#as in like an entity that separated from you but identical and even mirroring you

[ademotorcycle]

also sorry to send two asks in a row but do you ever consider the moral dilemma ricks have if they genuienly develop feelings like (prepare for a ramble i am SO sorry)

"i fell in love with myself, from another universe" THATS GOTTA POSE AT LEAST SOME MENTAL INSTABILITY. how would you feel if the most beautiful person youve ever met (personality wise at least) was a slightly different version of yourself, or if you were cloned and suddenly you developed feelings??? how would that even work??? imagine the judgement too bro that would be insane

AUTOSEXUALITY???? does it even matter if your partner looks ridiculously similar to you or not??? i think part of the reason why opposites attract a lot of the time is because genetic diversity gives an evolutionary advantage but in a scenario when thats completely thrown out the window how does that work? would prime and c137 rick have the same genetics??? Hefhv.dnbabmvvjdk

i think too much my thinking has thonked its last thunk

DUDE WGAT NO WAY YOU FUCKING HIT ME WITH A CRISIS AFTER MY DAY COSPALYING @ SCHOOL 😭😭/lh (<= written when I first red that)

I THINK ITS PART OF THE APPEAL like Ricks find the world around them so futile and disgusting they resort to settle with the only people who share the same hyper specific views of the world as them. In my opinion, it’s where most of Prickcests conflicts comes from, Prime likes C137 for his brains and his ability to solve problems in a way that’s different enough for him to not have considered it but can’t possibly understand why he cares so much about anything else than their relationship and it’s kind of the same for C137, he’s extremely smart and autistic so being understood and feeling seen is kind of his grail. Prime gives him just that plus the thrill of being a little bit fucked up in the head.

But we’re talking about general rick4rick relationship not… Their frustrating particular case lol although I can’t help but mention them since Prime (in the garage talk) explained so well the perks of only being around other version of himself. As a Rick the things you love and hate the most are yourself, it makes up for such interesting conflict because trying to ignore someone’s toxic traits is impossible and trying to mold them into the idealized version of them you got in your head is straight up manipulative. The vicious circle of stubbornness and love and hope and escapism leading to rick4rick relationship always violently falling apart is so fascinating to me and you completely understood one of the key elements for why it’s this way…

THANK YOU cinna, thank you for sending this ask it literally rearranged some of my atoms, shook my whole world and bursted a door open in the back of my mind

[prince-kallisto]

Hi, love your twst theories! And while I adore the idea that Meleanor's trapped inside the Magic Mirror (as she could still be alive) do you think it's possible that it's actually Levan who is trapped there - as well as being Crowley simultaneously?

When I read that OB!Malleus's voice sounds like Levan I thought that of the ones we've heard so far he sounds most like the Magic Mirror but higher or Crowley when he speaks seriously but lower. What we have seen so far is that when a person Overblots, their voice becames this multilayered cagophony (expect for Malleus). Could it be that Crowley and the entity inside the Magic Mirror are both parts of Levan and his soul has been fractured into two through Overblot, and his real voice is somewhere in the middle of the frequency of these spectrums?

It could work as a way to reference how Diablo was turned to stone (but didn't die, as in the book "Maleficent's revenge" he is able to break from his petrification) in the Sleeping Beauty. If Levan was able to trap his Shadow in the Mirror (or himself and allowing his Shadow to stay on the outside) it could be that this is why he is associated with STYX.

It would also give this sort of duality that could bridge Diablo from the og animated movie and Diaval from the live action film (both starting with "Dia", as in "ディア・クロウリーDia Kurourī"), Miyamoto-san's role as adult Simba in the Japanese dub of the Lion King, as both the Noble King of the Pride Rock and the weirdo hobo living in selfimposed exile (probably not relevant but I thought it's funny that he did not reprise the role in the sequel film in which Simba is seen in the role of the overprotective father of the Main Character Kiara, but does return for the animated show the Lion Guard, in which Simba is portrayed as a much more hands off parent) and both the upright and reversed meanings of the Magician in the Tarot deck.

It could be that Crowley doesn't even know/remember who he is, if we take in to account that in Jungian psychology Shadow represents the parts of your psyche that you wish to repress, and only by accepting it can you start to heal and solve the crisis in your identity (as has been the case for the Overblots so far) and by keeping these parts of himself separate and Levan is unable recognize and reconcile his past.

Hello!! Ahh, thank you so much, I’m happy you like my theories! \(//∇//)\ This is such an interesting ask- and a bit of a tangent haha, but I enjoy the theorist side of TWST so much because of how theories are always growing and fluctuating. One core theory can branch off and create so many different ideas, so there’s always inspiration to go around and new ideas to explore.

The idea of Levan’s Overblot breaking his soul into two is such an fascinating idea ahhh!!! \(//∇//)\ This would be an amazing way to explain all these differing aspects of him. For a long time now, I’ve been a believer of the theory that Crowley is in a very unique state of Overblot, just barely teetering over the edge while also managing to survive this long. I wouldn’t be surprised if it meant that being in a catastrophic Overblot state for centuries on end has indeed meddled with his soul in this manner.

Levan being trapped in the Dark Mirror is also such a good reference to the live action Maleficent, when Maleficent’s wings are stolen. Meleanor considers Levan to be her eyes and limbs, which could also mean her wings. Maleficent’s wings are seen in this glass cage, but are still very well alive on their own. Levan being Meleanor’s wings means he could be the one trapped behind the glass of the Dark Mirror 👀 If this part of Levan is trapped, I think it could also explain how Crowley keeps referring to his “wings” as if they were a physical part of his body, while also simultaneously not seeming to have them.

It reminds me of the line in Maleficent when she says to Aurora that “I had wings once. They were strong, but then they were stolen from me.” Levan was a top general and a diplomat. He was a strong and capable man, and is rumored to have even faced the Dawn Knight himself and survived, whereas Meleanor perished. It makes me wonder that when Levan left Meleanor, Eggleus (lol), and Lilia to battle at the fort, if something akin to an Overblot happened. Parts of him being fractured and “stolen.” 🤔

I’d also like to point out that the manga specifically shows Crowley in the prologue speaking to the Dark Mirror…without his mask. His voice is the prologue is one of the very few times where his voice deepens, and has no hint of his typical flamboyant personality. Perhaps Crowley not having his mask is a representation of these fragments of his soul coming back together? :0 There’s also a very interesting TWST trailer that has Miyamoto speaking, presumably as Crowley, but his voice is deeper than we’ve ever heard Crowley’s character speak before. Perhaps this is his “true” voice as Levan, and thrus similar as Malleus? For anyone else who wants to know more about the upright/reversed tarot card for Crowley, I made a post explaining it all here! ^_^ that’s such a good point of how Crowley can be both the upright and reversed when you consider him being Levan as well!!!

Also AHHH the Jungian psychology!! 😭💖💖💖 this is such an amazing point, especially regarding the Overblots. I’d like to think that primary part of who Levan is the one trapped in the mirror, while his shadow, Crowley, is the one who exists on the outside. Overblots amplify the negative or surpressed traits of a person’s personality, to the point of nearly killing other characters from how caught up they get in their own negative emotions. Crowley is always criticized for his own ego regarding his “kindness,” of how he can be unreliable and a very fleeting presence.

Levan has been referred to as “kind” (with the same word in Japanese that Crowley uses), and Lilia claims that Levan gets constantly praised for the simplest of things that don’t really deserve it, primarily by Meleanor. I wouldn’t be surprised that through Crowley, these traits of Levan were amplified, giving Crowley an ego for things he didn’t really earn, and praising himself for his kindness. Like a remnant of how Lilia and Meleanor excessively praised him.

You make such an amazing point about how if the shadow and the person is separated, that Levan/Crowley cannot recognize and reconcile with his past!! Absjxjs I was a bit of a persona 4 fan back in the day, but it essentially feels like that, of having to confront this shadow of yourself to reconcile your misgivings. It’s the same thing in TWST, where this harsh but necessary confrontation with this darker side of themselves is what saves them from succumbing to their Overblot.

Also andjxjsbdbs the point of Miyamoto’s role as Simba!! 🤣🤣🤣🤣 It’s…quite fitting, actually! 🤣 we gotta love Levan’s self imposed exile through a weird birb man like Crowley 🫡💖

This was an amazing ask, thank you so much for putting this into my brain! 🤣💖💖💖💖🐦‍⬛🐦‍⬛🐦‍⬛ I adore this idea so much, and I feel like your points helped me explain some of my visions for the whole Crowley and Levan situation haha \(//∇//)\ I’d like to make fanart illustrating this idea, I just love it so much. Thank you so much for the wait in answering this ask, and for taking the time to write this! Have a good day! ^_^ 🫶🐦‍⬛

[gogojetters]

▪︎ REDESIGNING JETPAD (JETT)

Part two of what I intend to be my Go Jetters Re-Imagined / Redesigned series !! This time, is a redesign that allowed me to be a little more creative- JetPad !! In the show's canon, JetPad is both the name of the Go Jetters' mothership, and a sentient super-computer who helps to run the GJA, and assists Ubercorn in missions. I wanted to separate the two entities, and allow for JetPad, the sentient super-computer and CHARACTER to have more personality and storyline presence. So, she now has a holographic human form, allowing her to actually go on missions!

Similar to Ubercorn, Jett's design features a 70s and 80s Disco influence, but with Jett, I wanted her to look more professional than party. She wears an orange bustier top, and white flared bell-bottom style pants, with glittery star patches to tie her back into the Go Jetter identity. Mostly hidden, she wears a silk belt, with a star brooch. Over top, she wears what is probably my favourite clothing item of hers, a blue blazer with shoulder padding! Jett also wears orange boots, and winged glasses. All of her design elements in terms of outfit are inspired by the design of the JetPad vehicle, with the glasses emulating the large front mirror, the padded shoulders on the blazer for the large overtop vents, and even the heels resembling the two side jet boosters of the airship. I personally felt that even if the mothership and the sentient Jett were separated as entities, the latter possessing visual similarity would help to keep her recognisable as "JetPad".

I also changed her hair from my last design, giving her something more short, swoopy, and dynamic, as opposed to the rigid state of the old one. Plus- I think that this one is more visually unique. In terms of personality, she is the dead-pan, and slightly snarky foil to Ubercorn, assisting him and the Go Jetters in missions, as she is hooked up to all of the technology they own, as well as the internet. She can interact with the world around her, but people sometimes fall through her hologram body, mistaking it for real. And that's my design deep dive !!

♡♡♡

I hope that you all like my redesign- I am SO SO SUPER PROUD of how this one turned out!! Now that I have that free time I mentioned in my last post, I hope to do the rest of the main cast, and create a full collection of these artworks!! These redesigns bring me so much joy, and I hope that you all like them just as much. Just like Ubercorn, I have made a "Funky Fact File" version of the work, to help you all get to know Jett, with the bio including my headcanons, a little bit of canon itself, and a fun alternate layout. Thank-You for reading through this whole post !! ♡♡♡

Post also available on Instagram ☆

Original JetPad Design (The Mothership) - (For Reference)

[paragonrobits]

thinking about doing an Adventure Time AU where instead of Fern splitting off from Finn, the difference is split by after the events of The Citadel and his dad callously leaving Finn to die, the mixture of potent magic, the life-imbuing properties of the liquids present at the Citadel, and Finn's mixture of overwhelming rage and distress mingle so that the remnants of his grass sword invade and fuse with the rest of his body, gradually mutating him into a being similar to what we canonically got with Fern; a shapeshifting plant-based being.

I came to this idea mulling over different AU ideas to mix things up, and I kept coming around to something based on Fern without specifically him being a separate entity from 'our' Finn; interesting weird powers and a very interesting set up for some potent characterization and nifty weird powers

but as I thought about it, I realized that this would also work well in a divergence point AU, and combined with elements of Finn briefly manifests telekinesis and an arm through sheer force of Fuck You Martin; the basic principle of that applies here, and might be how this Finn can... move. Or do anything at all.

Fern's issues of selfhood are still present, in the sense that while this IS Finn and he is intellectuallly aware of that, for angst reasons he is NOT adjusting well; the mental image I have is that weeks after his recovery, he hasn't been seen in public by anyone, even his closest friends, and the glimpses we get of what he's going through is a smashed mirror, fist-shaped holes in the wall made by SOMETHING lashing out in rage and horror, and ultimately culminating in this Finn actually being visible.

The idea I have is that while he can shapeshiftr as well as Fern does, his self image has taken a massive hit, and his primitive use of his newfound powers means he doesn't... look human at the moment. He looks like a shambling pile of composts, desperately trying to assume a humanoid form. The divergence points go from here, escalating and taking his character development in broadly a similar direction to canon but not after he's forced to grapple with his sense of idenity as Finn the human no longer being relevant. He's not human, any more. He doesn't know what he is.

the best visual I keep thinking of is Finn shambling in front of Bubblegum, pleading and screaming all at once, and the first proper visual we have is a pretty damn ugly Doom Patrol-esque one, culminating in him demanding to know what am I?!

In short, the selfish character spiral he had at the time for a few seasons comes to an extremely abrupt halt as his sense of self, identity and monstrosity all come crashing together in an unpleasant, vindictive spiral that again fixates on Martin.

All things considered, I'm actually thinking of setting this transformation earlier somehow, for further divergence; not sure how I can get the same feelings but it's definitely interesting to consider.

[tvccreator]

Life Update - Going Back to College, A New Tumblr Account for OCs (?), and More Stories to Come

Haven't done a post like this, so hopefully this gives some info on why I've mostly been reblogging stuff instead of posting my own content.

Firstly, there was my mental health crumbling a bit. My uncle passed away last Monday from cancer, so that was... fun. (That was sarcasm, just in case you can't tell.) I can't even go to his funeral because his side of the family lives in a different state, so I had to take a little time to acknowledge that he's now gone.

Secondly, there's the fact that college is starting back up. Yeah, I'm at college right now! :D I'm going for an English degree with a focus on writing with a minor in film studies.

I have a lot of work cut out for me. ^^'

Thirdly, I hit a bit of a writer's block on some of my stories, so I had to go back to older fics and work on those... then I got sidetracked by video games. (*cough cough* Billie Bust Up, Fate/Grand Order, etc. *cough*) However, I hope to get back to writing more of the stories and hopefully post some updates.

So, yeah, all this to say that updates on stories are gonna be slow, but thankfully my college classes are a mixture of online and in-person, which means my in-person classes get done before lunchtime for me. I should be able to update certain fics I've been working on. If you guys really want to, I might create a separate Tumblr to post OCs and possibly do a QnA with them. I know I've said this before, but I was very paranoid to even attempt it. Now that I have a story about Mirror up on AO3, though, I kinda want to build a Tumblr around Mirror's family and some of the demons I write for. It would probably feature a sort of bestiary for them, but even then, it all depends on what you guys want, too.

Reminder: these characters are part of my written universe, but some are based on actual theological entities (mostly Christian but there are Greco-Roman, Norse, and other religions in there, too). Mirror's family is a very complex bouquet of weird, but they're almost all my own creations.

Upcoming stories I plan on writing (hopefully - we'll see how my schedule ends up):

Fandom-based:

More chapters for "The Secrets of Marx Soul," including how he originally met (and began dating) Drawcia

More of that Rainbow Friends story that @thereaderinsertlady, @cottoncanderino, and I have been working on

Some more short stories on Fate characters, primarily Vlad III

I might consider posting a self-insert fic called "Legend of Dracula" on AO3, too - it's basically a Vlad III x OC/Self-Insert Character fic that I've been working on. That'll be up to how I feel about it, though.

My Own Personal OC Stories:

A short fic about Yyltemanes, Mirror's younger sister, and how she discovered her identity

A short fic about Taramuta, Mirror's younger sibling and their discovery of one of their closest friends

A short fic about Asmodeus, the demon king of lust, and his relationship with his children

A short fic on Lucifer Morningstar, also known as the Devil, and a casual interaction he has with a normal human being.

A multi-chapter fic on the Eldritch War, the battle that ultimately caused Mirror to become the heartless monster of his entire family and the reason Chaos Incarnate, the eldritches' parent, backed out of their lives.

Hope you guys have a great fall semester, everyone! I'll try to post decently often if I can!

[hexfloog]

31 & c for evil conan?

31. Who are they the most glad to have met? 

Ahaa this is a tough one. Evil Conan is the type who wouldn't be caught dead giving credit to anyone who may have helped him along the way... "main character syndrome" and all that. He's not ungrateful, but his way of showing it would be in the same sphere as 'putting someone out of their misery,' if that makes sense.

Everyone who's in the running for this question is incidental and people he himself didn't really meet, per say. Gin administered the poison, which in turn initiated the split; Shinichi both drove the wedge between them and gave him something to aspire to in the worst way. That's all good, but while catalysts of his existence, I don't think it's really fair to say that he met them?

I say that, but I also think that if Evil Conan were to ever meet Gin again, he'd say differently. Before doing exactly the thing described above and testing the worst of his powers on him to "demonstrate" just how grateful he is.

Heiji, were he anything other than a nuisance to him, is a decent candidate solely because he is the first to sort of validate his existence as separate from Shinichi (being able to "see" them as different entities)... but because they're hostile to each other, he's not exactly glad to have met him.

Maybe it's Haibara, though? Haibara is the only one who can ultimately give him what he wants: the antidote. Ironically, she represents the same to him as she does to Shinichi-- a light at the end of the tunnel-- but that "light" and the things he would do to reach it are starkly different from his maker. The only thing that keeps her from being a nuisance like Heiji is the fact that he can't do what she can-- synthesize the antidote-- on his own, so with that in mind... I suppose he is glad to have met her, even if she is just a means to an end.

I kind of wish I had a better answer to this, but there really is no other person who even comes close to serving his purpose, and thus no other person who he'd really have been happy to have met.

C. Did you have trouble figuring out where they fit in their own story?

Surprisingly, no :0 Evil Conan is the manifestation of a few ideas and headcanons I've had about Detco for a really long time (all having to do with mirror identities and monsters and such), and on top of his type of character being my bread and butter-- that is, an overconfident, heinous piece of work-- he just ended up being very easy to "figure out."

I'll just say that while his brand of villain comes to me very naturally, I've also had the buffer of time (like... a lot of it) to help me hone in on what he represents in his story. I don't know if it would've come so easily if I were new to Detco.

Thank you for the asks!! ^^ Question list here!

[hairtusk]

Hi! Sorry if this is a weird question, feel free to ignore it. I thought to find to you because you are always level-headed and insightful in your literary analysis and I could use some help. I recently found out about Anne Sexton and the abuse she perpetrated against her daughter. I deeply love her as an author but now I don’t know how to reconcile this fact with how meaningful her work is to me. How do you do it? Do you have any suggestion? Thank you so much in advance. I love your blog.

Hello! Firstly, I'd like to thank you for how polite this ask is. Generally, people come into my inbox with all guns blazing at the mention of a controversial writer - this was genuinely a breath of fresh air.

Secondly, your question isn't a weird one at all, I promise - this was something I used to struggle with very deeply a few years ago.

I found out about the actions of Anne Sexton the very same day that I bought her collected works of poetry. Due to this, my perception of her work has always been coloured through this lense. At this time, I was quite mournful about this. Now, I think it was a blessing, because it taught me something very important.

In the western, Christian-influenced artistic tradition, we have an association between beauty and morality. A beautiful person is inherently a good person. A creator of beautiful art, therefore, must also be a morally good person, to have the capability to produce such work. Additionally, in the past decade or so, there has been a huge fixation on identity and biography when it comes to artists. Who a writer is as a person must heavily influence their work - it must be drawn from their life, from their morals, from their emotions. Poetry especially is relegated to a non-art; it becomes a memoir, true to life.

One of the most important things I've done as a reader in the last few years is to unlearn these internalised biases I held when it came to literature. The subjects and themes a writer tackles in their work are not reflective of the writer as a person. They are an artist, working on a craft, not a person in a confession booth. They are a flawed human being, not an untouchable angel being sang to by the muses. Keeping this in mind is imperative when I read literature these days.

Additionally, I've tried to be very careful about attaching affection to artists and celebrities because I am fond of their work. It's an old cliché, but an artist is not their work. They are separate entities. In the age of social media, when we have the-artist-as-consumable-product, the fictional protagonist as a mirror for the reader to project themselves onto, this line becomes blurred. It can still be blurry for me, even now. However, literary critical thinking asks us only to recognise that while a writer may inflict their flaws onto their work (i.e., a writer's prejudices making themselves known in their texts), they are, ultimately, entirely distinct from one another. We can love the work that an artist has created while recognising its flaws, and recognising that its creator was not someone we admire.

When everything is said and done, Anne Sexton is dead. She has been dead for nearly fifty years. Buying her books does not fund to her life, allowing her to continue the abuse she perpetuated. She does not continue to win awards. We can acknowledge that she created valuable, and beautiful, works of literature, while at the same time respecting her victim and listening to her story. We have to hold both of these things to be true at the same time, in order to have a clear picture of her. Moral purity is not something we can expect from any living human being. Writers are human: they can be admired for the work they create, but it isn't helpful to us or to them to place them on a pedestal.

[sparklingreader]

Gilded Lily

Decided to write about Elucien out of the blue???? While also deciding to post itt??? Who am I??

But seriously, I hate posting my own content on social media. It freaks me out ... but wtf why not?? 

So this is for the Elucien girlies:

Elain doesn’t know who she is. She perfectly understands how to present herself to others, but when it comes to herself... she has no idea where to begin on her identity. That is until she is described by a certain someone as a Gilded Lily.

Will it lead to her finally open up? Or would it causer further enclose herself? 

____________________________________________________________________

There was a stranger looking at her. A woman -  female, she couldn’t recognize her life. Her brown doe eyes had no glimmer to them. Her skin, colorless. Her hair, dull and flat. Her body was no longer curvy, instead it had become elongated and boney. 

She felt disgusted in her own skin. 

But the worst of it all had been her ears. The one physical trait that would most definitely separate her from her past life. 

Once a woman, now fae, Elain Archeron hated everything about her new life. 

Especially the reminders that she was no longer human. 

So Elain did what she did everyday. She quietly disguised all of the reminders.  

She would choose a dress first. One of complimentary colors that would brighten her skin, make her hair seem less dull. Elain had grown fond of oranges and yellows, but knew to stay away from black. It sucked the life out of her. 

Elain settled on a flowy orange dress with white lily’s scattered across the bottom. Once she finished tying the laces of her dress, Elain began her next mundane task.

 As a child, Elain hated the feeling of makeup as a child. It made her skin itch every time she worked up a sweat in her garden. She liked the feeling of her skin being bare and fresh as she tended her garden. Would like the feeling even more when she ended the day tending her garden with dirt streaking her cheeks and her skin slicked with sweat. Elain would be proud of getting dirty in that way. 

But now, she needed blush and gloss to add something to the dullness she felt. Without it, she would feel as if her emotions had been open to the world to discuss. But Elain didn’t want to discuss anything about herself. She was fine. 

Next was her hair. That had been the process she actually quite enjoyed the most. Just a tad drop of rose oil and her hair would shine. She would leave it down, making sure her hair stayed in place to cover her ears. 

Elain looked at herself again in the mirror and she still felt strange. She was still a stranger to herself, but Elain knew well enough that this is the version others see her as. If this is how others wish to see her, then what difference does it make that Elain couldn’t even see herself. 

Elain always felt indebted to other individuals and their perception of her. Sure, there were moments where this untapped rage of Elain’s would show up, but the majority of the time Elain was just… sweet and innocent. 

Bum bum. Bum bum. 

Elain paused. She could recognize that heart from anywhere. 

I can hear your heart beating through the stone. Can you hear mine?

No matter how hard Elain worked to keep her new form hidden, He would always remind her that she is no longer human. 

Mate. How inhuman that word is. Not a husband, but a mate. An entity that tied her to the Fae. 

She wasn’t scared of Lucien. No, he was too good for her to be scared. Elain Archeron was scared of what it meant to have a mate. To accept it, she would be declaring to the world that she was okay with being fae. When really, she was not okay at all. 

She did her best to avoid him, mainly keeping herself locked up in her room. But seeing that it is the morning and she hasn’t eaten yet, Elain would need to step out of her room and look for something to eat. 

At least the Cauldron didn’t take away her love for food. 

When she made it to the kitchen she found that she was alone. Feyre and everybody else always had something to do. Of course they all had jobs and duties, while Elain had nothing more than her garden and baking. Not that she was complaining about it… it just never gave her a sense of responsibility. It was lonesome some days, necessary on others. 

But why was Lucien here? Elain questioned herself. 

It made her slightly uncomfortable…. But then again, when had he actually tried anything with her? Never. Lucien never dared to intentionally make Elain uncomfortable. It reassured her … but, that didn’t mean she was okay with it.

Elain hurriedly began making herself breakfast. She wouldn’t let him ruin her chance of making    pancakes. The best breakfast food ever created by humans, at least she believes humans created pancakes. 

Before she could gather all of her ingredients, she could feel Lucien’s presence just outside the door. 

“Elain,” he said, careful not to startle her. “Do you know where Feyre is? She said she would be here.” He questioned. Of course. Feyre was always meddling in their business and this was a perfect scenario Feyre had conjured up in her mind to get Elain and Lucien alone. 

Talk to him. She would say. Break the bond. She would say. Do something Elain. 

Blah. Blah. Blah. 

Elain didn’t have to do anything. She wouldn’t do anything. 

“I don’t know. Have you tried her studio? She’s been there everyday with Nyx lately. I guess she’s trying to teach him her skills or something like that.” Elain responded by waving her hand not caring at all what her sister was up to. 

Lucien looked at her eyes wide. 

Damnit. She spoke too much. 

“Uh- no. No, I haven’t tried the studio.” Lucien tried to hide the surprise in his voice. Elain had actually spoken to him. She spoke three actual sentences to him. Although, Elain felt more surprised at herself than Lucien was. 

“Well…try the studio then. I’m making pancakes for my- … Actually, have you eaten?” Elain asked. A new-found boldness had begun to peak through her carefully crafted shell. 

To hell with it… Nobody was here except for them. Nobody hiding in the shadows watching her. At least, Elain hoped not. She can tear down her walls for now. It had become increasingly exhausting to keep pretending.

“I haven’t, my lady. But don’t bother making me anything. I wouldn’t want to … trouble you” He looked uncomfortable now, leaning against the doorframe of the kitchen. 

Elain took a moment to inspect him. Quickly though, she wouldn’t want him assuming she was assessing him. 

In true fashion, Lucien looked good. Better than good even. Elain secretly wished all men dressed similarly. He wore a pair of polished boots, well fitted tan pants that showed off his muscular thighs paired with a matching jacket, and a forest green button down. The cherry on top had been his hair, neatly tied back with a thin piece of leather. 

Elain couldn’t deny that she found Lucien to be very attractive. But, that didn’t mean anything. 

“Well, suit yourself. It’s no big deal really. I would waste no time making another serving.” Elain said, already preparing to finally make herself a serving. 

She ignored Lucien staring at her.

First was sifting the flour, baking powder, salt, and sugar into the bowl. Next, she began to make a well in the middle pouring in the milk and egg. 

Before she began to melt the butter she caught a look of confusion on Lucien’s face. 

“What?” Elain snapped, annoyed that he was staring at her as if he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Truly the Fae knows about pancakes. 

Lucien coughed, seemingly uncomfortable in his current position. “Do you know what it means when a mate makes food for their other?” Lucien asked, struggling to get through the question. His cheeks flared red and his feet had begun shifting back and forth. 

“No I do not.” Elain responded, crossing her arms across her chest. Now she was growing more curious as to what mattered so much about making someone something as simple as food.

“Uhhhh .. Well. You see …… It kinda … Well not kinda …” Lucien coughed again. 

“Oh spare the niceties Lucien. Just say the damn reason.” Elain interrupted. She was losing patience as to what the big deal was. 

“It would imply that the mate has accepted the bond.” He rushed hopefully. Lucien made sure to hold her stare when saying it. As if that would make this more personal. 

“Well,” Elain began “It’s a good thing I’m making pancakes for one then.” Elain pressed her lips together and stared back at him. 

Her stomach growled notoriously loud. She definitely needed to get started on melting the butter soon. 

But she felt bold. She didn’t want her interaction with him to end like this. 

Before Lucien began to say his farewell, Elain interrupted him. “If I were to ever accept this,” she to herself and him lazily “you would have to at least know me.” 

Elain then turned to the stove to finally begin melting her butter. She would soon enough satisfy her hunger and eat her freaking pancakes. Her sister’s would always comment on how she was always hangry. Which was true to a certain degree. Elain could never get her emotions in check on an empty stomach. 

“What if I do know you?” Lucien whispered. 

Elain sharply turned to him, spatial in hand. 

“What is it that you think you know about me, Lucien?” Elain dared to ask. She held her breath waiting for an answer. She would assume he would comment on how much she likes to garden typically because that is all anybody else truly knew about her. 

Lucien opened his mouth to speak and then shut it as if contemplating what he should say in response. Elain waited, dreading his response. 

She really did badly want somebody to actually know her, but she also wanted to keep her true self hidden. Deep down, Elain knew she was scared. There had been no permanence in her life, who’s to say that one someone wouldn’t be permanent in her life once they knew the real her. 

“I know you are a Gilded Lily. I know this you…” Lucien’s eyes scaled her body, “is a farce. An unnecessary ornamentation to something beautiful in its own right.” 

Elain remained silent, watching Lucien as he took a step towards her. Then another. Then another. 

It wasn’t until they were separated only by the island that Lucien finally stopped. Looking up at him, Elain's heart began to thunder in her chest. She wanted to deflect what he had said. Wanted to tell him that it was a lie. Wanted to tell him that she was not a farce and that this was the real her. 

But it would have been a waste of breath. Elain couldn’t lie to him, because she knew deep down that he saw her. 

Against her worst intentions,  she knew Lucien saw through every version of herself. She couldn’t deny it. 

She looked at him, really looked at him. Lucien had always been brutally beautiful to her. The russet eye, the scars tracing down his eye to his cheek, and the way a wrinkle would appear between his brows when he was frustrated had all been soul piercingly beautiful. 

That’s when she saw it again. Those damned visions that kept her away. 

It had been of Jesminda. His Jesminda running through the forest with him. His Jesminda with a fiery attitude. His Jesminda being taken away from him.

She should’ve been his mate, not Elain. 

Elain had been nothing like her, and she hated herself for it. 

So Elain did what she knew best. Elain walked away from Lucien and willed herself to not look back. Could not give him a second glance. 

He deserved Jesminda. Not me.

When Elain shut her bedroom door behind her with a spatula still in hand, she let her tears stream freely down her face. 

Fuck, my pancakes.

[frays-monster-yuri]

I need to step outside of Ruinous Hearts and just... write this conscious stream of thought or I will not be able to let it go.

So. Get comfy. This is gonna be dreamlike.

Existing without a body is weird.

Losing it? Painful. But easy to distance yourself from.

The hard part is asserting that you have a self without a body. I've ridden down that particular spiral twice now and have some thoughts.

There really is no one important thing as far as I can tell. But you need to cling to something. Taking deep breaths still calms me down, even if my soul self has no need for air. Going through the motions and asserting that I have memories to back them up is solid enough for the purposes of establishing rules for your own continued existance.

Being practical is good. It will help you remember to function when you have a physical body again. But you have to go beyond that. I do not breathe. I will the air to and from my lungs. I did not spend most my life in the sky being at the whims of the winds so much as I made demands of it. Not all of that time was good, but taking flight atop wind and cloud separated me from the world below.

If visual aids are more your thing, you are trying to build a dam before the water takes your self away. Pick memories or parts of you that you are sure of. Place them down like rocks or twigs. Find related or affirming materials to add to the pile.

Your identity can be built on anything. And you can always change your mind later. But you have to continue existing with a self to work from if you want to move forward.

Not existing is a choice, but not one I would recommend. Take it from someone who has devoured their abusive parent. Angry entities have a tendency to linger in all sorts of nasty ways. Seeing some of my fears take the shape of my abusers was not fun, but that in and of itself can be affirming.

I am not them. Another stone to the pile. Dam? Right. We were building something.

Not so fun note. Feeding your fears, anxieties, and insecurities is a terrible idea. Given a chance to pursue things to their own misguided conclusions will involve them taking pieces of you with them.

You are more than these shards of the whole mirror. You are Verity. Given time, something can always come of them, like Verse. But they are now seperate from you. This is a hard boundary.

And with that thought comes a peace I have not known for several sleepless nights.

Note to self: Figure out less destructive ways to resolve fears and insecurities. That stuff really distracted me from taking care of myself in the ways I needed to.

I can still feel tethered to my reflections and the material leftovers of my old body. Mostly the hearts. But the bolt stone from being physically heartbroken never recovered and my black heart nurtured during my time as a child of Storms lack much of a pull.

If I focus, I can tug at them and get insight into what they are experiencing. But it is all information without feeling. I would need to go through a lot of time and effort to make something that would allow me to feel again. It is infinitely more likely that Whisper or Verse will shove one of my hearts into something suitable.

Their names came to mind not by accident either. There was a tug on my connection to the Bolt Stone and Black Heart as they changed hands from reflection to the friends in question.

The idea of Whisper holding my heart in her hands feels like it should inspire something in me. Instead I feel only loss and absence so strongly that it might as well hurt. Actually, dwelling on it might be enough of an existential threat to cause me to spiral. Better to dull the connection to my heart for now.

Maybe when one of my hearts are thrust into a vessel capable of feeling intimate moments I will consider otherwise.

For now, there is nothing for me but to try and enjoy my intangible existence. I have my memories to remind me approximately of what it is like to feel. And whenever the Sun's sway over the world has waned, I will have Lady Night for company.

[literallyjustmabill]

Mabill- And What Happened at Her Senior Prom

This was a one-shot I wrote awhile back that will (hopefully..) be in a fanfic I'm working on!

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

“Yeesh.” Mabel complained as she splashed her glittery face with ice cold sink water. She was not expecting to spend her senior prom in a public bathroom. Her previous wonderful date confessed to her his sexual identity after she confessed to forgetting to put on deodorant outside of the sad place their high school had reserved for prom. Mabel was startled- to say the least by his sudden confession- but supported him nonetheless. “Godspeed, Mark. Godspeed.” The brunette murmured to the cracked mirror framed with various stickers that lazily hung in front of her.

She smoothed out her silky purple dress for what felt like the millionth time before sighing again. “Geez Dipper, if only you could see me now,” Mabel murmured before pulling out a deeper masculine voice to hide her feminine pitch. “and the woman I’ve become.” She managed through giggles before bursting out into bubbly laughter. They had been separated for a year now- which had been hard on both twins. Morning routines filled with karaoke and fast food breakfasts were swapped with their parents separately driving them to their respective schools. Dipper with their mother, (who worked at a law firm so she had to get up much earlier) drove an hour away before the sun showed, while Mabel and their father drove at a (usually) late 7:50. They hadn’t been able to spend much time together since.

Dipper’s new magnet school offered exciting clubs and a vigorously competitive grading system, which he happily snatched up. This, along with his new car and driver’s license, offered him endless independent opportunities before he would return to Gravity Falls with an internship with their Grunkle Ford. With all of Ford’s degrees that leveled from Phd to Doctorate in extensive fields of the sciences and research, the college board was happy to provide Dipper with an unusual learning opportunity. The excitement was contagious, leaving Mabel with boundless amounts of joy for her brother, even if she barely saw him on weekends and occasionally sneaking back into the house at late hours. And her parents thought she was going to be the stereotypical mischievous teen sneakin’ in at midnight! Ha.

She wanted to be happy for him- desperate even. Well, of course she was happy for him, it’s just… his path was always so crystal clear while hers was as dirty as the mirror she was currently staring into. The brunette scrunched up her face at the sight of it. Bah. Pathetic.

“WHAT’S COOKIN’ GOOD LOOKIN’?” A familiar voice sang as two hands stretched out the mirror’s surface from the other side… or seemingly the other side anyways. The dreamscape would be a better word for it, but also a worse word to excuse to unknowing others.

Mabel’s face immediately stretched into a smile with her freckles aligning her dimples. “Ayyy there’s my best demon friend! Wassup stranger?” Mabel beamed with awkward hand guns waving before booping his bow tie.

“I”M YOUR ONLY DEMON FRIEND, KID. AND DON’T TOUCH THAT. IT’S NOT WHAT YOU THINK IT IS.” Bill spoke with an arm at his side and the other moving in a circular motion like he was going to conjure up another cursed entity. Mabel had seen her fair share of those. The dog-cow was surprisingly cute, but the cow-dog on the other hand…

She grimaced at the memory while Bill took notice of the shiny decorations adorning the sides of the mirror. “HEH, NICE DECORATIN’ STAR. I WOULD’VE ADDED MORE SCRATCH N’ SNIFF THOUGH. WONKA WAS AHEAD OF HIS SHORT MISERABLE LIFE WITH THOSE FLAVORS.” The demon reminisced before cackling.

“Yeah…” Mabel trailed. Normally she would have gone off on another tangent concerning Bill’s latest acquaintance, but her mood was turning increasingly sour like a lemon head. The demon took notice of it as well.

Bill wasn’t exactly accustomed to displaying sympathy of any sort. Hell, he destroyed his home planet at the snap of his “fingers” without batting an eye. (Besides blinking it several times due to the heat generated from the aftermath.) But damn… with Shooting Star around he began to feel more gross human emotions. Or maybe it was Ford’s doing. Eh Sixer isn’t the point, the point is seeing her in that sorry state made his eye twitch. And boy was eye twitching ANNOYING!

“SAY… WHERE’D THAT HOT DATE OF YOURS GO ANYWAYS?” Bill, of course, knew the answer because he had seen the EXACT FUCKING CONVERSATION THROUGH A PUDDLE, but hey what else is a powerful dream demon supposed to do? Sit around and ask Shooting Star to spill her emotions out like last Tuesday's lunch? These flesh bags sure were complicated.

“Oh, Mark decided to muster up his courage and ask out Sam.” Mabel shortened while picking at a sticker on the mirror. They may hang out a lot, but she wasn’t exactly comfortable sharing what she felt other than on whatever concoction (putting it lightly) Bill had strung together. “Looks like this dress and my good attitude will go to waste.” She said with a sad chuckle. In fact, the twin was already planning routes of escape and what activities to do at home. Sure, Mabel had friends at prom too, (though most were boycotting after what their homophobic music teacher said) but she couldn’t seem to bring out her joy through thick clouds of rain. Mark abandoning her brought up her hidden strong emotions towards her brother and their future apart.

“YESH KID, YOU LOOK DOWNER THAN LEWIS WHEN I GAV- WHEN VANCOUVER, GRESHAM AND BEAVERTON STOLE THE FRUITS OF HIS LABOR!” Bill spoke with comedical sarcasm as both arms drooped down to his sharp sides. Mabel continued her sorry state and didn’t take the bait for a tangent. That was surprising. Images flashed in his eye as ideas rolled by.

“SAY I’LL TELL YOU WHAT: I’LL HELP YOU GET THROUGH THOSE OTHER HORMONAL FLESH BAGS IF I CAN TAKE A PEEK INTO THAT JOURNAL PINE TREE HAS. DEAL?” He offered as his hand sprung up in front of the girl’s unmoving face. She scrunched her nose up in distaste and punched his side causing laughter to erupt from the demon. Maybe telling Bill what his self from her timeline caused was a mistake after all.

“I’M ONLY KIDDING STAR- YEESH!” He sniggered and casually sprung out of the portal and into his meaty form. Boy, was that transition painful, but at least he could conjure up a presentable one of his own. “Yes, this one did quite nicely.” Bill thought as he nonchalantly stratigned his bowtie out.

“C’MON.” The now human Cypher said with a hooked arm offered to the sad brunette. Mabel only giggled and swiftly took it.

The room was vastly crowded once they entered it from the drastically different toned hallway. High School kids danced like there was no tomorrow in the middle of the dance-floor-like-mosh-pit, while at the right groups huddled to chat, snack, and DEFINITELY not drink sneaked alcohol. There was also a hacky-sack station left unencumbered that was set up by the staff. Teachers not-so-tightly “supervised” students from afar while DEFINITELY not drinking from personal flasks.

Bill's eyes lit up in marvel. Alcohol drinking, alcohol spiking, alcohol- most of his ideas concerned alcohol. Maybe this night wouldn’t be so bad after all. Hell, every night with Shooting Star was an adventure- this was no exception. And he would make it the best f*cking night of her life.

“FOR YOU, DOLL.” Bill snapped his fingers and a lovely white corsage appeared on Mabel’s left wrist.

“Oooo!!” Mabel squealed. “Hell yeah! Now THIS is a real prom now! Mark took the one he bought for me to Sam so this is perfect!” She lifted up his arm to lightly kiss atop his gloved hand. “Why thank you my kind sir!” Mabel brightly smiled and bounced off to check out the snack selection. Bill’s face burned hotter than three hells. He, of course, knew the feeling because he had been to the three hells dimension- which was nothing like the inferno’s nine levels.

“WHEW.” He spat and adjusted his marvelous bowtie again.

By the time he strolled his way over to the arrangement of nutrients-filled delectables, Mabel had already stuffed her face with hand-made cheese crackers and was chatting it up with some stranger. Some not-well-dressed-stranger. Bill adjusted his bowtie.

“Oh Bill, there you are! Here, open your mouth and close your eyes.” She giggled while completely abandoning her previous conversation partner. The boy looked pissed, but shrugged his shoulders and walked off. Bill subconsciously widely smirked at the flesh-bound mortal’s actions before returning to what he should have been focused on: NOT some strange feeling caused by the child.

“THIS BETTER NOT BE RAT POISONING AGAIN.” He spoke and compiled.

“Oh my god Bill. That was one time. I SWEAR that box looked exactly like coffee sweetener!” Mabel exasperated at the recollection.

“YEAH YEAH PLAY TRICKS ON THE IMMORTAL ONE, WHY DON’T WE?” Bill crossed his arms before suddenly yanking them from their position in surprise of what the brunette sprayed in his mouth. It had a nasty taste and an awful consistency, plus not to mention its unlikable after-taste… he completely loved it!  “WHAT IS THIS DELECTABLE GIFT TO EARTH?” He remarked in awe at the girl.

Mabel laughed. “It’s easy cheese and it’s great on crackers… but really on anything else too!” He only stared at her for a few moments. “...I MUST SPRAY IT IN THE BOWL FILLED WITH STRANGELY COLORED LIQUID!” The demon plotted and reached across the table at her to grab the almost-empty bottle, tipping over a bowl of mix in the process.

She only laughed at his antics and tried to keep it out of reach. He was failing miserably at it too, until she suddenly snapped to attention on something else. “Ooo Bill! My song’s on! Let’s go!” The brunette squealed distractedly while the demon in question snapped his fingers to make the cheesy bottle appear in a hand. Bill had only just begun the process of “cheesy punch” (trademark pending) when he was dragged off to the middle of the floor by the overly-excited girl.

Ends up “prom dancing” was nothing like the formal dancing he had been taught. Their hands were interlocked as Mabel swung them both about the dance floor in several directions and occasionally into different couples. They’d both laugh and sometimes Mabel would apologize before they got back on track. Occasionally her demon partner would take the lead and spin her, but not long enough until she began to steer them differently. Songs came and went as hours flew by as quickly as Mabel’s short dark curly locks flew in the wind turbine of Bill’s spins. Before they knew it, there were only thirty minutes left.

“YOU’RE A PRETTY FINE DANCER, KID.” Bill pleasantly remarked as they stood to the side for a brief moment to catch their breaths. She beamed back at him. “Not so bad yourself, triangle.”

The raging lights slowed down in the room and the kid vomiting their insides out to the side didn’t seem half-bad anymore. Time seemed to literally stop- which Bill didn’t believe was entirely possible, but not unlikely. When the Time Police showed up, time definitely did stop for them. Out of paranoia and maybe… maybe a dash of fear he glanced at their surroundings, only to land on a teacher and that boy from before heading in their direction. Bill’s smirk fell into a familiar frown.

“That’s them, Mrs. Smithfield! There’s that man who’s not a student from here!” He yelled which stupidly gave them time to escape.

“Wait a second- wasn’t he the one putting something in the punch bowl?” The teacher recounted, only for the boy to shrug. “Probably.”

“WELL, SHIT. TAKE THE CHEESE AND RUN STAR!” Bill screeched and grabbed a surprised Mabel’s hand to drag her out of the auditorium’s doors- but not before grabbing the easy cheese bottle.

The duo laughed as they ran a few blocks away from the scene before stopping to catch their breaths. Boy, was a human body tiring to uphold. As if on cue, his stomach shook and burned unpleasantly. Pain may be hilarious, but hunger was far from a joking matter. “SAY SHOOTING STAR, KNOW A PLACE WHERE A GUY CAN GET SOME DECENT GRUB TO EAT?” Bill asked as he bumped her side with his elbow. (Which may have been a rhetorical question since he was an all knowing being of the universe.)

Mabel was delighted at the question. She was having the best time she’s had in months and didn’t want it to only end with a possible suspension. Or leave her in an unexhausted state of mind that would allow her to continue thinking about her future before she fell asleep that night. “Well… I do know a great diner not too far down the road! It should still be open. It’s always open at weird hours.” Mabel chipped which sprung her back into a spiral that concerned great memories she’d made with her brother there. Amongst the female twin’s dread, Bill only grimaced at the reminder of a certain diner back in Gravity Falls with not so fond memories with the twins.

“SPLENDID.” Bill spat as he transformed back to his regular demonic form to properly teleport them to the location that spilled unentionionly from Mabel’s mind… along with a river of anxiety. Looks like his plan was failing after all. He coughed and adjusted his bowtie before placing an arm on Mabel’s fabric clad shoulder.

In an instant, they appeared in front of the 50’s themed restaurant with Mabel’s stomach filled with nausea. “Oh boy, I’ll never get used to that.” She choked and crumpled into a ball as she hugged her knees. The sick feeling may have been caused by Bill’s teleportation, but the thoughts of her brother adding to the toll didn’t help either. They used to be so close. She even considered Dipper her best friend, and even with Bill now filling the role, Mabel still couldn’t seem to brush her brother aside like he did her.

When their senior year first began, they exchanged phone calls during lunch and facetimes while waiting for their respected parents to pick them up, but in the blink of an eye that all melted away like the harsh Californian sun. Phone calls were ignored and replaced with apology texts: “Sorry, I’m kinda busy right now. Call me back later Mabel.” The younger twin began to feel spiky dread arise in her stomach whenever she thought of reaching out to her brother. While he did respond to her, he never initiated a conversation. Mabel even tried to reach out to her parents with their predicament due to them always claiming that she could whenever she needed to do so. However, concern was met with silence and excuses. “Your brother’s going through a tough time too Mabel.” and “This isn’t his fault.” which caused her to sweep her emotions under the family rug to make room for her brother’s.

It was just her fault, wasn’t it?

Now back into the fleshy-uncomfortable human form, hunger seemed to evade him as his only concern was for Mable’s state. Even as their food was placed in front of them at their sticky table, Mabel hadn’t returned to her usual bubbly self that had shone brightly on the dance floor. Dunking a fist full of fries into her chocolate shake, the first of many tears strode down her beautiful face. Bill began to panic.

“WHADDYA THINK OF MY LATEST AND GREATEST CONCOCTION, SHOOTING STAR?” Bill managed through a concerned smile and wiggling eyebrows as he squirted the cheese onto his milkshake fries. The girl managed a small smile before returning back to her fries. Bill’s foot tapped anxiously against the black and white tiled floor. This was not going well. “..HEH BET I CAN DRAW A SMILEY-FACE ON THAT OLD GEEZER’S BALD HEAD WITHOUT HIM KNOWING.”

“..Hm... that’s nice.”

Emotions seemed to hit him like a truck all at once. Bill’s weird stupid human-consumed head couldn’t handle this situation that his usual calm demon demenor could. The confused demon slammed the tin bottle onto the table and left for the bathroom in one fluid motion, leaving a startled Mabel behind to be consumed in her own thoughts.

And just as quickly, or maybe with more rapid speed, Bill's thoughts swirled through his human form and spilled haphazardly onto the floor as he paced the gross state of a public bathroom. Yeesh, good thing the Time Police weren’t around or they would sense his disastrous mess a mile away. This wasn’t good. This wasn’t good at all. Through a few seconds of utter agnogy (that was surprisingly unwelcomed and not hilarious) the demon was back to his natural form to help him think better. Thoughts shifted through his eye as he processed why his situation was bothering him so effectively. Sure, he had watched Mabel experience hardships in the past well and good SO WHY THE HELL NOW?

“OH.” Bill voiced his realization as he furrowed his eye. Hm, well that explanation didn’t suit him either.

Bill strode out of a path in the back and slammed some amount of (probably) American currency onto the table next to the cheese. “C’MON.” He spat and without waiting to get a response, dragged Mabel out of the diner.

Confused and blindfolded, a wonderful mix of a drink, Mabel appeared in a new location where the wind was strong but the smell of gasoline was stronger. Wind whipped through her shortly cropped chestnut hair as she struggled to release the garment that impaired her vision. “What the… Bill, what the hell are you doing?” Mabel exasperated as she struggled to remain her cool. She was in no mood to experience another one of Bill’s ‘fun surprises’. “Please, just take me home.”

A snap was heard next to where ever she was standing (that felt as rough as gravel but had the pleasant consistency of sand) and she was suddenly met with far away twinkling lights on the horizon. It was so beautiful outside in the clear open air. Well, mostly clear. It’s still California… as far as she was aware. Mabel’s worries melted into a puddle at her feet as she took in the breeze, mellow weather, …and fireworks wrapped in hazardous boxes surrounding the Hollywood sign’s feet with Bill stretched into a provocative pose on top?!? ...What in all things holy?

Bill struck loose jazz hands and a toothy grin once he realized she was staring at him with a “what the fuck are you doing” face. “TA DA! THE TIME HAS COME TO BLOW THINGS UP! THIS IS A VITAL POINT IN OUR RELATIONSHIP.” He cheered while jumping back to her ledge. Her face hadn’t changed for the duration of his speech.

“Bill, I- this is so nice of you, thank you, but I really don’t think I can do this right now.” Mabel murmured as she took a few steps back and fiddled with the sides of her dress. There was no hesitation as Bill put his hands on her shoulders.

“LOOK…MABEL. I’M NOT THE BEST DEMON TO TALK TO ABOUT YOUR HUMAN TROUBLES, HELL I HAVEN’T EVEN MADE THE LIST.” He paused and Mabel felt the hold he had on her shoulders tighten. “BUT KIDDO, I’VE GOT SEVERAL EARS AND A FEW JARS OF PATIENCE TO LISTEN IF YOU EVER NEED IT.” To further emphasize his point, the dream demon conjured up a giant ear that had tiny ears sewn into it, along with several jars filled with strange liquids labeled “patience” that received a small laugh from Mabel. Bill’s human eyes lit up at that along with provoking a stupid grin.

The brunette finally lifted her eyes up from her very interesting shoes to meet his. “Thanks Bill… I really appreciate that, more than words can express.” She smiled and plopped down onto the gravel mixed dirt, which received a grimace from Bill. Ah, what the hell. He joined her as well after making the cursed objects disappear.

“I… I’m so scared, Bill.” Mabel started and hugged her knees. The demon suddenly realized it took everything in him to not put an arm around her shoulder. Well that was a disturbing realization. “Dipper’s found his path so easily… and he’s left me behind on my own. I don’t know what I want to do with my future. Hell Bill, I’m a senior about to graduate and I haven’t applied to any colleges!” She choked out as more tears of frustration began to spill. “My parents are more concerned about the joy of Dipper’s future than my own! It sucks. It really sucks to hear all the time.”

Oh boy this was going to be hard. What’s a demon supposed to do in a situation like this? Obviously basic 101 trick tourture, but that probably wasn’t a good idea. Apart from all better judgment, Bill put an awkward arm around Mabel’s shaking shoulders. She paused for a moment, before moving to force him into an embrace and cry into his already ruined suit’s chest. They stayed like that for what felt like hours to the uncomfortable demon before he decided to change into something a bit more comfortable.

With the snap of a pair of human fingers, Mabel felt the fabric she was currently sobbing into change. It was a bit rough, but overall fluffy and pleasant to lean into. In fact, the scent and color were strangely familiar. VERY familiar. She paused her melt down to inspect the fabric from a farther view.

“Woah hold up- I thought you threw that out the car window?!” Mabel gasped in realization that he was wearing the sweater she had carefully crafted for him one sunny day. She was a self-claimed speed knitter.

“HUH? OH YEAH, YOU’VE GOT SOME SERIOUS TALENT KID. IF ONLY THERE WAS SOME CAPITALIST STRATEGY TO EARN CURRENCY OVER SOMETHING YOU LOVE.” Bill remarked as he rubbed the fluffy fabric of the sweater’s sleeve between his fingers. As a demon, Bill had never experienced what flesh bags of old age titled a “heart attack” but he thought his stupid human heart had given out when he heard one of the loudest gasps ever. And the demon had heard some LOUD inhuman noises.

“Oh my gosh Bill- that’s it! Wow... it was right in front of me this whole time and I didn’t see it!” Mabel cheered as she visibly lit up before his eyes and began her turn to shake his shoulders.

“AM I MISSING SOMETHING?” Bill puzzled amongst the impossibility of sitting still. Clearly she wasn’t angry at him… but this was an unexpected reaction for a change of clothes.

“Fashion design, Bill! That’s my future! Oh wow... thank you so much!” The brunette beamed as she held her blushed cheeks as if it would contain her excitement. In a swift moment that could have been missed in a blink of an eye, Mabel smashed her mouth onto the dream demon’s, and swiftly left to run down to where he had thrown the fireworks. In fact, Bill didn’t think Mabel even registered the action. Like it was something she stored deep inside of her for so long that it just felt natural. Well this definitely wasn’t good now.

Mabel had unknowingly reciprocated his weirdly unnatural human-like emotions. It stunned him… and nothing had startled him this badly in a while. How in the nine HELLS did she expect him to react after that?!

“Bill! Let’s blow some shit up!” She cackled and began to rip open the boxes.

“HELL-O.” He murmured while gripping the sweater probably where his heart was supposed to be, only for his hand to slowly fade through existence. Bill knew he had to tell Mabel soon, but the program was just getting good.

---------   (4007 word count)

[thenightling]

I’ll be your mirror (A Sandman fan fiction)

This story is a shameless Fluff piece written while listening to “I’ll be your Mirror” by The Velvet Underground on repeat.  This is sort of Dream of The Endless working through an existential crisis.  

  I’ll be your Mirror

             The pale figure of Daniel Hall moved through the empty private chambers of The Castle at the heart of The Dreaming.  

This ancient, and stone-looking, fortress was a monument to pure creativity, pure imagination. Sometimes known as Ghost Castle it seemed fitting that that the current aspect of Dream (who often answered to the name Daniel) actually resembled something of a ghost.  He was pale white, as white as milk, and his hair was just as white, just as soft and cloud-like, as the rest of his ethereal form.  His hair was curly and untamed, much like the black hair of his predecessor, the now deceased aspect of Dream, Morpheus.            Daniel’s eyes were black as pools of midnight water, with two twin star pupils.  He could have been the boyish and more youthful looking twin of the previous embodiment of dream.                Daniel wore an egg-shaped emerald amulet, the only sign of color upon him.  Otherwise he was a mostly white, and wispy entity wandering his private chambers. He moved silently and with some private sense of purpose.   Dream of The Endless is something like a great, faceted jewel.  And each facet is a different incarnation- an aspect, an autonomous entity that is both connected to, and yet separate to the whole.

             Daniel knew he was only a fragment and not the whole of what is Dream of The Endless and yet there was no real sense of comfort to that strange loneliness that ate at his all-too human-like heart.   He often felt he was too human.  Had his predecessor dealt with such a burden?  He tried to recall.  Yes.  Why, yes he had.  But only toward the end…            You would think the link to that old, deceased, aspect of Dream of The Endless would be gone but that was not necessarily the case.  Not only had Daniel inherited all of his memories but he had done something, something that he was fairly certain most did not know about…            Daniel had been conceived and gestated for over two years in a mortal woman’s womb in The Dreaming.  Though his mother had some divine aspect within her, and was considered something of a “metahuman” herself, Daniel had seemed human enough at the time of his birth, despite the peculiarities of his gestation and his poor, naïve, father having been the manipulated soul of a deceased human…            Where had the other aspect of Dream been during Daniel’s gestation?  Well, for most of it he had been imprisoned in a crystalline cage in a mortal’s cellar.            In his early form Daniel had appeared to be a normal human baby.  Blond haired, blue eyed, with a peach-tone flesh that wasn’t as it was now, this milk-white.  The only one who had recognized him for what he truly was had been Himself, that is to say, the active aspect of Dream, Lord Morpheus.            Now looking pretty much nothing like that mortal baby, the adult and distinctly non-human Daniel Hall, this aspect of Dream of The Endless, recalled well their first psychic communications with one and other.  It was the only time he truly felt a deep and profound bond to another, when he stared into Morpheus’ eyes and felt that link there between them.  Of course there had been some connection to his mortal-esque mother but this was different.  What he felt toward this other aspect of self was like staring into a reflection of his very soul.               When he “Spoke” with Morpheus it was like communing with his own subconscious. There was such an understanding and appreciation for the truth that it comforted him to know he was there. Though to tell which had been comforted by the other’s presence was difficult to say.

When Morpheus had “Died” as Dream of The Endless, Daniel rose to power, taking his predestined form and his mind flooded with the repressed, and hidden knowledge and memories of over ten billion years of consciousness. Now he felt like the very heart of an intricate web, he knew each fiber as it stretched from himself and through The Dreaming.  

He had a psychic link to every sentient entity he had ever created within The Dreaming, including ones created by his previous-self (whom he could recall having been, like a human reincarnation).

The loneliness had been terrible in those first few moments as Lord of The Dreaming, despite his sudden psychic awareness and knowledge.   And one of the first things he did was something others might find unspeakable…

           Meanwhile, in another part of The Dreaming…

           “I walk across the dreaming sands under the pale moon: through the dreams of countries and cities, past dreams of places long gone and times beyond recall.”

           In his darkest and strangest hours, when Morpheus had thoughts he scarcely would admit to himself he wondered that perhaps Loki, Lucifer, and all the other iconoclasts of the various pantheons were right in their rebellion. They wanted to leave and so they did. There was no dramatic final exit. They didn’t dread abandoning responsibilities as he did. If only he had the bravery or selfishness and carelessness to do as they had done…but these thoughts were along the lines of words he would never dare utter, not even to himself. He was dead now, right? What did it matter? He had escaped his role in the most absolute fashion possible…

           Morpheus walked along the beach of Hob’s dream in the perpetual eventide. This was, for him, his Heaven, his sanctuary. And almost every night he would walk and speak with his friend who always steadfastly refused Death’s gift. How he admired Hob’s fortitude. And how he, himself, liked it here. He was at peace here. Eternally residing in the dream of a friend wasn’t the worst way one could spend an existence after being an Endless. And yet sometimes he felt certain old aches, like a mortal who had lost a leg and missed it terribly.            His existence as Dream of The Endless was over but Morpheus had been recreated as a Dream Entity.   Now free from the burden of being Dream of The Endless, he did not envy the self that had to reign in his place.  In fact he found himself pitying him. And sometimes he felt that his new purpose, his new reason to be, was to simply reassure Daniel as no one had for himself- to remind him that he understood.  That he knew how he felt.  That he was not alone.  And most importantly, perhaps, that he forgave him for all his faults and short comings…

             Daniel walked to the mirror mounted over the vanity table in his private rooms.  The door to the room vanished behind him.  He wanted to be alone with his brooding thoughts.    Daniel stared into the mirror, trying to decide who or what he was.                Who was he?  And where did he belong?  Was he the boy Lyta Hall had cradled in her arms or was he the man who would govern The Dreaming for eons to come and who had always governed The Dreaming?   He felt world weary and weak.   He doubted himself and his abilities as Dreamlord.   He sighed heavily.  Sometimes he just wished he was that innocent child once more simply so someone would hold him and comfort him and tell him everything would be okay.              A figure stepped behind Daniel, soundlessly and as shadowlike as Daniel was ghostlike.  Daniel was only briefly startled by the sudden presence of his deceased self in the chamber with him.  He knew better than to ask how Morpheus had come to be there. Morpheus might have been deceased as Dream of The Endless but as a dream-entity he was very much free from that burden and knew his way around The Dreaming and especially his old castle.  And he knew how to enter where only Dream would enter.                The two – the living Dream of The Endless and the “Dead” Dream felt such a relief in the other’s presence as if all pressure had been lifted.  But each was too proud to admit how much he needed the other in that moment.                          “What am I?” Daniel asked in his lingering sense of personal uncertainty. It was the question he would never ask anyone other than himself.              “You are you.  You are Dream.”  Morpheus assured him as if that was all the answer he needed.            Daniel nodded.  He seemed a little shaky but the other figure placed a bony hand on Daniel’s narrow shoulder.  Daniel’s garments wavered, shifted.  And his white robes became a fine, gauzy, white, toga, just as Morpheus’ own gothic, wizard-like robes shifted into an identical black toga.              The two looked like matching halves of a yin-yang standing there in front of the great oval mirror mounted over the vanity table.              “I am here.” Morpheus assured him in his own imperfect way of trying to comfort himself.  “I am here.”  He did not begrudge his posthumous existence. He knew why Daniel needed him.  The silent need that they both had, it was that same need that had invited a certain cat that had been mistaken as another aspect of Dream, to come save the universe. That was a different adventure that both knew in their heart but could not actually, consciously, directly, remember, not really.            “I will be for you what was never there for me.” Morpheus assured him.              Daniel took a ragged breath.  “I didn’t… I wasn’t sure you would…”            “That I would forgive my own existing?   Daniel… It was my plan.  I knew I had to change or die.  I chose both.  I knew what you would do because you are me.  How could I begrudge it?”            Daniel turned his head.  Morpheus had released his awkward grip on the shoulder of his other self.              “This is where we both belong.”  Daniel said.  It was a statement but it was also a plea, a secret, hidden plea.  He feared being rejected by himself.            “Perhaps.”  Morpheus said, knowing Daniel understood what he meant.            “We are all things within The Dreaming.” Daniel said.  “The wind, the rain, the sunset, all of it.  It’s us.  And I don’t actually –need- anyone.”  He lied and he knew his other self knew he was lying.            “But there is a difference to be able to talk and hear a voice respond that has felt and knows your burden.”              “I don’t want to be alone.”  Daniel said.  “You’re just going to leave again, retreat back into your dreamscape and leave me to bear it…  We’re not the same.  You’re free where I am not.”            Morpheus’ expression darkened, his frown deepened. “No.   No, I’m not as free as I thought I was.  You are my burden now. I am my own burden.  Because…  No matter where I go… there I am… And you need me.  I… am responsible.”            Daniel looked at him, uncertainly, blinking his black, glassy eyes.  “You would… stand with me?  So I don’t have to be alone?”            “I am here, am I not?  Yes… I have died.  And …changed.”  He loathed admitting that more than once.  “But things are different now.   There are two of us…  We need not stand alone any longer.”             Daniel looked at him, at his other self, and there was no resentment. There was no sense of old guilt for forcing him to exist.  He knew that he understood why he had done it.  They forgave each other.   And they were both home.    

           “No one else would ever accept me if I showed them all of who and what I am.” Daniel confessed.  “Not even… Not even my mortal mother.  She could never understand.   There’s so much darkness in me...  And it has always been there.  Always, even before I was Daniel Hall. I am so very afraid of …of my own darkness.”             Morpheus gave him a trace of a bitter smile.  “You are afraid others might see your mind, your secret heart, and judge you for it?  You are afraid they will see the corruption, cruelty, and unkindness?”             “Yes…”             “Daniel, I was far crueler than you ever were.  Don’t burden yourself…”              “But sometimes I-“                “Shhhh.”  Morpheus said.  “It’s what you do, not what you think that defines what you are.  You don’t bear that darkness alone.  It’s what you choose to do despite the darkness that matters. Pretend to be kind- and act on that pretended kindness.  Behave the way you think a kind creature should act.  It is good enough to pretend, to play the part.  You are good enough.”               “How- how can I do that?  I barely know how to be you.”               “’Me.’” Morpheus corrected.  “How to be ‘me.’  You are not my shadow.”                Daniel shook his head and raised his hands to his face, placing his palms over his own eyes.    

            Morpheus was not very good at physical intimacy except with lovers and even then there was some question as to his ability to express affection but when it came to himself he made the exception and reaching out he took a hold of each of Daniel’s hands, cupping his hands with his to gently ease down his hands.  “Please put down your hands.   Don’t worry. I see you for what you really are. You are not something terrible. You are Dream and you are …beautiful. Surely you see it?”              “How can you possibly see good in me when you don’t even see it in yourself?”  Daniel asked.         Morpheus was taken aback by the question as if Daniel’s very words had slapped him.  “I…”        “I have done terrible things.  I have hurt people.”  Daniel said. “Why do you think I am so much better than you?  Why? How could I be better than you when I AM you?  At least you never killed except in defense of The Dreaming!  I…  I killed and it was for malicious reasons. I thought I was being honorable but I was just being cruel.”

            Morpheus knew what he was talking about. He had always known. He knew about Daniel’s lover, Ivy, Rose Walker’s daughter.   Desire’s great granddaughter.   And he knew that when a bachelor party, besotted by alcohol, had made lewd comments about Ivy, Daniel had driven them all, in a pleasant dream-walk, into the ocean…

            It had been cruel.  It had been brutal.  It had been something Morpheus had thought beyond his own capacity but he sometimes surprised himself. And he also knew he had to forgive himself. Daniel had been burdened with being Dream of The Endless all alone and it was effecting his mind.              Daniel clenched his hands into fists.  He looked so vulnerable to Morpheus, so tired, and so frail.  “Damn you!  Damn you for leaving me here and making me be you!”  Daniel said with his head bowed.  Their thoughts were shared between them as they had been when Daniel had his mortal, infant, form.                

          Morpheus slowly walked from Daniel and the vanity mirror that had reflected them this entire time.  Now Daniel’s was the only image in the mirror as Morpheus walked to a sofa that had not been in the stark room a moment before.            He sat down slowly, heavily, despite his slight build.           “I should never have done this to you…  It was wrong of me.”

        Daniel was surprised.           “All I did was subject another self to the same burden that I fled from in allowing you to become Dream of The Endless, and letting myself die.  I see now there is only one way to rectify this wrong…”               Daniel blinked several times and walked over to the sofa.  He sat down next to him.   Daniel knew what he meant to do.  “Are you certain?  After all you went through to extricate yourself?”                Morpheus nodded slowly.  “Yes, I am certain.  I must do this.  It will just be an endless cycle unless…”            Daniel placed a hand over Morpheus’ “Unless we share the burden… together.  Support one and other…  be there for each other…”            Morpheus looked at him.           “Balance one and other.”   When Daniel lifted his hand there was now something in Morpheus’ palm. It was the ruby dreamstone amulet he had re-created shortly before his own destruction. He looked down at it with a nod.                With an almost ceremonious act of raising it, Morpheus lifted the jewel pendant up, and over his head.  He lifted it over his mop of black, wild, hair and let the amulet hang from his neck, lightly against his chest.            Now Daniel offered the pouch of dreamsand.  Morpheus saw it had been exactly duplicated though which was the duplicate, the one he would claim, or the one Daniel kept, it was impossible to tell.

          “Ovid wrote of three Oneiroi.” Daniel said. “But I think we have both had enough of three-in-one.  And perhaps two is enough.  Don’t you think?”

        Morpheusn as Morpheus was done securing the pouch to his hip Daniel took his hand again.  He liked holding his hand and he knew Morpheus liked it too even if they were both too proud to admit it out loud.          “Promise me,” Daniel said, “promise you will help me through my own darkness.”         “I will try.  I’m not sure I can.”  Morpheus said, uncertainly.        “You can,” Daniel said “Because you already are.  We… already are… for each other.”          “Which one of us is the reflection of the other?”

            “Does it matter?”             “No.  Not anymore.”

                      The End.

[valofaxwords]

Blog Post Week #7 Due 10/7

Is the idea of ‘color blindness’ racist?

The idea of ‘color blindness’, the concept that a person doesn’t see the race or ethnicity of another person, is inherently a racist concept. First, the concept that you can simply look beyond a person’s race is a point of privilege since it mirrors the notion that oneself cannot be affected by race. For example, anyone who claims to be ‘color blind’ believes that because they themselves can achieve this ‘raceless’ entity, that it is possible for others to also simply turn it off. Second, it erases the identities of those that wish to be seen for who they are. Personally, I am Latino and very proud of that fact, though I do not want to be stereotyped with negative attributions, I still wish to be seen as a part of a collective.

Can anyone achieve ‘color blindness’?

. As much as certain people wish to go along with the idea, the idea of ‘color blindness’ is also impossible. The sorting of ideas and concepts into separate categories is a procedure that our brain has been doing since birth and continues to do forever, there is no which way around it. Like it or not, we all have implicit bias that effect our perception on things, but it is duty as humans to not let certain perceptions effect our actions. This is not to say that ‘everyone is a little racist’ because we all have inherited bias, but what it does mean is that there is no way to get around the fact that we do categorize things, people, into boxes. What’s important to know is that we shouldn’t be painting with such broad of a brush, even though we do place things into categories, it doesn’t mean that we must put everything under one umbrella.

Is post humanism a white privilege?

Post humanistic discussions have been occurring more and more as our technology has been getting better. Some people may enjoy claiming that we are just around the corner, and that the debate over what it means to be human will soon need to be had. Writers have been discussing the ideas in science fiction for decades, but in every story, the writer asks that the reader imagine a future in which the discussion can truly occur, a world some say is soon approaching. But the sheer concept that a world like that is achievable in the near future, indeed comes from a place of privilege. For posthumanism to happen, as Benjamin (2020) writes,” [these] visions assume we have all had a chance to be human.” To elaborate on that, what it means is that we need to live in a world that is free from things such as racial injustices, as these acts are committed because people are undervaluing the humanity of others or see themselves as superior. To think we are close to achieving posthumanism must come from a place of privilege where you are so disconnected from the world, you are able to pretend to believe things such as racial injustices are so few.

How can the algorithm be used as a tool for discrimination?

The algorithm in question is the one that uses your data to better advertise to you. For example, if you happen to be looking at flights, afterwards, you may notice that the advertisements that show up on websites have begun to advertise specifically flights or even travel agencies. This is because you’ve allowed for the data that says you were on websites dedicated for flights, to be shared with other websites that are hoping to advertise to you. These websites pull the data from your record, see what you’ve been looking at, then place it in front of you to entice you to purchase the good or service. Essentially, imagine that you enter a store and spend time in the home good department looking for a chair, what the algorithm would do is, the next store now knew you were looking in the home good department so that when you enter the second store, they have suddenly arranged their home goods department with the items you were looking at before but slightly cheaper. Where this might not seem sinister at first, a more complicated algorithm could potentially be harmful. Imagine if instead of using your browsing history to cater to you, advertisers with the knowledge of your ethnicity or race, only direct you to websites they deem appropriate. For example, with the knowledge of your race while you’re looking at homes, the algorithm only directs you to buy houses in certain neighborhoods. If this was to be done by an actual human realtor, it would be clear discrimination, but allowing for a faceless entity like an algorithm to do this, it allows for a release from responsibility and a chance to automate prejudice.

Benjamin, R. (2020). Race after technology abolitionist tools for the new jim code. Polity.

[madamlaydebug]

You are a Microcosm of the Macrocosm💫There is a popular saying, “As above so below, as within so without”. This adage is said to have its origins from the Kemet Tehuti acknowledged as a scribe for the Gods. Tehuti was credited with thousands of writings of high standing which were reputed to be of immense antiquity. This principle of correspondence speaks to the mirror image relationship between all cosmos. It simply says that the greater and the lesser are alike. The universe and Earth are of the same pattern. Nature and Africans reflect each other. By observing one relation you gain knowledge of the reflected whole. To put it another way, the meaning of ‘as above so below’ is that everything is a microcosm of the macrocosm. We see the same patterns reproduced in all levels of the cosmos from the largest scale all the way down to the smallest sub-atomic substance including the metaphysical. Contemplate the macrocosm as the universe and the microcosm being you. Deeper inquiry into this idea can bring some pretty potent revelation. The universe is part of ‘All That Is’, which is the same as God who is everything that you and the universe are one. Everywhere there is conscious life that’s all the exact same core substance. This substance is vibrating through patterns of energy, of light and of sound. This core vibrational pattern of the ultimate principal entity is the same as the human. The human pattern is the same as the cell. The cell’s vibrational pattern is the same as the atom. This idea expresses that humans are identical to everything in the universe at the most macro level. All forms of life are one primary source. All is a reflection and a stepped down version of its greater aspect. Let’s consider the innate cognition in the very nucleus of the globular atom. For years scientists have known that atoms are intelligently driven particles of energy that can discriminate and choose. Atoms possess cognitive qualities such as the ability to select and reject, to attract and repulse. They also demonstrate the abilities of sensation, movement and desire. The concept of the atom as an intelligent energy is very much like human psychology only that the atom’s existence is within a more limited radius and circumscribed degree. We can view ourselves as the greater human atom representing the total intelligence of all of our atoms. Just as our physical bodies are made up of spinning atoms, all of our individual human forms cohere together to form an even greater atomic body. This evolved entity comprises the sum total of an intelligently driven group consciousness. By knowing yourself as one and by consciously uniting your microcosmic self with the macrocosmic whole; greater degrees of coherence can be experienced. Dramatic shifts begin to occur in your consciousness. This is because you are flowing in the rhythm of the totality of the self. It is simply to know that you are experiencing yourself as the part contained within a vast and all-inclusive whole. You are the whole containing many parts. Through coherence, you learn how to use your connection consciously to tap into the entire universe. The key to awakening such an awesome ability is to shift in the way that you interact in the world; acting as one with the world and not separated because you are one with the universe.

[ee-furoido]

TwstOBer Day 11

For TwstOBer Day 11 prompt: MIRROR, from @raven-at-the-writing-desk‘s prompts found here. What a pity it is that despite our differences, there are some people who still cannot tell us apart. Fufufu, perhaps we can use that to our advantage. All Prompts: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31

They were never the same. And yet they were always treated as such. It shouldn’t matter that they chose each other. It shouldn’t matter that they enjoy each other’s company. They were two separate entities. The face that Jade saw in the mirror was a distorted version of himself, an odd replica of his brother. Their differences were enough, and yet at the same time not.

So why not take advantage of the poor students who are too blind to care to tell them apart?

“Floyd, please sit still.” Jade chides to his brother sitting in the chair in front of him in front of the mirror. Floyd gives a small pout.

“You’re taking too long, we can just fix this with magic~” he whines. He reaches up to pat down one of his many cowlicks, scowling as how it springs back up. Jade chuckles at Floyd’s impatience.

“Magic is impermanent, I would rather do at least the hair correctly, Floyd. If we use too many glamour spells, it may be easier to figure out. We don’t want that, do we?”

Grumbling, Floyd leans back in the chair and allows his brother to continue to set his hair. The lightest bit of hair mousse to shape the stray strands and soon the visage in the mirror looks identical, save the black strand and their eyes.

“Last touches. Just a few more moments.”

It doesn’t take much make-up and magic to finish sprucing the two up. Suddenly, there are two identical Jades in the Mostro Lounge, innocently smiling and waiting the tables. The two were identical, down to the heterochromia in their eyes, and the black strand on the left side of their face. Floyd’s mimicry of his brother was top notch- as long as he was in the mood to continue the façade.

“Oya, will you be able to guess who is Jade and who is Floyd?” “Fufufu, I do hope you guess correctly; we will be quite bereft if you are mistaken.”

Today’s menu came with a special deal. Correctly tell the twins apart, and not only will your meal be half price, but the winner would get twice the number of points for their point card. An enticing deal. Many special food and drink sets were ordered that day, the Octavinelle waitstaff running double time to fulfill the orders.

Jade and Floyd would appear to those who ordered the specials, both with a twinkle in their eye and a sharp grin; mocking the fool who thought they would be able to guess correctly. So far, none have been so lucky.

A table of first year Savannaclaw students were arguing with each other, determined to win or lose as a group. They pointed at the Jade on the right, calling him out as the real one.

“Fufu, I’m so sorry, but you’re incorrect.” Said the Jade on the left. “Oya, Oya, it’s so troublesome that they are unable to see through us, isn’t it, Jade?” said the Jade on the right. “It is quite unfortunate, yes, Jade.”

A chorus of chortles from the two as they begin to turn away from the table, another defeated group resorting to sadly eating their pricy meal without the boon.

“Oi.” Jack’s voice rang out from the table as he watched the twins’ retreating backs. The two Jades turn back around and glance at him, the warmth of their impeccable customer service smile not reaching their eyes. “How do we know you’re not just saying that they’re wrong? I don’t trust this game.”

He growls at the two of them. Normally, he’d be able to tell them apart by scent, but it seems they’ve successfully masked that too. They were pulling all of the stops to try to stop all manner of correct guesses. And Jack was sure there was some foul play happening.

“Oh, it seems like Jack-kun doesn’t trust us, Jade.” “How sad, Jade… And we haven’t even done anything to him to warrant such suspicion.”

The Jade on the left leaned onto the shoulder of the Jade on the right, their identical shit-eating grins looming in the dimly lit restaurant. There’s a hint of a lilt in one of their chuckles, and Jack’s sharp ears picks it up.

“Floyd-sempai is the one on the left.” He says, definitively. He narrows his eyes. “My friends here were right, give them their prize.”

The two Jades blink, mostly containing their surprise. Floyd leans off of his brother and laughs. “Ehehe~ Uni-chan is so perceptive~” He runs his hand through his hair and musses it up, trying to remove the excess hair product in it. His black strand falls onto the right side of his face. It looks odd, his eyes still shaped and colored like Jade’s by magic. “I guess the game is over, Jade~”

Yes, it seems so, Floyd, if only because you haphazardly destroyed my hard work.” Jade sighs, glancing at Floyd’s now messy hair. He gives another polite chuckle, turning his gaze onto Jack. “Congratulations, Jack-kun.”

Jack growled again. “I don’t want the prize, don’t want a contract with any of you. Give it to my friends.”

A nod from the twins as they walk off to complete the transaction, Floyd dissolving the magic cast onto his looks. Jade glances over at him, distracted by seeing Floyd back to his usual self. His droopy eyes, his lopsided grin, his haphazard hair sticking up everywhere.

A strange mirror image once more.

[arch-archivars]

aesthetics for the entities, part i + ii.   bold what applies to your muse, italics what applies situationally or only in certain verses. rest of the fears here.  this is based on a horror podcast;  potentially triggering and / or upsetting content ahead!

i.  the buried.   weighed blankets.  drowning.  the comfort of a loved one’s weight.  soil and sand piling on top of you.  hugging so hard it hurts a little.  cramped hiding spots.  letting out air underwater to sink to the bottom of the pool.  walls pressing in on you.  not moving from a position even though you’re cramping a little.  dragging the last second before you have to inhale.  lonely subways.  feeling like one with the earth.  a layer of dirt on you.  looking for something below.  cardboard boxes and tiny pillow forts.  hands calloused from digging.  knowing that your purpose is just below the surface.  entering your final resting place before it kills you.  a storm drowning you out.  dust and sand speaking to you.

ii.  the corruption.   insects.  a close imitation of the natural course of life.  an illness in a community.  a rag that dirties more than it cleans.  an untreated wound.  containment.  breaching containment.  unbreathable air.  fungi.  one with that you love.  one with what loves you.  a corpse unfit for a glass case.  hearing a song in the sound of tiny wings and legs.  honeycomb patterns.  an ecosystem within a person.  a curse passed on.  the hubris of a scientist.  an ugly death where a glorious one is owed.  blood on a handkerchief.  parasites.  something pushing up the sewer.  a mask to keep something out.  trypophobia.  knowing you belong.  death weeks after impact.  fever.  food that’s gone off.  pandora’s box.  death behind a glass.

iii.  the dark.   shadows.  lights that turn off by themselves.  the feel of cold marble.  a beaked creature in the night.  the difference between seeing darkness and seeing nothing.  touch of something you can’t see.  hiding under a blanket.  white, clouded eyes.  months without going outside during sunlight.  pouring dark.  unscrewing lightbulbs.  black matter.  light sensitivity.  a starless night.  time before light was created.  a shadow on the wall without a body to attach to.  withering plants.  a world without a sun.  footfalls in an empty house in the night.  a light that doesn’t reach as far as it should.  desperate reach for a flashlight.  clothes that hide your shape.  staying unperceivable.  winter months in the north.  an empty church.

iv.  the desolation.   senseless pain.  warmth of faith.  wax where skin should be.  a blazing fire.  heat without a source.  the third or fourth tragedy in the family.  losing everything you’ve ever held dear.  so much to live for, gone so soon.  the smell of gasoline.  touch that scars.  coffee cup that never goes cold.  scorch marks on wood.  inescapably warm air.  a child born in fire.  death of a loved one.  a candle without a flame.  an altar in the middle of the woods.  animals with burnt fur.  plastic explosives.  burning hot metal.  sweating in an interrogation room.  never touching a loved one.  disfigurement.  a kiss that ruins you.  the scent of burning fat.  a tattoo that terrifies its viewer.  the agony of hellfire displayed as art.  auburn hair.  little clothing in cold weather.  a ripple in the air.  trying to cool down in vain.

v.  the flesh.   body horror.  factories.  a hunger for something more filling.  never quite happy with how you look.  the terror of an animal waiting for slaughter.  a very good meal.  the liquid of a perfect steak.  fighting your worst survival instincts.  a twisted bone.  long nights working out.  more than one heart.  appearance that shapes like clay.  a bag of bones.  bone broth in a pot.  knowing to fear pigs.  the butcher’s shop.  plastic surgery.  something alien inside your body.  a hunger in the gaze laid upon you.  unwitting cannibalism.  forgetting what you used to look like.  being admired for your appearance and appearance only.  teeth marks on skin.  scars from wounds that should’ve killed you.  cooking in scarcity.  fenced in with one way to go.

vi.  the end.   the last page of a book.  nightmares that don’t feel like nightmares.  a skeletal hand.  the grip of the grim reaper around your throat.  existential pain.  ivory dice.  flatlining in a hospital.  gambiling with death.  as old as the universe.  soul and spirit tied to an object.  a dream where you die.  closing your eyes for the last time.  the plead of a dying one.  knowing the fate of someone you know and being unable to prevent it.  a thousand cords tugging you towards your end.  skin that’s freezing to the touch.  an act of desperation.  someone’s life for yours.  an eternity spent alive.  the cost of your selfishness.  watching your own burial.  causing your own burial.  the smell of death.  numbness to fear.  words from someone gone.  meaninglessness of the actions or lives of single people in the universe.  multiple near-death experiences you refuse to die from.

vii.  the eye.   googling something you shouldn’t have.  eureka moments.  the unforgiving lens of a camera.  witness reports.  hidden libraries.  eyes of different colours.  feeling of being watched.  a death recorded in tape.  a tragedy you can’t watch away from.  endangering yourself for knowledge.  truth.  analog records.  a symbol of an eye.  a watch tower.  compulsion to document.  turning on recording devices without thinking about it.  saving the evidence before the person.  extracting information.  truth or dare, without the dare.  a thirst for knowledge.  books that speak to you.  coordinated shelves.  cataloguing systems.  voyerism.  police report you can’t put down.  reasoning your way out.  smell of old papers.  books that read you back.

viii.  the hunt.   sharp canines.  sore calves after a run.  the scent of blood.  an adventure for the journey’s sake.  the adrenaline right before the kill.   a whistle’s echo.  the woods.  the doe eyes of a prey animal.  your own breath in the air.  sharpened claws.  being tracked.  fear of someone knowing your every movement.  hunting down monsters.  hide and seek.  running away only to end up where you started.  staying alive purely because the enemy enjoys seeing you run.  a set of footsteps behind you.  blood dripping from bare hands.  barks and growls.  focused eyes.  a victim going limp under your hands.  a mouth full of fresh blood.  catching the scent of something monstorous.  perfecting your craft.  peering into the dark and running after it.

ix.  the lonely.   an apartment too small for a double bed.  completely vacant streets.  waking up to see everyone gone.  fog.  point nemo.  a house too big to hear your family members in.  alone in a faceless crowd.  a mask with nothing behind it.  separated cubicles.  a deafening silence where joy should be.  a blinding spotlight.  the least missed in your friend group.  streets without lights in the windows.  isolation.  not truly knowing your friends.  your friends not truly knowing you.  need for silence.  fear of crowds.  staring into space knowing nothing is looking back at you.  a ship alone at sea.  depression.  knowing your friends are better off without you.  talking to someone only to realise they’re gone.  a family too large to notice you there.  safety in being alone.

x.  the slaughter.    a game of tag.   senseless violence.  a true crime hobby.  improvised weapons.  blinding rage.  intent to kill.  a horrific day in a quiet community.  a medal of bravery.  holding on to what validates your anger.  history books that spare no details.  an injury you want revenge for.  war.  counting kills.  songs of soldiers.  a knifeblock on the counter.  a pool of blood.  shellshock.  unspeakable horrors.  anger pushing you forward.  unimaginable pain.  not seeing who will hurt you but knowing the pain is coming.  a fully human monster.  an authority sending its lessers to their deaths.  kill or be killed.  unedited wartime memoirs.  a weapons collection.  not knowing the names of who you kill.  too many to remember.  loss of hope.  there’s no heroes in war.

xi.  the spiral.   sleep deprivation.  corridors you can get lost in.  maze puzzles that loop back on themselves.  losing possessions.  losing people.  losing your sanity.  corkscew curls.  rows of funhouse mirrors.  optical illusions.  a separate reality.  walking through the wrong door.  delusions.  not knowing what your hands are doing.  blank spaces in documents.  hallusinations.  wrong proportions.  a nameless thing.  a place that has never existed.  doubting your own mind.  blind faith.  losing track of names, labels, categories.  distorted sound.  an imperfection in a glass that twists the view.  loss of time.  a garish colour.  doors that open to nowhere.  lies.  an unnatural laugh.  jokes and tricks.  illusions.  a doorway.  a sculptor with a wild imagination.  limbs in impossible angles.  doing what’s fun, not what’s sensible.  fractals you can get lost in.

xii.  the stranger.   wax figures.  a close approximation of a human face.  a borrowed appearance.  a strange smell.  glass eyes.  furs and pelts.  a dance.  a song of a choir.  the uncanny valley.  stitching yourself together.  the colours of a circus.  a puppet with no strings.  mannequins.  glitter and sequin.  a stranger you’ve always known.  someone strange in the place of someone you knew.  stolen identities.  stolen skins.  a machine imitating humanity.  the anonymity of a service worker.  hiding in plain sight.  uncomfortable to look at.  a faked accent.  concealing.  forgetting who you are.  forgetting who others are.  a replacement no one notices.  images that look posed.  the only one seeing the false face of someone.

xiii.  the vast.   open spaces.  carnival rides going up and down.  fear of heights.  endless infinity around you.  your insignificance in an universe.  stomach turning at a drop.  fear of not the crash down but the moment you slip.  the sway of a cable car.  an adventure holiday.  losing track of where the surface is.  miles and miles of nothing around you.  staring at the sky and feeling like you may fall into it.  loss of control.  a fall that doesn’t end in death.  glass floor to the view below.  terminal velocity.  the sound of wind in your ears.  a reach over the railing.  a jump from the top of the building.  falling into nothing.  feeling your feet let go of the ground.  a leap of faith.  motion sickness.

xiv.  the web.   undecipherable code.  a puppeteer holding the strings.  power over the weak-willed.  strings of fate.  manipulation.  an arranged accident.  a hundred minions doing your bidding.  cobwebs.  spiders.  a laid trap.  never voicing discomfort.  outwitting a cheater.  doing things without realising it.  red string across a corkboard.  finding something lost where you were sure you checked.  power over the unrealiability of chance.  watching others dance for you.  an entangled death.  a thousand tiny lengs and fangs.  shady forum threads.  something important gone missing.  suspiciously disregarded case.  a missing witness.  connections.  the world wide web.  power of victimhood.  gullibility.  no control over your own decisions.  an invisible leash.  mass psychology.  a horror film in the making.  scapegoat.  never remembering to ask for a name.

+  the extinction.   the end of an era.  apocalypse movies.  the alarms of warning systems.  a desolate landscape.  end of the world cults.  nihilism.  the last written history.  a changed world.  no survivours.  old prophecies.  a thousand predicted ends.  a new chapter.  an end with no escape.  catastrophes.  a calendar counting down.  breaking point.  overindulgence.

TAGGED BY:  @radioways   mwah  !!

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