#pyrotechnically ill

[an-architect-of-words]

I love when a detail in The Secret History just suddenly jumps out to me, especially when it’s one that doesn’t particularly matter.

There’s a part where Judy tells Richard about going on a Ferris wheel after smoking pot and drinking thirty martinis. And Richard said the story ended with Judy being “pyrotechnically ill.”

[angelbambisworld]

Unlocked a new asthma trigger tonight: Fireworks

😅 It's probably for the best that I never got to attend a KISS show. The pyrotechnics would've totally killed me😅

I'm fine now obviously but damn 😔

[enbeemagical]

I really love The Magic Thief because Conn is such an enticing protagonist (all sassy and snarky but 90% of it is his internal narration, not spoken aloud, he observes so much, and he's clever!) and also because Nevery, despite his seeming aloofness and the *gestures* crotchety old wizard vibes of him, he's JUST as chaotic as Conn

[tipsywench]

I knew today would be rough, but I've been catching myself almost falling asleep at work

It doesn't help that I don't have shit to do but sit at my desk and look busy

[redriotinggg]

I need anyone who genuinely dislikes Usopp to take a long look in the mirror because yeah, he can be a bit annoying at times but he is honestly a good and interesting character!!

He is just as loyal as any other member of the crew and fights the strongest when he’s fighting on someone else’s behalf. (See: him fighting for Sanji in Skypeia, fighting for Robin at Eneis Lobby, fighting for Luffy in Dressrosa, fighting for Tama and Nami in Wano.) He is a major player in so many of the battles in the series that it baffles me that people can think of him as an unimportant member of the crew.

And Usopp is a fucking genius??? Hello???? He’s able to make weapons powerful enough to create storms and tornadoes. He is canonically a jack-of-all trades that supports the crew in their daily lives and in battle. The Going Merry only lasted as long as she did because Usopp was around to care for her. He was the only one to see her Klabauterman!! Usopp is not only creative and fun but is able to bring those creations to life, whether it be his drawings or his gadgets, and I think that’s so beautiful. I miss pre-TS because of all his inventions we got to see.

Let’s not forget that Usopp is so, so kind!! He made friends with the kids in his village and told stories to Kaya to help her feel better when she was ill. He fought to protect her and Syrup Village from Kuro. Personally, I will never get over filler ep on Fireworks Island (ep. 134) where he cheered up Kodoma and encouraged her to continue her pyrotechnics, assuring that her parents were proud of her. Knowing he also lost his parents at a young age makes the scene hit that much harder. (And again, he showed his genius by figuring out a way to launch the firework that killed Kodoma’s parents!!) It may not be canon to the manga but but I think that episode is super accurate to his character.

What I think makes him the most interesting is that we see his flaws and mistakes more than any of the other Straw Hats. We see his insecurities in Water 7 and his fear in Dressrosa. But we also see him growing and learning and being encouraged by his crewmates. Aside from Robin, I think Usopp has changed and grown the most out of the Straw Hats. With his goal to become a brave warrior of the sea he has so much potential for even more growth!!

Like I said earlier, some people think Usopp is annoying which he can be sometimes, but that’s also because he’s literally comic relief. And he does so well at it bc he’s actually so damn funny?? He makes me laugh out loud all the time. One Piece wouldn’t be even half as funny without Usopp.

I also appreciate that as an individual he has so many moments with the other Straw Hats. There are a lot of relationships that don’t get explored as much as we’d like, but I think we get to see Usopp’s friendships with the crew pretty often. He fights for Luffy, plays around with Chopper, teases Zoro, is teased by Robin, gossips with Nami, hangs around Sanji, and his whole relationship with Franky has so many layers to it.

Aaahh, I have so many hopes for Usopp in the series that I pray will be fulfilled!! I want him to have a badass arc in Elbaf full of character growth. I want to see him develop and continue to use his Haki (which he gained when trying to save Luffy are you KIDDING me). I want his reunion with Yasopp to be emotional and bittersweet. If he could personally beat Yasopp in a fight I would ascend to the heavens.

Usopp is such an important, complex, and interesting character and I absolutely hate to see him reduced to being a gag character or the weakest member of the Straw Hats. He may not be a monster but he is amazing and I love him.

TLDR; if you disrespect Usopp I wish you a very Die.

[nardo-headcanons]

Hey my dear mutual! Another super stupid and weird request coming, so, please, feel totally free to ignore completely if you want, really. So, let's say instead of a criminal organization, the Akatsuki are actually a lab team. Which would be their roles, their work focus or their research topics? How would they behave at work with each other or, I don't know, whatever you can think of. Inspired by your agar plates post, by the way, hahahaha

Hello Sasuke, my dear. Don't call your asks weird, I love how creative they are! If anyone wants to write a fic about this please TAG me!

Big thanks to @the-real-sasuke-uchiha for requesting!

The Akatsuki in a modern research lab AU

Akatsuki Labs, Inc. No one knows what they're actually researching, and how they get their funding, however everyone hires them, they're incredibly popular with institutions and businesses alike...

Deidara is a lab rookie who is still at the beginning of his study. He went to a scientific high school and an absolute ace at chemistry. Besides studying chemistry, his other major is pyrotechnical engineering. He blows shit up on the regular and even adds copper sulphate to fires when he is the one supposed to put them out. He frequently steals minerals from the lab to use them for his pottery projects. And yes, he knows how to make meth.

Hidan is on his way to become a neurologist. He is fascinated by the way the nervous system works (especially while processing pain) and has the ego of a neurosurgeon twice his age. However he is regularly asked for a second opinion because he knows his shit. He's pretty popular with the ladies due to his confidence, however many of them are freaked out when they find out what a huge masochist he is.

I've never seen Itachi as a huge stem guy, but I've actually had a discussion about this with my dear moots @pet-plasma-bubble and @suki91 and came to the conclusion that he's either a plant biologist or studies medicine because he's one of these kids with a chronic and/or underdiagnosed illness going into medicine to make a change. Plant biologist!Itachi regularly talks to his plants when no one is looking and he gives them names as well. He doesn't really care much for the actual lab work and prefers to take care of the plants in the different lab greenhouses. Med student!Itachi is one of these anatomy girlies who draw their stuff in fancy colors and actually enjoy studying human anatomy.

Kakuzu is a senior scientist/professor who initially studied pharmacology/pharmacy to save many lives and prolong the lives of millions, but eventually got disillusioned and sold his soul to the pharma industry. He should technically be retired now, but he joined the Akatsuki labs inc to make some money on the side.

Kisame started out as a marine biologist specializing in shark research, however, seeing these beautiful, innocent creatures get bastardized by Hollywood and pollution made him apply to Akatsuki labs inc to help find solutions to the current crises caused by humanity. During his free time, he volunteers in a dolphin rehabilitation center.

Konan is the cofounder of Akatsuki labs inc, everyone respects her and even looks up to her. Once a brilliant scientist in the field of engineering, she got tired of how male dominated it was and how her male colleagues kept getting the credit for her ideas. She frequently holds lab courses for young girls interested going into the scientific field.

Nagato is the Akatsuki labs founder, and rarely seen in the lab. He has made himself a name in the field of robotics by inventing the Shurado robotics system which helps millions of automated machines run to this day. Rarely seen in the lab, he communicated with his employees via his Pain Alias Email. though to be fair, Konan writes most of these emails for him; she's the only one regularly talking to him face-to-face.

Orochimaru is a geneticist and biochemist, his focus being finding ways to avoid cellular decay, as well as the human genome and anti aging research. His parents are academics as well and he lived up to their expectations to the fullest. He has his own skincare formula which keeps him looking snatched at all times. Given the rumors about several scientific ethical code violations, everyone is kinda scared of him except for his personal lab tech, Kabuto.

Sasori is a renowed mortician who's also very interested in histology. His preparation techniques are unmatched and he even invented new preparation- and histological staining methods, which are called "Red Sand" and "Red Technique", respectively. He often gets into fights with Kakuzu about his microtome collection being unnecessarily expensive.

Tobi is the Akatsuki labs CEO cosplaying as a clueless intern that always steals from the candy bowl in the waiting room. In reality, he has a PHD in physics, his thesis being about rifts in space time and interdimensional interactions, however all of his papers are published under an alias. He has a soft spot for Deidara and refuses to fire him despite the latter's frequent "accidents".

Zetsu is a biological anthropologist fascinated by human evolution and human behavior. Some think even his colleagues are subjects of his studies. Some people say he's two-faced, but he is very chatty and inquisitive most of the time. He volunteered to have Itachi's venus fly traps in his office and can sometimes be seen feeding them dead flies or mosquitoes.

[hes-the-muse]

'Immaculate Red'

ONE SHOT | IMMACULATE RED

[till masterlist] | [all muses]

Muse: Till Lindemann x f!reader (first person)

Rating: 18+ , smut Words: 5k Author: @thexhostess (Antonia) For @madhatter2727 credit: divider here by @saradika-graphics. Moodboard by @madhatter2727

Notes: A Till oneshot.

I'd love feedback on this from anyone in the Till fic fandom. Curious to see what you think and how many of you are out there.

Charred scent, black powder. Pomegranate seeds shimmering on the table. A feast for a king. Maybe a queen. The pyrotechnics echo with the charred grey dust as the smell of gunpowder is still floating in the air, occlusive and hot. Too hot and I sit to catch my breath. I close my eyes and rest. Then a weighted hand on my shoulder, gloved, black leather. I open my eyes to see slicked back white hair, black smoked liner, singed and melting around his eyes. He’s tall, a distinct presence.

‘Give me your hand’ he says.

It’s a statement not a question. German accent, thick, rolling. Cutting through the smoke, the strobe and fireworks. He’s taking me out of here. I have no choice. It’s him and me and he is possessive. He pulls me through locked steel doors and slim, dimly lit hallways where th heat gathers. Sparks, but not fireworks flash in front of my eyes. He senses my hand going weak in his, my steps slowing and not being able to catch up with him pulling me through the small building. The edges of my vision reduce every second, closing into the centre. Black with a window into the world. And before it closes, I feel his arm behind my knees and he’s lifting me. Up into his arms, whisking me down the halls and out into the biting Autumn air. I float until the black recedes, my vision restoring to full capacity and the air awakens me. I’m still floating, he hasn’t let me go. He hasn't set me down on the ground. I’m not on my feet.

I see the leaves above, dry and orange, browns and reds floating down one by one, sky clear and crisp, a sharp crispness in my airways. It makes me cough. I can focus enough to see that white hair in view, and then his eyes, full of concern and almost angry. Wide eyed but hard somehow.

‘You’re back, don’t worry you're back. You’re with me now.’ He strokes one side of my face with a black leather glove. He stops, leans in to check my face, asks me, ‘Are you OK?’

‘Yes I think I am? Where are we? What happened? Who?’ I say.

‘You couldn’t be in there anymore. You were going to pass out, I couldn’t have that. I had to take you out.’ As the depth of his German accent sounds around me again, it feels like an impenetrable blanket, strong and soothing. The words flow as I listen and then I think I realise.

‘But Who? Till?’

‘Hi.’ He confirms quietly. ‘Yes, shhh.’ He strokes my hair with that gloved hand.

‘But Till is in there!’ I point towards the building. Then there is no building, no venue anymore.

‘He’s not in there. He left with you.’ He laughs.

‘Sorry, I don’t know where I am, I took a turn back there, I don’t feel so good. Who are you again? Can you take me back, I think I can go back in now, I’ll sit down. I’ll be fine.’

‘Shh, darling, don’t worry I will look after you.’

All I see are the Autumn leaves on the path, hear the heavy footsteps thumping on the earth and his long heavy coat swaying as he walks, carrying me.

He says, ‘Do you want to go back to see the end of the show?’

‘I do.’ I mumble.

‘Who were you there to see?’ he asks.

‘Rammstein, and they have to be finishing the show now, I might still make it, I could, maybe I could go back and meet them.’

‘Who do you want to meet?’ he asks.

‘Till.’ I say. ‘I might still have the chance, it’s their home show, maybe they will be hanging out after, it might not be too late.’ I protest.

‘Darling. The show was cut short.’

‘How do have know?’

..

‘Well, um, a pretty girl was ill, and everything had to stop.’ He says.

‘What.. no.’

He smiles through soft determined eyes, holding me tight.

‘I hate to tell you, you stopped it, but I’m serious about this, you had to be taken away from there.’

‘But why? I mean, you took me out, same as crowd surfers, they get taken out and the show goes on, don’t take me too far! The show is still going. The show doesn’t get stopped for one person! Who are you?’ I attempt to make sense of this situation.

He stops. Props me up on his shoulder. ‘Darling look at me. Look at me closely.’ He tells me.

I feel almost well enough to stop asking so many questions.

‘I, took you out of the show. And I, stopped the show myself. The show isn’t going ahead right now, because I left with you. To make sure you are alright. They can’t play the show without me.’ His eyes are very intense and he’s gazing onto my eyes.

‘Till? Till!’ I exclaim.

‘Yes,’ he laughs, ‘I’m Till. Don’t worry darling, you won’t miss the show. So tell me, how much do you think of meeting me? I’d love to know.’ He smiles a side smile.

‘I, I’m sorry.’ I say.

‘Why are you sorry?’ he asks quietly.

‘For sounding like an idiot, telling you all that.’

‘Don’t be, don’t be sorry.’ He whispers, his eyes focusing on mine.

‘Why?’ I ask.

He pauses, ‘Because I needed to make sure you are safe.’

‘Why did YOU help me? How could you leave? It’s not your job to..’

‘Oh it is, it is mine and mine alone. I had responsibility to see that your were alright, personally.’ He adds.

‘ I don’t understand.’

‘You’ve been to our shows before right?’

‘Of course.’

He smiles. ‘I know you have and I needed to be serious about this moment. If there’s ever something wrong, I will help.’

‘What do you mean? But we’ve never met.’ I say.

‘We have now.’ He has a curious longing look, a smile on his face.

He smiles and puts me down. My arms slide away from around the raised wool collar of his winter coat. Once my hazy vision and confusion has gone away, I see him now. Till Lindemann. He reaches out a gloved hand towards me, asking if I want to take it and go with him.

He’s careful, quiet. ‘I think I know who you are.’ He searches my eyes.

‘Well Till Lindemann, I hope you can get to know me.’

His smile doesn’t reach his eyes. He’s intently searching mine for something. I don’t know what it is. He’s waiting with his arm outstretched. I take his hand.

..

Over the crunching of the leaves and tapping on the cold ground, I hear the leather of his gloves creak and he turns to me. His voice, clear and deep, gentle, asks me something. He’s asking my name. I tell him. It rolls off his tongue like he already knew.

‘Are you OK with getting something to drink?’ he says.

‘Yes I could use it. Back at the venue?’

‘Take all the time you need. No, the show is already postponed for another night.’

‘But how?’

‘This rarely happens if ever, and it’s a special night.’ He looks over at me.

‘Look Till, I can’t thank you enough for doing this for me, for helping me, I don’t know what I would have done actually if it wasn’t for you, relied on someone else finding me when I had already fainted. I can’t believe you’ve come out here with me like this, and at the expense of your show. I really, appreciate it, but I’m going to have to go, I can't keep you any longer, I can’t have the show cancelled. Can you go back in there, I’m sure if you give them a good enough excuse, a circumstance, and they would be more than happy if you came back, especially now.’

‘Listen, if you’re not comfortable I can understand, but I’m here now. I’m not going back in there, I mean it.’ And then he looks stern, and leans in. ‘The real excuse is that’, and he leans closer still, and he whispers, and I barely hear him, but in my head he is clear and crisp and resonant, ‘the truth is that I’ve waited for you, and I have found you.’

He draws back and with that watchful gentle gaze smiles and knows that I heard him, but it didn’t seem like he spoke at all.

I follow him through woods where the earth is damper and the leaves are layered and decomposing. The scent of dead leaves and warmth of the leather makes me hold on. He has my hand grasped firmly in his. His grip is strong and I know he wouldn’t let me fall. Old keys rattle and he unlocks the log cabin nestled between woodland. He lights a fire in the traditional German stove. He makes us hot black tea. He pours mine with his gloves still on. I take my first sip, he brings me furs, wraps my knees in them. Sets up a seating area atop the stove where there is space to lie down to sleep. At last I see him take off his gloves. His hands are large, massive. The face of his watch seems gigantic and the wrist strap huge. He turns to me as I’m watching him, mesmerised by his hands. The fire dances off his irises, his hair tousled from carrying me, from climbing through the forest. He smooths it back. The kohl on his waterline arresting, gloomy in some ways. I see him with a kitchen knife, wooden handle well used and blade sharp.

‘This is for fruit.’ He cuts into the skin of a pomegranate, slicing it from crown to base, carving thirds into it. He peels back the red and yellow top layers, gets the pomegranate seeds with the knife, collecting them into a Czech crystal glass for me. Immaculate. Sparkling. The ruby red crimson drops onto the edges, covers the knifes blade, covers his fingers. He licks the remainder and he calls me by my name. I freeze. He hands me the crystal with ruby seeds. Gleaming like shimmering gems with the light of the fire.

‘Thank you..I haven’t eaten this fruit in a long time.’

‘Do you like it?’

‘I do.’

We sit in silence. And I notice more about him. His gestures are always gentle. His mannerisms and movements taken with a lot of care. He doesn’t scare me at any point. Even when I saw him with that knife.

‘Are you warm enough?’

‘Yes, it’s very cosy. Is this yours? Your cabin?’

‘Yes it is mine. We, I mean me and the guys sometimes come here to write. Or if I need the privacy. It’s nice to be here. It’s nice for you to be here.’

We stare at the fire. At the embers crackling.

‘Back then, when you said you wanted to get to know me, or, that you think you know who I am, what did have really mean?’

He looks round at me with those solid and contemplative eyes. They look like they want to tell me something he can’t say.

‘I mean that, I think I know you.’

I laugh and try to change the subject.

‘So tell me about your tour, has it been OK, aside from tonight, of course?’ I laugh nervously and clutch the crystal.

‘No really. May I?’ he perches ready to move.

‘Uh huh, yea.’ I say.

He moves closer, almost knee to knee with me. He holds his arms out on his knees, taps his watch face.

‘It’s been a long time since,’ he hesitates and wrings the wrist his watch is settled on.

‘No no, it can’t be a long time, I’m sure, well lots of fans are dying for your time. You know I’m not here for a fling. I don’t do that. I know you helped me tonight, but I can’t.. I can’t be here.’

He looks hurt.

..

‘I’m sorry I’m not trying to be rude, I don’t want to be, I don’t want to give you the wrong impression of me, and I’m sure you are busy, with the guys and the band and you know, considering I ruined your show. I’m grateful, but please I think I better go.’ I look up at him and set there crystal down.

‘Uh, ok at least let me take you back, I took you here, so let me walk you.’ Till offers.

‘Ok.’ I say quietly, embarrassed how that all came across.

‘He puts on my coat.

‘I’m sorry, I don’t mean you..’ I begin.

‘It’s OK’ he says. ‘I know how it seems, I’m glad you told me you’re not one of them.’

‘Can I?’ he says and takes my elbow to help me keep my balance.

‘What I do want to know is, when I’ve walked you home, will you be back?’ Tilting his head towards me as we walk he awaits my response.

‘Of course I will. I’m always at the shows.’

‘I know you come to shows, but will you come back to me? ’ he smirks.

I look over and don’t say anything. I want to come back to him, but I don’t know if I should. He lets me leave his side and walk to my door, but I still have not replied. He picks up my arms and kisses the back of my hand. His eyes flash a subtle ruby and I can’t leave when he lets go and backs away from my door. Turning and his coat swirling.

‘No, wait!’ I call out.

He stops. Looks at me over his shoulder. He waits. I wait.

‘Till, don’t go. I want to come back to you.’

He turns fully to face me.

I reach for him, ‘I can’t go, ‘I want to stay with you.’

He unfolds his arms from behind his back, opens his arms and I run to him.

He whispers right in my ear, ‘ I know you.’

..

Light as air in his arms as he effortlessly walks with me through the forest. The air is whipping through my hair and he talks to me in German, and I understand this time. He talks of things as if we experienced them in the past. As if he found me. And back in the cabin he dresses me in silks and wraps me in furs. Attentive and meticulous. I fall asleep and awaken in his arms. He places me to sleep in the warmest place, and the radiating heat of the stove comforts me through the night.

..

I awake bleary eyed, forgotten what had happened and disoriented with where I am. I see the wooden beamed ceiling of the cabin and the fur all round me. Then I notice him, sleeping on the floor with only a few cushions. I crawl down to him and bring the blankets, covering him, asking if he’d want to go up into the warmth. He doesn’t wake and I shuffle closer to him, face to face and cover both of us in the furs.

I can’t close my eyes. I want to kiss him.

I fight the urge, stop myself. I only move closer, as close as I can get while he’s asleep and he can’t see me. There’s only a small gap between his face and mine and I can easily close it. But again, I don’t.

‘Till.’ I say quietly to test the waters. ‘Till.’ Nothing happens.

Then his eyes snap open, with a hint of ruby. His eyes are piercing and looking deep into my soul. I can’t look away and I can’t do anything else. Only follow his lead as he leans up close, millimeters from my face, then closes the gap kissing my lips, ever so gently. He comes back again and again, when I respond, kissing him back, then he deepens the kiss, pulling me closer to him.

And then a wave overtook me, of visions of him flashing in my mind. The air was thick with white smoke, gunpowder. Bales of dry hay, strong arms embracing me, his mouth on mine, his hips pressing and pushing. Then commotion and shouting, and those strong arms crashing over me, taking me and covering me from the loud noise, so I wouldn’t startle.

‘You can’t be here!’ they shouted. ‘You can’t take her!’

I nestled into his neck, telling him ‘I’m going with you.’ With the pomegranate ruby juice staining my nightdress, I whisper sweet nothings into his ear as he whisks me away high into the forest, the mountains and the castle. I know him, my King. And he’s hungry for me and I for him. And we spend nights in that castle, in a whirlwind of passion and music as he sings to me. And that voice I’ll never forget. That voice.

And when I open my eyes to look at him lying in front of me, his eyes wide and ruby as he's watching me in my almost trance like state. His eyes are searching and waiting.

And I say ‘ You took me away with you and I’m glad, I know you too. I know you.’ And I touch the side of his face.

‘Now you know what I’ve waited for, darling.’ He says.

There are whispers in the dark and they talk about us, and me on his arm, rumouring the ‘latest’. His fur coat over the top and grabbing attention as only he could attract. The visions flash when I touch his shoulder in that coat. The animal skins wrapping around us, they're all over the heavy wooden floorboards, they cushion us and with the fire crackling and the snow falling outside he presses into me with his weight.

When we sit across from each other and he tells me about touring, travel and exhaustion, I remember how he would come back for me on horseback, well built, commanding. He would take me with him, shielded from the cold, running, galloping through the snow, then strip me down in front of a raging fire built by him with his own overwhelmingly large hands. And how I comforted him back then. I remember the snippets, triggered through touch, as I lean up against him drinking his vodka, nestle into his shoulder after a while of sitting together, ignoring questions and looks from passers by in that German town I first saw that Rammstein show. His favourite places to hang out. With every touch of his arm I remember those strong hands, the arms that would lift me up onto horseback, lift me onto his lap in those ancient woodland cabins, the hands that caressed my bare skin and had their way with me. And I finally have the courage to take his hand, and he’s happy. He’s been waiting. He knows I needed the time.

‘I know you’re here with me now. I know you remember.’ He tells me.

My waterline buckles and streams. Those should not be the words to make me cry, but I shake involuntarily. He takes me in for a hug, wipes my tears away with the back of his hand and looks at me with eyes that I’ve seen but never experienced in this lifetime.

‘Never, never, do this, you never have to cry my darling. I found you now. You’re here now.’ He ends his sentence with a gentle whisper, wiping tears, stroking my face. I sob, move his hand, break away. Stand up and walk out from the table. But a large hand pins my wrist onto the wooden tabletop. He won’t let me go.

His eyes turn harder. ‘Darling…’ he’s warning me. Looking down his nose, down the length of the table and at me. ‘Stay with me darling.’ he drawls in his German accent, slow and intoxicated. I wriggle out of his grip, try to, he won’t let me. And then I have to go, to shield my tears from him, I don’t want him to see more of the tears, I don’t want to explain it’s as painful as the day we were torn apart, and now I remember it all. I need solace, even from him. It’s too much to bear. He leaves his mark on me through the ages, and now, as I look down, my wrist is red, his fingers twisting over the skin.

‘Till let me go! For a minute, just for a minute.’

He lets go and I can slip away as he rises from his seat, staring me down, not letting me leave his sight, but I do, I slip round a corner, press myself against a wall in the hall. Red walls, red and purple neon strobe. The music gets louder, the thoughts are drowned out, almost. Almost gone but lingering, on the edge of my vision, on the periphery of my hearing, echoing through my mind. All mixed up. I can’t focus, I can’t breathe, we’re back here again.

But maybe it’s…maybe I need him to break the struggle. If he..If we..

Then I sense it, the footsteps, the determination, it can only be him, drawing closer, crawling over tables to get to me, shoving people out of the way. There’s nowhere else he needs to be but to get to me, to be with me and he will stop at nothing to get there. The heat exhaustion drains me, only until he can…and I know that now, I needed him all this time.

He’s stomping towards me through the strobe and smoke. Eyes fixed on me and nothing else. I helplessly wait. Hopefully. Wait for him to get to me, to move me from this spot. Tunnel vision. I press my palms against the wall behind my back, flat against the red paint. I only watch him as he stalks towards me. He almost doesn’t blink, I never see him blink, fixed and hungry. I hold my breath, my arms pinned with a grip to my waist, squeezing, he leans into me, his hair falling down over his eyes messy from the pursuit of me.

‘Where do you think you're going?’ Audibly breathing, he’s in low tones, quiet. Restrained speech. Surrounding me in his embrace, in his hands, giant hands that wrap me up. His weight against me and the whispering. He presses flush against me and demands I tell him what I’m doing here. What I’m playing at.

‘Everything you need is here.’ He places my hand on his heart flat. ‘Here.’ he looks me dead in the eye, intimidating. And his eyes narrow as he looks down at me. I gulp and blink up at him, he’s looming tall, large, toned, powerful. Then he slowly moves my hand down his chest, down to his lower stomach to the edge of his belt. ‘And here, this is all you need. Do you think so?’ he asks me.

‘You know it is.’ I’m barely audible.

He pushes my hand lower. He’s mad with hormones.

‘I do need you.’ I tell him.

‘What’s that?’ he asks.

My head falls back against the wall ‘ I need you Till.’

‘There you are, there’s a good girl.’

He pulls me towards him, I away from him, he hesitates, looks me over, checks I’m still with him, sympathetic. ‘’I found you that night, finally saw you, don’t get away from me now, don’t change your mind now.’ he says.

‘I won’t, I can’t, I remember everything, I remember you.’ I pull his arms, my own arms outstretched fully, trying to get him to leave with me. ‘Lets go, lets get out of here.’ I tell him.

Built like a tank I can’t move him. But when I give him the eye, he jolts towards me, unable to resist the sultry eyes, the come hither stare. He follows me staggering back down the hallway into the main room, and we try to leave. But he hesitates, hovers around me, stares, pulls at my clothes pawing me. And it’s the same for me when I can’t resist him. I follow his lead as he draws me closer to the table cornering me there, pinning me to the edge, falling over me, closing in. His lips ghosting over my neck and jaw, over my lips and nipping at my bottom lip. He lunges, leans his body weight on mine, pins me to the table top. There’s no stopping. Too late to turn back. Everything is a blur, and tunnel vision doesn’t do it justice. Anyone that is in this room right now is gone to me. All I have is the surface of the table, and Till’s body weight climbing on top of mine. Wanting, hot, frantic. Messy, as he rips the outer layers of my clothes. Harshly pulls at the buttons of my overcoat, peeling back the layers, lifts my skirt, unpins my garter. Hands. Till’s hands pawing at the plush contours of my upper thighs, sliding to his favourite place. Over the gusset of my underwear, palming over the surface of the lace, the heel of his palm, jutting into my clit. Till pushes up pressing until I squirm and brace my back against the tables’ wooden surface.

‘Till.’ I whisper, out of breath already as he pins me further. His eye meet mine, his forehead presses into mine and he pins me fully, my head falling back. He pauses, then with those wide narrow lips, his soft cupids bow pushes onto my lips, softly as his palm moves between my thighs, then hungrily he nips at my bottom lip, teeth scarping, tongue lapping for access. His fingers move to the edge of the lace, and scrunching his hand into a fist he rips the lace clean off my hip, crawling towards the wetness that he’s created. His fingers gliding and circling. There’s nothing else I can think of.

‘Komm zu mir.’ he briefly speaks into my neck.

‘There’s nothing I want more. Nothing.’ I get the words out sighing. I draw him closer with my knees around him.

There’s commotion, voices, calling out but it feels far away, until Till lifts his head and growls, looking around him. He looks feral, distracted. I hear a smashing of glass, scuttling, more commotion and then Till shouts out something in German across the room.

‘Till come back to me, come back’ I whine.

He looks agitated , flustered and angry. ‘Leave us! He yells in English. Stay or leave but get out of my way!’ His eyes are livid as he looks around from above me, then dipping his head back down to me, they soften, then alight with a lust I’m longing to be directed to me. He breathes heavy and strands of hair fall in his eyes as he continues to look down at me. I pet his face, his arm that props himself up above me. I can’t wrap my hand around his entire arm completely, he’s too broad, too powerful.

‘I need you’ I tell him.

His eyes turn a deep red, the colour of pomegranate flesh. He dives, shoving his tongue into my mouth. I plant kisses on his cupids bow, sucking his lip, lingering on the smokiness of him. And then he crawls his fingers inside and it feels overwhelming. He curls and makes my breathing stop. It feels like he’s fucking me. The proportions of his hands to mine are exaggerated. He whispers in my ear.

‘Not the same as when you touch yourself at night, thinking of me is it?’ He laughs, smirks and slides another finger. I moan out load. He undoes his belt. ‘But I’m even bigger than that, darling.’ Red eyes flash, his hand moves away. His cock pushes up to me, slipping against the wetness. I look into his eyes when I can find his gaze. His expression subtly shifts. Admiring the desperation for him in my eyes.

‘I know you darling.’ He swiftly pushes into me, hard, smooth, fast. Not fast enough. I press my hips up to him.

‘More.’ I breathe, flinging my arms about, looking for something to grab onto. He pins them by my wrists to the table. Fucks into me, deeper and slower. Then speeds up and up and up. I feel dizzy, lost in the moment, nothing else exists. I feel the head of his cock, bottoming out. Our breathing is fast paced. He senses I’m holding back. ‘You’re too good not to scream my love.’ He pushes the tempo, further still. He eliminates any type of movement I can do, freeing me to scream my heart out.

‘Till! Till!! TILL! TILL!! TILL!!!’

..

When the high has worn off, my vision expands out beyond the immediate. I can now sense the tension in the air. The awkward glances. The patrons keeping back. As Till lifts me, hoisting me up over his shoulder, I see the pieces of glass all over the bar floor, a chair’s back chipped with the throw. But no one confronts him. They look away as we pass through the bar and out. And now in the privacy of his cabin, Till lies me down on the warm bricks. He joins me, snuggling down with me for the night. It’s cozy, warm. We listen to the fire crackling gently, giving off a soft orange glow. Till undresses me completely under the fur throws, then undresses himself. So heated in the cabin that we feel completely at comfort. He draws himself close to me, flush with him, holds me to his chest. We have the fur to snuggle into, but I sink into a blissful ambiance, resting on his wide chest. Caressing my face, my hair, my shoulders, my waist, Till talks to me in German. Lovingly he whispers, gently he tells me of how much he’s longed to find me. Of things he’s been looking to recognise in me again. He doesn’t stop stroking and petting. The German words falling from his lips, sweetly sharing the thoughts he wants to get off his chest with me. I listen and press myself into him, one knee between his legs. Then I feel the weight of them on mine, and I nestle my hand below his hips and rest it there, and he lulls me to sleep in German.

[knockyasocksoff2022]

Which ship would be best for a Horimiya AU?

#1) Shin Soukoku

Sweet-natured Atsushi hides his anger at the world and doesn't tell anyone the fact that he lives in a group home.

Emo Akutagawa uses his coldness to hide his trauma and how he longs to find friends. Outside of school, he lives alone with his sister whom he raised.

Atsushi’s friends: The Tanizakis,  Ranpo, Kenji, Kyouka

Student council: Dazai, Kunikida, Akiko

#2) Kunikidazai

At school Class President Kunikida is put together. His grades are perfect and he helps out other students. But he wishes others would be friends with him for other things besides his intelligence. At home, he clings to his ideals desperately, determined to be the perfect son and live up to his parents’ wishes.

Goofy clown Dazai hides his depression and mental illness. 

Kunikida’s friends: The Tanizakis,  Ranpo, Kenji, Kyouka

Student council: Dazai, Kunikida, Akiko

#3) Kunikatai (with abilities)

Kunikida hides a secret, anything he writes can take a physical form. He’s been ashamed of this characteristic his entire life.

The shut-in loser boy Katai moonlights as a white hat hacker.

#4) Tachizaki (w/ abilities, so basically if the kids in BSD went to school as they should)

Soft, pretty-boy Tanizaki hides lots of things, like the fact that he has a (pervy) sister and an ability and works for a detective agency made up of ability users.

Badboy Tachihara hides that he’s a runaway and lives on his own in the city. And that he’s a low-key nerd whose childhood friends with the student council weirdos . . . and that they’re all a member of an afterschool vigilante street gang called the Hunting Dogs . . . with abilities.

Tanizaki’s friend: Atsushi

Student council: Jouno, Suehiro, Okura

#5) Akikajii (Kajii x Yosano) (ft divorced Fukumori w/ fem Fukuzawa remarried to Fukuchi as Yosano’s parents)

Fukuzawa Akiko is a sporty tomboy, captain of the school’s girls’ football team (soccer) who hides her ambitions to be a doctor, and the fact that she has to take care of her younger sister Elise and her younger half-brother Ranpo. She definitely isn’t dating popular boy, Class President, and student council member, Mori Osamu, despite what people think, because he’s her brother too.

Kajii Motojirou the school nerd hides a passion for pyrotechnics and a zany side.

Akiko's friends: Osamu

Student council: Kunikida, Sakaguchi, Osamu

[breakdownsbuttlights]

Ratty 35!

35. Their idea of a perfect day

Ratchet's perfect day is a day at work! He loves people and he loves fixing things, and this is where he gets his fill of both. It has to be the right kind of day at work, though: not so chaotic that he doesn't have time to chat, while juuuust hectic enough to challenge him and save him from introspection (which is Ratty kryptonite).

The perfect day must also involve Drift in some way, of course. Before Drift became someone Ratchet could come home to, Ratchet would hope, privately, sometimes against his will, for a chance encounter. Occasionally he would contrive one, such as the time he infamously stuck First Aid with a pyrotechnically ill Pipes so that he could attend Drift's sprained pinky finger.

[eleventeeny]

You Wanted the Best: My In-Depth Experience at a KISS Show

October 27, 2023

For 50 years, KISS has been setting the standard for spectacles. With their kabuki makeup, wide and mind-boggling variety of merchandise, and insane on-stage performances, they have changed the culture of music.

Before the show at the Dickies Arena, I had never been to a concert alone nor had I ever bought my own ticket for a show. I went crazy the moment I got the money for a good seat. I went for a seat 12 rows from the stage and I got a soundcheck and Q&A pass.

After I was dropped off and walked up the steps to the venue, I met an older lady, seemingly in her 40's, and we became instant buddies. By a stroke of fate, we also had the same VIP package, so we got to stand in line together. She told me her stories of seeing KISS over the years as well as a story of her meeting Eric Carr in the 1980's, which I thought was really cool.

I got to take a look at the KISS cosplayers around the venue, I didn't get to see many fans since VIP and non-VIP concertgoers were on different sides of the arena, but there were many things to see. I also got to see fans decked out in official and unofficial merchandise; pants covered with the Love Gun album cover, hats with some of the more unflattering pictures of the members, etc.

As I was in line, I got to listen to KISS concert stories from other people in line and I got to conversate with other fans. During the time I was waiting, I checked my social media and saw an announcement that the show had officially sold out.

Inside the building, I was given a VIP pass and I got to check out the merchandise as we waited for soundcheck. It started kind of late, beginning 5-10 minutes after it was supposed to. We got to pick our seats, and when we walked down the stairs to the floor section, I got to admire the props and set for the show. There were huge statues, 2 on each side of the stage, displaying the members of the band, however I didn't get a picture. On the stage itself, there was the iconic light-up logo.

The woman I befriended sat with me in one of the rows closer to the stage. She tapped on my shoulder and pointed to Eric Singer sitting on the edge of the stage talking to some fans while passing out drumsticks.

One by one, the members walked out on stage. Paul announced that he was feeling ill, having just gotten a flu shot, this sickness later becoming the reason they had to cancel two shows in Canada and one in Knoxville, and told the audience he'd be leaving the singing to Gene, Tommy, and Eric so he could save his voice for later in the night.

They played 'Plaster Caster,' 'Shock Me,' and 'Christine Sixteen'. Everything went off great and as I was watching Tommy during Shock Me, Paul threw a guitar pick into a chair three seats away from me. Before I could process it, a few guys dove into the chair to get it.

After 'Christine Sixteen,' they started the Q&A bit, and a microphone was passed around amongst the fans. One fan asked if anyone in the band had used the KISS condoms from 2002, to which Paul cleverly, and probably truthfully, responded "They're too small". Gene also told the story of how he discovered the uniqueness of his tongue when he was a kid, which you can read about in his book Kiss and Make Up.

A few hours later, the openers came out to perform. The band, Amber Wild, was very interactive with the crowd and held themselves well on stage. The vocalist, Evan Stanley, is also the son of Paul Stanley. They had just released their first single 8 days before the show.

When KISS opened with Detroit Rock City, the massive black curtain sporting the KISS logo was pulled down and the members were brought down on individual platforms.

The pyrotechnics were insane throughout the show but were especially prevalent in the opening performance. With each blast of fire, I could feel the heat against my face.

Before God of Thunder, Gene did his legendary blood-spitting performance. I think it'd be cooler if, instead of wiping the blood off his face before singing, he would just perform with the blood still there. It adds to the show.

During the encore, they dropped these huge balloons, confetti, and streamers upon the crowd. As I was leaving, I saw two fans fighting over one of the balloons.

The arena was filled with 1970's kids who seemed less like fans and more casual, which makes complete sense. KISS was absolutely everywhere back then, so when people who were growing up in the 70's see KISS, they feel drawn to it because they're a symbol of that time.

The show was amazing and even as a younger fan, I felt really involved and included when I spoke with some of the older fans there. I had a great time. There's always something about KISS that someone will find intriguing.

Despite retiring in December of 2023, KISS has still been going strong with their dedicated and loyal fanbase. In July of this year, they surpassed one billion streams on Spotify for their hit song 'I Was Made for Lovin' You'.

[late-to-the-magnus-archives]

Recap - a Malevolent fic

A certain auteur director doesn't like to repeat himself.

Part of the Surrogate series. Written with @sepiabandensis and @sparklyandheroic.

Quick authors' note:

Hey! It's been a while! :D We had a silly little idea for a recap episode, and unfortunately Kayne has decided you're all the victims. You know how he feels about repeating himself. Hopefully this doesn't bode too ill for our protagonists...

“Listen up, kids. Listen up. It's edumacation time!”

The voice came out of nowhere. So did the pyrotechnics (though the observant might note they came with no heat—this was a library, after all), and the distinct and memorable sound of a smoke machine.

Fog poured across the floor. “Come one! Come all! To the great fan-friendly recap…ap…ap!”

A white sheet suddenly flapped open, hung from nothing in front of Tabby’s armchair.

Kayne’s voice came from nowhere. “I said, come one, come all!” 

Like the floor was greased, acolytes slid quickly around the stacks, all looking startled, quite a few afraid. More armchairs appeared, some made of leather of questionable origin, some that squished uncomfortably when sat on. (One acolyte took a sample of the liquid that came out, because terminal curiosity ran through all of the Keeper’s people.)

Behind them all the Keeper let out a yip as an armchair knocked her metaphorical legs out from beneath her, skirts puffing up in a floof as she was not-unkindly deposited into a seat of her own. “Kayne! What is—”

“Better!” And there he was in the armchair next to her. Kayne had eschewed the normal suit; he was in a fluffy pink bathrobe, with matching slippers, and his hair was in curlers. He leaned over the plush arm, cupping his mouth to stage-whisper to her. “It’s a bit. No harm, no foul. We good?”

“A what?” The Keeper said, voice jumping an octave.

“It’ll be fine, Keeps,” Tabby said, sitting up in her armchair; if she didn’t try to leave it, it seemed she could wriggle around as she pleased. She peeked over the back of it, giving a little wave to the god of the Scriptorium. “It’s just movie night with big brother. Right?” 

“But,” the Keeper pleaded.

Tabby mouthed ‘play along’ at her.

The Keeper sighed. “Movie night, then,” she said, twisting the edge of her veil in her hands.

His smile wasn’t… great. Tight. Eyes angry. “Well, aren’t we lucky you and your experience are here? Shall we?” He offered each of them an enormous bucket of popcorn.

Tabby took one cautious handful. “She’s still learning how to ‘yes, and’. You know. What’d they do this time?”

(Kayne knew what he was doing. He’d provided each acolyte with pen, paper, and little digital cameras to keep them occupied, not unlike giving a child crayons in a restaurant.)

“See,” he said, “we are the audience. That is, we are the stand-in for the audience, who knows who they are, and knows what they did! Or if they don’t, they will. They should know…” His voice dropped an octave. “I don’t. Like. To repeat myself. But it’s that old expression…" He smiled, smooth and baritone again. "‘Those who don’t listen have to feel.’ You know that one? Here’s another: ‘Some people have to learn the hard way.’ And… action!” He snapped his fingers.

There hadn’t been a projector between them a moment before, but now there was. With a whir, it started.

“I understand you’re upset,” the Keeper said gently. “Perhaps you and I should just—”

Tabby twisted in her seat, eyes wide, shaking her head with warning.

The Keeper let out a small sigh, fingers twisting unnaturally amongst each other.

An old-fashioned title-card appeared on the sheet, flickering in black and white: MALEVOLENT: A PRIMER. REEL ONE NOT FOR DISTRIBUTION.

Kayne’s voice sounded not from him (his mouth was full), but from the creaky vintage wall-speakers that appeared in the air around the chairs.

“In the beginning of time,” said Speakers Kayne, and the white sheet suddenly filled with a slow-motion explosion.

Explosion was the wrong word. It was expansion, void-excision, movement and light and depth, a universe being born. It was jerky, a sixteen-frames-per-second view of the past; and at the core of it ( light heat darkness things for which there were no words ) sat a cluster of gods. 

Everyone there could feel them. Like their presence was here, now. 

No one made a sound.

“Hold on a minute,” said Speakers Kayne, followed by a record screech. “Too far back.”

But the reel (if that’s what it was) didn’t stop, and in the moment before the projector seemed to run out of film, its end smacking against the picture head, they all saw a blob of darkness and a million eyes sort of gooping eagerly into a field of shockingly yellow flowers, somehow splashing like water as if in joy for discovering the color.

The reel changed. Flickering, tinny music rolling through, a player piano doing its best. Speakers Kayne resumed. “You all remember this, ” he said, and it was Arthur Lester’s office. No, Parker Yang’s office, shared with Arthur, only Parker was dead. Very dead, throat squeezed so hard it was permanently misshapen. Beside the body, Arthur curled up, gasping. In front of them lay a book.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” said Speakers Kayne, and the film sped up.

The Scriptorium understood timelines. It wasn’t like anyone there didn’t know this story. But it was one thing to know it, and another to watch it—fast, jerky, funny if the content weren’t so horrific. Arthur and John, on the run. Arthur and John, fighting, killing, driving, crashing. Arthur and John, being lured to the Dreamlands through trickery and mindless obedience. Arthur and John, in terrible, terrible trouble.

The reel ran out in the prison pits.

“Sorry, but we’re doing a time-skip,” said Speakers Kayne. “That one’s a lot of the same thing, you know—back and forth, to the shit-corner and back, eating a guy and crying… blah, blah blah. On we go!”

The new reel started, just as fast.

Amazing, how brief Hastur’s appearance was in this form. Blip: there and gone, descending on Arthur like some kind of magician’s silk cloth, then disappearing again.

Then suddenly, the reel froze. It froze on Arthur in the snow, losing so much blood—impossibly red and shocking in this black and white image. It froze on his face, tormented, agony and pain, twisting him almost into someone else, as his tears froze on his cheeks.

“He ain’t cryin’ over spilt milk!” said Speakers Kayne as though that was just the funniest damn thing on earth.

“Brother,” said the Keeper, and the word was not just coming from her but resonating through the ground, rumbling up through the armchairs.

“Easy,” Tabby said.

“Oh, no no, I’m not being mean! It’s because this is actually the big moment. The moment it all changed for him,” said Speakers Kayne.

“Boo,” said Armchair Kayne. “Keep the commentary to yourself!” He threw some popcorn, which stained the sheet with buttery grease.

Speakers Kayne ignored himself. “See, this is where I… take a hand in things.”

The reel resumed. Faster. Pulling away, as if whatever view this was hung on a rope. Away from the snow, away from the continent, until Earth shrunk to a tiny blue dot, until they were in Carcosa.

Hastur was screaming.

Silent. Which somehow made it worse, arching back, arms and tentacles out, freakishly stop-motion-like, damn near losing his form and reverting to the oily blob that once fell in love with flowers. 

“See, here, ” said Speakers Kayne, “is where I decide what to do. Sometimes, I take just a little bit!”

A blurred movement on the screen which this jerky, sixteen-frames-per-second reel could never have portrayed, smooth and bright and shocking. It felt like a knife, somehow, like some kind of scalpel swung at speed.

The Hastur on screen didn’t seem to notice.

The view changed: suddenly, it was a hand, Kayne’s hand, holding a wriggling, struggling piece of yellow cloth about the size of a young cat. Tiny black tentacles flailed from its bottom; still, it was silent.

“See? My own little proto-Yellow, ready to insert!” said Kayne. “Different sizes do different things. You can tell THE AUDIENCE —” the words echoed outside the Scriptorium, into distant halls and distant ears, into the awareness of those who thought they were safe, thought it was just a story—“that their favorite version is… well, all of him.”

Back to Carcosa.

Back to Hastur, grieving, going through rubble, visibly losing his shit.

And a giant hand came out of nowhere and grabbed him, same as the former hand had held the tiny slice.

“Yoink!” said Armchair Kayne, throwing more popcorn.

(The more observant of acolytes realized at this point that the grease stains were forming some very dangerous runes, and averted their eyes.)

Giant Kayne (with a backdrop of planets, of spinning galaxies) smiled at the camera, eyes in full shadow, and gave the other half of the King in Yellow a shake. “Would you believe there’s a timeline where this guy is in Larson?” He threw back his monumental head and laughed, each guffaw shaking the room, rattling the bookshelves.

Then he tossed the King over his shoulder.

“But that’s not what you get!” announced Speakers Kayne, and the reel… rewound.

Back to Carcosa. Back to Hastur, barely maintaining his form, flying over rubble and trying to find anything left, anything that survived, anyone.

That impossibly smooth white swipe again, like the flash of a knife. “Different sizes do different things!” said Speakers Kayne again. “Anyone remember this guy?”

A tiny golden hamster appeared—strange, with little horns and little face tentacles, in an airy, clean cage on a table they all recognized—as the thing sat less than twenty feet away. 

“The Yellow that made was a real menace! But what was left barely squeaked by,” said Speakers Kayne, and a laugh-track followed.

None of the acolytes laughed.

“What was left of Hamstur was too small, but I’ll tell you what… then it became a challenge!” said Speakers Kayne, and once again, the reel rewound.

Once again, Carcosa—the King, on the ground now and draped like a funeral shroud over some body no one could recognize in the condition it had been left. 

Swipe.

The hand reappeared. In it sat a tiny, tiny Hastur.

Music piped over it: “Suuuuunny days, sweeping the… clouds away…”

“Sunny?” gasped someone.

“Yep!” said Speakers Kayne, fourth walls be damned. “At least, I assume one of you said his cute widdle name, so anyway: smallest version of this guy I could get with any sort of independence or personality. Speaking of personality!”

The reel ended.

Awkwardly, taking his time, making it hurt, Armchair Kayne rose, took the old reel off, and fumbled with the new one, muttering. One of his hair-curlers fell out and bounced under Tabby’s seat.

The reel started again. 

Addison. A portrait showing a man, Larson, from a hundred years ago. 

The reel sped up even more quickly, as if this wasn’t worth anyone’s time. 

Armchair Kayne plopped back in his seat. “Boo! Unremarkable! Boo!”

And then Arthur—

Wait. This wasn’t what happened. Was it?

Arthur went to New York City. 

The Butcher almost got him (and their shotgun race through apartments was… something to watch at this speed).

He met with Charlie Dowd-Noel, and sprang the Butcher, and they all headed up north to face the Order of the Fallen Star, and…

Through the speakers, high-pitched, came Arthur’s frustrated sped-up voice: “Larson’s not here?”

Wah-wah-waaaaah, sounded a sad trombone. “Sunny too liddol,” said Speakers Kayne. “Too tiny. No projection. So Larson missed the party in his honor. Alack and alas!”

The whole affair still went to shit. 

Elder Things, a freaky machine, cultists all over, a horrifying-looking man (“Stupid Vizier!” shouted Armchair Kayne. “Boo!”) with some kind of thing on his head, its tentacles buried deep in his eyes and ears, dried blood no one had bothered to clean all over his face, dried in streaks down his neck.

The cult died, messily and bloodily, defending nothing.

At the end, Arthur still stood. So did Charlie Dowd.

So did the Butcher, but whoever was in control of this film didn’t care about him. Arthur and Dowd—Noel—limped out. (Armchair Kayne laughed: “Look at ‘em go!”) They drove back to the city. Noel, there, handing documents to Arthur before they parted ways. 

Arthur, stopping by the hospital—

(And there was a flash just a glimpse just a moment of Kayne standing above Daniel’s bed with that same galactic smile, eyes in shadow)

—just in time to say goodbye before Daniel died from his wounds.

Grieving, weeping, Arthur fled.

“You see,” said Speakers Kayne, and several acolytes jumped, “at this point, he couldn’t stay. He’d be implicated in so many murders! I mean, that would’ve been fun, but Noel was…” A sigh. “A good friend, and got him out. Papers. Names. Look at him go!”

The driving, though sped-up, was kept in its entirety. Arthur, driving, John’s eyes and hand navigating, as daylight slid over his face and abandoning it to darkness, as headlights played across his pale cheeks to show his still-falling tears.

“They fucked off!” said Speakers Kayne. “To Vermont! Oh, look how cute it is!”

A brief zoom-in on a door with “Peter Saltzman, P.I.” in stencil.

The reel ran out. This time, like the first, it replaced itself.

Music started—a tinny, solo violin, as the camera pulled back slowly from that closed door.

And it was interrupted by Arthur’s scream.

“See,” said Speakers Kayne, “he couldn’t get away now. Too many things just got Fucking Lestered (how’s that for a tag), and between the nightmare-eater and our lovely King, he couldn’t be left alone. Bad dreams! Bad memories! I, uh. Wasn’t as involved here as I should’ve been, to be perfectly honest. Kinda missed what Blondie was doing? Arthur failed my test, see (and this is an aside to the audience you’re standing in for, you lucky devils). Without a worthless little man and his fucked-up god-piece to follow, they never found what I wanted, so I’d moved on. But then!”

Another title card appeared: MEANWHILE IN ANOTHER WORLD...

Hastur.

Hastur, casting dangerous spells, the kind of wild magic that required even him to create a rune circle, to set protections. Hastur, casting some magic with all his limbs raised and dripping as if it had cost him much blood.

And an infant girl appearing in the center of the circle and beginning to cry.

“Oh wait, wait!” said Speakers Kayne. “Also!”

A third title card appeared:MEANWHILE IN ANOTHER OTHER WORLD...

A woman. A goddess of some kind, with black hair, and pale skin, and they knew her even if they didn’t know her, and—

“Nevermind that bitch,” said Speakers Kayne with a weirdly frustrated affection, and the film sped up yet again, granting the briefest glimpses of this woman dressed in red, of this woman reaching into darkness as if into the aether, and of Arthur twisting in bed, tormented by dreams.

The excess speed suddenly stopped.

The reel continued to roll, but abruptly, it was not jerky, not old-timey at all. No: right now, it was real.

They were all staring through the sheet at a broken-down school-house basement, abandoned somewhere in Vermont, where Arthur Lester, on his knees, gawked toward a young Faroe.

She was precious. Dressed in yellow, happy, healthy, and her little brow knit as she tried so hard to do… whatever she was trying to do here. “You should say sorry,” she said in a high, sweet voice. “Since you were bad.”

The cracking sound was sharp, loud, echoing. It hurt; several acolytes put their hands over their ears, and all of them jumped.

Arthur… lost all his color.

The rest of this scene continued to play out for a few moments, in this grimy old basement: the little girl, all a-glow in health; the god behind her, gleaming and smearing as if whatever camera this was couldn’t quite hold his image; and Arthur, who was now gray, who was black and white, as if he no longer belonged in the scene at all.

“But you know all that, ” said Speakers Kayne, and without giving anyone time to process anything, the film sped up again. It went back to projection on a sheet, but this time, it stayed full-color.

They saw Arthur go to Carcosa.

They saw him skinned. (Blood dripped to the floor, staining the edges of the sheet.)

They saw him marked, though not what caused it. (“Boo!” shouted Armchair Kayne. “There was some good sex in the Woods, too, afterward,” he told Tabby in over-loud confidence, “but you know how it is—a good director never shows his face on film.”)

They saw Faroe grow, and Arthur adapt (but he stayed gray). They saw John rage, and Dis get involved, and Arthur finally put on some weight (but Arthur stayed gray).

They saw music, and glimpses of the beginning of Rites (“Gotta keep the archive warnings consistent, I guess, ” said Armchair Kayne), and preparation for the Games, and Faroe—

A moment of Faroe, holding The Once and Future King.

Fast forward.

Faroe running away. Hastur taking Arthur and John on a road-trip from hell to find her. Hastur’s son (“He doesn’t know any of this part,” said Armchair Kayne), Gokar’luh, making so many preparations, first fueled with the smoldering embers of being wronged and the bellows of a revenge promised, and then, when Faroe spoke to him with kindness, a moment where that armor cracked and he wept for the unjustness of it all. His tears were bright as gold.

Disaster.

For a moment, the screen went dark. Someone made a low, choked sound, like an abortive sob.

It resumed, quick again, flitting from scene to scene. 

Hastur. (With a gray crack through his whole form, like he was a photograph that had been badly folded.

Parker. (The film slowed a bit to show his little adventure, stealing and rescuing Sunny, and their time on the run.)

Larson. (Only in red tights and with his Van Dyke, though, as if earlier moments didn’t deserve the footage.)

Dagon getting involved, and gods beginning to question what the hell was going on with this composer, and Faroe growing sure and strong atop her striding beast, and Dis reluctantly drawn into the drama ( “Lestered!!” both Kaynes said at once).

Hastur slipping out at night to make Carcosa safe, Hastur making new enemies who were then defeated, Dickensian-looking Ialdagorth sneering directly at the camera, Arthur poisoned (and the reel, for no reason, focused on him throwing up horrible black chunks for more than a moment too long), and John forgetting who he was (and… growing? Bigger? Glimpses of his whole self, too large for Arthur, leaking out his colorless pores), and the crack in Hastur widening, and Arthur still gray, and a birds-eye view of a crazy double-birthday celebration with a genuinely heartwarming image of Arthur (still gray and shocking against that bright-lit sky) holding Faroe, atop some tower, watching the pyrotechnics, his head resting on hers.

A single second (sound included) of a full-color three-dimensional deeply enthusiastic Odd getting deeply, enthusiastically railed by—

“Oops, sorry! Even the best directors screw up sometimes,” said Speakers Kayne, and cackled. “Anyway, he was into it.”

“No, really, he was into it,” said Armchair Kayne. “Like, a lot. Which I say because there was some confusion. ”

And suddenly the reel was done.

THE END? appeared in a title card, followed by six seconds of wildly dramatic music over a groundhog looking absolutely aghast. 

Armchair Kayne stood, whooping and clapping, as the lights came back up.

Everyone felt… dazed. Dizzy. Acolytes took eyes off of the screen and shared glances with each other. Some looked visibly nauseous, trembling in the seats; others wiped blood from their eyes.  

Kayne’s clapping slowed. His smile faded. His eyes darkened, as if the curlers in his hair were somehow casting impenetrable shadow. “Pity,” he said.

It was obviously leading. The silence had to break. “Wh… what is?” said someone.

“They made me repeat myself.” Kayne shook his head, tsk -ing softly. “They’re going to regret they did.”

And he vanished. 

The projector exploded, pieces skittering across the floor.

All the armchairs he’d conjured vanished, dumping acolytes onto their asses. Notes scattered everywhere, and one checked to see if the liquid sample had vanished or not. It had not. 

“Keeps?” said Tabby slowly. “What… what the fuck just happened?”

The god’s sigh was heavy. “Something that bodes very, very ill for the players of Carcosa. At least he gave us some warning.”

“Should we try and warn them?” Tabby said, twisting in her chair.

“It won’t help. They’re not even the targets, someone else is.” The Keeper sank into her chair, boneless, miserable. “I hope you lot are happy.”

Tabby frowned. “Who?”

“Don’t worry about it,” the Keeper sighed.

Abandoned on the floor, the grease-stained sheet shivered as if alive, until an acolyte finally took it away to study.

-----------

NOTES

A tinny, solo violin A groundhog looking absolutely aghast Glorious baby-Hastur-loves-yellow drawn by @flamdoodles!

[allthebrazilianpolitics]

Taylor Swift tour puts spotlight on Brazil’s mega-event negligence

The Eras Tour, the world’s largest this year, served as a magnifying glass for the problems created by the draconian relationship between event organizers and fans

“I don’t know what my purpose in life will be after I see Taylor,” said Ana Clara Benevides on X (formerly Twitter), ten days before U.S. pop supernova Taylor Swift was scheduled to begin three days of concerts in Rio de Janeiro, between November 17 and 19.

Ms. Benevides traveled more than 1,700 kilometers from her hometown in Mato Grosso do Sul state and arrived early in the morning at the Nilton Santos Olympic Stadium in Rio de Janeiro, where the show took place. 

During the night’s opening number, “Miss Americana and The Heartbreak Prince,” Ms. Benevides and her cousin hugged each other. It was a much-awaited dream coming true. But during the second song, “Cruel Summer,” she fell to the floor, unconscious.

A few minutes later, medical teams confirmed that Ms. Benevides was dead after going into cardiac arrest. According to a preliminary coroner’s report, she had suffered a pulmonary hemorrhage. More tests are being conducted to determine the cause of death. Ms. Benevides had no pre-existing illnesses and experts say that the most likely reason for her death was a reaction to extreme temperature.

Undergoing an extreme heatwave that increased temperatures by an average of 5ºC, according to the National Institute of Meteorology, thermometers in Rio de Janeiro went above 40ºC on the day of Taylor Swift’s first show. The heat index inside the stadium was close to 60ºC. According to extreme weather researcher Maximiliano Herrera, that was “arguably the highest” index in the history of the Americas.

Fans inside the stadium said that ventilation outlets were covered so that those milling around outside could not watch the concert for free. A metal plate was installed near the stage railing to protect the grass but created an inferno that baked spectators. Pyrotechnics used during the singer’s performance ended up turning the stadium into an oven.

To make matters worse, Time for Fun (T4F), the company managing the event, prohibited fans from entering the premises with water bottles. Plastic cups of no more than 200 milliliters were sold for BRL 8 (USD 1.64), four times the regular price. At one point, Taylor Swift herself stopped the show to hand out water to the fans.

Continue reading.

[noonaishere]

Music of the Heart [J.YH] - thirty-nine | girl’s night

“You can just be honest if you’re crying,” Dei said with a laugh.

“No, I seriously have something in my eye.” 

“Uh huh.” Dei smiled and folded her arms.

You got up and went to the bathroom to check your eye in the mirror. Sure enough there was an eyelash snuggled up against your eyeball. You touched your finger to it and got it out, and brought it back over to the couch, holding it up to Dei so she could see it.

“See? I told you there was something there.”

She laughed. “Blow it away and make a wish.”

You looked at her as you sat. You pretended to make a wish and blew it away.

“Don’t tell me or it won’t come true.”

“You believe in that?”

“Of course.”

You chuckled as you took a sip of your wine.

The male lead of the movie grabbed at the female lead’s arm, making her turn around.

“Ugh,” Dei said. “If a man - or anyone - ever did that to me, I’d slap him.”

You nodded. “I can’t imagine anyone liking that.”

“Like, rough shit is okay in the bedroom, as long as everyone’s consenting, but I hate shit like what he just did.”

“Mhm.” You nodded and took another sip. You were here for recon, you reminded yourself. “Do you prefer like… guys who are much nicer?”

She nodded. “Honestly, I want like… my ex was such a piece of shit even before he cheated on me. And the guys I dated since then… they just lack… feeling.”

“Feeling?” You asked as you turned to her.

“Yeah, like… I want a guy who can provide and be steadfast and help me raise my daughter, but I don’t want a robot. I want someone who’ll do sweet little things, like bring me flowers once in a while even though it’s not a holiday or my birthday, or… I used to write these little letters to my ex about how much I loved him and maybe leave him on his pillow or put them in his bag so he’d find it later. If you love someone, you should tell them - I feel - so I want someone to do that for me.”

You nodded. “So, underneath your very cool and hip-hop looking exterior--”

She laughed.

“--you’re a romantic.”

“Well… I don’t know if I’d say I’m a romantic… I don’t really like big displays of affection? Like, one of the girls in the dance group told me that she wants her boyfriend to propose to her in a hot air balloon?” She shook her head in disbelief.

You had taken an ill-fated sip at that moment, and started choking as you laughed.

“Is it that funny?”

“Someone else mentioned hot air balloons to me recently, maybe it’s a fad.”

“Ugh, even worse. You shouldn’t do things just to follow fads.”

You guessed it was the same girl who mentioned hot air balloons to both Mingi and Dei.

“So what would you call yourself if not a ‘romantic’?”

“Mmm… more like… a sentimentalist. Like it’s the sentiment behind the gesture, not the gesture itself? If the gesture is too big then it becomes more about the showmanship and not the feeling behind it, if that makes sense?”

“Mmm…”

“It’s like… the difference between a shock rock band and a local band. The shock rock band has all the pyrotechnics and video screens behind the band and the props and whatever else to be an interesting visual, but the local band doesn’t have that, they just have themselves and their instruments and they have to impress you that way.”

“I think I know what you mean… were you trying to help me by putting it into a music-related metaphor.”

She laughed. “No, I just remembered this time my parents and I went to see a KISS concert in Tokyo when I was little and like… I didn’t get it.”

“Your parents are KISS fans?”

“Yeah, I know,” she laughed.

“As a bassist, I’m offended.”

She laughed loudly. “But you see what I mean; they’re all flash and no substance. Even if there is substance, it’s lost under all the flash.”

“It’s KISS so I’m pretty sure it’s substance-free.” You chuckled.

She laughed again and sipped her wine.

“But I get what you mean. The message is way more important than the way it’s delivered.”

“Yeah. And I like the small shit, like just leaving a note or helping someone with something or doing something nice once in a while, you know.”

“When people are upfront with their emotions?”

“Yeah. If you like me just tell me you like me, you know? I hate guessing.”

“None of that play hard-to-get ‘push and pull’ stuff.”

“Nuh uh. I hate that push and pull shit; if you try to pull me I will push you right off a fucking cliff. I swear to god.”

You laughed into your wine and accidentally sprayed it out of the glass and sent it all over yourself. “Jesus christ!” 

Dei went into hysterical laughter at what you did, nearly spilling her wine on herself.

You laughed. “Well, at least I’m at my house so I can just change. I’ll be right back.”

You got up and dealt with the wine-covered clothes and changed into sweat pants and a sweatshirt, sitting back on the couch a few minutes later.

“I hope this is okay.”

She smiled. “Go ahead, it’s your place.”

You laughed.

“Did you put your clothes in cold water?”

“Yeah.”

“Good, otherwise it won’t come out.”

You nodded and took a sip of your wine.

“I thought of another thing while you were gone.”

“Hmm?”

“I love handmade cards with something really from that person’s heart, but I hate store-bought cards.”

You nodded. “That makes perfect sense.”

“Yeah?” She smiled.

“Yeah. Sentiment can’t be printed in a factory just to write ‘to’ and ‘from’ and be handed to the recipient as if you’re obligated to do it.” You scowled.

She laughed. “Are you okay?”

“I actually really hate greeting cards.”

“Yes!” She held up her hand for you to high five and you did with a laugh.

You laughed and high-fived her back.

Mission accomplished.

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[angrennufuin]

From softest landing to taking it the hardest: amount of dramatics after being broken up with?

Sûl gets "broken up with" on the regular because her relationships are all more or less business transactions, so while she may performatively rend clothes, fling herself dramatically onto couches, etc., she's generally quite fine with it. If someone she actually felt strongly about broke up with her, she would feel worse but absolutely would not tell anyone. So probably softest landing here.

Asa ... may not understand the difference between romantic and platonic relationships? They would cheerfully part ways with you, but they would throw your shit out the window and/or sell it to the pawn shop for three buttons and a poptart.

Aysel can hold a grudge like nobody's business, but has a religious devotion to change and endings as parts of life, so she's pretty philosophical about breakups, apart from the occasional ill-advised challenging-someone-to-a-duel.

Rosen would just get depressed, I think! For, like, months. If she ever manages a proper relationship and not a ... whatever weird thing she had going on prior to disappearing into the woods for seven years, it would be pretty serious and she would not take the ending well.

Nee gets mad and even. With pyrotechnics. Once she's caused massive property damage, she's probably going to be fine with you though!

Silence: this would be her first heartbreak, and as such there will be storms of terrible teenie tears, tantrums in the arms of 2-4 older siblings, probably a few wild-magic related mishaps. Full of sound and fury & signifying ultimately nothing, though said older siblings might make things slightly difficult for the unfortunate ex.

Linmir pretends not to be dramatic but she's the one who did the breaking up and her subsequent dramatics included: running halfway across the continent, joining the mafia, joining a death cult, refusing to speak of her ex or have another relationship for ten fucking years, and generally being a nightmare about things. Can you fucking imagine what she'd be like if someone broke up with her.

Hongyan is in love with a married(?) man(?) who may or may not be deceased(?) or a work of fiction(?) and has centered his entire human existence and understanding of morality around this person. He's absolutely going to cause a scene when it's made clear to him that they're not going to both become geese and live goosely ever after with ten million goslings.

[floydleart]

I would like to see more of your aus *holds out hands*, k thanks <3333

Ooh you’ll have to be more specific because I have a lot of aus. Most of which I’ve not made content for either 😅. I’ll give you a run down of them all. (All are Xephna in some way or another because I’m ill in the head.)

Royalty AU: Lalna is the crown prince of a kingdom on the verge of revolution due to the king’s (his father’s) ban against magic. After his primary guard Rythian attempts to assassinate him and is ousted, Xephos is appointed from a neighboring kingdom to be his new head knight. Features Rythian (magic enemy), Nanosounds (long time friend of Lalna’s, peasant), Lomadia (another knight on the guard), and Honeydew (neighboring kingdom’s king).

Fairy AU: Xephos is a fairy that lives in Lalna’s backyard/in his walls. Essentially just a story of them befriending each other despite being unable to communicate. I just like g/t stories lol. Features Zoeya (fairy) and Rythian (normal Rythian) a lot.

SCP AU: Lalna is a low-level scientist assigned to take care of a block of specimens at a supernatural facility. He quickly befriends many of the prisoners and realizes things are not as they seem. Features Xephos, Rythian, Zoeya, Teep (prisoners), Angor (head of facility), Bedgar (facility worker).

Mermaid AU: Lalna is an ocean marine biologist rooming with a plucky lighthouse keeper named Honeydew. He works at a facility in town at a research department and scorns his fellow worker Rythian for believing in supernatural things such as mermaids. That is, until he meets one. Features Xephos, (mermaid), Honeydew (lighthouse keeper), Rythian (coworker), Ridgedog (mermaid guard).

Twilight Forest AU: Lalna enters a new dimension of the Twilight Forest. On one of his expeditions he loses track of where his portal is, and a peculiar buck leads him back to it. He then also befriends a curious deertaur named Xephos. As they get to know each other, the true threat of the politics in the forest become more and more pressing. (Xephos is deertaur prince in this.) Features Strife (deertaur guard), Rythian (human guard for Mushling kingdom), Zoeya (Mushling princess), Honeydew (twilight forest dwarf).

Circus AU: This came out of @spacedoutsoap and I having one conversation but I still like it enough to mention it. It’s 1894, Angor runs a traveling circus full of wondrous characters. Is it all wonder behind the scenes though? Features Angor (co-owner and ringmaster), Honeydew (co-owner and strongman), Bedgar (mermaid-prisoner), Xephos (alien prisoner-acrobat), Lalna (pyrotechnics), Rythian (magician), Zoeya (magician’s assistant), and others.

[canmom]

Animation Night 150: INU-OH

Hello everyone! Tonight we celebrate ✨Animation Night 150✨. I never imagined I would still be running without pause for that long. In a few weeks it will be our third anniversary. They still haven’t banned me!

Tonight our subject will be Masaaki Yuasa, one of the most brilliantly inventive directors in the whole medium. Yuasa was the very first director I wrote about on here on Animation Night 12, and once again on Animation Night 28, which between them gave a pretty good survey of his works - works such as Keep Your Hands Off Eizouken!, Devilman Crybaby, Kaiba, and Night Is Short Walk On Girl to name a few favourites. However, since then he’s gone and released another movie! Inu-Oh spent a long time touring the festivals, and then a while longer going around cinemas. I wrote this at the time I saw it...

If you haven’t seen this movie yet, seriously you gotta - Masaaki Yuasa totally outdid himself, the choreography and flow if it is just incredible and the whole concept (a biwa hōshi and the cursed mutant son of a noh performer invent glam rock to tell the story of fallen Heike soldiers) is both so out there I struggle to imagine how they came up with it, and yet a perfect evolution of the themes Yuasa explored in his films so far.

So… I was completely spellbound the whole time, it’s one of those films that really rekindles the firey love for animation after days of drawing tiedowns lol. The ideas for movement, the creative shot choices, the solidity and weight of the animation, the visual motifs, the music behind the animation… gaahh you guys it’s such a good movie that ties together so well. So glad to finally get the chance to see it. And you can trust that the very minute it becomes available on blu-ray, or at least the very week, I’ll be screening it on Animation Night.

Well, that day has come! I’ve got the movie and I’m gonna show it to ya.

So what’s this all about?

Perhaps you remember when we watched Naoko Yamada’s brilliant adaptation of the Heike Monogatari. This is the story of how the Taira or Heike clan, who once effectively ruled Japan back in the artistic and peaceful Heian period (literally ‘peace period’!) of 794-1185, got too ambitious and were annihilated by their rival Minamoto clan in what would later be called the Genpei War, bringing an end to the period of peace, and putting the samurai and their shogunate in ascendance.

You don’t need to know much more than that to follow Inu-Oh, which is set in the years after the fall of the Heike. The story was transmitted forward through history by the biwa hōshi, blind biwa-playing itinerant monks who would go about singing stories.

However, Inu-Oh isn’t really about strict adherence to actual history, as you’ll see! The premise is essentially that a radical young biwa player Tomoaru, blinded as a child by an ill-fated attempt to fish up the sword Kusanagi, encounters the mutant son of a noh troupe, who is haunted by the ghosts of the Heike soldiers who perished in the war. The effect of this haunting is to give him a strange body with long, distended limbs; he takes on the name ‘Inu-oh’ meaning ‘King of Dogs’. Inu-oh’s father rejected him, leaving him an outcast, but in Tomoaru he finds another outcast who doesn’t give a shit how he looks.

Our two boys quickly become best bros and driven by the ghosts’ call to tell their stories, invent biwa-based glam rock, creating a sensation as they sing untold stories with elaborate, pyrotechnic-laden preformances of songs such as ‘Burial Mound of Arms’... but in so doing, fall afoul of the new shogunate, as Inu-Oh’s father cannot stand to gain a rival in his rejected son.

Inu-oh is full of some of the most inventive and charming animation of music performances I’ve ever seen. I struggle to imagine how they came up with the ideas that drive this film. It feels like it’s constantly in spellbinding motion. The rougher lines and more detailed designs are a departure from the Flash style that Yuasa’s later films mostly used, much more like the ones in Heike Monogatari, but the young international animators at Science Saru pull it off incredibly.

There’s been much discussion of how to interpret Inu-Oh. Is it about Yuasa himself and his weird career? Is it about the struggles of art in general? There’s a nice review of it over on fufuro; for now I will just say that it reminded me why I love animation. (Also it’s gay as hell. Y’know. Just putting that out there.)

Along side this, I’m going to be bringing back a Yuasa work that I feel like we gave an unfair shake back in the day - MInd Game, animated at Madhouse in 2004 at the very beginning of Yuasa’s rise. Known for its incredibly varied and experimental animation, Mind Game follows a man who fails to intervene against an attempted rape and dies, but after a brief meeting with God, drags himself back to life and begins a surreal journey as he flees from the yakuza. Much of the film takes place inside a whale, where they meet an old yakuza who has lived there for decades, following how the characters and their relationships evolve (which is to say they go fucking nuts) - before an absolutely batshit final sequence as they attempt to make their mistake.

Mind Game notally marks the beginning of the collaboration between Yuasa and the brilliant Shinya Ohira, who provided some of his warping, expressionist rough pencils. It’s got a lot of naked people being flung around, wild smears, bright colours. The simplified designs allow the animation to be all the more creative. It’s hard to find anything to compare it with, really! Mind Game doesn’t feel like a Madhouse work. It only somewhat resembles Yuasa’s later works. If anything it feels like something you’d find on Catsuka at 2am. 

So I think it’s about time I revisited it!

I’ve learned a great deal more about animation and its history since I wrote about Yuasa before, and later I’d like to write a more substantial account of his works. But right now, it’s about time we started! Animation Night 150(!) will be going live now at twitch.tv/canmom, with movies due to start in about 15 minutes - I’d love to see you there to see what is probably my favourite movie of 2022! (even though it strictly came out in 2021). see you soon~