#some organisms are not my thing so to speak but they still have value despite that! and theyre someones thing for sure :3

[fishyfishyfishtimes]

I just wanted to say that your blog brings me so much joy! I often see a funky fish/aquatic life post on here and just nod my head in agreement or just feel joy about the beauty of all creatures and it's almost always a post reblogged/posted by you! Even animals that I would've considered 'scary' before... now I just look at the worms etc and feel excitement (because your passion is contagious), thanks! <3

This is such a nice thing to say, thank you thank you very much!! I’m glad that the enthusiasm sticks because it really is just so fun to discover new creatures and learn about them! :D I used to have many more “prejudices” against undesirable organisms when I was a teen, but I’ve been slowly unlearning them and tried to replace them with curiosity instead, just thinking about how insane it is that all these creatures exist and that they exist the way they do and behave the way they do and how their experiences are so different from ours yet we all came from the very same origins. It’s working quite nicely! The world is so full of interesting and surprising creatures and there’s always so much to find and discover and wonder about!!! Nature is a beautiful cocktail of millions of years of evolution with billions of organisms to unearth (sometimes literally)!!

Not to go on a tangent (I will) but I think being in an environment where no creature is too unsightly or somehow horrible for being alive but is instead interesting and valued really aids in that. I was always a fish-and-arthropods-loving girl, but in my time at my uni I’ve learned to appreciate many more organisms a whole lot more thanks to passionate lecturers and fellow classmates! I never knew I’d come to love and appreciate parasites, for example, but one of my professors is so passionate about aquatic parasites specifically that it was just way too contagious! Sharing passion is the best ever and I won’t stop any time soon >:DD

[good-beanswrites]

I talked about my Milgram actors theory earlier, but @amugoffandoms reminded me I also have a little emotional support au version of the idea I’ve been meaning to chat about! It's actually not a typical actors au -- the canon events still happen, but are staged by the in-universe Milgram organization.

(Edit, now with a fic!)

Just like in canon, the organization has a mysterious/supernatural ability to identify and track down ten specific people at their breaking point. In this au, though, it's ten people who could have committed crimes soon. They discreetly reach out to these individuals, requesting for them to be actors in their experiment. They say there will be someone playing a prison guard, and explain the premise. With a bit of coaxing or bribing for a few, they all accept.

Milgram ensures these newfound “prisoners” don’t need to change many details about their lives – the less lies to keep track of, the easier it would be for these ordinary people to pull off such an extensive con. 

Some of them are exactly as they were right before their murders, such as Yuno, Fuuta, Muu, and Kotoko. Haruka, his sister, and Amane did go through traumatic abuse, but it was Milgram that pulled them out of the situation before they resorted to murder. Mikoto is/has been aware of his alters for a while at this point.

Some of the others are taken from their lives after things that could have ended fatally turned out alright: Shidou’s family got into an accident but all recovered; Milgram picked up on his private realization that he would have done anything to save them, were the damage worse. Mahiru and Kazui’s partners attempted/considered suicide, but did not succeed. In Mahiru’s case, they reached a friendship despite breaking up. I still don’t know enough about Kazui’s wife, but I like to think they’re pretty separate now. 

The ten prisoners weren’t allowed to meet beforehand, but they individually collaborated with the Milgram team to write the lyrics for their t1 songs and film their videos. I'll mention more about the other actors later, but the filming process is a lot of fun. Though the topics confront them with some unsavory thoughts about themselves, it's a good time singing and acting and getting the giggles on set and everything.

Milgram pulls Es from wherever they were for whatever reason, wipes their memory, and drops them into the prison. The prisoners are unaware that Es didn't come willingly, as they all did.

Once the experiment begins, everyone’s interactions that we’ve seen to this point are genuine. The prisoners get to know each other, while they come to terms with the fact that themselves and these others all had murderous potential. Their personalities, behaviors, and stories from their lives are all true. In the interrogations, they speak honestly to Es about their values and choices. The only faked things are the actual references to the murders, and the “invisible force” that they pretend to hit when acting in violence. Mikoto is instructed to use a bit of violence during his interrogation, though Kotoko sneaking in wasn’t scripted – she genuinely had her concerns about his character and acted accordingly. 

While Es sleeps after T1, the prisoners are treated the same regardless of verdict. They provide the team with their genuine thoughts about one another to decide what the staged incidents should be. Kotoko doesn’t actually hate the guilty prisoners, but she recognizes she would’ve wanted to take justice into her own hands in a real situation. Amane is very upset but Es' verdict, but the team helps her dramatize her transformation a bit. Haruka and Muu genuinely get that close. Yuno does wish to be left alone.

They film their second trial videos, now allowed to be around the other prisoners as they do so. They also invite people in their life to come in and play their victims. Yes, it’s just as awkward as it sounds. This is where the prisoners do their real reflection – they think about Es’ verdict for them and what they could have been capable of. There’s a bit of relief from both parties knowing that things will turn out alright now that Milgram intervened (ironic, I know, but this is my fix-it hehe). Shidou’s kids are excited to be filmed, not really understanding the context. Haruka once again works with an actor playing his younger self, a bit put off by how similar they look and the memories he bring back. Haruka’s mother, Rei, and Amane’s cult members (if they appear) are some of the only characters played by strangers, though they do look strikingly similar to the real people. Fuuta’s victim is also played by a stranger. Things are still tense with Hinako, but she agrees to appear. 

The team helps the prisoners fake injuries with lots bandages and slings. Then they wake Es. The same is repeated for T2/T3.

Now, I’ve played out a few different paths depending on my angst tolerance at the moment – sometimes Es goes through with the third trial verdicts and is forced to watch the executions (not realizing they're cleverly staged). Sometimes they refuse, finding a way to stop the whole experiment. Sometimes the prisoners realize that Es has been an unwilling participant, and bring the experiment to a stop themselves. Sometimes someone jams a wrench in the mv machine and try to blow it up in order for everything to end before final verdicts.

Because of limited details, the ending can play out however one wants. But my go-to is that Es wake up sometime afterwards in a clean facility filled with scientists. They’re brought to an interrogation room – this time on the other side of the questioning. They’re asked about their motivations, actions, emotions, choices, verdicts (or the reason they rebelled at the very end). A few doors down, the prisoners are being asked similar questions of self-reflection and morality. 

Es demands to know what’s going on, while the team tries to assure them that the prisoners are all fine. Es doesn’t buy this, though. They know what kind of mind games the experiment has tried to pull, and can’t tell what’s truth or lie anymore. Things get heated as they demand to see the prisoners. Meanwhile, the prisoners are getting worked up asking about Es. If they haven't already, this is when they learn that Es was an actual prisoner there the whole time. The last time they were together the situation was very intense, and they’re all incredibly worried about them. 

In the end, they manage to break out of their rooms and reunite in the middle of the facility, and Es is shocked. All ten are alive and well, even those they may have seen die. No eyes or limbs are missing. They’re all laughing and getting along, no matter what kinds of fights they got into between trials. Even more shocking is when the victims join them later – also all alive and happy. 

The ending has a bit of unavoidable angst since Es would be pretty fucked up by the whole experiment. They’d struggle with trust issues and knowing what’s reality. However, it’s still an overwhelmingly happy ending. They get to befriend the prisoners and their families outside of the painful context they met in. Regretting their ignorance of the situation, the prisoners decide to make up for lost time and spend a lot of positive, quality time with Es. The kids are finally allowed to play, and the they finally let the adults act a bit protective over them. This is when the found family completely kicks in lol. Es gets to sleep easy knowing they are all alive and happy, they receive all their memories again, and they get to return home to their own family.

I added it to a reblog but editing with @/qrevo's tags because this is what I was looking for but couldn't quite pin down to make it healing for Es too:

[anxiousdreamcore]

Frontiers of Pandora story review ✨

BEWARE! Heavy spoilers ahead.

Alright, since I don’t see people talking about this game as much as I’d want on my socials, I decided to put together a little review where I talk about the story, what spoke to me, as well as some critiques.

To summarise my opinion; I love it! The story knows where it’s taking place and takes advantage of it. It covers dark topics and succeeds in staying as serious in tone as the movie franchise, which makes the campaign feel like it truly belongs in the world of Pandora.

To speak more in-depth; the plot of a Na’vi residential school had me hooked from the first moment. I think residential schools that native children were forced into are a topic not talked about often enough, so I appreciated the developers and writers bringing awareness to such facilities, even if it’s in sci-fi form. reconnecting with Na’vi heritage that was stolen from the main character and their family is executed quite well, as playing frontiers lets you get immersed into the feeling of exploration and discovery. The player is as un-knowledgeable about the world around them as the protagonist, and being able to experience new connections, abilities, places, stories and traditions side-by-side with them has been an amazing ride.

The different Na’vi cultures shown in the game are written organically. They each possess an intricate fashion based on their values, environment and history, but that is not all. Every clan has a cast of characters, bigger or smaller, who bring further life into the western frontier, help expand on the lore and provide entertainment. My personal favourites of these characters have to be Nefika and Kin, both elderly Na’vi with a welcoming presence and charm. Second to them come Eetu and Okul!

Then there is the main cast, which is MC, their three found family siblings, a.k.a the surviving Sarentu children, So’lek, Alma and Priya. We consistently stay in contact with them, both as part of the campaign and as part of our explorations, sharing experiences with them. The protagonist character is righteous, brave and endlessly adorable in their reactions to the world around them, and the trio of Sarentu forever have a place in my heart. I liked the concept of each one of the Sarentu children representing a different reaction to their past abuse and toxic relationship with John Mercer.

Nor, who had most luxury of remembering his life before being taken by the RDA, tries to distance himself as far as possible from everything human, and progressively adopts an antagonistic mindset towards his human allies, as well as a growing feeling of resentment and vengeance. I do not blame him for it and I believe it makes sense. After him comes Ri’nela, who, during Mercer’s captivity, tried staying out of sight but protecting her siblings where she could. Without Mercer, she feels insecure, constantly stumbling and at first, regularly looks guidance from Alma. She beats herself up for things that happen to Teylan and A’hari, despite being unable to have fixed them, but eventually grows into a stronger person, being able to take on the role of a Tsahik in the clan. Lastly, there is Teylan and he has to be my favorite character in the game. His bond to Mercer is strong, as T.A.P is all he ever knew, so without John, he begins falling apart. Lack of constant control and lack of ""affection"" from Tey’s "father figure" leave him feeling ten times as insecure as Ri’nela. He has a hard time learning Na’vi ways, keeps lagging behind and ultimately sticks to technology and hacking, which is worsened by So’lek’s nagging, as he obviously doesn’t know how severe Teylan’s abuse was and simply assumes that he is "lost" in the new world. Eventually, Teylan does what many abuse victims do, and returns to his abuser. An action I kind of predicted, but which still really hit me. His voice actor did an incredible job of portraying this character and the rest of the campaign I spent praying that I’ll get to bring him back home. In the end, I’m happy he’s at home and safe. 🥹💖🫶

Now to the grown ups. I don’t have much to say about Priya, but I grew fond of her. I liked her development from an awkward girl that sparks horrific second-hand embarrassment in the viewer to a resistance member who actively puts herself in the line of fire to help her friends. I found myself getting worried for her whenever she didn’t respond or was in danger.

So’lek is a character who I was immediately fond of, and I liked his growth as well. He saw himself as completely separate from human resistance members, and his thoughts are often occupied by revenge, but he comes to care for MC, the Sarentu and eventually the humans. Seeing him protect Alma when Nor attacks her was a brilliant moment.

Lastly, there is Alma herself. A very grey character who did horrible things in the past, like leading the program side-by-side with John Mercer. I liked her development, from an aloof and seemingly supportive teacher at T.A.P, to a person that orchestrated the entire project. Her grief and guilt feel organic, and I found myself having a lot of difficult feelings about her as it is obvious she cares for the Sarentu children, but her sins cannot be forgiven. I’m happy Ri’nela made the choice to simply part ways with her in peace, instead of trying to build a new bridge.

Now, for what I believe was executed badly. It’s quite unfortunate, but the game suffers from the same problem as Avatar the way of water, only quadrupled and that is; we don’t get enough time with the characters.

It feels even worse because in comparison to the movies, games don’t have to worry about pacing or time limits. The campaign can be as long as developers wish, but it came out rushed anyway. Part of the reason I got as attached to the characters as I did was because I spent time getting emotionally invested into everything they said, their minor behavioural cues and voicelines, but not everyone is as dedicated, and those people should have the right to experience a good story as well. They shouldn’t have to seek it out between the lines.

The only characters who I felt were properly developed are Teylan and Alma. They had the most extensive arcs and their growth was tied into a nice bow. But what about Ri’nela, Nor and So’lek? Nor suffers from Metkayina syndrome gets completely scrapped shortly before the finale, So’lek only gets crumbs of growth and Ri’nela is at times forgotten about completely. Her development as a character is too off-screen and between the lines for most people to catch it, and I find that sad because she’s such a sweet character when you actually get invested into her.

In the end, Frontiers of Pandora’s story feels like a good joke with all the necessary setup but only half-delivered punchline. I had very reasonable expectations and a lot of them were not fulfilled. This project is definitely miles better than whatever Ubisoft has been releasing in these last years, but I really hope that the DLCs will expand on the story further.

Verdict on the campaign; 7 out of 10. The setup and the beginning of the story were just perfect, but in the end, the characters didn’t get the treatment they deserved. Thank you for reading.

[bakerstreethound]

Scenario! Reader accidentally messed up with some evidence Anderson had and he got furious, Sherlock gets mad at Anderson and stands up for her.

Hi! I really liked playing around with this idea and I hope you like it! I slightly altered it in a little way, but I consider this a bit more of my practice writing. I still hope it turned out okay.

Corrupted Evidence

All writings belong to me @bakerstreethound (Do NOT claim, copy, repost, or translate my works to any other sites. I only publish here and on A03)

You didn’t mean to interfere in the affairs of the crime scene but Sherlock insisted you join as a second pair of eyes because for some reason he valued your opinion, despite your talents being on the far other side of criminology and the like. 

You knew all too well about Anderson and Donovan, they had been the source of many a night of gunshots fired at the walls of 221B during the wee hours of the morning, for they constantly questioned Sherlock and his judgement regardless of what the evidence provided. Lestrade trusting him was enough for you to put your worries aside at the moment.

Before you and Sherlock lay a table littered with samples of blood, spatter samples lining across the table in interesting patterns. A gun rested further down the table, where Anderson was hovering over it snapping a few photos and grumbling to himself. 

“Fingerprints I assume?” You walked over, interested in the ordeal. Sherlock’s gaze followed you a shadow observing your every move. You being near Anderson set him on edge, he could deal with the direct insults to him but oh, the hell he’d give Anderson if he so much as touched you, he would rip him to shreds. 

“Yes, they’ll help us determine who last held this gun because some young banker is dead because of it. Then, I’ll have to find out who it’s registered to, track it, so on and so forth,” Anderson explained, half in boredom like he previously had this conversation before. 

You didn’t mind it, really, you could tolerate him as long as Donovan wasn’t around.

“Interesting,” you nod in understanding as you trip over some uneven part of the floor, knocking into the table. The unmistakable sound of glass shatters, littering the floor. Your heart stopped cold, not wanting to look up, bit fuck, this was one more thing for dumb and dumber to hold over you. 

“What the hell were you thinking?” The unmistakable condescending tone of Donovan resounds throughout the small room, making your insides twist in knots. You are better than this, you know it, but still you cursed internally wishing Sherlock had left you at the flat, you were unthinkably useless.  

Dovovan stepped into the light, her signature scowl upon her features, you’d think it’d be etched there permanently on her face by now. “…We told the freak you weren’t welcome here, and you won’t be again. This took us weeks to gather now we have to start all over! You hear me, weeks!” She sighed in frustration, crumbling the piece of paper in her fist, muttering tapping away on her phone. 

“She’s right, you know. Not a good look for your track record,”Anderson pipped in. 

The boiling anger inside you rose by the moment, your tongue ready to lash out an insult, but what was the point? You are again out of your league and here Sherlock was once again, leaving you again at the crime scene being utterly useless.

This was why you organized books and shelved them for a living, that was way more up your league and you didn;t deal with shitheads as bad as Donovan and Anderson. Still, it did nothing to calm the parts of your brain that knew they were both right, you had no place among them nor would you belong, so why did Sherlock bother? 

“Choose your next words carefully Anderson. Wouldn’t want you to join the banker now would we?” Sherlock’s gaze was searing, borderline murderous as he slammed Anderson into the wall, the camera clattering to the floor. More damage done, another bone to pick with the Yard. “If you ever so much as speak to her again I will tell Lestrade.” 

Anderson scoffed, despite his position, clearly thinking he had the other hand, “Yeah, then what Sherlock, what’s daddy gonna do, rescue you from me?” 

Your heart raced the longer you watched, the audacity it was beyond stupid. “Enough, Sherlock we’re leaving.” By some miracle you pry Sherlock away before he could outright strangle Anderson,  grasping his hand tighter as you increased your strides. You wanted to run away, so far away. 

“Don’t let them get to you,” Sherlock broke the silence, sounding almost sincere, his breath foggy in the cold air. “They’re always dreadfully unpleasant, trying to ruin my reputation at every turn.” 

“Just because they constantly do it doesn’t mean it hurts any less when it happens.” You respond and he squeezed your hand. “They make me furious, but I really had no business being there.” 

His lip twitched in amusement, and you can’t figure why but he sighed. “Thats how it is. I’ve dealt with it for years.” He said nonchalantly, pulling you closer towards him his hands falling to wrap around your waist and you meet his beautiful sapphire gaze. It was only you and him in this moment, the night breeze ruffling through his crown of curls, a hint of a boyish smile lighting his features. 

“What is it, Sherlock?” 

“I think I am enjoying the moment so to speak,” he paused, tilting your chin up to meet his gaze further, “and you’re not useless or an idiot.” 

You try your hardest to slam away the warmth cascading along you, and tear your eyes away from his but it’s all consuming and magnetizing a hint of promise divulged, intertwining in his words. “Well, I suppose I should thank you. I appreciate you standing up for me, though I was on the verge of saying some choice words to them.” 

“I know.” He oh so slowly presses his lips against yours and you respond in kind, gently deepening it a fraction more captured in the moment beneath the starry sky, all your cares melting away if but for a moment. You wouldn’t forget this for nights to come. 

******

[londondungeon2]

SOMETHING I AINT GONNA FINISH BUT

ITS 7562 words so i at least have to share some of it; main is @rel124c41 if u want to read finished hazbin works lmao, this'll be the only non-twst thing on londondungeon, i just want it out of my computer so badly

tags: nudity, blood and gore, referenced torture, pining and yearning, imp servants, hc on what alastor's radioshow might be like, and unfinished *jazz hands*

“You did not need to do that.”

The Radio Demon’s broadcast tower sits like a knife plunged into the Earth. A spindly warning to the Pride Ring that something was looming always, far up above but no less dangerous. Annoyed, you risk the odious climb and challenge The Radio Demon with those words. 

The expanse of his shoulders deflect the interruption quite well. He neither flinches or turns at your voice. Steadfast in his broadcast, the reaction that lets you know he heard you is a flick of his left ear tufts. His voice does not waver. Alastor speaks devote into the vintage pyle microphone head:

“- wish our dear librarian the best with removing the basilisk out of the children book section of her bookshop. Remember! Do not look it in the eyes, lest you value that your organs are inside your skin. 

“Now, the Postmaster would like to extend a proper thank you to everyone who participated in yesterday’s Blood Drive. Blood drives are an essential part in the mailing process. Through the genetic makeup of your blood, the Postmaster will be able to send you articles tailored to your taste. Today, a deep voice sludged out of the mailbox in front lawn of the post office, crying ‘Blood, feed me more blood, BLOOD!’ and then end up coughing out some thick black liquid, one eyewitness says. The Postmaster looks forward to another successful Blood Drive. Please consider giving us your blood! He says!

“Now listeners, it appears that I have a guest in the studio.” You straighten up at Alastor’s words. He is still facing his machines. Mentally, you prepare. A handful of times you have been leashed into his broadcasts because you visited him at an inconvenient time. This time you will put your foot down as you have an important matter to discuss.

“So, here is an early sample of the symphony your dear Radio Demon has been constructing. Let us indulge in music together! I leave you with these parting words: If at first you do not succeed, look around and find out who is trying to sabotage you with telepathic interference. It is someone you knOW.” 

His voice distorts in his last sentence. A few dials on his desk jolt back and forth in pain. Around him, a red fog spins for a moment then dissipates with the last of his words, before he clicks a button.

The symphony … good, that is what you were looking to discuss. It is what prompted the words: you did not need to do that. You step closer, folding annoyed arms, as Alastor rotates his chair to face you. A symphony is by definition an elaborate musical composition and Alastor’s orchestra meets that definition, though in an entirely sick way.

You know you are clear to talk when Alastor sends you a wide, welcoming smile. You fly into it: “What you did was completely unnecessary and insulting. Do you think me impuissant? I expect an apology, not a gloat. Alastor –”

“Come now. I was only acting in an amicable way.”

“It was out of line. It was demeaning to my image.”

“It was a gift,” Alastor says, eyes imploring you to understand despite the permanent stain of a smile on his face. You bristle at that and glare over his shoulder at the playing symphony.

In the arms of an elongated shadow, almost a romantic pose, lays a dead body. The dead body once had a name but it is void with its death. Though it still heavily holds the resemblance of the person’s name despite the gore massacring it. 

Alastor’s shadowman plucks at the cello strings embedded in the jam pink throat. Her feather bridal robe is stained in gore, spilling over the studio floor in wet clumps. Her crown is gone and her legs are bent in unnatural directions. The bridge of a cello sits stabbed into her ribcage. When certain strings are plucked, a different reverbing scream sings from them – the C chord is a fearful scream, the D chord is a wet teary scream, the G chord is an angered cry, and the A chord is a begging please. Glassy jade eyes stare unseeing at the ceiling, snail-trails of mascara streaking down. She is not the first demon you had seen Alastor butcher into an instrument but her presence still pricks at you, causing anger and indignity. 

“What a gift,” you deadpan. 

“Don’t look so wary. She is not worth your time.” Alastor’s shadowman plucks a lengthy D chord, reminding you of the presence of mascara on her gaunt face. “Truthfully, I do not understand the hostility I am being subjected to.” If Alastor ever cried, it would be crocodile tears.

“It is not that she is dead that is causing me strife. It is because you killed her.”

“I would have killed her anyway!”

Your eyes narrow and sneer at Alastor’s jovial exclamation. Jovial as if those words would erase all your shimmering anger. “Yet, you killed her when she was in the midst of threatening me. Do you not see the problem with that?”

“Not particularly!”

Finding your anger to be mounting up, you release frustration through your fists. Leather gloves on your hand whine with the force. “Young people like you never do.” You find a floating speck of dust in the corner by the antler coat-rack to glare at. “It is meaningless having conversations sometimes.”

The grin on Alastor’s face wilts at your eyes’ motions, never leaving though. He is unsure why that sentence hit him so hard. He placates, “I am sure that this one incident is not going to do the damage you think it will. There might be some rumors, yes. Some bull sessions but nothing that should cause you worry, I assure!”  

You ruminate on that. The Radio Demon has been going after strong, minacious Overlords since his manifestation. This could be overlooked rather easily; or, it could be scrutinized to death until they point at you, declaring you under contract with the Radio Demon. You never make contracts.

A beautifully haunting cry of please I’m sorry aaaaah plays in the studio and you almost judge that Alastor is using his monstrous instrument to actually apologize to you. It is as close to guilt you will get from Alastor. With a sigh, you relent.

“Make sure if you are going after Overlords, it is not the one I am trifling with.”

“Ab-so-lutely dearie! A slip up on my part! Now, I do believe this musical number has gone on quite long enough.” You nod your agreement at the double meaning. As long as he heeds your words, you two are quite done talking for the day. You make a move to leave and a single red claw rises in a ‘one second please’ motion. “Though, I do have quite interesting news to report for today. I would not mind an extra ear in the studio.”

Suspicious eyes narrow, the orange eyelashes of yours tightening down. Your interludes often cause him to scheme up something, and you already have one foot rotated towards the trap-door to escape that scheme. “I’m sure that I can hear it all on my radio at home.”

“But, (Name), this is where the magic happens! The piece de resistance of radio broadcasting! I urge you to join me.” 

“Alastor.”

“I would be most honored.” He even slides a few inches on the couch to make room for you. His shadowman manifests an inky black bow, wisps of dark magic curling and congealing into a solid tool. With a presenter flourish, the shadow runs it across four ivory strings. A harmonizing AAAAHHH and EEEEEEEE and  AAAAAAA and PLEASEEEEE billows up in the studio. “Most honored,” he repeats through the discordance of that one long, screeching note.

What do you have to do today? A trip to the market to restock the refrigerator or  a visit to the tailor? The answers to those are: no and no. Alastor’s grin grows as he watches you, all his yellow teeth on display, as you struggle to find an excuse to leave. It is really important that you restock on that blend of tea that a guest of yours liked in case he dropped in unexpectedly – ugh, who were you kidding?

“I’m not here to participate; I will listen and nothing more,” you say, squeezing yourself onto the couch. Your posture is impeccable and you fold gloved hands in your lap with sophistication. “Nothing more.”

With the expression of a cat who got the cream, Alastor turns back to his broadcast station. His fingers piano across his mechanical instruments, changing frequencies with flips of switches and pushes of buttons. Technology is such a headache for you that you wilt away from watching him. 

The shadowman finishes his performance as Alastor finishes with his soundboard. In a passive motion, the last notes of the symphony dies and the throat of a previous Overlord grows as quiet as a cemetery. Alastor … does not pick up the paper on his desk. 

Before you can process that, he is speaking animatedly into his cane, “Dear listeners, I would like to announce a very special guest who will be joining me on our broadcast. Hell’s Beldam, an apostate to God, your favorite Overlord, (Name).” You glare as he holds out his cane to you, silently urging you to say hello to his listeners. 

♫♪.ılılıll|̲̅̅○̲̅̅|̲̅̅=̲̅̅|̲̅̅○̲̅̅|llılılı.♫♪

The first time you ate meat that came from a more intelligent source of flank, it was to appease Rosie. You still remember how she held your trembling wrist, tender like a mother, and guided a fork of a prime cut a human’s tendon joint to your quivering mouth. Soft, gentle words whispered to you: if you wish to survive, you must adopt a paleolithic diet and attitude, love. You have a much steadier hand now as your fork and knife glide through the maroon filet.

“-- and we should have a delivery for that sweet girl in the next week or so. Franklin, you tell her that I want her eating but the most wrinkled brains and most youthful muscles during her pregnancy. None of that cheap stuff for that sweet thing. And I know her husband can foot the bill. Now, there’s an idea … feet … where’s my?” 

Lifting a forkful to your lips, you watch as Rosie twirls around in the open doorway. She pats her hips twice, frustrated and glancing around her bedroom. You were once surprised that Rosie conducted meetings in her personal chambers – just a testimony to how friendly the Overlord is. Finding her notepad, she starts to scribble on it and return to the doorway.

All you watch now is the plumes of pink and black feathers on her hat as they sway with her animated motions. “Franklin! Franklin! How does pinkie toes wrapped in crescent rolls; a rendition on pigs-in-a-blanket! Franklin? Franklin!” You startle when the Overlord takes her fist and pounds it on her door. “Franklin, please, tell those girls to turn down the radio!”

She turns to you, apologetic in her gestures. “Those sweet girls. I thought they would tire of it after the first quinquennial but they’re still going strong with it.”

You smile warmly, still chewing on your previous bite. Those girls were very devoted in their attendance to The Radio Demon’s broadcasts. Gathered amorously around the radio in the parlor, you amusedly watched their shuffling bodies push close to the radio wires, blushing prettily behind delicately painted fans, before you went up to Rosie’s. Once, a brave girl aged about fifteen gave you her fan – a scene of carnations and butterflies painted on it – and politely asked you to get a signature from The Radio Demon on it. When you returned it, you swear stars lit up her eyes.

You go in for another bite as Rosie turns back to peeking her head outside the door. She listens for either Franklin’s voice or the decreasing volume of the radio. Still Alastor’s voice stays strong, sultry and theatrical, as if he is personally standing in the downstairs parlor talking to everyone. 

“Christ on a cross,” Rosie curses, a delicate hand touching her cheek in surrender. She steps back into the room, scribbling away and closes the door behind her, allowing you two privacy. “Now, do not get me wrong, (Name), that young gentleman is charming but to have all my best girls acting so cockeyed. It’s tiring.”

Rosie finishes with penning her meal idea and sets it on her dresser. A white curl of hair is tucked behind her ear and a sigh escapes her. You offer up your condolences, “Maybe you just have to wait for the decade instead of the quinquennial to pass. I’ve seen those girls switch fancies like a woman with her shoes.”

At least this time you get a small chuckle instead of such despondent looks or sounds. Regaining herself, her teeth make an appearance, springing up into a flashy smile. In a look of thoughtfulness, she puts a finger on her chin. “Perhaps you are right. Though, can we say the same for you?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” you defend, knowing exactly what she means. This is the exact situation you were hoping to avoid until that cursed man had to swoop in where he was not wanted.

“All I am saying is that Alastor’s voice is not the only voice that I’ve been hearing in my emporium. Speaking of which,” Rosie pulls a letter from her pocket. “Helen wants to know if you can deliver this to Alastor. Little lady has been bitten by the love-bug like an implanting tick! I believe he struck up a conversation with her at the tailor.”

You gracefully take the love letter. The plain white letter has Radio Demon written on its front in elegant scripture and … oh, that is a nice touch … and is fixed together with a wax stamp of a buck’s head with golden antler. Green and gold are a refined color combination. “If I run into him, he will surely receive it.” With a snap, a flame runs itself up the love letter, consuming it and vomiting it out on the desk you have at home. 

“If I run into him, they say,” Rosie repeats with a giggle. She takes her seat and folds her hands over her lap. “I will then assure Helen that her letter will see Alastor within the week.”

“Climb off it.”

“Oh I most definitely will not!”

“Rosie.” 

“You know that you are the only living and willing guest that has ever spoken on his broadcasts. Though, I’m not too sure if the screams he has playing in his ether are living or not. Certainly not willing though!”

“I am not so willing either. I come to discuss business, he pulls me into his broadcast. I go to get a bite from the street, there he is with his microphone.”

“Oh so the shoe is on the other foot. He is smitten with you?”

“No one is smitten with anyone.”

Rosie remains unconvinced. “Dear, you know love is my speciality! If you ever need a listening ear or some advice, you just tell Rosie and I’ll –”

You try to burn harshness out of your throat, truly you do. Despite your best efforts, the words that you say next are coated in hostility wrongfully aimed at the cannibal. “It’s not love. It will never be love. Especially not with me.” 

That finally snaps Rosie out of her teasing. Her warmthful attitude is watered down and a fretful hand rises over to her black lips. Uncomfortable, you try to shrink away from those regretful eyes. You pick up another bite you had cut off the filet, chewing furiously. Rosie tries not to make it obvious but it is fruitless. Her eyes conveniently fall down to the sight of your plate, the space where your hands sit and thus, in addition, to your ungloved digits, your wedding band. The inscription is on the inside of the band, never revealed to any Overlord or Sinner, the words sweetly engraved: Two bodies, one heart. 

“(Name), I’m sorry.”

You swallow. The raw regret in her voice feels like a high-pitched whining frequency in your ear, causing you to wilt. You fold your hands over one another, hiding your wedding band from sight. Orange eyelashes flicker with all the insects and bugs of emotion crawling over your skin. “Can we simply turn matters of discussion towards what I came here for?”

“Of course,” Rosie breathes out. She picks up the folder on the table, leaving her own plate untouched for the time being. A bit of rustling and fluttering distracts you. “Here … and here.” Rosie sets down the papers.

“The population of Cannibal Town is 2254. Since the last monthly visit of yours, only three people have died. Leroy D., Ruth T., and Mieszko M. – Leroy was eaten by his wife, Ruth ate a bad spleen and she got food poisoning, and Mieszko got killed in the crossfire of a turf war. We welcomed one new Sinner about a week ago. This gentleman named Wayne, from California, was a serial cannibal. He actually has this funny –” Rosie wilts under your look. She admends her previous gossip by continuing, “Ahem, and this is the population of Cannibal Town as of now. 2254. No less and no more.”

“No strange sightings or break-ins?”

“None for this month.” 

“No rumors of anything suspicious?”

“Not for what you are looking for, dear,” Rosie says apologetic. 

“No one has seen anything out of the ordinary? No unfamiliar persons at all,” you press.

Rosie only gives you a gloomy shake of her head. Forlorn, you rest your forehead onto the hand resting on your knee, a sigh escaping you like stubborn smoke. You actually have to take a moment to yourself, crawling away into the realm of your mind.

With Extermination coming so close … You two were two separate bodies but joined in your hearts … If anyone knew he was alive, it would be you. Yet, despite that connection that twines you together, you have not been able to locate him. His second pulse rested in your ribcage, a bit weak but still there. Rosie moves to put a hand to your shoulder as she sees you slip into a cavern of dark thoughts but stops when she remembers that you hate being touched. You have to find him. 

“Thank you, Rosie.” You open one eye, ignoring the fullness of your waterline, and give her a sad smile. Her hand hovers but never lands. “I appreciate that you do this for me.”

“No worries, (Name). Cannibal Town is close knit after all. I promise if I see anything, you will be alerted first.”

It is a foolish but friendly effort of her to try and quench the fire in your eternal, damned soul.

♫♪.ılılıll|̲̅̅○̲̅̅|̲̅̅=̲̅̅|̲̅̅○̲̅̅|llılılı.♫♪

The heartbeat of soft pittering rain joins the consonant voice on the radio. Your umbrella (material eaten like a leaf under the consumption of a caterpillar) sits by the doorway, leaking the residue of acid rain onto your carpet. You hear another noise too: the steady flow of a turned on faucet. One of your servants is already washing the cherries in preparation. Shredding your ebon cloak, you venture into a home that is intruded by an uninvited guest you cannot ask to leave.

At least turn on the lights, if you invite yourself in, you think. You raise a finger up, sparking the flames inside lanterns as you go. Like fireflies awoke, they stirred in your presence. You enter the parlor when he is dramatically sitting in the shadows. A thespian until death and beyond.

On the radio, surprisingly in harmony with the acid rain pounding outside, the voice of thespian narrates: “Road crews have shut down all streets in all directions due to an ongoing turf war. So if you are looking to go anywhere, do NOT.”

You have another dramatic thespian to deal with though, separate from the Radio Demon. A finger of yours points skyward and a spark leaps off it, the three-tiered rings of candles on the chandelier stirring to life. You fix him with a vexed look, eyes narrowing. 

You close the heavy doors behind you. Trapping him in there with you. Trapping you in there with him.

“So, we just come in uninvited now, Zestial?”

Zestial ignores you. He takes a loud sip of his tea, his four neon green eyes focused on the radio. His legs are elegantly folded and he looks as deadly as a weapon left unattended in the house of an alcoholic. His presence is perfumed with the scent of nightmares. 

The Overlord has already set up his chess board, his side black and your white. Some residues of souls trapped in the pieces cause them to shift from an eggshell to an ivory white or from violet-black to charcoal. The rooks are particularly restless it seems, their imprisoned souls leaking through the pointed tips of their pieces and shaking on the board. 

On the radio, Alastor animatedly speaks, his voice almost cracking boy-like in his enthusiasm.

“He is good for thou,” Zestial says, nodding towards where the radio sits above your empty fireplace. 

“I have indulged in this subject one too many times this month. Not again.” 

To you, he is not good for you. He is a dog playing around in the forest of wolves, ignorant of the biological differences. He is going to get a reality check of one these days and find himself making a deal that will metamorphosis into his own hands being shackled. Just like Husk. 

You shift when the door of the parlor is knocked upon. You know that you told your servants to always obey the whims of a guest, but you always like to be there to medicate between the three volatile imp brothers and Zestial. “Enter.” You are relieved to see it is Lucius who opens the door, bowl of water-dotted fruit in hand. 

“Master.” The oldest of the three brothers bows deeply at the pleasurable sight of you. You can pick up the tiniest hint of relief in his voice too. He extends the bowl out of you, “I have the cherries that Sir Zestial has asked for.”

“Thank y–”

“The boy can deliver it to thee himself.” 

You snatch up the bowl before Lucius can even register the words. If you were a porcupine, quills would most certainly be raised. Austerity paints your voice.

“You are dismissed. Tell Agnar and Mars to go to their bedrooms and set up a light novel for me.” You two break apart as you turn back to Zestial, glaring. As soon as the door is closed, you say, “You know that a hair harmed on them is the equivalent of you attacking and threatening me.”

“There was no such thing.” Zestail sets down his saucer of tea. You eye it, wondering which one of the imps had to serve him. You mourn not coming home sooner as Zestial picks a cherry out of the bowl you set down. Taking a seat, you listen to his amends, “Thou employs a capable collective.”

“They’re not for sale.”

“Not a collective thee would seek company in.” You eye the board silently. “I believe we hast started out on the wrong foot. The Angelic Extermination is encroaching.”

♫♪.ılılıll|̲̅̅○̲̅̅|̲̅̅=̲̅̅|̲̅̅○̲̅̅|llılılı.♫♪

Corinthians 6:18.

Flee from sexual immorality. 

After years and years and years, the night was still vivid in your head. The names and faces of your parents had dissolved through the sieve of time, irrelevant. You kept that night’s memory tight to you, shielding it away from the assault of time, remembering and remembering, reliving and reliving it so you would never forget it. Cauterizing a thousand images of that night into yourself until it was all you knew and breathed: the feel of him inside as you took him against his will, the softness of her as you forced a knife up and up into her womb, the warmth of blood as you offered yourself to whatever deity would listen to the bleats of a lamb, begging for their justice. 

All other sins a person commits are outside the body, 

You knew blood intimately. Squished juices of it flowed down your inner thighs. You collapsed into your mother’s arms, trembling and worrying over what the apple-red liquid meant, until you were taught this experience was an experience all women knew. You learned the taste of blood. In dizzying motions, it swam like a tadpole in your mouth until you spit on the kitchen floor, mouth dripping with it and apologies. You felt the satisfaction that came from drawing blood from someone else. In and out his stomach. In and out her vulva. The liquor of life spilling out, you knew it intimately. 

But whoever sins sexually,

Lucius prepares the light novel. He cleans the tools and tightens the straps. When you eventually descend after your meeting with Ziestal, he offers you a baselard, a short sword, first. The weight of it is tangible in your hand, reliable and non-slippery like memories or blood. You may have been cursed with a putrid body but she got dealt worse.

Sins against their own body.

♫♪.ılılıll|̲̅̅○̲̅̅|̲̅̅=̲̅̅|̲̅̅○̲̅̅|llılılı.♫♪

“A love letter to keep you warm during Extermination,” you smile, offering up the letter to Alastor. 

You two collide at the butcher shop, famished for a bite. Relenting to his whims, you let Alastor excitedly point out his favorites for this week’s selection, the shark teeth in his mouth moving a mile a minute. You even let him tip up your chin to hand feed you his concoction of summer sausage, honey pineapple mustard, and farmhouse cheddar slices. If he has a tail he is hiding, it must have wagged fast at your praises over his food combination. With both of your baskets full, you two left the butcher shop, your youngest servant following. Then, you presented him with Helen’s love letter.  

His red eyes widen considerably. Behind the both of you, your servant is having a similar reaction, staring like he is a blind man gifted sight. A buzz of static drips into the space between you and Alastor, his gloved hand dipping down to collect the letter. 

“How kind of you, (Name). I suppose all is forgiven?”

“For the matters of the Overlord? Yes. I can put that behind us as long as there is not a repeat of events.”

“Good. I would hate to disrupt the delicate balance we have,” Alastor mutters. He is starting to observe the letter, checking its front and back. The gold and green wax seal is very classy, nice touch, (Name). Though, your hand must have cramped at the end because the front does not look like your handwriting. Also Radio Demon? Why not Alastor? “We have to tread so carefully in our waltz.”

You laugh at his words, making the demon wilt. Alastor? Careful? He was completely without any tact and his fake humanitarianism was like an ill-fitting suit with buttons bursting at the seams. You see right through him. He was a man excited and overjoyed with his eternity, hungering for it. Between laughter, hand up to cover your smile slightly, you say, “Oh yes, of course. We have to be very careful.” 

Alastor sours at your words. He had meant to sound poetic, not comedic. 

He puts his thumb over the edge of the envelope, letting shadows consume it and leave it on the couch in his radio tower. He is a bit anxious about what you wrote to him. Fixing his suit, he admonishes, “We should always be cautious in a world such as this. Ah, just at midnight, we will have a rainstorm of death approaching us!” Alastor gestures a hand out to the red pentagram in the sky.

“Yet, I assume you will be out in it, broadcasting?”

“Rain or shine, I go where entertainment is, dear!”

“Like a moth to fire.” Not entirely cautious despite your previous statement, you think fondly.

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“Precisely!” His yellow teeth are whet in his snarling black gums. “Why, I am a bit mournful to not be up there as the Cold War goes on – why, that would have been quite a broadcast! I just read in the papers that those brave men upstairs have tested this thermonuclear device about a few thousands miles off the coast of Hawaii. A workshop of bombs made by idle hands – how novel!”

“Do you think the Soviet Union will fire first?”

“One can never be too sure with these things. It is a dime throw!” Alastor materializes a dime, weaving it between his ebony hands and red claws. “Heads or tails?”

“To what?” You watch the dime in his hand (...)

“Why, to see if we will survive this Extermination and live to greet 1951?”

That seems to sober you up considerably. (...)

“As they say, beware an old man in a profession where men usually die young.”

“I taught you that phrase when I introduced the two of you.”

“My apologies. As the Belam says, beware,” you whack him on the shoulder and both of you share a laugh. (...)

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♫♪.ılılıll|̲̅̅○̲̅̅|̲̅̅=̲̅̅|̲̅̅○̲̅̅|llılılı.♫♪

“Helloooo! Anybody home?”

The fire enveloping the Belam’s house raises itself up like the fingers of a child, pitching to reach the out-of-reach candy on the top shelf. Relentless and acrimonious, it burns in a glowing wave of white and amber, a warning to not come close. Alastor challenges the roaring fire with those words, arms crossed behind his back and his imprisonment of cheer present on his lips.

Ignoring or ignorant of his presence, the fire does not stir beyond its usual waving and billowing pattern. It continues to chew on the mansion exterior, from the window trims to the roof gable to foundation. Alastor had anticipated – or more correctly, was looking forward to – some reaction, perhaps a forceful flare of flames as it grew in size. The fire continues, devoted in the motions of burning, not wavering into less or more strength. 

Somberly, Alastor removes a hand off his cane. Exuding droplets of your door knocker climb down the wood like snot. It is still slightly usable. Alastor wraps his hand around the soft ring of metal hanging from the lion’s mouth. He lifts it up. Slippery metal indents to his hand’s shape and, as he goes to knock again, the door is suddenly opened.  

Startling a bit, he is quick to flick the liquid metal off his gloves, wanting to be presentable. Alastor grins wider as the innards of your humble home are revealed to him. Is he getting further than Zestial did, he wonders with excitement. 

The first sign that anything is amiss after the Extermination is the wound on Zestial’s face.

Ah. Perhaps not, he thinks as he locks eyes with one of your imp servants, brows creasing. 

Alastor tries to rack his mind, smile strained. He has been in your lovely presence many times. With you often comes a shadow. However, the shadow has three variations without easily identifiable features such as diverse horn shapes. All your lousy, low class company shared the horns of a hebridean sheep – an obnoxious, gross shape. Which one is this? With his height, he might be –

Before Alastor can guess, the imp speaks. He has his arms crossed over his chest, glaring up at the taller demon. “The Master is not receiving guests at this time, Radio Demon.” 

Oh, it is the one who does not like him! Lucius! 

Cheerful at his gained knowledge, Alastor says boisterously, “Now now, dear chump, that is no way to send away unwanted company! Why, I elect for a much firmer tact!” A black gloved hand wraps around Lucius’s arm, squeezing above the elbow. 

“By using physical strength, we notice a change in power dynamic. Then, we should work on your voice. The Master is NOT–” Alastor’s voice drops into a dark static octave, “receiving guests at this time. Emphasize, young man; it is the key to conversing as I have found in my time as a radio host. The most powerful instrument we have is our voice! And, to respond to your statement (because conversing clearly is key too!), I would say –”

Alastor suddenly pulls, causing Lucius to stumble as his palm is inches away from the porch’s foundation. Alastor uses that praised emphasis in a non-verbal way, gaining a few inches in height. His lanky body stretches unnaturally, the corners of his mouth grossly inching up. “I am coming in, no matter what your Master says, you fucking, insignificant IMP.”

Letting Lucius drop to the ground, Alastor laughs and steps in, having fun. He takes the hand that was behind his back and brings it to his front, smiling at his cane. Finger on the pulse point of the pyle microphone, the Radio Demon calls over his shoulder, “Firm tact next time!” Now will that little stunt bring you out or will he need to do more?

“Where is your Master, Lucius?” Alastor asks breezily into the heat radiating off the burning walls. As he walks, he sends glances around the mansion. 

His luxurious stroll grinds to a halt when the cool touch of a weapon hits his nape. If pouting were a possibility, his lips would be pulled into the most childish frustrated pout. Lean body twisting, he sends a glance over his shoulder to see Lucius holding a gun to his throat. 

“Exactly what I was talking about! Firmer tact!”

Alastor’s tone is like a father proud that his son has adopted the correct baseball swing after numerous failed attempts. Lucius’s eyes narrow into a glare, amber sclera shining brightly and rivaling the glow of the fire eating your mansion’s walls. He hisses out his previous statement (“The Master is not receiving guests at this time, Radio Demon.”) as his tail whips up and down wrathfully.

The collective you keep is quite cute. He is still trying to unearthing how these three fearless, loyal brothers fell into your unfriendly hands. The oldest is especially fond of you; Alastor has wondered if you noticed the crush Lucius harbors towards you. If he takes a bite out of the ill-tasting imp, will that lure you into the opening?

“Now, Lucius,” the gun presses deeper into Alastor’s fourth cervical bone, “I think it is the right time to stop acting like I am unwanted company. You yourself have seen how your Belam looks at me.”

The gun is fired.

When a weapon is fired, a change of moods is often a natural following event. These said moods can turn even volatile when someone has previous history with being at the receiving end of a gun. 

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The ‘X’ stamped on the center of Alastor’s forehead glows a vicious crimson. (...)

“They’re in the parlor,” Agnar interrupts. If the Radio Demon has not been burnt out, then it must be that some part of you wants to meet with him. He might not understand it but he is not enveloped in a cloud of envy like his older brother, thus he can see it perfectly and clearly. “The door is unlocked.”

Alastor turns, red sclera returning with a blink. His eyes upturn and a pleased grin tugs his features into something with a centimeter less malice than it held before. “Good dog,” Alastor says, and taps the head of his cane on Agnar’s shoulder. 

THIS SECTION WILL CONTINUE SMOOTHLY

Alastor brushes past Lucius with a sycophant grin, static laugh track bouncing off him along the way.  Well, it is an ideal turn of events that he does not have to harm one of your imp servants to get you to come out. The palpable glare bruising on his back tickles Alastor as his everlasting static feedback laughs and laughs.

He sends a few amused glances to the walls. Melting iron cascades down overheated lanterns and portrait frames hold nebulous black mouths in them. Perhaps, you heard it all. He did not know the extension of what you could do – were you engulfing this entire place or was there a physical form or mental consciousness in the parlor as your imp said? Wasting no time, he pushes open the entrance to that very room, thrilled to see what could possibly lie beyond.

The design is quite modern from what Alastor can make out in the covering curtains of fire you had thrown throughout your house. There is still that outdated chandelier from whatever time period he has yet to figure out. It now hangs down instead of up like congealing stalactites of silver. 

His eyes draw down to the long table surrounded by one chesterfield couch and a twin set of club chairs. Blackened and concave like melted sugar. The back of the chesterfield blocks the fireplace which roars loudly. Alastor takes a moment to notice the radio above the crashing riptide of fire that your inglenook churns with. Melted, unfortunately. His eyes squint in displeasure. You lay nude and supine on the ground.

He knocks fruitlessly on the parlor door, announcing a presence already known. You do not glance away from the downturned blades of a chandelier liquefying into a reverse mirror of itself. Alastor steps in and you do not stir. 

Come now, (Name), do not be such a bore. The Radio Demon steps into the room. 

“Now, they say the best medicine is laughter! Though, that was snipped from a Proverb and we are, delightfully, trapped in Hell. Sooo,” Alastor sits on the table, crossing legs and holding his cane in folded hands “So I think the next best medicine is a bit of crying! Thus, may I suggest a night on the town, terrorizing the screams and tears out of Sinners and Overlords alike?”

You glance at Alastor, especially since he is holding out his cane’s head to you, waiting for a reply. The energy to muster up a glare or any form of reply is popping and crackling around the two of you. Thus, you stare silent at the theatrical man. 

“Hello,” Alastor brings the cane to his teeth. “Is this thing on?” He taps it with a claw, pops of static thumping with each delicate hit. “No, I think I’m good! Excellent! (Name)!” 

And with a sudden jerk, he spreads his legs and leans his body forward towards you, face hovering over yours. His teeth hang over you like a crescent moon, glowing. “If you would give me the pleasure, I would like to conduct an interview with Hell’s Beldam. Have you seen them around by chance?” 

“…”

“Come now, dear. I am a radio host, not a comedian. And as a radio host, I rely on the conversations that I can have with my audience!” 

Slightly dejected with your blank staring, he sends a scrutinizing gaze over your nude body. People change upon entering Hell. You were no different from him. An unknown being had taken the worst parts of your death and made them prominent in your physical form. 

There is still an outline of where you end and the flame circling the house begins. One of your hands rests on your ribcage between the large globes of your breasts; the other with the wedding band lies across your forehead. Absent of a nose or a moving mouth, blank white eyes highlighted by orange eyelashes reveal the most expressions you can give. Your form is thin, the black of your ribcage is seen under the roaring fire that is your skin. Between your legs lies a thick, inhuman phallus and vulva – both separate human genitals. Your legs are shapely and curvy in that perfect feminine allure. 

He is still unsure of what circumstance led to this being your physical form. The wedding band is currently the most intriguing part of you. He had no idea you were married. Mystery enshrouds even what your crimes could have possibly been in the living world –

“Radio Demon, what do you live for?” Your voice sounds like the crunching and popping of a thousand branches. It is distorted like you are trying to speak over a campfire that has grown too tall and too wide. 

“Why! Entertainment, of course!” He spins back to a sitting position, crossing his legs and perfecting his posture. “I live for the Shakespearen entertainment of a stage! Divertissement, as the French say! Why I became an Overlord just for the very notion to be more entertained!”

“I live for revenge.”

[itsmaferart]

SxF · Chapter 56 · · · Family Vacation

I have been analyzing some chapters of the Spy x Family manga, because it seems to me that it has very interesting details to interpret. I clarified that these analyzes are made from my own point of view, so you are free to have a different opinion. I am based on the content of the manga, and much of what I say here are theories and reflections. And being a story that is in print, events can change and contradict each other. With that said, let's get started.

This is possibly one of the most beloved chapters by fans, for giving us the Forger family vacations.At the beginning of the chapter, we can see our dear Anya excited by the arrival on the tourist island.

Like the daughter, like the father!

The best thing about this is that we can appreciate the abilities of the Starlight agent Anya to observe, analyze and find the weak point of the Twilight agent, and apply a complex manipulation strategy. Apparently the telepath has learned very well from her own father. So the king of lies and manipulations has just been manipulated for his own 6 (4 year old) daughter.

Anya: Papa's so easy!

I love Twilight's blush of embarrassment!

Yor finally manages to reunite with her family, and enjoy her short vacation with her husband and daughter. Having fun and somewhat...dangerous moments

At the end of the chapter there are MANY to highlight

1 · Mutual purpose:

Something important in this arc is how Yoru's conflict is presented to us as she has to make an inevitable choice between her job and her fake family. Although the Forger family started as a cover to be an assassin. With the passing of time, Yoru has realized the happiness that being part of a family gives her. That is why now, having a Shopkeeper position with a higher level of demand and danger than she is used to makes her realize that sooner or later she will have to question what her true priority is. Leading Yor to question "what is his true purpose?"

Interestingly, when Yor has talked (subtly) about his work with Twilight. We notice how indirectly he is attracted by those words. It's as if Yor has the ability to express what Twilight can't admit in front of them for fear of revealing his identity and opening up emotionally. So it could be said that it is a scene where they share a special bond, despite the fact that they do not know it.

I don't know if you remember, but before, we have already seen a similar scene. In chapter 3, which in my opinion, makes a certain parallel with this chapter.

In both scenes Yor indirectly speaks of her own job perspective. And although she had to lie during the cruise so that Loid would not find out that she was in a battle between assassins. She can't hide his look of genuine satisfaction.

When we look at the initial Yoru, and do a retrospective of the arc in the cruise. We see the clear contrast between the motivations and the desires that being a murderer represents. Apparently, while Yuri was growing up and began to be economically independent from Yoru. She began to lose the sense of her work. But she doesn't seem to want to admit this. So she began to depend on her job to feel that she was good at something. Yor has always felt out of place with the world around her, and although she looks naive and somewhat clueless, she was aware of how unusual it can be, so the idea of ​​aspiring to a normal life would be impossible. This obvious insurance gap is the reason she became exhausted from her job and even lost.

But after this battle against the rival group of assassins, Yor began to understand that she became an assassin because she has a valued value to protect- The peaceful life!

It's interesting how Yor's perspective on her work evolves as the story progresses, and while Yor still has a lot to learn, it's clear that something has changed. We know that the reason behind Yor's assassination job was to ensure Yuri's future. She doesn't really care about the political background or ideals that Garden (or other organizations have), she just wants Yuri and innocent people to have a quiet life. Even if it means she never has one

When Yor started to wonder about "being a murderer is more important than having a fake family" is when Yor loses her own center at times, not knowing what is really important to her.

It's great, to see how in the end she understands that both aspects are important, they are part of her, and one motivates the other. Yor understood that she fights to defend something "that she believes in" and wants to protect, even if she needs to dirty her own hands, and even if she must risk losing the Forger Family. But that sacrifice will be worth it as long as she can ensure that there is a peaceful world for Yuri, Loid, Anya and Bond. (Although she does not know his secrets). It will annihilate those people who want to get rich at the cost of causing another war that will take away the happiness of the most precious thing.

The family is more important than being a murderer, but she will continue to be a murderer to protect this family.

Yor's satisfaction in finding "balance" and "meaning" in her work is felt in this scene. Killing or making money is not his purpose, nor his motivation, it is the joy that comes from seeing Anya and Loid being happy, and seeing Yuri grow much more as a professional every day. And she wants to make the most of this even if the day comes when she has to part with them.

. . . .

On the other hand is Twilight....

It's funny how Twilight had this time the supporting role during a battle. Since generally this is Yoru's role in other arcs. Even so, there are very subtle but very relevant details in it:

In previous posts I talked about how Twilight's look was an indication of when her emotions are real.

They are those small, almost imperceptible spaces where he becomes sincere even if he doesn't realize it. Curiously, these moments occur frequently when he is with his family, in fact, many of these looks have been when Yor is together. Quite possibly, these events are due to the way in which both identify.

Yor and Twilight come from very opposite circumstances, developing different personalities. But, the way they come to find their own reflection in the other. And this is what allows that when one exposes an honest and authentic side, the other can understand it perfectly and share it.

Meanwhile, in mission 3, Yor talks about "seeing other people makes her think about how her work contributes to their lives", while Twilight absently watches a group of children. Which coincides perfectly with Twilight's purpose of "a world where children don't cry", the happiness of the most defenseless has been the first motivator for Twilight to continue in his purpose in the same way as Yor. For this spy and assassin, their only reward has been to see the indirect results of their work, accepting that no one can know the truth of what they do.

It's similar to this time Twilight looking at Yor, because he too wants this peaceful life to endure in time.

But being more personal:

The Strix mission has allowed the two of them to experience "this happiness". A simple, quiet life, but full of valuable moments, what is special is not what they "do" but the people you are with.

While Yor seems to accept her fake family as something real and special to her, becoming one of the reasons why she must continue fighting in order to give her family a better world. It shows that although both are lying, and using each other. The reasons why he does that is because of the genuine desire to give the other a better life.

And while Twilight tries to appear immune to these feelings, scenes like the one below prove otherwise.

Later, we see one of the scenes most adored by us fans and that is to see Yor fall asleep on the shoulder of her fake husband due to the exhaustion she carries from so many days of endless battle.

Your whole world is in your hands, Twilight!

I think it's important to point out how Twilight and Yor never downplay each other's work, despite having no idea of ​​their true professions. Yor believes that Loid is a psychiatrist, but he always notices how tired it is for Loid to get home from work and still fulfill household duties, and the stress he shows in his whole body.

But in this arc, we appreciate how Twilight feels that Yor's work is difficult, exhausting, (and that she clearly misses her), respects her time, believing that she is just a city hall official. And the smile of pride and appreciation when seeing, that despite being close to giving up due to fatigue, she dedicated her whole day to sharing with Anya. This smile is not an obligation, he is not playing the role of "the good husband" in front of anyone. There is no reason to think about Yor at that moment. But he does it because he wants to

It is clear that when both disconnect from their work and allow themselves to enjoy the moment. They both feel happy, comfortable and connected to each other. Both recognize and respect each other, although they are unaware of the true sacrifices they make on a daily basis.

My reflections…

I think the most remarkable thing in these chapters is how Endo makes the aspector more aware of all the ties that unite the Forgers, and the authenticity of their feelings and their constant process of learning and exploration. Convincing us that they are a true family when they are united. But, in each Forger's individual perspective, they remain trapped within their own bubble of lies. Feeling alone, misunderstood, carrying their own weight. Although lies are the reason they are together, it is also what separates them. Because no one realizes that everything they need, they already found

Although I have seen people think that Yoru has not evolved at all despite this arc. I disagree with this idea: Yuro remains insecure about her role as mother and wife. In addition to the way it unfolds with the outside world. And although her nature is to be shy, nervous and sweet. She has clearly grown. This arc dealt with Yoru's "motivation" and the relationship that exists between her work and her family. Conflict that came to a teaching. Therefore, Yor is more motivated to continue with her aspirations. I think that her fear as a mother and wife is a topic that will be taken up again in the future.

I am glad that Yor understands the risks of being a murderer, and although she feels that in the future she can stop belonging to the Forgers, that does not limit her from making the most of her stay in the family and above all that this should not limit her own aspirations.

I think that Yor, step by step, must understand that she must not give her actions to others. Clearly, Garden (in antithesis to WISE) taught Yor to act without questioning anything, to only obey, and this would bring him benefit (money to raise her brother, and create a supposedly better world). She must understand that she must fight for her own desire and motivation, and not depend solely on Yuri, the Forgers and especially Garden. Each aspect is important and part of her life, she must create her own criteria and set her own limits, and with it, begin to trust herself. But this will surely be something he learns over time as future arcs go by. (Especially with the appearance of Melinda)

Also....

Twilight and Yor are not enemies, regardless of what their organizations think. They pursue the same goal, and are willing to make the same sacrifices. But also, they both yearn deep down for the love that was taken from them (the love of a family), a love that accepts you and motivates you to improve.

And if at some point in the story, they become openly on opposite sides: It's not because they're bad guys, villains or enemies. It will be due to prejudices, misunderstandings and fear that cause this conflict that may or may not occur (depending on the circumstances), caused by the truth that they do not know.

But it is evident that sooner or later, they will have to realize that in reality they both want the same thing: peace… a quiet life, and to see the smile on Anya's face.

.

.

.

I liked to analyze this chapter, because after chapter 66 perhaps for many we feel that the Forger's relationship will go down the wrong path. But I feel that seeing these chapters, we see that this false family will have to face changes, new obstacles to get stronger.

And although the truth seems painful and difficult to cope with at first, it can also be the cause for the Forger Family to become real in the future.

Special thanks to @yuushin7 for suggesting this review. I loved making it, and I hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoy writing it.

Although, this chapter has a bit of a confusing scene for readers who depend on translations, as it is not very clear "who is really" speaking. (@tare-chan made a clarification confirming that Yor is the one monologuing)

I appreciate your comments and opinions, and if you have a chapter as a suggestion, I would also like it :D

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What do you think about it?

[oveliagirlhaditright]

Found Treasure - A NeShiki AU fic

Summary: An AU where Neku and Shiki are Ben and Abigail from "National Treasure 2: Book of Secrets." Shiki loved Neku with all her heart... but when it became clear to her that, in some ways, he valued that big brain more than listening to her, she knew she had to end the relationship. But she gets pulled back into his world when he's bound and determined to clear his ancestor's name and needs her help to do it. And she might be starting to fall for him again, too. Because, after all, the adventure is fun. And even more than that, people DO change. Oneshot.

Found Treasure

Shiki's PoV

Shiki loved Neku with her whole heart. She did. But when it became more and more clear that in many ways, he valued his intelligence more than he did her—and would never ask her opinion on things, in being all assuming—she knew she had to break up with him.

And maybe in her heart of hearts, there had been a part of her hoping that he would change and they’d find their way back to each other—since he had touched her soul like no one else had—but she couldn’t waste her life waiting for a miracle. She had too much self-respect for that.

And so, Shiki had tried to move on. In fact, it was when she’d invited her new love interest over to her house for the first time that her and Neku’s lives would end up colliding again.

Neku had broken into her house with the key he’d yet to return to her… which surely would have been the biggest offense—if Shiki hadn’t noticed right away that he had Joshua working on something on her computer, and was trying to keep her from noticing it.

“Neku, are you kidding me?! You can’t just do these things anymore!” Shiki reprimanded her ex, stomping up to him in her little black dress and heels, and still one hundred percent being a force to be reckoned with even in this getup.

And Neku must have realized this, because he didn’t try to lie and pretend that he hadn’t tried to pull a wool over her eyes, or wasn’t at this very moment wasn’t using her government connections, but he just looked at her with despairing eyes and said, “Please, Shiki. You know how much my family’s name means me to me. And I think I found a clue to clear us. Just let me find it, and then I’ll be out of your way.”

Well, there was no way she could deny that, was there? Shiki had heard how Shiba Miyakaze had shown the world today that the Sakurabas had been part of the plan to assassinate Abraham Lincoln. And Shiki didn’t want to believe it for a second, so if Neku had found proof to show that he was lying… who was she to stand in his way? She knew that if it was her family that someone had said were linked to such an awful conspiracy, she’d be fighting it tooth and nail, too.

And, admittedly, she was curious to see how this turned out…

“Alright, Neku. Find this link. But then you really have to leave,” Shiki whispered, knowing that her date, Shuto, would be done looking at her collection from working in the museum any minute now, and would see that her ex was here and she was speaking to him.

Neku didn’t have to be told twice, and disappeared back into the den with Joshua after giving Shiki that heartbreaking smirk that had made Shiki fall in love with him in the first place. Though she refused to be pulled back in again, unless he changed. And she had yet to see that he really had. Though him being so thankful towards her again was definitely a start…

“Damn, Shiki!” Shuto exclaimed, as he joined her back in her living room, about just as soon as she’d assumed she would. And suddenly—despite how it would have ruined everything—Shiki found herself wishing that Neku would have seen Shuto, so he would have realized that she was on a date with someone else. She wondered if he would have been jealous. Or if he would have cared at all… “You weren’t kidding about the impressive presidential pin set that you have! I wish I had one like it!”

Shiki had to laugh at that, as she strode toward her current date and tried to put thoughts of her former love behind her.

“I also store all the best outfits that I’ve sewn right beside them, if you didn’t see that. I love my job as a curator. But sewing is definitely my favorite hobby, and I might have chosen a career there if things had gone differently.”

…

Shiki, in a million years, would have never thought that she would have ended up at Beckingham Palace—on another date with Shuto—at the same time that Neku happened to be there. Yes, she had once thought that the two of them might be soulmates… but seriously, what were the chances of this? Especially since Shiki thought she had done a pretty bang-up job of putting Neku behind her these past days, and she was actually starting to enjoy Shuto Dan’s company.

The museum curator would have been happy to pretend she’d never seen Neku and return her later, when he wasn’t at the location, if he hadn’t immediately recognized her and pulled her into a rather large argument that was completely out of character for him.

“Shiki… I just can’t believe you broke up with me and won’t even tell me why. And this coming from you: the girl who was always prattling on and on in my ear!”

Shiki was doing her very best not to react to this and create a bigger scene, but she’d be lying if she said she wasn’t irked. How dare Neku insult her for talking too much, like he had when they’d first met?! Didn’t he know how much saying such a thing would hurt her?!

And was he seriously saying he had no idea why she broke up with him? Wow: talk about even more proof that he didn’t listen to her and she was right in her decision.

“Oh, you are just so insulting,” Shiki shot back, trying not to be too loud, but still wanting him to hear her as she fought him, of course. “And if you’re still wondering why our relationship ended, then we never should have dated in the first place, Neku. You just don’t listen!”

“Oh, because I’m just always the wrong one in our relationship, aren’t I?” Neku spat. “Men always are... Kind of like how you think I’m wrong about my ancestor Isamu Sakuraba being innocent!”

Shiki was about to respond to that and remind him that she didn’t feel that way at all, because she’d let him use her computer for his ancestor’s sake, hadn’t she? When she looked Neku in the eye and it suddenly became very clear to her that this whole thing was an act. Oh. Was the next clue he needed to prove Isamu Sakuraba’s innocence here? Undoubtedly.

And if the way Neku was carrying on, it had to be in a place that was off limits to the general public… unless they made a scene. Well, if that was the case, Shiki found she definitely wanted to help him. But first she needed to get Shuto out of the way…

“Wow, you really dated this jerk?” Shuto asked incredulously, unknowingly giving Shiki the perfect excuse to send him away.

“Yes, unfortunately. And he- he seems drunk, doesn’t he? I’m afraid he’s going to do something stupid! Shuto, I left my purse in your car, that has my pepper spray in it. Do you mind going to get it in case I need it?”

“I-I guess,” Shuto said reluctantly, though it seemed to Shiki that he really didn’t want to do this and there were a lot of things he would have rather said here instead. But nonetheless, he was a gentleman and left to fulfill Shiki’s request.

“Alright, that’s enough you two,” a guard said as he took Shiki’s arm and then Neku’s. “We’re not having a confrontation like that in public. And we’re not having it get violent. If you’re determined to have an ex-lover’s spat, do it in private.”

“Hey, get your hands off of me! I have a right to defend myself!” Shiki protested, as she was led away, half-hamming it up and half-serious.

“You see? You see what I deal with? Thank you for defending me, at least,” Neku gave his own piece, as he was pulled away right behind her.

“Neku, go screw yourself!” Shiki bellowed, when they were both finally slammed into a cell.

“Not when you do it so well, honey,” Neku zinged.

Shiki stuck her tongue out at him. And though she knew Neku was really acting here, she was tempted to do much more. But she knew that would just make things worse for them and ruin their plan.

“Wow, do you two need couple’s therapy,” one of the guards said, shaking his head at them. “I’m going to give you two a minute to think things through, work it out, and if you don’t do that, I’m calling the police. If I were you, I’d really think about if whatever he or she did is worth time behind bars.” And then all of the guards were, miraculously, gone. That had to be a mistake… right?

But once they were, Shiki turned to Neku with a raised eyebrow. “Okay, Neku. What the hell is going on?”

“I have to get to the queen’s resolute desk…”

Shiki nodded her head, acting like this was the most natural thing in the world, even though it was of course anything but. “And you didn’t think you could try to tell me that through, I don’t know, Morse Code or something, before you gave me a heart attack in thinking you lost it?!”

That seemed to embarrass Neku for a second, that he didn’t think of that, and he hid behind his collar for a second before shrugging. “Didn’t really think about it. ‘Sides, it might have affected your acting, and I wasn’t sure if your new beau knew Morse Code or not. And things worked out well enough.”

“Sure they did, Neku. In case you haven’t noticed, we’re locked up! How are we supposed to get out of here, to-”

But before she had finished the sentence, the door to the cage swung open and Neku grabbed her hand and was leading her along.

“Sometimes, I hate that you and Joshua are friends,” Shiki complained. “He’s part of the reason you don’t put others first and think you’re infallible. But whatever, I guess. We’ll once again save this conversation for another time. Lead the way… Since I’m assuming we’re on a time crunch here.”

“Naturally, Chic. Is it fun in any other way?” Neku asked as he turned back to look at Shiki and offered her a small smile.

Despite herself, she couldn’t help but return it as the two of them began running together. “No, I guess not.”

And their maneuver to find the item that would help Neku proved to be fun in its own right, too. It turned out the queen’s resolute desk was half Japanese puzzle box, half desk. And Shiki and Neku ended up having to maneuver every which way to solve it. As a very clever girl, Shiki had to say that she enjoyed the brain tease and doing this sort of thing with Neku again. And she would even admit she liked this one moment where she had to be under Neku, so she could dial in a number via a tumbler as Neku told her the correct combination from above. She was only human, after all. The intense car chase they ended up in with Shiba in his men afterwards helped to make Shiki feel alive again, too.

So all of this was how Shiki once again found herself pulled back into Neku’s world, completely forgetting Shuto, and going with him to his last destination that seemed like it would take them to the City of Gold (the whole point of all of this, it seemed. Shiba had framed Neku’s ancestor just so he would help him find this), but Shiki didn’t want to get her hopes that it was said city just yet…

Except the moment that Shiki, Neku, his parents Koki and Uzuki, and Shiba were all trapped in a room filling up with water together, Shiki found herself wishing she’d never hoped that this was Eldorado. She was now certain it was, but at what cost? They were all going to drown for their knowledge of it!

“There’s no way we can all swim to the exit in time,” Koki said far too calmly, as far as Shiki was concerned. “The way this trap is designed, someone’s weight has to hold the lever down to keep the door open. And, yeah: the door stays open for a few seconds it looks like. But not fast enough for the person holding the door open to swim out. It’s meant for someone to sacrifice themselves.”

“Ugh!” Uzuki screamed, ripping her hair out before looking at everyone in turn. “Koki, swim over there and sacrifice yourself for your son, his lovely girl, and moi, your lovely ex-wife,” Uzuki cajoled, but Shiki could tell her heart wasn’t really in it. Whatever issue the two of them had been having, they’d since made up on this journey. And no doubt, she really wished Shiba would do this, but knew that he wouldn’t.

“No way, Mom,” Neku protested, immediately gaining Shiki’s attention as she turned to him with a sharp glance. “I’ll stay. I’m closest to the lever, anyway. And the longer we stay in here arguing, the room is filling up. Go.”

“Neku, absolutely- absolutely not!” Shiki protested, whilst she tried her best to swim to him. But it was getting hard to do so, as a wave rose up and tried to take her under: Neku was right. It was getting way too deep in here. “I- Okay, so I don’t regret my reasons for breaking up for you, and those are things we still need to work on, but I do regret that I ended the relationship. We could have tried to deal with it together. I love you, Neku. I just got you back. And I- I won’t lose you.

“And, damnit! You’re being sexist! I could totally sacrifice myself too, you know!” Shiki protested, having finally made it close enough to Neku so she could lean her forehead against his and press a hand to his cheek. She very much wanted to kiss him, too, but their lips were so close to being underwater, anyway, and unfortunately, there really wasn’t enough time for it.

“I bet you could, Chic,” Neku laughed, rising up and kissing her forehead. “But unfortunately, you really aren’t close enough. So go.”

“Neku,” Shiki whined, looking at her partner with tear-filled eyes. She didn’t care what he said. She didn’t. She would not leave him here. She would die with him, if she had to.

Except that Koki was already beginning to pull her away. Shiki shouted and tried to fight it, but it was no use, until-

“Now hold on, sheeple!,” said Shiba unexpectedly, as he pulled Shiki out of Koki’s arms and somehow sent her sprawling into Neku, so he was spinning away from the lever now.

“Shiba, what the hell are you doing?!” Neku protested. “If we keep this up, the weight of the water will be such that the door won’t even open! Do you want to drown?”

“Yes.”

“What?!” Everyone said at once. Shiki had not seen that coming, but perhaps she should have from someone who had already gone to these lengths to be famous. But to die over it?

“Well… no,” he swiftly corrected. “But I have no choice. Let’s be honest, Sakuraba. Your dinky arms could have never held the lever down to keep the door open long enough for your precious family to get out, and I’m the closest to it beside you. I will sacrifice myself for all of you. On one condition: When you tell the press who made this discovery, it was me.”

“Of course,” Neku said, looking at Shiba with nothing but respect in his eyes, Shiki saw. She might have tried to gauge even more then, but there was simply no time. Shiba made a soul screeching cry as he tried to press the lever down, the door opened once more and then Shiki found herself rocketing out of it into… some golden area if her eyes could be trusted?

Koki and Uzuki were just in front of Shiki, and she was so thankful to see that Neku’s parents had made it out, but then she was desperately looking behind her to see if Neku was there. Shiki didn’t have to look far. As she continued to glide on the water that was finally starting to slow down, she felt a hand slip into hers on her right side: a hand that Shiki had never been so glad to feel in her life. And the seamstress knew that if she hadn’t been afraid of finding more booby traps, she might have tried to tackle hug him right then.

Finally, the two of them got to their feet and took in the City of Gold, and it truly was a marvelous sight. Don’t get Shiki wrong. But she still didn’t really think it was worth everything that had happened to get here. And she thought she’d probably appreciate it more in the morning, when she was looking at it with the press and police, surely. Right now, she just wanted to sleep…

And Neku seemed to understand that sentiment, bless him, because he and his parents took care of most things for the moment: like finding an exit and calling said police to get them out of here.

…Though, unfortunately, the latter didn’t end up happening right away. Surely because Neku had told them about Shiba and because it wasn’t every day one found a City of Gold, after all.

But the police had been so kind as to get Shiki some coffee, and she was feeling much rejuvenated now, as she sat on a railing and talked to Neku who stood below her.

“I really do want to give us another try, Shiki… But I’ll always be me. I’ll still jump to assumptions, and that sort of thing.”

“That’s not a bad thing when it comes to figuring out puzzles, and whatnot. But with people… you still need to ask, Neku. Yes, you know I’d love to go to a dance with you know… but it still feels nice to be asked and cherished that way, you know? To not feel taken for granted?”

“I think I get it…” Neku smirked up at her. “So, how’s this as an example of me asking? Shiki Misaki, will you marry me?”

Shiki gasped. She was pretty smart, herself (book smarts and in reading Neku) and she had not seen this one coming. And yes, Neku was pretty suave at times, but damn had he knocked this one out of the park. Shiki didn’t think he’d been planning this when they’d been together before. So that meant he must have decided this recently: during the up and down rollercoaster when they found their way to each other again, and that somehow made it all the more special to her.

“I think you get an A+, you genius, you,” Shiki said, before pulling on Neku’s collar to bring him in for a sweet kiss. But when they broke apart, he still seemed confused, proving that even geniuses needed help sometimes. Somehow, the thought thrilled her. “And yes, I’ll marry you.” This time, it was Neku who kissed Shiki. And was it hot in here or was it her?

She was definitely seeing fireworks with him again… though part of that might have had to do with some of the policeman setting some off in their excitement in seeing the City of Gold. But the couple were none the wiser of that, and continued on happily kissing to the news of their engagement.

Author's Note: For BlueRosesBurnBlue/Liz, as I’ve been meaning to get this story to you for, like, two years now. I am SO sorry it took so long. I guess now it can be like a Christmas gift to you?

I also meant to get this story done for NeShiki Day back in August. But better late than never, I suppose:)

I may do more in this universe in the future, perhaps. This was actually a lot of fun!

[marshmallowprotection]

Hi! ♡ I hope all is well with you. I saw that match-up requests are open in your blog description, so I’d really love to ask for a romantic Mystic Messenger match-up, if you don’t mind and whenever you have the time!

⋆｡˚ Demographics.

Name: Seri

Age: 20 years old

Pronouns: She/Her

Sexuality: Heterosexual

Zodiac Sign: Aquarius

Education: Double major in finance and accounting

⋆｡˚ Physical Appearance.

Height: 173 cm (5’8”)

Hair Style: Currently have a long, Elizabeth perm

Hair Color: Chocolate Brown

Eye Color: Chestnut Brown

Clothing Style: Chic and feminine

⋆｡˚ Personality.

At first glance, I may come across as someone difficult to get to know, stoic, and distant, but I’m just a private person unless there is a common ground, or it is necessary to speak up (to the point where I opposed a fair few of teachers and the chief academic officer once in school and even got detention several times because of it). In spite of my reputation for being closed-off, I’m easygoing, open-minded, playful, and quite amiable when I want to, as I can make people feel either comfortable or intimidated in my presence. My attitude depends on what kind of person they are and how they treat me and the special people in my life, really. If they’re friendly and pleasant to be around, I do my best to reciprocate that positive energy by cracking jokes, reacting to whatever they’re talking about, even if it’s nonsense, and engaging in idle chatter. If it’s so-so, I remain silent unless they ask me something and simply observe them in the background. If they ruffle my feathers, I will get even using my own silent little ways and be their unexpected retribution. It takes quite a long time to wane my patience, so it’s my pleasure to bestow them a memorable prize for their unwavering hard work and dedication. ^^

I have no issues socializing and spending time with others because it’s eye-opening and thought-provoking to meet and listen to other people’s different viewpoints and values at times. Still, I’m particularly partial to the company within myself—well, except if it’s someone I’m very fond of. I like spending time with them more than when I’m by myself because I cherish every moment I get to have. I’m also family-oriented and protective of my friends (because most of them are too nice for their own good).

I’m upfront about my intentions, outspoken concerning my ideas, opinions, and stance, well-organized, strong-willed, self-assured, good at managing my time, and an independent thinker. I thrive on routines but don’t mind spontaneous activities. I have a keen memory and exceptional skill and intuition in knowing, reading others and the room, and feeling others’ moods, which has been a tremendous help in responding and reacting well in various situations. However, I scarcely ever speak up and open up about any of my negative thoughts and emotions and feel uncomfortable asking for help, even when I’m genuinely at my breaking point. I deal with my personal problems independently because after solving them, it’s a lot easier to let bygones be bygones.

I’m quite a busy bee and tend to bite off more than I can chew. When I was in high school, I was the student council president, the class secretary, and a member of the dance club that demanded a regular practice due to frequent public performances for school events while also competing in some pageants and academic competitions. It’s a terrible habit of mine, but I can’t stop myself because aside from having a weird obsession to collect medals, trophies, and certificates, I feel like I have to be productive at all times and make the most of my every day. I still have that tendency because I’m currently a part-time model despite being already buried in schoolwork, but I guess it’s better than before because I’m now rejecting any leadership position and competition and did not join any club ever since entering college (I still wish there were more hours in a day, though).

I like doing things that make my friends and family happy as long as it’s reasonable, doesn’t infringe on my principles and personal boundaries, and is within my capacity. I do my best to practice all five love languages with them. If they enjoy some activity or develop an interest in something, I try learning and spending time with them bonding about it (which ultimately leads me to the bottomless pit of Otome games). If they want a materialistic gift, I have no problem purchasing it for them, or during special occasions or depending on my mood, I give them something, like floral bouquets, handmade gifts, and usually, home-cooked foods and desserts. If they are preoccupied or swamped with some matters, I take the initiative to accomplish a task that will lessen the burden on their shoulders, or simply take care of them on the simple things, like serving them food, bringing them coffee, etc. I’m good at giving verbal support and validation and quite adept at seeing things from other individuals’ perspectives. Lastly, once I sense they are down in the dumps, I either give them hugs or offer advice if they want.

I’m passionate about the things I’m doing in my life. I never do and accomplish anything half-hearted and less than a hundred percent of what I know I’m capable of; it’s always and only either “not doing it” or “giving the best of my abilities.” Because of that, I have difficulty accepting failure, losing, and something has not worked out how I wanted it to.

⋆｡˚ Preferences.

Likes: Tea (especially the floral blends), coffee (especially lavender latte), gardening, floral scents, spring season, cooking and baking, traveling, drinking and collecting wines, watching musicals and operas, attending concert of my favorite bands, artists, and KPOP groups, live gigs, and music festivals, amusement park, eating street foods and in various small restaurants (they usually have the best foods), volunteering, mathematics, science, classical music, puzzle games and riddles, and mystery solving activities. I really love learning new things (I’m recently learning guqin!) and challenging my limits. Aside from that, I have two female pets—a Ragdoll named Soraya and a Samoyed named Snow.

Hobbies: Car racing, archery, sketching, photography, documenting my everyday life through videos, reading, playing Rubik’s cube and tabletop games, pilates, dancing, shopping, skiing, ice skating, and playing piano and violin.

Dislikes: Summer season, anything to do with horror and thrillers, afterparties, fireworks, swimming (especially in beach), singing, raw vegetables, the “only talk, no action” people, people that projects their insecurities onto me and others, groundless rumors and malicious gossips, and being talked about behind my back. I also don’t like being with people who hold me back.

That’s all I can think of right now. Thank you very much! ♡

I match you with...

Jumin!

Not to tease you or anything, but it's the first time in a while I've seen a detailed list of someone’s life and personality.

I don't have any rules on how people share things for a matchup, but I’ll be honest, someone as kind and meticulous as you has earned a place in Jumin’s heart. You know what you want out of life and don't want anybody to ridicule or mock you for the way you experience life. Some people might say that's high maintenance, but I would say that is loving yourself and knowing what you want.

Never minimize your wants. 

You would rather live a life while experienced than a life in fear. You prepare yourself for the challenges ahead and you go through with them, even when the tough gets going. You are passionate, and what does Jumin admire? He admires people who are willing to be who they truly are without fear. You inspire him to be honest with himself. You make him want to explore his specialized interest without looking over his shoulder to see if somebody's going to say something about it. 

Even if you lead very busy lives, you find the time to be there for each other. Time well spent is the time you spend together at the kitchen table, smiling at one another as you prepare the meal yourself. 

[links-destiny]

What This Means For Us

Word count (2,536)

Content Warning: brief mentions of scarred skin

Mentioned characters - Doc Ock // Vulture // Tinkerer

Notes: I was sifting through my ask box and remembered that I was sent a handful of prompts for me to look over. One spin of a wheel generator and the next thing you know, I'm writing! I think this is my first real scene with Doc Ock anyway so yay for practice!

Although the actuators could fully support Otto's weight, they hardly offer any assistance as Adrian helps him, while also being cautious over the scattered cuts and scrapes over the man's body. There isn't much blood thankfully and neither of them is averse to it as Adrian has no issue maintaining Otto's balance.

"I'm surprised you came for me." Otto admits.

"You really think that lowly of me? It takes more than a couple of stupid decisions to deter me from following right after you." Adrian says with a faint smile.

They step foot off of the elevator and inside the relative safety of the Sinister Syndicate base. In the large living space, a few of the others such as the Rhino and Shocker are resting after a strenuous fight. Otto wasn't the only one to be sporting minor injuries, but the other two in particular did much of the heavy hitting and took the brunt of attacks.

Of course, that fact doesn't sit well with the one member who had to organize a group to retrieve Otto in the first place.

On the other side of the space is the layout of an open second floor above, and the main communication center which consists of a steel gray wall lined with large screens, each one filled with data and current projects. Standing up from his seat and walking towards the railing, Tinkerer looks down at the two scientists who seem to be getting all 'buddy buddy' despite knowing exactly who's to blame.

"Stupid is definitely the right word, Toomes. I did warn Octavius to wait for the others to arrive before starting another fight with that rogue Scorpion, but does he ever listen? Of course, he doesn't."

Adrian just shakes his head and ignores the tech weapon specialist. Otto is already gearing to snap back at him, tensing up in annoyance. Better to just focus on guiding him to his room and not start an argument.

He does value Tinkerer's insight at times and respects his attitude of not being afraid to speak his mind, but trying to place the fault onto others does nothing to help. In fact, it's instigating.

Leaving the muttering Tinkerer on his own, Adrian pulls his friend along the long hallway to the left, passing by Marko and his own room before coming across Otto's.

He inputs the memorized code into the keypad and the door slides open, allowing them to enter. Flicking the lights on, he gently sets Otto down to sit on the edge of the large bed before walking toward the bedside table and pulling out the already placed medical kit.

Hmm, they would need to get fresh supplies at some point. Adrian has noted how much his friend seems to breeze through gauze and bandages, which is more than unhealthy against his scorched skin.

"Don't tell me you actually agree with him?"

"It's not like his opinions are ever unwarranted, but that's why you like having him around as well. Still, I guess hoping that the two of you would set aside differences to be somewhat friendly seems to be too much to ask for, isn't it?"

Adrian ends up sitting across from Otto and starts setting up. "I wish you would stop putting yourself in reckless situations. Sure, you've had your fair share of 'consequences be damned' in the pursuit of science, but now it's for what, some personal vendetta? Ever since you met that Scorpion, he's done nothing but cause trouble for everyone. As strange as he is in admiring you, that man is also not afraid of dragging you down with him if something bad were to happen."

Otto flinches as Adrian carefully dips alcohol on a soft rag and presses it gently against his cuts and scrapes which sting upon contact. While the majority of his left side is marred with dull sensations, pain happens to be the exception.

Coincidentally there happens to be no reflective surface in his room, and Otto can almost stare at his skin without the urge of disgust. At this point, another scar shouldn't even bother him anymore. While he is grateful that his friend hasn't ever harbored or voiced any negativity, being under the familiar stern gaze doesn't make Otto feel better this time around.

Is he disappointed? Concerned?

"You know how it is. Considering my own tech was used for his suit, I carry a sense of responsibility in stopping him. Besides, I can handle Gargan."

Adrian presses a bit harder over a cut on Otto's shoulder, placing an emphasis on his tone. "Not on your own. I don't know why you insist on running the Syndicate when you're just going to go behind our backs and do things on your own terms. Honestly, I'm starting to think you didn't have a legitimate reason before asking me to be the first to join or any of the others along the way."

He has many reasons actually, but nobody ever really questioned it any further. This couldn't be avoided though, since Adrian seems to be waiting for a decent answer.

"Can it be as simple as just needing you by my side?"

Adrian pauses, a bit startled by the confession before reeling back to focus on cleaning and changing Otto's bandages. "What you needed was support and patience, especially after what you went through. I just happened to be the one to provide it so freely, that's all."

Is he deflecting..?

Perhaps Otto has to be more straightforward? That doesn't help his nerves one bit as he tries. "Don't twist my words, Adrian. Even when we worked at ESU, I always admired you and your brilliance. I've grown to appreciate everything you have provided, even if I do lose my temper and shove people away. It's heartening to know you remain a constant in my life."

Just say it, before this moment escapes you.

Gathering the courage, Otto glances up at his friend and manages to speak with a steady tone. "What I truly want to say is that I love you, Adrian."

He didn't expect the complete silence that comes afterwards.

Nor did he expect Adrian to be stammering out a response, breaking away from his stoic expression. "Look, Otto... I-"

"You don't feel the same." He blurts out.

"Now wait-"

Otto stands up. "I shouldn't have assumed. I should leave."

And in a rare burst of boldness, Adrian snaps. "Please, give me a moment to explain myself!" His hand grips the sleeve of Otto's jacket, urging him to not hide away. He can't allow him to, not until he can share why. "Forgive me, I shouldn't have yelled at you like that."

Otto slowly sits back and while he tries to remain composed, the actuators mirror his thoughts, clicking with apprehension. "Go ahead then... Am I wrong to be feeling this way towards you?"

"No, but I just feel like it's not right."

"Because we're both men..?" Otto trails off.

"Goodness no, Otto. I would never think like that. Look, what you need right now is the care, consideration, and presence of the friends around you, a steady system to keep your well-being in check. It's important for all of us and although it pains me to reject your confession, I wouldn't feel right forcing a relationship onto you now when you're vulnerable like this."

"Forcing onto me? I'm the one who admitted first. Are you saying I can't make decisions under my own free will? That for anyone who even a little bit nice and caring to me, that I would slowly fall in love just because they treated me with some level of human decency? Hell, if someone like Mysterio displayed such behavior, I wouldn't be falling head over heels for him. That's not how I work, Adrian!"

Adrian could barely look him in the eyes, instead fixating on the floor, as if he wants to be anywhere else but here.

Otto didn't want to be angry, but he has a right to be, doesn't he? He expected more for sharing something so deeply personal, yet Adrian can't even allow himself to be able to do the same, not willing to break from his professional facade to just crumble under the relief of finally having his feelings reciprocated.

"Why can't you say it back or don't, without these excuses? I thought you of all people would practically shout your own damn words of love without a care in the world."

They can both be happy together, hand in hand and holding each other close as Otto imagines, yet this stubborn man can't accept having anything good in life without questioning it, can he?

What's worst is Adrian never addressed his own thoughts, especially now because there was always the possibility that he had unknowingly conditioned his friend to confuse gratitude for love.

But Otto refuses to be perceived as some sort of fool.

"I've always cared about us. When I was caught in that classroom explosion, laying on the floor half dead, the whole world ceased to exist for just a single moment and I thought of you, and of how much of an idiot I was. The core foundation of the Syndicate is for the bitter individuals cast aside by society, but I also saw it as a second chance for us... I don't want to lose what we have because of what happened to me."

God, Otto didn't despise feelings but nothing else has always rendered him so powerless than the range of emotions that he has always kept his best to rein in. He could only think of clinging onto Adrian's suit, actuators coiling around his friend's arm, fearing that if he were to let go for just a second, it would only fuel those doubts and push them further away. "Please, don't let who I am now tear this choice away from me. You don't even have to say yes, but don't let me believe that it's because of my own damned self."

"Otto, I can't bare to see you cry..." He didn't even register that he had been, caught up in the one instance where he's practically pleading for some semblance of understanding. It's something he would have never shown to anyone else, but only to the man sitting in front of him.

Taking off his glove, Adrian cups his face. He could feel the press of his palm against his cheek as his tears are wiped away with consideration. "Have you always felt this way, as I have?"

"Perhaps when we first met as professors, I mistook it for simple feelings of admiration and content. I've never seen someone with such beauty and intelligence so imagine how confused I must have been because for the first couple of weeks, I became such a bumbling idiot in the labs. I didn't even have the courage to speak as I am right now." Otto couldn't help but chuckle, reminiscing of the years they spent together, but never truly together as either of them had wanted.

As Otto could still feel the brush of Adrian's hand, he thought of doing something bold, an action that his former self would have been too flustered to commit to.

One of the actuators slinks towards the light switch, dimming it before Otto decides to take his tinted goggles off and set them to the side.

He hesitates, before deciding to listen to his bad instincts for once, the ones that are telling him that he needed him to be close, much closer. As if the actuators were lying in wait, they reel around the two and pull them together. When doing so, Otto goes through with it and kisses his friend for the first time, but partner in crime has a nicer ring to it.

It's as gentle as he imagined it to be countless times before in the past. Not out of pity as Otto once thought when it came to his careful actions and words, but with pure adoration, endearment, and even the slightest hint of desperation that his partner had managed to suppress until now.

Otto could swear he could sense it all and would most definitely deny it afterward. The years of mutual pining, of shared moments in the dark, of all the times they held hands to seek a calming solace in each other's presence, and as Adrian wraps his arms around his neck, Otto finds comfort in the simple gesture, in knowing that he is wanted, that is partner is as sure about this.

Who was this man trying to fool? This felt right. In fact, it's one of the few things that seem to make sense so far in his life, as annoyingly cliché as it is.

Despite how pleasant it all is, Otto pulls away before being overwhelmed. When he opens his eyes, he's grateful that the room wasn't so bright, lest Adrian would already be teasing how flush his face must look right now.

As they both try to compose themselves, Adrian is the first to speak in a placating tone, absentminded patting an actuator. "Otto, what does this mean to you? If it's not about being compelled to thank me, then I need to properly understand what you want from this."

His machinery clicks with curiosity, and although knowing that he's being gazed upon by Adrian in the near darkness, save for the glow of the actuators, he doesn't feel like hiding away because this happens to be one of the few thoughts he's completely sure of.

"It means that I value your striking compassion, the love and fondness you always felt like I deserved, and the many stern lectures you never hesitated to hand out because of my reckless behavior. To be truthful, sometimes I can't seem to grasp how you never falter to support my endeavors or eventually get tired of easing me through my recovery. There have been many times when I feel as if I'm a different person with no shred of evidence that the old Otto ever existed."

"I've always believed in you."

Otto leans more towards the touch as Adrian caresses the left side of his face. He could barely register the dull ache of scorched skin but is the only person that could be trusted to commit such an action. Feeling distracted, Otto almost didn't catch Adrian speaking in turn.

"...You may have changed in terms of appearances, but I don't think you ever stopped being Otto. In fact, I'm looking at him right now, and he's still the same as ever..."

Otto's face heats up upon hearing that. "I'll forgive you for using such a sappy confession, Adrian. Just don't expect me to accept all of it, still don't think I can handle being the subject of them." His partner always did have a way with words.

There's a playful glint in his eyes as he smiles. "Apologies in advance then but I would want nothing more than to be able to hold hands freely with no judgment, perhaps if you're willing to spend more time together, and to call you my lover. How's that for sappy?"

"I wouldn't have it any other way, love."

[andshesnotevennpretty]

There’s No Room for Demons When You’re Self Possessed.

“Danielle! Pap-Pap and I have this guy we want to set you up with! He’s our waiter at Bob Evans! We ask for him every time we go there. He’s a nice Italian boy.”

Should I be concerned that it had gotten to a point where my (now dearly departed) grandparents were setting me up on dates? Was I really that painfully single, or was I just screaming, “I’m 27 years old. I've got no money and no prospects. I’m already a burden to my parents. And I’m frightened.” Well, considering I’m now going on 31 and have yet to be asked out on a date, I’ll take that as both.

Dating and I really haven’t seemed to mesh well. Is it because I refuse to leave my house and actually go out into the world and meet people? Yeah. Another reason could be my permanent ban from Tinder. Yes, you’ve read that correctly. Yours truly is banned from the world's greatest one-night stand hookup app. Why, you might ask? Well, yours truly was reported by an account for not responding back to someone’s message. Add that to my list of interesting accomplishments. My dating life is, well, nonexistent, so to speak. I’ve tried many times to put myself out there and found the whole thing exhausting. I even made it on Raya (which is still a mystery to me as to how I got on) and had 0 messages in the 5 months I was on the app. I took the time to build my profile, picked my PJ Harvey profile song, and waited to see what would happen. Surprise, surprise, I left with a hole in my wallet after paying $20 a month to be on the app and 0 messages from any of my matches (including the "celebrity" ones I tried to match with). Dating apps, to me, are my ninth circle of hell. That includes Raya. I find it very hard to find some people attractive based on a couple of photos and a cheesy pickup line in a bio. I’m the type of person who sees the beauty of who you are in person, i.e., how you interact with others and how you treat the wait staff. I’d prefer to meet someone in person and have an organic and casual conversation that leads to whoever asks me out. But that has unfortunately never happened to me.

What I am grateful for, despite never being asked out or going on an actual date, is finding the love and acceptance I have for myself. While I have been to the fiery depths of hell and back multiple times, I still find myself in good company. I love myself, and I love the person that I am. When I reflect on this, I often come back to this quote Eartha Kitt said in a documentary that struck me profoundly.

“I fall in love with myself, and I want someone to share it with me. I want someone to share me with me.”

So many people lose themselves in needing to be with someone that they mold themselves and compromise to fit a narrative that they believe will get them what they’ve desperately craved. What they don’t see is that they are perfect just the way they are. You shouldn’t have to change the essence of who you are to get any kind of validation. I would rather gouge out my eyes than let another person take my self-worth, or my value, from me. If a man can’t see the beauty and depth of my soul and love me for who I already am, he isn’t worth my time.

“Many a man has wanted to lay me down, but none has wanted to lift me up.”

As my life goes on, I notice I’m more concerned about other things than dating. If the right guy does come along and wants to get to know me, great. But I’m done putting myself out there to get nothing back in return. It’s a wasteful use of my time. In the meantime, I surround myself with love in all its forms. I am happy with myself, and I’m okay if I end up alone. I’ve truly made peace with that.

To quote my Space Mother and yours, Carrie Fisher, “I haven’t changed who I am. I’ve just become more accepting of it. Being happy isn’t getting what you want; it's wanting what you have.”

Oh, and for those of you wondering if I ever did date my grandparents' favorite waiter at the Five Star, Bob Evans in Bridgeville, PA, it turns out he was seeing someone, so no.

[letterstodreams]

Altering My Crazy Quilt Religion

It's time to add the next alteration to this crazy quilt religion, a new patch to cover the flaws of the old design, to embellish and change up the patterns that don't seem quite right now that I can see what else to add to it and what to change. It's time to set it down in writing so I hope and intend to remember it and apply it into my life in action. I already have realized it and it has taken a load off my shoulders and made my step lighter, my hopes for the future feel brighter and more open, more choices, more hope to see ahead, for myself, my daughter, all those who might depend and rely on me.

Because that is often one of the biggest reasons I keep fighting and keep searching- because others might need me and if I can't give them all they need, it hurts and feels more like a catastrophe and miserable failure than if I myself fail myself. I guess I feel like there's only so much I can do about my own self, because I've done so much and still, look at me.

But with others, there is so much I could hypothetically do and yet so much that could remain undone, that could mess up their whole lives if it's not done correctly enough. So, ironically, somehow, having others who need me can be the biggest thing keeping me going in finding things that can help myself. I can't help them if I'm too lost, and what helps them sometimes helps me too, even when it comes in unexpected forms and I never thought that such things would help me.

Anyway, it's time to alter this crazy quilt of my beliefs, to add the next revision. It's an ongoing, organic thing, and can change dramatically over time. I often settle for understandings and practices that I myself may sense as being very deeply flawed. But it works for me better than anything else, to achiever results, to describe the reality that I am experiencing, and if I was to try to remove the flaws, it would remove the good things too, until I see which things to remove and which to keep, or which to alter and tweak, and how, and how much.

Sometimes I get the feeling that awful seeming things might be true, and work, and be the sad, painful facts of life, because it's what seems to work, when nothing else will. It works to make my life functional, as good as I can find how to be, despite how wrong some of these ideas seem to me, at face value. I still don't push those ideas on anyone else, though, and tend to more so hide them from most people, because I fear the wrongness and harm they seem like they could also inflict.

I think that in the wrong hands such ideas do cause great harm, such as religious dogma, which can be used as a fire to scorch the earth and do tremendous harm , to battle others or harm one's own self and one's own life. Or it can be used as a fire to cook and keep warm and tell stories around, bring life and order and harmony. Not that I adhere to dogma much, or doctrine, rituals and rules. Or is dogma the right word, or something else that I adhere to, in small ways, altered ways? Whatever it is, I still fear it in the wrong hands.

It depends on how you interpret the same ideas, and how you use them, how rigidly you follow them, how adaptable you are, how many fair and correct loopholes you find in the "law of God", so to speak (Which is a little idea borrowed from the book 'Violeta' by Isabel Allende. A few of her books say a few things, just in passing, that free and enlighten me from religious fixation and rigidity. A few fiction authors are like that for me).

So, ok, on to the embellishments of the crazy quilt. I was reading some books which helped me to think of all these ideas, in combination with my own, and so I will borrow some of the ideas that sparked my own, and give them credit for where they came from. First, from the book '7 Lessons from Heaven: How Dying Taught Me to Live a Joy-Filled Life' by Mary Neal, I found something that helped me. She mentions her "Daily Creed":

"I believe God's promises are true. I believe heaven is real. I believe nothing can separate me from God's love. I believe God has work for me to do. I believe God will see me through and carry me when I cannot walk."

She read this many times each day, when she had lost her son, and it helped her to find the truths that were constant and unchanging, and to find her way to healing and reclaiming her life again. When I read her Daily Creed, it made me think of something in my own experience that I have gone through time and time again.

It reminded me of my daily prayers. And how, every time that I get through yet another day, where I feel lost and alone in many ways, often, and when I often feel I have failed in so many ways, and I don't know if I will ever succeed in all the ways that I feel I should or need to, I still turn to God and ask for his guidance. I ask for his forgiveness. And I ask for him to forgive me for sins known and unknown. But before all else, I start my prayers by asking him to help me to worship him in a good way. I ask for him to give me the strength for that.

And I ask for him to give me the strength for everything that I've been praying about over the past few weeks and to help me with those things. I wrap them all up together because there are so many prayers I spontaneously pray over the course of a few weeks, and this covers them all. As vague and simple as that might sound, I feel like this works. Of course, since each week I also pray for all the prayers I've prayed for previously, then I guess it's kind of like a never-ending list that goes back into my history. But I feel like God is capable of that, and I also pray for something else, or something better, if God wills, and everything in his time and way. I also pray for all my loved ones and family and myself to be helped with any health or issues they need help with, and for them to be given strength for that, and the whole world, nature, animals, plants, too.

Anyway, I always feel, every time I ask for all this and for forgiveness, I feel that I am given forgiveness, for sins known and unknown, for my continual failures and inadequacies, and the future still looms unknown, and I don't know where my life will lead. And if I look at my past, I can see so much that could be seen to be failures, why don't i just do what I need to do, and why do I keep failing over and over again, at what seems so simple on paper? Where is the hold up?

Why would God forgive me for all this, if I follow the line of thinking that we can fool ourselves that we deserve forgiveness when we do not, that our asking for forgiveness can be unworthy and our apology or repentance unaccepted by God? I do consider that some repentance might be unworthy and unaccepted, if one isn't trying hard enough, or trying in the right ways. But I feel that my repentance is accepted and worthy, each day I come to God with my prayers. I didn't always feel that way, and sometimes I think it was incorrect dogma or doctrine, or maybe just incorrect understanding, that made me feel this way.

But now I feel forgiven, embraced, accepted by God, each and every day. I feel that way, each time I come to God and am accountable to him for my life and yet another day on the endless string of beads of my life that will go on for who knows for how long. A life that will have who knows how much or little to show for it, in the end, but I still feel forgiven, accepted by God.

So if I can feel that way each day when I pray, then what is to stop me from feeling this same thing, this same forgiveness and acceptance, all throughout the day, during the actual day and not just at the end or the beginning or whenever I have these kinds of prayers? I tend to get wrapped up the feeling of failure, fear, the feeling of maybe not being good enough, maybe failing the test, during the day. I tend to stress and fret and feel like I'm being put to the test with all my daily actions and choices and trying to make sense of it all and see a path forward and figure out what is the good thing to do with my life, with each step, with all my entrenched problems and feeling of weakness.

I think many religious people would try to tell me that my failures are unacceptable, that I must be better, and I have to keep repenting for my lack, and if I don't change my behavior and do better, that means I am not trying hard enough, so my repentance won't be accepted. But every day, at the end of each day, when I pray, that is not how I feel. I feel my repentance is good enough.

In fact, I am not sure what I'm even repenting for because I know I make mistakes, but some of the things that religious people would try to blame me for, I feel like it's out of my control and I can't function the ways they tell me I must. And I think God might see it the same way, which is why I ask for forgiveness for my sins that are known and ones unknown.

I don't know if maybe it is in my control and reach somehow and I just don't realize, but nor do I want to fret and beat myself up for things that are really out of my reach, which seems like self-abuse to the level of despair and depression. It's like punishing yourself and wearing yourself out trying to run a marathon that you aren't fit for, while the rest of your life goes down the drain because you're trying to be perfect for a challenge you can't even attain. Like a marathon, maybe you can train and do more over time, but if your own strength and ability is too low, maybe you'll never in your whole life run a marathon.

Anyway, I guess I've just come to accept finally that many of my apparent failures and weaknesses could be this way and I can feel free and at peace instead of harried and guilt-ridden and fearful all day as I try to grapple with the raw material of the challenges, goals, confusion and failures and crises that fill my day-to-day life and heart and soul.

Somehow, I can trust it all to God, that he will forgive and repair all the frayed ends of my life and actions. Or so I can hope, and the rest of it, I will just rest in his peace in the storm and failure, and in his forgiveness, and the knowledge of my ongoing humility and repentance, spoken or just deep in my bones, all day long, as much as I can. I'm so humble I know I might be unable to do better, and I see that as true, valid, good enough. My crazy quilt religion, my crazy quilt God is the one who accepts and embraces and redeems this.

So that is one excerpt I found in a book that triggered those insights for me, somehow. And there's another book passage that also helped me. I will try to find it too and write about it later on, if the ideas come up for me once more when I reread it. I guess I'll save it for another post, next post maybe, if I have time and focus.

[solarpunkpresentspodcast]

Carbon offsets - karma or indulgence?

Carbon offsets are a bit of a joke to most people who are involved in environmental organization and activism. They tend to be lumped into the same category as medieval Catholic indulgences - “buy this special ticket to wipe away your environmental sins” - and are widely regarded as ineffective virtue-signalling. Especially considering the news about how carbon offset money goes to planting monocultures, or non-native trees, or to nothing at all and instead is just swallowed up by human greed. Or something. Yet another in the long list of greenwashing scams that disaster capitalists have cooked up to make a buck off of society’s collective doom. Companies can purchase carbon offsets, then turn around and wave them in front of investors/shareholders/clients/customers as proof that they are, in fact, “green”, and then go back to business as usual, producing the same (or even more) amount of emissions as they did before.

Yet, carbon offsets were set up initially with the best of intentions. And it is still possible, today, to purchase carbon offsets that do actually contribute to combating climate change, along with supporting Indigenous sovereignty and encouraging biodiversity. All it takes is a bit of discernment.

I’m gonna pause here to say that it shouldn’t take a bit of discernment. There absolutely should not be any carbon offsets that aren’t doing the utmost good with your hard-earned cash. But that is the reality of the dystopia that we live in, and it makes me sad and angry, because it doesn’t have to be this way. It doesn’t have to be this hard, but it is, and that’s awful. And thus the need for me to write this article and get this off my chest. Maybe I am too hopeful. Or maybe this is a situation that calls for hope, specifically, as the best way to beat back my cynical doomerism on the topic.

So, the magical carbon offsets that are meant to do all sorts of good things and leave you with fuzzy feelings and the satisfaction that your carbon footprint has been reduced (or at least mitigated for now): the Great Bear Forest Carbon Project, managed by the Coastal First Nations. Despite my sarcasm leading into this paragraph, I do seriously consider this to be one of the best if not the premier example of how to do a carbon offset program correctly.

You can go here or here to read more about the program, but in a nutshell, logging in the Great Bear Rainforest has been slowed significantly and an Indigenous Guardian Watchmen program (similar to forest ranger) set up and it is funded wholly through a carbon offset program managed by the Coastal First Nations, an alliance of nine coastal BC First Nation groups.

The territory is unceded and the Great Bear Rainforest is acknowledged as one of the most important carbon sinks on the planet, but the condition for Indigenous control over their own lands and the conservation of a significant old-growth forest is the funding from the carbon offsets that they sell.

This program, by the way, is a trial run that the Canadian government agreed to in hopes that, if it is successful, it could be implemented elsewhere. But it’s not working very well, because the skepticism for carbon offsets is so high that even this project isn’t being funded to the point of sustainability. Representatives of the project are pretty confident that its values and moral rightness will speak for itself and so the project will not fail, but we live in an age of what Winona LaDuke and Deborah Cowen call “wiindigo infrastructure” - where the very infrastructure we rely on to survive is at the same time sucking the life from our land… which in turn affects our own survival. The infrastructure required for conservation and Indigenous rights is the faulty and sus program of carbon offsets. No wonder projects like this get lost in the shuffle.

Purchasing carbon offsets for some is an exercise in increasing their good karma. For others, it’s just the price of participating in our fossil-fueled society. For others, it’s a scam perpetuated by Big Business and unethical entrepreneurs looking to prey on ecologically-minded folk.

But I think that, for solarpunks at least, carbon offsets should be seen neither as wholly good, nor wholly bad. The ability to hold two conflicting concepts in one’s mind is extremely necessary in this case, in order to walk the tension that is life in late capitalism: understanding that the program can be used for good or for evil and is currently being used for both, necessitating a deeper, more thorough look through what exactly constitutes a particular carbon offset program.

Having the financial capital to be able to purchase carbon offsets, by the way, is a privilege. The cost of living is soaring, and only set to get higher, as the chickens of the 19th century’s imperialism and mid-late 20th century’s offshoring to purchase products at a fraction of their actual cost come home to roost. Downloading the responsibility of mitigating one’s “carbon footprint” on to individuals is absolutely morally bankrupt and a sick consequence of fossil fuel companies’ greedy disinformation campaigns (exacerbated by the neoliberal bootheel we’re being ground down under today) … but it is also the reality of the world the way that it is. Some of us were born into it and know nothing else, and this is the language we must speak to be understood.

And so, I would love it if individuals take this knowledge of The Great Bear Forest Carbon Program back to the companies they work for, so that their organization can be empowered to do right by the planet and their people in offsetting their business’ emissions.

I would be equally pleased if individuals who have the financial capacity to do so offset the emissions generated by their lifestyle (perhaps they travel quite a bit for business, or eat a lot of meat), and encouraged their financially well-off friends and family members to do so as well.

If readers of this article aren’t in a financial position to support TGBFCP (lol) and have met a dead-end when it comes to communicating with corporate about buying in to the program, but find it a worthy cause, I’d encourage those folks to pick one of the brands that they love, and email them with a polite suggestion. An avalanche is composed of millions of individual snowflakes, as the saying goes. We might live within the constraints of a terrible dystopian system built on colonial violence but that doesn’t mean we can’t subvert it in even small ways.

Here are a few places to go to read more, purchase carbon offsets, and links to send about this program:

For UK folk, iOffset is a good place to start

In North America, Ostrom Climate or Carbonzero.ca is where you’ll want to go

What’s your opinion of carbon offsets? Have you ever purchased them? Let me know in the comments.

[secret-diary-of-an-fa]

‘Progressive’ and ‘Perfomative Wokeness’ Aren’t the Same Thing (and, Apparently, I have to Explain this to Grown-Ups).

TRIGGER WARNING: Overexplaining; references to Marvel’s Eternals that can only serve to bring back bad memories; me going on and on about how great a movie Get Out was for bloody ages; Chris Chibnall (not just in the blog- I just thought I’d use this Trigger Warning to remind you that, sadly, he still exists).

Progressive media is great isn’t it? Good, solid lefty films and TV shows that actually have intelligent, well-thought political ideas woven into their plots in a way that makes you think and inspires an emotional reaction. They’re brilliant! I love ‘em, and we’ll be coming, by the by, to some of my favourite examples. But then there’s ‘woke’ media- media that usually has one very simple point to make- usually one it hasn’t thought about even slightly- and won’t fucking shut up about, bringing plots and even entire arcs grinding to a halt so that it can alternately insult and lecture its audience. That shit can fall down an endless staircase into a big pile of Lego that then gets melted into molten plastic by the that wildfire stuff from Game of Thrones. Today, boys and girls, we’re going to be talking about the difference. It’s a difference I’ve never articulated before, despite my well-documented political views and my equally well-documented views on the state of western culture. Largely because I didn’t think it required that much thought. To me, it’s an obvious difference- a difference that announces itself with a full blown song and dance routine and a fireworks display. But I’ve seen enough people using the terms ‘progressive’ and ‘woke’ interchangeably now to realise that I’m going to have to pull out my mortar board, rap the world’s knuckles with a ruler and do some fuckin’ ‘splainin’. Buckle in, dickwidgets, we’s gon’ get y’all some education. Yee fucking haw.

Let’s start with an example of one of my favourite truly progressive films of recent years- a film that takes one heck of a swing at modern racism and practically knocks its fucking head off. I speak, of course, of Jordan Peele’s debut flick Get Out, in which the protagonist finds himself victimised by a superficially forward-looking white family who make such a song and dance about not being racist that things seem a little off from the moment he first meets them. Ultimately (spoilers!) it turns out that they want to scoop out his brain and transfer one of their consciousnesses to his body because they’ve convinced themselves that, if they inhabit a black body, they’ll magically be ‘cool’ and ‘street’. It culminates with Chris (our hero) having to stage a violent escape/retribution-spree in order to save himself from his would-be bodysnatchers. It’s a brilliant film that works as both a piece of pure entertainment and a nuanced political argument. What does it do right? Well, aren’t you lucky? I brought a fucking list!

1) It tells an entertaining (and frankly bonkers) story that has never been done before, surprises on first viewing and intrigues on repeat viewings WITHOUT STOPPING THE ACTION TO OVEREXPLAIN THE MOTHERFUCKING SUBTEXT.

2) It allows its story and politics to feed on each other organically, with the politics lending context to the story and the story demonstrating the value of the politics. At no point does one twist wildly to accommodate the other or get in the way of the other.

3) It has a sense of humour about itself. There’s an entire comic relief character who (and this is important) is actually funny because their jokes aren’t aimed at continually reinforcing the political message or bullying certain viewers (as jokes in a lot of woke media often are) but are used to provide entertaining interludes that help to break up the main plot and enrich the tone, making the world of the film feel less one-note and more lived-in.

4) It clearly and fairly signposts its intentions. There’s no mystery box whose contents turn out to be a tedious lecture on race-hate; there’s no bait and switch; there’s no flipping of race or gender followed by an ‘ooh aren’t we clever and edgy’ moment from and for the benefit of the film-makers (and literally nobody else). No. You go in expecting a vehemently anti-racist film with a black lead who’s an original character created by the screen-writer and that’s exactly what you get. Bravo this film for not fucking me about.

The result of all this is that Get Out isn’t just fun to watch: it’s persuasive. It doesn’t just tell you ‘racism is bad, m’kay’, it focuses on specific behaviours and modes of thoughts, follows them to their logical conclusion and demonstrates what the problem is without insulting you, the viewer, in the process. It makes a compelling case without insisting that you’re the bad guy if you don’t agree with every single word- or just if you haven’t thought about it before. You can watch it as just a fun, quirky film, sure, but if you engage with it intellectually, you might find yourself thinking ‘Actually, that’s a fair point. I hadn’t given that much thought before.’

For the feminist equivalent, I’d invite you to consider The Perfection (one of only two films I’ve ever described as ‘transcendent’) which uses similar tools (but in a different way) to address the specific species of sexism that runs through the classical music world like a blue vein through cheese- a blue vein you think is just part of the cheese’s colour and flavour until this film dissect’s the cheese for you and exposes a rich seam of poisonous fucking lyrium. That metaphor may have gotten away from me a bit- but the point is that that’s another good film that’s actually progressive and makes its point in an intelligent way.

Of course, some films and telly shows are progressive incidentally- it’s just part of their DNA and their plots don’t depend on a specific leftist or liberal points. Case in point, one of my favourite films of all time, Annihilation, which just happens to have a predominantly female cast in a genre that, at the time it was made, was very male-dominated, but which doesn’t feel the need to make a big deal of it. It’s actually a film about humanity encountering a cosmic lifeform that blends and fractalises genetic structures in ways that are simultaneously beautiful and deadly. And its a love story that transcends species. And its a horror film that features bears with the voices of screaming humans. And its an art-piece that meditates on the beautiful yet unsettling character of perfect symmetry itself. And its a character study. And… you know what, just go fucking watch it. The big, obvious progressive element somehow seems infinitely less important once you’ve actually watched the bloody thing, because it’s really just a nice touch and is so far from being the main point that you just kind of stop noticing after the hand-wave that explains it in-universe.

See? These are all progressive pieces of media that I like because they’re good. And I could go on: there’s Snowpiercer (the film, not the series- the series lost me when it inexplicably decided it wanted to be a murder mystery), in which mankind’s final, world-destroying class war is staged entirely within the confines of a posh train. There’s that one episode of Peter Capaldi era Doctor Who when the Doctor helps put the final nail in capitalism’s coffin. There’s basically all the Alien films, which, aside from having an unconventional female lead way before it was cool, were also hypercritical of the military-industrial complex and the generalised exploitation of natural resources both on and off Earth. There’s Luther, which was mostly an apolitical crime drama, but which just happened to centre on a burly black cop whose race isn’t mentioned even once because it’s not the sodding point. Actually, at the time, I don’t think most viewers even thought about Luther being black- he just was. There was less need to dive into the subtext of every casting decision and line because the battle lines hadn’t yet been drawn in the idiotic culture war that every moron on the planet (on both sides of the political spectrum, by the way) simultaneously decided was happening. But that’s by the by. Frankly, we could be here all fucking day if I had a mind to list everything that’s either expressly left-leaning and liberal or contains a key liberal element and is also VERY GOOD. But time’s winged chariot and all that. I promised to explain the difference between progressive media and ‘woke’ media, so we should probably get on with that.

Well, there are actually quite a few differences, starting with whether the writers and actors have brains in their skulls or just an IOU and a couple of loose corks. However, one of the key points I’ve already talked about is that progressive media wants to persuade you. It gets you to invest in its characters and its world and, while it’s doing that, it weaves an argument that you can consider or not- and it credits you with the wit to do that for yourself and won’t make you feel like slime if you politely decline to engage on that level. Woke media, in contrast, has no interest whatsoever in persuading you. In fact, it will very often go out of its way to antagonise you. Then it’ll call you a racist or a sexist or a homophobe or a bigot for being antagonised. Then it’ll give itself a big, hearty pat on the back for striking a blow for INSERT HISTORICALLY MISTREATED GROUP HERE, even though what it’s actually done is create a wave of reactionary hate from people who were probably either undecided, indifferent or moderate regarding INSERT GROUP HERE until a pretentious bloody movie called them all cunts for no reason whatsoever.

My favourite example of the above phenomenon has got to be a film called ‘Bros’, which is a gay rom-com that’s very, very keen to let you know how down with da gayz it is. When I first saw it advertised, my initial reaction was ‘Oh, hey, that’s a neat, niche little thing. My trans gay friend S (real name deleted to protect the innocent) might get a kick out of that’. Then, when it didn’t perform as well as a typical, mainstream rom-com on opening weekend, the cast took to twitter to snidely imply that all the people who didn’t go see it were homophobes (apparently- I have to admit, this is second-hand because I haven’t been on Twitter in fucking years. I moved and now live near a Dunlop’s, so whenever I want to see a reeking tyre-fire, I just pop up there with a box of matches instead). Anyway, the point is that instead of persuading the audience it had and trying to recruit viewers through streaming platforms and DVD sales using, you know, advertising, Bros instead decided to brow-beat the audience it didn’t have (because, let’s be clear, the stars would have had their leashes yanked sharpish if those behind the film weren’t on-board with this bit of media drama). It was good publicity- it made it look like the film was taking a stand… but I don’t think it made one single person give a shit about LGBTQ rights. If anything, it will have put people off giving a shit.

But that’s a bit of a sketchy example, since the viewer-baiting took place outside of the film itself and was largely achieved through contrived social media furore. In fact, I’d go so far as to suggest it wasn’t part of the original plan but just a desperate (and very stupid) reaction to a box office ranking that any other niche title would have been overjoyed about. No, for a real, solid example of where woke media prefers to bully than persuade, we really need to look at a show where the bullying happens in the media artefact itself.

The example that occurs to me off the cuff is the fucking trainwreck that started all this shit in the first place: the 2016 Ghostbusters reboot. And yes, I know WB did eventually apologise for it and that their apology took the form of the lovely Ghostbusters: Afterlife, so I can’t really stay mad at them. But it is a great example. The antagonising of the fans started early with the casting, which involved a complete gender-flip of the main cast (despite the fact that the jokes only really work on a metatextual level if the heroes are paragons of failed masculinity- but let’s leave the analysis at the door: that ain’t what we’re here for). The film-makers then underscored that particular bit of fan-baiting by making the only male character in the main cast a witless, ineffectual moron so archly caricatured that he’d only have made sense in a below-par MAD Magazine issue… or on the Conservative back-benches. They then decided it wasn’t even in continuity- meaning it wasn’t just a badly-conceived continuation of the franchise but a symbolic replacement of it. And finally, just give the screw one final turn, they stripped out all the word-play and cleverness that defined the comedy of the original and replaced it with slapstick. Really. Bad. Slapstick. This film was tailor made to piss people off. I don’t think that was it’s main purpose- I think some idiot probably legitimately thought it would be box office gold- but between the symbolic erasure of the original heroes, the ooh-look-at-us-being-all-feminist-but-not-really bullshit of the gender-flip, the bad writing and the direct insult to any self-respecting viewer with a penis, the effect was a belittling, degrading film that was always going to alienate a significant percentage of the audience. And then, of course, call them sexist for complaining that they’d gone to see a Ghostbusters film and been given a big ol’ turd sandwich instead. And before someone with a  really short memory accuses me of the same, just a quick reminder that one of my favourite movies of all time is Annihilation. And no, taste in movies doesn’t necessarily equate to political stripe, but if you insist on using that metric, you can consult the list of examples of really very good progressive media at the start of this blog to gauge my opinions using ALL the data.

For a more up-to-date example, I’d invite you to consider The Rings of Power on Amazon, which grates cheerfully against fans’ nerves by disregarding all of Tolkien’s themes and stylistic flourishes in favour of modern American attitudes and ideas (for a show set in a medieval fantasy world ostensibly based on books written in the 60s by a British man living in Britain. Who wants to play ‘Spot the Dissonance’?). Or Marvel’s Eternals. Actually, no. I’m not getting into fucking Eternals here. Even my filleting knife would get blunt trying to pick the bones out of that fucking mess.

In fact, let’s move on altogether! I’m here to explain the difference between woke media and actually progressive media- not provide a small mountain of proof that one sucks and one rocks. I feel that if I need to demonstrate something that obvious paragraph by paragraph, I might as well go and explain to a flat-Earther why the laws of physics forbid him from living on a space pancake.

I wanted to address another key difference between woke media and progressive media. Progressive, left-wing media has a consistent political ethos (see the more explicitly political examples from the first half of this blog) whereas woke media just kinda makes the right noises. Very often, its real politics are completely at odds with the noises its making, in fact. Which means- joy of joys- it’s time to talk about Chibnall-era Doctor Who. Again. And yes, even I’m sick of me at this point, but it really is the best example. Okay, let’s get this over with.

Chibnall-era Who is definitely woke. It has the first female Doctor (pity she can’t act)! It’s TARDIS crew is the most diverse in the show’s history (even bravely including a grown man who needs his Grandad’s help to ride a fucking bike. Wait, I said ‘bravely’. I meant ‘unnecessarily’). It’s got that one episode where the Doctor stops a time-travelling racist from fucking up Rosa Park’s big moment and therefore saves the Civil Rights Movement (never mind that the Civil Rights Movement was a complex, long-form struggle and the erasure of a single, admittedly important and famous moment within it still wouldn’t actually have effected its overall course by that much- it’s not like this show about actual fucking time travel that aspired, during Chibnall’s tenure, to be educational, has a duty to accurately portray the way history works. It’s totally fine to suggest that something that cost countless people their lives in a tiring, soul-crushing battle against systemic oppression ultimately boiled down to a bus seat. But I digress). So yeah. Definitely woke. But it wasn’t liberal or left-wing or progressive in any meaningful way. There’s that episode where Whitaker’s Doctor finds herself in the middle of a struggle between an evil corporation that kills its own workers and the guy trying to blow it up… and then she sides with the evil mega-corp. There’s that episode where the Doctor locks a bunch of giant spiders in a room to starve to death rather than DO LITERALLY ANYTHING ELSE, breaking with a long tradition of animal rights activism that goes way back to Pertwee’s Third Doctor. There’s that episode where she gives a lecture putting the blame for climate change on individuals and completely ignores the corporations and governments who are mainly to blame. Need I go on? I fucking hope not. The Ninth Doctor once exploded the entire top floor of a space station just for putting out programmes that kept the masses dumb and compliant. That was progressive. The Tenth Doctor had an entire arc about fighting corporate-made Cybermen. That was progressive. The Eleventh Doctor… okay, I don’t have any Eleven examples because he didn’t have the attention span to form a coherent political viewpoint, but the Twelfth Doctor once literally ended capitalism and punched a dude he was supposed to be interrogating for making a racist comment, even though it didn’t protect history or anything- he just really hated racism. All that was progressive. Chibnall’s Whitaker-Doctor was, in contrast, a walking catalogue of moral failures not worthy of the name ‘Doctor’… and that’s not progressive.

All of which leaves us with one question? Well, two if you count ‘when will this blog entry fucking end?’ But mainly, it leaves us asking ‘why?’ If woke media alienates the people who’d otherwise pay money to see it and the people making it don’t even believe the messages they’re mongering, what possible purpose could it serve? If it’s not profitable and it’s not heartfelt, what the fuck is it even for? The answer, of course, is ‘search me, mate’. I suspect that someone thought it might be profitable at one point. Fuck, for all I know, it actually is making money- the algorithms that define these things got divorced from our puny human version of logic yonks ago. All I can say for certain is that it’s a trend and, like all trends, will probably go away eventually. Unlike progressive media, which will continue being made because the people making it actually believe things and have interesting points to make. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go and cry over the squandered franchise potential of Annihilation- the film that deserved a billion sequels and got zero because western culture decided to shit itself instead. Fuckity bye.

[erisinspace]

The Cost of Owning One's Life

It takes a painful, oftentimes gruesome death of your former self and a gradual rebirth into a new creature to truly own one's self. I fondly remember this quote I read some years ago that "man cannot create himself without suffering, for he is both the sculpture and the sculptor." Though as a believer, I'd also like another version where God is constantly refining His people through the fire of trials in order to purge, cleanse, and purify them into Christlikeness. I believe it is a delicate and perfect balance of two realities—where God exercises His sovereign will upon mankind, and where man is responsible for the consequences of his own choices.

I won't make the case for the Sovereignty of God for a single reason that is very obvious—God is God, who am I to explain the mysterious ways of the Almighty?

But I would make the case for the latter, the responsibility of man to sculpt his own self into a masterpiece that he would approve, that he would respect, and—if humanly possible, without a hint of conceit—even admire and find noble.

What does it take to own one's life?

What does it mean to own one's life?

I believe those are fundamental questions that our Being demands to be answered. What is my life? Am I a slave to my past? My biological makeup? My family? My memories? My environment?

Who am I? What is my life? What am I here for?

One must consistently ask these things, and I believe all of us do, as we go on in our lives. And these are no doubt a shattering set of questions that seem to rock quite violently the bedrock of our identity. It shakes us, depresses us, disturbs us, unsettles us. It is a source of a great deal of anxiety. Unless you have perfectly figured yourself out, in that case, good for you.

Around 2018, I became engrossed with the works of Dr. Jordan Peterson, I learned about him through an exceptionally brilliant online peer who eventually became a dear friend of mine. Dr. Peterson is highly interested in the psychological study of individuals, from their biological tendencies to varying temperaments, to the study of history (especially World War II), even to the study of religion and its underlying archetypal values which human beings hold sacred since the days of old regardless of whether we deem ourselves religious or not.

Dr. Peterson believes that responsibility gives life meaning. To be able to bear one's existence despite the unavoidable tragedies and miseries of life, one has to carry his own cross, so to speak, and not just carry it but to bear one's own life with dignity and fortitude. To always speak the truth. To not lie nor partake in falsehood. He believes that speaking the truth and voluntarily taking responsibility will help us earn a sacred sense of dignity and respect in our existence—perhaps, even happiness.

I would love to share this quote from the timeless Dostoevsky from his book The Brothers Karamazov,

“Above all, do not lie to yourself. A man who lies to himself and listens to his own lie comes to a point where he does not discern any truth either in himself or anywhere around him, and thus falls into disrespect towards himself and others. Not respecting anyone, he ceases to love, and having no love, he gives himself up to passions and coarse pleasures, in order to occupy and amuse himself, and in his vices reaches complete bestiality, and it all comes from lying continually to others and to himself. A man who lies to himself is often the first to take offense. It sometimes feels very good to take offense, doesn't it? And surely he knows that no one has offended him, and that he himself has invented the offense and told lies just for the beauty of it, that he has exaggerated for the sake of effect, that he has picked on a word and made a mountain out of a pea--he knows all of that, and still he is the first to take offense, he likes feeling offended, it gives him great pleasure, and thus he reaches the point of real hostility.”

I am meaning to write this blog to organize my thoughts. To see if I have learned anything at all over the course of the years of my personal study. To see if I truly spoke the Truth and lived by the Truth. To see if I have finally shouldered my responsibility of being alive, and have owned my life as a consequence.

I have been through a lot of death and dying within me. From dying to self, dying to my own pre-held principles, dying to my own emotions, dying to my ignorance and arrogance, dying to my past, dying even to my own father and mother's approval (definitely not literally, but in a psychological sense that they are the primal authority whose approval little children yearn to have, which grown up men and women like myself no longer have to be bound upon. After all, one must walk his own path, not the path laid out for him by someone else.) But, perhaps, that which died had to die, in the hopes that a better Being must come forth. Some days I didn't know if I will survive the refining, the dying. But I kept trusting God. I trust in His Blessed Name. I only have my mustard seed of faith with me, and maybe that's all He needs. I have nothing else in me but withered roots waiting for the fire of purging. I must only surrender to His Truth. Veritas Dei Vincit. His Truth shall always conquer.

Suffering is agonizing. The cost of owning one's life is to die constantly, daily. Yet in my dying, I became more alive. More and more, my life became something real to me. I now walk in Liberty which was a strange concept to me before. In my dying, I no longer became a byproduct of my environment, of my past memories, of the things that happened to me. Those things died in the refining fire. They were chipped off in the process of sculpting. My soul is being made into a clean slate, a new sense of sight that is able to look at the world in the light of Truth, no longer stumbling blindly in the dark. There are days I do not recognize my old self, it is like a stranger looking from a blurred glass window. But always in my life, I see the gracious, merciful, ever-faithful hand of my God changing me from being an unbeliever to a believer; my own personal, difficult journey of unlearning and learning the foundational values and meaning of being a human, a created being—meeting halfway to reveal who I have now become. A new creature now walking in the newness of life.

To take ownership of one's own life, one must die first. And when he dies, he must be born again. And when he has been born again, he must surrender solely to the Truth, and the Truth shall set him free.

[shokobuns]

“𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐝𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐩𝐛𝐫𝐨?”

your irritating step brother likes to come in your room during your zoom classes.

PAIRING: stepbro!gojo satoru x f!reader

GENRE(S): smut, quarantine!au (au? LMAO), college!au, taboo

WORD COUNT: 2.7k

WARNING(S): darkish, smut, drug use (weed), high sex, stepcest, taboo, slight dubcon, slight manipulation, exhibitionism (if you squint), sensory deprivation (blindfold), degradation, size kink, unprotected sex, creampie, oral (f receiving), squirting, dacryphilia (if you squint)

(A/N): this rly do be my first time using proper capitalization huh, anyways all characters, SORRY I FORGOT TO ADD THE READ MORE I FIXED IT 

More.

One thing you easily learned about Satoru was the fact he wasn’t easy to satisfy. He’s demanding, cocky, all the while being nonchalant. He rarely exerts effort, but gets the desired results. He’s arrogant, but it’s nearly impossible to point out a flaw to counter it at all.

It makes your head hurt. It makes your teeth clench.

When you make eye contact, you make sure to stare back daggers. When you’re forced to talk to him, your voice stays monotone and expressionless. When you’re in a room with him for more than five minutes, your earbuds are already out, drowning out the sound of his voice. But it’s all difficult when you’re under the same roof.

Knock. Knock.

You roll your eyes at the sound of your step brother knocking your door, wondering what the hell he wants now. At this point, he’s probably just trying to annoy you, poke at your sides until he gets attention, any kind of attention, all just to satisfy his boredom.

Your calm demeanor and sharp tongue has always contrasted with Satoru’s teasing attitude. He’s always seemingly trying to provoke you, trying to pry apart the walls you’ve barricaded yourself in. His personality never rubbed you in the right way from the day your dad surprised you with a dinner with your new brother and your new mom. It didn’t matter anyways, you thought. You’d be going off to university soon enough.

The pandemic ran over all of your plans like a truck.

Better yet, your parents still had work without the option of staying home, leaving you and Satoru home alone for a little over eight hours a day. When he wasn’t in class or tutoring his juniors, he was knocking at your door, most likely red-eyed, though you can’t see it, and relaxed. Despite his persistence, you rarely let him in no matter how insistent he is in “getting to know his new lil sister.”

“Go away, Satoru.”

Behind the door, he pouts while you scribble down notes from the screenshared presentation. He comes in anyways, reeking of marijuana and cologne, half of his shirt buttons undone. You steal a small glance before once again glueing your eyes to your computer screen. The voice of your professor bores you, but you’re hyper aware of Satoru’s presence as he makes himself comfortable on your bed. “Get the fuck off! You stink!” You yell, turning off your camera before throwing a pencil right at him.

He catches it mid air with ease, relaxing his head on your pillows while fiddling with one of your many Sanrio plushies. “Can I have this?” he asks, holding one up as you contemplate its value in your head.

“If it gets you out of my room, then sure.” you reply in a monotone voice, turning back to your notes.

“You’re no fun,” he mumbles, rolling over to lay on his side with the plushie in his arms, “Is that organic chem?”

“Yeah, can you go now?”

“I’ll be quiet, princess. Don’t worry about me, just wanna know what my lil sis is up to.” He waits for a response, but is only rewarded with a huff.

It stays like that for the next ten minutes, him watching your professor’s lecture, you scrambling to write all of the information on the slides as he continues the fast paced lesson. You’re hyper focused on your class, putting in your effort to absorb the entirety of the content. In your mind, the only people in your room are your and your computer. “You know, you don’t have to understand everything all at once,”  a voice speaks up from behind you, causing you to purse your lips in annoyance, “It’s easier to learn when you’re actually paying attention to the lecture instead of focusing on trying to get everything down.

“We get it, Satoru. You have straight A’s and you’re naturally good at everything.”

“Hey, you’re getting advice from an aspiring teacher. Don’t need to use that tone with me, Princess.” He mumbles, rolling to his back on the bed, “Just tryna help you out in my free time.”

“I don’t need your help.”

He stays silent while you go back to drawing some of your basic compounds. Ethanol, methanol, propane, all of it. Your scribbles are messy and they progressively fill out the page in your notebook. You hear a tsk behind you, rolling your eyes as you prepare for another criticism from Satoru. Sure, he was probably right, but you refuse to feed into his ego. “Does he not link the slides to you guys or something?” he asks, this time with a friendlier tone.

“He does.” you reply, swiveling your chair until you’re facing him. He’s laying on his side again, his shirt spilling off his shoulder as your breath hitches at the sight. The blindfold is snug against his face, his hair pushed up. You’re sure that the stink of marijuana has rubbed onto your sheets and you make a mental note to wash them after class. “Then get high with me.”

“I’m in the middle of class, dumbass.”

“But you can always look at the slides later.” he suggests, “Plus, you’ve looked super stressed lately. Wonder why.”

Because of you, you want to say, but you stop yourself, opting to stay silent while pondering the offer. “Sure.”

He excitedly walks back to his room, returning to your bed seconds later with a joint between his fingertips. “This your first time?”

“Nah.”

“Ooooo,” he hums like a child, “That’s what you’re up to when we’re not around, huh?” he teases and you shake your head with a smile forming on your face.

“I guess.”

He shrugs, holding the joint up to your lips and lighting up the tip. You suck in the smoke into your lungs, holding it in, before exhaling out the screen door of your window. He takes a hit, opening his mouth and inhaling through his nose then passing it back to you. Your professor’s lecture fades into background noise as you fixate on Satoru, finally giving him the attention he’s been craving for weeks. He makes a mental note to offer you weed the next time he’s overcome by boredom.

The high hits you almost immediately. You’ve never had anything this strong and it’s liberating. You feel weightless, but your eyelids feel heavy. Your face is awfully warm and lifted and your vision gets more and more blurry by the second. The intoxication is pleasant, the present worries in your head being cut off as you focus on what’s right in front of you.

Satoru.

Satoru, your dear, irritating step brother who was kind enough to share the weed he stashes in his drawer. It’s getting harder and harder to hate him and you can’t reason why you felt so many negative emotions that you projected onto him at all. Sure, your room reeks and it’s all because of him, but the sight of him laying on your bed in a shirt that barely covers up his upper body makes your underwear feel uncomfortable. You don't know where it’s coming from, but shutting it out was easy when you’re sober. Key word: sober.

You stand from your desk, making your way to your bed and laying next to him. Both of you face each other, easily getting comfortable, warmth radiating off his body. It feels oddly intimate and your thighs press together in order to suppress the lustful feeling that takes over your body. Your arm comes around to the back of his head, tugging on the fabric that covers his eyes. “Can I take it off?”

“Sure.”

He lifts his head, allowing you to pull on the knot until it becomes undone. You don’t know what you were expecting, maybe a scar or something, but you’re in awe of the blue orbs that make you feel like you were staring into infinity. They’re bloodshot and half lidded and it’s when one fact you really didn’t want to accept hits you.

Satoru Gojo is one of the prettiest men you’ve ever seen.

And he’s your step brother.

Uneasiness stirs in your lower tummy and you curse at whatever higher power that decided to give you this type of luck, but a hand on your hip trails to your back, pulling your closer and closer until your faces are at a dangerous distance. You can feel your cheeks becoming alarmingly hot and you hate that you can’t blame it on the weed. His hand comes up to your cheeks, his thumb stroking the soft skin. “Thought you wanted me to go away?”

“Changed my mind.” you whisper, eyes slowly closing, lips parting open as you wait for him to lean in and close the gap.

“Hmm? What’s this?” he sneers, causing your eyes to shoot open and your body to jolt up from your bed. The hazy feeling on your head still remains, making it hard to stand completely straight. “Get out.” you sternly demand, leaning back on your desk chair and pointing towards your door.

“Why should I? I don’t think you really want me to leave, babe.” He props his head on his hand, leaning his elbow onto your mattress.

“It’s wrong.”

“What’s wrong? We’re just two people hanging out on a bed. Unless you were trying to do something else, dirty girl.”

“I- I wasn’t! You’re my step brother!”

“Step brother.” He repeats, justifying your actions.

You’re shaking, guilt occupying your mind keeping you distracted. It’s the perfect time for Satoru to get comfortable in the space between your legs, pulling down your loose shorts and taking you by surprise. Before you have a chance to protest, his nose brushes against your sensitive core, making you let out a squeak. “W-We can’t do this!”

“Didn’t you want this?” he questions, looking up at you with wide eyes, “Wanted me to take care of this pretty little pussy, right?”

You know you should be refusing. You know you should be pushing him out your door. But it’s so hard when his pupils are dilated and the grip on the sides of your thighs feels so right. At this point, you’re not thinking, only nodding along to whatever he’s saying, anticipating his next actions.

“So wet.” He mumbles, pulling down the flimsy fabric and throwing it off somewhere in the room. He licks a thick stripe from your entrance to your clit, sucking softly on the pearl while holding you down as the pleasure causes you to jolt upwards. He sucks and slurps like it’s his last meal, making your empty walls pulsate and little whines along with to leave your lips. Looking down, your eyes meet his, the lower half of his face immersed in your cunt.

The wet muscle fucks into you, curling and pressing against your walls, while his thumb rubs against your little clit. He hits all the right spots that make you squirm, pushing your legs wide open to see more of your ruined pussy. The wetness collects on his mouth, his chin, and his cheeks, filling him with a sick sense of satisfaction. “Such a whore, aren’t ya?” he pulls away to comment, but your fingers thread through his hair, pushing his head back where you need him most.

The action is assertive, something he usually hates dealing with. Though this time, he’s filled with a sick sense of pride at the fact that he was able to turn you, someone who seemed to hate him with a burning passion, into a moaning mess with just his mouth. He hums satisfactorily, sending vibrations into your sensitive core that make your thighs shaky.

You’re already cumming in an embarrassingly short time, gushing all over his face while he laps up all the juices you have to offer.

Before you can process anything else, his lips capture yours, lifting your body and dropping you onto your bed. You look at him with half lidded eyes, still sensitive from your last orgasm, while he pulls off his own clothes. His length rests on the inside of your thigh and he’s huge, so huge that it feels heavy against your skin and it scares you. “Satoru, I don’t think I can take you-”

“Shhh, princess,” he reassures you, “You started this. You have to take it.”

He doesn’t give you a chance to speak, taking the fabric of his blindfold and covering your eyes, tying a tight knot on the back of your head. This isn’t right, a voice in your head tells you, but you ignore it because Satoru treats you so well. He keeps you company, gives you some of his weed, eats your pussy without you having to ask him.

The only thing you can see is black and you whine. You so badly want to see Satoru’s pretty face, his chiseled body, his thick cock, but your thoughts are interrupted by the fat tip prodding at your tiny hole. “Too big..” your voice trails off as your mind is lifted, only the feeling of him splitting you in half remaining. You’ve never felt so full and it feels so dirty, yet your slick says otherwise, betraying any rational part that still resides in your body.

“I got you, Princess, don’t worry.” He slurs, drunk on the sensation of your snug walls. The stretch strings, whimpers spilling from your lips, but his cock hits every spot like no other. By the time he’s fully inside of you, it feels like he’s actually in your guts and it’s all intensified by the isolated feeling, not being able to see him at all. Every bite on your shoulder, every kiss on your open mouth, every delicious drag on your gummy walls is amplified.

You’re already cumming around him, a ring of cream forming on his cock as he gazes down at your bare body, wrapping his lips around a sensitive nipple. You squeal, your breath hitching at the same time you clamp down around his throbbing length. “Already? Such a sensitive little princess, aren’t you?” He mutters in your ear, your nails digging into his shoulders, piercing the pale skin. Tears spill from your eyes, flowing down the sides of your face.

His teeth sink into your shoulder and you want to tell him to stop, but the words don’t quite leave your lips. Only babbling noises accompanied by the wet sounds of your cunt and skin slapping against skin. He’s still pounding into your cervix at a relentless pace, in awe of how your slick drips down his balls and onto the white sheets. 

Every time he hits that sweet spot, there’s an odd feeling that forms, like you’re about to make a mess. And when your next orgasm washes over you in intense waves of euphoria, a clear liquid spurts from your cunny, coating his lower stomach and your inner thighs. “Who knew my little princess was such a messy girl?” he taunts, making your cheeks flush in embarrassment.

“S-shut up-”

“Don’t worry about it,” he leans in close, his lips dangerously close to your ear, “I’ll clean it all up.”

His smooth voice causes you to squeeze around him, almost like you don’t want him to ever leave your cunt, and it gets harder and harder for him to move. “Fuck, baby you’re so tight, need you to loosen up,” he mumbles, his own orgasm finally approaching, your little cunny milking him for all he’s worth. 

He’s rambling little praises, hot pleasure elevated by the high, his hips stuttering and his cock stuffing you to the brim with his warm seed. You both lay there, still intertwined and his body resting on top of yours.

“Ms. (L/N)! Did you have any questions about my lesson today?”

Your face drops in horror, your hand immediately pulling off the blindfold, as you push Satoru away from you and press the leave button on Zoom. A mix of your juices drop onto the floor and he chuckles, pulling you back to bed. “This isn’t over.”

He pins you back onto the mattress, his cock twitching at the sight of your leaking cunt, pulling your thighs until you’re close and pinning them to your chest. In one swift movement, his entire cock is shoved into your cunt, his balls slapping against the flesh of your ass with every thrust, fucking his cum back into your womb.

Gojo Satoru would never be satisfied.

[helloalycia]

teenage dirtbag [three] // wanda maximoff

summary: Wanda's boyfriend continues to be an aggravation in your life, causing some distance between you and Wanda

warning/s: none

author's note: i really appreciate the feedback you guys gave in the last part – it’s always motivating to read your reactions/comments 🥰

part one | part two | part four | part five | masterlist | wattpad

Sorting things out with Wanda made everything return to normal in no time. So much in fact that she decided I was worth inviting to her and her brother's birthday party.

Never in a million years did I expect the most popular girl in our grade to know who I was, let alone invite me to her birthday party, so to say I was surprised was an understatement.

"It's not a big deal if you can't make it," she said when she handed me the invitation in class. "I mean, I'd love it if you could, but yeah, no pressure."

I was in awe, accepting the invite and reading it quickly. It must have been a pretty expensive party if she was giving out special invites, that's for sure.

"You want me to come?" I asked, still unsure whether this was a joke or not.

"Only if you want to," she said quickly, eyes darting around the room and anywhere but at me. "Like I said, you don't have to. It's not a big deal and– I– yeah." She pressed her lips together and stopped rambling, offering me a small smile.

"Thanks," I said quietly, slotting the invite in my notebook. "I'll, er, I'll think about it."

She pushed a strand of hair behind her ear and faced forward, nodding. "Yeah, sure, no rush."

After that awkward conversation, I discovered she'd also invited Y/BF/N, the two of them developing a little friendship the more she'd hung out with me. He didn't mind going, but only wanted to do so if I went.

"I feel like I kinda don't wanna go," I admitted to him after school as we were studying in the library.

"Oh?" He rose an eyebrow. "And why's that?"

I played with the pencil in my hand. "I don't know, it's just– it's gonna be full of all of her other friends. And they don't really like me. Plus, her dick of a boyfriend is gonna be there. I just think she might have invited me to be nice. Like she might have felt like she had to because we sit together, y'know?"

"I think you know that isn't true," he said knowingly. "Maybe, just maybe, she actually wants us there, wants you there, to celebrate her birthday."

I chewed the inside of my mouth, giving it some thought. But the idea of going to Wanda's house party and seeing a bunch of people I didn't care about getting pissed wasn't comforting. Besides, even if I went, I'd probably see Wanda once before she'd get scooped away by Nate. What was the point?

"Nah, I don't think I'm going," I decided. "She won't notice. I'll just get her a present instead."

Y/BF/N sighed, clearly not impressed with my answer. Nonetheless, he said, "Okay, suit yourself."

"You can go if you want," I added, knowing his presence wasn't linked with mine.

"No Y/N, no party," he said with a dismissive shrug, and I couldn't help but smile.

"Such a good friend," I said teasingly, but there was truth to my words. And I knew he knew that. 

When I saw photos and videos of Wanda and Pietro's party all over my social media the day after, I knew I'd made the right choice in not going. It was the same visuals of everyone getting drunk, doing stupid shit and making a mess. Call me a loser, but that wasn't really my scene. Pietro and Wanda both seemed to enjoy it though, judging from the pictures.

Instead, I bought her a birthday present, knowing I didn't have to but I kind of wanted to, and planned to give it to her when she turned up to class. It was her birthday today, despite throwing the party over the weekend, so I hoped it would make up for my absence (thought I doubted she noticed).

She showed up and settled beside me as I was writing the date in my notebook, making me look up to see she'd made an extra effort to dress up for her birthday, looking fancier than usual. I couldn't help but smile at the giant '18' birthday badge pinned to her jacket.

"Happy birthday, Wanda," was the first thing I said when I saw her. "You look amazing."

A bashful smile appeared on her lips. "Thank you, Y/N."

"I hope your party went well," I said, giving her my full attention whilst trying not to drool over how beautiful she looked.

Surprisingly, her smile faded and her eyebrows knitted together. "Yeah, it did... could you not make it? I tried looking for you and– yeah..."

I opened my mouth to speak, admittedly a little embarrassed that she'd caught me out. I was sure she wouldn't notice – the pictures made it seem like there were loads of guests, I'd definitely have blended in if I were there – but clearly I was mistaken.

"I just thought–" she began, before shaking her head. "Never mind."

"Sorry, I thought–" I started, but like her, didn't know what to say. "Parties aren't my thing," I admitted truthfully. "But it looked fun. You enjoyed it, right?"

She nodded, a small forced smile on her lips. "Yeah, right. It's cool. No biggie."

I swallowed awkwardly. It seemed like a biggie and now I felt bad.

"I, er, got you a gift," I blurted, hoping to change the subject. Reaching into my backpack, I pulled out the terribly wrapped present and held it out nervously. "I hope you, er, like it."

Her eyebrows raised as her eyes flickered between the present and I. "Oh? You didn't have to. I wasn't expecting anything."

Was it hot in here or was it just me?

I pulled my collar away from my neck, hoping to circulate some air. "I wanted to. It's not a big deal."

She accepted the gift, fingers brushing mine and making me even more nervous, before opening it up. Her eyes sparkled with delight as she revealed a brand new leather paintbrush carry case.

"The one you always carry around is tattered and falling apart, so I thought I'd get you a new one," I explained, feeling like I had to. "I mean, unless the other one has some sort of sentimental value, then in that case, I can just return this."

"Are you kidding? I love it!" she exclaimed, looking to me with a grin. "It's beautiful, Y/N. I don't even know what else to say."

My shoulders relaxed, a relieved smile tugging at my lips. "Good. Th-that's good. I'm glad you like it."

Without warning, she moved forward off her stool and wrapped her arms around my shoulders, pulling me in for a hug. I was startled, unable to think straight with her body pressed so close to mine and her floral perfume wafting into my nose. Why did she have to smell so good?

"Thank you," she muttered, pulling away but not quite letting go. Her eyes were glowing as they watched me carefully, accompanying her weak-in-the-knees smile. I was sure I'd melt. "It means a lot."

I nodded, not trusting myself to speak for fear I'd say something stupid. I resisted the urge to look down at her lips, which were pulled into a small, appreciative smile. She let go of me, looking to the case again and unravelling it. I caught my breath meanwhile, my senses still on override as her perfume lingered.

She was just so damn beautiful.

—

"Okay, how about this – robotic or organic aliens. Which would you rather invade our planet?" Y/BF/N asked.

I chuckled at his question. "Definitely haven't thought about that one, but let's see..."

We were hanging in the bleachers out near the football field as we waited for football practice to end. Y/BF/N had a Film project to do and needed to film the field, so I offered to help like the good friend I was.

"Probably organic," I answered as I balanced on the bleachers, standing up and tiptoeing down them like steps. "At least we could reason with them if they tried to kill us because they'd have a conscience. Robotic aliens would just be programmed to take over and that's it."

Y/BF/N seemed against the idea as he played with his camera. "Yeah, but if they were robotic, all we'd have to do is launch a missile at them and they'd explode. You can break metal. It's harder to break organic matter."

I stifled a laugh. "You've given this much thought, I see."

He gave me a knowing look. "You telling me you don't think aliens exist?"

I stopped tiptoeing and stood still as I looked down at him with humoured eyes. "You know I know aliens exist."

He waved his hand like that was enough reasoning. "There you go then!"

I laughed, wondering how he thought of this stuff, then continued to balance as I walked down the bleachers. Probably the wrong choice as when I heard a voice call me, I looked up, saw it was Wanda, then proceeded to miss a step and fall onto my arse.

"Oh God, Y/N, are you okay?" she asked, moving forward to help me.

My face heated up as Y/BF/N laughed his arse off beside me. I accepted Wanda's hand and let her pull me up, before letting go immediately when I could handle it myself. Her presence always made me nervous, but this was just terrible.

"Yeah, I'm good," I said, glancing at her and freezing at her piercing gaze and suppressed smile.

"You sure?" she asked, glancing at Y/BF/N, before trying to hide her own laughter.

Fuck me, why was I such a mess whenever she was around?

"Very sure," I said, though my back began to ache from where I hit it. "What's up, anyway?"

Y/BF/N finally shut up, to my relief, and Wanda minimised her laughter before scratching her head.

"I'm waiting for practice to end so I can take Pietro home," she said, nodding to the field. "I saw you both sat here and thought I'd say hi. Are you guys watching practice?"

"Not really," I answered, before tilting my head to Y/BF/N. "We're just waiting for it to end so Y/BF/N can film for his project."

"Ooh, that sounds interesting," she said, intrigued and looking to him now. "What's that about?"

As he caught her up on it, I found myself checking Wanda out without realising. She was animated as she listened to Y/BF/N talk about his assignment, eyes giving him all of her attention, and a permanent smile was fixed on her lips as she listened to him. Though it wasn't directed at me, I felt butterflies swirling a storm in my stomach and clutched it, hoping they'd go away. I loved and hated the feeling all at once.

Breaking me from my reverie, a football flew past all three of us and hit the bleachers, startling us all. We looked in the direction it came from and saw the football team looking back at us, some laughing and some disgruntled. Two players ran towards us and when they got close enough, I made them out as Pietro and Nate.

Nate was laughing as he looked between us all, before his gaze fell on me. "It's Y/N, right? I feel like I'm always throwing that thing at you. Sorry about that."

But his constant laughing and lack of guilt refuted his words. I merely clenched my jaw and narrowed my eyes his way, not that he seemed to care nor notice. I was a mere fly in a world that revolved around him. He'd never notice.

"Babe, I'm sorry, I didn't even know you were over here," he added, looking to Wanda. "You okay?"

Wanda crossed her arms and seemed frustrated. "I'm fine, Nate. Just get your ball."

He shrugged and grabbed his ball. Before leaving, he pressed a kiss to Wanda's cheek which made me wince, but she made no attempt in enjoying it. He didn't seem to care as he took off running back to his team. Pietro smiled apologetically at the three of us.

"I'm sorry," he said genuinely. "He can be such a dick sometimes."

That was the understatement of the century.

With that, he turned and ran back to his team to finish up. Wanda sighed, running a hand through her hair, as Y/BF/N and I exchanged glances.

"I should get the car running," she said awkwardly, pointing a thumb over her shoulder and towards the car park. "Good luck with your assignment, Y/BF/N. And I'll see you tomorrow, Y/N."

Waving goodbye with an awkward smile, I watched her leave and wondered the same thing I always did whenever Nate decided to make an appearance in my life.

How could she be dating such a dick?

—

Apart from the birthday party I didn't go to, I'd never been invited (or had a reason to go) to Wanda's house. I'd seen it, rode my bike past it, but never actually been in it. So, when she invited me to her place to work on a project we'd been assigned in class, I was unsure how to feel. She was adamant though and I had no reason to say no, so the only thing left to do was say yes. Even when she offered to drive me there after school.

"This is your car?" I asked with disbelief.

I knew absolutely nothing about cars, but I wasn't blind. Hers was a gorgeous deep red colour with a convertible roof that was currently lowered so anyone in it would feel the sun on their back and wind in their hair.

"Yeah, you like it?" she asked as she got into the driver's seat.

I gulped and sat in the passenger's seat, throwing my backpack at my feet. "It's so nice. You sure you don't mind me drinking in this?"

I had a Pepsi bottle in my hand and was deathly afraid of opening it now in case I spilt it and the cleaning bill would be more than I made in a year at the pizza parlour.

She laughed, already pulling out of the car park. "Of course. Don't be silly."

I glanced in her direction, trying not to get distracted by how good she looked in the driver's seat. She was wearing a red leather jacket, funnily enough, matching the exterior of her car, and she had dark eyeliner around her eyes, accentuating the shape and colour of them and leaving me speechless whenever she looked my way.

"There's CDs in the glove compartment," she was saying as she focused on the road. "Or you can mess around with the radio. It's up to you."

"CDs?" I asked, it piquing my interest. I reached into the glove compartment, adding, "What is this, the 2000s?"

She rolled her eyes playfully, accepting my teasing, as I flicked through the small stack of albums.

"I don't know, I guess I just like having the physical version," she said with a shrug. "It's kind of like a collection."

I chuckled at her need to explain herself, watching the way she rubbed her neck nervously, smiling with embarrassment. Looking back to the albums, a particular one grabbed my attention and I plucked it out with raised brows.

"Oh my God, you like Paramore?" I asked, looking to her with surprise. "Now it's definitely the 2000s."

Her cheeks flushed as she grew flustered. I nudged her in the side gently, getting her attention briefly.

"I'm kidding," I reassured, tilting my head her way playfully. "I actually love Paramore. They're my favourite band."

"Really?" she asked with surprise as I put the CD in her car. I hummed in response, to which she continued, "Have you ever seen them live?"

As For a Pessimist, I'm Pretty Optimistic played quietly in the background, I nodded my head. "Yeah, once. It was a few years ago, but the tickets were shitty and I could just about make them out on stage in the distance."

Wanda laughed, the sound making my heart skip a beat. "No, that's so sad!"

I chuckled in agreement. "Yeah. It was, but oh well. They have a tour coming up this summer, right? Maybe I can get better tickets this time 'round... what about you? Have you ever seen them live?"

She hummed, making a turn at some traffic lights and chewing her lower lip as she focused on doing so. It was definitely the wrong time, but I found myself admiring how attractive it was, especially when her jaw tensed and her defined jawline was on display.

"Yeah, I saw them a few times," she finally responded, pulling me from my stupor. "Some really good seats, some really shitty ones." She giggled at the end, making me smile. "Maybe we could go to that concert in the summer. If you're up for it?"

This seemed like one of those times where you made plans with a friend that you knew would never happen, so to not cause an awkwardness in the conversation, I nodded in agreement.

"Yeah, maybe."

She glanced at me and I mirrored her smile, the flash of excitement in her eyes knocking me breathless.

When we reached her house, I was awestruck at how big it was from the inside. I mean, it looked huge from the outside, but the inside was even better. Her family were rich, I knew that, but this was some other level of rich.

"Here, c'mon, I'll get you a drink, then we can go into the dining room to start," Wanda said, failing to recognise my amazement and instead leading me to the kitchen. "We have tropical juice, apple juice, water, Sprite, Cola... which d'you want?"

I settled at the island, taking a seat and subtly admiring her kitchen. "Er, apple juice is fine with me."

She smiled brightly before pouring me a glass, whilst pouring herself some Sprite. Standing opposite me, we both took a moment to have a drink, but didn't get chance to exchange words as her mum entered the room and noticed me instantly.

"Y/N, it's so lovely to see you again!" she said kindly, patting me on the shoulder before heading to the fridge. "You girls hanging out? Studying?"

"We have a project," Wanda filled in as I nodded in agreement. "We alright to claim the dining room?"

After grabbing some water from the fridge, Wanda's mum pressed a kiss to her daughter's cheek. "Sure thing, sweetie. If you need anything, just let me know." Smiling once more at me, she said, "It's good to see you, Y/N."

"You too," I said with a friendly smile before she left.

"Come on," Wanda said, motioning for me to follow. "We have tons to do."

The next hour and a half was spent with Wanda and I planning out our project, our work sprawled along the dining table messily. We were making progress, until she got a call suddenly. It seemed serious as she gave me an apologetic glance and excused herself. I let her go and leaned back in my seat, wondering what I could do as I waited for her to return. That thought was resolved quite quickly when Pietro popped his head in the doorway and spotted me.

"Y/N! What an honour to welcome you to our humble abode," he exclaimed, entering the room fully. "What brings you here?"

Pietro's presence always brought an amused smile to my lips. "Wanda and I are working on a Chemistry project. She's just nipped out for a phone call."

He tutted dramatically, crossing his arms. "Well, well, well. We can't have that! Wanda needs to learn to entertain her guests. C'mon. I was about to head to the gaming room and could use the company."

I was visibly surprised. "You have a gaming room? Dude, that's awesome!"

He laughed. "C'mon."

Joining Pietro, the two of us headed to this so-called gaming room and I was not disappointed. There was a huge TV with a PlayStation and Nintendo Switch connected to it, a snooker table, a foosball table, a dart board, some old arcade games – it was amazing, any gamer's biggest dream.

"What you feeling, princess?" he said with that flirtatious smile of his.

I rolled my eyes playfully. He was being overtly flirty, more so than his sister was – was it a Maximoff personality trait or something? – and I wasn't sure whether he meant it or was just being his usual self.

"Are you flirting?" I deadpanned, tilting my head curiously. "I can't tell."

He pocketed his hands, swinging back on the heels of his feet. "That depends. Is it working?"

Despite my lack of interest in him like that, I felt my face heat up at the attention. "Pietro, I must tell you that any moves you attempt to make kind of won't work."

"And why's that?" he asked, sitting on the edge of the snooker table with a cheeky smile on his lips. "Am I not your type?"

"Unless you change into a girl, then no," I played along, making him flush with embarrassment. "Hate to break it to you, but I'm gay."

"Okay, I guess that makes sense," he mumbled to himself, before sighing and meeting my eyes. "We can still be friends, right? Or is that forbidden since you're already friends with my sister?"

I laughed and approached him. "Friends works. I don't think Wanda will care. I certainly don't."

He grinned. "Awesome! Well, d'you wanna play a round of foosball?"

"Sure," I said with an amused expression. "Bet I can kick your arse."

He pushed himself off the table and feigned surprise. "Oh? Game on, Y/L/N."

I didn't realise how long Wanda had been on the phone until I managed to get through three rounds of foosball and was in the middle of a snooker game with Pietro.

"You may have beat me at foosball, but you're terrible at this," he pointed out with stifled laughter.

I'd missed my third shot and it was more funny than it was embarrassing.

"Your talking distracts me," I said dismissively, before lining up the next shot with my cue.

He watched as I tried to take my shot before sighing loudly. I glanced at him with a quirked brow.

"You have a thought you'd like to share?" I asked playfully.

He hesitated, moving forward to correct my posture. "Look, if you just aim it like this–"

"Don't even think about it, Romeo," I said jokingly, standing up straight and pushing him away gently. "I know what you're thinking."

He laughed. "What? I was just going to help you aim!"

I gave him a knowing look. "So holding me close is just a bonus?"

"Fine, take your shot without my help and see what happens," he said dismissively, waving his hand.

"I'll do just that," I said with confidence, before bending down and taking my shot. The ball hit the other and neither were pocketed, which was an achievement as I'd got the cue ball in several times before, but still pretty shit as I didn't score any points.

Pietro smiled with satisfaction, leaning on his cue. "You happy with that?"

I held in a laugh as I looked to him. "Shut up."

He chuckled before bumping me out the way. "Now for the professional."

Bending down to take his shot, he pulled back his cue before hitting the balls. They rolled around on the table and one ball was about to go in, but I quickly grabbed it before he could get the point.

"Y/N!" he shouted between laughter. "That's cheating!"

"Technically we didn't establish rules," I pointed out, before moving backwards as he tried to grab it from my hand. "What do you say to calling it a draw and playing something else?"

"I say that's a childish way to admit you've lost," he responded, before moving forward quickly. I dodged his attempt and he pursed his lips. "Y/N."

"Pietro."

He smirked. "Seriously?"

I grinned.

He tried to grab it again and ended up chasing me around the room as I avoided giving in. Taking the piss out of Y/BF/N enough times had prepared me for moments like this, so I was able to avoid Pietro long enough to run into whoever walked through the door.

"Shit, Wanda, I'm sorry," I said between laughter, steadying both me and her.

She smiled with confusion, about to speak, but Pietro caught up to me and lifted me up, throwing me onto the couch before I could protest.

"No more cheating," he said sternly, as I lifted my head from the pile of cushions on the couch to look up at him.

"You're an arse," I said, pushing myself up off the couch.

"And you're a sore loser!"

We had a mini staring competition before the two of erupted into laughter.

"You're not half bad, Pietro," I complimented as he helped me up.

"Thank you, princess," he said, the flirtatious smile on his lips again.

I shoved him in the shoulder playfully before looking to Wanda, who was chewing on her lip as she looked between Pietro and I with an unreadable expression.

"So, what prompted you to leave Y/N alone for an hour?" Pietro asked, wrapping an arm around my shoulder, making me shove him away. He grinned at me before looking to Wanda.

"Nate called," Wanda responded carefully, arms crossed as she continued to look between us. God, I hoped she didn't think Pietro and I liked each other. That would be embarrassing.

Pietro scoffed from beside me, making Wanda sigh with annoyance.

"Don't start, Piet," she said and gave him a look which he seemed to understand.

By the sounds of it, Pietro didn't seem to like Wanda's dick of a boyfriend either. That was strange since wasn't impressing the brother the first part of being in a relationship with someone? And they were on the same football team, so I figured he'd at least tolerate him.

"Are we alright to get back to studying?" Wanda asked, directing her stare to me. The annoyance she held for Pietro was still present in her eyes and I suddenly felt nervous when she looked my way.

"Yeah, of course," I said, before giving Pietro a half-smile. "Rematch at snooker next time. Sound good?"

"Try to keep the balls on the table and we'll see," he teased, before nodding to Wanda. "You should get back to your project before Wanda kills us both with her deadly glare."

I smiled awkwardly, looking back to Wanda as she was indeed glaring at her brother. Clearly there was some sibling rivalry going on here, and I definitely didn't want to get in the middle of it, so I headed to Wanda, signalling I was ready to leave.

The two of us headed back to the dining room in an uncomfortable silence. I felt like I'd done something wrong and she was giving me the silent treatment which was strange. Then I figured it was probably something with Nate that made her annoyed, so didn't question it too much.

We sat back down and I looked at what we'd done so far to try and pick up where we left off, but then she spoke out of the blue, taking me by surprise.

"Do you like my brother?"

It was so abrupt that I took a moment to acknowledge it, blinking. "What?"

"Pietro," she clarified, saying it with such dismissiveness like it wasn't a big deal. Her attention was on the books before us as she continued, "Do you like him?"

I tried not to laugh as I shook my head. "No, Wanda. I mean, don't get me wrong, he's a great guy. But yeah, no, I don't like him like that."

She chewed her lip, nodding, but I swear I saw a hint of a smile on her lips. I hoped it wasn't the thought of Pietro and I that made her annoyed. I wasn't that bad, was I? I know she cared about her brother and was probably overprotective, but me being his girlfriend couldn't have been that bad, right?

We got back to work in no time, getting a lot done. I didn't realise how late it was getting until Wanda's mum poked her head in, asking if I wanted to stay for dinner.

"Dinner?" I asked, eyebrows raising with surprise. I checked my watch and realised how long I'd been here. "Damn, maybe I should head back."

"Nonsense, you must stay," her mum insisted. "Y/M/N won't mind. A daughter of hers is a daughter of mine."

"You can even sleepover if you want," Wanda offered, and I almost choked on my own spit. "It's getting pretty late."

I shook my head, forcing a small smile so they wouldn't get offended. "Honestly, it's fine. I can head back."

"Please?" Wanda asked with a hopeful expression. "It's the least I can do. I kinda wasted your time for an hour earlier..."

"I should ask my mum," I said, chewing on the inside of my mouth.

"Oh, I'll ring and let her know," Wanda's mum said breezily, before looking to Wanda. "D'you think you can clear your things up? Your brother is gonna set the table."

"Sure, mum." Wanda smiled her way as she left, before looking to me. "I've got clothes and a spare toothbrush you can use tonight."

I smiled awkwardly, nodding. Sleeping over at my crush's house wasn't how I thought I'd be spending my Wednesday evening, yet here we were.