#i’ve already named her. and we’re bonded at this point i don’t know that i can live without her (it’s been 3 days). she’s my best friend

[designernishiki]

finished yakuza 6. but at what cost

[fizzlehead]

do you guys think i should steal the outdoor cat that’s been roaming around my apartment complex and just keep her in my apartment. know that if even one person says yes i will probably do it

[etherrreal]

“when they’re feeling insecure”

Pairing: atsumu x reader; kita x reader; suna x reader Genre: reverse comfort-fluff; drabbles & headcanons WC: 5.169 Warnings: N/A A/N: thanks for the request! this is actually the first piece we’ve worked on together so we’re excited for you all to see it! enjoy :) -Dawn & Luna

since you and Atsumu tended to be strapped on time to spend with each other—with you working full-time and him being a national volleyball player—you liked to meet up with him after practice sometimes so you can pick up some food and get some quality time together

he was always taking his sweet time to get showered and ready to go, so you got to bond with some of his teammates, his captain Meian especially

when you found out you both loved the same show, every week, the day after the show aired, you got to practice a bit earlier so you and him had time to talk about the newest episode

Atsumu watched every week as you barely gave him a wave when you entered the gym those days, bee-lining straight to Meian and launching into animated conversation about your show

he had tried many times to sit down to watch it with you, but each time, about 15 minutes into the show, he found himself disinterested and distracted by his phone

he knew that never bothered you—”we don’t have to have the same interests,” you would tell him—but, week by week, as he observed you light up those days you walked into the gym to talk with Meian, he began to feel like maybe he wasn’t trying hard enough to get into your interests like you do for him

and he’d be damned if big bicep Meian would make you laugh more than he did

It’s Friday, you’re absolutely exhausted from work, and you’re ready to wash the grime of the day away in the hottest shower imaginable. You’re a little thrown off when you walk in the house and hear the T.V. playing in the living room, familiar voices from your favorite show coming from the room. You don’t remember leaving it on before you left, so you creep into the room slowly, peering around the corner to see a mop of blond hair leaning against the back of the couch.

“What are you doing?”

Atsumu snorts himself awake at the sound of your voice, eyes bleary as he tries to gather himself, gaze darting between you and the screen.

“Oh, me? Just catching up on your show.” He’s back to lounging against the arm of the couch, remote in hand gesturing to the screen. “It’s the part where that one girl, uh, Ashley is talkin’ to her boyfriend right now about how they’re going to move in together soon.” 

“Okay, first of all, that’s not her name.” You set your bag down next to the couch, throwing yourself down onto the cushion next to him. “Second, that’s her mortal enemy, and I’m pretty sure they’re talking about how she hopes he bites the dust on their next mission.” 

Atsumu stares at the screen, paying attention to the dialogue for probably the first time since turning it on. “Oh.”

You can’t help but chuckle at his cluelessness. “I’ve already told you, ‘Tsumu, you don’t have to like the same things that I do just because we’re dating. Just like I don’t like volleyball that much, you don’t have to like my show as much as I do.”

He gasps, scandalized. “You don’t like volleyball?!”

“Not as much as you do, dummy. That’s my point! We’re two separate people with separate interests, and that’s okay.”

“Yeah, but…” You don’t hear the rest of his statement as he mumbles it, shrinking into himself with arms crossed and chin buried into his chest. 

“You gotta speak up, babe. I couldn’t catch that.”

He sighs heavily, arms still crossed, now with a comically deep frown on his face. “But you and Meian are always talkin’ and laughin’ together at practice when you should be doing that with me, your boyfriend!”

“Oooh, come here, my dear sweet Atsumu.” He doesn’t hesitate to accept your invitation, nearly knocking the wind out of you as he wraps his arms around your torso, smushing his cheek against your chest. “You know I love you dearly. But trying to talk to you about my show is like talking to a brick wall, and I say that with all the love in the world. Now I finally have someone that I can talk to about my show, so you don’t have to hear me drone on.”

He grumbles. “I guess. But can’t you find someone else less… beefy to talk to about it with?”

You pause, trying to sift through his lot of friends for someone who doesn’t fit that bill. “Babe. All of your friends are beefy, so it wouldn’t even matter if there was someone else there that I can talk to about it. Besides, his appearance doesn’t even matter. It’s nothing more than some friendly chatter, alright?”

“Alright.” You press a kiss to the top of his head before he whines, tilting his head all the way up to offer his lips to you so you can give him a proper kiss. “...Just wish you’d be less happy about it.”

you were invited to a night out at a bar with some old friends from high school, and decided to drag Kita along for the ride to introduce him to the ol’ gang

drinks were being served, shots were being had, and everyone was getting along swimmingly

Kita, who’d been nursing a bottle of water in preparation for work the next day, stayed by your side the whole night, smiling as you and your friends swapped stories and dutifully holding your things when they dragged you off to the dancefloor

he was at the bar getting you another drink when your friend Aina approached, leaning against the bar

“I like you for them,” she announced, words slurring. “They need someone plain like you to balance them out.”

he knew she didn’t mean it as an insult, but the word “plain” punched him right in the gut, insecurity washing over him as he realized it was absolutely true

you were the daring, adventurous type, always ready to jump right into things headfirst, while Kita preferred a steadier approach

normally this wasn’t a problem for the two of you, but suddenly Kita couldn’t help but wonder if maybe you were getting bored with him

it didn’t help that you had to cut your night short because of Kita’s early job, which consumed him with guilt as he watched you hug everyone goodbye, telling them you’d meet again at some point

the ride home was quiet as Kita thought about the ways he could be the fun, spontaneous man you deserved

the next day, he showed up at your door and invited you on an impromptu picnic date in the park, which you were more than happy to agree to

he was so ready to give you an amazing date and prove to you that he was more than just your plain boyfriend, but it seemed that the universe had other plans, as what was supposed to be your perfect and fun day quickly transformed into a disaster

at first, everything started off pretty smoothly, until Kita realized he forgot to bring a blanket, and the two of you were forced to sit on the wet, muddy grass

then when he opened the basket, he realized all the drinks had spilled on the drive over, effectively ruining all of the food he packed

you took it all in stride, reassuring him it could’ve happened to anyone, and ended up grabbing some takoyaki from a nearby food stand

for a moment Kita thought things were finally looking up, until an unleashed dog bounded towards you and knocked the takoyaki straight out of your hand and onto the ground, leaving the two of you to share whatever was left of his

he was so sure that it couldn’t get any worse, and then it started to rain– and not just a little drizzle, either, but a huge downpour that sent the two of you and the rest of your fellow park-goers scrambling for cover

and just to add insult to injury, his car ended up getting a flat only five minutes into the drive home, leaving him with no choice but to pull over and call for help, a shitty ending to an even shittier day

Kita’s not usually the type to believe that the universe is working against him –he prefers leaving those kinds of dramatics to the likes of Atsumu– but after the day he’s had, he’s starting to wonder.

His plan to prove to both you and himself that he could be an exciting, spontaneous, and definitely not plain boyfriend had started off decently enough. He showed up at your place with a nervous heart and a picnic basket in hand, announcing only somewhat shakily that he’d be stealing you for the day, whisking you off on an impromptu picnic date.

You’d had no prior warning, hence the whole spontaneous thing, but you went along with it easily enough, more than willing to spend a little extra time with your boyfriend. You threw on the quickest presentable outfit you could find and then you were off, eager to see where the day –and Kita– would take you. You ended up driving out to a flower field in the park, and it was absolutely wonderful.

For the first five minutes, at least.

Then it all went to shit.

Now the two of you are sitting in his car, soaked to the bone as you wait for a tow truck, and Kita is trying his very best not to let on how utterly defeated and pathetic he feels. He thinks the only thing keeping him from sulking outright is the fact that you’re still holding his hand, and even then, he can’t stop the frown that forms on his face.

“I’m so sorry about today,” he starts lamely, breaking the silence, voice shakier than he’s used to. He knows it’s not nearly enough to make up for the complete and utter catastrophe that your date turned into, but he supposes it’s a good enough place to start. “I know it wasn’t what you were expectin’ when I told you I’d be takin’ you out for a romantic picnic in the park. Hell, it wasn’t what I was expectin’, either.”

“Well, it was definitely an adventure, that’s for sure,” you say, in that carefree and teasing way of yours. Then you bring his hand closer to you and press your lips to the back of his palm, a playful but genuine smile tugging at your lips. “Still, I’m glad I came. I had a really good time today, Shin.”

Kita blinks, eyes wide as he stares at you as if you’ve grown a second head. “You did?”

“Of course I did. I was with you. I always have a good time when I’m with you.” You say it casually, easily, like it’s just that simple, and when he continues to gape at you, you raise an eyebrow. “What? Why do you look so surprised?”

“That’s because I am surprised. Today was a disaster, darlin’. It was the opposite of everythin’ that I wanted it to be.”

“Well, what did you want it to be?”

“Somethin’ good and excitin’ that you could enjoy the way you deserve.” He looks away, unable to meet your eyes as his gaze drifts to your intertwined hands, voice soft and quiet, defeated. “Somethin’ to show you that I could be fun and spontaneous, and not just the borin’ and plain boyfriend you’ve been stuck with.”

“Woah, wait, boring and plain? Stuck with?” you repeat, incredulous, brows furrowing as your lips curve into a frown of their own. “What are you talking about, Shin? You’re sure as hell not just someone I’m stuck with– where’s all of this even coming from?”

Despite himself, he hesitates. The last thing he wants to do is weigh you down with his insecurities, but Kita has never lied to you before, and he certainly doesn’t plan on starting now.

That’s when he tells about everything that happened last night, about Aina’s off-handed comment and about all the doubts and insecurities that’d been unearthed as a result. He tells you about the plan he made, the one he wanted so badly to be enough to prove to you that he could be the man you want, the man you deserve.

“I’m so sorry that happened, Shin,” is the first thing you say when he’s finished speaking, genuine and apologetic as you give his hand a comforting squeeze. “I know she was drunk, but Aina had no right to say that to you, and I’ll be telling her as much first thing tomorrow.”

“S’alright. I know she didn’t mean it as a bad thing,” Kita says, squeezing your hand back. “Still, it got me thinkin’, y’know? About you and me, and the fact that we’re so different. I mean, you– you’re so bright and darin’ and fearless and I’m just– I’m not.”

“So? I like you for you, Shin. I always have. And I especially like how different we both are.”

“I know. I do, too, I just– sometimes I just can’t help but feel like I’m borin’ you. Like you’re settlin’ for me. And I’m not sayin’ that I think you don’t love me, ‘cuz I know you do, I just–” He gives a shaky exhale and runs his free hand through his hair, faltering a little, before forcing himself to continue, though he still can’t quite meet your eyes. “I guess it’s just hard for me to make sense of the thought of someone as amazin’ and full of life as you wantin’ to be with someone as simple as me.”

The confession is raw and vulnerable, the way Kita’s only ever allowed himself to be around you. It softens you, makes you release his hand in favor of cupping his face, a silent plea to get him to look at you. And though he still feels pretty pathetic about everything, he doesn’t deny you, lifting his gaze to meet yours and finding himself stunned by the open affection in your eyes, the undeniable love he’s not sure he’ll ever get enough of.

“Oh, Shinsuke, baby, you’re not simple.” Your words, like your hands on his face, are gentle but firm, and when he shoots you a doubtful look, you lean closer and insist, “You’re not. You’re hardworking and dedicated, not to mention generous and so, so kind. You take care of me and make me laugh, and you’re always there to listen to me and support me, no matter how stubborn I am or how crazy my ideas get. You’re everything I want, not to mention everything I need. You make me better, and I love you, just the way you are.”

It’s strange, Kita thinks, how quickly your words ease the uncertainty and doubt that’d been weighing on his chest, how effortlessly your touch soothes him. There’s so much he wants to say to you. He wants to tell you how grateful he is for you, how much your words mean to him. Mostly, he wants to tell you that he loves you.

But then you tug his face towards you, closing the distance between you and pressing your lips firmly against his, and he realizes he doesn’t have to, because you already know. You feel it in the way he wraps his arms around you to pull you closer, in the way one of his hands tangles in your hair. Still, he does his best to prove it to you, anyway, deepening the kiss with a drag of his tongue across your lips and a muffled groan that has you scraping your nails against his scalp.

You’re both breathless when you pull away, just enough so that you can lean your forehead against his, all gentle comfort and soft affection.

“So get the thought of you being the person I settled for out of your pretty little head,” you say firmly, lightly tugging on his hair for good measure, “because you’re not. You’re the person I chose, the one I plan to continue choosing for a long, long time. Have I made myself clear?”

And Kita can only smile at you, turning his face to place a gentle kiss to the inside of your palm, all of his previous anxieties and insecurities forgotten.

“Crystal, darlin’.”

you and Suna were at your cousin’s wedding, and you set off to grab some more drinks at the bar

Suna watched as you left—definitely checking out your ass—when he saw you get stopped by a guy, who put his hand hand on your arm and said something to you, and then suddenly, you were hugging

you were both so animated, so effortless, in your interactions, and Suna even saw you bust out laughing in a way you usually only do when he tells you the most god awful joke

Suna nudges your friend Aina who’s standing next to him, gesturing over to you both as he asks about who the guy is, thinking maybe he’s another cousin or something

“Oh, that’s her ex, Haru,” she explains, “They were friends all throughout childhood and even dated for a while in high school.”

this, of course, isn’t Suna’s first time hearing about your ex, seeing as the two of you have been dating long enough to have already swapped stories about previous breakups, but it is his first time seeing you and Haru interact in person

and while Suna already knows that the breakup was mutual and that you and Haru ended things pretty amicably, he’d be lying if he said seeing Haru act so familiar with you doesn’t bother him

still, Suna trusts you, and the last thing he’s going to do is make a scene at your cousin’s wedding, which is why he opts to ignore the interaction entirely, until one of the women standing nearby makes it impossible for him

the woman—maybe an aunt of yours—jumps in to add, “they were so cute, weren’t they? We were all so sure they were going to end up together. After all, they only broke up because they were heading off to different colleges.”

and if that doesn’t make him feel shitty enough, another woman, whom he quickly realizes is Haru’s mother, chimes in, “they would’ve been high school sweathearts, what’s more perfect than that! It’s too bad they had to break up.”

Aina freezes, panicked, as her gaze darts between him and the women nearby, like she’s debating whether or not she should say something, but Suna stops her with a shake of his head, brushing the whole thing off like it doesn’t bother him, even though it really does

Suna isn’t friends with any of his exes, so he doesn’t understand how two people who decided they couldn’t be together could act so natural and cheerful—and not deathly awkward—with one another years after the split

as much as he hates admitting it, you and Haru do look really good together, even if your interaction only ended up lasting a few minutes, and your family clearly still adores him, so much so that they invited him to your cousin’s wedding

it doesn’t take a genius to figure out that they prefer him over Suna, and while normally Suna wouldn’t give a damn about any of that, he can’t help but wonder if you feel the same way, if seeing Haru tonight made you regret breaking up with him in the first place

the two of you were high school sweethearts, after all; how can Suna hope to compare to that?

it puts him in a sour mood for the rest of the night, one that lasts throughout the rest of the reception and continues on your drive home

“Are you okay, Rin?”

Suna barely spares you a glance when you speak, keeping his eyes planted firmly on the road in front of him. “I’m fine.”

“Are you sure? Because you’ve been acting weird since the reception.”

“It’s nothing.” That’s a lie, of course, and you both know it. He’s been giving you the cold shoulder ever since you got in the car, the silence that’s settled between you nothing like the easy banter and teasing jokes you normally exchange on the way home. “I’m just tired.”

The rational part of him, the one he doesn’t always listen to, knows it isn’t fair for him to act this way. He’s being petty and immature, neither of which are reactions you deserve right now, but he can’t help it.

Being vulnerable has never been easy for Suna. It still isn’t, if he’s being honest, which is why, instead of talking to you about his feelings, he chooses to ignore them completely, burying them somewhere deep inside himself that even he can’t reach, despite the way his heart sinks and his hands tighten on the steering wheel the more he thinks about what your family said.

He doesn’t have to look at you to know that you’re frowning. You’ve always been able to see right through him, so of course you know that something’s bothering him, no matter how hard he tries to convince you otherwise.

He still hasn’t looked at you, but he imagines you sitting in the passenger seat with your arms crossed over your chest, furrowing your brows the way you always do when you can’t figure something out. “Did my family say something to you?”

He lets himself glance at you long enough to flash you a tight smile, a forced curving of his lips that doesn’t meet his eyes. “Nothing worth repeating.”

Your eyes narrow at his words, lips parting like you want to say something else, but then he’s pulling up in front of your apartment building and parking the car, and the moment is gone. The silence follows you into the lobby, up the elevator and all the way inside your shared apartment.

Suna quickly decides that he hates this kind of silence. He hates how bothered he still is about you and your stupid ex even more. Mostly, he hates the distance he feels between you now, even though he knows it’s one of his own creation.

He wants nothing more than to get rid of it, to lay his head in your lap and tell you exactly why he’s so upset while you stroke his hair and comfort him, but doing so would require him to be honest about his feelings, and you both already know how shitty he is at that. And the last thing Suna wants to do right now is start a fight, especially when he already feels like he’s not good enough for you.

You must sense his hesitance, because in the end, you’re the one that comes to him. You corner him while he’s sitting at the edge of your shared bed, approaching him with the same amount of care and delicateness you’d use with a stray cat.

You’re both still wearing your wedding clothes, but neither of you seems to care much about that right now. You push his jacket off his shoulders and he lets you, watching as you fold it with careful hands and set it neatly down on the bed next to him.

You move to stand in front of him, resting your hands on his shoulders. Suna finds himself shifting almost automatically to accommodate you, spreading his thighs so you can stand comfortably between his legs.

Then you’re running your fingers through his hair, nails scraping gently against his scalp in just the way he likes, and whatever ideas he had before about keeping his feelings to himself and suffering in silence immediately vanish from his brain. He’s nothing but putty in your hands right now, and all it took was one measly touch from you.

You’re good at that, Suna thinks. You’re good at softening him, at making him feel safe and loved, like he can tell you anything without being judged. It’s one of the things he loves the most about you.

It’s also why, despite his earlier hesitance, he allows himself to melt into your touch. He wraps his arms around your waist and buries his face against your stomach while you continue to run your fingers through your hair, pressing a kiss to the top of his head every now and then.

The two of you stay like that for a while, just holding each other and breathing in sync. Then you’re tugging gently at his scalp, coaxing him into looking up at you with your fingers in his hair. He goes willingly, always, for you.

“Are you ready to talk about it now?” you ask, soft and seeking, free of any judgment.

“You’re gonna think it’s stupid,” Suna mumbles, chin tucked securely against your body.

You press a soothing kiss to his forehead for good measure. “Try me.”

And though the thought of baring his feelings so openly still makes him kind of queasy, he does it anyway, relenting. “I didn’t know your ex was gonna be at the wedding.”

“Who, Haru? That’s who this is about?” You blink as genuine surprise laces your features, as if you’ve actually forgotten about your ex entirely, which pleases Suna more than he cares to admit. “He’s friends with my cousin. We all grew up together. I thought I told you that.”

“You did.” The smile he gives you is curt and tight-lipped. It doesn’t reach his eyes. “You just didn’t tell me how devastated your family was when the two of you broke up.”

“So they did say something to you, didn’t they?” You shake your head, understanding flashing in your eyes as your lips curve into a frown. “Who was it? Wait, don’t tell me– Aunt Eri?”

“The one and only,” Suna confirms, much to your chagrin. “She and Haru’s mom were convinced the two of you were meant to be, and that you were –get this– absolutely perfect for each other.”

The words taste sour in his mouth, a bitterness filling his voice that he only hopes you know isn’t directed towards you. Thankfully, you don’t seem to take any offense to it. If anything, you look upset for him, your jaw dropping and eyes widening in disbelief which quickly turns to anger at your own aunt’s audacity.

“Oh, no. Rin, baby, I’m so sorry,” you say, and he can tell from the look in your eyes how much you mean it. “They had no right to say any of that, least of all in front of you.” You lift a hand to cup his cheek and shake your head, eyes soft and apologetic. “I can only imagine how shitty it was to hear.”

“Yeah,” he mutters, frowning at the memory, “no kidding.” But he leans into your touch anyway, brushing his lips against your palm so you know he doesn’t blame you. “That’s not really the part that bothered me, anyway.”

You raise an eyebrow, tilting your head curiously. “Then what did?”

Suna already knows the answer, but he wants to hear it from you, which is why he takes a deep breath and asks, “Why did you and Haru break up?”

“We were going to different colleges,” you reply, confirming what your aunt told him. “We agreed it was the best thing for the both of us.”

And though it’s exactly the answer he was expecting, that still doesn’t make hearing it hurt any less. He swallows the lump in his throat and looks away, voice quieting. “So if you never broke up with him back then, you’d probably still be with him right now.”

“And if I won the lottery when I was eighteen the way I hoped I would, then I’d probably be single and in Madrid right now,” you shoot back easily, without missing a beat. “What’s your point?”

Suna frowns, fixing you with a pointed look. “Your family likes him. I mean, they really, really like him. Way more than they like me.”

“Well, then,” you lean forward, lips curving up into a smile, “I guess it’s a good thing you’re dating me and not any of them, isn’t it?”

He shakes his head, the frown on his face deepening even further. “You don’t get it. The only reason the two of you didn’t work out is because of bad timing, not because you didn’t love him anymore.”

“But that’s the thing. I don’t love him anymore, Rin. I love you and only you,” you insist. “I’m not the person I was when Haru and I were together. I grew up. I went to college, I moved out on my own, and then we met, and I fell in love with you.”

“That’s exactly my point,” he argues. “None of that would’ve ever happened if you hadn’t broken up with him. If he’d reached out to you while you were still in college, then you and I wouldn’t even be together right now.”

“But he didn’t, and he won’t. And even if he did now, it wouldn’t matter, because the only person I’m in love with is you.”

Your voice is steady, firm, leaving little room for argument. He tries anyway, opening his mouth to speak again, but you silence him with a finger pressed to his lips. And though Suna still isn’t completely convinced you’re what he deserves, he listens, quieting down long enough to hear you out properly.

“Rin, baby, if we sit here and argue about all the what if’s, we’ll always find some kind of excuse for why we couldn’t have been together,” you reason. “But we are, so why does it matter? We’re here together now, and I chose you– because I wanted you. I still want you.”

He watches, heart full and racing, as you settle yourself into his lap and wrap your arms around his neck, knees on either side of his thighs. He doesn’t hesitate to welcome you, hands resting on your hips, the weight of you warm and familiar in his arms.

“Do you still want me?” you ask, as if you don’t already know, as if there was ever any doubt.

And that, he quickly realizes, is exactly the point you’re trying to make, because no matter what happened in the past, no matter who the two of you have been with before this, he’s the one you’re choosing now, just like you are for him.

“More than I know what to do with,” he answers, reaching a hand up to your face to brush his thumb across your cheek.

“Then it’s settled. Everything else is just background noise.” You kiss him, then, deep and wanting, and it’s all he can do to kiss you back, longing and eager. You smile when you pull away, a sweet, loving thing he feels like an idiot for ever even doubting in the first place. “Okay?”

And Suna smiles, relieved, resting his forehead against yours.

“Okay.”

Written by: Dawn & Luna

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[hobicakess]

I’m just dropping a little something that’s been brewing for a while and I have like 4 series that I haven't posted

cw: allusions to past SA, period typical themes, there might be some switches from 3rd to 2nd person ill fix it later.

Just vampire hyung line and their immortal wife. Throughout the years she met them all one by one and she married them all legally throughout the years. Today we’re going to read about her, Seokjin, and Yoongi's story.

First she was married to Jin although she met Yoongi decades before. Though their relationship was still very rocky. Her and Seokjins marriage was strictly arranged by the Supernatural council. Seokjin being an original vampire and her being an original immortal (meaning she was “blessed” directly by the gods to walk the earth eternally) the marriage was for the sake of reproduction.

At first Jin was furious about the arrangement. He was an original vampire. He'd been living way before the council was organized and now they were demanding him. Kim Seokjin. The handsomest, wealthiest, one of the eldest vampires to live to marry a silly human who'd been cheated out of death and they want him to taint his very old and pure bloodline. He was extremely offended at the notion.

But all his protest went out the window when he saw her.

If you couldn’t already tell, Seokjin back then was extremely arrogant, cocky, and selfish. He saw her as a Status booster (as if his status wasn’t already high) having her by his side, this beautiful immortal woman to procreate with— this would make everyone even more envious for eternity so he sucked it up and agreed. He of course would have other lovers just like she already did

Yoongi. Former Emperor Min Yoongi wasn’t her lover at this time, he just so happened to be bonded to her. That bond was only because of the bracelet he wore around his wrist, she tricked him into putting it on only for his safety, Yoongi was devoted to her because of it, and regardless he loved her dearly. He had no choice but to follow her wherever she went and now she’s forcing him to watch her marry.

When she met with the council Yoongi thought she’d disagree but she didn't, which made him beyond furious.

When the meeting ended Seokjin walked to him “Looking forward to sharing, Vampling.” Patting his shoulder, Yoongi's fangs bared as he went to attack the older vampire but she called his name and he had no choice but to follow her like a kicked puppy.

When the two of them were alone, Yoongi slammed her against the wall, his hand breaking through it. “You are mad! You’re really going to marry that entitled pig?” He hissed venom dripping from his fangs. He didn’t know if it was him being an emotional vampling or his love for her making him feel this way. He’s never felt like this before. He used to cut heads off with a blink of an eye, and now he’s crying because he should be the one marrying her. “You would let me sit back and suffer while some random man marries and fucks you like a common whore.''

As you can tell back then Yoongi couldn’t control any of his new found emotions, being that he’d never felt any before he grew up as a king, a boss. emotions were for common folk now here he is.

“Yoongi, I understand you’re upset but don’t you dare call me names. I am simply doing-“ he cut her off, finding another part of the wall to punch, closer to the side of her face this time.

“I’ve watched you burn down villages, I’ve seen you make men tear their own skin from their bone, You’re far more powerful than-“

“Shut your mouth. They mustn’t know of the powers I have possessed. They’ll lock me up for eternity just as they’ve done the warlocks and witches.” Her hands raised to touch his still warm cheeks, she’ll forever miss his warmth when he hits his chilling point.

“ I am doing this for the sake of us, everything I have done these years has been for us.”

Her and Seokjin's wedding was beyond big, almost every supernatural species being invited. It was like Seokjin to go all out like this. While she was being prepped for the ceremony she was saddened, Yoongi had left for weeks and she didn’t know if or when he’d come back, but the wedding still happened without Yoongi and you had no living family so she was alone stuck with Seokjin and his asshole friends and family.

Yoongi scoffed, “If you genuinely want to do something for me release me of these awful feelings.” moving her hands from his face

“If you truly do not wish to be bound to me any longer I will remove your Geumganggo” she reach to unlock the golden bracelet and before she could remove it Yoongi was gone in a flash.

When she met Seokjin father she immediately felt a deep sense of hatred for him and then she felt bad for SeokJin. The reason he acted the way he did was because of the way he grew up and who he grew up with. “Well I Wouldn’t have wanted my son married to an immortal but you currently have the hips to make his children.”

Seokjin's father's eyes drifted to her hips that were outlined in the tight red wedding dress.“Thank you sir.” she bowed with gritted teeth.

“We are family, please call me father.” He grabbed your hand and brought it to his lips when it was snatched away by Seokjin.

“My wife must be really tired, she is still a human after all and we can’t have her too tired out already” his joke made the whole crowd laugh embarrassing her further, he scooped her up bridal style effortlessly.

“Goodnight.” and he zoomed away bringing the two of them into their bed chambers.

She was on the bed, pressed underneath Jin’s wide body. “Hello wife.” He smirked, pushing a coil of her hair back.

“Are you planning to pretend we are actually a happily married couple?” She stared up at him frowning.

“It speeds up the breeding process.” scoffing, pushing him off, stomping on the dresser, taking all her jewelry in angry huffs. He stood behind watching her in the vanity mirror “ You looked beautiful today, and that says a lot coming from me.” turning to look at her ‘husband’ scoffing again.

“Are you immune to not being a.. nuisance?”

“You are upset your vampling lover did not show.” it wasn’t a question it was a statement and it pissed her off more.“Vamplings are emotional creatures especially when it comes to their sires.”

“I am not a vampire, how can I be his sire?” Looking at him through the mirror. “Well I am going to assume you were with him when he first awoke?”

She was with him. Through the aching process of change. Holding cold towels on his forehead while the venom and humanity fought against each other, she was there when he awoke with the hunger of only fresh blood.

Seokjin clicked his tongue, "I guess the human stupidity still stays in Immortals" her frown becomes deeper as she removes the caked up makeup on her face with even more force than before. "Are you planning to frown all night? It is our wedding night."

She sighs, standing and unzipping her dress so it falls to her feet going to lay back on the sheets.

"What is this?" He asked confused, eyebrows raised as he stared down at her missionary position. "I am speeding up the breeding process."

"I cannot do it like.." he waved his hand over you

"This."

"Oh? would you prefer me on my stomach?" She moved herself into a face down position causing the vampire to sputter and the remaining blood he consumed during the wedding rushed to his ears as he pulled at his tie removing it.

"I cannot have you in anyway if you aren't willing." She turned back to him sitting with confusion evident all over her face. Seokjin couldn't believe it. "I was in position?"

"Position doesn't mean willingness, darling" he sighed, grabbing a sleeping gown from the dresser and handing it to her. She stares at him hard, eyes wide and the most vulnerable Seokjin has seen since meeting the immortal. “I admit that I haven't been the kindest since meeting you.”

He swallows hard, kneeling in front of her, helping her step into the frilly gown pulling it over her bare shoulders, skillfully tying the strings in the back of it. “But. I am not that kind of man who abuses his masculinity and forces himself onto unconsenting women.”

When he finished he grabbed her hands “For as long as we are together as wife and husband I will never force you to do anything you won't want to”

Standing and rolling his wide shoulder he adds “Sex wise of course”

She scoffed at him loudly, “And I thought you were being genuine.”

“You're a few centuries late darling.”

[joealwyndaily]

Joe Alwyn and Paul Mescal in conversation for Variety's Actors on Actors (x)

Paul Mescal and Joe Alwyn are literary heartthrobs, having both headlined TV series based on Sally Rooney books. In 2020, “Normal People” put Mescal on the map as a brooding student. And as married actor Nick in 2022’s “Conversations With Friends,” Alwyn’s character became enmeshed in a messy love triangle.

Their latest projects show what else the actors can do. In “Aftersun,” directed by first-time filmmaker Charlotte Wells, Mescal is a single dad who tries to bond with his preteen daughter (Frankie Corio) on a trip to Turkey. Alwyn had a busy year on the festival circuit, playing an enigmatic Englishman in Claire Denis’ Nicaragua-set romance “Stars at Noon” opposite Margaret Qualley, and a medieval uncle in Lena Dunham’s “Catherine Called Birdy.”

PAUL MESCAL: So what’s the name of the WhatsApp group that we’re in?

JOE ALWYN: It’s the Tortured Man Club, I think. It’s me, you — and Andrew Scott started the group.

MESCAL: He’s just on it every day. He’s just on it by himself.

ALWYN: Just messaging himself good mornings. We were both in the Sally Rooney universe and crossed over with Lenny Abrahamson. We were so lucky to have that experience.

MESCAL: Yeah, I think Lenny is one of those directors that definitely formed me. He’s been hugely important in everything that I’ve done since then. Was there anything you took from playing somebody like Nick into “Stars at Noon”?

ALWYN: With “Stars at Noon,” that was such a singular, strange, unusual entry point. I was brought on very last-minute, which was a first for me. I got an email Friday morning saying, “Will you read the script as soon as possible? If you’re interested, Claire would love to Skype with you.” And so obviously I did, I Skyped with her, and she said, “Will you join us?” She was already in Panama. And four days later, I got on a plane. And she was standing outside the hotel with a glass of rum for me and gave me a hug. And two days later, we started shooting.

MESCAL: Oh, wow. Is there something liberating in the process? You probably can’t do the amount of prep that you would.

ALWYN: Yeah, it was hard. At least at the beginning.

MESCAL: Was it just gut feel?

ALWYN: Yeah, and some conversations with Claire. Her way of shooting was so unusual. I can’t remember if I told you this before: She would shoot things out of order, even in a scene. It was very fragmented.

MESCAL: Disconnected and fragmented.

ALWYN: I think she feels things in an animal way and is piecing it together as she goes. And there’s no traditional coverage either. I wanted to ask you, thinking about Lenny and thinking about “Aftersun.” I absolutely loved it. And you’re incredible in it. With the space given to you guys to breathe in a room, and not stuff it full of exposition, and just have the camera rolling in a very real, naturalistic way, it felt quite Lenny-ish. Is that fair to say?

MESCAL: I think it probably is. It was directed by Charlotte Wells, who is going to be one of those directors that we’ll all be talking about. I haven’t come across somebody as assured as Charlotte.

ALWYN: Is that confidence in the script?

MESCAL: The stage directions are really confidently written. I don’t know about you, but I love acting in that space when you know that there’s a kind of theatricality to it, but the stakes are high. We only had Frankie for about four hours a day.

ALWYN: How old was she?

MESCAL: She turned 11 on set.

ALWYN: How much of that is improv?

MESCAL: Ninety-five percent of it is scripted, I’d say. The karaoke scene, for example, was just about getting Frankie comfortable with the idea that an 11-year-old who hasn’t ever acted before is going to have to stand up in front of a camera and an audience and sing “Losing My Religion.” And she does it brilliantly. In the rehearsal, the camera wasn’t working, and Frankie ingeniously went, “That’s OK. I’ll record it with my mind camera.” I remember turning to Charlotte like, “That’s the most brilliant line of all time.” Charlotte wrote it in afterwards. What’s a kind of ideal rhythm for you on set? Well, you’re just investing in Claire Denis.

ALWYN: And you know her use of bodies. There’s a sex scene in the first scene . Her direction was just like Francis Bacon.

MESCAL: Wow, just that? And, go! I’d like to get into that a bit, because obviously I think it’s fair to say we’ve done our share of intimate scenes. How did that experience on “Stars at Noon” differ from “Conversations”?

ALWYN: So different.

MESCAL: Yeah, really?

ALWYN: “Conversations With Friends,” there’s an intimacy coordinator. The scenes are spoken about. They’re rehearsed. Every movement is almost choreographed like a dance or a fight. And they’re quite blocked, even though there’s freedom within it. But I trusted Claire and I trusted the crew. And Margaret, obviously. And you feel safe within that. I think trust and feeling safe is the main thing.

MESCAL: That is the main thing, totally. But it is interesting, with that question, being it’s a hot topic in the industry. I think you’re right that you never want scenes around intimacy to feel stale. But ultimately they have to feel safe. And I think you can feel safe multiple ways, and that’s through trust.

ALWYN: Absolutely. I wanted to ask you, which is kind of off topic, but I remember us speaking before about anxiety and shooting and being able to get outside of anxiety in order to do the job. How are you finding that?

MESCAL: It’s that cursed feeling of, once you feel like it’s disappearing, it comes back and hits you like a ton of bricks. But I was talking to somebody about that. They said, “I don’t think it’s ever going to leave you, because it’s a personality type.” But for me, it’s trying to use that anxiety or fear or fear of failure — repurposing that to be like, “What I’m doing matters to me.” Might not matter to everybody, but it matters to me at that moment. How do you feel about that stuff?

ALWYN: It’s interesting and tricky. Because it gets to a point where there’s a degree to which nerves are completely inevitable and can also be helpful. But at the same time, there’s a danger — and I’ve certainly felt this in the last couple of years — where that can start to take away some of the pleasure and the fun of doing it. So recently it’s been a rethink: Going forward, just jumping in in the same way but caring less in the right way.

MESCAL: Talk to me a bit more about that.

ALWYN: Just trying to find a way to have more fun and sense of play.

MESCAL: I learned a huge amount from Frankie, because Frankie had never done it before and just loved acting. I feel like that’s a good instinct to have as an actor — to try and really get to the center of when you watch somebody act with abandon.

ALWYN: On “Catherine Called Birdy,” Bella Ramsey, who plays the lead, she was 17 when we shot it — probably 15 when she was cast. She’s just going for it. It was the first job I went back to out of COVID, and I remember feeling really nervous because I hadn’t done it for a while. And there was this world of masks. And Lena Dunham was having to direct on Zoom when I joined.

MESCAL: What is a Lena Dunham set like?

ALWYN: She’s a force. And full of energy, positivity, creativity. I think maybe also because she performs herself, she has a good understanding of what an actor might want. She really takes care of people. She will come in and tell you what she liked, or she’ll give you a thumbs-up. And, also, she’s just so funny.

MESCAL: Do you like auditioning?

ALWYN: I’ve come to quite like making tapes. It used to drive me mad.

MESCAL: I prefer being in the room, I find. I feel like my issue when I’m making a tape is that I have too much control.

ALWYN: Do you go on and on?

MESCAL: Yeah. And then it’s hour three.

ALWYN: You’ve got 50 takes to watch, and they all look the same.

MESCAL: It’s an absolute nightmare. What do you look for?

ALWYN: Erotic thrillers.

MESCAL: Same. •

[m4ndysk4nkovich]

No bc Frank hitting Debbie was literally so upsetting

Like she loved her dad in the first seasons, and always thought he could change, and idk him hitting the person who once loved him the most made my heart break :((

ok hi hello hi i was trying to respond to this and then LIKE A LITTLE BITCH tumblr deleted it soooo yeah ik this isn’t relevant but i want to bitch about it so i’m bitching about it so sorry if this post isn’t my best it’s a remake kinda

ANYWAYS

i was already sad about this, but then you said that, and now i’m even sadder. like, “hitting the person who once loved him the most” 😭😭

frank and debbie are so fucking complex… i’m writing about them right now and when i post it i’ll link it to this but like… god. they’re one of the saddest duos in shameless, in my humble opinion.

debbie fucking loved frank so much. she cared for him so so fucking much. she made sure he was safe at night, she waited for him, she joked with him, checked on him, fucking took care of him more than he took care of her because at this point, she was parenting him more than he was parenting her and in return she got empty promises.

i am a firm believer that what set debbie on her season 4 downfall was 3x02. she had already lost hope in monica from 2x12 (and kinda 2x11 but not really), but she still had hope in frank. she knew he was a shitty, abusive alcoholic who would never change but she still waited for him, still prayed for his return, still let him into their house and let him sleep in her bed. but then he and his friends destroyed and pissed in her room, and frank destroyed her project (that he refused to help her with) and suddenly… she’s just changed. like, a part of her dies and she just goes fucking crazy on him.

i think that for every gallagher child there was a point in their life where they just officially lost hope, and that was debbie’s.

and then in season 6 their relationship is mended almost? like, they spend a lot of time together, he’s the only one she has at the moment, and they go to that weird-ass place with queenie together (i forgot what it’s called sorry LMAO). like there’s a moment before she’s gonna give birth to franny where she says, “no daddy, please. i’m scared. i want to go home” and i like sobbed because she’s his fucking daughter and i ASSUMED that they might have a bond or something after that but… nope!

in season 7 he hits her.

and it’s like… okay, that’s your sixteen year old daughter. the one who waited for you. the one who brought you a pillow every night. the one who loved you the most. the one who named her daughter after you because she loved you. she gave you everything and you gave her nothing.

it’s giving, “he takes what he pleases and offers nothing” (fiona gallagher, 3x07).

and if we’re going to talk about frank hitting his kids, what about ian also? i don’t want this post to be about every character but since we’re on the subject i’ve gotta bring it up. he’s hit ian multiple times, and he’s done it off screen before too, apparently. i don’t even wanna hear y’all say “i think frank was a good dad he just-” like no. yeah, he got abused growing up, and i get the cycle of abuse, fuck peggy gallagher, yeah, yeah. but you guys know that’s not an excuse… right? frank is still a piece of shit. he’s a drunk and an addict, as well as a narcissist. he neglected and abused all of his children. don’t even try.

fuck frank gallagher.

i can’t believe some of y’all think debbie is worse than frank is. unbelievable.

[amchara]

hey! for the prompts could you do kit and jace training?

Ahaha, why are my ficlets getting longer and longer? 😅

Anyway, I do enjoy a good Herondale bonding / training session. Although this prompt did go off in a slightly different direction than I expected...

(canon-compliant with SOBH)

-----

“Out,” Jace barked and the younger Shadowhunters scattered in front of him, with several impressive clangs and clatter as they hastily shoved weapons back into their stores. 

In the corner of the training room, Beatriz was packing up her lesson plans. Her wry glance with a raised eyebrow promised to fill him in on what had gone down before he arrived. She left, alongside the remaining stragglers. 

“Not you.” 

Kit’s face was a mess and Jace was hoping several iratzes and some good old-fashioned first aid would do wonders before Tessa returned from her visit to Magnus’ loft. He liked his great, great, grandmother and having her adopted son beat up by other Shadowhunters on his watch? Not a good look. 

“Impressive,” Jace remarked, handing over a wet cloth, which Kit accepted gingerly. “Less than 24 hours in New York and you’re already breaking noses and taking names. Granted- it’s your own nose but…”

“Can we get the wise mentor chat over with and move on?” Kit’s voice was sullen as he dabbed at the twin blood stains running under his nose. He held his left wrist at an awkward angle and Jace hoped it wasn’t broken. 

“I’m neither wise nor old,” Jace told him. “But I am an expert bullshitter.” He held Kit’s sky blue eyes for a moment before Kit broke the stare. Long enough though, for Jace to know that he was likely right in his assumption. “Like you.”

His distant cousin looked at the floor, scuffing his feet. “So, what about it?”

“What happened in training today, Kit?” Jace countered. “I’m not looking forward to explaining this to Tessa and Jem.”

“You think I’m willingly getting my ass handed to me?” 

Jace chose his next words carefully. “I think you’re holding back in some sense, yes.” 

Kit looked up angrily. “Again, you think I am choosing to lose? Why would I do that?”

“Because you’re punishing yourself,” Jace said, throwing subtlety to the wind. “For what happened with Mina in London. When you wrote to me- you said you’re throwing yourself into Shadowhunter training as a way to make yourself ready for what comes next with this whole First Heir thing.” He walked backwards to where he knew there were a couple of training sabres. 

He picked them up, weighing the balance of one, even as he continued talking. “It’s admirable- don’t misunderstand me." He snorted. "And I’ve now watched enough mundane movies with Simon to know getting a few black eyes is part of the whole ‘toughening up process.'”

Jace paused. “But you’re fighting with one hand behind your back, and I’m not talking about the fact that you didn’t go to the Academy, or started late. You’re scared to trust your instincts- and your training with Jem. Which is why all the other trainees are getting through your defenses.”

He handed a sabre to Kit. 

Kit’s face was naked with fear and he shook his head. “Jace, I can’t. You don’t understand- it’s-” He lowered his voice, even though they were alone in the large training room. “I can feel it,” he tapped the centre of his chest with the hand holding the blood-stained cloth and then held his hands out. “Whatever power let me vanish the Riders’ horses a couple years ago. It’s getting stronger. I’m worried I’m going to vaporise my opponents.”

Right. Jace rubbed his forehead. “Fair point. Well- you gotta deal with that first then.” He eyed Kit. “Why haven’t you approached Tessa for magic lessons? Or… hell, there are a few other warlocks that might help.” 

“She hasn’t offered. And we’re trying to keep this whole ‘First Heir’ thing secret.” Kit shrugged. “Although- I dunno we’re succeeding at that.”

Jace thought Kit also had a valid point there but more importantly- “Kit. You’ve got to ask these things of other people.” He tried to think of a way to phrase it, to put into words he still had trouble forming sometimes, courtesy of scars from his own flawed childhood and upbringing. “You don’t have to handle it all yourself. Let others help.”

A doubtful look crossed Kit’s face. 

Jace cleared his throat. Fine, he’d have to push, though he was loath to. Kit had to get that training and he’d play the bad guy if that’s what it took. “I’ll do it then- tell them you’re a menace to the NY Institute unless you’re properly trained.”

Kit’s face changed. “No, no- I’ll ask. Promise,” he said hastily.  

Jace grinned. “Good. In the meantime-” He pushed the sabre back towards Kit, and this time it was accepted. “Let’s go a quick round before lunch.” 

Kit looked down at the sabre and then back at Jace, his face a mix of emotions. “I probably have a broken nose.”

Jace moved into position. “Absolutely. But- the bad guys won’t stop to let you apply an iratze.” He smiled. “It’ll add to your rugged charm, believe me.” He relented, noting Kit’s eyes roving past him to the exit. “One round, then we’ll stop okay?”

“Says the man who has clearly never broken his nose,” Kit retorted. He reluctantly moved into a parallel spot in front of Jace. “And I’m not sure I’m a fan of this whole pain before gain thing that Shadowhunters are pushing,” he added, wincing slightly as he touched puffiness that was developing under his eye. 

Jace spun his sabre handle before catching it again. “Then you’d better get in touch with your faerie side, pronto.” He studied Kit’s stance. “Legs wider than that- I’ll knock you over in two seconds.”

Kit’s brow knitted in concentration as he set up again. He looked uncertain. “Jace- what if I-”

“If you blow me up after all I’ve been through, I’ll probably deserve it,” Jace told him. He darted forward and Kit leapt backwards with a muffled yelp, bringing his sabre up almost too late. “Also, after Clary and mine's adventure in Faerie last year, I asked Magnus to make me a protection charm… So- do your worst, Herondale,” he said, delighted that he could throw that name back out into the world. 

At that, Kit’s eyes sparked with a rekindled fire, and he threw himself back into the fight. 

(Accepting ficlet prompts [multi-fandom] here)

[sutzrainbow]

Why I look forward to Avatar: The Way of Water

First, disclaimer: I like the original Avatar; I always did, buuuut I’ll be the first to admit the story of the original Avatar sucks. It is a white saviour movie and I have learned to loathe those. It is Pocohontas/Dances With Wolves in space. The story is bad. But to be fair, the story wasn’t really the point. It was the visuals. It was the immersive world. To be honest I could have skipped the whole plot with Jake and Neytiri (I’m one of those people who can actually name most of the characters from Avatar), and I’d have been happy if it was just about a group of scientists studying the planet. Maybe only bringing in the war at the end. Or, alternatively, I think it would have played out much better if Jake had been a full-blooded Na’vi not controlled by a human, but perhaps taken at birth by humans and raised to defend them. Then he wouldn’t be a white saviour; he’d be a Na’vi reconnecting with his roots and using his knowledge of humans as a weapon.

(Or maybe I’ve just been consuming too much Oddworld, which does this whole concept of nature vs. industrialisation on an alien planet a million times better and predates Avatar by over a decade)

But, with all that said... I’m really looking forward to Way of Water. And what’s more, I’m actually looking forward to the plot of Way of Water. And the characters of Way of Water. I mean I don’t expect the plot to be complicated, but the characters already look a hell of a lot more interesting than the ones in Avatar 1. Even Jake and Neytiri.

I am absolutely fascinated by all the Sully kids, I love that they’ve gone with the family angle, and because of the timeskip it looks like it is really dealing with the fallout of the original story of Avatar.

So, let’s start with Jake and Neytiri. They’ve been together for over a decade. They know each other incredibly well now, but there’s still conflict and bitterness due to the history with humans. By the looks of things, they have to leave their home and go and live with these Sea Na’vi, who look seriously cool, what with all their adaptations for the water. I love this because it’s not just White Saviour Jake learning the Na’vi ways and then becoming better than anybody else at them. It’s both Jake and Neytiri out of their element, having to bow to someone else, and having to adapt. Also juggling that with being parents to their kids, some biological, some adopted. I love that. I love that Neytiri is struggling to bond with her human child Spider because he reminds her of the people who killed her father. These guys could be really, really interesting, which is great because despite the fact that Sam Worthington and Zoe Saldana were doing their damndest, the characters were so boring in the original Avatar.

I love their kids and I haven’t even met them yet. I love Lo’ak (maybe a play on the human name ‘Luke’ and if that’s the case that’s hilarious), who will have to deal with learning the ways of the sea Na’vi and being part-human - so he’s doubly different from other Na’vi. I love Kiri being like a reincarnation of Grace and having a human parent and trying to connect with that. I love Spider, a human raised as a Na’vi. I love that Kiri and Spider are clearly going to bond over their human history.

I’m slightly less engaged by big bad Quaritch coming back as a Na’vi, but it is interesting. And I’m sure most of the plot beats will be the typical humans being bad, Na’vi good, blah blah. But you know, the fact that they’re doing stuff with Kiri and Spider makes me feel that maybe things will be a little more grey this time. Maybe it will be established that there is a balance to strike between the tech and the nature, as long as it’s not being fuelled by greed.

I’ve said before, I have kind of grown out of Avatar, but I do think it’s a wonderfully creative, beautiful world and I’m glad we’re going to spend more time there. I also do love that it focuses so much on the nature of its alien planet as well as its people. That was something that kind of bored me with Star Trek - there was very little focus on alien wildlife.

We’ll see how I feel in a couple of weeks when I’ve seen it.

[hyenahunt]

Saga: Rivals - 5

Writer: Akira

Season: Winter

Characters: Hiyori, Jun

Proofreading: moricchiichan (JP) & hyenahunt (ENG)

Translation: kotofucius

Jun: And y'know, it makes me wonder... is it really okay for me to be so lucky?

Location: Reimei Academy Dormitory

Time: That evening, the same day

Hiyori: Jun-kun, I'm home!

Would you just listen to this~! Goodness knows when, but at some point they set a rule that residents are to wear standardised roomwear while in our dorms!

I took all that trouble to dress up and everything, but they forced me to change!

Those high-and-mighty bigshots certainly love enforcing such pointless rules, don't they~ Perhaps they can’t quite relax unless they have us children bound up in their regulations.

Hiyori: ...Whoopsy-daisy! Ahaha, hello to you too, Bloody Mary ☆

Come, come, come to me! What a spoiled little pup you are, my sweet, blood-stained Mary!

Fufufu~ Jun-kun, perhaps you should learn a thing or two about being loveable from her!

Jun: ......

Hiyori: What's this, have you nothing to say?

Any other time, you'd be all, "Don't call her name so loudly, she's supposed to be a secret!" or like, "Just where have you been off to until this time of night?" So on and so forth.

It's starting to make you sound rather like a possessive husband, you know?

Jun: ......

Hiyori: Whoa, what’s the matter, Mary? You won't find a scrap of food inside this paper bag, so don’t go poking your nose in!

Jun-kuuun, don’t tell me you’ve forgotten to present our dearest Queen with her most scrumptious feast?

What an absolute goose you are! Oh, my poor, poor Mary! I’ll fill your bowl to the brim right away~♪

Jun: ... I just fed her 'bout an hour ago, so please don’t give her any more food, ‘kay~?

Dogs will eat every last crumb they're fed, so we’ve gotta take care of just how much food we give ‘em.

Hiyori: Ah, alive, were you? Then you should have at least said something — It isn't as though I'm asking you to wag your tail ♪

Jun: ... Sorry. As you can see, it's a lil' hard to talk in this state.

Hiyori: Nn? I had no idea as my eyes were on our lovely little Mary this entire time, but what are you doing, Jun-kun? A new religious ritual of sorts?

Jun: ... Sit-ups.

Hiyori: Whatever for? Jun-kun, you’re almost excessively buff the way you are already. Wouldn’t gaining any more muscle only work against you by slowing your movements?

People tend to expect femininity out of us as Eve, so I do believe it’s undesirable to bulk out our bodies too much.

Don’t you agree, Mary~? Kiss, kiss ♪

Jun: ... Couldja brush your teeth before kissing her? Mary's gonna catch something from you.

Hiyori: Ah, that's the most hurtful comment of the century! I’ve already taken care of my teeth and all other cleanliness matters before I got here, so I'd rather you refrain from any statements implying I'm dirty, yes?

But well, Mary is indeed rather frail... We truly must treat her with care.

Yes, yes, how it delights me so to know you cherish her in your own way, Jun-kun.

Jun: Well, I gotta fulfill my duties as one of her owners, yeah~? And we've got a little bond going on by being in the care of the same dumbass... Whew.

Huff. I tripled my workout routine just ‘cause today’s a day-off, but that might’ve been a kinda dumbass move.

I've strained my muscles and now I'm sore all over~ Well, I've got no one to blame but myself.

Hiyori: You've got that right. I do wish you’d stop training inside our room — you stink it right up with your sweat.

Jun: And you keep filling the room up with fragrances without asking me, so we're even.

On that note, didn’t we agree to not complain 'bout any inevitable sounds or smells from each other?

Hiyori: True, but you ought to let me complain, at the very least. That’s the secret to stress-free room-sharing.

There is nothing good about letting frustrations grow pent-up, really.

Jun: You've got a comeback for everything, huh... Geez, I just can’t win any argument with you.

Hiyori: Ahaha. In fact, is there anything in which you can win against me?

Jun: Um, whuh~? How much muscle I've got, I guess...?

Hiyori: Is there nothing else you have to be proud of? Wait, don't tell me... did you spend our long-awaited day-off just shutting yourself in, Jun-kun?

Hiyori: No, no, that simply won't do! You must soak up a little more sunshine! I mean, you’ve been so gloomy lately, Jun-kun — at this rate, you’ll wake up being covered in moss one day!

Jun: Hmph. I can’t run around grinning my head off all day long the way you can, y’know~?

Hiyori: Anyone and everyone can still put on a smile at any time, no? That's the strength of humanity, and precisely what makes it so precious.

Well, I can certainly understand why you’d be frowning, of course.

After all, you're soon to finally realize your greatest wish, of facing off against your arch-nemesis... Sagami-sensei.

But that being said, it's not like you're out to kill each other, either — if you don't soften your features a little you'll scare our fans, you see! Everything depends on your pretty smile when you're an idol... ☆

Jun: ... that’s actually not the reason I’m looking glum. In fact, I’m feeling more happy and refreshed than anything else over getting to fight Sagami Jin.

But things’ve been looking pretty dark around CosPro recently, y’know?

Some of my old peers have quit, and they're the ones who strived together with me back when I was at the bottom of the barrel with them.

Yet I'm the only one who gets to grasp glory in comfort as a member of Eden — and now, I'm even getting the chance to face off against the target of my revenge...

Jun: And y'know, it makes me wonder... is it really okay for me to be so lucky?

Hiyori: Fufu. There’s no need to feel guilty over the blessings and happiness you have.

In fact, if you've come to realize what a fortunate position you're in, you ought to offer a loving hand of kindness to those in trouble and hardships.

Jun: Seriously? Is that the noblesse oblige thing you love going on about~?

Hiyori: It is indeed. Love and happiness are the sweetest of fruits that one can never get enough of, but if you feel you’ve been bestowed with too many, then you can share them with others.

We can’t do anything about those who've lost hope and quit, but there are still people suffering a living hell, unable to escape from CosPro no matter how much they may wish for it.

And as Eden, there must be something we can do for them.

After all, Ibara has been replacing the executives as he steadily comes to power, and we’re becoming the face of CosPro both in name and reality.

If our people are tormented and struggling through such painful hardships, then it is the duty of us nobles to show them compassion and guide them to salvation. No — we have the duty to protect them...

It is for that reason they pay the taxes that allow us our comfortable lives, after all.

If exploiting the people is all we’re good for then, why, our heads ought to roll. But being idols is our life's calling... so we can’t just let things end here, can we?

No, it is far too soon for us to ascend to Heaven where our God resides ♪

✦✦✦✦✦

← prev ✦ all ✦ next →

[ll-underestimated-ll]

A Discussion Between Leo & The Twins on @umbralvisitant (I’d of done a comic but too many words + lazy)

  “And if he succeeds - then what? What exactly will that mean for us? Leonard, you’re the one who’s said vinculi are just ‘bastardized blood bonds under a different name’ - to what extent...”

  Leo’s shifting in place is taken as queue for Stephan to fall silent. The Prince tucks a foot under a knee as he perches on the edge of the library desk a fang bared impolitely as he allows the uncertainly of his thoughts to be visualized to the pair before him. 

  “Well, consider this - we find ourselves harbouring a kindred many generations lower than any us. Of whom is certainly tied to someone’s machinations. We’re all in agreement with that - yes? No kindred of a sire his generation is free from that shit and as much as I enjoy doing things for shits-an-giggles I highly doubt that some Lasombra methusalah would be tossing a diablerie ridden childer down here for fun. Someone, at some point, is bound to come for the boy and I have no trust for what they might of done for to his mind. We’re looking at a best case scenario where all that’s happening is that my domain is being treated as a storage locker... -wouldn’t be the first time the country has.”

  Why even bother discussing this matter at all? They’d all been unsettled by the result of the ritual. Was shipping the boy half a world a way or simply collectively diablerizing him really off the table so soon? The only thing for certain was that his mere presence was a risk  

  “And what does Alexandria’s visions have to say of all this? You’ve brought the proposal up to her, right?” Thea’s tone carries a sense of caution. The seer was part of their coterie, she should be here for this discussion...

  “Didn’t have to. She came to me on the matter.” 

  “And?” 

  “She said, to the best of my recollection - ‘that Ink should be dabbed rather than spilled from it’s well, for the delicate weaving of prose for a enduring literary classic employs a purposeful choice of words dedicating themselves to a cause - rather than a verbose wasting of ink that serves only to result in a narrative that’ll crumble under it’s own weight’.”

  “Surprised you remembered that.” Stephan scoffs briefly leaning back in his chair. 

  “Oh~ You know me Stevie - Love me a good wordy prophecy from time to time. I believe the other part was that 'the chain of knots offered by the workman secures the gate better than the landlords coat of paint’.”

  “And... - Meaning what exactly? - so we’re all on the same page. She usually interprets her own prophecies for us anyway.”

  “It means brushing over the issue isn’t our best option. We don’t want that. But securing group loyalty will - And that’s what vauldarie will do, it’ll secure the loyalty amongst our little inner council in a way beyond simple words and promises. As for you two specifically, well - the Pyramid already presumes that with Penko gone the rest of you met your end. You’ll be released from your bond to me and finally we can return to the way things were before he met his end. In addition, I think I’ve already made it clear than any knowledge I get from the boy is equally yours.”

  “Wait - backtrack, you’re planning to include the entire council in this?”

  “Oh lord no. Alexandria yes, maybe Teagan. You two of course. Likely Danny just for the boys peace of mind. Certainly won’t be including Arthur. He somehow wrings enough leniency from us already. Should be simple enough to excuse his lack of participation.”   “Alright, fair ‘nough. Still, you sure mate?”

“Sure enough. If we can’t just dominate the lick I would much prefer to have his loyalty assured. Hell - worst comes to worst we want to get him fighting on our side.”

[theneverendingmixtapecontinued]

Daily Update 366 (Ketchup)

Recent Times When I’ve Thought About Yousht

1.) HS Musicals --> I bought new copies of the cast albums for the 2 musicals we did with Lanno in HS... I already had all 3 versions of the musical from with MS with Fluffy... I actually really like the musical we did your senior year, the 1967 version; it’s not nearly as obnoxious as I remember it... I thoroughly enjoyed it... For once, the thought of it gave me positive vibes... I have to give a listen to the other one we did, but I bought it with the most recent London version, which I heard... The point is, yousht would think I had copies of those 2 musicals already... But mine were just old burned copies from HS... The first one barely even worked... I don’t know why I never thought to buy them until now... 

2.) Flat Tire --> Last night, I hit the curb, and got a flat tire on my way to Hadley to see Guardians Of The Galaxy 3... Don’t ask me how, but I managed to stop right at our local State Park... Where we’d go sometimes, when we first learned to drive... (I even lucked out that there was a port-a-potty!!!)... The point is, I thought of yousht immediately... And how there was one time yousht took me there at dusk, said “Don’t worry, we’re not gonna make-out” because it’s one of those classic spots, got out of the car, sat at the overlook, yousht told me your hopes and dreams, and I really did think yousht were going to kiss me... At least, I really wanted yousht to do so... Someday, I’m going to write a semi-autobiographical teen angst novel... I just don’t know if it’s going to be wish-fulfilment where we do hook-up, or the actual truth which was bittersweet...

3.) Perks Movie --> Speaking of us bonding in HS, I finally watched The Perks Of Being A Wallflower movie, which is of course, 11 years old already... WTF?!?... (As it were, it was still too soon after shit happened for me to watch it then...) I bought it, but I hadn’t even opened it... The point is, I laughed, I cried, I felt all sorts of things... It directly quoted the book... It filled me with nostalgia... It reminded me of why I read that book twice... Football games, mixtapes, diner food, Rocky Horror, parties... It was just weird, that before he turned evil, the drummer and I talked about how it should be a film... And then there it was a few years later... And I just could not bare to watch it.... And now that I have... I feel way more complete, and inspired, and probably infinite...

4.) Joyous Librarian --> My supervisor and I were chatting about prom, because her daughter (who also works with me) just went to hers... I told her about my actual prom, but not with much enthusiasm... And then I must have lit-up like a firecracker when I talked about yousht... And my semi-formal... And how that was my real prom... She started asking lots of questions... The point is, when I told her about how a coworker actually knows yousht, she could not believe it... She insisted I go see yousht... That you’re local... That I shouldn’t miss the opportunity... That who knows what could happen... She actually said, “Oh, I’m so happy for you, that’s so exciting...” Like, I told her you’re attached, and the first words out of her mouth were for me to ask our mutual what your status really is... I mean, yes, I said, “The guy I was in love with in HS”... So, I guess it implies I could still be in love with yousht, particularly since I’m still single... I don’t know... But I did also tell her child about the ridiculous connection to yousht that I found at work... 

5.) Your Name --> As per usual, or really more so, I’ve seen your goofy first name everywhere these days... Especially, in a ton of the credits for TLM (Live Action)... And the guy who played Charlie Brown originally (yousht might have said)... And of course, on books at the library... The point is, I think it’s more specific then that... Like, I didn’t write it down, but sometimes your name would just show up at pointed moments... Where I go... Huh, of course... There it is... And I don’t know what to think anymore... 

HONORABLE MENTION: HS Encounter --> A girl from Marching Band (who was my nurse last year), just walked into my job 10 minutes ago, looking for a private area to talk to somebody... She’s a big girl, 2/3 years older than me... Who has an identical twin... I gave her a tight hug, which I wasn’t able to do the last time I saw her... And then she just left, because we don’t have a quiet study room she can use... The point is, holy crap, I’m writing to yousht again, after 3 months have passed... Then, in walks someone who knew us when... Who first told me to go to more punk/ska shows, like I used to do, and either say “hi” to your or not... But to just go and have a good time... Who just told me I look so good, and am doing what I want to be doing... Like, I’m downstairs in Children’s, say what?!?

***DISCLAIMER***: You’re still so relevant to me... There’s some air of yousht surrounding me, still... I was gonna say that your presence is still felt... But I didn’t believe it completely... Until right this very second... I mean, I don’t get my life... My heart wants to change directions (and it has in some way), yet I find yousht everywhere... It’s not necessarily a direct clue... But there always ends up being something... Do I just miss yousht?!?... Is it more?!?... Yousht were everything to me and I was nothing without you, but yousht also strung me along and never made a legitimate move... Then, we’d only get each other after the fact... What does it all mean, seriously dude, please tell me?!?

BTW, I eat ketchup, now... Not all the time... But, it happens... <@@@

#Destiny #TwinFlame #FEELINGS #BeTheChange #Grow #Vent #GarfieldSays

[buzzdixonwriter]

Art Ain’t A Mirror, It’s A Hammer (Part 3 of 3)

Thanks to rapidly advancing tech, the person on the receiving end of the digital food chain who just wants to be entertained will only need to push a button -- or utter a word, or think a thought, or perhaps not even do that but passively accept whatever the gods of the algorithms decide to present.  AI (or whatever that evolves into) will pick a genre / story / style / cast based on their prior responses to earlier entertainment and generate a brand-new entertainment for them.

As Rick Beato points out, the overwhelming majority of the audience Simply Won’t Care if their entertainment is provided by a real human being with genuine thoughts and emotions, or by a program that can fake it. To be honest, this does open up a new field of content creation, especially for those proficient at screenwriting. 

Writers who can create original highly detailed screenplays -- "directing on paper" in the old animation writing style -- to be translated into cartoons / concerts / short subjects / mini-series / grand operas will find their creativity in demand. This will create a market for brand name writers the same way Stephen King or Danielle Steele are brand names regardless of the actual stories they write.  Audiences will never actually read what they create but will need simply say "Show me the latest David Gerrold story" and it will unfold before them.

The stories can be calibrated for individual tastes and predilections.  The kids can watch a G-rated James Bond adventure where 007 uses a variety on non-lethal gadgets supplied by Q to capture the supervillain while mom and dad can view an NC-17 version loaded down with blood & guts / tits & ass / sex & death.

(Sidebar: Creators will enjoy a secondary revenue stream of product placement, taking fees from companies to have characters use those brands in stories.)

While it will be possible to permanently record any version of any entertainment, a big appeal will be how each retelling will be slightly different, slightly unexpected the same way a play is never performed exactly the same way twice.

It will be a new art form with a new language, a new style.

We can’t leave it to soulless machines and programs.

We need human hearts and minds, thoughts and emotions to hammer out a future culture.

. . .

We’re not going to avoid the intrusion of AI into every aspect of our lives.

It’s already here and we’re already interacting with it.

We are going to see rapid technical and cultural changes as a result.

Remember Mary Quant’s miniskirt.

Nothing prevented anyone from wearing an extremely short skirt before 1963, and some show biz types did wear them when performing.

But Quant said, “Hey, wouldn’t it be kicky to wear this right now out in public?”

Not the deepest intellectual idea ever expressed, true.

But definitely a very human idea.

And it resounded with her audience / customer base.

And they took that silly little piece of fabric and used it to help them change the world.

If no one provides art with ideas, audiences will create their own meaning.

That could mean a golden age if that audience wanted ideas.

But from what we know of human history, the overwhelming majority don’t want to think, they just want to be entertained.

Bread and circuses.

I may be misremembering, but I recall in John Brunner’s classic sci-fi novel Stand On Zanzibar there’s a spaced out druggie couch potato who pops up periodically in the book, watching TV and crooning to himself, “Man, what an imagination I’ve got…”

The irony, of course, is that the character possesses no imagination, hardly even thinks at all.

He just observes the media unfolding before him and utterly fails to grasp the message.

He can attach no meaning to it on his own because he possesses no frame of reference.

We the artists, the creators must stay in the struggle to provide meaning to the world.

. . .

We opened with Dylan, let’s close with Springsteen:

“Outside the street's on fire in a real death waltz Between what's flesh and what's fantasy And the poets down here don't write nothing at all They just stand back and let it all be And in the quick of a knife, they reach for their moment And try to make an honest stand But they wind up wounded, not even dead Tonight in Jungleland”

 © Buzz Dixon

[plotholefragments]

Full story

There is no doubt that the three of you will be visiting Red's home. It's a big, chaotic family; you'll fit right in.

There is no doubt that the three of you will not be visiting Green's home. Green's as close with their parents as they are with their coworkers, except the coworkers don't have a childhood's worth of baggage.

Whether you will visit your family... depends on how this goes.

No pressure, right?

Your headmates have been a... touchy topic in the past. It definitely didn't help that the second time you mentioned them was an apology for lying during the first time. Followed by a description of the faun you were in a long-distance relationship with. And the feathered dragon you were also in a long-distance relationship with. And how the long-distance was essentially infinite-distance.

You essentially ended that conversation by saying you wouldn't bring them up unless they brought them up first. And they did a few times, but always as your "telephone friends." And never acknowledging any of the otherworldly aspects.

You were really glad Red and Green saw the same things you saw. Because it was obvious your parents were trying to relate, trying to show interest; but you weren't sure what would be a bridge too far.

If anything, it would be this.

"So," you say, leaning onto the outdoor dining table at the hottest breakfast spot outside of town, "things have changed, and I'm going to go meet Alex and Euty."

(You use the English-ized version of Alex; you have ever since they winced the first few times you pronounced it correctly.)

There's a flash of confusion across their faces before your dad smiles. "That's great!" he says. "Are you going to... their place?"

You saw the mental hiccup as he was saying that: it's they/them, but I think there's two of them, so is it still 'their'? It's a little frustrating, but at this point, the three of you are genuinely happy he's trying.

It's like the early days of your bond: trying to communicate foreign concepts by getting to the root of the idea. Red and Green had no idea you were a programmer, after all, but still managed to teach you something about it. "We found a middle ground that all of us can get to," you explain. "It's relatively new, so it's not surprising that we didn't find out about it until now."

"So you're going... abroad?" your mom says, pausing because she knows it's a euphemism.

You nod. "I've been told there's internet access, so I should be able to stay in touch. No idea how consistent it is, though. Other than that, though, it's basically off the grid."

You can tell that thought makes her more uneasy. "Will you be okay if something happens?"

"Definitely," you say with a fierce nod. "There's..." You struggle for a moment to find the right concept.

Green assists. They've gotten really good at this sort of thing.

"There's a village," you say. "They've got food, housing, and a medical clinic. We've already got a place with our name on it, and if I understand it correctly, I will have my car if we need it."

She's mollified a bit. "How long do you think you'll be gone?"

This is the part you're really concerned with. Anyone can understand taking a trip to see someone. It's a little different when it's

"Six months," you say, trying your best to be confident in your answer. "We want to give ourselves enough time to... be together before deciding what comes next."

You wish you could take that last phrase back, you can tell it scared her.

You panic a bit. Red supplies the quick fix. "I'm not saying goodbye," you say quickly. You visibly close your eyes, trying to make it obvious you're taking it seriously. "We want to have enough time to decide if we're going to live together long-term, and if so, where. But no matter what, I'm going to stay in touch with you. I'm still going to see you, hopefully around the holidays among other times."

Your dad chimes in. "You might be moving farther away."

You nod. "I don't know, but I didn't want to blindside you if I did."

He smiles at you. Your mom is trying to smile, but you can tell she's working through her own fears. "Just invite us to the wedding," he says.

You can’t help but smile. You have no idea what a wedding would look like for the three of you, but of course you’d imagined something. “Absolutely,” you say.

[ahoonterisahoonter]

Short story part 2 -- TW Depictions of suicide

One night, Jaime is standing on the deck late at night, their heaviest coat wrapped tight around them. Erato, shivering desperately, comes to stand next to them. They look over at him but say nothing. They had grown to a point of mutual understanding, and although they weren’t exactly friends, a bond was forming. This had turned into a nightly ritual, staring out into the cosmos. Staring up long enough, Jaime would always start to feel vertigo, as if gravity would suddenly reverse and dump them into an endless sea of stars. In a way, Lab Zeta felt the same, a yawning abyss waiting to consume them.

“What have you been listening to today?” They asked Erato.

 He smiled and showed her the iPod he always carried. The album cover was red with a blue border, and the names printed on it. It was either T/N/A/F by Simple Forms, or the other way around. Jaime didn’t know a lot of the indie bands Erato listened to, but so far they liked his taste in music. They would need to add that to their playlist when they could.

“We’re almost there, you know? I overheard some of the crew talking, we should be close to land tomorrow or the day after. As soon as we’re close, they’ll probably fly us immediately to the Lab. How you feeling ‘bout that?”

“I’m leavin’ on a jet plane, don’t know when I’ll be back again.”

“Yeah, I don’t know if we’re ever gonna be back. No part of this feels right. With as much as they’ve told us, there are still so many unknowns. I don’t even know if Amy is alive, let alone how to find her and get her out of the there. You know, I haven’t asked you who you’re going in there to save.”

“I’ve dreamt that a time like this would come fulfil my life. Who could of known the one who’d bring me here would be my lovely wife?”

“You’re married? Dang, I keep underestimating you.”

He shrugs. He’s clearly used to being thought of as slow or weird or dumb, so he’s built up a thick skin. Still, they know what it feels like to have people impose their own ideas onto you, and they refuse to participate. They make a mental note to alter how they think about Erato.

“Song boy, Bluey, great to see you two out here,” Sam calls out to them.

Jaime rolls their eyes. They were really hoping that Eric’s names wouldn’t stick, but it looks like they’re winning. Sam isn’t half as quiet or contemplative as Erato, but she’s still good company to have around. Her litany of references serves to distract Jaime from the despair that grips their legs like quicksand. She helps keep them from drowning.

“You’re not usually up this late, or out in the cold,” Jaime remarks.

Sam shivers. “Yeah, because it sucks out here. I was thinking about doing the Titanic thing, but it is way too cold, even during the day.”

“Then what brings you out here?”

“I can’t sleep. It’s rising.”

There’s no need to ask her what she’s talking about.

“Sometimes,” she continues, “I can hear the voice, even when I’m awake. Every time it’s Luke’s voice, or partially, and it always says the same thing. ‘Join us and fight.’ What the fuck is that supposed to mean? Who am I joining, and what am I fighting? I don’t think we need to wait to get to Zeta to go insane. I think I’m already off to an early start.”

“Goin’ off the rails on a crazy train,” Erato whispers to the night.

Jaime can’t move past something Sam said. “I’m sorry, what does the voice, Luke or not or whatever, say to you in your dreams?”

Sam looks disturbed at Jaime’s sudden interest, but repeats, “’join us and fight’ is all they say, over and over again. Why do you ask, I thought we were all having the same dream?”

Jaime shakes their head. “Apparently not. Other than the fact that we’re hearing different voices, which makes sense, I’m getting a different message. ‘All this could be yours.’”

Sam’s eyes grow wide. “So, these aren’t just terrifying visions, someone is actually trying to communicate with us? Song boy, what do they say to you?”

Without looking at them, Erato quietly recites, “sing it from the heart.”

“Well, that’s fucking ominous,” Eric enters the conversation through chattering teeth. “It’s one thing dealing with whatever nightmare thing is coming after us but knowing that it’s also an early 2000s emo is so much worse.”

With a roll of their eyes, Jaime shoots back, “can I presume that in your dreams the message is ‘go fuck yourself’?”

“I get plenty of that in my waking life.” A shiver passes through Eric that has nothing to do with the cold. His voice becomes serious as he says, “she, it, tells me to ‘embrace the truth’, whatever the fuck that means.”

“Ooh,” Sam shouts in excitement, causing everyone to jump. “What if we all have, like, roles or something? Like, I’m a knight, and Song Boy is a herald, and Jaime is our ki—, uh qu—, monarch.”

“Ah, and where does that leave Eric ‘embrace the truth’ Ramirez?”

“Maybe a scholar, or something, I’m not sure, it’s just a theory.”

“Honey, if you knew me you would know I’m the farthest thing from a scholar.”

Jaime cuts in before their banter can run wild. “Sam, you seem pretty excited about this theory. What do you think it means?”

“Well, it’s just like, there’s something trying to talk to us, right? And it clearly wants us to listen to us, which is why it’s using the voices of our loved ones, but it can’t get it quite right, y’know melting our organs and stuff. So maybe, I’m thinking, like, it’s tryna recruit us for something. What if it’s building an army to try and conquer the world? Ooh, or maybe it’s trapped and needs us to fulfil our roles to bring it back to the mortal plane? Or—”

“I get your point,” Jaime says, with as much patience as they can muster. “You really think this thing is trying to recruit us? And would any of you, well—”

Jaime doesn’t finish their sentence, but everyone understands. It’s something they had each privately considered many times since this journey began. When the time comes, if the time comes, where that invitation is extended to them in real life, would they take it? Should they?

As they silently ponder, Topper and Debra appear on deck. Debra is wrapped in at least three blankets, but Topper has nothing to protect himself from the cold, other than a fierce grimace.

“Good to see I’m not the only insomniac on this ride,” he says in greeting. He walks to the railing, next to Jaime and peers over the edge of the boat. “Sometimes I think I’d rather be thrown in this water to freeze to death, so I don’t have to face the blood sea again.”

“Don’t tempt me,” Eric says, “I’ve wanted to push you overboard since we got on here.”

“I’m not too worried that a twig like you would actually be able to throw me overboard. Guaranteed that’s not affected my sleep one iota.”

“You’re right. Also, I could never throw you over, or I wouldn’t get to look at your fantastic bod anymore.”

Topper laughs, deep and hearty. “It’s nice to be appreciated. Feel free to soak in as much as your eyes can handle.”

Sam, practically bursting with excitement, interjects, “we were just talking about our dreams. The, y’know, obviously, haha, you just brought it up, anyway, what does it say to you?”

Debra scowls, but Topper doesn’t seem bothered. “’Bring them.’ I’m guessing from the way you asked that question that you’re not hearing the same thing.”

She shakes her head enthusiastically. “Debra, what about you?”

Still scowling, she responds, “It says, ‘Just stop fighting.’ Don’t ask me what that means, I have no fucking clue.”

“I bet you’re used to saying that,” Eric quips. Debra shoots him a withering glare, causing him to put up his hands in surrender. “Sorry, sorry, I know that wasn’t my best work.”

Topper starts, “what does the voice tell—” before a loud horn echoes over the deck, followed by a flood of lights searing away the darkness. After their eyes adjust to sudden brilliance, the group sees that a large section of the deck has been cleared except a small cargo plane.

“Glad to see most of you are already up,” Agent’s voice booms through speakers scattered around the boat. “Everyone collect your gear; we’ll be leaving within the hour. Report to the plane when you’re ready.”

The phrase ‘collect your gear’ is somewhat facetious, as none of the team had been allowed to bring much more than the clothes on their backs and some small trinkets. Everything else they’d be taking with them is already on the plane. Still, they recognize that Agent is giving them a chance to steel themselves before they fly into the icy darkness. Without talking, the group returns to their quarters and picks up the few possessions they have. Then, again in silence, they return to the plane, where Agent is waiting.

“Good morning, team,” he greets them cheerfully.

“Did we really have to do this at 3 in the fucking morning?” Eric moans.

“As a matter of fact, yes. We’re tracking a storm heading this way, and if we don’t leave soon, we’ll have to wait for it to pass before we can fly in. Every second counts, so we can’t delay.”

“Awesome. Dodging a blizzard to get into murder lab, and the sun isn’t even up yet.”

“You’d better get used to that,” Agent announces. “It’s winter down here, and we’re far enough South that the sun is only visible for about four hours each day. Not that that’ll matter much, as you’ll be entirely underground for the duration of this mission. Now, as soon as Rachel arrives, we’ll get underway.”

As if on cue, Rachel, disheveled and clearly still bleary from interrupted sleep stumbles up the stairs.

“Ah, there she is. Now, it’s a bit of a long flight, so we should depart quickly. Although, if you do have any last questions for me, ask them now, as we won’t get another chance before the mission starts.”

“I just want to double check one last time that this is actually fucking real,” Eric asks.

“Yes, I can assure you this is real. Please, try to take it seriously. Anything else?”

Jaime raises their hand. “Can you level with us here, Agent? If you had to place bets, what are the odds we make it out of there?”

He frowns and considers the question. “At this point, you’re our best, and last, option. I’d give you higher odds than the last teams, but I’d still say less than 10%. If I were a bettin’ man.”

“Thanks for the candor.”

The group falls silent and cast their eyes to the deck or the stars, contemplating the ramifications of what Agent just said. In all likelihood, they are going to board that plane just to fly straight to their deaths, like a fly into the mouth of a ravenous predator. Still, they had come too far, and there wasn’t a chance any of them were going to back out now.

“One last question,” Jaime adds. “Please tell us your real name.”

Agent pauses, as if internally debating the question, then curtly replies, “Francois. Now, let’s get moving. Lab Zeta awaits.”

True to Francois’ word, although the flight takes several hours, there is no ability to asks questions, discussion what’s coming, or even communicate beyond simple hand gestures. The noise in the plane is deafening, and, as protection, they are each wearing noise-dampening earmuffs. This leads to the paradoxical effect of near-perfect silence, despite the violent vibrations reminding them constantly of the freezing air beating against their small craft.

Jaime hates the silence. They always have. As brutal as the world could be to them, and it was plenty brutal, that was no match to the torment they could inflict upon themselves when left to their own devices. For most of their life, this meant surrounding themselves with at least two types of media at all times, just to drown out the oppressive silence. If they were being honest with themselves, and they tried to never be, the worst thing that came during silence was hope. Sometimes, when they disconnected from everything, they began to feel good about themselves, began to think that things would improve for them. Things never did, and that glimmer of hope made the inevitable pain inflicted on them infinitely worse. So, it was better to avoid silence at all costs.

That isn’t an option here, as taking off the earmuffs would lead to splitting headaches and possibly to permanent ear damage. So, there they sit, dreading the things that this oddly calm and chaotic space will invite in, drawing furiously in an attempt to hold those things at bay. It doesn’t work, it never does, and so, as a beautiful and terrifying kaleidoscope of body horror take shapes on the page in front of them, they begin to drift back to drift back through time. A montage of the litany of vile and cruel insults hurled at them floats in a grotesque parade behind their eyelids. As always, like Santa closing out Thanksgiving, comes the slap.

That day, years in the making, with bouts of self-loathing and bursts of strength, support and detraction from those who could guess, was when they finally decided to tell their parents the truth. They had run through every possible reaction, steeled themselves against any rejection or hatred they could receive, or so they thought. With their parents sitting on a fading couch opposite them, they finally spoke the words that had weighted their heart for as long as they could remember. Even as they stumbled over the words, which seemed to clumsily tumble from their mouth, the pain eased, if just a fraction. If they were going to suffer regardless, they would do it living who they truly were. Their parents were silent as they spoke, waiting for them to awkwardly trail off with a “so, yeah,” before responding.

Dad was the first to speak. He was never great with emotions, and even without a thick beard covering half his face, it would be hard to tell what he was thinking or feeling. “Oh sweetie, we love you no matter—”

Before he could finish, Mom cut him off. “Why are you doing this? Have we really been such bad parents that you would debase yourself like this just to spite us?”

Both Jaime and Dad tried to protest, but she silenced them both with a gesture. She had always dominated the house like that. “I don’t want to hear your excuses, or your pathetic lies. This isn’t the daughter I raised. The daughter I raised would never be some debauched, genderless whore. You are a woman, you will date and marry a man, and that is final.”

“I’m not your servant, I’m your child, mom—”

“And that is precisely why you will listen to me. You’re confused, and frankly acting like a dumb bitch. Your father and I want to help you become a well-adjusted adult, but if you insist on trying to act like you’re not a woman, then we have no choice but to step in and put you back on the right path.”

“Honey, I think—” Dad started, but was waved away.

“Apologize, young lady, and I’ll forget you ever did this to us.”

“I didn’t do anything to you,” Jaime spat back. “This is who I am. And if you really think you have so much control over me, then it must be your fault.”

With her lips drawn to a tight line, Mom crossed the room in two strides and slapped Jaime, hard. The hit echoed around the small living room, which had become as quiet as the grave. With as hard as the hit had been, Jaime didn’t feel anything. Anything except the shame that burned their whole body. Shame, and a newfound hatred for this woman who had apparently never loved them, the true them, and had only loved some fictional version of them she’d invented in her mind. Without another word, Jaime sprinted for their room.

Later, they heard Dad and Mom yelling at each other, him defending them and her attacking them. After the fight, Dad came in and gave a truly stirring speech about his support and love. It meant a lot to know that they had him on their side, but it wasn’t enough to erase that slap. They didn’t think anything would be able to erase the pain of that memory. And here they were, nearly half a decade later, still hearing the echoes of it as clear as if they had just been hit. Tears threaten their eyes, but they managed to hold them back. They had a lot of practice holding back tears.

Erato passes them a paper. Through their blurry eyes, it takes them a second to recognize what they’re looking at, but as it finally comes into focus they recognize it as sheet music. The staffs are drawn so neatly that it looks more like it was printed than hand drawn on a shaky airplane. The notes are largely foreign to Jaime, who doesn’t know much about reading music beyond ‘FACE’ and ‘Every Good Boy Deserves Fudge’, but Erato also wrote in the lyrics. The song is familiar to Jaime, if a little rusty in the back of their memory. It’s an old Rise Against song called September’s Children, which they remember having something to do with a string of LGBT suicides, all within a month. They look over at Erato, raising an eyebrow in question. Erato, of course, can’t respond, but mimes flipping the paper over.

When they do, Jaime sees on the back is more of the song, but with the last line circled. It reads, ‘Proud I stand, of who I am, I plan to go on living.’ Looking back at Erato, they catch his sad, but empathetic smile. He clenches his fist and shakes in slightly, as if to say, ‘you’ve got this.’

Jaime can longer hold back the tears.

The final descent is by far the rockiest part of the flights, with lurches of several feet in every direction. This is met with several different reactions: Francois, Topper, and Erato seem stoic and unbothered; Rach and Debra turn white as ghosts; Eric and Sam put their hands and cheer, noiselessly, like they’re on a roller coaster; and Jaime is somewhere between the last two groups. Despite the tumultuous descent, the actual landing is fairly smooth. As the plane powers down and the persistent thrumming ceases an eerie calm settles. It belies the fact that not two hundred feet from where they are sitting is the entrance to a labyrinthine network of tunnels home to at least sixty brutal murder victims, and most likely more. Pulling their earmuffs off let’s the outside noises flood back into the group’s ears. Metal creaks as the engines cool, wind whips around the plane’s exterior, a howl that is surely indicative of the predicted storm’s approach, and the shallow breaths of the people fill the small, cold chamber.

Francois stands. “Ladies and gentlemen, et al.,” he adds, looking at Jaime, “the time has come. I’ll help you unload your equipment, then I’ll see you off. We won’t be able to return until the storm dies down, at least a few hours. After that, we’ll come pick you up as soon as you have the tags of everyone on the list. Until then, I’m afraid you’re on your own. There should be enough here to sustain you for a week, and you can last even longer if you can reach the lab’s stores. However, I recommend you don’t take your time. Find them as soon as you can and call us. Good luck.”

Eric, sitting behind him, flips Francois off, but says nothing. The others are similarly mute. Between the howling winds and cold seeping into the now inert plane, the reality of their situation is beginning to sink in. This is actually happening. It isn’t some fever dream. The moment passes, and everyone gets to their feet, grabs their designated crates, and steps out into the pitch-black snowstorm.

Lights on the vehicle’s exterior do little to break cut the darkness but serve more to create an eerie feeling of descending into a deep ocean. The group quickly traverses the distance between their landing and the lab’s entrance. When they arrive, Francois, Eric, Topper, and Sam peel back the heavy metal door. It’s entirely clear of snow, despite being surrounded by drifts, an intentional design choice by the engineers, who used the door as an additional heat sink for the lab’s computers.

No light emanates from the staircase ahead of them, and the lights behind them don’t reach this far. For a moment, they stare into the abyss, each no doubt imagining some horrors awaiting them at the bottom. The illusion is instantly shattered by Francois, who activates the flashlight mounted to an assault rifle and hands it to Topper. For the first time since any of them met him, Francois shows a genuine emotion: pity.

“Down you go,” he shouts to be heard over the storm. “I’ll close it behind you. It won’t lock, but I recommend you don’t try to make a run for it. There’s nothing for miles in any direction. Hypothermia is not a fun way to go.”

“One madhouse to another, huh?” Topper shouts back, before descending.

The others follow suit, with their cases in tow. Rachel is the final one to enter the doorway, followed by a firm thud as the door swings shut. They freeze at the sound, which seems closer to the knell of funeral bells than to simple door closing. In all likelihood, they were just sealed into their tomb. There’s nothing for it now but to push forward, down the stairs and into the intersection of the three hallways.

“I’m gonna say what we’re all thinking,” Eric breaks the silence. “Why is it so motherfucking cold in here? Isn’t there supposed to be heating or something?”

Topper snorts. “Look around you, numb nuts. The power’s off. That means no heat.”

Jaime feels a tap on their shoulder and spins in terror, only to find a slightly sheepish Erato. He points up the stairs and mutters, “it’s gettin’ hot in here.”

Jaime pauses to consider his words, then turns to the others once it finally clicks. “There’s power somewhere. The computer banks must be running if the door is melted.” Behind them, Erato nods.

“You should be grateful it’s so cold down here,” Rachel speaks up. “If it were warmer then this whole place would reek. Trust me, you don’t want to be trapped in an enclosed space with rotting corpses.”

“Right, I almost forgot about all the dead people,” Debra says wryly. “Thanks for that lovely reminder.”

“Well, if the power is on somewhere, maybe this will work.” Sam throws several of the switches on the wall, to no effect.

Topper points his light to the ceiling. “I don’t think power is the problem.”

They all look up to see the long fluorescent lights shattered.

“Okay, so someone went nuts and smashed all the lights. That’s…cool.” Eric’s voice is thin.

Jaime, now with a gun and lit flashlight of their own points to the floor. “Whoever did it had the presence of mind to sweep up the fallen shards.”

“Were the lights shattered in the videos?” Rachel asks.

Topper shakes his head. “I wasn’t paying attention. I just assumed the power was out, and that’s why it was dark. Shattered lights make way less sense.”

Eric shrugs, regaining some of his confidence. “Whatever. If the demon who lives here likes it dark, that’s his business. We should get moving.”

“Agreed,” Topper nods. “Our first step should be to find a safe room to store our equipment. Then we can start our search.”

“Okay, so are we gonna split up like every stupid group of teenagers in a horror movie, or what?” Sam pipes up.

“We’d cover more ground,” Debra offers.

Topper shakes his head. Without explicitly discussing it, he had seemed to step naturally into the role of leader. Perhaps it was his military background making him somewhat more of an expert in dangerous situations, or maybe it was the confidence he exuded, but they were all looking to him. “While we could definitely search faster, we’d be putting ourselves in way too much danger. No, we’re sticking together. At every point, we have at least two people facing forward, two facing back, and someone facing any intersecting rooms or hallways. Priority number one is to make sure nothing can sneak up on us. Now, everyone arm yourselves and let’s get moving. I know we got an early start today, but I want to search as much as we can today.”

“Aye aye, captain.” Eric mock saluted but complied with the instructions.

It wasn’t long before they found a suitable room to be their repository. They took the first hallway to their right, where the man dubbed ‘forkupine’ had laid face down in a pool of blood, untouched by any of the previous expeditions. Only, when they arrived at the point where he should be, there was just a puddle of frozen blood. After dropping off their equipment, that became mystery number one.

“This is a good sign,” Topper says over the murmurs of the others. “We know that he was still here at the end of the last expedition. That means someone is alive in here, or at least was recently enough to have moved the body after them.”

“Someone, or something,” Sam whispers breathlessly.

“Why would you say?” Debra practically hisses.

“Sorry, it’s just something dramatic I’ve always wanted to say. Plus, we don’t know what drove everyone down here to kill each other. So, there’s definitely a something, even if it wasn’t the one that moved forkupine.”

“Dammit, that was a human being, with an actual name. You can’t keep calling him that,” Debra shot back angrily.

“Look, if he didn’t want a funny nickname, he shouldn’t have died in such a funny way,” Eric steps in to defend Sam.

“Whoever he was, and whoever, or whatever, did this, is all beside the point at the moment. The important thing is that we aren’t alone down here, and we need to find the others ASAP.” Topper sharply eyes the others, daring them to continue the previous conversation. When he sees that they’ve all let it go, he says, “alright, good. Let’s get moving. Debra and I can take rearguard. Jaime and Rachel lead us. The rest of you check our corners.”

“What makes you think either of them have any clue where the fuck they’re going?” Debra protests.

“None of us know where we’re going,” he counters. “We can’t know where the survivors would be hiding, so any of us are as good a choice to lead as any other. As long as we all remember where we’ve been, we can find our way back. Any other complaints.”

Debra grumbles but says nothing. The group enters formation, according to Topper’s directions, and begin to slowly inch down the hallway. Doors are set a regular intervals, and they pause at each so Sam, Eric, and Erato can search them. It’s a quick process, as the rooms are small enough to be fully scanned in a single glance. Still, they take their time to search for anything that might lead them to where the survivors might be. There’s nothing useful. The rooms here, apparently offices, are in nearly pristine condition. Whatever went down here, it didn’t touch this section of the lab. As that fact becomes increasingly obvious, the group slowly grows more comfortable, enough to break the silence.

“I never asked you, Bluey, but what landed you in McCreepy’s?” Eric whispers.

“Oh, you know, I was having trouble sleeping, so I took a sleep aid,” they respond at a similar volume.

“That landed you in the hospital?” Rachel asks, incredulously.

“Well, I may have taken a bit more than the recommended dosage.”

“How many?” Rachel asks, concerned.

“About half a bottle.”

Rachel gasps quietly, while Eric just shakes his head. “Yeah, that’s a rookie mistake. If you were serious, you should have gone for the whole bottle. It takes a few swallows, but you can’t beat results.”

“Is that so? Well, considering you’re still here, I’d say you know fuck all about the right way to do it.”

Eric tsks. “I wasn’t really tryna take myself out. It was a slow spiral, call for help type of thing. If I wanted to go, I could do it first try, easy.”

“You’d think so,” Sam jumps in, a little louder than the others, “but most first suicide attempts fail. The vast majority of suicides come from people with previous attempts. I thought jumping off a bridge was surefire, but apparently the human body really doesn’t want to die. Unlike the human brain, which is a self-destructive little fucker.”

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Debra asks, horrified.

“What isn’t?” Eric laughs. “None of us would be here if we weren’t at least a little fucked up.”

“You can’t just talk about suicide like that. It’s a serious topic.”

Jaime scoffs. “I’m sorry you grew up in an era when you could say the n-word but not talk about mental health, but we’re from a different time.”

“What you’re doing is not talking about mental health, what you’re doing is making a bunch of sick fucking jokes,” she hisses through her teeth.

“I mean, I do have some pretty sick jokes about fucking, if you want to switch topics,” Eric counters.

Topper clears his throat. “Can we please pay attention? We have no idea what is down here with us, and I’ll be damned if I let it sneak up on us because you can’t stop needling Debra.”

Leaning back to whisper to Eric in an even lower tone, Jaime asks, “was needling Debra one of those fucking jokes you were talking about?”

Eric can’t help but laugh, although he contains it to a short burst.

“Are you seriously trying to bring everything in this place to come attack us?” Debra shoots at him.

“Oh right, the evil entity that literally invited us here certainly wasn’t aware of our presence before I just laughed.”

“To the left, to the left, everything you own on a box to the left?” Erato says out of nowhere.

They all freeze. Trying to puzzle out what he could have meant by that. Sam is the one that puts it together when she looks in the room into which he’s staring.

“This is where we left all our equipment,” she says in confusion. “How did we get back here?”

“That’s not possible,” Topper says to no one in particular. “We haven’t turned. We’ve been going in a straight line the whole time.”

“Maybe the corridor curves?” Rachel asks, hysteria creeping into her voice.

Topper runs his hand along the concrete walls for a few moments before shaking his head. “If they do curve, they definitely don’t curve quickly enough for us to have made a complete circle with how long we’ve been walking. Besides, we would have had to pass the stairs at some point if it actually were a circle.”

“Maybe we could try walking backwards and see where it takes us?” Jaime suggests.

Topper frowns but nods. “That may be our best bet. Keep your eyes peeled for anything familiar.” The statement seems ridiculous considering the endless gray expanse of concrete around them whose only feature is the lack of any distinctive features.

“How is that gonna help?” Rachel’s voice sounds like she’s about to fly into a full panic. Her breathing is rapid and shallow.

“Rachel, are you okay?” Jaime asks in concern to the woman who is now doubled over and hyperventilating.

“What the fuck is happening? What awful place is this?” Tears are streaming down her face.

“It’s just a twisty corridor,” Jaime tries to reassure her. “It’s weird, but it’s nothing to freak out about.”

Rachel drops to her knees. “They’re all dead, and we’re all dead.” Her voice has gone from panicked to eerily calm, like she’d just been drugged.

“What’s going on up there?” Topper asks over his shoulder, still refusing to leave any direction unwatched.

“She’s just struggling with the situation. It’s hard for all of us, just let her—” Jaime stops, a nagging feeling at the back of their skull. They look around at the others and sees little more than worry on their faces. None of them seem to be too bothered by this new development. Why would Rachel be the only one? Come to think of it, why was she the only one that was able to sleep well every night on the ship? And her reaction to their conversation earlier: she’d seemed shocked to learn that Jaime had tried to kill themself. They begin delicately, “Rachel, what color is the sea?”

The phrase seems to break Rachel out of her reverie. She wipes her tears and turns to Jaime. “Red, like blood.”

“Bluey, I don’t see what this has to do—” Eric begins, but Jaime waves at him to be silent. It stings slightly that the gesture is a mannerism they’d picked up from their mom, but there isn’t time for that now.

“And what message does the voice repeat?”

“What?” Rachel asks, confused. That response is enough to convince Jaime, but they need to be sure.

“In the dream, when the thing speaks to us, what does it say?”

Clearly blustering, Rachel responds, “it, uh, it says ‘stay away from here.’” Her voice wavers with uncertainty.

“Oh, fuck me,” Sam groans, entirely too loudly.

“I’m seriously lost back here,” Topper calls forward.

“Rachel has been lying to us,” Jaime says in a flat tone. They aren’t sure if they feel anger, pity, surprise, or nothing. They’ve never been good with understanding their emotions.

“What?” Rachel gasps, clearly somewhere between scared and feigning indignance.

“Sam? Care to explain?”

Eagerly, Sam elaborates. “The voice is inviting us. It’s bringing us here for a purpose. You hesitated when they asked you what it said because you clearly didn’t know that was part of the dream at all. And then, when they asked you again, you tried to come up with something plausible, but it was the exact opposite of our dreams. None of us has been chased away. You’re a lying bitch.”

Finally realizing that her ruse is up, Sam becomes angry. “So, what if I’m not fucking insane, like the rest of you? That should be a good thing, to have one person down here who isn’t a lunatic.”

“Normally, I’d agree with you,” Sam responds. “But, in this case, it’s the opposite of what we want. Each of us was invited here, which means that to some degree or other we’re not going to be in as much danger as those who weren’t. Like you.”

“How did you know about the sea?” Jaime asks. “That was the first question Agent asked each of us, and if you hadn’t answered correctly, you wouldn’t be here.”

“Her damn brother,” Debra spits out. “He was the dreamer, and you thought you were sparing him by taking his place.”

Rachel’s tone changes from angry to pitiable. “You don’t know my brother like I do. He couldn’t be sent here. I had to protect him. When I heard about his dreams, and that someone had come to talk to him, I followed up with Agent. I know the nurses there, so they were able to get me in contact.”

“You weren’t even in a facility?” Eric asks, incredulous.

“Why should that matt—” before she can finish the sentence, Rachel clutches the sides of her head and screams.

“What the fuck is happening back there?” Topper asks, clearly assuming that something in the hallway is causing this sudden breakdown.

“Poor Rachel is reaping what she sowed,” Eric responds.

Jaime drops down next to Rachel and gently rubs her back, trying to comfort her. It works surprisingly well, as Rachel stops screaming and drops her hands from her temples. A split second later, it becomes apparent that it wasn’t Jaime’s comforting touch that brought about the change. Something had become visible to Rachel that was out of sight for the others. She whispers a word in an unknown language, then jumps to her feet and runs into the dark hallway.

“Rachel, stop!” Jaime calls after her.

“Dammit!” Topper shouts at the back. “Eric, take her spot. We need to follow her and stop her but keep to the formation.”

Everyone moves swiftly, and off they go to chase after there teammate. Her steps echo loudly down the concrete tunnel, although each comes with diminished strength. Clearly, without a whole group in formation to slow her down, Rachel is sprinting headlong into unknown territory. Her flashlight, and attached weapon, sit idly at the spot from which she ran, meaning that there is nothing but darkness ahead of her. Too soon for the steps have to become completely inaudible, they stop suddenly. With renewed urgency, Jaime and Eric push the pace, threatening to break apart the formation, much to the chagrin of Topper.

The combined light beams of Jaime and Eric pick out a shape on the floor ahead. As they draw nearer, it comes into detail, although it takes a moment for their brains to combine those disparate details into a cohesive picture.

Rachel is laying flat on her back, blank eyes staring up at the plain ceiling. Each of her forearms are slashed open with three cuts on each arm. Blood is still slowly leaking out of the wounds, but the copious amount beneath her makes it clear that it’s too late. Above her head, written in the blood is the word ‘Intruder.’ Additionally, Rachel’s coat, jacket, and shirt had been ripped open to reveal her bare chest, into which had been etched a complex glyph. From the relative bloodlessness of the wounds, this shape must have been engraved in her flesh posthumously. The horror from the tableau is matched only by the horror of the questions it raises. Who or what did this? And how had it managed to do all of this so quickly? Should she have really been able to bleed out so quickly? They’d only just seen her, no more than a minute before they came across the body.

“Can I be the first to say, fuck everything that is happening here.” Eric can’t help but say.

Silently, Erato points at the glyph in her chest. He clearly can’t find the lyrics for this particular moment, but there is something about the symbol that he desperately needs them all to notice. At his insistence, Jaime stares directly at the wound, which to this point that had been doing their best not to examine. As they stare, light begins to emanate from the cuts, until the horrible wound is a bright constellation, burning itself into their mind. There’s a message there, a message that, try as they might, Jaime can’t uncover. But the longer they stare, the brighter the symbol glows, and more the hallway around them melts away. Soon, they become aware of the fact that they are being pulled into the wound, which has now opened into a gaping hole. Instead of viscera, the peeled back flesh reveals a realm of blindingly brilliant light, although the original glyph shines brighter yet.

Eventually, their vision goes completely white, except for the glyph that still manages to shine brightly even against the shining while light surrounding them. Their mind goes blank, and they shift out of the conscious world.

[smhalltheurlsaretaken]

So do you guys remember my post about Jedi meeting their birth families and being chill with it? 

I’ve been thinking a bit - a lot, for like a year - about all the headcanons around Jedi’s biological people, and there are really only two possible cases that seem to get explored: the pure of heart, flawed but loving, desperate parents who ‘had’ to give up their precious child to the Jedi and didn’t feel they had a choice (most commonly seen from the more Jedi critical parts of the fandom, but not always), and the horribly abusive no good parents at all who gladly dumped their baby onto the Order (which appears to be the way of some Jedi fans to ‘justify’ the adoption into the Order as legitimate, which really shouldn’t be the point because adoptions are just as legitimate without abuse factoring in).

What’s kinda sad is how little we’re willing to explore all the possibilities, maybe because we don’t want to be perceived as on the wrong side of the fandom by our own pals. We all deal with just so much bad faith discourse that we smooth out any sort of human drama and nuance to try and have clear cut narratives that are so black and white that they must prevent bad faith interpretations. Jedi have to be perfect pure angels that have never done anything wrong to be recognized as good, because we’re afraid that if we write them in an interesting way people will jump on the opportunity to accuse them of all sorts of stuff.

Well, I’m tired of vanilla fics and good guys vs bad guys when dealing with purely human everyday stuff. Bad guys are for the galactic battles, the epic clash of eternal forces. When dealing with how Jedi younglings come to the Order, we can have plenty of amazing, heart-wrenching drama and warm, happy moments where all sorts of good and regular people have different goals and meet and clash without anyone being at ‘fault’ or being to blame for it. I want to see (*sigh* to write) complex, difficult situations that can’t be perfectly resolved but where people do try and everyone feels like a *person*.

With that out of the way, what about:

- the unanimously proud communities, so honored that their daughter will represent their people and traditions among the Order, wear their clothing and bear their name

- the desperate mother with proud relatives, who doesn’t want to give away her child, but feels pressured into it by well-meaning relatives. The Master feels her reluctance and tries to reassure her, but she insists that it’s fine - and it is, she wants it to be, she wants to believe it’s for the best but it’s just so hard...

- Stass Allie’s parents, who saw their niece Adi GAllia go to the Order a few years prior. Their two families are influential on Coruscant, but with Adi already in the Order, do they need to send Stass too? Will people think they’re making a grab for power? Will Stass be better off over there, with her cousin? 

- Tiplar and Tiplee’s parents. How many children do they have, besides their twins? Is it easier to let your children go when you know they will be together? Did they make the Master promise they wouldn’t be separated no matter what? Did they dress them in matching outfits, or were the Jedi the ones to come up with that?

- the teenaged single mom who cries tears of relief when she realizes her baby will have a good life

- the single dad who can’t bring himself to let his daughter go, because she’s his whole world. The Master presses, not fully understanding, because she would would give up everything for the good of her Padawan, including her relationship with him if need be. The dad still says no.

- the struggling addict parent who is glad to dump that kid (but who still wakes up at night crying, cursing the Jedi, cursing themselves - who get their life back on track for their next kid, maybe? Who meets more Jedi and is thankful after all, or who never does and stays bitter, but better...)

- the family using the adoption for clout, and the consequences for the Order PR-wise, with the younger Jedi having to let go of the bitterness and the anger

- the communities with their own customs surrounding the Force that the young Knight or the wise Master’s inexperienced Padawan struggle to grasp and accept

- the happy parents who are mildly Force-sensitive themselves but didn’t know (or did know, and expected some of their children to be sensitive too), with the Master or the Knight pondering what their own life would look like as a civilian, maybe a parent themselves, maybe giving their own child to the Order like those are doing now. Would they do it? If they could met that hypothetical version of themselves, what would they say about the life they have? 

- the superstitious, incredulous or religious parents who are just glad to get a real explanation for the floating rocks, instead of all the theories and the judging and the gossip

- the ones who are desperately poor, and so very grateful, and the younger Jedi struggling with this, wondering if that’s why they were given to the Order as well. Struggling not to judge, because they wouldn’t be happy to give up their own younglings no matter what, right? Learning to be grateful, and understanding, and compassionate. 

- the parents who decide to give their child away against the community’s pressure, finding comfort in the Jedi’s genuine desire to support them

- the siblings struggling not to feel betrayed by their parents’ choice - and the jealous ones, the proud ones, the amazed ones, the ones who were just toddlers and spend their life holding onto faded memories

And on the flipside to all of that, what about:

- the Jedi who find a baby among dead bodies, like Mace and Depa, and are so thankful they could save this one tiny light

- the Knights filled to burst with warmth and pride as the three of them get this little toddler to giggle on the way home

- the baby who has been screaming in the Force for weeks, wanting to go home, and who finally gets to feel a presence caressing his mind gently, telling him someone is coming

- the Masters who hold the little ones at night, when those who miss their old home feel lonely or sad, rocking them and singing to them

- the Jedi who have their niece, nephew, cousin, or sibling arrive in the Creche, who call their birth family to reassure them that it’ll all be okay, and yes, ‘the child will know who I am, don’t worry, we keep our names. I’ll help them along the way, I’ll keep an eye on them.’

- the Knight who shows up somewhere and experience a supersonic boom because that’s the one, this little one will be his Padawan, he knows it

- the Knight awkwardly trying to comfort the parents, but she can see that they can see that the baby has already latched onto her, and she senses their turmoil

- the Master feeling that the child won’t be suited for the life of a Jedi, and saying that, even as it’s so hard to turn away from those sparkling baby eyes and that little mental tug 

- the Padawan balancing babbling triplets on his shoulders, because they’re from a species that makes a lot of babies

- the Master-Padawan pair visiting a child a lot during the transition period, and bonding with the other siblings as well

... Just... a mess of relationships and love on all parts, with understandings being reached, people finding peace and joy, and the opposite of all that, all acknowledging that there are no bad guys here, just complicated circumstances.

[mishasminions]

Here’s why the Supernatural Series Finale Sucked

(AND IT REALLY ISN’T JUST BECAUSE CAS/MISHA WASN’T IN IT)

First of all, I’d like to state, that this perspective is coming from someone who has watched, invested in, and dissected this show for 15 years. I’ve tried to rationalize and justify every single decision each of the main characters made throughout the years, and I’ve always tried to make sense of each of their story arcs from a “bigger picture” standpoint as each season progressed.

Anyway, before I can properly explain why the finale sucked, let me quickly take you through 15 seasons by segregating them into 3 eras, because you can’t really comprehend what Supernatural is about and what it’s become without going through how it tried to expand its universe.

SEASONS 1-5: THE KRIPKE ERA

Now, we all know that Kripke was always set in wrapping up Sam and Dean’s story in 5 seasons, and he did just that.

So, in this era, Supernatural is about two brothers who set out on a journey to fulfill “the family business”. They hunt mythical monsters that terrorize the world, while battling the monsters within themselves. Their ultimate “big bad” is an apocalypse.

Towards the end of this era, we find out that Sam and Dean are actually a parallel to Biblical characters who are brothers turned rivals. And that Sam and Dean’s destiny is to go up against each other.

However, as a dynamic, they have always been about making their own choices, choosing free will, and having a brotherly bond that can power through against any obstacle at any given day.

So, this era is neatly wrapped up with its finale. The characters grow, and get justified endings.

Dean, a man who thinks of himself as two things: 1. Sam’s older brother and protector; and 2. Daddy’s blunt little instrument.

He’s spent his whole life believing that that was his only purpose, and he knew that the only ending he’ll get would either be a bloody death fulfilling his duty to the family business; or laying his life on the line to save his brother.

Dean gets the ending he thought was never possible for him, something he thought he could never deserve. After years of living and dying for his family, he gets a shot at having an apple pie life--to settle down with a nice girl, raise a kid in a house with a white picket fence. With Sam gone, Dean’s responsibility now is to himself.

Sam, on the other hand, never wanted any part of it, because he wasn’t groomed the way Dean was, and because thanks to Dean, Sam wasn’t traumatized or forced into growing up too quickly the way Dean was.

So Sam aspires for a normal life, and works the cases with Dean so he can maybe get some semblance of it, when everything they set out to kill are laid to rest.

Ultimately, Sam performs a selfless act for his brother, who has given up everything for him, and for their cause--to save the world.

The journey is this: Dean sacrifices everything to save Sam, and Sam sacrifices himself so Dean could live.

Apart from being Dean’s “savior” and guardian angel, Castiel’s role in this era is to serve as a mirror to Dean’s journey. Castiel goes from being heaven’s foot soldier, following “God’s orders”; to an angel who learns to choose and feel for the first time in his existence.

After they realize that they’re both daddy’s blunt instruments, Dean starts choosing his own path for himself, and convinces Castiel to join him. Castiel stops following heaven, and starts following Dean.

In the end, with his newfound understanding of the world thanks to Dean, Castiel goes back to heaven to reform it.

We’ve resolved the biblical arc, and the character journeys.

SEASONS 6-10: THE SPIN-OFF ERA

So this is where the show realizes how vast its universe can be, so it tries to expand it by tapping into uncharted lands and experimenting with it.

They take on heaven, reform hell, explore purgatory, have the angels fall, turn Dean into a demon, and kill Death.

Dean and Sam recognize their codependency, and try to rise above it.

They go back and forth between which brother will risk it all for the greater good every other season.

Dean and Cas strengthen their relationship by recognizing the impact they have on each other’s lives.

Cas structures his life and decisions around Dean (Seasons 6-7), and Dean learns to trust and fight for Cas (Seasons 8-9).

Sam and Cas bond (mostly over Dean) because of their shared rationales in decision-making.

Dean, Sam, and even Cas also forge relationships with the people they work with. The concept of “found family” is introduced here.

This era was heavy on the plot while establishing, reinforcing, and solidifying relationships and dynamics.

At this point, it wasn’t just about the brothers anymore.

If Supernatural had ended in Season 10, the logical finale would’ve been Team Free Will, along with the family that they’ve found, going up against the latest big bad (Death or whoever). Maybe they lose them along the way, maybe they all make it out alive, or maybe they go down swinging, but at least the show recognizes and supports the message they keep saying, “Family don’t end with blood”

SEASONS 11-15: THE REWRITE ERA

This is where the show runs out of ideas and decides to invalidate the seasons that came before it.

From bringing Mary back (basically rendering their whole journey pointless because they’ve literally started hunting because of her death), to changing the stipulations in being Michael and Lucifer’s vessels (another character struggle rendered useless), to God himself breaking the fourth wall by saying that the Winchesters get away with everything because “they’re the main characters in his story and everything they’ve been through was just part of a badly written narrative”.

But what we’re getting from this era is that Sam and Dean, along with Cas (who has also deviated from the story) ARE trying to escape a badly written narrative.

That’s the “big bad” in this era. The writer.

At this point, the characters have picked up so many strays (including those from alternate universes), and have settled into their roles in their “found family”. Dean, Sam, and Cas all become surrogate dads and uncles.

They’ve also graduated from the whole “we’re on different sides” and “going behind each other’s backs” drama. And they just want the whole family together.

They’ve all resigned themselves to the cause, but they’re also tired. Dean allows himself to contemplate about wanting more out of life or at least getting a vacation. Sam, on the other hand, realizes his capabilities as an effective leader. Castiel learns to love another being that isn’t Dean (spoiler: it’s Jack).

However, they also realize that they’ve just been puppets on a string all this time.

So what they want now, is to write their own story, and make their own choices knowing that God/the writer isn’t the one fueling their narrative.

So here’s why the finale sucks:

Andrew Dabb, the current showrunner, said that there would be two finales.

15x19 - The finale to wrap up Season 15, and 15x20 - The finale to wrap up the series by “resolving the characters’ journey”

In 15x19 the boys find a way to de-power God/the writer. For the first time in their whole lives, they are free from the story. Their lives are completely theirs now. They can make their own decisions. There are no more “big bads” to fight

And here’s what happens in 15x20:

Immediately after being freed from their story arc, Dean and Sam go back to hunting the monster of the week.

Dean eats pie, gets nailed (literally), makes a 10-minute speech to Sam because he knows he’s dying, then he goes to heaven.

Dean is greeted by Bobby, his surrogate Dad who he hasn’t seen (fully alive) since Season 7. Bobby’s expository dialogue comprises of him explaining that he got out of heaven’s jail, that John and Mary are next door, and that Jack and Cas fixed the dynamics of heaven off-screen.

The first thing Dean decides to do is go for a long drive in his Impala (as if he hasn’t done enough of that already).

Meanwhile, Sam decides to stop hunting after Dean dies, he gets the apple pie life he hadn’t wanted since Season 8 (while Dean was in Purgatory), and names his kid “Dean” for effect. He grows old and dies.

Dean drove around in heaven for so long that Sam catches up to him.

They hug. The end.

Great, right?

After 15 years of struggling to battle their own respective destinies, going up against big bads and even bigger bads, then finally being able to take charge of their own stories, Dean and Sam regress to hunting the monster of the week, and get killed off by a nail and old age. Okay.

Sam gets to retire and have a family, sure, but they still focus on him and the kid he named after his dead brother. Still just “Sam and Dean” through and through. Nothing to do with found family. Just lineage. Just blood. And it ends there.

See, the problem here is that this ending would’ve been passable in The Kripke Era. But we’re 10 years down the road since, and while Sam and Dean are the original main characters, the show isn’t just about them and their codependent relationship anymore.

So you see, even if you take out the whole “Castiel deserves to be in the finale because he’s also a main character with an unfinished story arc” argument, the finale still does no justice to the series it tried to “wrap up”.

But anyway, now I’ll make the case for the problem with Castiel not being in the finale:

In 15x18, we get a 5-minute rushed confession from Castiel to Dean. The context of which are as follows:

1. Earlier in the episode, Dean had wounded Death with her scythe. We later find out that this wound is fatal.

2. Their friends start to “blip out” in a Thanos-like snap, and Dean thinks that Death is causing it, so Dean seeks her out, and Cas goes with him.

3. Dean and Cas anger Death, apparently for no reason because she didn’t even do the thing they thought she did. She chases them to try to kill them

4. Dean and Cas lock themselves in a room. Dean starts a pity party.

5. As Dean goes through hating himself out loud, Cas decides to inform Dean of the deal he made with The Empty. He then proceeds to explain the stipulation of the deal (that he would get taken once he experiences a moment of true happiness), then discusses his newfound happiness philosophy. Dean is getting whiplash.

6. Cas goes on to imply that the one thing that he wanted that he knew he couldn’t have is Dean Winchester reciprocating his romantic feelings for him. (Don’t even try to fight me on this because Cas already has Dean’s platonic love, and he knows that Dean thinks of him as a brother, so if he really meant this in a “familial” way, then why would he think that he couldn’t have the thing that would make him happy?) So Cas’ realization is that telling Dean about his feelings is enough to make him happy.

7. Cas tells Dean all the reasons why he loves him (thereby combating Dean’s self-deprecation tirade), and all the reasons why he’s worthy of his love. Meanwhile, Dean is still winded from the fact that Cas is about to sacrifice himself for him again.

8. Dean never gets to process anything, because Cas is shoving him out of the way, as he and Death (who busts through the door) get taken by The Empty.

After this episode, Dean never speaks of it. Misha Collins supposes that Dean doesn’t reciprocate. Jensen Ackles says that Dean didn’t really get to process it because it was too much, too fast, and that Dean, still dense as ever, thinks that Cas, a celestial being, doesn’t interpret human feelings the same way.

So what was the point of this confession?

Politics and sensitivities of a 2005 network television aside, what does this do for the story?

Cas proclaims his romantic feelings to Dean, but Dean never acknowledges it, doesn’t even give it a passing thought afterwards. So Cas’ big declaration goes unheard.

Cas cashes in on his Empty deal to kill Death (who was dying anyway), in order to save Dean who dies two episodes after.

Dean makes no effort to save Cas (despite being really broken up about his previous deaths, or even spending a whole year in Purgatory looking for him), even after they’ve beaten God, not even asking Jack (who has all the power in the universe) to bring him back (when Jack has already done it before, with less mojo).

Dean moves on to fight the monster of the week. Somewhere off-screen, Jack rescues Cas from The Empty, but Cas uncharacteristically doesn’t even bother to go to Dean? (Every single time he comes back, Dean’s always the first person he goes to)

And Cas, who apparently helped craft and reform the new heaven, isn’t the one who welcomes Dean and explains the new dynamics of it?

Sure, Jan.

Supernatural, you’ve created a finale that only your casual viewers and people who dipped out after Season 5 can appreciate.

Just goes to show how much you actually valued the people who actually invested in your story and characters, and consistently helped keep your show on the air.

[RT this on Twitter]