to worry about it at all.

FELIX That doesn't make it any less frustrating, though, does it?

ATHENA Well, technology is wonderful, when it works. I appreciate the fact that you were recording anything for me at all, I know that code protocol can be a pain.

FELIX Well, strange as it sounds, I'm glad these protocols exist. It makes it seem like an effort is being made to keep things sorted, I suppose.

ATHENA Keeping our ducks in a row?

FELIX Precisely.

ATHENA Well, I can only hope. I've never had to run a crew-wide chronicling operation before outside of a drill. I was hoping I would never have to.

FELIX One narrator of this comedy of errors should have been enough?

ATHENA Precisely.

Anyways, do you want to head back to camp now? Everyone will want to know you're alright.

FELIX They were really worried?

ATHENA Of course they were. Alex wants her ducks in a row, too. An odd one out wouldn't be good for us.

FELIX Like an Ace of Dishes.

ATHENA Only, we were pretty sure you weren't in Miles's pocket.

[Both laugh.]

ATHENA (CONT'D) Here.

[sfx: footsteps]

ATHENA (CONT'D) This way.

***

FELIX Chronicling Log of Doctor Felix Augustine Couvillion, third part.

It's past evening now, into the night. I think the others have gone to bed. Yet, it appears that I can't sleep. Something about today unnerved me. There is no explanation for my confusion, except my own anxieties, my paranoia, what have you. I know that.

I know that in the same way I know that the walls of a cave don't move around you. Not unless you are very patient, dead, or mad.

In my case, the jury is still out on the latter.

A planet isn't conscious, it isn't sentient, it shouldn't know who I am.

And yet, there's nothing left of that recording to even tell you what I mean. All that's left is how I remember it, and that perturbs me.

Here's the thing: I can tell myself that I lost my way in a dead end simply because I am afraid of what happens when I turn my back. But if I deem that fear a sound rationalization... then I may have something to evaluate. A time of soul-searching, hopefully. In the company of a snack.

ALEX Yikes. Deep. Make sure you have your coffee first.

FELIX Commander! Where did- I'm sorry, I thought you were asleep with the others, did I wake you-

[Alex laughs quietly.]

ALEX Shh, shhh! Athena and Miles are still asleep, I was just... I was... never mind.

[sfx: Alex sits down.]

ALEX (CONT'D) You recording?

FELIX Er, yes. As redundant as it may seem. 

ALEX Redundant?

FELIX Yes. Just between you and me, boss? I doubt anyone will ever listen to these.

ALEX You really think so?

FELIX The good folks back at headquarters tend to overindulge on bureaucracy. Efficiency is prioritised to the detriment of efficiency.

Perhaps the duty will be passed on to an Artificial Intelligence like our friend. I suppose that works just as well.

ALEX There's the silver lining I was waiting for.

FELIX Oh, don't rely on me for that.

ALEX Why not? It's worked so far.

Case and point: that card trick was probably the silver lining of my day. And I still have no idea how you did it.

FELIX Really?

ALEX Really. No clue. Unless Miles was in on it, but I seriously doubt that.

FELIX I can show you.

ALEX Yeah?

[sfx: rustling through a bag, cards rustling, flipping and shuffling]

FELIX Certainly.

Now, the first thing is, Miles didn't pick the Ace of Dishes. I did. And then I convinced them that they did. And convincing Miles Abbott of something is probably the hardest part of any trick, so if you can manage that... this next part is quite easy.

ALEX The next part is the actual trick, you mean.

FELIX The convincing is the trick. If you can't even convince yourself that you can do it, make a card do something miraculous, how are you going to convince the people watching?

ALEX Good point. Teach me.

FELIX Very well. So it looks like this, when we actually do it. Pulling it out of a pocket.

[sfx: card flick]

FELIX (CONT’D) But really, we're just folding the card behind quickly as you flick it off the bottom of the pack, like that, and then... you cup it into your palm when you reach out. It never leaves your hand.

[sfx: the same card flick, but slower]

[sfx: a card sliding]

ALEX Oh. Ohhhhh, okay! Gimme one.

[Felix laughs.]

[sfx: passing Alex a card.]

FELIX Give it a try.

ALEX Okay... so... take it from the bottom of the... deck, and then-

[sfx: a similar card flick, a similar card slide]

ALEX (CONT’D) Like that?

FELIX Yes. Exactly.

ALEX Alright. Alright, okay. So... from here...

[sfx: a quick card flick, a quick card slide]

ALEX Like that?

FELIX Ha! You picked that up quickly, sir.

[sfx: repeated flick and slide of the card performed by Alex]

ALEX I can do more than play Go Fish, Couvillion.

FELIX That's for certain. It's double trouble for the rest of the crew, in any case. Two magicians are better than one, you know.

[sfx: card sounds stop]

ALEX Oh, man. Miles is going to hate this.

***

ANNOUNCER Micro-Cosmos: A Science Fiction Podcast.

This episode, Miraculously Misplaced, was written by Lauren Tucker, edited by Luka Miller, and directed by Jesse Smith and Lauren Tucker. It starred Jesse Smith as the voice of Athena Romero, Jackson Rossman as the voice of Miles Abbott, Luka Miller as the voice of Alex de la Cruz, Kaleb Piper as the voice of Felix Couvillion, and Pippa van Beek-Paterson as the voice of Cal. Original music by Julia Barnes, and sound editing by Tobias Friedman. Be sure to stay tuned to our feed for upcoming episodes from the new backpacking intergalactic adventure from Futuristic Trail Mix Productions. Enjoying the show, and want to give us a boost? You can support us by rating and reviewing us on iTunes, or wherever you get your podcasts, or telling a friend about us. To follow the show and find transcripts, you can find us on Twitter, Tumblr, and Instagram as @MicroCosPod. Questions, comments, and concerns can be emailed to us via futuretrailmixpros@gmail.com. Thank you for listening. ***

[cartoonsaint]

Luka Gets a Tattoo

[Ao3]

thanks to the AFiT server for enabling me! zero thanks to those who were trying to get me to give him a tramp stamp -- you get nothing, good day sirs

Summary: the prince can have little a bodily autonomy. as a treat Characters: the Prince (pre-Snatcher) Rating: T for college parties, altered states, poor coping mechanisms, and reference to an unhealthy relationship. 

Just one night, then you’ll have the whole weekend to study for the final exam, they said.

Please, Your Majesty? Indulge your classmates just this once? they said.

It’ll be fun, they said.

And goodness gracious, Luka thinks as his hooting classmates tilt the tapped barrel of red wine so the last drops of it spill onto his tongue, were they right.

He pumps his fists straight up in the air and the room, already packed with raucous, sweaty, excitable (and very, very drunk) young adults, goes wild. Two — rather, four — no, six? Oh goodness he’s had a lot to drink — an at-present uncountable number of hands reach down and haul him off the floor to toss him, unexpectedly, into the air. Luka can’t help the yelp that escapes out of his mouth as his sloshing stomach flips, nor the laughter that comes after it when many hands catch him and set him back on solid ground, patting his back companionably all the while.

“ALL HAIL THE PARTY KING,” someone shouts, and the crowd takes up the chant. Luka’s used to having a lot of eyes on him, has been literally trained since he was a toddler to be in the public spotlight, but the energy of the crowd and the alcohol in his own system has him pressing his hands to his burning face to muffle his embarrassed laughter.

A madly grinning and particularly beefy young woman parts her fellow students like a ship cutting through the sea. Luka’s gaze is drawn to the item she holds reverently in her enormous hands — and he bursts into laughter again, shaking his head and attempting to back away. The circle of cheering party-goers around him clumsily link arms to prevent his escape. “I didn’t even drink the whole thing!” Luka protests, flapping his hands. “It was practically empty before I started!”

But the huge woman easily spans his slim shoulders (with one hand — goodness gracious) and hauls Luka in. She clears her throat with impressive projection — Luka’s background in performing arts nods in approval — and the clamor of the room dulls to near-bearable levels.

“Esteemed guests and revelers,” she pronounces with minimal slurring and maximal gravity, “I present to you: this evening’s Party King.” 

The room cheers as she places the cut-and-taped paper crown atop Luka’s head. His first, honest impulse is to pull it off and take a closer look as it seems to be made out of first-year sample contracts and, well, it’s been some time since he last reviewed those and who knows what will turn up on the final exam? But the exuberantly drunk woman seizes his hand and yanks it into the air like he’s just won a prize fight and someone thrusts a tiny glass of something that smells vile in his hand and he loses track of time for a bit.

When his head, the room, and the kaleidoscope of gleeful faces stop spinning, Luka finds himself squashed between the arm of a lumpy couch and the arm of the enormous muscled woman from earlier. She notices his gaze and offers him a shark-like grin that jogs his memory.

“You’re Natasha,” he blurts out, and then immediately claps a hand over his mouth because of course she is, you fool, she knows that and you ought to have known that, what kind of a person forgets the name of someone they’ve spent years sharing classes with —

But if anything, her grin widens. She turns to the duo sat across from them and says, “Ha! You see?”

“I’m so sorry,” Luka says, pressing a hand to his burning face. He doesn’t usually drink at all, and not just because it makes him extra stupid. He’d normally have spent the night studying or writing letters, but his classmates had been very convincing and tonight is his last chance to spend time with them before the final exam and graduation (and his tutor had threatened him if he didn’t go). “I promise I know who you are, I just didn’t recognize you at first without, ah,” he looks again at her rather… distracting arms, “sleeves.”

“Relax,” says one of her friends. She’s a dark-skinned woman with a ton of dark curls framing her face — Belle, Luka remembers — and she smiles kindly as she passes him a glass of water. He thanks her profusely and she rolls her eyes good-naturedly, leaning back and crossing her arms. She raises an eyebrow at her hulking blonde friend. “Tash does it on purpose — thinks it will make her more effective in the courtroom when she takes her jacket off. Besides, she forgot you were already royalty.”

Natasha grins unrepentantly. “Party King trumps any small-town monarch, Belle. Besides, you really expect me to remember details like that about someone I only ever see in class?”

Luka sinks into the couch, stammering apologies, but the woman laughs and claps a lung-clearing hand to his back — he wheezes, attempting to regain his breath. “Don’t worry about it, buddy. You can make it up to me by telling us what you’re like! We’ve been in the same course for years and we hardly know you. What mysterious responsibilities keep you so busy you can’t come out for a night, Mr. top-of-the-class?”

“W-well,” he says, immediately falling into his practiced lines, “of course, my studies here are very important to me as a future leader of—”

“We already know you’re a nerd,” the last figure of the group says matter-of-factly. Their name eludes him, but they’re button-nosed, with hair pulled back in a ponytail that looks much sleeker than Luka’s ever managed his own. “What else?”

“Haz,” Belle scolds, but when her friend raises a single, archly amused eyebrow at her she sends Luka an apologetic grin. “Sorry about them, they were raised by extremely rude wolves.”

Luka snorts, then covers his mouth in embarrassment, but no one seems to mind. “I… have a fiancée?” he shyly offers.

“What!!” Natasha swaps his water out for her scarily large flagon of beer. “Drink and dish!”

Luka sips obediently, aware his face is already red and only getting redder. “Her name is Vanessa.”

Natasha sighs dreamily, which makes Belle giggle. Luka grins, feeling a little dreamy himself — thinking about Vanessa always makes the rest of the world feel dull. She stands out to him like fine embroidery on plain linen. “I hate to be away from her — she misses me when I’m gone, and my life certainly isn’t as bright without her in it. I write her letters everyday,” he says, alcohol freeing him to talk about himself a little more than he could otherwise stand. “She gets upset if I don’t. I love her, of course, and there’s nothing more important to me than her happiness, but… well, between all the letter-writing, my studies, and princely duties, I suppose there’s not been much time for, ah. Much else.”

He trails off and takes a gulp of lukewarm beer. Belle and Natasha glance at each other, communicating something past Luka’s current ability to parse. Haz leans forward, their eyebrows drawn down.

“So you don’t get to do anything just because you like it? Just for yourself?”

“I like being a prince,” Luka protests immediately. “It’s my duty, and an honor to serve my people. And I love Vanessa.” Luka thinks, briefly, of how hurt she would be if she knew someone had suggested he didn’t, how her magic might react beyond her control. He shivers, even in the stuffiness of the crowded room. “Compared to those things, I’m just… well, not very important.”

The group exchanges looks that Luka hardly notices. Who would he even be, without his work and without her? “Not important” seems about right.

“Well, if you say it’s what you want, then I’m happy for you!” Natasha announces, sounding a little strained. Belle hums noncommittally and swaps his drink out again for another glass of water.

“So,��� says Haz, and offers him a small, genuine smile that Luka finds himself quite touched by — must be the alcohol in his system making him even more emotional than usual. “Besides your duties and your fiancée… what else do you like?”

“Ah,” he says, and presses a hand again to his warm face. This evening, right now, is probably the first time in years that Luka’s had a chance to do anything for himself, and he had to be bullied into it. Surely there’s something he likes to do besides, er, read law reviews for fun? His mind is blank. He seizes, only a little frantically, on the view of the night sky out the window. “A-astronomy! You know, the stars?” He chuckles nervously and takes another huge sip of his drink. “You can, ah, actually see them much better at home than here in the city. I used to know all the constellations.”

“That’s great,” Belle says firmly and kindly. “I don’t know anything about the stars, but I always wanted to.”

“My ancestors used to navigate by them,” Natasha adds. “That’s very cool knowledge.”

“What else?” Haz prompts quietly.

“Um,” Luka says into his cup. “Well, ah. I suppose I always liked animals? Like, snakes, and things…”

“That’s great!” Natasha exclaims.

“Great,” Bella says again.

“Hm,” says Haz.

“JIM!!” someone hollers, breaking the tense air of the group. “And Jim’s friend!! SOMEONE GET THIS MAN A FLAGON!”

“Hoho, Jim and friend!!” Natasha exclaims, mood immediately forgotten. “I’ve been meaning to get some work done, bee-arr-bee.” She rises from the couch, claps Luka’s shoulder once again (though considerably more softly this time, thank goodness), and sails through the crowd, on towards the new arrivals.

“Wait, no—!” Belle shoves herself to her feet, then glances at Luka and hesitates. Then, brief and tight, she hugs him — he blinks, startled — but separates herself before he can process it and gives him an apologetic smile. “Sorry, gotta go stop her. Tash, wait!!” And off she goes after her tall friend.

Luka watches her go. Haz clears their throat. “Jim’s friend is magic. Does tattoos,” they say.

“Ah,” says Luka. He should probably head home — he’d planned to leave early in the morning so he could spend as much of the weekend with Vanessa as possible. She needs him, especially after the accident with her mother. He can spend the rest of his evening studying, like he should have done in the first place — it’s the responsible, prudent thing to do.

Haz nudges his knee with their own. He looks up to find them offering a mug of something that smells strongly of alcohol. “You’re allowed to do things just for yourself, you know,” they say, eyes soft.

In a spontaneous move that shocks even himself, Luka takes the mug and downs it in one go. The world gets a little blurrier, a little easier to deal with.

“You know, you’re absolutely right,” he says determinedly and pours himself another.

***

Luka wakes up just after sunrise with a pounding headache, a stinging thigh, and the deep dread of knowing he’s done something he shouldn’t have.

The first thing he does is stumble into the bathroom. His reflection has mussed hair, tired eyes, and is still wearing a crumpled paper crown on his head. He snatches it off, balling it up and tossing it on his desk before running the water and pressing his forehead to the cool mirror.

This isn’t exactly why he doesn’t drink, but it’s an excellent point against it. What he remembers of last night makes him wish he’d had enough to totally block out what he’d done to himself. Though he supposes that would be worse, to wake up and only then find out he’d drunkenly gotten a…

Luka dutifully goes through his morning routine. He doesn’t look at his stinging thigh, doesn’t even think about it until he’s toweled off and staring down at the clothes a cheerfully drunk version of himself had prepared the night before. That Luka had even packed him a travel bag so he could set off for Subcon and Vanessa more quickly.

That well-meaning fool had really thought he was doing a favor for sober Luka of the future. Ooo, hungover Luka of the present hates him.

He stands there for a moment longer, feeling frayed and stupid and sorry for himself. Finally, he sighs — there’s no use to just waiting here hoping — and drops the towel enough to check the damage.

On the side of his thigh, perfectly placed for his non-dominant hand to cover when hanging loosely by his side, is a tattoo of a snake so black the ink looks nearly purple. It wraps around a stylized crown decorated with a crescent moon and a few stars. It’s a kingsnake, he remembers — he’d been adamant about getting that one because they were constrictors, not venomous. “They just want to hug!” drunk Luka had explained, tearing up.

Luka now allows himself one long groan, burying his face in his hands. He’s blown it. He’s totally screwed himself. His parents and his people won’t care, but Vanessa is going to kill him.

He can just imagine her distress that he would do something like this without her knowledge or say-so. Maybe he could fix it if he proposed they get matching tattoos, but she has no fondness for snakes and he’s rather certain you’re supposed to get matching tattoos together. She’s going to find out, she’s going to be hurt, and it’s going to be all Luka’s fault.

Fool, he thinks miserably.

Fifteen minutes he spends experiencing every possible variation on denial, anger, and depression before he can no longer justify wasting time like this. Vanessa is waiting for him and if he wants the time to properly apologize to her then he had better leave sooner rather than later.

Luka gets dressed and scowlingly seizes up his travel bag. He makes his bed and shuts the door to his bathroom. He reorganizes the papers on his desk and is about to toss out the crumpled paper crown before he stops, shoulders tight.

He made a monumentally foolish mistake last night. But despite that… he thinks about the delighted support offered by Tash, Belle, and Haz when he had decided to stay longer at the party; about how freeing it’d been to not worry for a little while about how terribly Vanessa might be feeling without him; about how light and filled with possibility the world seemed without the weight of his kingdom on his mind.

It had been, truly, quite a nice night.

Luka sighs and flattens out the crumpled crown. He folds it neatly and files it away with the rest of his papers.

He’ll buy flowers for Vanessa on the way home. Maybe it will help.

[ladybug023]

Skarlet Headcanons!!

( I write Skarlet as less power hungry then her mk11 depiction. I write her as more loyal and tragic. Also I don’t like the flirty intros she has with her adoptive father Shao Kahn because they’re gross so where not gonna do that. She is devoted to him but there’s no sexual attraction. if I write young Kitana to be bitchy it’s not because I don’t like her it’s because she most likely was. She was raised in royalty with the pressure that Shao Kahn put on her. So logically she’d unconsciously take this out on Skarlet.)

First her backstory:

Skarlet was born to very poor family who couldn’t afford to take care of her. She was named Aurie by her birth parents. Since there’s no orphanages in Outworld her parents just dumped her in a city when she was 7 to fend for herself. This particular city called Oredon was known for known for it’s bad reputation. It was like New York but less advanced and much worse.

To survive she had to adapt quickly. She started hanging out with the other orphans on the streets. The older orphans would teach the younger how to steal for them. Her fellow orphans nicknamed her Skarlet because of her unique red hair and eyes. It stuck so much she never went by her birth name again. She had to learn how to fight for everything she had or wanted. She became a very talented little theif. She was able to use people’s underestimation of her to her advantage. Although sometimes she would get caught and be beaten severely. Pain and hunger became common feelings for her and remain that way for most of her life.

Her days on the streets would end though when she was 13 and she came into contact with the great Shao Kahn. He was marching through the city one day in his expensive horse drawn carriage on his way to his palace. His gaurds of course all around him.

The carriage stopped because their was a traffic jam ahead. That’s when Skarlet noticed a small loose diamond on the spoke of one of the wheels. She and two of her friends devised that if they could steal that diamond while the guards were distracted clearing the traffic and slip away without being noticed, they could then sell the diamond and get enough money to last her for a couple months. It was was a verryyy risky plan but they was desperate and hungry enough to try.

Alas, they got caught. A guard grabbed her and her two friends and started screaming at her. Shao Kahn saw the children from his window. He noticed Skarlet’s blood red hair first and then noticed how hard she was fighting against the guard. Such ferocity intrigued the Kahn. Shao Kahn stepped out of the carriage and stopped the guard from striking the little girl down. He then turned to her and ask:

Shao Kahn: “What is your name child?”

Skarlet: “Everyone calls me Skarlet.”

Shao Kahn: “I am assuming that is because of your hair?”

Skarlet: *wipes the blood from her nose and sniffs* “I guess.”

Shao Kahn: “You are quite the fighter Skarlet but tell me, why did you attempt to steal my diamond?”

Skarlet: “Because I wanted it.”

Shao Kahn chuckled. He admired her fearlessness. Her other two friends where sobbing and shaking. She had the potential to be a fearsome warrior one day. A warrior that would serve him. Shao Kahn took the diamond from the guard and crouched down in front of her. He gently opened her hand and placed the diamond into it.

Shao Kahn: “Such strength should be rewarded. Come with me and I’ll make you even stronger.”

Skarlet was shocked for a moment but then she took his offered hand. They walked back to the carriage with her tiny hand holding onto his big finger.

Once he lifted her into the carriage and shut the door he ordered the guards to kill off the other two orphans. Skarlet didn’t hear this order or see her friends deaths. She was too in awe of the expensive leather inside of the carriage. He entered into the carriage and she was whisked off to her new life.

When she met Kitana:

When they returned to Shao Kahn’s palace a 15 year old (in human years) Kitana came to greet her father. She was understandably shocked when she saw a dirty, little redheaded girl by his side.

Shao Kahn: “Kitana this is Skarlet, your new little sister.” *He gestures to her*

Kitana was still processing it all when Skarlet stepped forward and offered her hand. Instead of taking it Kitana looks at his father and says.

Kitana: “Father you can’t be serious.” *irritated*

Shao Kahn: “I am very serious. You dare question my choices daughter?” *He glares at her dangerously.*

Kitana scared of her father’s wrath, begrudgingly takes Skarlet’s hand. Kitana at this point in her life is very immature, spoiled, and arrogant. She is pushed everyday to be the flawless heir for Shao Kahn. She wants to be the best in her father’s eyes and immediately sees Skarlet as competition for his favor. Skarlet tries to befriend her new sister many times but Kitana refuses to make an effort.

She and Jade are also put off by her street rat past. They were taught since they were toddlers that the poor where lower than them. They often avoided her because of this. She would go intentionally rough on her during sparring matches and never let her win. She always reminded Skarlet that she was adopted.

This caused bitterness and hatred for Kitana to grow with in her. Skarlet became a loner and would train by herself. Shao Kahn started to teach her magic and drove her to focus on mastering it. He also introduced her to the dangerous Blood Magik. He used mental and emotional manipulation to convince her to use it of course.

As she grew into her teenage years she started turning into a stunning young woman. She began getting the attention she lacked from her adoptive family, from many lovers. This is where her flirtatious side comes from.

On a mission assigned by Shang Tsung she clashes with a cute Earthrealm boy named Tundra. (Refer to my sub zero/ skarlet post) he’s from some clan named the Lin Kuei. He’s a good fighter but she’s easily able to distract and immobilize him. She blows hims a kiss goodbye and hopes for them meet again sometime.

Shao Kahn manipulates her into taking a Blood Code at 18 (human years) saying, that it would make her even more powerful. He never told her that the ritual could kill her and the Magik would kill her very slowly.

Shao Kahn had doubts that she’d even survive the blood ritual and was surprised when she did. This ignited her hunger and addiction for blood.

Side note Skarlet was dating Erron Black a this point in time. Leaves his ass heartbroken too.

After Shao Kahn’s death:

Skarlet is devastated by his death. She feels like she had failed the one man who in her mind saved her. The one person she shares this pain with is Mileena. She hadn’t known Mileena for long before Kahn’s passing but they relate to each other in many ways. Both were loyally devoted to Kahn and both hate Kitana.

Since Mileena was the heir Shao Kahn wanted to take the throne she pledges her loyalty to her. They become very close and Skarlet gets the sister Kitana refused to be. She helps her take the throne and becomes her right hand man.

(In my AU Kotal never becomes Kahn because that’s stupid and instead Kitana and Mileena have a civil war for the throne of Outworld.)

She’s one of the very few people Mileena will actually listen too. She keeps Mileena from making rash decisions. She also protects Mileena from treachery. Tanya, Baraka, and Skarlet become the only three people Mileena trusts.

Side note: Skarlet is dating Nitara at this time. Until she dumps her a couple months later because Skarlet is a playa. Nitara defected from Mileena’s forces because of this. That’s why you don’t mix business with pleasure.

When Mileena’s forces overwhelm Kitana’s. Kitana and her forces go into temporary hiding. She reaches out to Earthrealm but Raiden is very hesitant about bringing Earthrealm into a war that they have no business being in. Despite Liu-Kang’s insistence that they help her.

Skarlet and Tanya chase off Reptile, Kotal Khan and Devorah when they find their assassination attempt against Mileena. Skarlet manages to track down and brutally kill Devorah. She brings her head to Mileena.

(Because fuck Devorah. She’s an awful and overpowered character.)

Skarlet believes with the correct guidance Mileena could be a good ruler and she wants her to be. Because beind the Blood Magik and ferociousness Skarlet does want a better Outworld. She wants a Outworld where children are safe and not starving. She believes she can accomplish this with Mileena.

She continues to fight on Mileena’s side until one day while in a battle with Kitana all the resentment towards her boils over.

While they fight she tells about all the times Kitana rejected her, made her feel like she was nothing, and that she was never a sister to her. Kitana is caught off guard by Skarlets genuine hurt. As an adult The memories of mistreating Skarlet when they were children had slipped her mind. It didn’t impact her the way it did Skarlet and Kitana realized that.

Skarlet manages to overpower her and start choking her. She stops though when Kitana apologizes to her, something she wasn’t expecting. She roughly lets go of her.

Skarlet: “I should kill you. By the gods I should bleed you out dry.”

Kitana: *rubs the bruises on her neck* “I probably would deserve it, for how I treated you.”

Skarlet: “You would deserve it!”

Kitana: “Skarlet. I should’ve been there for you. I’m sor-

Skarlet: “If you think for a second that a sappy apology is going to make me forg-

Kitana: “-I want to be there for you now. I was insecure and foolish. I tried so hard to please father everyday but it was never enough. I shouldn’t of taken that stress out on you but I did and I know I can’t take it back...” *She takes Skarlet’s hand and smiles genuinely.*

Kitana: “Allow me to make it up to you sister, please.”

*Skarlet stares at her for a couple moments with tears streaming from her eyes while contemplating is Kitana was being truthful or not.

Skarlet: “...No you’ve had your chance. The next time we cross paths, I’m putting a blade through your skull.”

*Skarlet takes her hand away, turns her back on her and walks away.*

She leaves Kitana heartbroken.

But Kitana’s apology did have an effect on her. She was honestly contemplating if she did say yes. Could she have the relationship she’d always wanted with Kitana? But that would be betraying Mileena. She becomes very conflicted with her loyalty for her two sisters.

[toku-explained]

The New Swordsman of Darkness

Heroes' Odyssey: Zero talks about X's battle with Greeza, followed by Z and Geed's battle with Greeza.

Saber: Kento, acting very different, says he has come back to prevent destruction by sealing each Seiken. Sabela on hearing this is angered and goes to attack him, but Saikou blocks, prompting her to escape, taking Rintaro with her. Kento says he'll be sealing Touma's sword and vanishes. Later, I believe Yuri explains that those cut down by Kurayami either die or fall into a realm of darkness, so Kento must have returned from there. Kento alone recalls a vision of the Seiken all together, and him seeming to stop the reshaping of the world they cause, but leaving the world naught but dust. Ren asks Reika if it's true Kento is alive, she tells him he's there enemy. Tassel, or "Viktor", appears to Master Logos. Yuri explains about Kurayami's ability to seal Seikens. Long ago a woman connected the two worlds, allowing 5 humans to crossover. One created Sword of Logos, one remained to guard Wonder World, and the other 3, drawn by power, absorbed part of the original book. As the Northern Base members realise that that means, we see Legeiel produce his own book from his body and give it to Storious. During the ensuing conflict Kurayami was created, with the power to seal Saikou if it was ever misused. Tassel confronts Master Logos over his actions, which go against the pledge he made with the original, Master Logos disagrees with that notion and intends to acquire the original book and remake the world in his own image, and as Tassel protests dies something,easing him to disappear. Touma, Mei and Ogami go looking for Kento. Yuri confronts Kento, and after some words refuse to see eye to eye and battle, soon joined by Sabela. Everyone arrives, with Ogami and Daishinji joining, to settle the score and work things out with Kento. Caliber used Jaou Dragon to trap Sabela and overpower the others. Touma reminds Kento of the promise to save Luna, which he acknowledges, but they can't do that if the world is gone. He's seen the future, and it is certain, unless all the Seiken are sealed. When Touma tries to persuade him, Kento finishes his sentence and continues, he's seen this conversation as well. Storious and Zooous might defeat them all, with the Seiken joining to create the Original Book and unmake the world. They might all join together and defeat Storious and Zooous, only for the Seiken to then join together in bring the Original Book out. A last battle in Northern Base, a battle with the Megiddo that Master Logos appears at, more and more, the details vary but the end result is the same. Using Jaou Dragon again Caliber overpowers the Swordsmen, sealing Suzune. Touma, distressed in Kento's change, uses Dragonic Knight, before in his despair quickly being possessed by Primitive Dragon. Caliber leaves, and Sabela grabs Bremen no Rock Band before leaving. Touma sees the boy, who recognising loneliness offers his hand, but Touma is to distraught to do anything and the boy walks away, the transformation cancels. As Daishinji mourns Suzune, Reika returns to Master Logos with what she's retrieved, Rintaro and Ren sit in thought, Kento broods and Touma struggles.

Zenkaiger: The Tojitendo leadership are only aware of the Super Sentai due to their existence in some of the worlds caught in the Tojiru Gears, Gege seeming to have the best knowledge. Vroon hears some talking about this. Ijirude gets the idea to use the Kinokotopia Tojiru Gear on a Kudakk, creating Kinoko World, spreading mushrooms across the world. Gaon has spent his time on earth obsessing over cute things. Now caught up with last times ending, Kaito and Zyuran spot Ijirude and Kinoko World, Ijirude is shocked to learn Gears are the secret to the Zenkaigers power, revealing his use of Gears in the World. Zenkaiser and ZenkaiZyuran use the Goggle V Gear to wield the Pink Ribbon for a Ribbon Spark attack. After that the Tojitendo flee. Zyuran explains how the Tojitendo oppress ass the Kikainoids, Secchan advises recruiting more allies, leading Gaon to be amongst a crowd of witnesses to Zenkaiser and Zyuran Tyranno appearing, but nobody is interested, Gaon finds Kaito cute, and asks to be friends, Kaito is happy to do so even if Gaon won't fight. As people acclimatise to the Mushrooms, Kinoko World activates them, releasing spores which poison the humans, seeing the lain this is causing gives Gaon the determination to fight. I love the gag of the new member just popping off on a random Kudakk. Gaon's look only vaguely resembles the Gaoranger uniforms to be honest, and his head resembles Leo more than anything, but as ZenkaiGaon he represents the "Animal" Sentai, resembling GaoKing. In battle they use the Hurricanger Gear, utilising Chou Ninpou, Kage no Mai. Zenkaiser and ZenkaiGaon finish Kinoko World, but Ijirude summons a Kudaitest, which accidentally absorbs the Tojiru Gear to turn it into Dai Kinoko World, the Mushroom Power running amok. Zyuran Tyranno goes to fight, and Gaon follows, becoming Gaon Lion, which obviously references GaoLion but may also reference GingaRed, ZyuohLion, Yellow Lion and arguably Vul Panther. Kaito decides to grow as well, before Secchan can explain what his gear actually does, combining the pair into ZenkaiOh ZyuraGaon. The pair aren't keen on the combination, but Kaito pilots them to victory, defeating Dai Kinoko World and destroying the Kinokotopia Gear, freeing Kinokotopia, as Vroon sees while cleaning.

Dogengers: Kitaqman has come to face Yabai Kamen alone, he calls in I-Doll. Tanaka and Fukuokaliber return home to Yamashiron who was trying to prepare a reunion party, El Brave comes back early as well, and then Yamashiron gets a message from Kitaqman about the fight. The heroes arrives as Kitaqman is defeated, and angered Tanaka fights before being thrown at I-Doll while Yamashiron, El Brave and Fukuokaliber try to fight Yabai Kamen. Shaberryman arrives, giving over his Golden Seal power on Yabai Kamen's orders. The heroes are all defeated and I-Doll prepares to remove Tanaka from her mind by killing him. Yuki is defiant towards her captors, when Shaberryman arrives to inform them the battle already started, the rest leave to help Yabai Kamen while leaving him to keep hold of Yuki. He claims Tanaka's loss is certain, she disagrees, and intends to fight, Shaberryman suddenly collapses. Yabai Kamen stops I-Doll killing Tanaka, trying to recruit him. Tanaka reminds him Ohgaman will come back, and he acknowledges he probably still can't beat Ohgaman, so as Tanaka shouts out too late, causing I-Doll to react, goes for the last remaining Golden Seal he knows how to get, cutting down I-Doll. I-Doll tells Tanaka she remembered how glad she was when he told her to wait, her fondest memories are of playing with him and Yuki when the two of them were children, those memories were her treasure, as her body fades, leaving the monster and girl dolls they played with as children. As Yabai Kamen notes this must be fate, Tanaka adds one more obstacle to Yabai Kamen's plans, himself. Yabai Kamen activates Service Zangyo Ver, the unarmoured greeting version.

[dispactke]

Infrarealism Manifesto

Manifesto of Infrarealism

——-

GIVE IT ALL UP AGAIN

first infrarealist manifesto

“It’s four light hours to the confines of the solar system; to the closest star, four light years. A disproportionate ocean of emptiness. But are we really sure there is only a void? We only know that there are no stars shining in that space. If they existed, would they be visible? And if there existed bodies that are neither luminous nor dark? Could it not be that on the celestial maps, the same as on those of Earth, the star-cities are indicated and the star-villages are omitted?”

— Soviet science fiction writers scratching their faces at midnight.

— The infrasuns (Drummond would say the happy proletarian fellows).

— Peguero and Boris alone in a lumpen room having premonitions of the wonder behind the door.

— Free money.

*

Who has crossed the city and had, as the only music, the whistles of his fellow man, his own words of wonder and rage?

The handsome guy who didn’t know

that chicks’ orgasms are clitoral

(Look around, shit isn’t just in museums.) (A process of individual museumification.) (Certainty that everything is named, revealed.) (Fear of discovering.) (Fear of unforeseen imbalances.)

*

Our closest relatives:

snipers, country boys who smash up cheap cafés in Latin America, people who fall apart in supermarkets in their tremendous individuo-collective dilemmas; the impotence of action and the search (on individual levels or good and muddy with aesthetic contradictions) for poetic action.

*

Little bright stars eternally winking an eye at us from a place in the universe called Labyrinths.

— Nightclub of misery.

— Pepito Tequila sobbing his love for Lisa Underground.

— I suck it, you suck it, we suck it.

— And the Horror.

*

Curtains of water, cement or tin separate a cultural machinery that serves as the conscience or the ass of the dominant class from a living, annoying cultural happening, in constant death and birth, ignorant of the greater part of history and the fine arts (everyday creator of its insane history and its hallucinatory fine artz), body that suddenly feels new sensations in itself, product of an epoch in which we approach the shithouse or the revolution at 200 kph.

“New forms, strange forms,” as old Bertolt said, half curious, half cheerful.

*

Sensations don’t arise from nothingness (the obvious of obviousnesses) but from conditioned reality, in a thousand ways, as a constant flow.

— Multiple reality, you make us sick!

So it is possible that on the one hand one is born and on the other hand we’re in the front row for the death throes. Forms of life and forms of death pass daily through the retina. The constant crash gives life to infrarealist forms: THE EYE OF TRANSITION

*

They put the whole city in the nuthouse. Sweet sister, tank howls, hermaphrodite songs, diamond deserts, we’ll live only once and the visions, more complicated and slippery every day. Sweet sister, hitchhiking to Monte Albán[i]. Unbuckling their belts to water the corpses. It’s something at least.

*

And the good bourgeois culture? And academia and the arsonists? And the vanguard and its rearguard? And certain conceptions of love, nice scenery, the precise multinational Colt sidearm?

Like Saint-Just[ii] said to me in a dream I had a while ago: Even the heads of aristocrats can be our weapons.

*

— A good part of the world is being born and the other part is dying and we all know that we all have to live and we all die: in this there is no middle road.

Chirico[iii] says: thought needs to move away from everything called logic and common sense, to move away from all human obstacles in such a way that things take on a new look, as though illuminated by a constellation appearing for the first time. The infrarealists say: We’re going to stick our noses into all human obstacles, in such a way that things begin to move inside of us, a hallucinatory vision of mankind.

— The Constellation of the Beautiful Bird.

— The infrarealists propose Indianism to the world: a crazy, timid Indian.

— A new lyricism that’s beginning to grow in Latin America sustains itself in ways that never cease to amaze us. The entrance to the work is the entrance to adventure: the poem as a journey and the poet as a hero who reveals heroes. Tenderness as an exercise in speed. Respiration and heat. Experience shot, structures that devour themselves, insane contradictions.

The poet is interfering, the reader will have to interfere for himself.

“erotic books full of misspellings”

*

The THOUSAND DRAWN-AND-QUARTERED VANGUARDS OF THE SEVENTIES are our ancestors

99 flowers open like an open head

Slaughters, new concentration camps

White subterranean rivers, violet winds

These are hard times for poetry, some say, sipping tea, listening to music in their apartments, talking (listening) to the old masters. These are hard times for mankind, we say, coming back to the barricades after a workday full of shit and tear gas, discovering/creating music even in apartments, spending all day watching the cemeteries-that-expand, where they hopelessly drink a cup of tea or get drunk on pure rage or the inertia of the old masters.

HORA ZERO[iv] are our ancestors

((Raise arsonist kids, get burned))

We’re still in the Quaternary Period. We’re still in the Quaternary Period?

Pepito Tequila kisses the phosphorescent nipples of Lisa Underground and heads off for a beach where black pyramids sprout up.

*

I repeat:

The poet as a hero who reveals heroes, like the fallen red tree that announces the start of a forest.

— Attempts at an ethic-aesthetic are paved with betrayals or pathetic survivals.

— And it is the individual who could walk a thousand kilometers but inevitably the road will eat him.

— Our ethic is the Revolution, our aesthetic is Life: one-and-the-same.

*

For the bourgeoisie and the petite-bourgeoisie, life is a party. They have one every weekend. The proletariat doesn’t have parties. Just funerals with rhythm. That’s going to change. The exploited are going to throw a big party. Memory and guillotines. Sensing it, acting it out on certain nights, inventing edges and humid corners for it, like caressing the acid eyes of the new spirit.

*

Movement of the poem through the seasons of rebellion: poetry producing poets producing poems producing poetry. No electric alley/the poet with his arms separated from his body/the poem moving slowly from his Vision to his Revolution. The alley is a complex point. “We’re going to invent it so as to discover its contradiction, its invisible forms of negation, even to clarify it.” A journey of the act of writing through zones not at all favorable to the act of writing.

Rimbaud, come home!

Subvert the everyday reality of modern poetry. The chains that lead to the poem’s circular reality. A good reference: Kurt Schwitters. Lanke trr gll, or, upa kupa arggg, happens in the official line, phonetic investigators encoding the howl. The bridges of Nova Express are anti-codifying: let him scream, let him scream (please don’t go pulling out pencils or little notebooks, don’t record it, if you want to participate scream along), so let him scream, to see the look on his face when it’s over, what incredible thing happen to us.

Our bridges to unknown seasons. The poem interrelating reality and unreality.

*

Convulsively.

*

What can I ask of present-day Latin American painting? What can I ask of the theater?

It is more revealing and more evocative to stand in a park devastated by smog and watch people cross the avenues in groups (that contract and expand), the avenues, where drivers as much as pedestrians feel the urge to return to their hovels, when the murderers come out and the victims stalk them.

What stories are painters really telling me?

The interesting void, fixed form and color, at best a parody of movement. Canvases that will serve only as bright advertisements in the rooms of engineers and doctors who collect them.

The painter adapts to a society that is every day more of a “painter” than he is, and there he finds himself disarmed and registers as clown.

If painting X is found in some street by Mara, that painting acquires the status of an amusing, communicative thing; in a salon it’s as decorative as bourgeois wrought iron garden chairs/a question of the retina?/yes and no/but it’d be better to find (and systematize according to chance for awhile) the unleashing factor, class-conscious, a one hundred percent deliberate deed, in juxtaposition to the values of “work” which both precede and condition it.

The painter gives up his studio and ANY status quo and fills his head with wonder/or takes up chess like Duchamp/a self-taught painting/And a painting of poverty, free or rather cheap, unfinished, collaborative, of questioning participation, physically extended and spiritually unlimited.

The best Latin American painting is that which is still being made at unconscious levels, the game, the party, the experiment that gives us a real vision of what we are and opens us to what we can be; the best Latin American painting is what we paint in the greens, reds, and blues on our faces, to recognize ourselves in the incessant creation of the group.

*

Try daily to leave everything behind.

May architects give up the building of inward-looking scenes and open their hands (or make fists, depending on the place) toward that outer space. A wall and a roof acquire utility not when they’re used just for sleeping or avoiding rain, but rather when they establish, for example, from the everyday act of dreaming, conscious bridges between man and his creations or the momentary impossibility of these.

In architecture and sculpture the infrarealists start from two points: the barricade and the bed.

*

The true imagination is that which destroys, elucidates, injects emerald microbes into other imaginations. In poetry and in whatever else, the entrance into the work has to already be the way into adventure. Create the tools for everyday subversion. The human being’s subjective seasons, with their gigantic, beautiful, obscene trees like experimental laboratories. Watch, glimpse parallel and heart-rending situations as a giant scratch on your chest, on your face. Endless analogy of gestures. There are so many that when new ones appear we don’t even notice, even though we’re making/watching them in front of a mirror. Stormy nights. Perception opens by means of an ethic-aesthetic carried to the limit.

*

— Galaxies of love are appearing in the palms of our hands.

— Poets, let down your hair (if you have any)

— Burn your nonsense and start loving until you come up with priceless poems

— We don’t want kinetic paintings but enormous kinetic sunsets

— Horses running 500 kilometers an hour

— Squirrels of fire hopping through trees of fire

— A bet to see who blinks first, between the nerve and the sleeping pill.

*

Risk is always somewhere else. The true poet is the one who’s always letting go of himself. Never too much time in the same place, like guerrillas, like UFOs, like the white eyes of prisoners serving life sentences.

*

Fusion and explosion from two shores: creation like a decisive and open graffiti by a crazy kid.

Not at all mechanical. Scales of amazement. Somebody, maybe Bosch, smashes the aquarium of love. Free money. Sweet sister. Visions frivolous like corpses. Little boys jerking off from kisses until December.

*

At two in the morning, after having been at Mara’s house, we (Mario Santiago and some of us) heard laughter coming from the penthouse of a 9 story building. They didn’t stop, they kept laughing and laughing while below we slept propped up in various phone booths. There came a moment when only Mario was still paying attention to the laughter (the penthouse is a gay bar or something and Darío Galicia had told us that it’s always watched by the cops). We made phone calls but our coins turned into water. The laughter continued. After we left that neighborhood Mario told me that actually no one had been laughing, that it was recorded laughter, and up there in that penthouse, some stragglers or maybe a single homosexual had silently listened to that record and made us listen to it.

— The death of the swan, the swan song, the last song of the black swan, IS NOT in the Bolshoi but in the intolerable pain and beauty of the streets.

— A rainbow that starts in a grindhouse theater and ends in a factory on strike.

— May amnesia never kiss us on the mouth. May it never kiss us.

— We dreamed of utopia and woke up screaming.

— A poor lonely cowboy that comes back home, what a wonder.

*

Make new sensations appear—Subvert daily life.

O.K.

GIVE IT ALL UP AGAIN

HIT THE ROAD

—Roberto Bolaño, Mexico, 1976

(translation by Tim Pilcher – TimothyPilcher@gmail.com)

[ghostmartyr]

SnK 121 Thoughts

Where’s the clip... someone had to have clipped it. Or I could just not interfere with my tentatively obligatory aesthetic and do this the less fun way. Less fun  does  indeed sound like me, so

There’s this DragonBall Z Abridged line.

From one of the Bardock specials.

You know. Bardock.

He can see the future.

He has a line about all the conveniences this ability causes his life.

-ahem-

USELESS ASS PSYCHIC POWERS.

Do I even need to write this? Can it just be a chorus of what the fuck over and over? Because sincerely, what the fuck? What the fuck? What the fuck what the fuck what the fuuuuuuuuck.

That doesn’t even have a tune. I sort of imagined one in my head, but I’m sort of caught up on how this makes everything worse, better, and changes absolutely nothing because it’s still Eren and Zeke being on the most disastrous family trip this world has ever seen.

Let’s review.

In the way that Angelica reviews Alexander Hamilton’s quality choices in the musical.

So we’ve got Eren, who is basically dying after his epic war games decision (good grief I haven’t even read War Games, but is he Stephanie Brown in this analogy? is that what we’re dealing with? is he somehow both Stephanie Brown and Batman?) that was intending to lead into him holding his brother’s hand.

His head is shot off.

Lest we forget.

Zeke caught it.

Because he’s a Good Big Brother.

That quality pro-genocide big brothering.

Brought to you by Dad.

Yeah so. Zeke and Eren,  down  memory lane. In an Inception of their own making, only like. Actually Inception. I am going to make this post take nine times longer than it has to because I’m going to keep making pop references  instead of dealing with the content.

Inception is a movie where the plot is for a heist team to go in and plant an idea inside someone’s head so that it grows into a genuine change for the world, breaking up a giant monopoly of power and slowing human civilization’s speedy erosion. #Spoilers, I guess.

...The things I bring up in these posts are always keenly relevant, good fuck.

So that we continue to all be caught up, Eren is playing out the part of the first time this is done, where the main character plants an idea in his wife’s head that leads to the destruction of his life and her death.

With his dad playing the part of wife.

Anyway, Zeke and Eren are having an Inception.

In the real world, Zeke is holding his little brother’s decapitated head while Paradis is attacked by Marley (soon to be the entire world) due entirely to Eren and Zeke’s choices. The objective of which, for each of them, was holding hands.

Eren’s aim for that is unknown, while Zeke is shooting for a passive genocide  that the narrative is making look like the more reasonable decision based on the fuckery that has become of the unscrewed nuts and bolts inside Eren’s head.

To be clear, neither one is being reasonable.

This is a trash fire of bad decisions.

Where the person rooting for genocide mostly just has the edge of probably being the same person throughout the entire chapter, as well as his life history, while the person with the unknown aims is looking like a really good case of Inside Eren Yeager, Titan Attack You.

That was funnier in my head.

The joke is that the Attack Titan ate Eren.

Is in the process of eating Eren?

Is periodically nomming on Eren.

Results may vary.

V original theory do not steal.

Ahem.

Going back to our plot summary!

Eren and Zeke, being the quality brothers they  are,  want to hold  hands,  and being the quality human beings they are,  start a massive war  of death and  trauma  on their way to holding hands,  then they fail to  hold hands because the natural  result of the quality of their quality  is  that Eren’s head  got blown  off, so  they’re settling  for Zeke holding  Eren’s  head.

Eren is presently cast as the clear antagonist, Zeke’s idea is still awful, and they’re locked in an extradimensional space where no one else has the power to point out that their main achievement so far is being useless dumbasses.

On top of a field of bodies.

Boys.

What in the fuck.

Forget what they want to do.

By all evidence, even in the midst of other horrifying details coming to light, all that needed to happen was them making contact. That’s it. Whatever massive plan is ongoing, they just needed to hold hands.

Cue a bunch of people dying. Including probably Eren.

This is a bad plan.

I’m okay with that.

It is still one of the most insanely complicated monuments  to a zero sum game that I have ever read, and it becomes very obvious that the reason these characters have Titan powers is because if they didn’t, they would be dead the first chapter they showed up, lacking the good sense to not be dead.

First volume, sorry.

This is not a complaint. I would happily eat mountains of popcorn to the tune of canon agreeing that yes, letting Zeke and Eren come up with their own original ideas is maybe bad. It is hilarious. They are not good at this.

I realize Zeke didn’t have hands back then, but at this point both of you have to be considering that maybe you should have just bumped shoulders on the plane.

I’m sort of on the fence for how to react outside of heavy amusement, though. The downside of Zeke and Eren being so bad at this is that literally nothing is going well. Paradis is on fire again, Marley exists yet remains to let the members of its cast who sort of have morals die shocking deaths, and the fate of the world is being decided in the split second before Eren’s death between two people who should be in charge of absolutely nothing.

The rest of the cast, barring the inevitable reveal of what the fuck Eren’s got up his  sleeve, has no power over any of this.

It’s. I guess it’s what you would call appalling.

Yelena’s point of view is really the closest anyone in canon has come to understanding the situation, and boy is that telling. She sees these two men as gods. She believes in their ability to remake the world. All that falls to her is  facilitating their union.

She might have her battle lines a bit crossed, but yeah. Once Eren and Zeke make contact, all the rest of the world can do to discover its fate is wait.

That is a key Epic style plot, only it’s drawn out by Eren and Zeke both clearly not being gods. Zeke is a broken child who has made all of his decisions from a belief that the world is too cruel to be worth living in.

Eren is.

...

Eren, I’m coming back to you.

For now, let’s just dub him a disaster.

So you have the storyline of gods clashing while the mortals sit back with bated breath, but the scale of it is stomped all over because mortals who should not be making these decisions are still  making them, and neither one seems  entirely sane.

Locking Eren and Zeke in a bubble has been a source of grand entertainment, but as a story feature, the idea of these circumstances determining anything is something of a letdown.

Eren’s known for years what he’s wanted to do, and he still ends up with his head shot off while he runs too slow to stop his brother from initiating the death of their people.

Something has to give for this to feel like it matters, because right now the prevailing feeling is that these people should be as far away from power as humanly possible.

The darkness of this story is often, I feel, exaggerated. Sometimes by the author. It is a story where horrific things happen,  and are  attempted, but the hearts of all the characters we’re invited to sympathize with have always been crystal clear. There has never been a question that Zeke’s plan is wrong. There has never been a question of genocide in all its forms being inexcusable.

Reiner breaks down a wall. Bertolt breaks down a wall. Annie calls monsters to the broken wall.

Thousands of people die because children were handed power and thrown into a situation they had no hopes of understanding.

All three of the traitor kids end up traumatized. Reiner’s mind splits, Bertolt retreats so far into himself he barely engages with the world, and Annie literally crystallizes herself through the desperate desire to make it home.

There is no question that they could have been something besides murderers. They probably all would have preferred that.

This is not a grimdark series where everyone has forgotten what good things look like. Hange can design trains with prisoners of war. Niccolo can learn to care for people he’s been taught to hate. Children can be protected regardless of side.

Where the darkness comes from is not from the absence of light, but the deterioration of faith in that light.

Annie wants to go home. Bertolt and Zeke want it to end. Reiner doesn’t know right and wrong, but he’ll fulfill his duty and extend sympathy to a fellow victim  of chaos he’s not equipped to understand.

They stop seeing their fight as something that has true meaning. The most proactive hearts come from Bertolt and Zeke, who share the same mind of simply ending things, not forging a new beginning.

That’s where things get sticky with Eren and Zeke.

This chapter paints Eren in such a dark light it’s hard to hope he succeeds in whatever he’s doing, but Zeke’s wish is still something that can’t be allowed to  happen.

The scenario presented is one where the light has gone out, and the person who was counted on the be its champion has lost something essential in his humanity.

Obviously that doesn’t mean this is over, but every time the immediate entertainment of Zeke and Eren being  the worst strategists to ever live  passes, the question of what’s being fought for here comes up, and there’s no clear answer. Not with this version of Eren.

Cultivated distrust in the protagonist is nothing new, but the extent of this is impressive.

Trying to put this the simplest way I can, for the chapter, I like how this is going.

For the story, the only two people who seem to have power over changing the  state of the world are people who should have that power taken away as soon as possible.

If this weren’t all happening while Eren’s head was still falling to the ground, it would bother me less. But as things stand, nothing anyone else is doing has any impact on the story, and Eren and Zeke are impossible to root for.

That it’s probably by design doesn’t do much to make it more palatable.

Leading us into the only part of this post anyone is actually here for.

Eren.

The fuck.

I feel like it’s a fair thing to say that this might not be good.

Outside the usual realm of not good.

Also, now obligatory monthly mention that Eren looks a hell of a lot like Frieda and I want more to be done with that besides the current holder of Frieda’s memories murdering actual Frieda.

He fucking looks like Frieda.

This is why people thought Geographia was a female Eren. Even before his hair choices. Fight me.

As referenced earlier, I think a good chunk of Eren’s problem is that we’re finally dealing with the Attack Titan. Features include an immunity to the First King and the ability to see into the future.

With mixed conclusions about mindless raging.

Funny story about that! Your sons think differently. Have corpses receipts, can verify

...Hell, sorry about your life, Grisha.

(Side note, I’m pretty sure this panel is Frieda. Why? Because Isayama went to the trouble of making one of the long-haired Founders have their ears showing. That is literally the only way I can tell, and even then I’m only sure because Eren comes with a lot more extra shadow this chapter and the very next page.)

Okay, so. Uh.

Here’s where I wonder if I have the right caps for this comparison. I’m pretty sure I don’t yet. This noted time gap brought to you by me typing while I think even though no one reading this would ever know the difference.

The first thing that occurs to me is Mikasa, and cue the rabbit hole about her inheriting the Attack Titan and saying goodbye to Eren in their memories. Add in some bonus flavor about how in Trost, Mikasa’s vocalized motivation for living was being able to remember Eren. The Attack Titan is looking like a very good fit for her.

As for why Mikasa occurs, well!

Note that the key difference in these scenes is that Mikasa is encouraging Eren to transform so fewer of them will die. Eren is encouraging Grisha to transform so the Reiss family absolutely will die.

Sorry, ‘encouraging.’

I feel like I’m more at peace with some of Grisha’s interactions with Eren the last night of his life. As well as the display involved in killing the Reiss family. That’s always been one of the bloodier massacres we’ve played witness to. I passed it off as Grisha being unhinged by how badly everything was going and how it was all his fault, but...

T-tatakae?

-scrolls through images-

Hey so anyone else have fond memories of chapter 63? You know, back when Historia’s allegiance was in question because she was siding with her father and being a very generous-minded child about why Eren was strung up in chains and gagged?

Remember how she got all her memories of Frieda back and glared at Eren even though his father was the one who killed off her beloved older sister, and it was an amusing moment of irrationality in a sea of Historia having a low wisdom score?

Look at her glaring at the last person who deserves to be glared at over the massacre of the only family who treated her kindly!

...

Yikes?

Like, I don’t think she knows, because as tolerant as Historia is of people committing atrocities, Frieda is a sore point, but I think at this point, Isayama probably knew what actually went down with the bloodbath.

Easter eggs. Fun for the whole fandom.

In other fun news, I’ve made the comment several times that one of the sad points of Historia’s situation is Eren is her best friend, given how the story has limited her contact so thoroughly with the other people she cares about.

My brotp has seen better days.

The effect of Historia’s hand coming out of the darkness, Historia herself completely shrouded in the shadows as Eren takes it and discovers the worst moments of his life he hasn’t lived through yet...

Hell, the layout of this chapter is beautiful. All of it, including the very obvious descent into Eren being not quite right.

He’s unlocked the Attack Titan’s powers, and with it, I think a will that is more indomitable than anything Eren the person would have been okay with. Really, I don’t know how much of this is Attack Titan brain sickness, and how much is that Eren already saw himself doing all of this crap, so how bad was doing it one more time?

He’s lived through betraying his friends. He’s killed children. He’s killed the entire family of a friend who saved his life.

What’s doing it twice?

In the grand scheme of all Eren has seen, how bad is anything he’s done recently? Civilians are dead, but bad people are too. People who would hold power the wrong way.

I want to say that Eren’s choices are a result of the Attack Titan having a mind of its own, and between that and the other memories in Eren’s head, his intentions have been corrupted, but that’s mostly me trying to find a way for Eren, as he has been, to survive.

Eren looks at the Reiss family, sees his father hesitating, and takes the lead himself.

The Attack Titan can travel the Paths through time, and Eren, the character most angry about cages, decides that the way things were is the way things should be, even if what happened was wrong.

I realize it’s partly my priorities with the series which keeps the thread of fate so active a plot point in my mind. I’m always going to see Ymir demanding to know  why Kristoria’s strength hasn’t turned into trying to change her own fate as a key theme of the series.

Eren had choices.

Maybe something catastrophic would have happened, but nothing forced him to make his father murder the Reisses. Going by his expressions, he’s not entirely okay with it, and the second they step into that cavern he knows that he’s at the hard part...

But he still does it.

He chooses to let the story play out as he knows it instead of allowing his father’s kindness to change the world.

I don’t know what Eren plans to do with the Founder’s power. Evidence points to him still wanting a better world for the people born into it. He disdains Zeke’s plan.

Nothing about this screams that this is what he wants. There’s a person in Eren still, recognizable as the young boy who wrapped a scarf around a cold girl’s neck.

Eren’s eyes are firmly on Mikasa and Armin when he walks his memories of them. He’s ignoring Zeke completely to stare at the warmth of his childhood. That isn’t someone who’s completely lost.

Yet he still pulls the trigger on this.

This isn’t what the Eren we’re familiar with would call freedom; adhering to what happened in the past just because it already happened.

Fight. If you don’t fight, you can’t win.

Zeke isn’t fighting, for all he’s holding back Eren.

Eren’s fighting something, but holding to the path already plotted instead of changing it.

I can’t imagine what Eren saw to push him this far. He’s not happy. He’s not winning. Not even over Zeke. He’s lost the love and confidence of everyone who has ever cared for him

Frieda only transforms after Grisha does. She waits for him. She waits to see if peace wins out.

The Attack Titan, as ever, has other ideas.

Not good ones. Just. You know. Different ones.

In conclusion Eren is a Billie Eilish fan.