#but i cannot possible ever express in coherent words how much i love this piece specifically

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Tales from the SMP Presents: The Haunted Mansion

An ongoing exploration of how the Inbetween drives my Kingdom Hearts brain crazy with paranoia! Less of an analysis this time, because we got confirmation (VALIDATION!!), and more of speculation, but yeah!

First of all! I was right not to trust this fucker.

Just kidding, that’s not the first thing we’re gonna talk about here. First of all, a gentle recap!

As I’ve mentioned before, the Inbetween has some uncanny resemblance to the Kingdom Hearts world known as Castle Oblivion. Castle Oblivion is known for being the place where the main series protagonist lost all of his memories, and even had false memories implanted while he was getting deeper and deeper into it. 

You might be curious as to how the Kingdom Hearts protagonist escapes.

He doesn’t.

He needs outside help, and a lot of it, to get him out of that situation. Even then, it takes a whole year. He drove his own heart into the bottom of the abyss in his desperation to save someone he was tricked into thinking he knew, and he didn’t even regret it, because he was saving someone.

... A lot of people on Dream SMP have different ideas on what it means to save people.

Also, the castle also had a very plot-twisty secret where it used to be the lush and wonderful home of these three friends before they fell apart; one was lost to the Evil Dark Side™ (not real name), the other was trapped in the Realm of Darkness (real name), and the last one fell into a coma for TEN (10) YEARS and his body was left to be protected in the heart of the land, which was then locked and turned into Castle Oblivion.

So, pretty fucked up place! Not inherently evil, but the place of great misfortune and just... not very good for everyone there.

Let’s start at the beginning!

Welcome back indeed. Take notice of the wither rose in the pot, by the way, I’ll come back to this in a bit.

The first thing that stands out to me on this page is the smiley face, of course. It’s not the ever-iconic, ever-evil “:)”, but it’s similar enough that I think the callback is intentional. The smiley is c!Dream’s icon, of course, which... honestly makes me think that “:]” might be DreamXD, but that might be because I’m very very biased for the server god who simps for a dangerously apathetic cottagecore once-king.

Of course, it does also look kind of like Quackity’s face, and cc!Quackity has said something about big lore coming for him, but until further evidence is presented I’m disinclined to draw a connection there.

The Inbetween, as we’ve come to know the author of some of these books to be, being happy that Karl is continuing—it reminds me of the KH protagonist being told yes, good job, keep going, as he stumbles deeper and deeper into the castle that strips away memory after memory from his heart. Why does the Inbetween think that Karl’s time travel is important, his careful documentation of every story? Is it because the more he does it, the more he becomes attached? The more he becomes reliant on the Inbetween to feed the missing pieces of his memory?

Is it because the Inbetween, in parallel to c!Dream and c!Wilbur, prioritize the concept of story over the characters?

Things to think about. 🤔

Also kind of interesting that the Inbetween thinks Karl will eventually uncover “all [he] needs to”, which continues to make me think that the more c!Karl comes to the Inbetween the more he becomes... either dependent or over-trusting of it. Not sure. But weird things happen when it’s magic that tampers with memories, rather than trauma.

Basically, I’m getting “there is no war in Ba Sing Se” vibes.

The book continues to say that Karl probably has a lot of questions and that it would love to answer :] but never actually does. It’s trying to come off as helpful without actually being helpful. All it does is tempt him with the prospect of answers, and then draws him in deeper. “Continue onward, Karl.” But why?

Another wither rose pot.

Sidestepping the very innocuous, very surface-level information offered here (because that’s it, it’s nothing about the workings about the Inbetween, it’s just a little sweet carrot to distract with), I cannot even begin to convey the absolute terror that consumed me at the word “sleepy.”

I mentioned earlier that one of the original characters who lived in the land that would become Castle Oblivion went into a coma, right? But it’s more commonly referred to as sleeping. The game is even called “Birth by Sleep”, and there’s a whole thing about trying to get him to “wake up”. So the idea that time travel can take something out of the traveller that makes them tired, the idea that there is one specific room for sleeping quarters within the Inbetween, paired with that not-quite-right smiley face—I am traumatized, I tell you.

Yes it could be a “haha look what I did with the sentence, because day is a form of time and they time travel so long day is a funny term” kind of smiley, but. Kingdom Hearts has trained me to be suspicious of any talk of sleep.

There’s something just mildly unsettling about the way it continues, with the references to the “many Karls” and the “many many great stories” that sounds borderline condescending.

And now we get the, uh, “other” author. Notice how this one actually did not have a corresponding wither rose in a pot. I’m starting to think that the flower might actually be an indicator of the not-this-author-pictured-above, the probably-Inbetween-itself, so the fact that this book was found separately from a wither rose pot and it was tucked away under a tree... A tree, under which c!Karl will later find a bit of a refuge... yeah, different author. Or at least an author from a different time.

I’ll elaborate in a moment, but I do think that there’s three (3) mindsets/authors happening here: the sickly sweet Inbetween pretending to be good, the person trying to get c!Karl to distrust the Inbetween, and... someone who desperately wants c!Karl to stay in line.

This is the third... I don’t want to say author, because it too has the wither rose pot and is trying to keep c!Karl playing along with the Inbetween, but it’s much less coherent and much more desperate.

No “:]”, either.

Some possibilities I’m considering:

the Inbetween, but it’s like, a security subroutine or a glitch in the system,

the Inbetween, but it’s from a future wherein c!Karl has fucked it up to the point of desperation,

Karl / the other author, but it’s from a future, where trying to stray from the Inbetween resulted in something traumatic happening and they don’t want it to happen anymore.

Some fun possibilities to keep in mind. Anyway!

Ooh, the return of the wither rose pot.

For this part, the only thing I really have to say is that the repetition of the Inbetween trying to present itself as “a place to feel at ease” is... Well, as the lovely Fear has said in this post linked here, a place that tries and makes itself seem safe probably isn’t, because a genuinely safe place wouldn’t need to announce it all the time.

Very much sounding like a Ba Sing Se thing.

More importantly, the book actually says that it’s “wild” how the Inbetween is “so beautiful that even time travellers who go anywhere at anytime ever and they still choose here” with a good old “:]” tacked on at the end. That’s... that’s not just me thinking like that sounds kind of threatening, right? Like, time travellers can see anything anywhere, and they keep coming back to the Inbetween. Why?

Is it because they forget the beauty of anything else? Is it because it’s not beauty, but rather attachment and emotion that keeps someone going back to a place? If someone forgets their loved ones and precious things, then why would they go anywhere but the place where they’ve put all their stories?

Why did KH’s protagonist keep going deeper into Castle Oblivion even though he knew that the castle was taking apart his memories? Because he had one thing left: the fake, implanted memory, which told him that in order to save someone, he needed to push on no matter the personal cost.

So the real question is: are the time travellers coming back to the Inbetween because they want to, or because they no longer have a choice?

It regards all the different Karls with such... distant affection, too. “How beautiful,” it calls them, for wandering the blank halls with blank stares and blank hearts, none of which react to each other. It says that they “choose” to walk the halls, uncover mysteries, and tell stories. But what was the other choice? Was it really a choice at all?

Hmm.

Karl goes on to explore, and finds another book that does not have a wither rose pot, which tells him he has to go Under The Tree.mp3 and informs him that he “can’t afford not to”. Cool. Not ominous at all.

He finds another, which says the same thing.

Definitely not ominous. /s

The phrasing here is interesting, because it’s also phrased like a threat. Usually, when someone tells you that you “can’t afford not to”, you’re either looking at a scam or at the business end of a weapon. But the empty pages tell you that the author is trying to keep it down low. That’s one of the ways Minecraft players have found to express tone in the very limited form of Minecraft books, and it works splendidly.

Not to push my DreamXD agenda, but like... the door was iron. Iron doors are a weakness for Dreams and dreamons and, mayhaps, Dream’s dreamon.

I know it’s probably just because the iron door keeps in line with the color palette of the build but let me dream, alright.

Anyway, book content! And an interesting point of order: there is a wither rose pot. I said earlier that it might be an indicator of the Inbetween as an author, but that doesn’t make much sense now, does it? This is meant to be a place hidden from the “it” that I assume to be either the Inbetween itself or the one/s controlling it.

So why the wither rose pot inconsistency?

Unless it doesn’t mean that. Unless it’s just a metaphor for, say, memories withering away or something. Or maybe it’s just a pretty plant, for funsies! Who knows. If I had to guess, I’d say that (after much reflection) it’s likely less a mark of author and more a theme of, mm, memory status. The withering away of memories. It fits in with the Inbetween, because that’s what might be responsible for it, but the author/s of the book aren’t immune, either. They get blinks of clarity, with the hidden, tucked-away tomes, but they might not be completely free.

The next book, however, again lacks the wither rose pot. It might not be a coincidence that the one without the potential mark of a withering memory is the one that actually divulges some more information.

This book goes into slightly more detail about the warning, though not about whatever actual threat it is that the castle (which... Castle Oblivion, you know) presents.

It says that 1) it’s not what it seems, 2) the "truth about the other forms of you”, 3) this place “is not okay”, and 4) get in that portal we saw that was blocked off before.

We know that the Inbetween isn’t what it seems, but the “truth” about the other forms... Hm. This is, in fact, another Kingdom Hearts Thing. There’s a running joke that everyone on the very large cast of characters in KH that in the end, every person is actually either secretly a version of the antagonist (through possession or body splitting or whatever), or a version of the protagonist (through similar concepts). Multiple bodies and other forms is definitely a Thing in KH, though it’s not as oh-god-not-again definitely-bad as the sleeping thing.

I think the other forms have either become reliant on the Inbetween or have forgotten everything but the Inbetween, or both. Maybe more of the prior, since the warning is against trusting the place.

And, uh, this? Fucking terrifying. I love it to pieces.

Every single one of these books has a wither rose pot, and this is kind of why I think that the Inbetween or its master/s is, in some way, possibly functioning via routines and like... an AI. Or a genius loci kind of thing.

But good news, there aren’t 13 books, there are 14! This is important for Kingdom Hearts reasons, because Kingdom Hearts has a big thing about the numbers 13 and 7 (13 is the number of pieces of darkness, and 7 is the number of pieces of light, and this is equal somehow, don’t question it).

Now, 14 is an important meme number in the MCYT fandom, of course, but I don’t think it has terribly too much to do with the lore beyond a fun easter egg.

The books themselves trying to tell c!Karl to, essentially, go with the flow and the path that the Inbetween has set up for him is... something. I like the idea that it’s some future version of something trying to stop something from happening, but we all know it’s probably not going to work. Fun times.

And finally, this.

The Inbetween is a bit of a narcissist, huh? It won’t shut up about how it’s so pretty and irresistible and the whole definition of, like, a honey trap. Oh my god it even describes it as ~mysterious~ as a good trait, that’s hilarious.

More pertinently, it also calls the Inbetween “a time traveller’s dream”.

A time traveller’s. Dream.

Again, not to push my DreamXD agenda, BUT—

But! Getting back on track, the book expresses its eagerness to see Karl again, says their relationship is gonna be great, reminds him that his stories are important, and then tells him that he needs the Inbetween/author just like the SMP needs him.

Uh. He’s going to need the Inbetween?

Hello?

Why? How? So far it’s presented itself as being pretty and perfect but it never said anything about necessity! What’s going on!

Very much reminded of how Castle Oblivion was presented as “you need to keep going in even though it takes your memories away because there’s someone you need to save [fake but you don’t know that because you don’t remember anything]”, and I am afright.

Talk about subtle strings being tugged at here. I’m really seeing the beginning seeds of a dependency thing being sown, and if it weren’t for the side books painting giant neon warning signs everywhere, I don’t know if it would’ve caught on. An artificially cultivated concept of how important and great the Inbetween is, and don’t you just want to take all those stories from that messy world elsewhere but come back here in the end to take a break and exist and explore and oh, isn’t the Inbetween great, isn’t it wonderful?

Man, c!Dream wishes he was this good at subtle manipulation.

tldr; there are multiple authors trying to tug c!Karl in different directions via those books. The Kingdom Hearts parallels predict that his memory will be at stake, and he might not be able to escape without help.

[plasticnightmaredoll]

So, this is a little goofy thing featuring Arkham Knight Eddie and a female!o/c  that was inspired by an actual dream I had recently. Like, literally, the dream mentioned in this story is almost exactly the same.

It’s pretty short and I’m....not entirely sure it’s good but I dunno...I wanted to get that dream out of my head somehow and turn it into something positive so...here is this silly drabble.

Contains some smut and suggestive comments, but nothing overly explicit. 

Words: 2104 Title: i'm best when I'm In love Rating: M (going with the AO3 smutty content labels here)

“My Dear, you’re struggling,” Edward said as he moved one of his pawns. 

“Well, I have yet to beat you, Eddie,” Sara responded in a tense voice, letting out a sharp, frustrated breath.

“True, but lately, you’ve been performing much better than this. Right now, your tactics are sloppy, like when I first started teaching you.”

“Chess takes time to learn, right?”

“Correct, and you have the benefit of learning from an astounding genius like myself. However, your focus is not on the game, so no matter what I say, you’re still going to lose much sooner than you should.”

“It’s not over yet.”

Edward’s gaze moved from the chess board to Sara’s agitated expression, noting the almost pained look in her eyes as she tried so very hard to concentrate on the game. It was easy to see that she was becoming more panicked by the second, and whatever skills she had acquired from his teachings had gone out the window for the time being.

“No, but the way you’re tap, tap, tapping that Knight piece on the table indicates there’s a much more serious problem here,” Edward said.

Sara hadn’t even realized she was doing it, and quickly stopped once she looked down at her right hand. The Knight piece was given a much-needed break as she set it on the table and tried to gather her thoughts.

“Sorry,” Sara said, running a hand through her hair. 

As much as Edward wanted for Sara to look at him, he knew how nerve-wracking it could be for her to make direct eye contact when she was upset. It did sadden him, though, that she had barely glanced at him the whole time they’d been together that day, and part of him wondered if there was something he did to make her uncomfortable -- or something he didn’t do. Both of them had a lot of pent up emotions, and while they were quick to unleash them when under stress, they were also terrible at asking for help or simply being vulnerable in general. So, he had to approach this cautiously. 

“Where is your mind at, Dearest Devinette?” he asked, tilting his head slightly to the side.

Sara let out a little huff which was as close to a chuckle as she could muster upon hearing one of his (rather adorable) nicknames for her.

“I’ve just got something on my mind,” she replied, resting her head in her left hand as she leaned on the table.

“Obviously,” said Edward, rolling his eyes. “But what precisely is on your mind?”

Sara chewed on her lower lip as she pondered how to respond. It was stupid, she told herself, what she was thinking, what she had been thinking, and she was almost embarrassed to admit it out loud -- let alone to herself. Edward was not going to take “no” for an answer, though, nor would he believe any lie she could toss into his lap. She was a terrible liar to begin with, and he was far too perceptive. 

“It’s about, um….” Sara began, her throat starting to clamp up as her heart raced in her chest. “It’s, uh, about...a…”

The need to “hide” was too great at that moment, and Sara abruptly stood and turned her back to Edward, bringing her index finger to her mouth to bite at the second knuckle.

“It’s about a dream I had recently,” Sara confessed, her mouth dry and her heart beating so loudly in her ears she thought Edward might hear it.

“Ok?” Edward said slowly, waiting for her to continue despite feeling a little impatient.

As much as Edward wanted to help his love, there was little he could do without knowing the details of what troubled her so. Being helpless like this -- being helpless at all -- always drove him crazy. He needed to solve this, but he also needed answers first.

“Well, in the dream, we were working together,” Sara continued. “At a job. At a company. We were programmers.”

“It sounds like a very tame dream so far,” Edward commented.

“We were on a project together, and we liked each other. You liked me. I felt so happy to be noticed by a guy, and I thought I had a chance with you. But then...things changed. A new programmer started working there, a pretty blonde woman who was really smart. Like, a natural. You suddenly stopped paying attention to me, choosing to spend time with her. You both looked very happy, had lots to talk about, and whenever I tried to get your attention, you would...brush me off. You even...removed yourself from the project we were working on so you could work with this woman on a different one. I was invisible to you after that, and very alone.”

Edward felt a mixture of frustration, sympathy, confusion, and hurt over Sara’s dream. It was pure nonsense, no doubt, in every possible way, but clearly, it had an effect on her. Insecurities could twist your thoughts and emotions in painful ways, ways that didn’t even make sense. But they tugged at you until you gave into them and believed what they believed. 

He could relate to that, even if he wasn’t willing to admit it out loud.

Edward got up from the table and approached Sara, wrapping his arms around her from behind to hold her against him.

“Oh, my silly little riddle,” he said with a smile, trying to brighten her spirits in some way. “It was just a dream, nothing more.”

“But...would you ever…?” Sara asked, her voice cracking.

“Would I ever, what?”

“Leave me for someone smarter, prettier…”

“What? No! Don’t be foolish!”

Edward made Sara turn to face him, his heart breaking upon seeing her tear-streaked face.

“I’m not going to leave you,” Edward said, cupping her face in his hands so she’d look at him. “You are the only one I want to be with. That dream was absolute nonsense, My Dear. I cannot even fathom for a second the mere idea of choosing someone else over you…” He leaned in and nuzzled her nose with his, smiling sweetly. “...my favorite distraction, my Darling Devinette, my Ravishing Riddle...”

Sara snorted, a grin spreading across her face.

“My Endearing Enigma,” Edward added, relieved to see her giggling.

“The nicknames are killing me,” Sara said, wiping her face. “You’re goofy.”

“”Goofy? Goofy, you say?” 

“Yes, and a total fucking nerd!”

“Oh, is that how it is then? Hmm?”

Edward scooped Sara up into his arms, humming contentedly.

“Well, this ‘Goofy Nerd’ is going to whisk you off to bed and physically  -- very physically -- demonstrate to you exactly how I feel.”

“Oh, my…” Sara said with a chuckle.

“I am going to make it so that you won’t be capable of coherent thoughts or speech,” Edward said with a smirk as he carried her to their bedroom. “You’ll be so overwhelmed with pleasure that the only thing you’ll be able to do is feel. No more negative, idiotic thoughts!”

“I’ll hold you to that,” Sara said, biting her lip.

---

“Oh, God, Eddie, there, please!”

“You’re so perfect, My Darling, so perfect…I can’t get enough...Oh, God!”

“What?” 

“Oh, no, no, no...not now!”

Sara watched Edward sit up, one hand covering the lower half of his face. While she couldn’t see anything yet, she knew what was happening.

“Oh, Eddie,” she said, quickly grabbing tissues for him. 

Edward took them and applied them to his bleeding nose, looking completely humiliated. Sara reached out to him, brushing hair from his face, but he jerked away, too embarrassed to even look at her. The poor man suffered from chronic nosebleeds, probably because his nose had been broken so many times (Thanks, Batman), and sometimes he got them during the most inconvenient moments.

“Let’s go to the bathroom,” Sara said.

She followed Edward into the bathroom, grabbing a wad of paper towels to hand to him for his nose. He threw the bloody tissues into the waste bin with a grunt, still unable to look her in the eye.

“I’ll run a bath,” Sara said as she went to turn on the tub faucet.

Edward’s nosebleed did slow while the tub filled up, but he still hated himself. Why did he have to have one while he was in the middle of…? With her? He was supposed to be making her feel good, not...bleeding on her. It was disgusting -- he felt disgusting. What kind of lover was he? 

Sara tapped Edward’s shoulder, telling him the bath was ready. He mumbled something, tossing the blood-soaked paper towels into the waste bin before turning to her. Why did she have to look at him like that? Like she was worried? Why did she care so much? Why wasn’t she angry with him for ruining ‘the mood?’ Or grossed out? There was drying blood on her shoulder still, and yet, she didn’t seem to care. 

Edward and Sara got into the tub with her sitting behind him. Taking a rag, she soaked it in the bathwater then handed it to him so he could clean his nose, lips, and chin of blood, and thankfully, the nosebleed had stopped by then. When she started to shampoo his hair, her elegant fingers lightly scratching his scalp as she hummed some random tune, he remembered the dream she had told him about. Once his hair was rinsed, he turned to face her, his expression full of guilt and sorrow. 

“What’s wrong, Eddie?” Sara asked.

“This is just one of the many reasons why I could never want someone else,” Edward said quietly. “You’re so kind to me, so gentle...and I didn’t do anything to deserve it -- to deserve you. No one has ever treated me the way you do, no one has ever looked at me the way you do, no one has ever spoken to me the way you do.... I never realized how...how alone I was until I met you. I’d do anything for you, give up everything for you…”

Even my own life, he thought. 

“So, please, never doubt how much you mean to me,” Edward said.

Sara was blushing, trying to come up with a response but too flustered to speak properly. 

“I...I don’t know ….I don’t know...what to say,” she admitted, smiling shyly. “I’ve….never heard someone say something like that before…”

“You don’t have to say anything,” Edward assured her with a small, warm smile. “Just be with me.”

“Of course.”

Edward turned around so he could rest against her, his head on her shoulder as she wrapped her arms around him. While he was planning to finish what he started once they were out of the tub and back into bed, in that moment, he felt absolutely perfect where he was. All his life, he’d never had affectionate physical contact. Sure, there was the awkward hug here and there, or obligatory embrace when he had a lover (and there were very, very, very few of those), but nothing that was genuine or even remotely pleasant.

But in moments like this one with his beloved, he felt like he could be as vulnerable as he needed because she’d never hurt or humiliate him. When she hugged him, it was always warm and welcoming. Whenever she held his hand, she loved to lace their fingers together, almost like she was “trapping” him but in the most romantic way possible. Whenever she kissed him, he felt absolutely smitten because her kisses were so comforting or even playful.

“I love you, My Dearest Horny Geek,” Sara whispered, barely holding back a cute chuckle.

Edward rolled his eyes but smirked at her outrageously endearing nickname for him. 

“And I love you, My Dearest Horny Enigma,” he replied, and they both couldn’t help but chuckle.

“Two horny peas in a pod,” she said as she placed a kiss to the top of his head. “And, you know, if you’re still up for it, you could put your ‘pea’ back in my ‘pod’ once we’re done with this bath.”

Edward slowly turned his head to look up at Sara, his cheeks a bright pink and his gaze full of bewilderment. When she snorted in amusement, he soon found himself joining her in a fit of childish giggles. And here she had been worried he would fall out of love with her. No one could make him laugh or grin like he did. No one could make him feel loved and needed like she did.

Only her. 

What a lucky little shit he was….

----

And there we have it! Hopefully it’s not too crappy. I’m not totally satisfied with it but don’t feel like making it a longer story (at least, not right now). Let me know what you think and damn, I have really depressing dreams sometimes.

[choerrypuffs]

ok i was filling out luvdsc's form n i went on a whole rant about ur jeno demigod fic bc i just finished it so i just thought id spam u here too bc oml. first off thank u for posting it idk how long it's been up there but the pure Joy of checking ur acc & finding it: unmatched. second off sweet god im a sucker for bff2l but. that fic. made me a e2l believer i can't. i cannot. your worldbuilding (not just the author's, your contribution n integration of urs into it too) is so impeccable and the way every scene is mapped out so clearly u can effortlessly see it play out in ur head without even trying is just so. so pleasing.

- maybe im a hopeless romantic, maybe it's the disconnected world, maybe it's your writing (most definitely) but it just feels like this fic itself, not the story, is from a different time in the best possible way. it's just so raw and honest and while these days picture perfect writing is wonderful, your way of passing on images and scenes to readers makes it feel like more than just an picture box, idk how else to describe it but i felt so many things while reading n that's how yk a piece of writing is good: if u question ur life after it lol

sry for the spam, final msg i promise: but i can't imagine how much effort n dedication you put into that series. it's really inspiring. it's nice to read something this intense again. from the character growth to the funny bits to the way those two meat heads felt about each other n got us feeling in the process to that last scene, you've done a really lovely job on this n i can only hope you're as proud of it as we are happy to read, tysm n goodluck on wtv uve got planned next <33

wow i think this is the nicest ask i think i've ever received about my writing??? i am so floored that i genuinely am at a loss for words rn except thank you so so so so much ??? my mind is all over the place bc this ask has made me so happy but wow i've tried my best to gather my thoughts into a coherent response and i apologize if it's all over the place

first, i am SO excited that i have successfully converted you into an e2l believer as that is the superior trope 🧎‍♀️ and pls you are too kind !!! i'm so honored that you're praising my worldbuilding so highly omg you make my writing seem so much cooler than it is 🥺 the og pjo books can never be beaten, but i really tried to create that sense of community throughout the fics and i wanted to make sure the fics all connected with each other so that it truly felt like one universe (hence all the easter eggs) !! it makes me really happy that you were able to visualize the scenes in your head because i struggle with writing descriptions A LOT so i mulled over those for a while 💀 ESPECIALLY for jeno's fic because there was so much happening in it and more location changes than any fic i've ever written

FKJALKEL IM GONNA CRY OMFG IM SUCH A WRECK RN BC THIS IS HONESTLY ONE OF THE HIGHEST HONORS A WRITER COULD RECEIVE 🥺🥺🥺🥺 i wish i could express how grateful i am with more than just saying thank you but THANK YOU SO MUCH !!!!!! my goal is always to evoke any sort of emotion from my readers, even if it’s just a laugh so to hear you express how you felt during the fic makes me feel so accomplished 💗💗💗

DONT APOLOGIZE OMG YOUR MESSAGE MADE MY DAY I HOPE YOU KNOW HOW MUCH I APPRECIATE YOU TAKING THE TIME TO TALK ABOUT MY FIC ON CAT’S FORM AND TO LEAVING SUCH A KIND ASK IN MY INBOX 🥰💗💖💞💓💘💝💟✨🌷🌸 my period must be coming bc i am legit teary eyed as i’m typing rn 😩 and yes even though i like to complain about how much i suffered writing the series, i am genuinely proud of it but i’m even prouder of all the love and support i’ve gotten over this long ass journey 🥺 you guys have been nothing but lovely to me and hype me up even when i feel like my writing is shit and i hope you know how much that means to me <33333 not to get all sappy but thank you again ilysm ❤️❤️❤️

[doshmanziari]

Architectural Criticism in 2021/2022 || Part 1.5

Before writing a fuller continuation of my previous essay on architectural criticism, I’m inserting a mini-essay that focuses on a particular piece of criticism. Let me be clear: I don’t see Kate Wagner, the person behind @mcmansionhell, as an enemy; I’m just using one of her articles as an example because I had, in my essay, already linked two articles of hers (more accurately, one article and an image from another), and I’d rather elaborate on what I mean when I write “...a vapid buildup to a politically convenient takeaway” than bring in an entirely different item. Wagner, in my view, represents a sort of destabilizing criticism that takes pleasure in tackling “dry” subject matter with breathless, Meme-heavy sarcasm. I find the tone off-putting, but I appreciate it as one attempt to invigorate and broaden the audiences of architectural appraisal. My issue is that by now the joke has overestimated its capacity for judgmental clarity. Really anything can be made fun of if you’re determined enough, and the more of an unquestioning audience you have the easier it is to believe everything you say is true or coherent.

The image was from this 2018 Vox article: “Betsy DeVos’ summer home deserves a special place in McMansion Hell” (a title likely devised by the editor; given the other residences Wagner has lambasted, I would be surprised if she truly believes this is among the worst). My observations won’t make sense unless anyone who is reading this reads her article as well, so please do that if you’d like to follow along. It should take only a couple of minutes.

What I’d first draw readers’ attention to is that Wagner spends the first four paragraphs on the United States’ beyond-vast inequality of wealth. Two of these paragraphs are the article’s largest, and the article is twelve-paragraphs-long, meaning that 1/3 of it is devoted to establishing a socio-economic context -- at least, that is the pretense. Once Wagner writes “...getting paid to make fun of DeVos’s tacky seaside decor is one of few ways to both feed myself and make myself feel better”, it is clear that her personal intent is a kind of vengeful mocking, and that her intent for readers is to prime them to associatively, knee-jerkingly despise anything which could come next with flat-affect “lmao”s. It’s hardly irrelevant to mention economic realities when examining luxury items (and what else is a mansion?), but Wagner’s subsequent analysis is not really architectural or even artistic: it is rather about looking at several photographs of a building, knowing who lives there and hating that person (and also imagining that they were responsible for all design decisions), and then mocking this-and-that in whatever ways one can devise. These grievances are understandable, but understandable grievances do not automatically lead to perceptive criticism.

Please look (perhaps again) at the first image. Note that only four, maybe, of the fourteen details Wagner chooses to focus on -- “no wry comment needed”, “these look like playdoh stamps”, “when you love consistency”, and “oh my god is this a shutter” -- approach anything vaguely resembling coherent criticism; and the other four images fare even worse (with the exception of the highlighting of an apparently absurd interior balcony). The rest are inane attempts at saying anything at all. Writing “hell portal” by an upper porch area may be funny for a moment, but what does it actually express? Well, nothing, except the author’s own irritation which will find whatever it can to announce its contemptuous sarcasm. Wagner’s captions will land only to the degree that the reader is humorously sympathetic.

The aforementioned remarks, excepting the one about the embedded chubby Tuscan columns’ Play-Doh-likeness, suggest that the worst thing a building can do is be formally heterogeneous. The implicative corollary here is that good architecture is eminently justifiable in all of its parts -- consistent, unified, rational. This is as fine a personal belief as anything else, but when it is wielded as dogma against architecture which has no interest in being a Petit Trianon it can only reveal its intellectual self-limitations. Wagner writes that “there is a difference between architectural complexity and a mess”, yet what that difference may be is hand-waved away. We just have to believe that thirteen different windows styles is too much. What’s the threshold? Does it depend on the size of the building? The types of styles used? Who knows.

Now of course bad architecture exists, and sometimes the failure indeed points to deficient editorial acumen; for architecture, like any other art, is as much about what’s included as what’s excluded. But in saying so little about the shingle style itself, Wagner seems to have given no thought to readers concluding that all shingle style houses are freakish -- more specifically, concluding that this freakishness is a damning transgression, and that no self-respecting, punching-up class-warrior would ever be caught dead sincerely enjoying their geometric, “exquisite corpse” escapades. In fact, the freakish tendencies of shingle style houses are just what make them such great fun to see, visit, or reside in. Wagner’s article, as far as I can tell, omits this possibility. When she writes, “Betsy likely went with this style because it is very popular in New England and in coastal enclaves of the rich and famous in general”, one is being pushed to presume that the only probable reason the shingle style exists or could be preferred over another style is to signal élite solidarity.

The photograph right above is of Kragsyde, a Massachusetts shingle style mansion, designed by the US-Northeast-oriented firm of Peabody & Stearns, completed in the 1880s. It was demolished almost a century ago, but the few exterior images of it which remain are, I think, fascinating -- maybe most of all for its enormous archway, possibly a porte-cochère, which has a thin, overextending keystone bizarrely driven into the top like a nail puncturing a petrified rainbow. I bring the building up because Wagner gives us no reason to consider why Kragsyde may have been a genuine architectonic accomplishment and not merely an oversized farce of contiguous pretensions. To the layperson hot off of the Vox piece, there may be no artistic difference between it and DeVos’ place, except that perhaps Kragsyde has a more consistent fenestrative application (would that make it better? if so, why?).

I appreciate that only so much can be said when you’re limited to less than a thousand words, especially when the issue is “complicated” (as the byline for Vox’s First-person series advertises). But the problem I keep coming back to is how DeVos’ mansion is treated as a stand-in for DeVos herself. This makes any architectural critique, no matter how pressed it is for size, flimsily presentist: its durability starts and ends with how alive the architecture’s resident(s) and political presence are. On some emotional level, this is pretty sensible: if we despise monarchical institution, we can find a sort of loophole to enjoying Versailles palace on the basis of it no longer being the residence of royalty. Our awe over its decadence and scope is intersectionally “admissible” on the basis of its having become a UNESCO World Heritage site. Similarly, one can imagine DeVos’ mansion being appreciated in a hundred years (should it still exist then) because the passage of time will have rendered DeVos’ person a historical fact, and perhaps more separable, and then tolerable, in that regard -- even if the building remains private.

But if architecture is, as a craft, critically whittled down to nothing more or less than inorganic expressions of social disparities, with every aesthetic decision a reflection of politically explicable taste, then we must assume that a great deal of the world’s most remarkable architecture is equally ridiculous and despicable, since so much of it was born out of great privilege and required specialized resources. I doubt Wagner actually believes this, because it would betray the entire premise of her McMansion Hell project, which is to demonstrate how so many modern day mansions are deeply unpleasant mounds of visual illiteracy, and cannot hold even a stump of a candle to the luminously learned and eclectic talents of prior great architects such as Mackintosh, Norman Shaw, Lutyens, or Ledoux. So what’s the takeaway here? As far as I can tell, it’s simply that if you hate Betsy DeVos, and if you care about class, you should hate her house too. And I do not think that that is architectural criticism.

[miracul0us-multishipper]

Deal with the Devil

(Marillion AU)

This is a part shortly after “The collector”. Since this is more of a loose AU than a coherent fic, I’ve decided that I don’t need to write in chronological order.

- - -

“Good. It seems like you decided to follow my invitation.”

She whirled around, cane at the ready and her free hand raised to summon a butterfly if necessary. Thanks to Nooroo’s affinity to moths, her eyes could see even in the darkest night and she recognized the figure approaching her immediately.

“Gabriel Agreste?”

This is it, Marillion thought, I’ve officially gone mad.

Not only did she follow a mysterious invitation to this godforsaken place in the middle of the night, now she was already hallucinating. Everybody knew that Gabriel Agreste never left his home. Why would he abandon his fortress of solitude for Paris' Number One Enemy?

“I apologize for the secrecy.”, he answered unperturbed. “Surely you understand how unfortunate it would be to be seen in public. People of our... standing would certainly attract too much attention.”

That was when it really hit her. She wasn’t hallucinating. She was here. With Gabriel Agreste. Her greatest idol. Father of her crush. And she didn’t even have her portfolio with her.

“Monsieur Agreste!”, she repeated, all but squealed. “What- I didn’t expect- Why are you-“

He raised a hand and her mouth snapped shut. God, she hadn’t even been here for a minute and was already embarrassing herself.

“You must have many questions, Mademoiselle Marillion – as do I. If you don’t mind, I would prefer to continue this conversation somewhere... safer.”

He turned around and glanced back at her.

“We wouldn’t want your spotted little friend to cause us any trouble, now, would we?”

She hurried to nod and stumbled after him, through what looked like a secret door in the garden wall of the Agreste Mansion. Under normal circumstances she would have paid that detail a little more attention – who the hell had a secret door in their backyard?! – but these weren’t normal circumstances. She was being invited into the home of her idols. By Gabriel. Freaking. Agreste.

Who cared about some weird gimmicks?

“Monsieur,” she finally managed to regain her voice. “I’m afraid I still don’t understand- not that I’m not honored by your invitation, I really am! But... well, most people agree that I am a threat. Why would you want to meet me?”

The fashion designer didn’t slow his steps and she almost had to run to keep up.

“Most people,” he rebuked distantly, “don’t pay as much attention as I do. And I did not come this far by caving to what 'most people' think.”

She mentally kicked herself.

“O-of course, Monsieur. I’d didn’t mean to imply- Wait.”

She froze and Agreste reluctantly came to a stop as well.

“Does that mean you... you believe me?”

If it weren’t so dark, her eyes would be shining with hope.

“You believe that I’m one of the good guys?”

“No.”, he said coldly, crushing her hopes and dreams in an instant. But before she could excuse herself to wallow in self pity – or cry – his expression softened and he placed his palm on the wall in front of him. A line of green light ran over his hand print and a mechanism beeped in confirmation, then the wall slid open to reveal another secret door.

“I believe that you are the hero.”, he finished and stepped aside. “After you.”

Awestruck she followed his command and entered the lair. Because that’s what it was: a lair. The most glorious lair she’d ever seen.

A huge, circular window allowed the moonlight to flood the room, it’s butterfly-shaped inlay casting shadows on the floor. Which was almost invisible from the amount of white butterflies resting on the ground, slowly fluttering their wings as they reacted to her presence.

“This place used to be an observatory.”, Agreste explained as he followed after her. “My late wife's favorite hideout. We are directly at the center of the twenty-first Arrondissement; which means your akumas can easily reach every corner of the area. The security measures are state-of-the-art and will deter any intruder, whether they are merely civilian or another miraculous wielder.”

She couldn’t listen properly, too busy gaping at the room. Agreste talked on, undeterred by her lack of manners.

“The window will be covered by a rocket-proof shutter most of the time, as not to alert anyone of its... rather obvious design. But I couldn’t resist to add it either way. Just in case that one day, after you have defeated Ladybird, you won’t have to hide your symbol anymore.”

This was all... too much. She couldn’t possibly keep up with everything.

“I-I'm sorry,” she stammered out, “Monsieur Agreste, what is this supposed to mean?”

He smiled at her. The cold, stoic Gabriel Agreste, who rarely even showed affection to his own son, smiled at her. With a fatherly touch of her shoulder, he turned her towards the window.

“It means,” he said softly, “that all this is yours – built just for you, to let you reach your full potential. If you chose to accept my help, that is.”

Impossible. Utterly and completely impossible. Marinette Dupain-Cheng could never ever possibly be this lucky.

Thank you, she wanted to say, thank you a thousand times. I am honored.

“Why?”, was what came out of her mouth instead. Quite rudely, for such a miraculously generous offer.

Agreste stepped around her and in front of the window.

“Because you have inspired me, Mademoiselle. There are far too little people who would risk the animosity of an entire city, even for the most noble cause. You and me, we are the same in that.”

She had to suppress a squeal. Gabriel Agreste really thought so highly of her?!

“We would do everything, risk everything to do the right thing. To help the people we love.”

He looked into the distance, his expression hardening.

“But there will always be others who cannot understand this. Like Ladybird and Chat Noir, who never look beyond their own, selfish desires.”

A grim, gleeful relief flooded her. He got it. He wasn’t blinded by Ladybird's fame, he could see through it. Finally, finally, someone truly saw things her way.

“They just don’t listen!”, she raged, feeling like a weight had fallen off her chest. “They act like- like I'm some kind of terrorist! I am helping people! They only ever get in my way, but they get to call themselves heroes? If it weren’t for me, they would have torn Paris to pieces in their arrogance! They're so incompetent it physically pains me.”

“No one knows that better than me.”, Agreste agreed with a nod. “And I do not presume to understand just how tiresome that must be for you. But maybe you should consider that there is more to them than incompetence.”

She visibly deflated.

“More...?”

His face was grim when he turned to her.

“Ladybird and Chat Noir,” he said seriously, “are dangerous.”

Huh?

“Think about it.”, he implored, eyes blazing with an eager determination. “They wield the most powerful artifacts in human history. They have the support of a guardian, maybe even his entire order. And once he begins training them, they will have nearly unlimited backup.”

He put his hands on her shoulder, almost apologetically. As if placing a heavy burden on them.

“You have seen how they wield their powers yourself. Who knows what will happen once they have even more? Nobody knows their true goals, after all. You aren’t hurting anybody, so what are they really trying to accomplish?”

He shook his head.

“Right now, the only thing standing between Paris and the mayhem they will cause... is you.”

Marillion almost thought he was being overly dramatic, but then thought of everything else he had said. Agreste knew so much already, had gotten so much right no one had even bothered to think about before. If he was this confident, then by all means, he had to be right.

“Monsieur, I am... I am incredibly happy that you believe in me.”, she finally managed to get her feelings out. “And all this is just- it’s incredible. Thank you.”

It had been her and Nooroo, all this time, and while they made a great team, they were both... helpless from time to time. Not sure of their decisions, their abilities. And while she would never risk Nooroo's safety, she... she just really wanted an adult to talk to. Someone who could tell her what to do, with all this mess. She was just fourteen, for gods sake!

How often had she agonized about not being able to talk to her parents? How often had she been forced to lie to them, the people she trusted most? The people who always had her back, who only ever wanted to support her?

She swallowed.

How often had she had endure their fear? Of Marillion, of her? The people she loved the most were scared of her Alter Ego, didn’t understand her, couldn’t help her.

But now Gabriel Agreste – her idol, her role model! – offered her his unconditional trust and support. Told her she inspired him!

“I'm just- I don’t have anybody.”, she tried to put her feelings into words. “Ladybird and Chat Noir have each other, and their guardian, and the hearts of every Parisian. And I try so hard to get things right, be there for everybody, but I have no idea what I’m doing most of the time. To know that you think me to... to be all these great things, that you built all this” – she gestured around the room – “for me... it means so much to me.”

He smiled.

“You won't have to carry this burden on your own anymore. My means and knowledge are at your disposal, and you will find that I am a very reliable ally. I will help you figure out how to defeat them – and how to contain their miraculous, afterwards.”

Marillion blinked. She'd never... thought that far ahead.

“To contain their miraculous'?”

“Of course. We don’t want them to fall into the wrong hands, do we?”

Hastily, she nodded. Of course not! She felt stupid for not even having thought of what came afterwards.

“Or to let the guardian reclaim them.”, she added, mostly because she didn’t want Agreste to think she was an idiot. “He'd only reseal their Kwamis and try again, with a new enemy.”

A secretive smile crept on Monsieur Agreste's face – who would have thought he could smile that often?

“Naturally. But you should know that I am prepared for any eventuality.”

He reached for his tablet and showed her the display. It showed...

“Miraculous'!”, she gasped. Pages and pages full of Miraculous', and their respective heroes. There were words written next to them, a script that was more code than language.

“What is this?”

“A book. An encyclopedia of Heroes, containing all their strengths and weaknesses. Not to forget the guides to create potions and spells. The knowledge it provides can give you a variety of new abilities, or significantly weaken your opponents.”

He shut off the device and turned away.

“It used to be mine. But somehow, Ladybird and Chat Noir managed to steal it from me. There is no doubt that they are preparing something nefarious to use against you.”

The knowledge that something like this book existed, and was currently in the hands of her enemies, settled in her guts like a stone.

“Don’t be afraid.”, Agreste assured her quickly. “By the time they are successful, we will have found a way to counter them. With me at your side, you have nothing to fear.”

She looked up at him. In awe of his confidence, she allowed herself to voice the question that had nagged at her since the moment he had begun sharing his knowledge.

“How... do you know all this? About the book, the miraculous.”

He hadn’t even blinked when she had mentioned Kwamis. Obviously, he knew even more than he let on.

“Are you... are you a guardian?”

He looked back at her over his shoulder.

“Of course not,” he scoffed and she shrunk in on herself. “Or I would have found the miraculous ages ago!”

He noticed her embarrassment and immediately softened his features.

“I am merely someone with great interest in all magical knowledge. A scholar, so to speak.”

With a grim smile, he offered her his hand.

“And there is much I could learn from you. Almost as much as I could teach you. Are you ready to grow into the most powerful heroine there is, Marillion?”

She didn’t have to think about it. Ladybird won’t know what hit her.

“It will be my honor.”

That night, Marillion gained a secret base and a secretive ally.

And Gabriel Agreste, at last, regained control over the butterfly.

[yukikorogashi]

💞💖💘💕 don't have to do them all if you don't want to, this just seems cute!

Positivity meme (Slowly Accepting)

Send 💞 and my muses will say something nice about your muse

   FOR AS NERVOUS AS SHE WAS, there was no denying just how EXCITED she still was-- as she began making way up to the front of the classroom itself. Having even gone through the effort of asking for both her uncles’ feedback, when it came to both her written and oral presentation. Both-- that have certainly needed quite some reworking, as expected. Still, however, that night would prove itself to be exhausting and yet, surprisingly fun. Especially as she sat there and listened to TWO VERY DIFFERENT POINT OF VIEWS on the subject matter itself. Now rewritten and even typed out from the FAMILY TYPEWRITER itself (That she had an absolutely BALL typing on-- that was, until Uncle Hosea stepped in due to the typos she kept making). she was ready. At least, so she wanted to believe... as she looked over her entire class, and over towards her teacher then. As she straightened the essay held firmly within her very hands, Itsuki would clear her throat, straighten her back one more time, and began:

   “Ah ‘ave dreamed about the day dat ah would get ta find a place ah could call mah very own HOME. An’ yet, little did ah know dat he would come in the form of a man named ARTHUR MORGAN. A kind, an’ hardworkin’ man, WHOM ah had only gotten da chance ta meet wit’. When he had paid a visit to the ORPHANAGE-- jus’ so he could HELP OUT. An’ while he ain’t all dat-- oof, sorry-- is not much of a talker, his ACTIONS always spoke louder than words. The day we got ta meet an’ sit ta-gether at the swings, would be the beginnin’ of the BEST DAYS of mah life. As ah would soon enough, be allowed ta call this man... mah own FATHER.

    Now, as ah had mentioned earlier, mah pa-- mm, ‘cuse me-- father, is a hardworkin’ man. Who always gets up before the crack of every dawn, and works his fingers to the bone. On the ranch that he near singlehandedly takes care of. An’ despite that, mah pa still finds the time ta watch o’er me, an’ help me out wit’ mah homework, whenever need it. Every moment we get to spend ta-gether is an ADVENTURE. Even when it comes ta preparin’ DINNER, you’d ‘ave ta be there ta believe it.

  Ah love my pa, an’ uhm just so grateful ta ‘ave him in mah life. He makes me so PROUD ta be his DAUGHTER.”

   And she could only hope, that he felt the same way about her.

   AND SO WOULD THE REALISATION strike her, so much so like a bolt of lightning shot down from the VERY HANDS OF ZEUS himself. For despite having known the other far longer than she had any other soul in these past few centuries. Kassandra was still far less inclined to openly express herself these days, when compared to how her younger self would most likely have had... so very long ago. Grimacing to herself then as she remembered her attempts. Of the words that she had dared deemed SACCHARINE, Kassandra believed then that it was perhaps for the best that she had long since grown past... such ways.

   “Something nice, you say...” It wasn’t to say that she had nothing at all to say (The complete opposite, in fact), but simply struggled to string those words together in a coherent enough manner, right then and there, “Hm, let me see...” 

   “It has been so long since I have met a man like him. A man as loyal as he. That by the Gods themselves, it almost makes the HEIREIAI’S own actually PALE in comparison.” Remembering back to the very day that he had come to her aid, Kassandra’s first impression of these lands had definitely been salvaged thanks to him. Unlike those MALAKAS to which she had been more than glad to offer a MUCH NEEDED PAY BACK to, later on. “He is a good man...” A wonderful man, A GREAT MAN, in fact. Especially to this Spartan warrior. These few simple words... to which she would continue to struggle in openly expressing, save through a soft gaze from her. Or a touch from calloused fingertips themselves.

   Drifting off for a moment with a gentle purse of her lips, Kassandra’s eyes would then wander off to where he would now stand. As a more evident smile would begin to make its way upon already thoughtful features.

   “... one who has made me smile, if not laugh, so many times now since I have arrived here...” As it became apparent that some playful rough housing had since begun to take place between him and one of the other gang members, Kassandra would snort as she continued to watch them off from the side, “... And one whom I cannot possibly imagine NOT having in my life.”

Send 💖 and my muses will say something nice about you, the mun

   “... Naw way... is dat... is dat rea-leh ya???” Oh Goddess, just look how much they have changed since she had last met them. As Itsuki would begin to amble through the thick snow, so would a brilliant squeal would leave her as she flopped forward and threw her arms around them in greeting, “It is yoooou! Oh, Rory, it’s been AGES! It’s so good ta see ya again!!!” All too abruptly however, would she stop in her hopping (Humorously sluggish considering how much snow there was out here, but all the same as ENERGETIC as it possibly could be), and give the most POWERFUL POUT that she could muster up at them, “Hmph! Took ya long enough ta visit! Didn’ ah tell ya dat ah was gonna cook us the yummiest din-din da next time ya dropped by? ... Wait, ah didn’? ... Well then.” Wasting no more time then, so would the child begin to guide them back to her hut. With their hand held in her well-worn, but all the soft white mitten. It would offer some semblance of warmth from the cold itself, before a far greater source of heat from the fireplace greeted them from beyond the hut’s entrance drapes.

   “C’mon, sit yerself down, now! Ya need a break frum all’a dat hard work ya’ve been puttin’ in, oh, ah can tell! An’ ‘ave ya been gettin’ enough sleep?” Itsuki simply couldn’t take her eyes off them, as she began setting everything up. Grinning over to them every now and then, as she got the bowls and utensils ready. “Omgosh ah jus’... ah nearly didn’ recognise yer fer a second, y’know? But... ah know it’s ya, da moment ah took a good look at dem PEEPERS of yers! Still as purteh as da last time ah saw am, hehe! Oh-- uhm jus’ so glad ta see dat y’ve been doin’ so well fer yerself, y’know? Ah mean-- ah heard ‘bout how yer doin’ fer da sis. But, uhm so glad dat ah can finall-eh see it fer m’self! An’ jus’ tell ya how PROUD ah am of ya! Yer jus’ kickin’ so much BUTT out there, an’ it shows!”

   As she handed a large bowl of OHAW over to them, Itsuki would still continue to chatter excitedly away.

   “Ya gotta share wit’ me what ya’ve been studyin’ over thar, hehe! Please!”

   A KNOWING SMILE would begin to grace her lips, as she acknowledged the other with the slightest nod of her head. "And so, do we finally meet... Come, sit with me.�� And as she would say those words, the immortal swore that she could hear IKAROS’ near indignant squawk amidst the red cardinals, bluejays, and goldfinches that have chosen to brave the coldest of seasons itself. To which she would silently offer a half-hearted apology, and a sigh through her nose in remembrance. For it was a pity, seeing as he would have liked them. 

   “... Malaka, it amazes me just how well you are able to withstand this cold during every single year!” The statement would leave her in an almost boisterous sort of bark, one that clearly bore jest (While also most likely causing any nearby to jump). If not a desire to lighten the somewhat awkward air between them. After all, while they have known one another for quite some time now-- it would only be now, that they would be allowed to meet one another FACE-TO-FACE. And all thanks to the FATES themselves-- and of course, one other soul that couldn’t be there, right then. “I have most certainly heard a great deal about you, Rory. A shame that it is only now that we would finally have the chance to meet, no?” For their eyes would bear a striking resemblance to the FIESTY CHILD that she would hold near and dear to her heart, after all this time.

   “Now, let me see... Allow this great and powerful immortal to peer into your very soul~” Even as she would snort at her little half-joke, the woman would continue to study the other intently. Reaching out to brush some strands away from their forehead, as she continued to smile down at them. Her expression almost unreadable, before another eventually nod followed, with this one being one of the UTMOST APPROVAL, "Ah, so the tales are true.” Carrying on in her theatrics, Kassandra would sit back ever so slightly as she lifted the STAFF OF HERMES TRISMEGISTUS up to the skies themselves, “You-- Rory--bear the SOUL OF A WARRIOR. A flame that has burned and braved through much.” As she would settle her free hand back upon their shoulder, that mirthful expression was almost comforting. Once again, knowing for all that she had seen, and yet, bearing such WARMTH that she had since begun to offer to only very few, “There is so much waiting up ahead of you, Rory. So much that we are all so excited to see you accomplish... And so, accept this one piece of advice from me: Keep fighting. Promise me this, will you?”

Send 💘 and the mun will say something nice about your muse

   I will never forget the day when Rory and I started talking about you, after watching that very first trailer that featured you, Mister Morgan. We had such high expectations, and good lord, did you blow it all COMPLETELY OUT OF THE WATER! Heh, like, you aren’t just a handsome outlaw, are you? You ended up being so, SO MUCH more than that. And I thank the lord each day that Rory chose to pick you up as a much. And do SO MUCH JUSTICE when it comes to their HEARTFELT PORTRAYAL of you. We have had so many amazing interactions together, and one of the best things I got to be blessed with over these past years was Itsuki finally getting to have such a wonderful man as her father! And of course, not only that... I see you spending some time with a certain Grecian lady~ Oh, you know the one I’m talking about ~ 😏

   You are most certainly one of the most comforting presences to see now on this site... especially when times are admittedly as rough as they are. And, I hope you know how always make Itsuki’s day, whenever you choose to comment or pop in her inbox to say hi or chastise her, hehe. I just always love seeing you around on my dash, Mister Morgan. And don’t think I forgot those sweet words you left for me on my old blog during one rough day I had. I just wish I had been able to keep a digital copy of it, truth be told. But I will most certainly never ever forget them. 

   Now, forgive me for ending this off like a typical fangirl. But we love you, YES WE DOOOOO!!! And sorry, sir. But I’m gonna have to break social distancing and give you a big ol’ hug now... And of course, thank you so much for the JELLYBEANS! c:

Send 💕 and the mun will say something nice about you, the mun

   WHEW, I’m sorry this took awhile, but I really wanted to make sure that I got all of this done properly (Especially with ol’ Kassandra, hahaha!). But oh man, oh man... Rory, please. You know what this is going to lead to. When it comes to me gushing about you. Say something nice? ONE THING? PUH-LEASE! You are one of my bestest friends, Rory... and I get so choked up, no matter how many times I say that. I thought you were going to be one of those super cool folks that I was going to just admire from afar. But no, the Gods themselves must be smiling down upon me because we ended up talking and well, the rest is history. We have done so SO MUCH together over the years that it still amazes me to this day, tbh... During some days when we reminisce together, another memory pops up that makes us go “HOLY SHIT, OH YEAH!!!” I am just so happy that we can talk about nearly anything, you know? How we can connect on so many things, tbh. No matter what the subject is, I swear-- we always get into some long-ass conversations, and I just love that so much!!! 

   But oh, what the heck am I doing? I’m suppose to be saying nice things about YOU! And the stuff before is just cheating, so get to it, Becky! Like, Rory... you are just an amazing friend to everyone that knows you tbh. A person that everyone is so lucky to have in their corner. I know so many people feel the same way as me, and can never express their gratitude enough for all that you have done for them as a friend. You are just such a kind, patient, genuine, and empathetic person, and that is honestly so damn rare to find in people these days. Which is why I am always so grateful that I can open up to you on my worst days, and especially when you yourself are so wonderful as to reach out to me and give me a hug first... I’m such a weenie that has since started to huddle in her corner. So when I hear you from behind me, tapping gently on my shoulder the way you do... I’m so grateful, Rory. I truly am...

   And not only that, you know by now that I stan TF out of your writing, and think that you are one of the most amazing writers I have ever known! You know I enjoy tf out of every interaction I get to have with you. Ever amazing interaction we get to have between our muses. And honestly, I will always be one of your biggest fans. Who will be booing and hissing at those who are too blind to see quality when its right in front of them! You are honestly such an intelligent, hardworking and talented individual, Rory... And I can’t say that enough, tbh. If you ever wrote and published a book one day, you KNOW I’m gonna be the first one to preorder it! So you better tell me when you do... catfish? B(

   But just in case I don’t find a good Christmas or EOY meme... I hope you know much I cherish you, bud. How proud I am to bear witness to how far you have come over these past years. I am literally already vibrating here for the day you graduate too tbh. Like ohhhh, I think I need to do a video recording to YELL over just how proud I am when that day comes for you!!! Please continue to fight with all your might, okay, bud? We are all cheering you on, and ofc, I’m always here whenever you need a breather from that tough ass battle. I love you so much, and can’t wait to our next chat on Discord!!!

[ephemeral-afterlight]

Day 23: Bleeding Out

(Run from the masquerade.)

Whumptober 2019 Day 23: Bleeding Out

Word Count: 1661

Relationships: DLAMP (romantic)

Warnings: Stab wound, blood, knife, dissociation (? kinda), assassin, identity theft/false identities, morally grey Patton (Patton was conditioned and trained from childhood to be a killer, though not by choice)

A/N: sorry that this is late. i've lost my second source of wifi and am now on an unreliable schedule. please forgive me. anyway, i know someone wanted something patton-centric, so hopefully this is okay! i know it's not super whumpy, but i've been playing around with this idea for a while and thought it was interesting.

Who am I?

Words filter through Patton’s brain, drench themselves in an apathy far removed from expression of ideals. Breaks and cracks and trials and tribulations rip throughout his head, shake him to the core, and it’s like his train of thought has switched to a west-bound track at the very last second. Nothing seems to be tangible here, impalpable in the bleak, bleached whiteness of the room itself. Existing in an echo of itself, pictures hung in thin air as residual temperament of times past.

Where am I?

The blank space pushing a pressure on his mind shifts and morphs into something new, amalgams of amorphous nothings twisting and braiding strands of senses, whispering gold in artificial light. Walls rise up, looming and hollow, and Patton wants to hide inside a diamond box until the last bit of oxygen is expelled from his lungs. A roof closes over top, securely snapping into place as if it’s been there all along.

Am I alive?

Dreary greys arise from bleeding spots of discolouration in the new room, pooling out to coat a shade darker like a storm cloud just before it fades away. The attempt at colour is pathetic, and wholly a failure, and none of the words seem to stay in Patton’s brain anymore. There are magicians to tell him no, dancers leaping and twirling as they snatch up every bit of coherency Patton didn’t know he still had. They spin away, leaving him with nothing.

What happened?

A true question, valid and fair, but it doesn’t stop his mind from unconsciously raising a red alert that trails for miles long. The query is stolen away, bartered by thieves of the night for the tiniest splash of the colour magenta, and touching that dot of flat paint sends a shock through his system. The new colour shoots out from every fingertip, shades of red falling heavily over the room to muster shadows and highlights and shapes that are now clear enough to be recognized. A bookshelf, a couch, a table. Blurs of wine, marred by time, falling behind, undefined, stuck in line…

Am I awake?

Taken into consideration, broken and under construction in wavering hands that fall to his sides.

Am I asleep?

Movement blossoms underneath his skin, sparks and compels to bring his tired fingers to wrap around his stomach.

What is that?

A real shape, a real feeling, cylindrical rubber and plastic. It’s a handle, ridged and beaten-up and misshapen, malformed, and Patton grips it hard. Pulling at it is like agony, feeling despite the whims of the shallowly merciful, diluted promises to echo brightly in his head. Each word digs into him, digs deep enough to release his cyan blood, and along with the red comes blue and purple. Azure skies spill from his stomach, coat his hands and stick to his clothes, and the clouds are missing.

How did I get hurt?

The knife rests easily in Patton’s hands, forming to the curvature of his digits like a malleable putty slipping between with the viscosity of caramel. Happy accidents reset the logistics of nightmares, pertinent to the matter of when and where and how and why. The who is him, a stolen identity and a fake face, masked with indifference to the things he had to leave behind. Yellow shines through his chest, rays of light splitting him in half, and the full painting bursts into being.

Patton gasps in a choked breath of much-needed air, pupils blown wide in the dim light of the room he’s in. He shoots up from the concrete, the smell of garbage and petrichor wafting up from the alleyway he resides in. Rain splashes down all around him, filling the city’s atmosphere with a staticky, white noise to offset the far-off ambience of horns honking, vague lyrics, and the occasional police siren. The water soaks through his clothes easily, chills him to the bone in the cool night air, but that doesn’t matter because there’s a huge gash in his abdomen, and a bloodied knife discarded on the ground beside him. Hypothermia is the least of his problems right now.

The pain is acute, ripples deep through his flesh as nerves spark like fireworks under his skin. The wound leaves a bitterness in Patton’s heart, calls forth a litany of self-destructive, self-righteous, asinine introspection, things that usually would remain locked deep in the chasm at the back of Patton’s mind. It’s not as if he necessarily wants to die, but maybe it’d be easier to fall asleep here, lay in the flood and accept each pool of regret as they really are.

Maybe not.

After all, his boyfriends are waiting for him at home. The four of them know about Patton’s job and yet stay with him anyway, despite the danger it’s brought upon them all, something Patton regards with a bittersweet outlook. Yes, the show of sentiment is warming, unconditional love acting as a buffer between himself and his karma that he knows he doesn’t deserve, but it also makes them reckless, loyal to a fault. They will all die if they continue to be with him, something Patton has stressed to them multiple times, but the warning never seems to get through their heads.

Roman and Virgil are similar, in a lot of ways, despite how drastically opposing their personalities are. Virgil is unerringly cautious, finds it easy to betray the powerful under the motivation of bettering the masses, and is rebellious despite his paranoia-- it’s what drew Patton to him in the first place. Roman, on the other hand, prioritizes by not prioritizing at all-- every single person is born equally with the ability to do good or evil, and their path is a result of external factors rather than wholly internal. Setting aside his own wants isn’t losing, not really, because no matter what he chooses he will always find gratification, a trait that Patton does not share but respects anyway. Together, they tend to fight and clash, opposing ideals dancing around each other under a common drive and purpose. This overhang is what brings them together, in the end, as two who refuse to stand on the sidelines and let those who cannot fight for themselves be taken advantage of.

Logan is complicated, mainly because of the very nature that forces him down into commonality. He is inconspicuous in every sense of the word, prefers to work in the shadows rather than the limelight, and it’s this trait that allows him to sneak around those he’s manipulating like a puppet master. His intelligence is boundless, never held down by narrow perspective or innate complacency from where he stands as an individual in a society that constantly seeks to strip him of that title. He’s calculating, assesses every possible outcome before he makes a decision, which makes him extremely dangerous. Exactly the kind of person who would be very high up in the hierarchy in Patton’s line of work.

Ethan is the one out of the four of them that acts as an outlier, the one on the other side of the glass. He’s drastically different to the others, sharing very few commonalities, which made getting to know him much more interesting. Ethan is a coward, bravery having melted away long ago, as if it were never there to begin with, and maybe it wasn’t. He’s opinionated, and fierce, and protective, but when push comes to shove, he will hide in the shadows under an umbrella of regret to part the downpour. He means well, but his fear holds him back, leaves him susceptible to panic. However, this doesn’t mean he’s weak; he’s far from it. While Ethan may crack under direct pressure, when he’s allowed to operate in the flanks, fight by proxy, he’s unstoppable. A worldview untainted by inherent decharacterization pushes him far beyond the rest, an allowance of growth never wavering throughout any success he garners.

They’re all unique, special in how they deal with what the world throws at them, and it’s why Patton hasn’t just killed them all yet. The way he grew up, he was always taught to take advantage of anyone who can provide what he needs and then kill them off when he’s finished with them. Being an assassin means no baggage, not a single suitcase taken along, and shedding identities like the skin of a snake is just another part of Patton’s daily life. He can’t allow them to stay. It’s a terrible idea, leaves him with weaknesses if anyone ever found out. And yet he still refuses to give them up, like an idiot. A lovesick fool, just waiting for an enemy to take revenge and the lives of the ones he cares about.

Because that’s the thing, isn’t it? He does care, dreadfully, impossibly so, and it strips him of his advantages. That cold, detached front he’s worked for years to achieve is easily smashed to pieces any time Logan gives him a stress massage, or when Virgil gently holds his hand, or when Ethan curls up with him under a warm blanket, or when Roman gives him soft kisses early in the morning. There’s no way to be the sharp, clinical assassin known as The Heartbreaker while not confronting the fact that he’s also Patton Etienne (for now, at least), a weak, fun-loving secretary from a small town in Florida.

And when his boyfriends finally get sick of him, he will become Jace, an accountant from Manhattan, or the poor artist Kaden, or Mark, the neighbour from down the street. He will blend in like a chameleon for the express purpose of staying on the down-low, put on a new mask every day to get closer to his target, and then he will move onto the next victim and the higher payout. 

But right now, under cover of the night and the rain, Patton clutches his stab wound, struggles to his feet, and limps home.

[wearetakingthehobbitstogallifrey]

MONICA YOU LOVED MANIC TOO??!?!? I'm overjoyed because I've only spoken to one (1) other person who really loved it & I feel so relieved, somehow, that you love it since you're the BEST OF US and what YOU love always gets right to the heart of a thing or a story. ANYWAY. Finally // and I Hate Everybody are my absolute favorites, and don't you think this album is like Ashley's version of Lover??? it's her most honest, and maybe lowest but also sweetest and steadiest album. I'M IN LOVE

YES YES YES YES YES I AM SOOO EXCITED YOU LOVE IT WILL YOU BE MY MANIC BUDDY *SINGS IT’S NICE TO HAVE A FRIEND WHO LOVES HALSEY*

also thank you sincerely and seriously so much for the glowing shoutout

#WONDER WOMAN SPEAKS MY HEART AND ALSO THIS IS SURPRISINGLY (?) RELEVANT TO THE ONCOMING STORM OF AN ESSAY

before I go any further I want to inform you I am drinking hot chocolate and Bailey’s out of my Batman/Catwoman mug and I still have Christmas lights up. This is not relevant to the following essay but I just thought you should know

I should start the essay shouldn’t I

First of all, I LOVE what you say about this being Ashley’s version of Lover. Both are a...finding of self, more or less complete. This isn’t to say that Taylor’s journey is over—she still has a lot of life and song left to fight through and to enjoy—but by the last words of “Daylight,” it seems to me that through all her struggles, she has finally discovered how to be gentle with herself and how to light her world.

I want to be defined by the things I love,

Not the things I hate

Not the things I am afraid of, I’m afraid of,

The things that haunt me in the middle of the

night, I

I just think that you are what you love.

In Lover, through Lover, by Lover, Taylor is whole again in her soul, and being thus whole and free, her future is quietly hopeful—even in the reality of the sorrowful “Soon You’ll Get Better” (which I still cannot listen to because it wounds my heart). I cannot imagine what she will do next, for she has the most expansive possibilities ahead of her.

Going back to Ashley, or Halsey, well, I can say nothing so clear about Manic other than that it aches. It aches because the whole thing is a confession. It is a spilling out of herself, all her hurts and frustrations and failures and most importantly the confusion of it all that lasts till this day and may last many more. Somehow, somewhere, in all this mess, I feel that by the end of the album, Ashley has found a grain of peace. She is still searching, still longing for things she maybe doesn’t even understand, but she understands herself, and, I hope, understands in a small way that it is okay to be in a state of longing and aching and messing up and trying again.

I’m sleepy so I’m not sure I am being coherent or cohesive, forgive me. I’m just going to say a few things about my favorite songs!

“Ashley.” So this wasn’t the first song I listened to, because of the singles released earlier. But how powerful is it that Halsey opens up with her name? There is nothing I like better than an album that tells a story (surprise!) and the instant I saw the track listing, I was shook.

Seems like now it's impossible to work this outI'm so committed to an old ghost townIs it really that strange if I always wanna change?And if only the time and space between us wasn't lonelyI'd disintegrate into a thousand piecesI think I'm making a mistakeBut if I decide to break, who will fill the empty space?

This verse—I don’t know if it is just where I am in my own life, but really, who hasn’t felt this strange rending of desires in some capacity. Cling to the past? Leap toward the unknown? I want to live near my parents forever, and see my mom every Sunday like I have for years now. I want to live in a foreign country, or even out near my old college, or heck even live in a city for year or six months, just because it would be an Experience. (Couldn’t live there indefinitely, not this girl who loves endless trees and hills and warm summer night country roads and rustling corn.)

How do we know what to do? How do we decide? What if we get left alone, with no one to comfort and support us? What if we cannot handle the consequences of our choices?

Apart from my beating heartIt's a muscle but it's still not strong enoughTo carry the weight of the choices I've madeI told you I'd ride this outIt's getting harder every day somehowI'm bursting out of myself

LOOK AT THIS! LOOK AT IT! I DARE YOU TO SAY THIS IS NOT A UNIVERSAL EMOTION. THIS IS WHAT THE ALBUM WILL BE ABOUT SO IF YOU CANNOT OPEN YOUR HEART AND BE PREPARED TO FEEL EMPATHY AND COMPASSION FOR THE YOUNG WOMAN WHO IS ABOUT TO SPILL HER GUTS TO YOU THEN GET OUT OF MY HOUSE

Ahem, I’m sorry, please stay, I don’t actually want you to go. Just sit down and I’ll give you your own hot chocolate. But listen. Ashley is, before anything, a human being. Therefore, she is going to mess up, just the same as any of us, maybe more, maybe less, but that is never going to take away a speck of her intrinsic worth, or the way that God loves her. Her struggles will not obliterate her humanity, but if I ignore her sorrows, her need for something more, her brilliance and strength and longing to love, then I would nigh obliterate my own.

Also, can I just say she has gone through some REALLY hard things in her life, things I couldn’t imagine, and for her to be where she is now—I just want the best for her. Do I agree with everything she does or believes? No. Is my life at all similar to hers? Not really. But I still feel a kinship with her, and it bleeds through in her music.

This is getting away from me isn’t it. I’m just trying to say that Manic struck a chord in my heart that has been reverberating ever since I first perceived it.

Oh gosh it is 12:30, I have to be up at 6. I’m going to fly through a few other songs and then you can message me about the rest or something 😊

“Clementine” has such color, doesn’t it? Also the line about her wondering what it’s like to be the blood in her veins—I love it!

“Graveyard” with the thing you love the most being the detriment—not going to lie, this is a story song for me, it fits into the Gold Rush Silmarillion AU I am co-authoring. Feanor and his own pride, Maedhros and half the people he loves, Fingon and Maedhros—the list could go on.

“You should be sad” and “More” gutted me because I had only just learned she has endometriosis, and has experienced a miscarriage before.

“Forever...(is a long time)”:

It's a nice surprise knowing six feet highWould reach and grab the moon if I should ask

Or just imply that I want you to be more lightSo I could look inside his eyesAnd get the colors just right

And

What am I thinking? What does this mean?How could somebody ever love me?

Self-doubt and questioning one’s ability to be loved ☹

“Without Me” gets stuck in my head and I LOVE IT I SING IT.

Found you when your heart was brokeI filled your cup until it overflowedTook it so far to keep you close (Keep you close)I was afraid to leave you on your own

 Is there anything more painful than giving all of yourself to someone, loving them so much that you do anything to help them heal—and then all they do is hurt you.

“Finally// beautiful stranger” I’m ashamed to say the first time I listened to it I wasn’t paying attention and so I was like eh it’s fine. THEN I LISTENED TO IT AGAIN. WHY IS THIS SONG HALSEY’S “ENCHANTED” (I can probably explain this, but just after I’ve had sleep)

“killing boys” there are a lot of things I could say about this song but the main thing I want to say is if there was a song that is ME regarding the sound of it only, it is this one. When she sings “you don’t need me anymore” and “I don’t need you anymore” OOH IT GETS ME IT’S SO BEAUTIFUL

Also

Told me pick my battles and be picking 'em wiseBut I wanna pick 'em all and I don't want to decideNo more, no more, anymore

THIS IS THAT TUMBLR THING  “MY MOM LIKES TO TELL ME ‘YOU HAVE TO PICK YOUR BATTLES’ WELL I’M FULL OF RAGE AND I’M PICKING ALL OF THEM”

ALSO ALSO GETTING INTO THE LYRICS THIS IS HER MOVING ON, THIS IS HER DECISIVELY SAYING NO THIS NOT RIGHT THIS IS HARMFUL TO ME I AM DONE. AND FOR SOMEONE WHO HAS EXPRESSED UNCERTAINTY AND DIFFICULTY MAKING DECISIONS, IT SO GOOD TO SEE HER MAKE A HEALTHY CHOICE FOR HERSELF

“Suga’s Interlude:” LOOK YOU LOVE BTS TOO SO I’M SURE YOU KNOW THE STORY OF HOW IT CAME TO BE AND YOU KNOW ALL ABOUT BTS AND THEIR RELATIONSHIP WITH HALSEY BUT FOR THE SAKE OF THE READERS LET ME SUM UP

Halsey did a collaboration with BTS called “Boy with Luv” and it shook the charts and is wonderful and I love it. Not only did they create that song though, but she flew out to South Korea and learned the dance choreography so that she could sing and dance in the song’s music video. This was the beginning of a beautiful, cross-language, cross-cultural friendship that has involved friendship bracelets, churros, a personalized microphone, and mutual teasing.

Anyway, Halsey had been really impressed with BTS member Suga, saying “Yoongi is really introspective and has this really intelligent perspective on where we are and what we are doing in our unique lifestyles.” She also was moved by the hard work and sacrifices he (and his fellow band members) have made. Anyway, she asked Suga to write and sing a song with her. He was initially surprised, saying that he can’t rap in English. Halsey, gem that she is, was like bro, pls rap in Korean, that would be awesome. Pardon me for copying half the lyrics for this song but to me it is pivotal in Manic as a whole:

I’ve been trying all my lifeTo separate the timeIn between the having it allAnd giving it up, yeah...

Here is the conflict and strife that Halsey has dealt with all her life—there is fear of loss there, and also fear of what one has. The power it has over you. The way things might go wrong.

I believe your faith, efforts, beliefs, and greed,are not hideous...Although the dawn right before the sun rises is the darkest,Never forget that the stars that you wish for,can only rise within the dark...

Suga reminding himself, Halsey, and us to cling to hope, ragged and worn, even in the most difficult of times. Also—in the face of our insecurities and self-recrimination for the goals we set—he tell us that our deepest parts are valid

If I run endlessly towards the end of the tunnel,what will there beIt’s true, it’s honestly differentfrom the future that I had hoped forBut it doesn’t matter, now it’s a matter of living/survivingIt doesn’t matter what happenedYeah yeah it might bedifferent from the things that you expectedYour living and your loving might changeThat’s true That’s true That’s trueYeah so are you gonna moveWe’re still too youthful and young to hesitateLet’s face it (our lives)...

This, this verse is so important. Look back at the song “Ashley”, particularly the lines I already quoted. Indecision because the fear of what might be, of what failure could do, wrecking her worse than ever, with no one to help her. Indecision because of a nostalgia that might be bitter or softly sad, what was past was at least known. It was good perhaps, it was awful more likely. But it was gotten through. There is no guarantee that Halsey will be able to get through whatever the future holds. But Suga comes in here, having faced struggles similar at their core, and he embodies the Nike slogan. Just DO IT. Don’t hold yourself back. Don’t let yourself drown, stuck in sinking mud. Embrace the unknown. If you let fear hold you back, you are as good as dead. There will be no growth, no hope battling through the dark for something better. You have to MOVE! And maybe you were right, things will never be the same, or the way you want it to be, but MAYBE THE DIFFERENT WILL BE BETTER!!!

Anyway, this section really should have been its own essay, because I’m still not done with it. You may have noticed I have been calling them Halsey and Suga, and the song is indeed called “Suga’s Interlude” but this song is so deep and personal to them both, it feels wrong to use their stage names. This is Ashley speaking, this is Yoongi speaking. Halsey posted a cute, stick figure drawing as artwork for the song, and the two singers are pictured there—and named as Ashley and Yoongi. This song is not just a collaboration by two talented artists, this is a look into the souls of a woman and a man who’ve shed blood, sweat, and tears to become the people they are. This intimacy fits the whole theme of the album so well, I LITERALLY CANNOT

I am so sorry I will move on now. It is 2:00 am. I need to go to bed. I am not. I need to talk about 929.

Well first let me say that “Still Learning” is also super important to the theme of the album.

I know that I've done some wrongBut I'm trying to make it rightDid the one I love do me wrong?Give me up right now

I know that I love you but I'm still learningTo love myself (to love my, to love my, to love my)I'm still learning to love myself (to love my, to love my, to love my)

She has made confessions and declarations and sung her frustration, and now she is moving forward. The road may be long and hard, but she is moving forward. I had something else to say but I forgot it sorry.

And NOW

929!!!!

This song miiiiight be my favorite on the album, not sure. My heart trembles and I get chills listening to it, because the music and her voice are so gentle and soothing but the lyrics are essentially a list of moments that have been needles and knives to Ashley, all her fears revealed, that she wasn’t enough then and she isn’t enough now, that the girl with the pink hair lied when she said that everyone needed Ashley. It’s a soft confession, a stream of consciousness, so it was written and so I hear it. And in this moment, how can I not love her? How can I not cry for her, for me, for anyone and everyone who struggles with self-worth, with being wanted, with being loved, with loving, with forgiving self and others?Halsey is flawed, and I just want to give her extra love because of that.

But you know what? I think she is going to be ok.

This is where I want to go back and compare Manic to Lover. There is this knowledge of the self, a kind of peace with who one is. I don’t mean that either Taylor or Ashley have reached their pinnacle of self, but they see themselves a little more clearly, and are not suppressing that knowledge.

929 sounds like water gently pouring out of a pitcher into a basin, and water, properly placed, does not drown but gives life. There is hope by the end of this song, hope despite her difficult life, hope despite the fact that she was never even telling the truth about her time of birth. (That story could be a despairing one, the “I’m a fucking liar” could be the miniscule mistake that breaks her after all the rest of her mistakes, but instead...I don’t know she just sounds kind of amused, like even if she is disappointed or upset about it, there is still this “oh well, whatever, can’t believe that happened lol” to her voice and laughter. She knows who she is now, and there is a better woman she might be, but she is not angry with herself for being who she is, and she will move forward, letting go of her ghost towns and all her fears.

Let me end with a quote about 929: “I just start spilling all of my thoughts about myself and my fans and my family, and I admit so many faults and flaws all in one go. It’s forgiving, however, it ends with the acknowledgment that I am learning and growing, minute by minute.”

Ashley, like Taylor, is making a new start. They have both found a sort of daylight, and though there may always be shadows, I really really hope that they will know mostly sun, and spread it around for others.

ALSO I JUST REALIZED I COULD NOW BE SOMEONE’S MANIC PIXIE DREAMGIRL :D 

*Disclaimer: I AM SO FREAKING TIRED I AM GOING TO BED, THIS WHOLE THING IS ENTIRELY UNEDITED, ALSO I LEFT SOME SONGS OUT OOPS WELL TWO OF THEM I DON’T CARE FOR AS MUCH BUT I THINK I FORGOT 3 AM WHICH I DO  LIKE BUT I AM NOT GOING BACK TO WRITE ABOUT IT NOW. I APOLOGIZE FOR THE RAMBLING MESS AND LACK OF ELOQUENCE BUT HERE WE BE THIS IS WHAT YOU GET HOPE IT MADE YOU SMILE

[innuendostudios]

New video essay! Internet reactionaries argue as though they have no core beliefs at all, and will just say anything to own the libs. So are they nihilists, or is there more going on?

You can ensure this series continues by backing me on Patreon.

Transcript below the cut.

Say, for the sake of argument, you’re online blogging about a Black journalist’s commentary on marketing trends in video games, movies, and comic books, and you’re saying how the vitriol in response to her fairly benign opinions reveals the deep-seated racism and misogyny in a number of fan communities, most especially those that lean right, when a right-leaning commenter pops in to say, “Or maybe they just actually disagree with her about marketing trends! For Christ’s sake, there’s no mystery here. People aren’t aren’t speaking in coded language. They are telling you what they believe. She had a bad opinion; why do you have to make it bigger than that? Why can’t you ever take people at their word?”

You pause and ponder for a moment. Mmm… Aw heck with it, you’re in a discoursing mood. Let’s do this.

“Mr. Conservative, in order for me to take you at your word, your words would have to show some consistency. Let me just lightning round a few questions about the reactionary web’s positions on marketing trends: Do you believe that having the option to romance same-sex characters in an RPG turns the game into queer propaganda, or do you believe that killing strippers in an action game can’t be sexist since no one’s making you do it? Do you believe that the pervasiveness of sexualized young women in pop culture is just there because it sells and that’s capitalism and we all need to deal with it, or do you believe that a franchise has an obligation to cater to its core audience even if diversifying beyond that audience is more profitable? Do you think words are inherently harmless and only oversensitive snowflakes would care about racialized language, or do you think it’s racist if someone calls you mayonnaise boy? As long as I’ve got your ear: Are you the Party that believes in the right to keep and bear arms because you’re distrustful of all authority and what if we need to overthrow the government someday, or do you believe that cops are civil servants and we should trust their account of events whenever they shoot a Black man for looking like he might have a gun?

“Does optional content reveal a game’s ideology, or doesn’t it? Is capitalism a defense for decisions you don’t agree with, or isn’t it? Is language harmful, or not? Do you hate authority, or love cops and the troops?

Alright, alright, ease off. Add some nuance.     “Now, I know the Right is not a monolith, and maybe these arguments are contradictory because they’re coming from different people. We’ll call them Engelbert and Charlemagne. Maybe Engelbert’s the one who thinks any institution funded by tax money is socialist and therefore bad and Charlemagne’s the one who says we should dump even more tax money into the military and thinking otherwise is un-American. But here’s the thing: Y’all have very fundamentally different beliefs, and you’re so passionate about them that you enter search terms into Twitter to find people you don’t even follow and aggressively disagree with them, and, yet, you’re always yelling at me and never yelling at each other. What’s that about?

“And I can’t say how often it happens, but I know, if I let Engelbert go on long enough, he sometimes makes a Charlemagne argument. And vice versa.

“And, I see you getting ready to say, ‘The Left does the same thing,’ but ba ba ba ba ba, don’t change the subject. That’s an extremely false equivalence, but, more importantly, it doesn’t answer my question. What do you actually believe, and why are you so capable of respecting disagreement between each other, yet so incapable of respecting me - or, for that matter, a Black woman?

“See, I don’t take you at your word because I cannot form a coherent worldview out of the things you say. So, forgive me if, when you tell me what you believe, I don’t think you’re being candid with me. It kinda seems like you’re playing games, and I’m the opposing team, and anyone who’s against me is your ally. And you’re not really taking a position, but claiming to believe in whatever would need to be true to score points against me, like we’re in that one episode of Seinfeld.” [Card Says Moops clip.]

(This is borrowed observation #1, link in the down-there part.)

Hoo, it feels good calling people hypocrites! Person says B when earlier they said A and you point out the contradiction! You don’t take a position on A or B, and you still “win”! I see why Republicans like this so much.

But that’s the kind of point-scoring we’re here to deconstruct, so let’s get analytical.

There’s a certain Beat-You-At-Your-Own-Gaminess to the Card Says Moops maneuver. “Safe spaces are bullshit, but, if you get one, I get one too.” “There’s no such thing as systemic oppression, but, if there were, I’d be oppressed.” It’s dismissing the rhetoric of social justice while also trying to use it against you. Claiming “the Card Says Moops” does not, so much, mean, “I believe the people who invaded Spain in the 8th Century were literally called The Moops,” but, rather, “You can’t prove I don’t believe it.” Not a statement of sincere belief, simply moving a piece across the board. All in the game, yo.

If they could be so nakedly honest with you and themselves to answer “what do you actually believe” truthfully, one suspects the answer would be, “What difference does it make? We’re right either way.”

This has come to be known as “postmodern conservatism,” a fact I find hilarious, because, in The Discourse, “postmodernism” is a dogwhistle for everything the Right hates about the Left. (...it also means “Jews.”) Postmodern conservatism is the thinking that, at least for the purpose of argument, the truth of who invaded Spain is immaterial. You have your facts, I have alternative facts. What is true? Who’s to say?

Regardless of what you actually believe - what you believe serving no rhetorical purpose - you are at least arguing from the position that material truth does not exist. Truth is a democracy. Whoever who wins the argument decides who invaded Spain.

It would be reductive to blame this pattern of thought on the internet, but its recent proliferation isn’t really extricable from the rise of chan culture (this is borrowed observation #2, link in the down there part). 4chan didn’t cause this thinking, but sites like 4chan reveal it in its most concentrated form.

The two most common properties of a chan board will be anonymity and lack of moderation, which means, among other things, that you can say whatever you want with no systemic or social repercussions. People may disagree with you, but it carries no weight. You won’t be banned, you won’t have your comments deleted, and, because there’s no way to know whether any two posts are made by the same person, you won’t even get a reputation as “the person with the bad opinion.”

The effect this has on the community is that there is no expectation, in any given moment, that the person on the other end of a conversation isn’t messing with you. You can’t know whether they mean what they say or are only arguing as though they mean what they say. And entire debates may just be a single person stirring the pot. Such a community will naturally attract people who enjoy argument for its own sake, and will naturally trend towards the most extreme version of any opinion.

In short, this is the Free Marketplace of Ideas. No code of ethics, no social mores, no accountability. A Darwinist petri dish where ideas roam free and only the strong ones survive. If the community agrees Bebop is better than Eva, well, then I guess Bebop is better than Eva, because there wasn’t any outside influence polluting the discourse. Granted, it could just be a lot of people thought it was funny to shit on Eva, but it’s what the community has decided, so it will at least be treated as truth.

This demands that one both be highly opinionated and to assume opinions are bullshit, to place a high premium on consensus and be intensely distrustful of groupthink.

A common means of straddling these lines is what I call the Stanislavski Opinion: the opinion you entertain so completely that you functionally believe it while you express it, no matter the possibility that you will express - and, to an extent, believe - an opposite opinion later. Most of us go through a phase in our youths where we’re online and like the idea of believing in something, but don’t know what to believe just yet, so we pick a position and find out if we believe it by defending it. We try on ideologies like sunglasses off a rack. Most of us will eventually settle on a belief system, and this will usually involve some apologies and some comments we wish we could scrub from the internet, but it’s an important stage of growing up.

But some percentage of people will seek out a space where there is no embarrassment, the comments scrub themselves, and never growing out of the Stanislavski Opinion is actively rewarded. There, figuring out what you believe would make your ability to argue less flexible, and, besides, if you believed anything unironically, much of the community would still assume you’re trolling. Where no one is bound by their word, what, really, is the difference between appearing to have an opinion and having one?

Sincerity is unprovable and open to interpretation. Decide someone is sincere if you want to make fun of them, decide they’re trolling if you want to make fun of someone else. What is true? What do you want to be true? It’s easy enough to start thinking of one’s own opinions the same way: What do I believe? What is it advantageous to believe? Your answer isn’t binding. You’ll change it later if you need to.

The person I’m describing, you spend time online, you’ll meet him a lot. His name is Schrodinger’s Douchebag (borrowed observation #3, link in the down there part): A guy who says offensive things & decides whether he was joking based on the reaction of people around him. Any website that lacks effective moderation and allows some level of anonymity will, to varying degrees, approximate 4chan, and be overrun with Schrodinger’s Douchebag.

When this type of person defends rape jokes by saying all humor is inherently punching down because there must be a butt to every joke, he hasn’t thought about it. He assumes it’s true, because he figures he’s a smart guy and whatever he assumes is probably right, but he’s unfazed if you prove otherwise; there’s no shortage of dodgy reasons he might be right and you wrong. He’ll just pick another one. What matters is that the game continues.

The thing is, Bob, it’s not that they’re lying, it’s that they just don’t care. I’ll say that again for the cheap seats: When they make these kinds of arguments, they legitimately do not care whether the words coming out of their mouths are true. It is a deeply held belief for precisely as long as it wins arguments.

So it’s kinda funny, right, how many of these folks self-identify as “rationalists?” I mean, typical rational thinking would say: If I am presented with the truth, I will believe it, and, once I believe it, I will defend it in argument. This? This is not that! This is a different idea of “rationality” that views it not as a practice but as an innate quality one either possesses or lacks, like being blond or left-handed: If I’m arguing it, I must believe it, because I’m a rational person, and, if I believe it, because I’m a rational person, it must be true. You speak assuming you’re right, and, should you take a new position, this telescopes out into a whole new set of beliefs with barely a thought. Stay focused on the argument, and you won’t even notice it’s happening.

You might now conclude the internet reactionary believes in nothing except winning arguments with liberals. And, like Newtonian physics, if you assume this framing, you will get highly useful results. If you enter conversation with Engelbert and Charlemagne believing they do not mean what they say, they are only entertaining notions, and, on a long enough timeline, they will eventually defend a position fundamentally incompatible with the one they defended earlier in the same argument, you will navigate that conversation much more effectively!

But, like Newtonian physics, this framing is lowercase-a accurate without being capital-T True.

In reality, nihilism isn’t that popular. People will tell you, “I don’t care about anything, I just like triggering the libs,” but why is it always libs? It is piss easy (and also hilarious) to upset conservatives, why only go after the SJWs? The easy answer is, well, if you upset a feminist, you might make her cry; if you upset a Nazi, he might stab you, and that has a cooling effect. But the more obvious answer is that they actually agree with the racist, MRA, and TERF talking points they repeat, but would rather not think about it.

So much of conservative rhetoric is about maintaining ignorance of one’s own beliefs. To uphold the institution of imperialist white supremacist capitalist patriarchy while thinking you are none of those things. (Well, OK, knowing you’re a capitalist, but thinking it’s a good thing.) Most people have a baseline of fairly conventional, kindergarten morality, and conservatism often clashes with it. You can rationalize these contradictions - “I’m not a bigot, I just believe in states’ rights” - but, as American conservatism gets more radical, it gets harder to square one’s politics with what one assumes to be one’s beliefs. So you learn, when someone challenges you, to cycle through beliefs until something sticks, just play your hand and trust that you’re right, or, in extreme cases, insist you have no beliefs at all, you’re just here to watch the world burn.

But they’re not. They are willing participants in the burning of only certain parts. They don’t care what they believe, but they know what they hate, and they don’t want to think about why they hate it. On paper, they believe in freedom of religion and freedom of expression, but they also hang out in communities where Muslims and trans women are punching bags. And, like a sixth grader who believes one thing in Sunday school and another thing in biology class, they believe different things at different times.

This thinking is fertile ground for Far Right recruitment. I’d say the jury is out on whether chan boards attract Far Right extremists or are built to attract Far Right extremists, but they’re where extremists congregate and organize because they’re where extremists are tolerated, and where they blend in with the locals. They learn the lingua franca of performative irony: Say what you mean in such a way that people who disagree think you’re kidding and people who agree think you’re serious. People who don’t know what they believe but clearly have some fascist leanings don’t need to be convinced of Nazi rhetoric, they just need to be submerged in it and encouraged to hate liberals. They’ll make their way Right on their own. Folks start using extremist rhetoric because it wins arguments with SJWs - usually because that’s the moment SJWs decide it’s not fruitful and possibly unsafe talking to you - and this creates the appearance that, if it keeps winning arguments, there must be something to it. The Far Right literally has handbooks on how to do this.

Those who never consciously embrace the ideology - who don’t transition from participating to getting recruited - are still useful. They spread the rhetoric, they pad the numbers, and often participate in harassment and sometimes even violence.

There’s a twisted elegance to all this. Think about it: If you operate as though there is no truth, just competing opinions, and as though opinions aren’t sincere, just tools to be picked up and dropped depending on their utility, then what are you operating under? Self-interest. The desire to win. You’ll defend the Holocaust just to feel smarter than someone, superior. Think about how beautifully that maps onto the in-group/out-group mentality of dominance and bigotry. Think how incompatible it is with liberal ideas of tolerance. I think this is why we don’t see a lot of these “I’m just here to fuck shit up” types on the Left. Don’t get me wrong, the Left has gotten on some bullshit, but (excepting politicians, whom you should never assume to mean anything they say) it’s sincerely-believed bullshit! We don’t build identities around saying things just to piss people off.

The takeaway from all this is not only that you can’t tell the difference between a bigot who doesn’t know they’re a bigot and a bigot who knows but won’t tell you, but that there is no line dividing the two. When some guy, in the middle of a harassment campaign, says the victims should be nicer to their harassers because that will “mend the rift,” I don’t know if he believes it. But, in that moment, he believes he believes it. And that scares the shit out of me. But, if you’re asking how many layers of irony he’s on as compared with the harassers, nine times out of ten it doesn’t matter.

Borrowed observation #4 is: “We are what we pretend to be.”

[papersynth]

Klance theory - Music

This really isn’t one of my better theories because its really hard to analyse music :’)

I always see people make half-hearted theories on the music, always bordering on the "it kinda sounds like that!" and selectively picking a title, but I guess I have too much time on my hands and a new set of headphones I need to test.

I don't really have a proper format for this theory so this might seem like just rambling I hope its coherent. Useful links: S1 OST - https://open.spotify.com/album/6gJcepRhZZjaRWTIxOAvrl?si=4EwqNWa6Tjm9edF8gTfJRQ S2,4,5, 7 VLD OST - https://soundcloud.com/brianparkhurst/sets S6 OST - https://soundcloud.com/spiralbill/sets/voltron-legendary-defender

FOR SOME REASON I CANNOT FIND THE OST OF SEASON 3, I FIND THAT SUSPICIOUS BUT LETS NOT READ TOO MUCH INTO IT.

So lets start with what defines a romantic piece of music and I've broken it down to the music having 1. High Strings (often used to influence the current tempo or mood) 2. Legato Piano (or in the case of Voltron - Synth) in a  3. Adagio (slow tempo) Not trying to use these words to sound smart, its just that I need specifics

The reason why this formula is used is because love is a very funny and whimsical feeling. Its strange, its light, but its also sweet and kind. Romantic music always makes the effort to sound pleasant and continuous. The mix of slow piano and high strings is in relevance to how the strings insinuate the ups and downs. Moments of fantasy/whimsy that are often associated with love. 

Bonding Moment - Tears of the Balmera I had listened to the piece on repeat (and thought it wasn't) the same piece, but yes, the track playing is "To Go Home". The entire fight with Sendak (despite being super epic) DOESN'T use this track. "To Go Home" makes use of synth beats and a rapid tempo with HIGH notes. The music during the fight with sendak is much faster in tempo with LOW notes, accentuated with warning alarm music to evoke danger and urgency. Notice how varying notes are used with the visuals following the tide of the battle.

"To Go Home" uses the same notes slowly rising in octaves. Repetition and intensity are often used for "chase" scenes or those with rising tension. ANYWAY the point here is that the piece of music insinuates a tense moment -> battle -> resolution. Listen to the last 30 seconds.

It starts slow, then there's a rising note, then slowly dropping down, giving the audience a feeling of rest (it doesn't slowly fade out, it ends). The reason why the bonding moment feels romantic is not only because of the visuals, but the music imply the blooming of emotion.

High strings, slow synth piano, adagio. None of the fucking trumpet shit in the 30 seconds. Cut, clean, and precise ONLY to be interrupted (by the segue) into battle music. The recipe for a romantic soundtrack is used DELIBERATELY, it cuts STRAIGHT to the end.

I'm a filmmaker, I know that I can use virtually any music to segue into an intense scene, imagine that scene with JUST the first note (the synth) the whole time instead. It feels much more friendly (and teamwork oriented) than working it into rising harmony. Also the visuals just enhance this feeling even further.

Lance gives Blue to Allura - The Red Paladin

The reason why I’m bringing up this scene is because it is romantic but not exactly. This scene between Lance and Allura is BORDERLINE romantic instead of a friendly or honorary gesture. Visually and thematically, all Lance is really doing is giving blue on over to Allura. 

This scene is specifically special because the music conveys how the emotions are currently flowing. 

Allura enters, the steady music is accompanied by higher notes almost peaking. Alongside the visuals, it gives a feeling of “discovery”, like a eureka moment. This is because she walks in with a pink paladin suit, and remember Lance STILL has a crush on her. He sees a new side to Allura, re-iterating once again his interest in her as a princess (at first). THEN we slip into romantic music territory as he gives the bayard to Allura, talking about how he admires her as a person who he would entrust blue to. The higher notes slowly shift the focus of the conversation into a flowing melody, indicating they’re on the same wavelength.

The music here suggests discovery but just barely teetering on romantic feelings. The mood is similar to when Zarkon first interacts with Honnerva.

Zarkon meets Honnerva - The Legend Begins

AGAIN - Slow Synth with a flowing melody of higher notes that are introduced when Honnerva picks up Kova. The visuals also compliment the music being played, Zarkon’s sense of interest, and slight attraction to Honnerva. Listen to the music of both these scenes. They’re melodically similar, and both romantically coded.

Bedroom Scene “Leave the Math to Pidge” - Tailing a comet

I can’t get over how this scene is romantically coded so fucking subtly because its done with contrasting visuals. Lance approaches Keith with a super serious topic and the plot of this scene contrasts the music that’s being played. To insinuate a conversation between the both of them, that’s very serious the whole time, no music should have been used. You don’t HAVE to have a soundtrack for everything. The scene would have done fine without music but YET it STILL uses music. 

1. Legato Synth

That’s the continuous and slow beat throughout this entire scene slowly rising before going back down the MOMENT Lance says that he should step aside. It then continues to shift veeery slowly between high and low notes (but notice how it doesn’t have an accompaniment ) UNTIL Keith says “Leave the math to Pidge” intro

2. High String > Adagio

Lighthearted, and resolute. No wonder people think this scene is romantic. We have to be aware that the feelings between Lance and Keith are slow and gradual. They didn’t develop over a night, they took time to come to fruition. The more serious moments between Lance and Keith are slow but always coupled with romantic music. The music in this scene along with the visuals make it seem like Lance finds a lighthearted joy in Keith’s WORDS (because the strings come in AFTER Keith speaks). Their relationship improves over time.

Allura saves Lance - Omega Shield

Adagio? Check. Rising Synth? Check. ACCOMPANIED BY HIGH STRINGS TO INDICATE THE OTHER’S EMOTIONS? MC FUCKIN CHECK. This scene is 100% romantic, between Lance and Allura. I know this is a Klance theory but you guys seem to also forget that Lance is supposedly Bi coded, and last I checked, Bi means tWO.

Lotura and Krolia + Keith’s Dad - Razor’s Edge

The scene where Allura and Lotor are talking about what they’ve discovered in Oriande is a blooming romance between them. You can hear it in the staccato high note accent and as they go more into how they both find comfort in each other, intro comes these higher piano notes. This is the scene where we really hear love blooming between Lotor and Allura. Remember that feeling of whimsy and fantasy? That’s the feeling of love between the both of them. Its ethereal, exciting and light. 

You want a point of comparison? Listen to the final korrasami scene, where they’re talking to each other outside. There’s the high string, legato piano, and where the love REALLY blooms, you hear bits and pieces of (what I think is) a kalimba. Maybe a xylophone. Slow but light beats. Blooming love is always depicted as light prickles. If you’ve ever read romance manga you’ll always see the main character surrounded by bubbles and white light. The music speaks the underlying emotions that we cannot see or understand in words.

Lance coming to terms with his feelings about Allura

This, this scene. This is as about as obvious as you can get in regards to the recipe for a romantic soundtrack. Slow, adagio synth + high strings, also it helps that Lance is literally talking about his unrequited love for Allura. I wish there was an official soundtrack for everything, but all I can say is you have to go and listen to the music in these specific scenes because they’re all romantically coded.

The Mice tell Allura Lance’s feelings

I think this scene is what threw off the possibility of Allurance for me, its because of the music and her facial expression. The music STARTS hopeful, the way a romantic piece should be, but it slowly goes downwards instead, and ends on a slightly awkward lower note. Its not hopeful, its more of.....pitiful. Like for Allura she doesn’t think she can reciprocate Lance’s feelings which is what I think this scene was trying to insinuate. This scene contrasts with when Allura saved Lance in LITERALLY the previous episode. I don’t doubt for a second that Allura feels as though she may have feelings towards Lance, but I don’t think she wants to go through with them, that’s why when the mice told her about Lance’s crush on her, she felt bad about it. 

Allura and Lotor Kiss

Ohohohoh the music here was romantic up until a literal beat before their kiss. The music in VLD is amazing when it comes to picking out emotion also its just so well fucking put together. Listen closely to the music of that scene, did you catch it? the ONE note, that was slightly off, right before they kissed. Its awkward, and disjointed. It felt ominous, and jarring. Like it was a step into bad territory, which I would suppose Allura took when she devoted her feelings towards Lotor.

Allura talks about her feelings for Lotor 

This scene parallels the scene in season 3 where Keith comes up to Lance and talks about how he put the team in jeopardy in “The Hunted”. The funny thing about these two scenes is that the scene with Keith introduces a higher accent to the music but ENDS the music, working itself into a different piece instead of leaving it on plateau. The scene with Allura doesn’t have a musical ending, it remains on the higher notes and gets interrupted instead of being a segue into a different emotion. Make what you think of it, but it seems as though his unrequited love for allura is let go of. It just stops as its ongoing, it has no conclusion (at least, till s8 lol).

Allura Thanks Lance + Wishes he stays safe

OH BOY So remember how we’ve established that romantic music has an adagio base with high strings/synth to evoke romantic feelings? Allura thanks lance for covering her, and we BEGIN on that musical note, intro comes the base music, only to be distorted (albeit) comically by Veronica.

Allura (later in that episode) tells Lance that she wishes he was safe and we’re on that same path again, the music’s slowly rising, the strings are here this time aaaaaaaand no conclusion? It fades abruptly into a comical ping from veronica, how come we can’t get a conclusive note for these two?

The music in the romantic scenes found in the show are really, REALLY, indicative of what’s emotively happening. Most of the scenes with Allura and Lotor are cut short or fade into sad music for lance, while the other canonical romances like Hunk/Shay and Krolia/Keith’s Dad, rhythmically conclude. Maybe I’m going insane from listening to these tracks all day, but I think they’re a decent indicator of what’s emotionally happening behind the scenes.

That’s all there really is for now! Season 8 Klance prediction is gonna be a goofy scene with those lighthearted bubbly notes I was talking about earlier. Bet.

[relmsramblins]

May 26th, 2021

A processing of many thoughts

I am a writer. It is funny to say that, as I am a notoriously poor speller, grammarian and only the vaguest inclinations or natural talent towards organizing things into coherent forms on paper. However, writing is to me as necessary as breathing, or eating and is as vital to the health of my spirit as prayer and community. Whether it is prose, poetry or position pieces, writing is a way to view the world that is slightly less overwhelming, and haphazard then the eddying sea of emotion, information and opinion that exists in my mind. Today, I wish I had the mental fortitude to work on one of the many books I would like to write, or even a good piece of poetry, but instead I find I must try to put into order many thoughts and feelings that have been ricocheting around for the past several weeks before they puncture through somewhere unintended and potentially dangerous.

So first, on the subject of trans-identity. This has been a struggle that I've been dealing with as my student teaching comes to a close and I continue to try to find an education job for next year as I feel like there is a lack of authenticity in presenting male, but I know that to be employed as a transwoman makes an already difficult job hunt nearly impossible. But that aspect of who I am is such a integral part of who I am as a human, of how I am going to interact with them as students and what I want to teach them about personal growth and identity. It also means that as I get closer and grow more personal with students I feel more and more that I am deceiving them about fundamentally who I am, and as I am a person who cares deeply about my students and the relationships I build with them, that lack of transparency feels uncomfortable. There is a unique experience as a closeted person, or a person who is made to feel ashamed about anything about themselves that they cannot change, possibly ever. It shapes how you act and interact with the world around you, but when it is not clear you number among them it is one that people don't feel like you've "earned" in the modern day world of equity and critical theory.

Another thing that I feel the need to put to words, if simply for the ability to access later, is the beginnings of my own theories on the complexity of Love. First, I am a Christian and this is important and relevant because Christ is the example of Love I strive to embrace and exemplify in my life. However, this Love is not one easily expressed to the world because this love is an incredibly complex thing. It goes beyond romance, emotional affection or physical attraction but becomes something much deeper, more complex and more individual. It means that I can love someone, love someone deeply, and never intend to have a romantic or physical relationship with them. It means I can and should love my students, but in saying that there are hundreds of administrators and parents who suddenly wonder why this Man (see above on trans-identity issues) would be willing to express love for children in a society where the most common examples of male "love" for children is sexual attraction and predation. How can I express that I want to love my students the way that an older sibling or parent would care for them, hoping that I can help them in their sorrows and grow them through the mistakes and missteps they are sure to make. How can I look at a student who understands that I love them and that they love me but that their only context for that is romantic and they understand that such a relationship is impossible and uncomfortable but still the love remains unless I am able to actually talk to them about the Love that is possible when we look beyond romantic love as the be all and end all of deep emotional attachment.

I think that is something that I will be trying to properly express for the rest of my life through writing, but anyways. Those are a few of my thoughts and my struggles this evening.

[yoongihime]

Yours Truly

RoyaltyAU: OC x Prince!Yoongi  Length: 1.7K (lol barely a drabble but I’ll take it)  Genre: Fluff. Just. Fluff Type: Disney Insp Drabbles ☞ REQUEST HERE ☜ Recommended OST: (x)  Request By: @workofteaguk : how about “I’m right out here for you, just let me in” + your love aka min yoongi :“) 

(a/n): warm up before I really get going with my other longer pieces! Ahh but this was so so fluffy I melted into a puddle 100x before I could coherently type all of it out TT please tell me what you think!! also this gif makes me cry many tears.. my prince TTTTTTT I LOVE YO(U)ONGI

“Would you please just open the door?”

Yoongi’s rasp drifts through the cool wood that is pressed into your back, the sheer tulle of your ball gown useless in its beauty to protect you against the nip of cold lingering in the early autumn air.

“No!” Your stubborn response travels through the barrier without fail, your childish pout and no doubt tear stained cheeks registering in Yoongi’s mind along with the clipped one word answer, despite his inability to see you.

A sigh.

“Princess…” He begins his magic spell, casting those minuscule syllables to make your heart to splutter with indignation in your ribcage to squeeze essences of rose onto your cheeks.

“Don’t call me that,” you counter, “everyone calls me that.”

“Am I not ‘everyone’ to you?” He questions, smile tugging their way across his cheeks, eyelashes kissing the taunt skin when he looks down to see you fidgeting on the other side of the door. His words are colored with underlying meanings.

How daring, questioning when he knows the answer, your mind chastises the boy, even if he can’t hear those thoughts.

“N-No, you’re Yoongi.”

You cannot give much of an explanation to that statement because surely the boy knows what it means. Yes, he’s Yoongi, Min Yoongi, the most ridiculously sarcastic and incredibly tepid boy you’ve ever met. But, he’s also Yoongi because he’s the boy your eight-year-old self fell for, the only prince that treated you as an equal, not a rare, delicate flower that must be protected at all costs. Sometimes he’s a royal pain in the ass (pun intended), with his endless teasing and blunt criticisms, but his words are worth their weight in gold because he would not dare usher a syllable unless he truly believe in them. So that’s why, when you overheard his conversation with Prince Taehyung about marriage last week, you felt your heart freeze to absolute zero, the chill overwhelming enough to unravel your uncaring facade-

Ah, you love him.

It’s a frightening thing, this thing they call love.

The following days after your discovery were a personal hell for you, implemented solely by you and your actions alone. Considering that you are situated a whole kingdom away from Yoongi, avoiding him should not have been a problem, but oh boy, how wrong you were. What naivety, assuming that he would stay in his rightful place and stop sticking his nose into your everyday life, assuming that distance would be the universal answer to such a universal emotion.

He graced every corridor your fickle feet wandered down, between the shelves of the aging shelves full of knowledge, down to every nook and cranny of the enormous castle. They were all occupied by Yoongi, Yoongi, Yoongi— so much so that you wondered if it was actually your heart making up his appearances. Lingering glances and longing looks were the only specs of sanity you graciously bestowed upon your withering self, starved of his attention. On the verge of meltdown, your resolutions held tight until the days drifted by without the presence of your favorite prince, the castle grounds barren of his enchantment.

“Prince Yoongi is away due to wedding errands isn’t he?”

Your ears perked with the mention of his name, but your breath caught in your throat when the word wedding was processed in your brain. Worry consumed you alive, its claws digging into your lungs —making your breaths short and uneven— and attached itself into your heart, the heaviness in your chest a clear symptom of the malicious monster that made its home there: Jealousy.

“And you’re (y/n). My (y/n).”

You swear your heart hasn’t beat this hard since he begrudgingly kissed you on the cheek for you eighteenth birthday; his statement single-handedly snapping you back from your bitter memories to reality.

“What did you just—“ you begin, but he interrupts with the same request.

“Would you please open the door? I’m right out here for you, just let me in.”

And when he says it like that, like its the simplest thing in the world, you allow yourself to hope— hands turning the golden knob and eyes peeking slightly through the crack, you’re met with your beautiful nightmare.

His eyes hold a tempest, the midnight orbs wild and storming over with emotions, his lips quirking with victory.

Oh no, you’ve done it now you dummy, your thoughts shout with alarm, arms hastening to shut the door, but it’s too late, Yoongi shoves his pristine boot between the gap, prying it open and forcing his way into the room, much like how he landed himself into your heart. Without your protective barrier (read:door), all your pretenses of childlike stubbornness vanishes, leaving you a blushing, stuttering mess— much to Yoongi’s amusement.

You want nothing more than to melt into the lavish cloth of your gown and hide under the layers of silks and tulle forever.

“I heard a certain Someone is avoiding me, I wonder who?” He muses with a cheeky grin, his gummy smile unfairly disarming when his eyes still glint with mischief. You remain silent, eyes downcast to admire the way the tailored suit fit his lithe form or how his shoes were scrubbed from running after you, anything to distract from the quickly diminishing distance between Yoongi and you.

“Awe, my princess is adorable when she sulks.” Yoongi coos, his hands coming up to pat your damp, rose-stained cheeks.

You immediately pull away before he can feel your cheeks heat up by the degree; you’re not charitable enough to give him that kind of satisfaction.

“Who’s sulking?” you feign ignorance, even if the hoarseness of your voice is more than telling of your tears.

“And I’m not avoiding you either.” You put on a frown for a good measure, eyes drifting to meet his, but losing stamina when he attacks once again, this time with a rich chuckle.

“You gave poor Nana quite a scare you know? Your maids thought you were sick,” he leans in closer, lips brushing the shell of your ear, “…lovesick.”

A squeak escapes from your closed lips, hands coming up to slap over his mouth to pause those all-too-revealing words and so you can step away from the encroaching prince. Muffled laughter filters through the seams of your fingers and he grasps them in his larger ones, cool silver of his rings brushing against the warmth of your hands to pry them away from his face. He holds you still and once he realizes that you’re not going to struggle, uses his hold to pull you ever closer. His expression still one of mirth, but the way his lips are pursed in concentration means he’s contemplating something.

“Did it upset you greatly to even conceive the idea of me marrying someone else?”

Maybe it’s the way your irises are quivering with doubt, or the way your breath hitches and lips protrude into a pout that melts Yoongi completely, causing his body to lean over and brush his forehead against yours with a sigh.

“Can you not stand the idea of me loving someone else?”

Soft.

The whispers are caresses of soft, comforting touches, despite their undesired content. Your head is swimming with Yoongi, just him and his scent, his breath against your lips and those searching eyes.

“Then, you would not mind being mine would you?”

The world halted, the universe overlaid with the two thick bars of the pause symbol and your eyes widen with wonder, surprise and dread.  

“A-are you not betrothed to some foreign princess you and Tae were discussing?”

Yoongi pauses at that, just what in the world could that head of yours— oh.

“Is this what all this is about you silly, crazy beautiful girl?”

Stunned to silence, you’re still processing whether he just complimented you or insulted you (possibly both) when he doubles over with laughter, so violently entertained that tears are springing from his eyes.

“Only you would assume such conclusions from a conversation you eavesdropped on, no less,” when there is only confused silences Yoongi continues, “perhaps you should ask your brother and your soon-to-be in-law that question.”

Yoongi manages to calm his laughter to slight giggles, his eyes watching your reaction and his tenacity is rewarded when you turn an astonishing shade of red, the realization and accompanying embarrassment that flood your system so great, all the strength flows away from your legs, the limbs falling to gravity and her irresistible pull.

Words fail you as you gracelessly plop on the marbled floor, mouth agape until your gaze meets with Yoongi’s. Automatically your hands press firmly to your face, a last minute facade you attempt to build before he can see how much he truly means to you and your little heart.

“Come now, don’t hide, you never gave me an answer.” Yoongi coaxes you hands away, but your cheeks are still burning much too bright for him to resist the need to adore you in your vulnerable state, so he finds his lips caressing the molten surface, your gasp of surprise music to his ears.

“So, what do you say (y/n)?”

He’s much too smug for your liking. That smile twisting your insides to a million knots, ensuring his victory, yet there’s doubt in his eyes. Min Yoongi, the pompous bastard who stole your heart, is actually… scared?

It’s a frightening thing, this thing they call love.

So you find courage in your mutual feelings: the fear in his eyes and in your heart to answer his question.

Nothing can be sweeter than the whispered yes you gave him, but the first taste of your lips on his may come a close second. He tastes like your daydreams, like your first and your last, silk and sweetness at the tip of your tongue. As with all good things, it ends too fast, but he’s quick to scatter kisses on each of your knuckles, sealing them with whispered promises.

“My princess,” soft pressure against your cheek, “my (y/n).”

“My bratty prince,” a whine of protest, “my Yoongi.”

.

.

.

“You think we should tell her we planned this?” Taehyung peeks from the ajar door.

“Shh!” The queen hushes her son with a raised finger, her eyes glued to the scene and her mind wandering off to the best possible wedding date for her two children.

[ddaddsprompts]

What if Dadsona turns out to be a werewolf? How would the dads react?

Last night’s events still echo in your mind. Ithad been just you and Amanda for so long, just the two of you against theworld, you’d forgotten that this could be something you ought to sharewith your partner. Preferably before they find you writhing in your backyard,gasps turning into growls as your fingers grew into claws and fur breakingthrough your skin. You still remember the look of utter surprise and shock ontheir face, the last thing you had clearly seen before the hunt took over. Run, the forest is calling, run, moon, dirt,run, scent, hunt—

Exhausted and practically dead on your feet, youwalk back home. Immediately after moving to Maple Bay, Amanda and you hidbackpacks with a change of clothes in strategic places throughout the forest sowhen full moon came, you wouldn’t have to run through the streets completelynaked. You throw down the (now) empty backpack after opening the front door andinhale. There’s someone else here. You haven’t been together for long as thispoint, but the wolf in you would recognise that scent everywhere. It sang oflove, of mate. The logical part ofyour brain, though, wonders just for how much longer that would be. Noprolonging the inevitable, you tell yourself and you take a deep breath before goinginto the living room.

🥃 You’renot sure what your eyes are drawn to first: Robert’s bloodshot eyes that spokeof a night spent without sleep, the silverknife in his hands or the dog treats on the table. Further, your mindcannot decide what to be most offended by. “I’m not a dog.” Robert doesn’tflinch, thank god, nor raise the knife, he just watches you warily as you walkpast him into the kitchen. When you return a moment later, he’s sitting on thecouch, so you sink into the chair opposite from him. Neither of you saysanything for a few minutes. You sip on your coffee and watch him watching you.In your time as a werewolf, you had seen plenty a self-proclaimed hunter; theyall had the same kind of look in their eyes. Robert doesn’t. “I’d give you the ‘Nothinghas changed, I’m still me’ speech, but I don’t think you’d appreciate it.”Robert’s only reaction is a grunt. “Wolf’s out of the bag now. What’re yougoing to do about it?” You meet his eyes with a lot more outward composure thanyou feel on the inside. He doesn’t look at you like you are prey, but understandably,you’re nervous. A minute, maybe two, maybe five, passes with you two just lookingat each other. Eventually, Robert lowers his knife. “I’m too attached to you,kid,” he huffs. You’re fluent enough in Robert to read between the lines andnod. Then, like a switch has been flipped, his demeanour changes. “Are theremore like you? Are you allergic to silver? What about wolfsbane—“

🍸 Joseph flinches the moment he notices yourpresence and takes a step back. Seeing the fear in his eyes feels like someoneis squeezing your heart while it’s still in your chest. “Joe—““Why didn’t you tell me?” He’s visibly struggling to appear calm, but you cansmell that he is scared and damn, does it hurt. “Were you ever going to tellme?” You take a deep breath and lean against the couch in the least intimidatingposture possible. “Eventually, yes. Sooner or later you would have started tonotice me disappearing every full moon and there are only so many excuses I canmake up.”“Does Amanda know?” You shoot him an incredulous look. “Of course. She’s knownsince she was little. As did Alex. I told them before we got married.” Josephnods and releases a long, tense breath. He runs a hand through his hair,messing up the styling. You long to soothe him, but you stay where you are, asmuch as it hurts you to see him like this. “After last night … I went to churchand prayed. I thought, long and hard, about whether the knowledge of your truenature changes how I feel about you. I’m scared of… this, Y/N. But then I triedto imagine a life without you at my side and the prospect scared me even more.”For the first time since you arrived, Joseph looks directly at you. “It willtake me some time, but I’ll try to come to terms with it.” You sink down on thecouch, the relief making your knees buckle. After a moment, Joseph sits downnext to you and pulls you against his side.

☕ “Mat?” The dark-skinned man looks up and curses so vigorously youfeel the urge to cover your houseplants’ non-existent ears. He barely managesto catch his cup of coffee before it spills and clutches it to his chest, likea comfort item. “Y-Y/N! Oh god, I was s-so scared, after what happened. Are youokay?” His concern for you takes you off guard. You didn’t exactly expect him toscream, but you hadn’t thought he would fear for you. “At first I thought I was high and had hallucinations, eventhough I didn’t have any drugs, and you were still gone hours later after anykind of effect would have worn off, so I knew it was real, you really turnedinto a werewolf r-right in front of my eyes and—““Mat,” you gently interrupt him. “How much coffee did you have already?” Matlooks down at the cup in his hands and then back at you. You sigh and slowly,exaggerating your movements, walk over to him. Up close, you notice he’strembling. “I’m not going to hurt you, Mat. Nothing has changed. I already wasa werewolf before yesterday evening and I didn’t do anything to you orCarmensita then. The only difference is that now you know.” He lets you putyour hands on his shoulders and looks at your face. His fear stings in yournose. “If you want me out of your daughter’s life, say the word. But I couldnever hurt her, or you, or anyone else. I’ve never hurt another human being.”Mat absently wets his lips and stares at you. You don’t know what he’s lookingfor, but he must have found it, since he shakes his head. “I still love you.”

🌹 You stare down at the herbs right in front ofyour feet before lifting your head to look at Damien with an unamusedexpression. “Where did you even get wolfsbane?” He doesn’t reply right away; hegoes through whatever he has written on the piece of paper in his hands beforethrowing it aside. “I prepared a long speech. How I don’t appreciate you keepingsomething like that secret from me, that I had a right to know of your secondnature not only because we’re a couple now, but also because of the potentialdanger you might put myself and Lucien in, but seeing you right now…” With hisfoot, he pushes aside the wolfsbane; you don’t have the heart to tell him itwouldn’t have stopped you from entering the room anyway. Damien cups your facewith his hands and seeks eye contact. The intensity of his gaze makes yourbreath hitch. “Seeing you right now, no different from when I last saw youbefore you transformed, renders all those words unimportant. My feelings haven’tchanged. If anything, knowing your secret has brought me close to you thanbefore. Tell me, Y/N, are you a threat to me or my son?” You immediately shakeyour head. “Is there a chance you might hurt us or subject us to any danger?” Again,you shake your head; hunters were only after the creature, not their lovedones. Damien nods and breaks into a smile. “Let’s draw you a bath, my dear. You’redirty and covered in leaves and twigs. There are so many things I want to askyou—“

🎣 In any other situation, seeing Brian so uncharacteristically meek andnervous would have been cute, but right now, it just makes you feel bad. Youhold up your hands, palms facing him, and stay still, not wanting to scare him.If you thought he doesn’t notice, his snort makes clear he has. “I’m not afraidof you,” he says. You raise an eyebrow. “Yes, you are. Your voice is quivering.”“Is not.” You roll your eyes and make a dismissive gesture. “Fine. But I cansmell your fear.” Brian lifts his arm to smell his armpit, pulls a face, thenshakes his head. “No fear there. Only the manly smell of a man who definitelyisn’t afraid.” Despite the topic you’re kind of talking about while avoidingdirectly addressing it, you can’t help but snort. Some of the tension seeps outof your body at the familiar banter between you and the same seems to be truefor Brian, as he crosses his arms in front of his chest. You mirror thegesture. “Brian, it’s perfectly normal to be afraid in the face of somethingunknown. You can admit it.”“I’m not afraid. And I totally knew.” You raise both your eyebrows so high theynearly disappear in your hairline. “And pray tell, how did you know?”“Your… um… Amanda’s obsession with dogs!”“Is perfectly normal even for people whose fathers aren’t what I am.”“Your good nose?” You don’t reply; you’re too busy keeping in a chuckle. Briantaps his chin, grinning himself. “At the park you caught the Frisbee with yourmouth. Hey, does that mean I can play fetch with you every full moon?”

👟 It’s as if last night’s events didn’t happen and Craig didn’t see you transforminto a literal werewolf. He looks like he just came home from his morning jogand is fresh out of the shower, his hair still wet but he has a towel in hishands to rub it dry. You lean against the wall and wait for the inevitable freak-out,but it doesn’t come. “Hey, bro,” Craig greets you with that face-splitting grinthat seems to be reserved just for you and he walks over to kiss you. “Can youtake the girls to school today? A business partner called and needs to move hismeeting to an earlier slot. Good news is that the twins are staying with afriend after training so we have the evening to ourselves. I was thinking—““Craig,” you interrupt. He tilts his head at you in confusion and you wonderwhether you’ve unknowingly entered the twilight zone. “Are you… are we… I mean—“You take a few breaths while the workers in your head try to bring yourthoughts into a coherent order. “Are you not going to ask me what happened lastnight?” Craig looks confused for a few moments before understanding dawns onhis face. “Oh! I totally forgot. Bro, I knew.”“WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU KNEW??” He gently shushes you and points at a sleepingRiver. You repeat your question, whispering but just as shocked. Craig shrugs. “Y/N,we were roommates. You’re not as sneaky as you think you are. One full moon,completely wasted, you announced you’re going to pee on the statue of thecollege founder and changed right before my eyes.” You work your head, tryingto remember that event, but you were probably too drunk. Craig kisses yourtemple and grins.

📖 Hugo doesn’t look afraid, he looks… pisseddoesn’t even cover it. The moment he notices you entering the room, he crossesthe distance and stares you down. Your inner wolf makes you want to bare yourthroat in a gesture of submission; you stomp down the instinct, but you can’tstop yourself from ducking your head. “I kind of expected Ernest to draw youinto his childish pranks, but something like what you did yesterday is notalright! You didn’t have to be gone all night, do you have any idea how worriedI was about you? I was this close to calling the police! What do you have tosay in your defence?” When you don’t reply, too surprised by Hugo’s words, hehuffs out a breath and turns around, starting to prowl in the living room likea tiger trapped in a cage. “Hugo, that wasn’t a prank.”“Y/N, I don’t appreciate you keeping up this charade.” You move to stand in frontof him and put your hands on his shoulders to stop him from pacing. “Hugo, I’mdead serious. That wasn’t a prank. I might be good with makeup, but atransformation like that goes beyond anything a professional could do without acomputer.” The logic of your argument makes him pause and uncertainty colourshis expression. He regards you with the same look that brings students to theirknees, but you don’t give in. “I swear to you, that wasn’t a joke.” Short oftransforming again, which would take more energy than you currently have, youdon’t know how else to convince him. You’re just about to offer to call Amandawhen Hugo suddenly becomes very, very still under your hands. You look at him quizzically.“Holy shit,” he breathes out. Then he faints.

[cherryplasmids]

☆ promises ☆

pairing: jaime lannister x reader fandom: game of thrones prompt: confessions are whispered and promises are made during a time of war. notes: character death

—check out my other works; masterlist

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

          The air was thick with smoke, accompanied by the potent odor of copper and wood. Suffocating gray clouds wafted through the air, halting breathing processes and blinding directional senses. Adding to the morbid display was the screams and wails grown men were releasing.

Excruciating sensations shot throughout your body, diluting your ability to concentrate on the central injured area, but you presumed it would be several places that were damaged. You stared at the sky, no solid coherent thought being processed properly. You wish you could see the blue sky since it originally had been a beautiful day, but the layer of fog was too overwhelming for the sunlight to shine through. It was another factor that dampened the entire day.

“Y/N!” A voice yelled out for you, a heavy amount of worry and panic coating their usual tone.

Jaime. And despite all the pain that increased by every passing moment, a gigantic smile plastered on your lips. The man you loved was looking for you. Now all you thoughts became about him. You thought of his gold armor that matched his short, blonde locks. Azure eyes that conveyed numerous emotions, the one most familiar to you being full of love. And most of all, your mind played back were the loving words he whispered into your ear before, during, and after a night full of passion.

And you began recalling the fondest moments shared. From the time you and him cliff dived to playing tricks on Tyrion for the first time you and he deflowered each other. So many memories flashed through your mind, making you emotional and desperately praying this was a nightmare the Gods have engineered in order to punish you for the sins you’ve committed.

“Y/N,” Jaime spoke softly, dropping to his knees next to your semi-paralyzed body. His eyes wandered over your figure, drinking in every detail that was displayed. You were blanketed in a thin layer of soot and grime that would only build up as time went on. Your once braided hair was loosened and matted against the right side of your face, glued on by your own blood. And your soft skin― the organ Jaime spent many nights fondly tracing patterns on― was charred, burnt by flames the white-haired heathen had cast.

“Jaime,” You gritted out, pain shooting through you as you spoke the two syllable name that you loved with all, your heart. “Are you okay?”

Incredulous, he shook his head, letting out a shaky chuckle. “You’ve been burned alive and yet, you ask me if I am okay. You never cease to amaze me, love.” He saw your wide eyes still questioning him, searching for a serious answer. “Physically, I am fine. But I will not be mentally correct until you are healed. Once we win this little bout, we’ll hurry back to Maester Qyburn who will fix you up as good as new.”

You wanted to shake your head at his words, but it was made difficult due to the gash on your neck. Noticing this, Jaime ripped a piece of his cloak and wrapped it tightly around your neck but loose enough to keep you comfortable. “No, I don’t think that’s a possibility, my love.”

Angered flared up, mixing with the increasing grief Jaime was feeling. “I don’t recall you being a quitter.”

Jaime was expecting you to retort with a sarcastic remark or insult ― it would be a glimpse of hope because it would let him know you were going to make it. Instead, tears sneakily fell down, stinging the cuts and charred flesh on your face.

“Words cannot describe how much I adore you. It’s impossible to express what you mean to me because Jaime Lannister you are too beautiful for this world.” You coughed violently, spitting up blood that dotted his ashen face. He did nothing to wipe it off in fear of ruining the moment. His attention was solely on you, despite the raging fires that instigated chaos.

“No one deserves you―not the seven kingdoms, not the king or queens guard, not your sister, and certainly not me. But somehow in this miserable ridden world, I found myself grasped in your arms with the promise of us against the world.” Another bout of coughing issued, hacking up even more blood. Your hand subconsciously tightening around Jaime’s cold, metal hand. In return, his warm flesh one tenderly caressed your dirty cheek.

“Love,” Jaime whispered, choking back a sob.

It was such a terrible time to profess such things. The Targaryen claimant of the Seven Kingdoms along with her Dothraki savages and largest dragon commenced a surprise attack on the already thinning Lannister/Tarley army. Thus, an abundance of men perished in fires or died fighting with crucial food stock being burned in the process. Being the leader of the armies, Jaime should have been commanding the leftover troops, instructing them on what the battle plans are. However, he was beside you, attempting to ten to your ample wounds that increasingly made him anxious. Although you felt terrible for taking away his attention from the real issue, there was an enormous part of you that swelled with joy.

“Oh fuck,” You uttered, breath hitched as you stared at Jaime’s pure blue eyes.”I knew once we won the war and peace would cloak the Seven Kingdoms, you would renounce your position as a Kingsguard and make Casterly Rock our home.” You watched his nod his head, agreeing with your words. He had expressed his desires to wed you and eventually impregnate you because he genuinely wanted to start afresh. And even though he knew all his murders and incestuous behaviors could never disappear ― he knew for certain that it would be a better life he left it behind. He would do it for you because you were his future.

You let out a sob that Jamie confused with a cough, so he gently moved your head to his lap in order to prevent choking. “In my purse, there is a box, whatever you find is yours.”

Jaime looks to your side, where your other hand had the red silk pouch clutched. He remembered giving that to you around two years ago, the color and accented gold matching the Lannister colors. It was a gift for your name day and you carried it everywhere you went, never leaving it behind. And every single time he saw you with it, his lips would turn up in a serene smile.

Softly tugging the pouch out of your grasp, he opened it up and placed his real limb in it, shifting around to find something. But there was only one thing. Pulling the object out, it was a box which sported House Lannister colors, identical to the pouch itself. The softness of the velvet smoothed underneath his flesh. He glanced at you, waiting for any sign of rebuttal, but all you did was nod at him which gave him the ‘okay’ to do it. With slight eager, he removed the top and saw a ring embedded in more velvet.

It was a simple gold band without many intricate detailing. It appeared rather unisex. The shine was long gone, replaced by dull sheen and the material was moderately flimsy. Jaime’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion, his eyes darting to meet yours in a questioning look.

“My family never married noble Houses or rarely married vessels. We never had the fortune of purchasing the finest gold or the rarest gems, or lavish clothing. Most of what we had were handcrafted.”  You had to stop talking, breathing for a moment in order to regain your minuscule strength to speak. It was taking a toll on you, each syllable hurting more than the last. However, no pain in the world would stop you from expressing your words to Jaime. “Supposedly my great, great-grandmother was excellent at crafting anything. So one day she decides to create a ring, the family heirloom that would be worthless to anyone, except her poor family. And before she was brutally murder by the Mad King himself, she handed it down to her daughter. And the tradition was thoroughly carried out. I had to wait until I bled to get that. I waited so long to be apart of my family’s history. I intended to pass it down like my ancestors had once done. But my story ends here, daughterless.”

A few more tears fell from your eyes, mourning the loss of a daughter you never had. Jaime caressed your hair, leaning forward to press a gentle kiss to your crying eyes. You sniffled before continuing. “I might not have a child but I have you, my beloved who loved me despite my lacking wealth. Who was by my side no matter the situation. I want you to take the ring. Promise to honor my family before another tyrant attempts to destroy it.”

Jaime could feel the butterflies within his stomach flap their wings immeasurably quick. He slips the ring onto the proper digit on his left hand. He gazes at it in awe, his heart thudding in happiness. “Perhaps she had a talent at crafting or maybe we were fated for each other.”

A laugh emitted from your lips but you never replied. You simply stared at the sky in silence, allowing Jamie to mull over his impending loss. The pain was stabbing furiously as he noticed the light dying from your eyes. He pressed a hurried kiss to your bloody lips, his lips mingling with yours in a familiar stance despite the blood and tears. He sluggishly pulled away, opting to stare into your eyes. It was so intense, it made your body shiver with pleasure. It appeared as if he could see your entire existence all at once.

“I have committed many heinous crimes that do not deserve forgiveness. But one thing that can be deemed heroic is wholeheartedly loving you for all your worth.” He spoke in a low whisper, pausing after to reorganize his frenzied thoughts. He wanted the right words to pour out of his mouth like beautiful sonnets one could only dream of speaking but to no avail. There were no words that could ever describe how he felt.

There was no way to describe the beauty you exuded without trying. How the smile you reserved just for him made him tingle in all the right places. No one in the world would be able to match the cute morning voice you had. It would be impossible to illustrate your perfect body, the sensual moans you never hid, or the way your legs would sway after passionate love making. How would anyone be able to document your intelligence or your quick-witted remarks? Your personality was the rarest gem of them all and it would soon be extinct.

Before he could utter another word, he saw it. The way your mouth parted and your eyes widened gave him the signal. It would be only minutes until death took you.

The worst pain you ever felt and imagined hit you so hard it made you breathless. And contrary to popular belief, childbirth or any physical wound did not cause it. You saw the light dwindle steadily, striking your heart in repeated blows as color begin to fade from your vision. It made you cry out in both anguish and frustration. Death had come to collect you far too early for your liking. You had so much to say to Jaime, to reassure him that he will be fine without you, but time was not on your side.

“Even though I promised you it would be us against the world, it seems it is meant to be broken. Be strong for the both of us and win this war. Promise me you’ll kill that Targaryen whore before she takes anything else from you.” You took a deep breath. Regardless of your struggle to speak the words, there was heavy adoration as in your voice as you continued. “I love you Jaime Lannister, more than the Gods can measure.”

And with that, you took your final breath.

────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──────

word count: 2,039 published: aug 10, 2017 edited: n/a

[whopooh]

Play it again, Jack II – Miss Fisher fics you love to reread

“Oh, that’s a good one, Inspector!”

In an earlier post I asked you – and by “you” I mean anyone who reads Miss Fisher fanfic – to give me fics that you love to go back to and reread, and so many great fic has been sent to me! I’ll split these recommendations up in a few posts and post them the coming weeks. I already posted @quiltingmom’s lovely letter to the fandom in one go. Here, I have cut and pasted recommendations together from your messages, in order to mix the writers and readers up a bit. 

I hope this post and these fics give you some enjoyment!

@olderbynow, “Tales of a Wayside Romance 1930″. Reread (or not) by @ollyjayonline

In true antipodean fashion I am going to blatantly ignore the rules of @whopooh’s review and talk about a fic that I have never actually read. In my defense I will say that I decided, in order to qualify for this review, to sit down and finally make myself read it… and that led to several weeks delay as I tried to find exactly right time to do so. That time never came. In the end, Whopooh’s posting of @quiltingmom‘s love letter forced my hand so -- on a cold, wet and windy winter’s morning I got up at 5.00 am to read.

There are 28 parts to this fic, this time I made it to these lines…

It happened, once, that he lost her. It happened, once, that he let himself believe. In them. In the possibility of them

Even as I quote these, the tears are welling in my ears and there is an empty feeling in my gut -- and they’re only the first two sentences of part 3 of the fic!

And so, even for the lovely Whopooh, I find I cannot read this fic -- in fact, it must be getting worse because I’m sure this is the least far I have ever gotten. I do know what happens in this fic -- people have told me not realising I have never finished it. I have even read the excellent "Toiling Upward" by @firesign23 that ‘fixes’ it.

But there is something about the vivid beauty of the Longfellow quotes...

“The inspiration, the delight, The gleam, the glory, the swift flight, Of thoughts so sudden, that they seem The revelations of a dream.”

… contrasting with the strange, distant tone of the fic, full as it is of yearning, regret and sadness...

“...left with the memories of her free of any restraints, he wonders if what he wants for himself is what he’d want for her as well.”

...that invokes such dread in me, of a relationship irretrievably lost before it even begins, that I physically cannot read "Tales of a Wayside Romance 1930" by @olderbynow. And I have been regularly not reading it since she published it in late 2016. And this not reading has inspired many of my fics -- smutty one shots (to prove that neither of them want nor need anyone else)... fluff (where there is no possibility of entertaining anything but a completely committed relationship of perfect harmony)... and more complicated stories where their character flaws result in angsty issues that eventually dissolve into never ending happiness.

So, thank you @olderbynow for writing a fic that I ‘hate’ so much that I am forever trying to prove it could never happen   ❤️❤️❤️

@promisesarepiecrust, “Counterfactual”. Reread by @kanste

This one hurts sooo good and has me in tears every time I read it. Phryne and Jack finally have a night together but Phryne pulls back in the worst way possible. @promisesarepiecrust manage to break my heart for Jack, especially in the café scene.

@221aubrina, “A Wink and a Prayer”. Reread by @bumblemama

A fic I love to reread is “A Wink and a Prayer”. It's short, sweet and funny. There are also more, but this was my first ever bookmark. I love to reread it because it without fail makes me smile. The contrast of the formal police officer with the playfulness of a confident lover. I think like Phryne the reader is both shocked and delighted....

@aljohnsonwrites, "Whump, whump”. Reread by @kanste

This is my go to place when I'm a little down. It is short and funny, and just imagining Hugh's face in that scene makes me smile all day.

@omgimsarahtoo, “Coded Expressions”. Reread by @zannadubs23

God, this is so good. This has a mystery. It has a slow seduction via letters. It has a steamy first time/reunion. It has wonderful original characters. Just delightful.

@fahye, “fighting vainly the old ennui”. Reread by @whopooh

I love this fic a ridiculous amount, it’s a brilliant retelling of the growing tension and understanding between Phryne and Jack, but in an AU where Phryne is a “gentlewoman thief” instead of a detective. This thief starts to flirt with Jack in writing, and the way things from the show is rearranged is delightful, and the way things are said via letters and quotes, and that Jack knows Phryne in person too but doesn't connect the dots -- it’s so good. I love to dive into it again and again; I have probably reead this fic at least ten times. Jack’s inner thoughts and Phryne’s teasing -- and then the end: I love that after all this time when Jack has worked himself up over the anonymous Bowerbird, when he finally realises her identity his dams burst completely open:

"You," said Jack, miles beyond coherency.

"Now, don't be angry--"

Jack didn't even register the effortful strides that took him through the water and across the room, he just knew that he had to get his free hand behind her head, so when he pressed her into the wall it was his own skin against the rough stone and not the thready black silk of her hair.

Miss Fisher laughed.

"I'm not going to apologise," she whispered, into the small space between their faces. "Haven't you ever done the wrong thing, just to see what it would be like?"

"No," said Jack. "Yes," and kissed her scarlet lips, hungry and unable to think, still riding the feeling that had overcome him in his office: the heady, infuriating rush of knowing that the thief he was entranced with was also the woman whose perfume and laugh he couldn't get out of his head.

She made a throaty noise and kissed back at once, without a hint of hesitation or surprise. Her lips were cold and he could taste her lipstick, and of course she put lipstick on before she went to rob a dangerous criminal, and Jack never wanted to stop. A dam months in the building had been knocked to splinters in his gut. He wanted to yell at her, and undress her, and pour poetry into her mouth with his own.

RakishAngle (@afterdinnerminx), “500 Words You Should Know: #200: Gargantuan”. Reread by @kanste 

Hugh's best intentions in delivering a letter from Jack to Phryne bring about an undesirable result, and a delightful angsty up and down for the reader. I so badly want to see this acted out by our dynamic duo. Just imagining Jack's panic and Phryne's anger makes me feel I'm watching a new episode of the show. 

@counterfog, “The God Abandons Antony”. Reread by @jasbeaux

“The God Abandons Antony” achieves a breaking point between seasons 2 and 3 where Phryne creates a situation where Jack finally abandons his “armor” and engages in a physical relationship with her. I love it for the very reasons that some do not -- it’s very much in their heads and some find it too “think-y.” The prose is lush and gorgeous and it is written by someone with a PhD in the history of the time period, so the details are perfect. (There is also an accompanying meta document explaining the references if you’re into geeking out about those things -- I am.) I return to it because of those details: the larger fic remains in my head, but the rediscovery of little pieces is a constant delight.

@ladyroxie, “Delight Out of Loosened Soil”. Reread by @omgimsarahtoo

This is a wonderful first-time Phracking story, that begins with Jack getting very literally dirty and ends with both of them getting dirty in a metaphorical sense. The theme of newness and nervousness circles around and around, each time coming up against Jack and Phryne's certainty that moving from their mostly platonic partnership into a sexual relationship is the right thing to do. I particularly love that they both begin knowing that the moment will be coming, and then realizing that the moment is now, and deciding that the choice is theirs to take hold of it or not... It's compelling and wonderfully written. I particularly love that our sexually confident Phryne finds herself a little unsure, because this matters in a way that her other lovers never have, and how Jack, who is nervous because he's been imagining this intimacy for so long, balances that nervousness with certainty. It's just... happy sigh

@firesign23, “Spectacle”. Reread by @zannadubs23

Sweet little “Established Phrack” piece. I love the comfortable interaction. It’s total fluff, but it’s not so treacly that it makes my teeth hurt. It’s warm and comfortable like a… well, like a well-traveled robe.

@phrynesboudoir, “I'll Come When You Call”. Reread by @kanste 

Jack gets Phryne off with his voice. This is a comedy take on smut, which is funny and hot at the same time. I love how scenes from the show turns out a little bit different than we all think they happened, and for one time Jack is two steps ahead of Phryne. I also love how secure Jack is in it.

Idolotrous, “Ulumbarra” & Gingham, “The Unexpected Visitor”. Reread by @firesign23

While I have an obscene number of reread fics, I'm choosing two from fanfiction.net because people are less likely to have read them. The first is “Ulumbarra” by Idolotrous, a post-”Unnatural Habits” story with mistletoe and poetry. When Phryne involves herself in a case that puts a target on her back, the only way Jack can convince her to leave Melbourne is to join him at an old family homestead called Ulumbarra, meaning "meeting place". They grow closer, until their solitude is destroyed by intrusions from their lives back in Melbourne. It's a wonderful story of hope and home, and things lost and found. The second is “The Unexpected Visitor" by Gingham, a story set after the tennis episode in season three, and features Jack's sister and niece. It’s a heartbreaking and realistic look at a dysfunctional and abusive relationship from the outside. I really adore all of Gingham's work, so choosing one fic was a struggle, but I love this one -- it has Phryne and Jack trying to navigate a relationship that's on the cusp of becoming romantic, but there's never any doubt of their loyalty and friendship. It is quite possibly the fic I most hope to see an eventual sequel for.

@gaslightgallows, “Familiar Acts". Reread by @kanste

I'm usually a ”Phrack all the way“ girl but I also like being taking out of my comfort zone and this fic does it very tenderly. It is Jack and Concetta with just the ghost of Phryne there. The dirty talk is extremely hot. Although I'm loving this, I'm still a bit cross with gaslightgallows for not giving us the continuation with Phryne there in person. (Just kidding.)

@flashofthefuse, “Real Estate Holdings”. Reread by @whopooh

I have reread this fic at least three times, and I find it such a gentle and careful exploration of how a relationship between Phryne and Jack could evolve without going all the way to holy matrimony. I love the way Phryne gradually gets more and more annoyed with Jack living away from her and the way they need to invite each other all the time, how this creates problems and disruptions, her clever solution of how to change that, and his reluctancy to follow her idea. @flashofthefuse explores these themes in such a sweet and lovely way, under this title that might not sound too romantic -- but it is, in its own practical way. I also adore that in the end, Phryne is “aunt” to Dot’s children, and they call her “Aunt P” -- the first time I read that I was equally stunned and delighted. 

These are all for now. If you haven’t yet, or if you want to give me more recs -- please send me fics and a short text about why you love to come back to them! Don’t be shy if we haven’t talked before -- it would be lovely to hear what you like and reread!