#even though i hate the kindly ones for its cruelty i love it for all these moments and insights to characters it is a lovely volume

[anna-scribbles]

was about to read chap 2 of call it even but ao3 decided to self destruct anna how will i go on

that is so tragic that i will just have to post a whole sneak peek of ch 2 for you here!!!!

Adrien loved Ladybug.

He loved the smooth timbre of her voice and the firm set of her eyes, the way her mouth would dig its way deeper into a scowl the more she tried not to laugh at one of the rare jokes he managed to pry beneath her red-and-black spotted armor. He loved the way she spoke of justice with such reverence, of peace with such passion. Adrien loved the idea of Ladybug, at least—the thought that there could be a person who embodied so much of what he cherished, the grace and goodness and compassion of his childhood. He loved what Ladybug stood for. What she pretended to stand for.

Sometimes, Adrien thought that he could have loved Ladybug if he didn’t hate her so much.

There were times, though—like now, her red fist redder with his blood, cold disdain smeared across her face—when Adrien thought that he’d have hated her regardless, this nameless thief who masqueraded around his city as a hero. There were times when Adrien was certain he could never have ended up anywhere but at the other end of her fist, if only so that no one else would have to bear the brunt of her brutality.

“Get up,” his father’s voice hissed into his earpiece. “Don’t just lie there like an invalid. Take her miraculous!”

“Me-ouch,” Adrien wiped some of the blood off his face and grimaced, rising to his feet. “I guess your pledge to protect the citizens of Paris from danger doesn’t extend to animal cruelty.”

Fury lit up across her face, instant and red. Of all her buttons he’d learned to press, none ever worked quite as well as calling her out on the hero facade. And today, now that he was getting a good look at her, she was more agitated than usual, all her movements impatient and sharp.

“Don’t you talk about danger and cruelty,” Ladybug spat, setting her yo-yo spinning in a razor-sharp circle of light. “That misunderstood-tragic-kitty act is as fake as your stupid smile. We all know you could put an end to the danger anytime you felt like it.”

“Then you have misunderstood me, my lady,” He watched the time-worn nickname worm its way beneath her skin, upheaving a vulnerable, messy sort of frustration. Adrien lengthened his baton and lowered his stance. “This can’t end until I have your miraculous.”

Ladybug let out a yell and swung her yo-yo in a blinding arc at his torso. Adrien intercepted it mid-air with his baton, pulling the staff loose from the wire and scampering past her to the other end of the rooftop. He would do almost anything to avoid getting entangled in that thing; it was near indestructible and Ladybug wasn’t usually very keen on treating her captives kindly. His father, also, was not very keen on his cataclysm being used outside of their specific battle strategies. Adrien, in general, was not very keen on making either of these people any more angry at him than they usually were.

“Eat up, my angels!” M. Pigeon yelled up from the sky, riding atop a massive cloud of pigeons. “Taste the delicious cuisine you were always meant to have! No longer will the pigeons of Paris be resigned to breadcrumbs and cat food!”

“Hey!” Adrien yelled indignantly. “Nothing wrong with cat food!”

Ladybug made a sound that could almost be taken as a snort, but when he looked back, her expression had schooled itself back into righteous anger. She lifted an eyebrow, challenging him, but pulled herself into more of a defensive stance. She always liked to take everything in before she made a move.

“It’s okay to laugh, you know,” Adrien grinned wide and assumed a jovial stance, taking stock of the angle of her feet, the aim of her gaze. She was smarter and stronger than him; he’d always known that. But he was quicker with words and knew where to aim them. “It must be an incredible drain on your energy to keep pretending you don’t find me funny.”

“You sure think a lot of yourself for someone who just admitted to eating kibble,” Ladybug scoffed, eyes trailing the flock of birds passing over their heads.

“Don’t knock it until you try it, my lady,” Adrien said. “For a hero, you’re incredibly quick to judge.”

“For a villain, you sure do love stupid small talk.”

“Well,” Adrien mused, “Maybe there’s more to both of us than meets the eye.”

“Doubt it,” Ladybug said lightly, and she spun out her yo-yo, knocking Adrien’s feet out from under him and leaping to the roof of a neighboring building.

Just then, a fleet of pigeons swooped down from the sky and descended onto a nearby outdoor restaurant, littering the rooftop with feathers in their wake. Pulling himself up, Adrien watched with a measure of horrified wonder as the pigeons devoured all the food on the tables in a matter of seconds like a pack of feathered piranhas.

“Are they supposed to be, like, carnivores?” Adrien yelled, the image of a pigeon tearing through a sausage burned into his mind. Ladybug, predictably, didn’t answer.

He vaulted after her, trailing her from rooftop to rooftop as they both dodged the swarms of pigeons terrorizing tourists and stealing every bit of food in sight. Sometimes, the akumas remembered that they were on Adrien’s side and actually tried to help him take Ladybug’s miraculous. But just as often, it seemed, they were more interested in general destruction and chaos, causing as many problems for Adrien as they did for Ladybug. The pigeons, Adrien tended to think, were more of a personal handicap than anything.

“ACHOO!” Adrien sneezed, his still-broken nose sending an unexpected jolt of pain through his system. “Ow,” he groaned.

“Ha!” Ladybug spun around and kicked him in the chest, flinging him several meters back and over the edge of the rooftop. Slamming into the side of the building, Adrien dug his claws into the brick to slow his fall, pulling himself back up. When he finally made it over the ledge, Ladybug had her feet planted firmly and was throwing her yo-yo into the sky.

“Lucky charm!” she yelled.

In a shower of luminescent pink and white light, a polka-dotted Easy-Bake Oven landed primly in Ladybug’s hands. The way the hope sort of died on her face was almost enough to make Adrien burst into laughter, and it was really only years of media training that kept his expression schooled.

“Happy… ninth birthday?” Adrien offered, and the glare that Ladybug shot him honestly made the whole thing worth it.

“Shut up,” Ladybug snarled, and then she turned her gaze back to the battery-powered confectionery oven as if it might start speaking to her. “How the—”

“On your right!” Adrien yelled, and Ladybug glanced in his direction as a swarm of pigeons slammed into her from the left, knocking the lucky charm out of her hands. Adrien quickly scooped it up and vaulted to the next building.

“You menace!” Ladybug growled, swinging behind him in swift pursuit.

“Name-calling!” Adrien tutted over his shoulder. “Not very heroic of you, I have to say.”

“I’ll show you heroic,” Ladybug muttered, and then Adrien felt a sharp tug on his left ankle. He’d only just looked down to see her yo-yo line wrapped around his leg when she sent him flying backward through the air, the toy oven flung from his hands as he braced for impact.

Adrien slammed into the pavement, pain rocketing through his shoulder. His baton clattered down next to him, and he blinked the black away enough to see Ladybug standing up on the roof again, staring at her lucky charm like it was a math problem she was trying to solve.

“I, for one, am loving this game of kitty-in-the-middle we’ve got going,” Adrien called up at her. He extended his baton and vaulted back up to the roof where she stood, ignoring the splintering pain in his muscles. “My turn next?”

Ladybug groaned, shoving the oven under one arm and setting her yo-yo spinning with the other. She swung it out at him and he jumped, almost stumbling when he landed on his throbbing ankle. He could try using his cataclysm to disintegrate the roof and make her lose her balance, but he wasn’t supposed to activate it until she had three minutes or less left on her timer.

“Get it?” Adrien asked, swiping his baton at her legs. Ladybug jumped deftly away. “Because we’re throwing the lucky charm back and forth? Like, monkey-in-the—”

“I get it!” Ladybug snarled, wrapping her yo-yo line around a nearby balcony and tugging, hard. Adrien had only seconds to lift his baton up in a makeshift shield when the bricks all came clattering down on him, along with a few tables and chairs and plates of food.

Suddenly a swarm of pigeons separated from the huge flock in the sky and descended upon them, devouring the sandwiches and chips at alarming speeds. Adrien’s stomach panged with hunger—while the rest of him panged with pain—as he remembered that he hadn’t actually gotten to eat lunch.

“Hm,” Ladybug said decisively, like the feeding pigeons had imparted some sort of divine wisdom upon her. “Yeah, okay.”

She was gone before Adrien could dig himself out of the rubble, swinging away with her magic Easy-Bake in tow and leaving him to deal with her mess.

“What are you doing?” Father yelled into his ear. “Follow her! Don’t let her out of your sight!”

“Of course,” Adrien muttered, unearthing an arm from the mess of rubble and feathers. “Resident bug-catcher, on it.”

Loud-mouthed and brightly colored as she was, Ladybug could disappear when she wanted to. And, though he’d spent the better part of his teenage years committing her habits to memory, Adrien could swear that tracking her never got easier.

Sometimes, when she’d do this—try and shake him off while she figured out her lucky charm—Adrien would spend the whole five minutes looking for her, tearing through the city until a wave of light flooded the world and let him know that he’d lost without even putting up a fight. Those were the times he’d be punished the worst for losing. The punishments had only gotten worse as he’d gotten older; Adrien had a lot more to lose these days.

After the seventh or eighth building or alleyway Adrien had ducked into, he started to feel the familiar tug of dread in his gut, mud in his veins. There couldn’t be that much time left, now—he’d been stupid, and reckless, and now it would all have been for nothing. His father’s silence in his earpiece was deafening, ice-cold and heavy. He was doing it again. And especially now, especially today, he couldn’t—he swallowed down his panic.

On a whim, Adrien landed on the roof of a pavilion near the park, circled with concrete pillars and backed up to the brick wall of a building. He ducked his head in and bit down a gasp when he saw a flash of red inside. She was—she was here.

He waited, breath frozen in his lungs, but the attack didn’t come. Ladybug was murmuring to herself, fussing over what he presumed to be the lucky charm. Ladybug was here. And she hadn’t seen him yet.

“Cataclysm,” Adrien whispered, setting his palm alight with inky destruction. And then he charged.

In one swift motion, Adrien used his baton to knock both the yo-yo and the lucky charm from Ladybug’s hands, sending them clattering across the pavement as he slammed her body into the wall. She growled and pummeled her fists into his face and gut, sending stars of pain shooting through his vision.

Adrien extended his baton and smashed one end into the pavement at their feet and the other diagonally into a concrete pillar of the pavilion. He shoved the length of it as hard as he could acoss Ladybug’s torso, pinning her against the wall. She coughed and spluttered, ripping at the baton and hurling expletives his way.

It wouldn’t hold her for long, but maybe for long enough that he could—

Adrien lunged for the lucky charm—that stupid, polka-dotted Easy Bake oven—and scooped it up with his left hand, hovering his right palm in the air just centimeters above it.

“Careful,” Adrien warned, and Ladybug’s eyes widened.

“You evil, idiotic, worthless waste of breath—”

“Yes, fine.” Adrien waved her off. “I’m not interested in that. I don’t want to fight. I think we should talk.”

“What are you doing?” Father snarled in his ear, and Adrien winced. “End this and take her miraculous!”

Ladybug looked like she agreed; the glare she leveled at him sent ice down his spine.

“Talk,” Ladybug laughed humorlessly, fists still tight around the baton. “Right. You always want to talk.”

“I want to talk,” Adrien agreed, keeping his composure level despite the anxiety in his bloodstream and Father’s voice in his ear. He even threw in a smile for good measure. “Obviously we both know how this”—Adrien gestured to Ladybug and himself, and then to the greater generally-in-shambles city—“goes. And I imagine that it involves many more people than we’d both prefer.”

Ladybug looked at him with some intense combination of anger and bewilderment.

“Are you… trying to apologize right now?” Ladybug asked. “For being a terrorist? The thing you’re currently doing?”

“No,” Adrien said, taking a great deal of effort to keep the frustration out of his voice. “I’m not apologizing. I’m just recognizing that you seem to care about the safety of civilians, and so do I, and so I think we should be able to find some common ground and settle this in some way that doesn’t involve them.”

“The only reason they’re involved at all is because you keep attacking their city!” Ladybug shouted, her voice a lit flame. Her earrings beeped—two out of five. “What are you talking about?”

“Adrien,” Father growled dangerously in his ear, “stop this immediately.”

“Don’t play dumb, Ladybug. We both know you’re smarter than that,” Adrien pressed on. “There’s no one here to fool. If you give back what you stole, this can all end—”

“Adrien, stop!” Father yelled.

“You’re insane!” Ladybug shouted. “I never stole anything, and—and the very last person I’d ever trust to talk things through with is you.”

Adrien’s temper rose hot beneath his skin, his ears flat against his head. A rumbling began to shake the ground beneath their feet.

“And this is what you want instead?” Adrien shouted. “The whole city in danger? Us fighting like this, forever?

“Adrien!” Father seethed.

Something shifted in Ladybug’s gaze, her eyes set with an infuriating self-righteous zeal that dropped a rock in Adrien’s gut.

“I think forever is a gross overestimation,” she said. “In fact, I believe you’re already out of time.”

Ladybug smirked, and a high-pitched ding sounded in Adrien’s arms.

The Easy-Bake Oven exploded with popcorn all over the pavilion, and a torrent of pigeons descended on the microwaved feast, choking the air in beaks and feathers until cracks splintered through the pillars. Ladybug wrenched the baton from the pavement and jousted it into Adrien’s stomach, sending him gasping to the floor, but not before he kicked at her legs and took her down with him.

They tousled for a few seconds before a feather sauntered down through the air to brush right up against Adrien’s nose—he could swear his nose was like a magnet to the godforsaken things or something, seriously—and Adrien, with all his might, could not stop the earth-shattering, full-body sneeze that followed.

The sneeze—understandably—loosened his grip on Ladybug, who—also understandably—used the opportunity to pull her knee up to her chest and kick him in the stomach, sending him flying several meters into a pile of pigeons.

Adrien blinked, Ladybug’s red form hazy in his watery eyes. Why did the allergies have to happen, like, instantly? Why did it always have to be M. Pigeon?

“A ‘bless you’ would’ve been fine,” Adrien remarked, feeling around for his baton with his non-actively-cataclysming hand.

“Hmm. I’m not really in the mood to bless you, I think,” Ladybug said. Adrien blinked again, and she was closer than before, yo-yo spinning triumphantly at her side. “I’m thinking you could bless me instead.”

In a swift motion, she lassoed him by the waist and hurled him through the air, several seconds of freefall before he made contact with something warm and firm. He felt the moment his cataclysm was released and panicked for a second, thinking that he might have accidentally touched a person. But, no, when Adrien opened his eyes, he only found the ashy remnants of M. Ramier’s pigeon-feed bag in his palm. Despite himself, Adrien sighed with relief. Awful as she was, Ladybug was reliable. She’d never manipulated his cataclysm to hurt another person, only to deakumatize people. Though he knew Ladybug wasn’t above hurting innocents, she’d always seemed to care about her public image.

“Chat Noir!” M. Ramier screeched, now that all the black bubbles were gone. “What are you doing here?! Help! Ladybug!”

“Hey, I’m not gonna hurt you!” Adrien put his hands up, placating. M. Ramier’s eyes were still wide with fear. “Let’s get you down from here, okay?”

“You’re safe now, M. Ramier,” Ladybug landed firmly on the rooftop, polka-dotted Easy-Bake in tow. She snapped her yo-yo around the black butterfly and gave Adrien a pointed look. “He won’t hurt you anymore. Stray cats know when to scram.”

“I’m harmless as a declawed kitten,” Adrien told M. Ramier, pointedly ignoring Ladybug. “I wish you well.”

read the rest on ao3 (when it comes back up)

[aita-blorbos]

AITA for becoming a tyrant?

I (6000F) was born to be the saviour of this land. This beautiful land its cursed due to the sins of its ancestors, causing the world to send a destined saviour to its aid.

I was treated kindly growing up, even though I was an outsider. To hep matters, I happened to gain memories of myself from a parallel world, where I spent my life hated and despised and denied what I should have been given. I couldn't wait to save this world, to make it a beautiful place my other self would have been proud of.

I set out on my journey to save the people of this land. The cursed nature of the environment here sends disasters that threaten all life every now and again. Using all my power and experience I gained, I saved the world from this fate.

But the people didn't appreciate me. They blamed me, accusing me of being the one to send the disasters. They turned on me, killed the entire clan that raised me. Then they turned their blades on me.

I survived, because I am the saviour. The disasters struck again, due to the selfish actions of these people's ancestors. Again, I saved the people, and again, they blamed me. They killed and tortured me in every way possible. I have been mutilated in more ways I can count.

For 4000 years, this cycle continued. Everyone I met, every friend I had, betrayed me or died horribly. Every single one.

I realised that perhaps the people of this land didn't deserve to be saved. They had no shame about what their ancestors did. They laughed at it, embraced their cruelty. These people love nothing more than being cruel. It is their own fault they're cursed. They CAUSED the land to hate them like this.

I decided that the only way to save this country is to become its cruel ruler, to subjugate the people and control them with an iron fist. That was the only way to prevent them from breaking out into war again, from turning on their friends every time. This way, I could save the world from the disasters, even if it meant I couldn't save the individual people. The world would live on, even if I had to control and cull the population to do it.

Now the people are rising up against me. They don't understand that I'm the only one keeping the world safe. I'm the ONLY one that can protect them. If they overthrow me, the world will fall to an even greater disaster and NO ONE will be left.

I just wanted to save this world and make it beautiful. AITA?

[prouvaireafterdark]

No Introduction Necessary

An intense discussion of Louis' disordered blood drinking is suddenly and unceremoniously interrupted by Lestat.

Also on AO3! 

***

Daniel leaned forward on Louis’ couch as he listened to his story, his elbows braced on his knees, gentle tremors shaking his hand where it hung limply between them.

“Lestat was as cruel as he was tender to me in those years,” said the vampire. “I was trying desperately now to subsist on animals alone and he did everything in his power to sabotage my abstinence. 

“He started bringing his victims into our home more often than he used to, hoping the scent of their blood in the air would be enough to tempt me. When that didn’t work, he started offering their blood to me as if it were wine, as if I could somehow allow myself to be ignorant of where it had come from, of the life that had been taken in order for me to receive it.

“Once he even kissed me with blood in his mouth and pushed his tongue passed my lips so I would get a taste of it. I hated him for that most of all—for turning an act of love into another manipulation I could no longer trust, for connecting my shame about my desire for blood to the shame I had once felt about my desire for him. My resentment of him burned me from the inside out nearly as much as the thirst did. It was a betrayal that took me a long time to forgive.”

What a sick bastard, Daniel thought.

“He was traumatizing you,” he said aloud.

“Yes,” Louis agreed. “Though, as it often was, that was the effect of his cruelty, not its intention.”

“And what, exactly, did he intend?” Daniel asked skeptically.

“He was convinced he was trying to help me, and in retrospect I must admit I can see why,” he said. “There were not so many rats in New Orleans that I could stay fed indefinitely, and it wasn’t long before my strength and vitality had begun to diminish. My complexion paled. My skin grew colder. I was extremely irritable and plagued by melancholy. I lost nearly all interest in sex and I spent more time sleeping than I ever had before. More than once, I awoke with half the evening already gone and Lestat shaking me frantically by the shoulders, leaning over my coffin with tears in his eyes.”

“How touching,” Daniel replied sardonically.

Louis frowned at the tone of his comment before continuing, “It was… hard for him, to see me like that. We didn’t have the words to talk about it then, but I understand now that what I saw as an addiction I needed to overcome, he saw as an eating disorder that threatened to take me away from him if he didn’t do something to fix me. And for Lestat, of course, that meant doing everything to fix me, even if it made me despise him.”

“What do you mean by ‘take you away’? Would starvation have killed you?” Daniel asked, eager for another glimpse of such a powerful creature’s limitations.

“No,” Louis shook his head, “but, aside from the physical deterioration of my body, which was significant, had I stopped feeding for long enough, the hunger would have driven me insane before I fell into a deep sleep, perhaps for decades or even centuries.”

“Can’t drag you to the opera if you’re in a straight jacket, I guess,” Daniel commented.  

“You’re not listening, Daniel,” Louis said, sounding frustrated. “It wasn’t just the opera at stake. Above all, Lestat fears loneliness and rejection. He took my refusal to hunt with him and my waning passion for him very personally, and he was desperately afraid that if he did not intervene that, one way or another, I would leave him.

“At the time, though, I wasn’t interested in the why. All I could see were his increasingly transparent and callous attempts to control me and I did not take kindly to them. Our fights were… explosive. In the wake of them, we left furniture broken, mirrors shattered, our voices hoarse from screaming at each other. I’m surprised the police never paid us a visit, though I imagine a handsome annual donation to the nearest precinct had something to do with that.”

Daniel heard footsteps coming from down the hallway then, but he paid them no mind as they got closer, too focused on what Louis was saying.

Until, that is, he heard the deep voice of a man with an unmistakably French accent as those footsteps entered the room.

“Louis, mon cher, I can’t find my signed copy of Salomé in the library, have you seen it?”

Daniel sat frozen, unable to believe his eyes.

Walking toward Louis with a singleminded purpose, dressed in nothing but a black silk robe and a pair of matching slippers, was a handsome man with shoulder length blonde hair who could only be Lestat de fucking Lioncourt.

Louis opened his mouth to speak, but before he could get the words out Lestat gasped and appeared beside him in the blink of an eye.

“Louis,” Lestat said, voice a mixture of concern and reproach as he grabbed Louis’ wrist, the one he’d held into the sunlight. “What have you done to yourself?”

“I’m fine,” Louis insisted, though his voice had a certain softness to it and he didn’t pull his hand away as Lestat gently inspected his wound. 

“You think this is fine?” Lestat asked, incredulous, and when he muttered something indistinctly in French, Louis laughed, his eyes bright, as if he hadn’t just spent the better part of an hour describing the bitter resentment he’d felt for the man.

Louis replied in French, and Daniel glanced at his laptop to make sure it was still recording. It was, and he made a mental note to hire a translator when he got back to New York.

A smile still lingering on his lips, Louis switched to English suddenly. “And I’m in the middle of something,” he said, looking back to Daniel for the first time since Lestat entered the room.

“Oh yes, that’s right,” Lestat said, turning a charming smile Daniel’s way, as if he had only just noticed him sitting on the couch. “Daniel, isn’t it? I assume I need no introduction.”

“Uh,” Daniel said intelligently, still stunned by this sudden turn of events and feeling pinned as a butterfly under the intensity of Lestat’s piercing stare.

“How is your little interview coming along? More faithful to the truth this time, I hope,” Lestat said, giving Louis a meaningful look.

“You’ll find out once Mr. Molloy sends us our advance copy,” Louis replied. “And Salomé is in the bookcase with the rest of the works you’ve inspired, where it’s always been, Lestat.” 

“Ah yes, how silly of me,” Lestat laughed again, a manufactured sound this time, and if Daniel had been unsure before whether this had merely been Lestat’s excuse to get into the room with them and make his presence known, he wasn’t now. “I swear I’d lose my head if it wasn’t for you.”

Though he had the answer to his question, Lestat lingered another moment, eyes focused on Louis as he absentmindedly stroked the unblemished skin around his wound. Just as Daniel began to wonder if they were having some telepathic conversation, Louis spoke aloud and whatever spell had seemed to come over them was broken.

“Lestat,” Louis said, some hidden message seemingly contained in just the sound of his name, and Lestat sighed with an almost boyish petulance.

“Alright, alright, I’m going,” Lestat said, releasing Louis’ wrist and leaning down to press a quick kiss to his cheek, the folds of his robe falling open above the belt and revealing more of his pale, well-built chest. 

Before Daniel could banish the impure thought that came unbidden to his mind, Lestat met his eyes across the room and winked. 

A cold spike of fear and embarrassment ran through Daniel at the thought that the vampire had just read his mind, and Lestat chuckled, a dark, subdued sound, before addressing Louis once more. 

“I’ll be in our bedroom if you need me, mon cher,” he said, and with one final, tender kiss, on the lips this time as Louis turned his face to meet him, Lestat turned and walked deeper into the penthouse without another word.

Louis’ eyes clung to Lestat’s back until he disappeared from view, and Daniel simply stared at him in shock, his mind running about a mile a minute after this whole encounter.

“So—“ Louis began again, and that was all Daniel needed to snap himself out of it.

“What the fuck?” Daniel asked, his voice raised with a mixture of alarm and confusion. “He’s here? And you’re living with him?”

“Skipping ahead again, Daniel,” Louis admonished, though his lips curled into an amused smile. “Have patience.”

Daniel sputtered uselessly, and before he could order his spinning thoughts into a coherent response, Louis began to continue his story.

“Now where was I? Ah yes, broken furniture.” 

[blue-eyed-giant]

The Sandman, The Kindly Ones #13 —Marc Hempel

The Creation of Adam —Michelangelo Buonarroti

[phoenixyfriend]

I am... not a songwriter or a poet so this definitely needs work, but have it anyway.

I attempted to make it Folk Music but I probably missed the mark on account of Not Knowing Jack about music writing.

----------

Let me tell you all a story, now, Of a planet hidden far, By the name of Mortis, does it go, And the door's not quite ajar.

It doesn't have a history. It does not welcome all. For this planet, it cannot be found, Until you hear its call.

O Father, O Father! The balance of the Force. O Father, O Father! He guides us on the course. He's what we might have even called a God, galatically! And now we say he's just a face that hides reality.

But power wanes and now you lose what you have long controlled, Where do you find the man who'll take the reins as you foretold. Your son, he is a vile man, Your daughter, pure and true, You held their hands in starts and stands, But now they break from you.

Beware the Son, a wing'ed god, Seeds evil in your hearts. Beware the Daughter, though she is, The one who finds your start.

He seeks to make us hate and fear, He seeks to break the lands. He laughs among the ruins, And he screams upon the sands.

His sister is a kindly one, She wishes for the light, Her love is for the living, all, and her grace for hers who fight.

They take their Champions, and then, They take their guests, it's true, They set them on the stage. They bring a fight to challenge him,

They take their Champions, and then, They set them on the stage. They bring a fight to challenge him, The one who breaks the cage.

O Father, O Father! The balance of the Force. O Father, O Father! He guides us on the course. He's what we might have even called a God, galatically! And now we say he's just a face that hides reality.

But power wanes and now you lose what you have long controlled, Where do you find the man who'll take the reins as you foretold.

Your son, he is a vile man, Your daughter, pure and true, You held their hands in starts and stands, But now they break from you.

And the Son doth wield his poison blade, And the Daughter weeps anew, For her great and loving powers now, Grow weaker all day through.

The dark consumes all that it can, It creeps and eats the skies. As the cruel, capricious monsters e'er, Go hunting for the lights.

I tell you now, I tell you then, I tell forevermore, The story of the Mortis three, The legends that they bore.

I died upon that planet, I died in loving hold, My heart was sown with cruelty, But didn't yet grow cold.

For my death did rip that seed from me, My death did wash me clean, And my brother, yes, he brought me back, Though I know not what it means.

O Father, O Father! The balance of the Force. O Father, O Father! He guides us on the course. He's what we might have even called a God, galatically! And now we say he's just a face that hides reality.

But power wanes and now you lose what you have long controlled, Where do you find the man who'll take the re-ins as you foretold. Your son, he is a vile man, Your daughter, pure and true, You held their hands in starts and stands, But now they break from you.

I am not the Daughter, but she has my ear and blade. My brother did not heed the Son, yet still his light went red. The Father did not die that day, but worry, we should all. For what will happen, what will bend, With his final call.

My father guided bright new lights, Though Mortis did not show. And I did shine among the dark, And guided old ones home.

My brother never did return, I fear what you have guessed, And if you haven't then it's time, For me to say the rest.

I worry that my brother and, My Father and I failed, That we have gone and done the deed, Repeated that old tale.

The son, he is a vile man, The daughter, pure and true, He held our hands in starts and stands, But now we break from you.

I tried, O Daughter, I tried, O friends. To bring them from the cold. I tried for years and then years more, But now my story's told.

I pray that you will listen well, I pray that you will hear, I pray that you have heard the truth, Know better than to fear.

You've heard the song, from first to last, You've heard the tale I tell, So go out and do as you will, I pray you do it well.

------------------------------------------------

So the first two stanzas I wrote were:

And the Son doth wield his poison blade, And the Daughter weeps anew, For her great and loving powers now, Grow weaker all day through.

The dark consumes all that it can, It creeps and eats the skies. As the cruel, capricious monsters e'er, Go hunting for the lights.

And I tried to write around that? I'm not very happy with it, though, it doesn't have quite the folksong/old epic energy I hoped for.

[bigtittydemonwife]

Yandere creeps? 👀

Of course! since you didn’t specify who you wanted I decided to do Toby, Masky, Hoodie, Liu, EJ, LJ, Jeff and Jane

Ticci Toby

Honestly it wouldn’t take much for this man to go yandere honestly. Just show him kindness. He’s been shown cruelty his whole life so someone treating him with basic decency and not expecting anything out of it? Yeah he’s in love.

While he will treat you like a queen, if you fight back you will be punished. He doesn’t want to physically hurt his S/O, but he’s not below anything mentally. He will murder your loved ones right in front of you. All while saying things like “It’s you’re fault, I’m the only one who is allowed to love you”

But if your completely fine with being with him? (Don’t @ me I know there are some of you out there) He’s so happy! Expect cuddles everyday, they’re mandatory. He’s still possessive as all hell though. While he trusts you not to run away he does NOT trust others to not steal you away. No matter what you’re leaving the house for he’s coming with you. Taking out the trash? Wait for him. Getting grocery’s? Let him get his shoes. This leads to quote unquote dates a lot.

He needs you with them so don’t ever try to leave, love him and you should be fine. But don’t think it’s all happiness. He’s a PTSD ridden Schizophreniac with most likely trust issues and intimacy issues. There are days where you can tell him you love him a thousand times and he’s yelling about how you’re lying. But in a hour he’ll be back crying and begging for forgiveness.

He struggles with emotions so remember, he was major trouble showing love. The way he does it headpats, cuddles and not murdering you.

Eyeless Jack

Now this man is a mystery rapped in a enigma rapped in a riddle. For him, its tougher to figure out why he’s obsessed with you. But I’d say its how you are psychologically and what you’re life’s like.

Maybe its because of how generally kind you are despite knowing how shit life and people can be. Maybe he wants to protect the innocence he used to have?

Who knows. But as with Toby, Mans Possessive. Not in a lock you up kinda way (That would come later). But stalkerish. You may think you’re alone but you never are. Man knows you’re whole shecdual. And while he won’t KILL anyone who hurts you, that would draw way to much attention. But what he does is much worse.

He probably takes the longest out of all the creeps to show himself to you. And not even in person. He’d start with notes. If you return his feelings your safe and now have a cannibalistic stalker protector. If you don’t......well...We’ll unpack that someother time.

Masky

Again, Show him kindness, But its still a little different from Toby. If you fully understand what he’s done, the person he is. But still think he deserves kindness. He thinks you’re naive. Yeah, He starts off thinking your fucking stupid. Starting.

But as it goes on, and you continue to show him kindness. Even when you know what he’s done, He starts to warm up to your kindness. But if you witness him cold blooded murdering someone. He’s ready for you to leave. But if you dont. You still treat him kindly. He wants to save this nativity. Being naive in this world is a death wish. So he’ll barely let you leave the house. And he’s always with you. Unlike EJ. He will murder anyone who fucks with you. And leave no evidence behind. As far as anyones concerned they’ve dissapeared from the earth.

Once again if you love this man. You have to put up with this. No negotiations. He loves you and thats how he shows it. But if you do put up with it. And show this man all the love. Maybe it will be alright.

But like EJ, Never try and leave him, Unlike some creeps he will hurt his S/O physically, but then will cry into their arms begging them to forgive him. Or a different punishment might go an NSFW way if you know what I mean.....

Hoodie

Again, Complicated. His obsession probably comes very quickly. Someone whose creative like him, Who questions the bigger things in life. Someone he could have a intelligent conversation with.

He’s a stalker. He watches his S/O all day. Nothing they do could bore him. But he gets jealous very easy. Why else do you think the cute person in the library that gave you their number hasn’t come back? Or hasn’t texted you?

He’s probably take a while to show himself to his S/O. And once he finally gets the courage. He’ll send them a letter. You two’ll become penpals. He’s kept every single one of your letters and keeps them in a folder.

He does have trouble showing his emotions though, Showing his S/O He loves them would be returning letters, Giving them small trinkets (like a magpie) and not murdering them.

Prefurs not to hurt his S/O, If they try to run away he’ll just psychologically torture them. Following them and disappearing when the call the police. Making them think they’re the only one who can see him. Anyone who they care about disappears. But this only happends if you run away and don’t love him back.

So love him and you’ll be good....you’ll just have to deal with Possessiveness, Paranoia, Obssession, and Jealousy.

Jane The Killer

With most of the creeps. Be kind to her, But not just her. If your a generally kind person who shows others respect but refuses to to bow down to bullies. Shes in love

Shes quite quick to talk to her S/O, She’ll ask for they’re number, and because of how normal she looks (And how pretty she is) you say yes.

Late night texts about random things, if you rant to her about your interests she could listen all day.

(To quote The Killers) Jealousy

Its her life quest to keep creepers who remind her of Jeff away from you, Speaking of Jeff is he ever went near you shes starting a riot.

She loves cuddles, intamacy is a must. She needs you to stay near her. Once again won’t hurt her S/O but if they try to run away they’re getting locked in a room alone untill they’re begging for her to come back so they can hear someone’s voice that isnt their own and touch them. She’s not above depriving her S/O of intimacy should the moment call for it.

Possessive. You need her and only her. Everyone else doesnt matter. Show her love and no one else.

Jeff The Killer

He’s most likely to become obsessed with someone whose nice to people. But will fight a bitch. If your sassy and don’t take shit he’s in love. But remember hes a twisted psychopath who murdered his family and his neighbours. His love isnt what you’d call socially acceptable. He’d kill for you in a flash. Anyone, people you love or hate. They’re dissapearing.

Unlike the others, he won’t show himself to you quickly BUT he will not hide his love. Scribbled love notes written in blood. Dead animals on your porch. He’s kinda like a dog.

He will hurt his S/O if they don’t love him, Mentally or Physically he doesnt mind, He see’s it as a necessary step.

He needs physically affection.

Isnt a soft relationship to be honest. Cuddles and kisses yes. But no soft words. Just sass, violent outbursts, Hate sex, Angry sex, Makeup sex. Yeah lots of sex.

He’s a horndog what can I say?

But maybe, just mayyybeee once In a blue moon, you’ll be cuddling and he’ll think your asleep, and whisper he loves you in his ear. Pretend your asleep though.

Laughing Jack

He needs someone he can laugh with, Someone with a sort of wonder to them. He likes those type of people.

Since he’s a childs imaginary friend(?) He doesn’t really understand love, But obsession? Yes.

He’s not gonna show himself to his S/O for ages. I mean, Hes like a seven foot tall clown. Total boyfriend material.

He’ll leave candy on your doorstep, Or cute little trinkets, Like music boxes.

Gives the best hugs honestly. He’ll lift you right up off the ground and spin you around. Honestly he carries you everywhere like a princess.

CARNIVIAL DATES.

Anyone, literally anyone makes you feel sad or makes the wonder in your eyes leave. They’re loved ones are getting turned into candy, then they’re forced to eat them. Then they get murdered gruesomely. He’s all you need and he’ll protect you.

He loves to slow dance with you. He’ll play some old classical music.

(I headcanon he has a British accent)

He’ll cut you off from all your friends, or make them disappear, He’s all you need.

Homicidial Liu/Sully

(Its so hard to find good gifs for these boys)

This boy needs a hug, Him and Sully.

Stalkers. They need affection. They’ll follow they’re S/O wherever they go. No mater what they do.

They’re S/O has a partner? Not for much longer.

Liu gives cute gifs and notes like Flowers, or shiny trinkets, Sully gives weirder stuff, Like random stones or shiny things. And his notes are scrubbed much more.

Nickname them Magpie they’ll love it.

While Liu is defiantly the more sweeter one, He’ll never hurt his S/O, but he will score them if he must. Sully on the other hand, all for scaring them. Despite what others think he loves them, and he doesn’t want to hurt them to much because he wants them to be his. And they can’t be his if they’re dead.

You know all the jealousy I said Jeff had? Imagine that but doubled.

Thats your realtionship. While Liu will be more defensive if someone’s hurting or flirting with you. Sully aggressive. Back away from whats his.

[project-ohagi]

Keigo Takami ღ Hawks x Reader {Kingdom AU}

Buy me a coffee!! <3

Why do birds deem it necessary to shout during such early hours?

The matutinal chirping was that which your mind vehemently claimed to hate, and yet you couldn’t get enough - you remained unsatiated, even as the chorus reached its most deafening. Your hunger for the oddly-mellisonant noises grew with each passing day.

It tells me that they're still alive. When did I begin longing for such an ensemble, so spirited…so within my grasp? Perhaps they hide the key to my cage…to this prison of self-spite and deceit? If only I could capture one. I would ask it all that I wish to know - its infinite knowledge of my future…if I am doomed to live. The birds here…they’re so, incredibly free. I yearn to have that same liberty.

With a drawn-out sigh, you added, That's but a mere fantasy, a childish day-dream. It is certain to disappear with time. These shackles are the curse of my birth. Freedom…true freedom…it will forever evade me.

Your untamed, maudlin delusions penetrated every crevice of your being, but as you rose from a half-slumber, you pushed them down. Shifting your focus to something real, something imminent, was the best course of action. So, exhaustion-glazed eyes ghosted over the makeshift bed to which you had confined yourself. Or, more accurately - to which the villagers had confined you. This was far from a gesture of concern for your health, although disease was often rife amongst the peasantry. No…this was the result of their refusal to so much as acknowledge your existence. Only work managed to rouse you. Work - the very warrant for your ostracization. In a way, you supposed that was valid. You never wanted such unsavoury jobs, but how else were you to make ends meet…especially now?

What if I simply abandoned my post? Would I be punished? Executed? Either way, I am deserving of it. If only death could cleanse me of my sins…Is food off the menu today, too? It is becoming nigh-impossible to find enough, even for a single day. No-one sells to me anymore. Not even that kindly old woman near the village outskirts…

"Is that my fate then, to die of starvation?" Despite the indifference lacing your tone, you prepared for an onslaught of tears.

This world, infinitely cruel and rotten as you perceived it, seemed to loath your very essence. It slowly whittled you to the bone, rejected your abject cries and those pitiful, helpless tears. Yet, not a soul threw you pity - not even an ounce. Nothing should have tethered you to this ground, this filthy house, where the faintest illumination of a flickering candle was all the hope you could afford. Though, lack of money was never truly the problem. No…the fault lay solely with the villagers. And the King. If only you hadn't been threatened to assume your mantle. If only this was the fantasy - this bloodthirsty kingdom, the ignorance to such plights as yours, the senseless slaughter of your parents…

By my own hands. I cannot masquerade as the victim forever. They already haunt me…the ghosts. All the ghosts…

"It would be a fitting end, I suppose." The breaths that tore apart your lungs failed to distract your wandering gaze.

It fell suspiciously upon an unopened scroll, donning a sickeningly-familiar wax seal. Had a member of the Royal Guard crept inside, under the cloak of night? It appeared that even the most highly-trained soldiers in the land would wretch at the thought of an encounter with you, awake and alert. How utterly ridiculous. A young, sullen-faced girl couldn’t exactly compete with the King's personal guards, even if you were able to wield an axe. Your defeat would be anticipated, underwhelming. You strolled over to examine the parchment, malnutrition forcing your slowed movements. It was a fresh order, you wagered, straight from the King himself.

I had hoped to be proven incorrect. No bother. Well…perchance with another few coins, I could convince a poor villager to sell me some bread? A nice loaf, maybe?

Your stomach grumbled its agreement. 'Kill or be killed' wasn’t simply an idle comment, after all - it encompassed the very nature of humanity.

"Brutish." A susurrant sound tumbled from your lips. "But I am no better."

If honesty must prevail in this world, then I shall attest to being so much worse.

The scroll's seal broke with ease, leaving you to unfurl the paper and trace the words, bile endeavouring all the while to scale the walls of your stomach. The name engraved in black ink was a recognisable one. He, alongside his unfledged son, worked as palace servants. The latter was especially flighty, always being reprimanded by his seniors. This, you had witnessed on occasion. A fleeting glance was all you ever allowed yourself, and that name never once caused your skin to crawl so horribly, as it did now.

"XXXXX Takami…a thief?"

Is there no justification? I wonder if he truly stole anything. The King is most likely in the mood to watch an execution today. If so, then this will not be the first instance of an innocent dying by my hand.

As guilt poured from your eyes, silent and crystalline, you muttered, "I cannot profess to be his champion. Nor even my own…Why must my resolve be so frail?"

Why must cruelty reign supreme?

Your reflections were quelled by the searing pain exuding from the mark that tainted your wrist. It was customary for executioners, but designs varied. You were unfortunate enough to be branded with something simple, yet imbued with the weight and meaning of an entire people. It was as though your words, however few, and your actions, spoke for all your kin. It was curious, as the symbol was the runic ᛒ, although Japan was far removed from any other civilisations. The deplorable truth of the matter, was that it solidified your societal status. It served as a reminder that you wouldn’t ever escape from the Burakumin - the lowest class. The peasants. The dirty, the untrustworthy, the sinners. You couldn’t cover it up. To do so might be counted as treason, fighting against the authority of the crown. You would be executed, just as your parents, and now…as this conceivably blameless man.

…This father.

You would so disturb the structure of a family?

Have I any other choice?

Life never presented you with choices, different paths to follow, to branch off from the main narrative. The door to your cage was securely chained. The key, presumably, rested within the bulging pocket of the King. Your sleight-of-hand skills weren't masterful enough to allow the evasion of every soldier at the King's command, so you couldn’t ever move to grasp self-sovereignty. That worthless tyrant had to understand this. He likely laughed at the image. You couldn’t simply neglect your responsibilities, for this one man, for his youthful son…

What use are sentiments, if only to distract from this morbid reality? Their family cannot be satisfied, if he would stoop to thievery. Criminals cannot proceed unpunished.

"Though they can, and often do." The glimmer of remorse reflecting in your eyes alluded to the ever-dwindling fire in your soul - you couldn’t comprehend your position…why you still lived, after everything - every rolling head, every spatter of blood, every jeer and taunt…

Between the burning of the brand on your wrist, and the nipping of the tears in your (e/c) irises, you decided that a moment of respite was needed. You perched on the unsteady floor, clutching both face and wrist. Why was this happening now? Morning-tide shouldn't be harder than any other time - least of all early afternoon, when families would gather around the execution grounds, blithely chatting away and gnawing on bread, or the rare sliver of cheese that almost compelled you to salivate. Honestly, it was a miracle you could still hold the axe aloft, in spite of your meagre diet. You sighed, rehearsing the time of this newest dispatch. Three hours…that was hardly fair. It required far longer to mentally prepare for such a killing. This man had a wife, surely, and a son! As you defended against the sick feeling nestling in your stomach, the repugnant sight of ebony in the corner of the room caught your attention. You wished so desperately to sacrifice that garb to the flames of Hell. You couldn’t bear to look at it, let alone adorn it.

Why do I bother to wear a mask, when they all recognise me?

Oh, of course…"It veils my tears."

And also, perhaps, my rugged appearance. I cannot even claim to resemble a respectable young woman. The villagers would sleep easier without beholding such an unsightly face. I should pay thanks the gods that the cloak disguises my figure, as well.

Broad shoulders and pancake-like breasts plagued your waking thoughts, but they were well-shielded underneath the dark, flowing robe you had just picked up. You utterly despised them. With less than three hours before the execution, you slipped on the cloak, but left the mask. It couldn’t be properly washed by hand - the blood of hundreds, innocents and sinners alike, had seemed to seep into the very essence of the fabric. It repulsed you, and yet an odd warmth accompanied it. Maybe…because it was the only constant in your life? The only thing providing purpose, whether you desired it or not? The fragrance was familiar, sometimes comforting on a particularly savage night. It nearly stung.

Just as a sorrowful breath escaped your lips, a series of frantic knocks alerted you to the door. Your entire being shuddered, nerves exploding. A bead of sweat rolled down your forehead. If you opened that door now, which now appeared more foreboding, who would you greet? The Captain of the Royal Guard? That once-lovely elderly woman, who used to sell you bread? A tax collector? A thief? Nobody in their right mind rapped on the door of an executioner…an outcast. They must have a certain degree of battle prowess, then. Shakily, you started towards that wooden entrance.

The knocking never ceased. In fact, was it intensifying? Whoever this was, they were desperate.

There would be nowhere for them to hide, in this small house.

The door swung open, revealing a dishevelled young man.

Is this…him?

The moment his words flooded your ears, the whole world collapsed around you. "Are you the executioner who is going to kill my father?"

You wanted to deny, to beg for forgiveness, but you couldn’t. Instead, with an averted gaze, you responded, "I am afraid so."

"You don't…you don't want to? You aren’t excited about this?" His tone indicated confusion, perhaps even sympathy.

To where did his formalities retreat? What a brazen boy…

You shuffled in discomfort. "I apologise for not taking pleasure in my work."

He looked unsure. "Please don't kill him. He is not thief - it's a lie!"

"That is quite a claim. Do you have any proof?" You didn’t wish to interrogate the poor soul - he was about to lose the greatest role-model he would ever know.

"No…" He stared at the ground briefly, before a fiery determination illuminated his eyes, and he looked back up. "…Would you…would you help me save him? Please?"

Does he assume me a hero? Or a vigilante?...Me?

The idea was half-baked, teeming with flaws. Wasn’t your capture, and subsequent execution, almost inevitable? Clearly, this had been a spontaneous decision, and the consequences floated just outside his mind. You swallowed down any further words. Something about him, something he exuded…pain? Fear? There wasn’t a single spark of confidence twinkling behind those golden eyes, and yet…you felt your heart pounding in compliance. In truth, did you not yearn for such an opportunity? Did you not wish to bellow to the universe, that you were capable of possessing a righteous nature, even at the expense of your life? If you couldn’t save one innocent from your own axe, you would never again begin to dream of redemption. It would set in stone your utter worthlessness.

Paranoid, (e/c) eyes skirted around the boy, searching for any characters of suspect. With a heaviness burrowing amid your heart, you ushered him inside your humble abode. Immediately, he spotted the scroll lying on the table. You made no effort to divert his attention.

After a few moments of tense silence, he spoke. "(L/n) (Y/n)…that your name?"

"Yes, though I rarely hear it anymore."

"Would he be in the dungeons right now? My father, I mean." He was deep in thought, incredibly serious.

Your gaze strayed - this boy was far too ethereal to be viewed by your peasant eyes. "Yes, along with the other prisoners."

"You believe me, don't you?" Shock was evident in his voice.

"Should I not?" You questioned, still refusing to glance his way.

A low chuckle tore from his lungs. "You should. How long do we have? We need a proper plan, right? Unless you're leaving me to do this alone. Something tells me you aren't willing to do that…"

"Alone, you would achieve nothing."

"Haha, well, behind every man there's a strong woman, right?" He displayed a closed-eye smile, blinding you for the few, sparing seconds you allowed yourself to witness it.

You couldn’t have realised the crimson hue worming its way on to your cheeks. "Absolutely not."

"Why're your replies so short? You not like talking to me, or something?"

Is he forgetting his reason for being here, so quickly?

"What of this plan? What of your father's fate?" You asked, hoping to remain on topic.

He chuckled again, sourly this time. "The plan…I was thinking, would it be possible to sneak him out of the dungeon? Or…replace him with someone else? I know it's horrible, and I feel awful about it, but…"

"The first one would never be possible. If we entered as two, and left as three, would you expect not to be questioned?" You bit your lip in contemplation. "On foot, journeying to the castle will take an hour. No matter our plan, we have to leave soon."

"You're right…of course you're right." He smiled, crookedly. "Is it bad to say I hate that?"

Shaking your head, you muttered, "Once in a while, the prisoners will wear masks, to shield from the jeering eyes of those in the crowd."

"So…if we had someone with a similar figure…" He trailed off.

Is this…a choice? Do I really have the option to save someone? To do a modicum of good, for once in my life? I…I have to...I cannot tear apart this family. I cannot accept that responsibility.

"Me."

The concerned expression painting his face was replaced with one of terror, of guilt. Clearly, this was an unexpected turn of events, and he opened his mouth, about to protest. He was likely to spew some nonsense regarding being young, throwing your life away…but you would remain resolute. You wouldn’t waver - not on such an important matter. As the years slowly trickled away, you had already reached a conclusion about your life, about your future. You reasoned that it wasn’t worth all the hassle, all the blood, sweat and tears. It wasn’t worth anything. So…why bother? Why bother living it, only to be thrashed around, ripped to shreds and then eventually killed, anyway? You adored nothing of yourself. You adored nothing of anyone. Without a meaning to your life, weren't you simply a husk? A broken shell of a once-pure, youthful girl?

"You?" His voice was quivering, as if he was infinitely opposed to your proposition.

A single, solemn nod confirmed his query.

"But…" He managed, trying to find a different solution. "…aren’t you the executioner? And…why does it have to be you? Can't we find someo-"

"It should be me." You cut him off, desperate to put this behind you. "I am not the only executioner. The other one…I have no doubt he will assist us, voluntarily."

All his dreadful emotions clogged his throat. The words wouldn’t exit seamlessly. "Why you? Tell me why…"

Your sigh was drawn-out, heavier than all the previous ones. "I can bear this world no longer, Takami. This job…even this house…everything is a cage, a prison. I cannot continue to live this way. I need you to understand, and respect my decision."

If not for the dire circumstances, a blush would have exploded on his face; you referred to him by name. Though…he couldn’t fathom the idea of you being separated so soon after meeting. For years, he had watched you, silently admiring all your adorable little quirks. All the features you despised, he loved with the passion of a thousand suns. To him, you weren't any less than human…no, in fact, you were a goddess, sent from the Heavens to bewitch him, to make him swoon, all while erecting an ignorant façade. He spent hours upon hours, mostly during nighttide, wondering, praying, that you had taken note of his presence…that you saw him, as you glided around the castle. He wished so desperately to be your swain, but despite being little more than a peasant boy himself, he still held the higher title. He knew of your job, but he witnessed your anguish. He observed the unrelenting tears that dripped down your face. He knew you were hurting.

Was he honestly now granting assent to your death?

"Keigo." He suddenly made a grab for your hands, feeling them callous and trembling slightly. "My name…it's Keigo."

You nodded, plunging into uncertain waters. "Keigo…"

"Please call me that, every time you address me, from now until…" His head fell; was this really happening?

Was he truly unable to stop you? Unable to change your mind? Even as this thought rocketed around his brain, he knew the truth. He couldn’t ever hope to stop you. It was clear - your decision was final.

He waited until you nodded again. "We should probably go now."

No response came, but none was necessary. The two of you ran, bounding towards the castle, side-by-side. You were determined - Keigo and his father would live. In this cold, cruel world, they would flourish…they would become something. And you would watch this, his adventure…from another plane. Perhaps it was Hell, perhaps Heaven, perhaps neither. Either way, you wouldn’t let this be the end. If you had the chance to keep walking by his side, even in death, then you would welcome it with open arms. You wouldn’t shy away from it, from providing him with security - you could ward off all the negative energy, all the malign spirits, threatening to cause him harm. You would be there.

Even in death.

The courtyard approached. Tugging on his sleeve, you directed him to a large, metal door, complete with padlocks and some ominous-looking scratch marks. So far, nobody seemed to have paid you any mind. You thrust the key into the lock, hoping that the sound of metal against metal wouldn’t attract too much unwanted attention. Keigo was fixated on the patrolling guards, who were thankfully more interested in showing off their swords to the noblewomen. You slipped inside, unnoticed. Awaiting you was Keigo's father, alongside a few others, mostly unconscious. From severe beatings, you presumed.

"(Y/n)! What is he doing here?"

You shushed him. "Shinya…I need to call in a favour."

"I have a bad feeling about this." He pointed to the two males, now attempting to comfort each other. "Does it involve them?"

He managed to unlock the shackles, so easily?

"Yes. You must listen to me - I am begging you."

He was hesitant, but replied, "Alright. What do you need?"

"I need you to execute the criminal in my steed. This, I cannot do." You answered, pouring your heart into the words.

"The criminal…" He paused. "…You are not speaking of Takami, are you?"

You shook your head. "I am afraid not."

"Then…" He sighed, as the truth dawned. "…You are speaking of yourself."

"Indeed."

A glint of sorrow lingered in his eyes. "Are you certain? You cannot recover from death."

"I am certain, beyond question." There was no hesitance in your voice, no doubt…not even a hint of anxiety.

You sounded free. At long last, you sounded free. Finally, you could dictate which path you took, and when it all ended. To object your wish now…Shinya couldn’t imagine the guilt. Forcing his heart to agree was no uncomplicated task, and he wasn’t likely to cease grieving for many moons, but…he couldn’t deny you. He couldn’t strip you of what little serenity you were able to feel, in this moment. He was already dressed in his executioner's garb, anyway. Nobody would recognise him…not until everything was over. The head probably wouldn’t be checked, either. Not for a while. By that time, Keigo and his father should be liberated, freed from the clutches of the evil King Enji Todoroki. Hopefully, they could settle within the boundaries of land of King Toshinori Yagi, or All Might, as most affectionately named him.

That loathsome, ebony robe slipped from your body, and Shinya presented you with some smaller, dirtier clothes. You didn’t mind. In fact, you relished in it. Finally, finally...something was happening on your terms. You would die, on your terms, not by the instruction of the King. And…even though it signalled the end, the extinguishing of your life…you couldn’t have been happier, in that moment.

"(Y/n)…" Your young accomplice whispered, half-adoring, half-fearful. "…Do you really intend to do this? Isn't there anything I can say, to stop you?"

What sort of…no, that would be giving himself false hope. Your intentions were crystal-clear. He couldn’t sway you. Before a single word fell from your lips, he took a chance, he grasped at straws. He did something for which he had waited a lifetime…something that ignited a passionate flame within both your hearts.

He kissed you.

Time, obligations, fate…everything ceased to exist. Your lips danced together, like they were created for that exact purpose. It felt natural…It felt right. When you parted, gazes burning into one another, everything clicked into place.

"I will always be with you, Keigo. I swear, not even death will do us part." The words you uttered…they weren't scripted, weren't rehearsed, but…maybe they had forever nestled on your tongue.

Maybe it was something I always longed to say?

A sad, little smile perched on his lips. "I know, and I will always look for you. I will see you in everyone…in everything. I will be yours, until the very end."

"I wish you would live…I wish you would marry." Your whispers caressed his ears, and he shivered.

"But you know I won't."

How things progressed so far, you knew not. A loud bell-toll, a harbinger of death, echoed across the castle. This was the end. You captured his lips again, swiftly, and then you pushed him away. He couldn’t be allowed to witness such a tragedy. He looked about to cry, about to compromise this entire plan. You placed a finger in front of your mouth, as a reminder. You wanted this. You had always wanted this. Shinya donned the mask, but you saw his strife, the melancholy swimming in his eyes. You smiled. You smiled at Shinya, at Keigo and his father, and at the glaring sun, as you were led out, into the courtyard. The mask obscured your vision, but it would have been difficult not to realise how brightly the sun was shining.

I am certain that it will shine brightest when the axe is at my neck.

In spite of the agonising loss, the newfound frigidity of his heart, Keigo ran, his father in tow. Nothing would tempt him to glance back. Nothing could. Your promise, your wish for him…all except the marriage, he would honour. To be caught now, imprisoned, killed…your bodies would never again find comfort in each other, for there was a separate, less well-kept burial space for people of the Burakumin. If he was captured, he wouldn’t be buried with you. And your spirit might wander eternally, never finding him, never achieving peace.

So, he continued to run, tears cascading from his eyes. It seemed merely a second, but the reality was hazy. He was panicking now, whispering, then screaming at the top of his lungs. He knew it was idiotic, he knew it was a death sentence, but he was lost...so, hopelessly lost.

"Father! Father, where are you? Answer me, please!"

That wasn’t the man with whom his body collided. His tears were incessant, stinging.

This…this was a Royal Guard.

In an instant, he shattered all your hopes…all your dreams. A crow, no…perhaps three crows, flew close, carried by the gentle wind. Keigo collapsed, exhaustion, shock and unadulterated grief stabbing at his heart. Your head had just rolled…hadn’t it?

[Word Count: 4128]

[imagines-mha]

Ma’am, I have been scouring the internet, but I cannot find any BNHA x readers where the READER is the Yandere >:( I was a disappointed bean, but I have decided to turn to you for help. Reader is jealous of ochako’s relationship with Izuku, Yandere murder hijinks ensue? I suck a describing this sorta thing but this would make me a happy bean. Lotsa love for you dear!! 💕💖💞💕💘💗 -Peachy

Omg my LOVE 🥺 ur so right NOONE writes a yandere! reader these days!! I hope this was okay 💖💖

〰️💚 Unhealthy Obsessions 💚〰️

Pairing: Izuku Midoriya x yandere! reader

Fic type: Yandere

Warnings: gore, murder, yandere, kidnapping, obsessions, rip uraraka but y/n’s different

Plot: You know what Izuku needs. It’s definitely not Uraraka

Word count: 2079

You knew Izuku Midoriya well.

You knew he wanted to be the next number 1 hero. You knew his childhood nickname from Bakugo Katsuki was Deku. You knew he was born quirkless. You knew his birthday was July 15th. You knew he stood at 5’5. You knew his mother's name was Inko and he wasn’t in contact with his father. You knew he had a hamster back home. You knew his favourite restaurant. You knew he did his laundry on Thursdays and he separated his whites. You knew he got up an hour earlier than everyone else to train in secret. You knew last week he cut his arm from a loose nail in the wall. You knew he mumbled to himself at nights when no one was awake, and you knew he stirred his coffee exactly six times before drinking it.

You knew Izuku Midoriya more than anyone else in the entire world. Unfortunately, Izuku Midoriya barely even knew you existed.

Pity.

You were just another girl in 1-A to him. Your relevance stopped at trading notes whenever he needed something difficult explained. Each time you saw him struggle with a concept, a burning fire erupted in your soul and you scrambled to help him with whatever it was.

His constant gratitude sent shocks of electricity up your veins, too. It tensed your muscles to know that he thought of you as a decent person.

His ignorance on all other fronts did very little to hinder your dedication. You decided that the less he knew about you, the more freedom you had to know more about him without getting caught.

Plus- it wasn’t as though your fluttering eyelashes and sneaky glances would get through his oblivious mind, because he was always preoccupied with his girlfriend, Ochako Uraraka. You always saw her, draped off his arm like a cheap piece of jewellery; squealing his name whenever he stepped foot into the same room as her

You often wondered if her squealing would sound any different if she were being held in a choke-hold…

That's why tonight would be so painstakingly glorious, for you anyway. Because tonight would finally be the night you would reap your victory over the boy that you deserved; that you worked so hard on. You knew the subject of Izuku back and forth, inside out and upside down. You bet Uraraka didn’t even know his ring fingers were only 2 milimetres longer than his pointers

Everyone was dispersed around the bar. You checked your phone to find it was 24 minutes past 10. Since it was a blissful summer’s night, the clouds outside were still lingering over the royal blue sky and the soft chill was only beginning to shake the leaves on the trees.

Izuku sat with some of your class, luckily those of which you managed to get somewhat close to over the year. Tsuyu Asui welcomed you over with a wave, handing you a fresh drink and kindly including you in the conversation. Your eyes were transfixed on your darling the entire time. Soon he’ll be yours.

But not now.

“Hey y/n!” The rosy voice of Ochako rang like a school bell first thing in the morning. You swallowed what was almost bile to the back of your throat and shot her a smile through pursed lips,

“Hi Uraraka!”

It was as friendly as you could muster, and she seemed to buy it- judging by how quickly the conversation flowed. You used your oh-so-bright, convincing personality to coax everyone into drinking a lot more than they probably should have. Anything to numb his memory, you thought, you couldn’t have your darling in distress for too long

It took a while for them all to drink enough to get up off their seats, and finally you were free to act

You began with the easiest step: the sleeping pills. You used this tactic a lot more than you would ever admit. But it was easy, quick, and the possibilities of you ever getting caught were reduced to almost nothing! What other methods promised such outcomes?

You finished popping them in as many of the cups as you could, managing to avoid any prying questions by Bakugo in the process. You never took him to be such a curious boy, but one time he had caught you rummaging through Izuku’s locker in the early hours before school, and you had carelessly blurted out something about leaving a memory pen there from the day before. You remembered the way he narrowed his eyes at you and stormed off again, muttering on about how careless other students were in comparison to him

You were grateful he ditched the subject after that night, but you never missed the questioning glances he would send your way when you were always first to offer Izuku help with cleaning out his things.

11 minutes past midnight.

You could feel a tornado of nerves spinning around in the pit of your stomach. It rose and fell with every person that slumped into their chairs and let your pills sing them to sleep. If they weren’t outcold, they were aimlessly stumbling around like zombies in the smoked-up strobe lights. Your plan, so far, was working in your favour. All that was left was the core of it.

Spotting your target alone for once curved a smile upward onto your red lips. She was searching for her phone, the one that you had swiped the moment she got up to dance. You had no remorse- she deserved it. Plus, it wasn’t like she’d be using it past today anyway

“Hey ochako!” your modulated voice complemented your bright smile perfectly. Her gaze found yours, and you could notice her distress through her exhausted state. Her eyes opened and shut slowly, and her speech was beginning to slur. Any moment now and she would join an unconscious Tsuyu at the other end of the table

“y/n...m-my..is e-everyone alright..?” she asked in a drowsy tone, sitting down at the end of the booth and gazing up to you hopelessly. You towered above her, full of energy while hers was actively depleting. The feeling itself sent a sugar rush straight to your chest, and you had to bite your lip to stop yourself from laughing out loud.

“Lie down Ochako…” you feigned worry, removing her hand from balancing her head and aiding her with resting on the table, “i’ll get you some water…”

She feebly nodded and her eyes slowly shut. The only challenge for you now was to hide her unconscious body from the eyes of your peers before they noticed something was wrong. However, judging by the way they were all exactly like her at the moment, that didn’t look at all likely

You blocked her from view until you were certain she was completely knocked out, and then slung her limp arm over your shoulder. She would be knocked out for at least two hours, and your task would take 45 minutes at the most. You basked in your blissful cruelty, ad kicked open one of the back doors of the bar

The cool chill of the June night gave you the intake of oxygen you needed after spending the night in the suffocatingly hot bar. The outdoor’s silence numbed your ears and the fresh smell of rain blessed your nostrils with something other than alcohol.

If you hadn’t have been about to commit murder, this would have passed for a rather peaceful night

You tugged Uraraka away from the back doors and began to tread up the small lane of an alleyway, caved in by bricks and graffiti. It looked like a crime scene just waiting to happen. You used your phone’s flashlight to find a little incision in the alley, and threw her body into it as though you were discarding something disgusting from the bottom of your shoe.

You had to admit. She looked peaceful lying slumped against the wall, with her arms crossed over her stomach to allow her body to squeeze in between the tiny crawl space. If she weren’t the most disgusting, threatening thing you had ever seen, maybe her demise would have been kinder

How tragic

You drew your pointed blade and selfishly let out a laugh; maniacal at worst. Her eyes didn’t budge when you roughly plunged it into her chest, but you could feel the fighting heaves in her chest nonetheless. It gave you a drive to continue slashing, although some of you wished she were awake, to resist you. That way you would feel more accomplished after you slaughtered her

But you can’t have everything, right?

You laughed another remorseless laugh and continued stabbing. Stabbing for every kiss they shared, and for every time they said “i love you”. Stabbing for every stupid gift she gave him, and stabbing for every single time she moaned his name. Stabbing until there was no room left to stab.

When you were certain she was dead, you drew your lighter. You knew only to burn the parts of her skin that you had touched, but you let yourself have a little fun on her face too. That look you always hated was now blistering red. That body you’ve always envied was now burnt to the bone. You could smell sizzling flesh burn it’s way up into your sinuses.

She looked prettier when she was mutilated, you concluded

You chucked the lighter in a nearby dumpster, then slipped your compact knife safely into its sheath and under the bottom of your bra. You returned to the bar, taking a few minutes to dismantle any active security cameras, and headed to the bathroom to change outfits

A few sleeping pills later and you were just as out cold as everyone else. You were as little of a suspect as Izuku himself right now, and that thought alone made you sleep like a baby

------------

“Izuku, darling?”

Your voice was like honey. Ever since Uraraka’s ‘tragic murder’ you had stepped in to assist Izuku with his recovery, because you knew more than anyone how much he needed all the love he could get right now

And for him, you had love to spare

“Yeah?” he asked feebly from the bed, where he was all wrapped up tightly in soft, fuzzy blankets and fresh bandages. They clung tightly to his broken wrist: the result of tumbling down the flight of slippery stairs

You almost felt sorry for him when it happened. You were expecting a broken arm at best, and were a little disappointed with the fact it was only his hand, but he whimpered so poorly that night that it put pangs of sadness in your heart. For once, you were grateful he always made a quick recovery

You would just have to make sure you used a stronger substance next time

“Dinner’s ready!” you cooed, appearing in his room with two full plates in your hand. He was bound here for as long as it took for his legs to start working again. Poor little accident prone izuku couldn’t even remember breaking them in the first place because of how strong his concussion was afterwards.

You still had the splatters of blood on your baseball bat in the basement ...

The sweetest sensation in the world was watching his eyes slowly droop while he was eating. You had put four sleeping pills in his food, and they were taking their toll rather quickly- much to your delight. As you said, they did the job better than anything else

“y- y/n… i feel tired…” he mumbled, and you took the fork from his hand to continue feeding him the rest until he was completely passed out.

How adorable was he… looking all too innocent in your filthy mind…

You indulged yourself with taking a few pictures of him for your album. How could you resist, when he looked so helplessly precious? And he was yours; all yours to keep for as long as forever

It took effort hoisting him over your shoulder and climbing up the creaky stairs to the attic.

He barely stirred as you closed the lid of the cardboard box over him and slammed the door shut again, rushing to change and head downstairs. The doorbell rang the moment your foot breached the final step

“Miss l/n? Detective Tsukauchi here, wondering if you could answer a few questions related to the disappearance of Izuku Midoriya?”

[bitnotgood28]

Thank you @hometothecanyonmoon for tagging me!!

1) When did you become a Louie?

Embarrassingly late. I’d say around mid-April 2020, since that’s around the time I learned about Larry and joined the 1D fandom. I focused mostly on Louis and Harry and whatever they got up to, so during that I just noticed little quirks and started to pick up on their personalities. Harry is sweet and dorky and I adore him, but I love Louis’ wit and his sarcasm and his compassion, basically his character in general. Afterwards, I learned that Louis has recently released LT1, so I downloaded the entire album to give it a listen and have not stopped listening since. His whole album is a blessing, all of his music is so meaningful and touching; you’ve heard his songs and lyrics, yeah?

2) Why did you become a Louie?

Multiple reasons, the two main ones being his music and his personality. I’m not greatly interested in the type of music that’s mostly being released at present (no offense meant), and Louis’ voice is just incredibly unique, something I really like in artists. Everything that he’s written has been sincere and expressive, like a touch of rawness in them, especially when he sings. There’s just so much emotion behind every word and note, and his voice!! It has the sweetest rasp to it and his voice has gotten stronger and more powerful over the years, yet it can still be soft and light like during the bridge in Defenceless. He is also such a sweetheart, treating everyone kindly and with understanding unless he thinks they’re undeserving of it. The way he socialize with children and animals makes my heart melt, he looks so happy and excited during those interactions with his crinkling eyes and his smile-goodness, he is truly God’s gift.

3) One thing that drew you in specifically?

Easily his charisma and satire. His humor and jokes always stood out to me during interviews, his quips are just hilarious, that sweet boy. He draws attention to himself and leaves an imprint on you, and you get attached to him and his personality and his cheekbones-essentially his entire being. I was also kind of irritated with the amount of lines he and Niall were given compared to the other boys, so I paid more mind to the two of them (along with Harry) at the beginning. I think it’s also because I tend to notice those who aren’t as noticed or not quite under the spotlight-is that they proper description? Anyway, between Louis and Niall I wound up taking more of a liking to Louis with his sass and his cheek and his eyelashes. Man, is he even real? He’s so sweet and genuine, he’s endured so much and has continued to stand strong after each blow; it’s as heartbreaking as it’s inspiring. I just want to wrap him in a blanket and take him far away from all the cruelty present in the world, maybe feed him some tacos and stroke his hair until he falls asleep. He can still joke around and enjoy life while also doing his job and doing it brilliantly, might I add. I feel like he’d be a wonderful best friend to have, empathetic and supportive, someone you’d be able to stir up chaos with but also who’d keep your moral compass pointing in the right direction. Honestly, I’m quite certain that God created him with the thought of sunshine and sunflowers in His head.

4) Favorite song on Walls?

Oo, that’s difficult. I love Always You, its tempo and it’s tune are just really lively and upbeat. I’ve also got a special place in my heart for the lyrics of Fearless (God, that second verse and chorus and first verse - the whole song), Defenceless (“I come running to you like a moth into a flame,”? “I’m too tired to be tough, just wanna be loved by you,”???), Only For the Brave (“It’s a church of burnt romances and I’m too far gone to pray,” “All the lonely shadow dances from the cradle to the grave,” this song is so lyrically poetic and I love every second of it), and Two of Us (the bridge.. God it’s so melancholy yet somewhat hopeful[?]). Kill My Mind also has this great indie rock sound to it, I’d gladly listen to it for hours. I.. am realizing that this absolutely does not answer the question, but I hope you now understand how good Louis’ songs are and how much I love them <333

5) Who would you want Louis to collab with?

Okay, I took a bit of time on this and I think one would be Alessia Cara. I’d really like to hear how they would sound together, considering how unique and distinctive both of their voices are individually, and how the music they produced would mesh with each other. Another would probably be Ed Sheeran, lyrically I think they’d be quite powerful like Louis and Alessia, but I’m not sure how they’d sound as a unit. It’d be interesting to hear though, I’m sure. Last is Harry, and if you’ve heard edits and that duet in the chorus of Truly, Madly, Deeply, you know what I’m talking about and you know how good they sound together.

6) Favorite Hairstyle?

Peaky blinders is one, he looked like a sweet little hedgehog during that time. Cinnamon swirl is also high on the list. He looked like actual royalty (I mean when doesn’t he, but this is god tier princely) and everything was right in the world. He was just- the living embodiment of delicate. His messy quiff and messy fringe back in 2013-2014 were just.. so attractive? Those hairstyles also make me miss seeing his full face :((

7) Back to You, Just Hold On, or Miss You?

(where is the Just Like You option)

I love the lyrics and meaning behind Just Hold On, it’s all really hopeful and motivating. The whole song was really well done, Louis and Steve Aoki did such a good job. Miss You also has a great sound to it, and you can really hear his accent throughout the whole song (fook, luv, anova, need I go on). I also love the bit of violin (I think it’s a violin) they added in the second pre-chorus and final chorus? It adds kind of like a lighter factor to the heavy guitar and drums already present in the song, and some sort of assurance that everything will be okay (I’m bad at describing things I’m sorry akdjsjdj). Back to You, God the notes they hit during that song.. beautiful (“We don’t know how to make it stop,” and “I love it, I hate it and I can’t take it,”). Can I also just say that Louis and Bebe both looked really, really attractive during that music video? Like damn please hold back on the extra chili, it’s already hot in here.

8) Louis in suits or sweaters?

Louis in suits is just.. all his assets (ha) are accentuated and he looks so sharp and beautiful, his shoulders just a bit broader, and his curves more defined. Then when he wears blue suits, his eyes are just that much more blue. Louis in sweaters, on the other hand: sunflowers incarnate, sunshine and kittens, a soft heated blanket with socked feet and a fireplace while snow falls softly outside the window. He looks so, so warm and huggable and sweet with his sweater paws- imagine being his friend and being able to cuddle him? Just snuggle and chat about what he’s got prepared for LT2, maybe watch a horror movie. God truly has His favorites. In conclusion: Louis in sweaters.

9) Favorite tattoo?

I think the compass was really well made, like the shading and the contours make it look almost lifelike. Then it points to HOME, which I think is so sweet and personal, like he already knows what ‘home’ is to him and he’s sure that that’s where he’d want to go back to, every time without a doubt. I also like the “It Is What It Is” tattoo, it’s written elegantly, kind of like a Ballantines font and it’s definitely an eye-catcher, displayed on his chest. The stag one also isn’t bad, its right eye is just a bit more bugged out than the other. It makes it a lil more special though, it’s easily identifiable as Louis’ tattoo because of that and the antlers are sort of majestic.

10) Favorite Louis photo (currently)?

I am going to pretend I read that as ‘photos’ because I am an indecisive little shit :))

(HELLOOOO HE LOOK LIKE THE SWEETEST HEDGEHOG // He is just- in his element, he is living up there)

(He makes the tousled hair look so good what the hell // Does this need elaboration, I mean, his smile literally powers everything on earth, and the crinkles by his eyes, and his sweater, and his lil canines, and-)

(Please God he is. Ethereal. Stunning. Perfect. In both photos, his eyes are just. Bright. And the cinnamon swirl, I- I’ve ascended to a higher plane of existence. He’s just so beautiful. Gorgeous really.)

11) Random extra?

When one is given the opportunity to express their love for Louis Tomlinson’s accent, one must accept.

His accent is like. Familiar, a bit like home (no, I’m not English), and I love that he’s been able to keep it even after years of living abroad. He has one of those accents where you can tell it’s present even when he sings, and when he uses endearments, God, it’s just so charming and sweet. It’s also really strong and distinctive, you can tell who he is by the first syllable or word he says. It’s a part of who he is and I love it so much and I love him so much, Jesus Christ akjskjd

I had fun being able to talk about Louis in this, there’s so much to him and every bit of it is another ray of sunshine <333

I tag @adorelou-28, @makethebestofwhatyouget, @28-oops-hi, and anyone else who wants to do this, no compulsions :))

[chiseler]

TWO NEW FILMS

Viewed by Henri Duvernois

Le Bataillon des sans-amour [Battalion of the Unloved]

(The Mayor of Hell)

I was greatly moved by this film. The dreadful existence of some delinquent children, I believe, can never be shown enough. And it is not blindly optimistic to declare most of them capable of reform. During my research for a novel, I discussed this subject with the man most qualified to do so, the head of instruction at the Petite Roquette [a Paris prison for boys 7-20]. He told me flat out:

“Eight out of ten, at least, if they are treated kindly, intelligently, gently, are capable of becoming splendid fellows. And I myself would not hesitate to have them associate with my own children. If you write a book on this subject, your surest inspiration will be pity.”

He told me this at a time when France did not yet have a juvenile court, and where judges, broken-hearted—more than once I saw tears in their eyes—were obliged to condemn a poor tubercular starveling of twelve, guilty only of vagrancy and not the slightest crime.

The effect of these films on the public is healthy. There are still too many martyred children—as recent news items show—but there are, above all, unrecognized, too many unfortunate children. Their sad stories do not always end in suicide, like the poor little Rozentweig child, victim of brutish imbeciles [a minor cause célèbre of 1933: Sonia Rozensweig, 13, a refugee Polish Jew, drowned herself after an encounter involving herself, a 7-year-old brother or cousin, and a local shopkeeper, which ended in the police station; leftwing and rightwing papers gave widely divergent accounts of the affair], or the baby slowly tortured by an appalling stepmother. Children are beaten. Children are, morally, abandoned. I was struck by these lines, during the courtroom scene of the film: “I’m sick of supporting him!” says one father, to which the boy replies, “When did you ever support me?”

The battalion of the unloved, then, is made up of young vagabonds left to the streets by the carelessness or poverty of their parents. A director may, through his careful reproduction of life, make a work of art at art’s finest: the sensitive transposition of truth. So it is here. The actors are between twelve and fifteen years old. Each, by his physical appearance, voice, costume, is a chapter of a  novel. Here is the snitch, the traitor, who steals and pillages but can and will sell out his comrades. Here is the leader, quick to deal out chastisement, bolder and more energetic than the others, more dangerous too, in whose generous nature his good and bad instincts are at war. A kind word, a caress may save him. But one must divine his heart and pierce his tough shell to reach it. There is the hate-filled one, who would love with the same fervor if he were given the chance; the fat kid, greedy and lazy; the pickaninny who follows the gang because he’s hungry; the sickly boy who wants to have a little fun before he dies.

The whole gang is condemned to reform school. The latter is directed by one Thompson, whom the film’s authors have perhaps made too starkly a villain. There are (and, above all, there have been) a good many of these civil servants who, without being monsters of cruelty like Thompson, even while undeviatingly pursuing their duty—what they believe is their duty—have produced equally deplorable results.

But there must be a counterforce: Dorothy, the reform school’s nurse. She is not satisfied merely to take care of the boys when they are ill. She wants them to be better treated and better fed. Her smile and her blondeness perform the miracle. An inspector is named, an insouciant young man placed there by crooked politicians. For love of Dorothy, he no longer smiles and approves. He furloughs the savage director and takes his place. Surprise! The mess hall’s foul gruel is replaced by bacon and eggs and cream cakes. The boys are made responsible for organizing themselves; they name one judge, another chief of police, etc. There is laughter and song in what once was hell. But the director returns. By a rather too neat coincidence, Gargan, the inspector, is charged with murder. The other triumphs. Once again the school is a prison. A little TB case, confined to an icy cell, dies of cold. The boys revolt, a torch-bearing mob. Terrified, the director jumps off a roof and falls to his death. Gargan, found innocent, returns. Order is restored and Gargan will marry Dorothy.

The film is full of exquisite details. One, especially poignant, bowled me over. This was not the death of the little TB case, admirably handled though it was. It was the moment when Jimmy, the gang leader, while being upbraided, takes a sheet of paper and a pencil and, in a few strokes, makes a lovely sketch. If someone takes an interest in him, flatters him with a few compliments, he might become a great artist. If he is treated roughly, he will surely become a criminal… The agonizing question of vocation is raised here. And a detail like this honors and illuminates a film.

This film is marvelously interpreted by the boys, headed by Frankie Darrow as Jimmy, very well by Madge Evans and James Cagney as the nurse and the inspector, and with great sensitivity by Arthur Byron as the kindly judge.

La Porte des rêves [The Door of Dreams]

(The Keyhole)  

The Keyhole tells the story of the beautiful Anne, wife of Maurice, her former partner in a dance act. Believing herself divorced, she has married a rich older man, Schuyler Brooks. But the divorce was not finalized. Maurice takes advantage of the situation, blackmailing his ex-wife by threatening to reveal the truth. He makes her meet with him, extorts large sums, tears her jewels from her.

Terrified, Anne asks her own sister-in-law for help. Maurice must be gotten out of New York. He is a foreigner; they will arrange that his return visa be refused. Anne claims she is going to Cuba. Maurice will follow her there and she will be rid of him.

Brooks thinks she is traveling because she is weary of her luxurious but dull conjugal existence and seeks an adventure. He hires a handsome private detective, Davis, to seduce her and become her lover. When he has done so, he is to telephone the husband, who will fly to Cuba and take the couple in flagrante. But Anne falls truly in love with the detective, and he falls in love with her. He saves her from an ambush arranged by Maurice. When Brooks, alerted by his sister, arrives to take Anne back, the ex-husband flees, falls off a balcony, and is killed. Brooks opens the door. Anne is in Davis’s arms, passionately kissing him. The jealous husband has gotten what he paid for…

Of course, any plot summary is derisive for a film of this type, whose worth lies in its dramatic sweep and the talent of its interpreters. The action is here only to serve the actors and give a pretext for ingenious images, marvelously coordinated. There is no question of psychology. In any event, to disarm criticism, the actors in The Keyhole make the heroine a former dancer, accustomed to a certain liberty and who may thus, over the course of a cruise, swayed by sweet music, the sea, and the starry sky, let herself be beguiled by a mere detective, private though he be.

But what delighted me and must be set apart is, in the role of Dot, a little blonde tart, the charming Glenda Farrell. We have already seen her in certain supporting roles where she struck us by her intelligence and acuteness of observation. Glenda Farrell belongs to that small number of actresses who produce true literary creations, through the amused tenderness with which they realize a character who would be, with another, insignificant and purposeless. She was from head to toe the cruise ship charmer who shares her takings with the barman, chooses lonely and naïve men, and drops them when she sees that the game is not worth the candle. More and more, talking pictures will use and showcase talents of this sort. And it is among them that directors must seek future stars, rather than among the immobile beauties, vamps or victims, inherited from the late silent cinema.

Such a reproach is not addressed to Kay Francis, who has magnetism and authority and, above all, that invaluable advantage for a cinema artist: a ravishing and sensitive shape to the mouth. I do not have the space here to develop this argument, but the mouth is of capital importance in film—more so even than the eyes—and not for the final kiss alone. Smile, emotion, irony, fear, radiant youth and sudden aging, it expresses everything. Take, for example, in France, the mouth of Gaby Morlay and, in America, that of Irene Dunne. If so many actresses disappoint us with their monotony, it is above all because nature has refused them this power of expression.

Henry Kolker has naturalness and ease. He establishes the character of a deceived husband and saves it from convention. Finally, the rhythm of the film is excellent and its technique fully mastered, meaning that it does not intrude and serves the story without overwhelming it.

Translated by Phoebe Green

First published in Pour Vous magazine

NUMERO. 259

2 NOV. 1933 

[metalchick19-blog]

The Bowers Gang: How Patrick Would Feel About/Interact with an Extremely Shy Reader (Anonymous Request - Imagine)

* Request: The reader is super shy and only talks when talked to. She never says more than five words and hates being confronted and talking in public. I would love to see how Patrick would feel. Thank you so so much!! ♥️

* Any and all credit for this idea goes to the requestor.

For the past few weeks, you had been working on a school project with Patrick Hockstetter - you shared biology together, and, although you’d never spoken to him before, you’d always known him as the guy who was way too amped up on dissection days 

In fact, you’d literally seen him stuff a fetal pig into his backpack once, but you hadn’t dared to say anything to your teacher about it 

Because, really, who wants to mess with a guy who steals fetal pigs under any circumstance?

Regardless though (and regardless of the countless other things you’d heard about the guy), you two had been paired together to give a presentation on the plant of your choosing - what function it served in the ecosystem, and what internal mechanisms it used to stay alive

True to his normal character, Patrick had wanted to do your report on the venus fly trap since day one

And, even though you had wanted to do it on literally anything else, you went along with it, because you were never one to argue 

… Which Patrick would come to notice over the course of your time together 

From the moment he met you, Patrick knew you were shy (and loved it), but he didn’t realize just how shy until you officially started working together 

Every time he would focus on the project long enough to suggest an idea (which wasn’t often, seeing as he usually seemed to be focused on invading your personal space and giving you nightmare fuel), you gave him nothing in the way of resistance - just a nod of your head

Every time he would ask you a question, you would simply answer yes or no - anything to avoid coming out with a full sentence 

And, most noticeably, every time he’d meet your eyes and say something vulgar (“Cat got your tongue, princess? Maybe you could let me borrow it for a while once he’s done with it.” *Shudder-inducing Hockstetter smirk*), you’d do nothing but collapse into yourself, instantly a blushing mess

Essentially, Patrick came to realize that you were so shy, you’d let basically anything happen to you

You went along with everything he said, wouldn’t respond to sarcasm, insults, or come-ons (regardless of how strongly he came at you with them), and, in a lot of ways, seemed almost incapable of speaking 

… Which drove him insane with lust from the second he registered it 

Patrick had never met a girl so deeply ingrained in submission, and decided he wanted you from that point on

But, what he also realized… 

… was that he wasn’t entirely sure what your voice sounded like 

In all the time you two had been working together (which was approximately two weeks, at that point), you’d never said more than a few words to him at once - and Patrick decided that it was time to force you out of that comfort zone 

Partly for the sake of hearing you speak, but mostly for the sake of watching you panic

… And he decided this the day before your presentation was due

You walked into biology the next day, note-cards in hand, ready to present your half of the presentation - you were nervous, as always, but felt a little better than usual because you knew you’d have a partner… even if it was Patrick friggin’ Hockstetter

You sat down at your desk, looked around the room, and noticed one thing right away - Patrick wasn’t there

Which was fine, because he usually snuck in just before the final bell, but you had been hoping to go over the presentation together before class started (which never would’ve happened anyway, but it was optimistic of you nonetheless) 

You read over your note-cards, eyeing the clock as the minutes ticked down 

Class would be starting in 4 minutes - totally fine. Patrick would come

Class would be starting in 3 minutes - cool, cool. Patrick would make it

Class would be starting in 2 minutes - It was seriously fine. It was literally great. Patrick was on his way 

Class would be starting in 1 minute - OH MY GOD, NO. PLEASE NO. SERIOUSLY, OKAY, THIS CAN’T HAPPEN. DEATH IS IMMINENT, AND THERE’S NOTHING I CAN DO TO STOP IT.

Finally (just as your freak-out was reaching its peak), Patrick ducked into the room, his arrival punctuated, as always, by the last bell

You’d truly never been so happy to see those piercing green eyes, and that long-legged stride coming towards you

… But, suddenly, the stride changed directions

Patrick’s eyes remained on yours, a spark of something like sick, amused intent flashing through them; the edges of his lips curled into a small smirk, and you finally registered that he was making his way over to your teacher 

Standing in front of Mr. Anderson, Patrick did what he always did - reverted to his “normal boy” act. He smiled politely, if not a little bit tiredly, and placed a note on Mr. Anderson’s desk

… At which point a knot began to form in your stomach

Mr. Anderson read the note briefly, nodded in understanding, and called you over to the table - not at all noticing Patrick’s seriously un-subtle giddiness 

Sighing, you walked over...

... and heard the worst news of your life:

“Hey, y/n. So, unfortunately Patrick here has step throat, so he won’t be able to help you present today - but he did bring his note-cards with him, so you can just read his half of the presentation from those. Okay?”

Right away, you could tell it was one of those questions that wasn’t a question; Mr. Anderson stared at you kindly, but expectantly. 

… So, you mustered a smile from the deepest depths of your soul, nodded, and took Patrick’s note-cards. 

Just as you turned to go back to your desk though, Patrick fixed you with one of the fakest (but, frighteningly enough, also one of the most believable) apologetic faces you’d ever seen - he knitted his eyebrows together in what, to you, was obviously feigned remorse, and looked down as if to say he was sorry for abandoning you

The look earned a “good boy” smile from Mr. Anderson, but you’d never wanted to choke someone so much in your life

You decided you’d hate that face forever - smirk, grin, or fake lip-pout. It was the terrible, awful face of a boy that was forcing you into public speaking. And that was fucking unforgivable 

For the next few minutes, as other people presented, you died inside over and over again

All you could think about was having to present information you hadn’t prepared for, and your hands trembled even as you sat 

Finally, it was time to be publicly executed - Mr. Anderson called “the venus fly trap group,” and you slid out of your seat, moving unsteadily to the front of the room

Venus fucking fly trap. You hadn’t even wanted to do the report on the damn thing, and that seemed all the more insulting now

You stood tall (or as tall as you could, given you were in a state of stage 3 panic), and faced the class, deciding to start out as strong as you could

… But one face made your voice catch in your throat 

Seated at the very back of the class, right in the middle of the room, so he could stare at you dead-on, was Patrick - grinning like a maniac, and already on the verge of laughter 

Though his face overall was a picture of joy, Patrick’s eyes were filled with nothing but cruelty; it reminded you of a butcher, smiling heinously (and meaning that smile with all his heart) just before chopping the head off a piece of meat 

Needless to say, it threw you, and you started reading your note-cards already in the middle of a stutter 

From there on, things went nowhere but downhill

So downhill that it felt like you were falling from Mt. Everest 

After struggling to read through your own note-cards adequately (and failing miserably), you finally got to Patrick’s 

… Which had nothing on them (except the top one, which had a picture of a badly drawn smiley face) and required you to improvise the rest 

Which you did - visibly trembling, and with your voice shaking the entire time

By the end of the presentation, you were a sweaty mess 

You hadn’t even looked up more than twice, because every time you did, you met Patrick’s shit-eating smirk

Despite everything though, you managed to get a good grade (though you suspected Mr. Anderson only gave it to you out of pity)

At the end of class, as everyone made their way out of the room, you felt a tap on your shoulder just as Mr. Anderson walked into the hallway 

...You almost didn’t want to turn around. 

But you did, and you saw just what you expected to see: Patrick - his lips so curled as to look “Grinchy,” with a look of bemused approval on his face 

“I knew you had it in ya’, sweetheart.” 

You knew it.

You fucking knew it.

Strep-throat?

Yeah.

Bullshit.

You opened your mouth to protest, but no sound came out 

Grinning, his eyes fiery with excitement, Patrick leaned in close to you

His hand came up to move a strand of hair from your cheek, and he brought his leering face ever closer to yours. Your eyes shot down to the ground as he craned over you; his cold breath cascaded down your forehead and chin

“Don’t be mad, princess - I just had to know what that sweet little voice sounded like.”

There was no air between you. All there was, was Patrick’s voice - nasally, like a snarky teenager’s… but predatory, like an animal’s 

“And, you gotta’ know… you look so fucking delicious when you shake.”

The both of you stood for a moment - you drowning in the silence that filled the room, and Patrick basking in it. His nearness alone unsettled you, he knew, and you could swear you felt him lick his stretched, leathery lips before tucking your hair behind your ear

With that, the tension was gone. Patrick was suddenly across the room from you, just about to make his way out the door. You stood frozen in place by your desk, stunned by the recent turn of events. Did Patrick Hockstetter… like you? Was that what all this had been about?

Patrick turned to you a final time, still backing towards the door. You could tell he was picturing you naked, his mouth open, but his lips still turned up in a smirk. His eyes traced down your body excitedly, seeming to search every nook and cranny before settling once more on your face. 

He smiled a final smile; it was like he’d gathered all the mischief in the world into that one expression

“See you tomorrow, sweetie.” He winked. He licked his lips again

It was much more pronounced this time though, for your viewing pleasure 

“Y’know, you can try to be quiet all you want - one day you’re gonna scream my name until your fuckin’ throat’s raw.”

Finally, Patrick disappeared into the throng of kids outside the classroom door

You stood alone, collecting your thoughts.

Patrick Hockstetter had embarrassed you.

Patrick Hockstetter had fucking scared you.

… But… Patrick Hockstetter... liked you.

And, for some reason, you weren’t so sure you hated that

[lotuslightmaiden]

—    BASICS.  

▸ IS    YOUR    MUSE    TALL    /    SHORT    /    AVERAGE ? at 5′4 she is not exceptionally tall.

▸ ARE    THEY    OKAY    WITH    THEIR    HEIGHT ? People often over look someone who is short or underestimates them and so there no issue with her over her height. All the better to be deceptively ‘helpless’

▸ WHAT’S    THEIR    HAIR    LIKE ? Yanli wears her hair long, often pulled up and well decorated usually by flowers, or bird pins. When it is down and let free its well past her backside. More so in her Rewrite the Stars & Written in the Star’s Verse, she grows it out even longer.

▸ DO    THEY    SPEND    A    LOT    OF    TIME    ON    THEIR    HAIR     /    GROOMING ? well she has to , or has someone help her with it, due to sheer length of it. She keeps it up nicely since your suppose to always be well composed and carry yourself well, she has never stopped with her own personal keep up. Her hair is possibly a vanity of hers if she were to say she had one.

▸ DOES   YOUR   M USE   CARE   ABOUT   THEIR   APPEARANCE   /   WHAT    OTHERS    THINK ? Rare is the account where she applies make-up. She does however keep up her clothing and her skin is flawless due to her personal up-keep. She has been ridiculed for many things over her life so while yes it hurts. She doesn’t take the cruelty of others to heart. She knows who and what she is. So their comments would be met with an indifferent stare.

—    PREFERENCES.

▸ INDOORS    OR    OUTDOORS ?  both, she loves walking outdoors and seeing places to draw and sketch when she’s indoors. ▸ RAIN    OR    SUNSHINE ?  rain. the way it patters on the roof and cools the air. Gives that soft scent you can get no where else. While sunshine is loved, it is not to the degree of rain. ▸ FOREST    OR    BEACH ?   forest.- She is big on sitting under trees and listening to the wind through the leaves. ▸ PRECIOUS    METALS    OR    GEMS ?   Gems-they are bright and beautiful, she enjoys how the shimmer. Metal’s are those things that are sharp and can cut. ▸ FLOWERS    OR    PERFUMES ?   Flowers- Flowers are beautiful, there scent is compelling and they make the world better for the brief time they are there. ▸ PERSONALITY    OR    APPEARANCE ?   personality.- Yanli is the personification of this, beauty is nice but if their is no conversation, no witty dialog, no shared interests or desires to spend time together, than what is beauty but another piece of art that sits in a room, magnificent but cold. ▸ BEING    ALONE    OR    BEING    IN    A    CROWD ?   being in a crowd - She likes to be among people, she is happy to sit and watch people paint, dance, children run and play. Even if she is not among them. She enjoys the scene. ▸ ORDER    OR    ANARCHY ?   Order while the world is full plenty of both. She is very set to keeping things going and making sure people have what they need. ▸ PAINFUL    TRUTHS    OR    WHITE    LIES ?   Painful truths, please don’t lie to her. Yes it will hurt briefly but if you lie to her, how can she trust your words when you are being serious ? ▸ SCIENCE    OR    MAGIC ?   Magic- because she is fascinated by it. ▸ PEACE    OR    CONFLICT ?   Peace--do I really need to go into why ? ▸ NIGHT    OR    DAY ?   Day she is better able to see those dear to her, and spend time with them. Night time is for her partner and family. ▸ DUSK    OR    DAWN ?   Dawn - Have you seen the way the sky is illuminated all of the beautiful colors. ▸ WARMTH    OR    COLD ?   warmth. ▸ MANY   ACQUAINTANCES    OR    A    FEW    CLOSE    FRIENDS ?  few close friends. ▸ READING    OR    PLAYING    A    GAME ?   both. She enjoys reading but she also enjoy tactical games as well. Yanli is something of a game shark. You might not think it to look at her but she annihilates on the game board field.

—    QUESTIONNAIRE.

▸ WHAT    ARE    SOME    OF    YOUR    MUSE’S    BAD    HABITS ? She is selfless, she will place herself in mortal danger to protect anyone she loves. She is very forgiving and she wants to please people. She want to live up to the views that her mother instilled in her and yet she finds that people use this against her. She is kind to a default, and will go out of her way to help _ANYONE_ who needs her. She can not help but help others.

▸ HAS    YOUR    MUSE    LOST    ANYONE    CLOSE    TO    THEM ?      HOW    HAS    IT    AFFECTED    THEM ? In her main verse she looses her mother and father and this is such a painful experience that it emotionally wounds her deeply. She looses Wei Wuxian and she can not sleep or rest with the concern that he might be out there somewhere hurt or suffering. She looses her husband as well. Her life is mirrored with tragedies and so she has done all she can to make sure her loved ones are close to her. In the verse where she lives, she has a time to come to terms with the loss and move on. She still hates to loose loved ones, and she will accompany them or find other ways to protect them as she can. In her Another Life verse she is a Spirit who could not let go of her son and tries to watch over him. Though he can not see her or feel her.

▸ WHAT    ARE    SOME    FOND    MEMORIES    YOUR    MUSE    HAS ? All of her memories are fond for her of her brothers and her family on Lotus Pier. She remembers when she first held Rulan how he gripped her hair and the way he clung to her as though he knew her. There is also her fondness for painting and she has a habit of painting fire birds blues & purple and reds and blacks.

▸ IS    IT    EASY    FOR    YOUR    MUSE    TO    KILL ? No, Yanli would have to be hard pressed to kill. Not that she can’t in the verses that she does take up the sword. She is kindly and it would wound her deeply to have to. 

▸ WHAT’S    IT    LIKE    WHEN    YOUR    MUSE    BREAKS    DOWN ? Cold and numb. She does not focus on anything herself included she tends to internalize, she shuts people out. It took her years to get over the death of her brother and husband. She has grown stronger and more willful, but she can still be broken.

▸ IS    YOUR    MUSE    CAPABLE    OF    TRUSTING    SOMEONE    WITH    THEIR    LIFE ? Yes-she trusts many people with her life, Though it can be comparative to say her love and her children are her life, and so each time they go out. She prays for their safety she worries for their well being and she in turn does everything she can for them if its as small as feed them or as large as protecting them.

▸ WHAT’S    YOUR    MUSE    LIKE    WHEN    THEY’RE    IN    LOVE ? Yanli loves everyone and so its harder to tell that she’s in love  ? I feel like she innocently flirts, its the tossed looks, the soft longing, spending time, and gentle mischief  actions. All to show some affection. Flowers and kind words, favorite foods, and gentle touches. Actively going out of her way to spend time with the person. Yanli is very artistic from painting to poetry. She may dance for them or with them.

[chimcharstar]

Questions 1, 2, skip a few, 99 100! ANSWER THEM ALL!!!!!!

LETS DO THIS

99 gay-ish asks

how tall are you?5 SOMETHING

what is your body type?SLENDERMAN

what is your favorite part about your body?THE T

is your current hair color your natural hair color?YES

are you more outgoing or more shy?SHY

are you more femme or butch?ITS COMPLICATED, BUT, BUTCH

are you tol or smol?APPARENTLY IM TWINK. NOT SURE WHERE THAT IS ON THIS SCALE

wine mom or vodka aunt?NO

weird habit?I EAT BREAKFAST FOOD AT ANY HOUR

favorite meme?VIBE CHECK, IM SMUG ABOUT MY URL

do you sing in the shower?NO BUT I USED TO. JUST SHY ABOUT ROOMMATES. I DO IN MY CAR

ever used a bow and arrow?NO, BUT MY BROTHER DESIGNED AND BUILT ONE, GOT IN TROUBLE FOR MAKING A WEAPON

are/were you a theatre kid?IN AN ALTERNATE UNIVERSE WHERE IM ALLOWED TO HAVE AN EGO, YES

have you ever seen a broadway musical?NO

do you think musicals are cheesy?NO I THINK THEYRE JUST A MEDIUM OF ART

have you ever been a part of a protest or a march?NO WEIRDLY

favorite Cards Against Humanity Card?IDK THEM

last movie you watched?PROBABLY MEGEAMIND

behind the camera or in front of it?BEHIND. BUT BOTH IS GOOD

favorite tv show?AVATAR THE LAST AIRBENDER

meaning behind your urlTHE ACTUAL REASON IS IT REMINDS ME I CAN TRUST MY INTUITION

reason you joined tumblrA CRUSH WROTE IN MY YEARBOOK I SHOULD GET IT. DONT WRITE THAT IN PEOPLES YEARBOOKS

who’s your closest tumblr friend?THE PERSON ASKING ME 99 QUESTIONS

what’s something most people love that you hate?TACOS AT WORK. THEYRE POPULAR OF COURSE. I MAY NOT KNOW MY TACOS, BUT PLAIN RAW CABBAGE ON THEM MAKES ME DOUBT

have you ever taken narcotics?NO

have you had sex?NO

have you ever gotten caught sneaking out or doing anything bad?I DONT GET CAUGHT!!!! IM SO SNEAKY… AND TRAUMATIZED. I ONLY GOT CAUGHT WHEN PEOPLE WERE LIKE, HUNTING ME. NOT FAIR. ALSO HOW DO YOU “GET CAUGHT” FOR DOING NORMAL THINGS LIKE READING AND HAVING CLOTHES

worst/funniest lie you’ve ever told?PROBABLY THE REASSURING CHRISTIAN VALUES THINGS I TOLD MY PARENTS TO GET MY BIRTH CERTIFICATE. IT WAS THE FUNNIEST BECAUSE FOR SOMEONE INCONVENIENTLY TRUTHFUL, THAT WAS SOME PRETTY HARDCORE LYING IN A RIDICULOUS SITUATION, AND THE WORST BECAUSE WHAT A HORRIBLE THING TO HAVE TO DO. IT WAS HORRIBLE BECAUSE I WAS SO CONVINCING BECAUSE I MIXED IT WITH THE TRUTH I COULD SINCERELY EXPRESS

describe your passion without mentioning it.HEY GUYS IM WRITING CHAPTER 1 AGAIN I THINK I FIGURED IT OUT THIS TIME

describe your best friend.WARM STRONG RESILIENT UNCONDITIONALLY LOVING KINDLY HONEST CREATIVE TALENTED BRAVE HARDWORKING BEAUTIFUL ORIGINAL NURTURING SELF CONFIDENT

give us one thing about you that no one knows.NO ONE KNOWS THE GRITTY DETAILS OF SOME SAD MOMENTS IN MY PAST. DID YOU KNOW I HATE THE SMELL OF HOSPITAL FOOD FROM WHEN I VISITED A FAMILY MEMBER IN A PSYCH WARD

how do you feel right now?GOOD, I SHOULD PROBABLY GO TO BED THOUGH

what is your biggest fear?BREAKING SELF HARM STREAK

what’s a song that always makes you happy when you hear it?SING A SONG EARTH WIND AND FIRE

what is the best decision you’ve made in your life so far?LEAVING MY PARENTS. ITS TAKEN ME AGES TO UNLEARN SO MUCH SELF-DEFEATING STUFF

have you ever tried your hardest and then been disappointed in the end?MOSTLY EVERYTHING IN MY LIFE BUT IM CHILL

something you fantasize about.ACTUALLY DANCING TO MUSIC I LIKE. I NEVER LEARNED HOW TO DANCE BUT I WANT TO SFM

last time you cried and whyTHAT PREACHER GUY IN LUCIFER. IT SUCKED BUT IM SO BLOWN AWAY BY LUCIFERS ANGRY YELLING AT THE SKY. WHAT A GIANT MOOD

what was the last thing that made you laugh?MY SISTER ASKING ME WHAT DILF MEANT

do you really, truly miss someone right now?NO. IF I MISS SOMEONE, ITS A SIGN THEY WERE A BAG OF DICKS TO ME AND MESSED UP MY INNER CLARITY

who do you feel most comfortable talking to about anything?YOU

the last time you felt broken?WHEN MY TWO FRIENDS AT THE TIME GANGED UP ON ME AND ABANDONED ME AT A NOT PRETTY TIME IN MY LIFE. I COULDNT EAT WHICH AND I STILL STRUGGLE WITH EATING, I NEVER USED TO

are you starting to realize anything?THAT IF I RELY ON MY LIFE EXPERIENCE, ILL EXPECT TO FAIL AND SABOTAGE MYSELF, AND INSTEAD I NEED TO TAKE RISKS AND PUT FAITH IN MY FUTURE.

are you more dominant or more submissive?THERES EVIDENCE FOR BOTH, BUT I THINK THE LATTER IS JUST FROM ABUSE AND GIRL RULES

i’ll only date you if _____. (fill in the blank)WASH YOUR HANDS FOR THE LOVE OF GOD

do you prefer to date people the same age as you, younger, or older?AROUND MY AGE THERE IS SOME UNDERSTANDING

describe the person you’re in love with/have a crush on in great detail.IM NOT IN LOVE I DONT EVEN HAVE A CRUSH. I MAY HAVE A SQUISH

do you have any kinks?MAYBE SO

first thing you notice in a person?HOW THEY HANDLE STRESS AND PROBLEMS, IF THEY BLAME/GET ANGRY, OR IF THEY ARE COMPASSIONATE AND PATIENT. LOOKING FOR RED FLAGS

how can someone win your heart?FOOD. CHEESECAKE WAS A POWER MOVE. BONDING… OVER FOOD. I HAVE HAPPY MEMORIES ATTACHED TO BEVERAGES.

been rejected by a crush?YES

have you ever had feelings for someone who didn’t have them back?YES

would you have sex with the last person you text messaged?NO

is trust a big issue for you?YES

did you hang out with the person you like recently?NO

is confidence cute?YES, SELF LOVE LOOKS GOOD ON PEOPLE

what would you say if the person you love/like kissed another girl/boy?GOOD FOR THEM. I DONT LIKE ANYONE RIGHT NOW

would you be able to date someone who doesn’t make you laugh?NO. GIGGLING LIKE A LUNATIC IS AN IMPORTANT PART OF MY LIFE AND YOU NEED TO KEEP UP

does the person you have feelings for right now know you do?IF THEYRE FEELINGS, PROBABLY, BECAUSE IM TRANSPARENT

ever embarrass yourself in front of a crush?IVE HAD MY EMBARRASSMENT GLANDS REMOVED FOR MY FTM TRANSITION

do you want to get marriedYEAH WHEN IM FIFTY THEN ILL GET A BUNCH OF DOGS AND CATS AND CHICKENS

worst thing you’ve ever done?APPARENTLY IVE BORROWED BOOKS AND NEVER RETURNED THEM

three things that turn you on.IM GOING THRU PUBERTY 2, TEENAGE BOY EDITION, IT DOESNT TAKE MUCH

who do you hate?I DONT LIKE SUCH SIMPLE CATEGORIES, BUT I START TO FEEL HATRED WITH REPEATED CRUELTY/WHEN SOMEONE REFUSES TO HEAR ME

favorite term of endearment?MY FRIEND

who was your celebrity/fictional gay awakening?I DIDNT REALLY HAVE TVS/POP CULTURE GROWING UP LIKE MOST PEOPLE, PROBABLY FOUND IT IN CREATIVE WRITING

intimidating girls or kind girls?KIND

what do you look for in a possible partner?EQUALITY

do you tend to like more masculine, feminine, or androgynous girls?YES

are you good at flirting?PERHAPS. WHEN IM NOT THINKING ABOUT IT

who was the first person you came out to?I DONT ACTUALLY REMEMBER. A HIGH SCHOOL FRIEND. IT WAS A STRESSFUL COMPLICATED TIME, MY WORLD WAS UPSIDE DOWN, IT WAS GRADUAL

do you have any friends who are wlw?PROBABLY

is your crush wlw?IDK

last person to make you reconsider your sexuality?A DOUCHE CANOE UNFORTUNATELY

write a short love poem to your crush/self?DEAR PERSON,THANK YOU FOR THE CHEESECAKEIT WAS SO GOODBUT ONLY BECAUSE IT WAS FROM YOU

do you fall in love easily?NO. I WISH I DID. I COULD USE THE HIGH TO GET STUFF DONE

is there something that happened in your past that you hate talking about?I HATE TALKING ABOUT THINGS THAT MAKE ME FEEL HUMILIATED AND ASHAMED, SO I JUST DONT. I ALSO HATE TALKING ABOUT SELF HARM BECAUSE I NEVER KNOW HOW. AM I GOING TO TRIGGER PEOPLE? AND IT IS SHROUDED IN SHAME AND FEAR.

are you good at hiding your feelings?YES, WHEN I CONSCIOUSLY MAKE AN EFFORT TO

are you a forgiving person?NO. I USED TO BE ALL ABOUT FORGIVENESS, AND GREW UP FORGIVING ABUSIVE CYCLES, IT WAS SO UNHEALTHY. NOW I FEEL LIKE A CROW HOLDING GRUDGES FOR CENTURIES, AND I DONT WANT TO BE BITTER EITHER – I OFTEN FEEL BAD FOR NOT FORGIVING, EVEN IF ITS JUST FORGIVENESS FOR MY OWN SAKE. BUT ITS A NEW DEVELOPMENT THAT IM ALLOWING MYSELF TO FEEL ANGRY, BE TRUTHFUL ABOUT BEING WRONGED, WANT JUSTICE FOR MYSELF. AND MAYBE SOME THINGS SHOULDNT BE FORGIVEN.

what is your “type?”I DONT KNOW. I RECENTLY STARTED GROWING SOME SELF WORTH, AND I DONT THINK THE PEOPLE IVE SOUGHT OUT TO RELIVE MY PAIN COUNTS

fall asleep in her arms or rub her back until she falls asleep in yours?LAST ONE

tall girls or short girls?BOTH IS GOOD

hugs or kisses?HUGS

twirl her around or get twirled?I WANNA TWIRL PEOPLE

tummy kisses or thigh kisses?BOTH

hairline kisses or neck kisses?NECK

play with her hair or stroke her tummy?PLAYING WITH HAIR

making out or soft kisses?MAKING OUT

hugs around the neck or hugs around the waist?WAIST

how confident are you in your sexuality?I THINK PEOPLE WOULD ASSUME IM NOT. IM SHY, AND MY NERDY CHRISTIAN VIBE ISNT GOING ANYWHERE. IM ALSO JUST BEGINNING TO LIVE AS MYSELF AND IM RELEARNING EVERYTHING. BUT WHEN IT COMES TO REALLY KNOWING MYSELF IM CONFIDENT

when you like someone do you blush or get butterflies in your stomach?NO. I WILL START CRANKING OUT ART AND FOCUS LESS THAN USUAL

have you ever liked a friend as more than a friend? did you tell them?YES

how old were you when you realized you were into girls?20ISH BUT THE SIGNS WERE THERE LONG BEFORE

most embarrassing thing you’ve done in front of a cute girl?I GOT MY EMBARRASSMENT GLANDS REMOVED REMEMBER

do you have a favorite lesbian ship? is it canon?I DONT KNOW MANY BUT IM HAPPY FOR THE CANON MARCELINE AND BUBBLEGUM

what is the most aggravating thing someone has said to you about your sexuality?MY SISTER PROJECTING ABOUT HER LIFE. WE HAVE CONSERVATIVE MISOGYNIST PARENTS BUT WE ARE VERY DIFFERENT PEOPLE AND IT DID NOT AFFECT US IN THE SAME WAY

when was the last time a girl made your heart flutter?I FEEL LIKE IM FORGETTING SOMETHING NICE A STRANGER SAID ONCE

what is love to you?NOT SOMETHING YOU DISPENSE AT YOUR CONVENIENCE. ITS A WAY OF LIVING – IF YOU LOVE YOURSELF, YOU LOVE OTHER PEOPLE, AND YOU LOVE THE WORLD AROUND YOU AND TAKE CARE OF IT. ITS NEITHER FAWNING NOR CONTROL – ITS ACCEPTANCE

ask me anything.YOU DIDNT ASK ME ANYTHING SO IM JUST GOING TO TELL YOU SOMETHING. IVE BEEN EATING POPCORN CHICKEN WITH HONEY

[theworstjedi]

Facing the Mirror

Friyr heard metal spikes scrambling down a cantina counter and across the room in that very same insectoid manner NM-1 possessed.

“Hullo, George. Stop tryin’ t’get th’bartender t’serve you alcohol,” he intoned without greeting. He tapped the weapon turned makeshift staff in his hand around the room as she stepped forward.

Rrzzzwiittt

Friyr snorted as the butt of his piping hit on something solid, and Friyr edged his way around it. “No you didn’t. I don’ think your audio sensors pick up anythin’ beyond this room.”

Zzzwroot

A smile tugged the cut corner of Friyr’s mouth. “Truuuue a lotta people don’ deserve me; that’s fact. Dunno why you’re so concerned with it though.”

Reet

Friyr’s expression quickly turned to a frown in the wake of the sliding doors. “Even if I was th’type t’get all jolly with m’master, there’s a big ol’flaw in your get me with Tabris plan.”

Friyr wiggled his fingers at Mader Gunns spiel in Huttese, he didn’t fully understand, then stepped out into Ambria’s dry coarse heat. Old sunburns immediately stung in protest. Friyr dug his teeth into each other. Time made callouses but did not build pain resistance. Ambria. Ammmbria. It got under his skin the way sun damage soaked up heat, and yet—the perverse call over the rocky wastes appealed something fierce to him.  

Wrrrrooottoo doot doot

“Yeah, I guess there’s plenty’a green guys around.” Friyr made a face. “Why’s everyone think I gotta green fetish?” he muttered as NM grabbed his pants leg. Friyr stopped, a displeased bent to his mouth as the droid pinched the fabric, tugged for security, and began to climb up until he was perched on Friyr’s good shoulder, which Friyr leaned away to accommodate. He could feel NM’s little legs digging into his chest through the clothing. He began to walk again. His pace was more burdened by NM’s heavy carapace.

The little but weighty droid trilled again. “Yah, aliens’re preddy hot,” Friyr conceded in an undertone on the off chance any were around. “I never did getta try out Chiss.” Friyr bounced to the balls of his feet to jostle the stowaway. “By th’way. Yer not stayin’ up there.”

Delet doorooo too otooo

The droid fiddled with the bag on Friyr’s back, making the man duck with a pouch to his lips as the fabric of the study canvas pulled and the metal fastenings came undone. “Yer not comin’.”

<<Stop me bitch,>> The droid said in fully rendered basic automation.

Friyr’s lips parted in combination surprise and resignation.

<<I wish to see what happens in this desert.>>

“Well there are no big booty red heads, I prahmise.”

<<We will see. I have heard tales of lone desert spirits in the form of beautiful women offering favors to men.>>

Friyr rolled his eyes so hard he felt the strain in his sockets. “Yah? Bully fer ‘em. Tell me when there’s Massassi suckin’ dick out there. I’ll bring cred chips.”

___

Friyr bounced the pack to a string of binary to audio curses, chuckled, and left on his way. The desert was cruel. The sand shifted with the movements of the Force, belying his own insignificance in it. Wails of a past pain were resonant with each gust of wind and beaten ray of sun that peeled him, so Friyr didn’t judge Ambria too harshly. The planet had come to suit his soul.

Though it didn’t think kindly of him, he did of it in a sense. Caring about something Sith scorned was as futile as the last steps of the behemoth that had staggered and died in the sand. Friyr felt the gargantuan skeleton loom out of the desert easily. The currents of wind diverted in its wake. The creature had died alone. Perhaps scared. But it had tried. Friyr could try and hope it made a little bit of difference before he kicked it.

The first thing Friyr did when he waded through the sand trails to his chosen spot, was throw his pack inside of the skull. It was shaded and spacious in the maw of the beast. Friyr climbed in through the crown of teeth and reshouldered his staff. The plain bone agianst his flat palm acted as his guide.

The Force was warm here. Familiar, like home, but it was uncontestedly dark in concentration. Friyr couldn’t count how many times he’d come here and—

He dropped his jaw, his walls to the Force, and screamed until the dead world, plagued by its own pain, resonated with the chills of his own echoing from his body. Sand eddied with his voice heightened by shame, failure, defeat.

When you scream for blood, you lean the weight of every decision that has led you here to it so that your enemy might know it. Herald his death with your unquenchable thirst for it. You are Sith.

It was transformative. Friyr channeled the unused emotions cluttering his stomach into the darkness he felt deep inside him still, and the unearthly wail welcomed by a world that had seen many desperate and dying beasts before haunted and unhallowed the ground he stood on. Not that it had been hallow to begin with; Ambria was not an innocent planet.

Friyr panted as his breath, taken from far beyond his lungs, ran dry. His eyes wide and  blown a beautiful gold. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.He fell back against the bone. Heaving.

“Friyr?”

…

Luca Dorne was not the highest on the list of people he wished to talk to in his moment of weakness. No one was, but—Friyr turned to face him.

___

Luca had left after a brief moment of sitting in the sun talking and giving himself heatstroke all the while. Talking. NM had busied himself arranging the small encampment Friyr kept in the skull. He dug in the sand and complained as Friyr leaned back and settled himself against the bone wall, feeling the temperature fade by degrees. He drifted… in and out of a trance, sometimes replying to the small droid’s complaints.

When he came to, the sun had set, and NM was furiously keeping vigil for the aforementioned spirits. Friyr could hear the tap of his legs shifting the sand. He smiled. Friyr closed his eyelids and savored the coolness. He was distinctly hungry from the trance. The screams had left him empty, elevated and awash in the Force’s grip.

Friyr leaned the forward and pulled the pack forward, feeling for the oilcloth of food he’d settled next to the bundle he’d made for Marzian. His fingers touched the soft skin, and he pulled it out. His fingers unknotted the thin twine as he thought.

Something had to give for Friyr Illustratum. Becoming a Jedi had forced Friyr to strip himself down in front of a mirror and admit he hated parts of himself he’d grown to love. He had been created in adversity and forged by his own callousness. Friyr remembered what it was to be Sith every time he wailed into the empty dunes with no one to hear and no one to care.

Power, strength infused his ruined body, soothed the muscles that no longer worked. The Force murmured that she had him so long as he paid his due to her in the end. It was comforting even if the sum he owed for these narcotic injections of calm assurance were steep from his past usage. Friyr remembered what it was to keep a clear mind in those precious moments of sight and … ability. Free of his body and the prison of stubbornly tormented thoughts. It was a lie.

Friyr only ever had wanted to be alright, he realized, and the decrepit price he’d paid for it was more than he had realized. Sith was fantasy borne of desperate men who didn’t want to admit they were dying. They took people with them before they went but—

Friyr pushed the cloth back and brushed his fingers over the dried fruit and bread. The fruit leather was oilier than the dried oro. He brushed over the rough meat to soft pillowy yeast.

Friyr wanted nothing more than to cut his connection to the Force. He might’ve asked had he not respected the time Teran, As’traa, and Ma’lar had done to pull him back from the brink. Friyr tried not to disappoint people. Especially those he made promises to. Jedi did not make bonds wantonly and neither did slaves.

Friyr tore a piece of the bread with his teeth, calm now. Unnaturally so.

He could only imagine what Sahley would’ve thought. He had changed. The Sahley he had bedded would’ve thought different of the old Sith. Impressed somehow by his scars and the obvious experience behind his words. The way that Friyr had ran his hands over him and the express interest that Sahley had admitted to finding only once before.

This Sahley, the one that Friyr was less apt to take advantage of, believed more in the Sith’s capacity to give in to his own pain. To desert. To run. Like Friyr had run from him. There were furls of difficulty in his words. Distance from the hard and fast way Friyr had been living as though it had been expected. And why shouldn’t he? Friyr had severed the budding connection Sahley had searched for with a purposeful cruelty. Pain, he’d justified then, was the only teacher and none of his business if it wasn’t his own. Friyr hadn’t given anyone any other impression than fast, loose, and easy anyhow.

Friyr swallowed and began to gulp small mouthfuls of water, so it wouldn’t hit him all too hard.

Friyr didn’t know when that had become the rule. It wasn’t him, but he was lonely, starved for close relationships, and half-crazy from his time in the Empire. Bodies were grounding, and he was good at having people but not carrying them with him. They filled a need left vacant. That was fine. Friyr wasn’t a creature of luxury. He was simple. He needed food, sex, and George in that order.

But every so often. A Kurt. A Sahley. He’d wander by, and Friyr would wonder. He hadn’t known he liked the green skinned alien until last night. Sitting in a tree with a girl he barely knew but liked very well enough. In this quiet moment Friyr could pinpoint the exact moment he’d endeared himself to the one-night stand.

He capped the bottle, placed it back into the sand, and wandered outside, pushing heaps of sand in his wake. His face turned up to a distant moon washing the sand in a dim glow that gauzed his eyes.            Sahley had taken his wrist and pulled him out onto the deck of Outpost Aether. The Jedi inside milled around talking about things Friyr didn’t quite understand.

Can you feel the sun on your skin? he asked, and part of Friyr’s heart melted under the feeling of being cared for, paid attention to despite every part of him that people gawked at, pointed out, made awkward jokes over to cover their own anxiety. Sahley had grabbed his wrist and asked a blind man, if he could feel the sun. It was so pathetic. Wanting.

Friyr realized that he would always be dogged by the curiosity of what it was to be loved by someone else in the way he loved them. The attachment was not to Sahley. Perhaps not to Kurt, but rather the need to feel—wanted?

Friyr closed his eyes and breathed outward. A stray breeze cradled his face a moment before it returned to the heavens. A chime of musical notes followed it, and Friyr hummed to the tune of the universe gently singing. Today had been good for him. Friyr had asked Sahley to be his in a way Friyr already knew he didn’t want but couldn’t exist without. The man had said a clear no, and Friyr had finally exhaled a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. In truth, he didn’t know what he’d do with Sahley if he’d said yes.

The rejection was closure. Friyr still nursed a sweet spot for the mirialan, but he didn’t ache for him. Not the way he’d ached for Kurt in silence and shame. Friyr knew he’d never be wanted, if only because logically he didn’t care for the concept and people were smart enough to understand that chasing that was trouble. His heart, like his body had needs though. Something would need to be arranged because Friyr couldn’t avoid attachments any longer, wait for someone else to tell him no. He needed to deal with them.

Friyr thumbed the Force Bond within him thoughtfully. Thoughtfully. Somewhere in the Empire, a pang of a memory found Kurt Wax, but the Pureblood didn’t pull back. He was trying to move on. Friyr smiled sadly. Perhaps this was his answer.

[sunshine-and-murderxbears]

So I wrote a fic with my Oc and my friend over @mlmdarkfiction’s oc. I don’t write much usually and I’ve never really posted a fic to tumblr so... try to bear with me on this ;u; also I’m posting this via mobile so I’m sorry for the formatting if it’s bad

Rating: Mature

Potential triggers; Mental/Emotional Abuse, Possessiveness, Isolation from friends, violence, Murder.

Characters: Melody and Garma

Summary: Tension between Melody and Garma Grow as the jealous and possessive poltergeist uses his supernatural abilities to scare off her friends and love interests, finally Melody has had enough and does something no one would ever expect her to do.

—

[[READMORE]]

"I am having friends over, Please Behave" She says

She used to say is so sweetly, kindly. She used to say it in a way that reminded him that there was enough room in her heart for him and her friends; her lovers. She used to say it to him firmly to remind him that there was room enough in her life for all of them, to remind him that acting out wouldn't change anything. Except that it did because Now when she said those words, she said them coldly, harshly. Her sweet voice coruppted and fouled by weeks and weeks of growing resentment and bitterness towards him.

She's been drifting away from him as a result. She barely even looks at the little bear he came with anymore, she used to keep it in the same room as her. On the chair while she sat on the sofa and read a book, on the counter in the kitchen while she cooked, and tucked close to her breast while she slept, arms wrapped around it and holding it close. Now the bear sat on a shelf in her closet, sometimes she'd put it on her dresser but made it face the wall. Still she cuddled it at night while Garma sat at the foot of the bed and watched her sleep.

Sometimes he'd lay with her while she cried herself to sleep and whisper words of comfort to her while she hugged the bear and stained it her tormented tears. He wishes he could hold her, but it takes too much energy to make himself solid to do so. She cries now more because of him than anything else. She laments how she wishes he'd stop scaring people away.

Ever since she started dating Garma would act out whenever she had company, he's make unsettling and personal messages appear on the walls or mirrors, hed cause the lights to flicker and go out, and fling things across the room with potentially deadly force. Her friend now thought she was cursed and she couldn't maintain a relationship with anyone at all. This was a life she wanted to get the most out of because of her recovery, miraculous as it was. This gift she'd been given was starting to feel like a burden.

He heard her talking to her friend about the bear. She talked about throwing it away, she talked about moving so maybe this activity would stop and she could finally have a life. That hurt him a lot. She wanted to abandon him after everything he'd done for her? It stung, if he had a heart it'd have sunk to the pit of his stomach. As hurt as he felt, a part of him also felt guilty. He wanted to spare her from suffering, not be the cause of it. However if these people couldn't handle a haunting, then did they really deserve her? No, he concluded, as much as it hurts her now, its for the best in the long run. They can't hurt her if they can't get close to her in the first place.

She never does it though, she keeps the bear always, and she maintains her relationship with him, confides in him, allows him to comfort her when she needs a shoulder to cry on. He's all she has after all, what else was she supposed to do? Despite that she still gets more and more bitter towards him, angrier. She gets mad at him a lot, yelling at him. She's told him that She wishes she never accepted the bear, that she wishes she'd have thrown it away when she realized he came with it. She tells him he's not her angel anymore, he's not her guardian. She calls him evil, a demon, a curse. She wishes she never met him now even if that meant shed have died. These words sting, they always do. He tries to explain that he only does these things because he loves her.

Garma is jealous and greedy, he wants her all to himself, she's supposed to love him. He's helped her live, supported her and he has never left her side like everyone else has. He tells her that if her friends and her lovers really cared, they'd have supported her when she needed them, stuck around after the activity he cause, they wouldn't be telling other people she was cursed. He knows she believes him, she thinks he's right because of the way she shouts and cries, the way her body trembles with sorrow and rage. This life wasn't fair to her, it was supposed to be a gift, not a curse. Watching her, He remembers youthful eyes, ones that were scared and uncertain. He remembers how the other kids treated her with cruelty and unkindness and how she never treated them that way. Garma remembers draining each one of their life force and using it to heal her.

How young and Naïve she was back then, believing him to be an angel. Now she knows better, now she knows how awful he really is. Part of him wishes he had warned her before hand how terrible he was, but she needed him, and he loved her. God how he loved her. She was radiant and kind and beautiful, how could he not love her? He wanted to be with her and didn't want her with anyone else. No one else could have her, no one else would love her like he did, no one would be as devoted to her happiness and needs as he was. Only him and no one else.

After months of bottling up anger and frustration she finally snapped. He watched as she tore the house apart, broke several of her own belongings, watched items both large and small get hurled past that old ratty teddy bear she kept in the room with her some of the time. It all seems to happen in slow motion when it happens. Her tears caused her make up to smudge and smear, a sight to behold, a force to be reckoned with. The anger and the pain haunted him.

He watches in shock when she spots the bear, the source of all her suffering, the conduit to the one that presumably ruined her chance at a happy life. She looks up at him and says something that doesn't process with him. She wants to make him suffer like she has, that much he knows. She pulls as hard as she can until the arms ripped off the bear. Garma watches horrified, for a moment he almost feels as though it him she's tearing apart. She doesn't stop there, oh no. She keeps tugging it and ripping it, she throws it and stab it several times before taking it outside and throwing it into a trashcan and lighting it on fire.

Garma watches in shock, tears stream in what feels like thick blobs down his face as he looks at her. The fire lights her feature dramatically, she looks as hurt as he feels. Garma tries to speak but his words get stuck. Time seems to stop now as they stare at each other and it picks up again as she cries out and falls to her knees. She's sobbing. Garma watches her, he stares at the yellow flower barrette in her hair and for a moment is grateful he attached himself to that instead of staying attached to the bear or the barrette she put on it.

She wails in agony, arms wrapped tightly around herself. Garma, despite the overwhelming pain he's in knowing she just practically tried to kill him, approaches her and kneels in front of her. She shouts at him and punches him. He wraps his arms around her and pulls her into a hug. Its exhausting but necessary. She finally hugs him tightly as if he was the bear and sobs into his chest.

Once she's calm and laying in his arms, she apologizes to him.She explains that she doesn't hate him, she doesn't regret meeting him, she starts to cry when she apologizes for destroying the bear. She was angry and frustrated. Having to endure people leaving you all the time for something you can't control takes its toll on a person. He understands, and he forgives her.

Garma tells her He loves her, to which she chuckles weakly and sighs, her reply simply being "Too bad you're not alive, i'd have given us a shot.." Garma tightens his hold on her when he realizes she's right. Nothing could happen between them because she's alive and he's not. He sighs a shaky breath as he picks up a large shard of glass, probably from a broken bottle or something.

Her voice is soft again, Sweet and tender, "I love you, Garma... thank you for being one constant in my life." she says. She's too sweet for this cruel world. too kind..

"I love you too." Garma whispers back to her

Once she nods off he grips the glass tightly, his energy fading fast now. he leans down and kisses her forehead as he plunges it into the base of her skull, the soft part where it meets the neck. Her death is swift and peaceful. He pulls the glass out and lays her gently on the ground. He watches as her Spirit materializes close by, looking confused and scared. She then notices him, she also notices the blood on his hand and her corpse at his feet

"G-Garma....?"

Garma smiles sympathetically at her as he walks over to her and takes her hands, Melody looks mortified, but Garma looks genuinely happy with what's happened, even as he embraces her.

"Now we can be together forever."

[gorgonwoman]

can you rec good female monster horror movies?

asdfghj to be completely honest i don’t actually know a lot of horror movies? i’m not very good at watching movies and i get scared really easily so i don’t often watch them. i think joey @tenderbeasts posted a rec list of monstrous female horror movies here. 

i can recommend other things though? some of these women won’t be technically monstrous but run maybe parallel to it. 

the claymore series; it’s a manga/anime, and it’s my absolute favorite. the summary is this: “in a world where monsters called Yoma prey on humans and live among them in disguise, humanity’s only hope is a new breed of warrior known as Claymores. half human, half monster, these silver-eyed slayers possess supernatural strength, but are condemned to fight their savage impulses or lose their humanity completely.” it’s got very nearly everything i like in a series. it doesn’t sexualize them really either, which is honestly huge for a manga/anime? it does have nudity, but it presents it in a way that is meant to be horrifying. it doesn’t have explicit gayness but if you read between the lines it’s there. it has women who fight their monstrosity and women who embrace their monstrosity, it’s got a majorly female cast of characters (claymores are only women). and the main character, clare, is so interesting; she’s obsessed with vengeance, stubborn as hell, never gives up even if every odd is against her, and we get to watch her grow emotionally and physically stronger throughout the entire thing. i’d really recommend it. (if you want triggers you can message me -- it would make this too long if i listed them here.) 

the monstress series; this one is a comic by marjorie liu and sana takeda. it’s ‘set in an alternate world of art deco beauty and steampunk horror.’ i’ve heard it called an asian matriarchy. it’s about maika halfwolf, a ‘teenage survivor of a cataclysmic war between humans and their hated enemies, the arcanics.’ marjorie liu says this about it: “monstress was more a desire than an idea. an impulse that came over me, something i’d think about in the shower or when i was driving and listening to janet jackson on the radio. i had this image in my head of a battered girl standing alone, absolutely furious, and behind her a battlefield that stretched for miles. i didn’t know what to do with it -- and i’’m not all that patient -- but i had no choice in this matter. nothing was there. no story. just the girl. i don’t know anything about war, not having lived through one. but my grandparents experienced the devastation of war firsthand in china. in their stories surviving was more horrifying than dying. surviving required a desire to live more powerful than any bomb or army, a summoning of superhuman resilience to keep going, day after day. [...] and the victims of this horror had to learn how to first survive...and then survive the surviving. [...] and the root of my desire, i finally realized, was to tell a story about what it means to be a survivor. a survivor, not just of a cataclysmic war, but of racial conflict and its antecedent: hatred. and to confront the question: how does one whom history has made a monster escape her monstrosity? how does one overcome the monstrousness of others without succumbing to a rising monstrousness within?” the art is beautiful. the story is deeply enchanting. i’d recommend this one perhaps more than claymore.

and i darken, and its sequels, by kiersten white; this one is not technically about a female monster, but i’d say lada comes as close as a human can get. it’s about the historical vlad dracul reimagined as a cis girl. she’s brutal. she’s wild. she’s angry, she uncontrollable, she’s badass, she’s amazing. i’ve read the first book honestly dozens of times -- once i got to the end i’d flip back to the first page and start again. lada is incredible. the writing is beautiful. i love it. the book also has a sympathetic portrayal of islam -- lada dislikes their kingdom for personal reasons, but her brother radu (who is everything she is not: beautiful, tender, kind) converts to it, finds home and safety in it. spoiler -- he’s also gay. (lada appears to be straight, which is ridiculous, but there are other lesbians) i haven’t read the last book yet because i’m rereading the other two first, but i’m sure it’ll have a good ending. i really trust kiersten white on this one. 

sharp objects by gillian flynn; this one is more female villainy, but still. i posted a quote from her about this book not too long ago; i’d repost it, but i don’t want to make this post too long dfghj -- in essence this is gillian flynn’s exploration of female cruelty and villainy -- it’s about bad women, it’s about female dark sides, none of the women in this are portrayed very kindly and that’s the point. it’s flynn getting tired of sugar-sweet women-are-meant-to-be-nurturing women-aren’t-cruel-like-men women-can’t-do-genuine-bad-things narratives and writing her own where absolutely none of the women are 2D kind and simple. 

the last werewolf series by glen duncan; this one i’m a bit iffy on recommending -- it’s got beautiful prose, and talulla is just as much a monster as her male counterparts are, but it’s got some.... issues. for example, the first book (with a male narrator) -- jake never refers to cis female genitals as anything other than c*nts. (at one point he literally says he’s not a misogynist because of the way he fucks women.) the ending of the first book is interesting though, and unexpected. the second one is with talulla’s point of view. she’s better than jake, but there is a point (spoiler) where a man is raped, and she’s mocking about it. (”women go through that every day, why are you whining?”) that part honestly kind of ruined the book for me, and duncan does punish her for this mentality, i’m sure you can imagine how (only attempted though, we don’t read a graphic rape, which i’m sure duncan would have included if he thought it would have worked). i haven’t read the final book and i’m not sure if i will -- the things i’ve heard about it are -- strange, to say the least. 

the book of the ancestor series by mark lawrence; beginning with red sister, followed by grey sister, and the third one not due to be released until april 2019, this is honestly one of my new favorite books. it’s brutal and incredible and it’s about assassin nuns with a completely new religion in a fantasy setting (and some of them are lesbians!!). nona’s growth is really interesting to read and her interactions with her fellow novices are kinda what makes red sister. i’ve talked about this series a lot so i won’t do that again here but honestly, read it 

carrie, of course, the book and the movies, i love the book more though, probably just because it gives more information on what carrie is thinking, i haven’t read it in awhile so i don’t have very many thoughts on it rn to give fghjk

ask baba yaga: otherworldly advice for everyday troubles by taisia kitaiskaia; this book is absolutely gorgeous, the writing is haunting and incredible and i’m really into baba yaga lately so finding this book was a godsend. it’s based on an actual advice column the author ran on a website whose name i forget atm -- she collected some of her answers into a book and published it, and i’m so glad she did.

i’m just gonna end this here because this got a lot longer than i intended sdfghj (i had more books planned to share too!). i’m sorry i couldn’t exactly give you what you asked for, i really don’t watch that many horror movies, i’m not into gore or too much violence or anything like that, and i dislike having to google triggers before a movie and getting spoiled for the whole thing. if you want more book recs though you can hmu :0

oh also! the monstrous feminine by barbara creed! it’s not fiction but it’s an examination of female monstrosity in film and i’d really recommend it!