#sorry if its a whole bummer

[malkaviian]

im home earlier than i thought

[fat-fem-and-asian]

i enjoyed night country and most of my criticisms with the show can be summed up more development for its female (especially supporting) characters

[southislandwren]

my toxic trait is thinking i could get to and from [state](18 hours round trip) in one (1) day

[unrestrained-balderdash-art-blog]

EDIT: I MAY HAVE MISIDENTIFIED THE BIRD. IT MIGHT BE A MEADOW PIPIT. I'm sorry. Massive bummer since it kind of ruins the themes of the whole piece

Original caption:

This wasn't originally going to be an ace pride piece but during the inking some of the stone looked a lot like the ace pride flag. If I wasn't there and didn't know it was a skylark I'd have probably assumed it's a thrush since it isn't doing its iconic display flight, which is where the message came from.

[vauxxy]

KILLER

spiderman!luke castellan x reader

part 1 || part 2

★ "i am sick of the chase but i'm hungry for blood, and theres nothing i can do"

ABOUT - luke castellan is new york's very own 'friendly neighbourhood spider-man'- because of course he fuckin' is. to make matters even better, you're the only one at school who knows. lucky you.

WARNINGS - australian slang yet again (sorry guys, i cant help it. its in my blood!), swearing, first person?? idk i thought it'd be cool. sorry if it sucks. lol. mentions of adderall (she has ADHD) and vaping. reader is a rich girl and the leader of the sassy girl apocolypse.

"are you okay, ma'am?"

"dont call me ma'am, luke."

"okay, what the fuck."

that's how i found out the nerd in my AP chemistry class was spider-boy. i mean, obviously i had caught on to his whole 'superhero thing' like, a week after the news articles started flooding in. it was so obvious.

luke is probably one of the only guys in the world dumb enough to put on a latex suit in order to help old ladies cross the street. sure, he's a good samaritan- and sure, he's saving small businesses from being mugged into bankruptcy and shit; but who cares?

every night, i see him swinging from building to building like a fucking weirdo. it gets old after the first 100 foot drop down from the hilton hotels building. like, we get it. you're spider-man. good for you.

sadly, my cynicism was brought to a halt as soon as he saved me from being brutally robbed on my way home. of course i got mugged on the one day i decided not to wear my doc martens. just my luck.

i used to cut through this sketchy alleyway to get to my bus stop because it took way too long walking around the block- that was my first mistake. DO NOT GO INTO SKETCHY ALLEYWAYS IN NEW YORK. NOTHING GOOD HAPPENS IN AN ALLEYWAY.

my second mistake was deciding against popping my second addy during 5th period, because if i had, then maybe i'd be alert enough to clock what was happening before this druggie had his glock pointed at my head. well, at least it wasn't his dick. praise the lord!

the druggie snuck behind me, before literally grabbing me by the neck and pushing me up against the wall of the dingy alleyway. then, he pulled out a WHOLE ASS GUN from his pocket and held it to my head, using the sleeve of his sweater to cover its form.

my breath hitched as the water bottle inside my backpack pressed against my spine. that was my third mistake. frank green water bottles hurt when they're pushing into your bones.

"you're gonna give me all the money you've got on you, kay?" he asked in a low, raspy voice. he definitely smoked 5 packs a day.

nevertheless, i nodded and reached into the side pocket of my backpack. i pulled out my cute little mimco purse and started taking out all the cash in it. it hurt my soul to get rid of it- that money was supposed to go towards my new vape. bummer.

my hands were shaking as they held the messy assortment of bills, waiting for him to take it from me and just leave me alone.

"good. thanks- dont be tellin' anyone about this, or else i'll find you,' he threatened, slowly pulling the gun away from my head.

"i wont, i swear!"

"you're taller than him, ma'am. why dont you just kick him to the curb?"

i furrowed my brows, my eyes scanning the alleyway for the origins of the voice. the origins of luke's voice.

his nasally tone was so distinct, i could recognise it with my head underwater.

"the fuck?" called out the short, ugly smoker with my money. he whipped his head around furiously, suddenly a lot more alarmed than when he was robbing me. suddenly, the nerdy loser in latex swung down and pushed him onto the cold ground.

spider-boy grabbed his wrists and held them behind his back, before webbing them together in some homemade handcuffs.

"are you fuckin' kidding me?" the guy grumbled, his voice muffled by the gravel pushing against his mouth as spider-dork held his head to the ground.

"nope, not kidding you," he sighed, using his webs to secure the man into his position on the ground. he dug into the mans pockets and pulled out my money.

yep, that was luke castellan all right.

spider-nerd leapt off the constrained druggie and walked over to me, handing me back my assortment of bills. "are you okay, ma'am?" he asked, looking downwards a bit to meet my gaze.

thats exactly how luke looks at me. he's gotta be luke- he HAS to be.

i had been watching luke for weeks. i had been analysing his every movement, every strange look and awkward gesture. i was 99.9% sure that spider-man was luke castellan.

but there was only one way to find out.

"dont call me ma'am, luke."

luke choked on air, taking a step forwards as he clumsily held onto the wall in shock. "okay, what the fuck?"

i laughed dryly, my eyes narrowed as i stared at him. the whole ‘spider-man’ thing really did suit him.

"you know?" he stuttered out. i nodded, before pointing over at the guy still squirming under his webs. "maybe you should get rid of him," i said calmly, crossing my arms over my chest after stuffing my money into the pocket of my jeans.

"oh. yeah, right."

before i knew it, luke had quite literally kicked the guy in the head to knock him out.

"are you allowed to do that?" i asked, my eyes wide in shock.

"nah, not really," luke shrugged, before looking down at his watch and pressing a few buttons.

"i thought you were supposed to be a friendly neighbourhood spider-boy," i retorted. luke scoffed, looking back up at me with what i could only assume to be a sly grin from under his mask. "its spider-man,” he corrected.

“and criminals who mess with pretty girls deserve to be curb stomped."

okay. yeah. he had a fair point. i am rather pretty.

then, out of nowhere, luke grabbed me by the waist and aimed his wrist towards the sky. before i knew it, he was swinging us towards the sky like a fucking lunatic.

“luke! what the fuck?!” i screamed, wrapping my arms around his neck and clinging to his body for dear life.

“what’s your addy?” he asked, his toned arm keeping me in place as it pressed against the small of my back.

‘what’s your addy?’ seriously? what a fuckin’ loser. i would’ve made fun of him for using snapchat lingo if it weren’t for how strong his arms were. jesus christ, they were so big and toned… no wonder he skips gym class every lesson; he doesn’t want to show off. what a humble king.

“uhh- greenhead avenue!” i cried out, digging my head into the nook of his neck. gods, he smelt good.

luke nodded, holding me tighter as he swung us through the air. “rodger that.”

“thanks for like… saving me, or whatever,”

i stood inside my bedroom, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear as i clung onto the window frame. luke took off his mask as he stood on the balcony, leaning against the railing. he shot me a meek smile, tilting his head to the side as a way to play down his cocky demeanour.

he’s never gonna let me live this down.

“don’t worry about it.”

he paused, letting his smile drop. “just- promise you won’t tell anyone?” luke asked, his voice low as he leaned forward.

of course i wasn’t going to tell anyone- i’m not a total cunt. i have morals… sometimes.

“i promise, luke.”

he smiled, pulling his mask back over his head before taking a step back. “great. see you on monday,” he called out, jumping off the railing and swinging away from my apartment building.

as soon as he left, i face planted against my bed.

luke castellan was spider-man. i fucking knew it.

that was fine. i knew that.

but what really got me was how hot it was when he held me by the waist, how good he smelt, how raspy his voice was- WHAT THE FUCK.

no. what the fuck. are you kidding me. god no. no no no no no no no. i’m going to jump off the balcony. this is it.

of course. just my luck.

that day i confirmed my suspicions of luke being spider-man.

i also realised why i cared about it much.

fuck my life.

[whatsnewalycat]

Psychomanteum / Chapter 15

Pairing: Dieter Bravo x OFC Louella (2nd POV)

Chapter 15: The Widow

Chapter Summary: Contemplation.

Word Count: 7.6k+

Content / Warnings: alternating pov, suicidal thoughts and planning, intrusive thoughts, grief, swearing, alcohol use, uncertainty, parker, lotta yearning and self-reflection, angst, paranormal/spooky elements, food

Notes: Chapter title from “The Widow" by The Mars Volta. This is the peak of angst in this story, I promise. Pleaaaaaase be mindful of the trigger warnings above. Big big thanks to @frannyzooey for proofreading 🖤✨ OK THANKS FOR READING YALL LOVE U SORRY IF ITS A BUMMER.

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As far back as you can remember, you hated the dark. 

The uncertainty of what it contained would keep you up for hours in your childhood bedroom. 

Your mind ran rampant, imagining all kinds of insidious creatures lurking in the shadows. Beneath your bed, in the corners, behind your closet door, outside your window. Watching, waiting for you to fall asleep. 

At some point you started sleeping with the lights on. Your parents got you a nightlight in an attempt to curtail this behavior, but it wasn’t enough. There were still shadows. You were still cloaked in darkness with the monsters. All this did was begin a new ritual, where you waited until they went to bed before turning on the lights. 

One night, after you heard your parents’ bedroom door click shut, you scurried over to the light switch and flipped it up. The overhead light came to life, flooding the room in safety. Relief.  

By the time you crawled back into bed, your dad opened the door and peeked into the room. He looked between you and the overhead light, sighing, “Louella, we talked about this.” 

“Don’t turn the light off.” 

“Why not?”

Even then it felt silly. The answer stuck to the inside of your throat, hot and buzzing. Instead of letting it out, you burrowed beneath the covers and curled up into yourself. 

The floorboards creaked as your dad made his way across the room. He sat on the edge of your mattress and rubbed your back, comforting you. 

“Sweet pea,” he cooed, peeling back your Lion King comforter to expose your face, “It’s not good for you to sleep with the lights on all the time.” 

At this, you pouted at your blanket, fiddling with the frayed edges. 

“The dark is scary, isn’t it?”

You nodded. 

“What’s so scary about it?”

You shrugged. 

He hummed in acknowledgment, then glanced around the room, “I’ll let you in on a secret. Most everyone is afraid of the dark at some point or another. You know why?” 

Another shrug. 

“In the light, we have certainty. We can look over in that corner and see with our own eyes there’s no boogeyman there. It’s just a corner. Done deal. The dark… that’s trickier, isn’t it?” 

You nodded, trying to decide whether or not to tell him about the monsters you believed would manifest in the black abyss and swallow you whole. 

“You’re safe here, though. I promise. It’s just you in here. There’s nothing hiding in the dark. The corner is just a corner. All that’s under your bed is dust. In your closet, it’s just clothes.” 

“Can you check?” 

He chuckled, but granted your request, lowering himself to the ground to peek under your bed, telling you, “Nothing under here,” then climbed to his feet and strode over to your closet, pulling the door wide open so you could see the proof yourself. 

“All clear,” he said as he closed it and returned to your bedside, “Does that help?”

You nodded, casting your gaze down to your lap. A lingering feeling of dread still sat heavy in your stomach. His gaze stayed trained on you, obviously unconvinced. 

Eventually you asked, “But what if we just don’t see it now? What if it sneaks?”

Your voice felt tiny, meek. 

His shoulders deflated with a sigh. He scooted closer and petted your hair, holding eye contact when he countered, “Your brain is trickier than the dark ever will be. It makes you see things that aren’t there. Unless you believe it’s safe, you’ll never be able to rest.” 

He was right, you suppose. 

Rest only really found you when you trusted the lights’ promise that nothing would hurt you when it vanished. Even when the light broke its promise. Even when your dad went to the ER and returned in a box.

You tried to believe that your family would live on without him. That he would still somehow keep you safe. 

But he didn’t. 

Neither did your mother. 

Your mother cut the power and made you fend for yourself.

You learned that the only way to ensure nothing would hurt you was to make sure the room was vacant before deadbolting the door. To lock the windows and draw the blinds. You sharpened your teeth into fangs. You developed night vision and grew claws, and you hid so well you thought nothing could find you. 

Sure, it was dark. 

But the abyss had only one occupant, you knew that as fact. 

Sure, your skin ached to feel the sunlight. 

But you were safe. 

You’re not sure when it happened, but sooner or later, you swore you could see shapes shifting in the pitch black. When you laid in bed at night, you could hear something in the walls. The faint, dry scratch of nails on plaster. 

It sneaks. 

The thing became clearer over time. Bloated, purpled skin. Limbs that popped and groaned when it crept around just beyond your reach. It carried the stench of rot, putrid and sulphuric. 

Deep down in your guts, you understood the horrible truth. 

It was you. 

A part of you, anyway. Something that lived and died inside you, stillborn into the darkness just to haunt you. 

Then there was Ethan. 

Brash and charming, he took a sledgehammer to your walls and yanked you from your hiding place. Sunshine poured into the dark, dank room, soaking you in brightness. 

At first you were terrified. 

It overwhelmed your senses. 

Your eyes, having long forgotten how to operate in the light, burned in reaction. You clamped them closed for fear of going blind. It felt so warm you thought you might melt. Ethan’s honeyed words seemed like loudspeakers compared to the quiet echo of your breathing. To the faint, hoarse whisper of your monster. 

It took some time to acclimate to this long-forgotten brightness. But once you did, it felt incredible. You couldn’t believe you hid from it for so long. 

Together, you understood that with light, comes shadows. He had a monster who crept after nightfall, too. Sometimes you’d wake to the soft caress of its nails on your cheek, to his sour, putrid breath gurgling in your ear, “I will be the death of you,” like a promise. 

You came to trust its keeper, though. You believed it wouldn’t tear you apart, like yours wouldn’t Ethan.  

That is the promise of love, after all, isn’t it? 

To cherish one’s light so much that you’ll endure their dark? To love even the most haunted, grotesque parts of someone? Even their monsters? Even their ghosts? 

To trust that you can rest your weary bones in the dark without it destroying you? 

You believed this for so long. Bright years filled with joy and laughter and love, where you felt alive and trusted him. In those years, you forgot a very important fact:

 It sneaks. 

The fireplace lets out a sharp POP, drawing your attention away from the pitch black window. 

A smoldering log at the bottom of the hearth collapses. The fire shifts, birthing fresh flames that breathe hot against your cheeks. 

You pull the quilt snug around your supine body and huddle deeper into the couch, into the warmth of your body heat. 

When you called your mother-in-law yesterday and explained what was happening, that you needed a place to stay for a few days while you figure out what to do, she graciously granted your request to use their cabin out in the Sierra Nevada foothills, but warned you the place was winterized and had no central heating. 

“I don’t know what condition it’s in, nobody’s been out there since August. There’s quite a bit of firewood by the fireplace and out by the woodshed, use as much as you need. Electricity is on, but no internet and cell service is shoddy. You’ll need to get the water going, too—you know, why don’t you give me or Adam a call once you’re out there, we can walk you through it.” 

“Is there a landline? I don’t have my phone.” 

“Sure is.” 

“Ok, I’ll call you when I get there.” 

“Stop and get some groceries in town, too, there’s that grocery store—”

“Yeah, I remember,” you interrupted, eyes darting to the departures board, “I have to go, my bus is gonna be here soon. Thank you so much, Sarah.”

You could feel it coming within one second of the quiet hesitation that followed. 

“Lou, I just want to make sure…” 

Don’t ask. Please don’t ask. 

“Are you ok, honey?”

Fuck. 

Your face crumbled. Emotion clogged your throat. Tingles worked up your chest, behind your eyes, and you squeezed them shut to suffocate the tears. 

“Yeah,” you managed to tell her, your voice wavering with bullshit, “I just, um… I just need a few days. To get myself together, you know.” 

“Alright. Well, will you call me when you get there?”

“Yep,” you sniffled, “Talk to you then, bye.” 

Before she could respond, you returned the receiver to its cradle, ending the call, then took a moment to gather yourself before picking your toppled-over suitcase up off the ground and finding your bus.

The ride to Fresno was long. You spent most of it staring out the window, not really looking at anything in particular, just lost in your noisy head. 

At the Fresno Bus Station, you talked to three different cab drivers before finding one who agreed to bring you all the way out here. 

He made a few attempts at small talk, asking how your day was going and if you were on vacation and so on, but quickly picked up on your not-so-chatty vibes and let the cab go quiet. 

As he drove on, palm trees were replaced by threadbare ash trees, soon joined by evergreens. The hills became steeper. Swathes of rock broke through the earth’s soft surface, more and more with each mile. 

You asked him to stop in the town closest to your in-laws’ cabin. He kept the meter running while you bought a meager supply of groceries, figuring you only needed a few days worth, if that. 

Then the yellow taxi cab then drove deep into the forest, turning off on a low-maintenance dirt road that made the car jostle and rumble. 

When you came around a curve, and the mailbox labeled FRIEDMAN came into view, you instructed him to drop you off there. 

“Are you sure? I can take you down the driveway, no problem,” he insisted. 

You could have explained that the gravel driveway was in poor condition and you didn’t want him to break down or something. Imagine that. Drive a girl to the middle of a goddamn forest and wind up getting stuck out there. What a fucking nightmare. For both of you, really. 

“I’m sure,” you said, flashing him a weak smile as you handed him the remaining money from your wallet, “Thank you, though. I appreciate it.”

His eyebrows shot up in surprise when he looked down at the bundle of cash, but he took it, giving you a nod of thanks. 

“Just, um…” you bit the inside of your cheek and shrugged, looping plastic grocery bags around your wrists, “If anyone comes around asking if you saw me, could you maybe… maybe you could say no?” 

“Yes ma’am,” he nodded again, studying you for a moment before turning to open his door, “Let me get your bag for you.” 

He pulled your shitty suitcase from the trunk and handed it to you. Before returning to the driver’s seat to begin his voyage home, he paused for a few seconds, then looked at you. 

“Excuse me for asking, ma’am, but are you… well, are you… safe? Do you need me to contact anyone?”

“No.” 

The word came out sharp and final. It felt harsh leaving your lips, so you added, “I mean, you don’t need to contact anyone. I am, uhhh… cool as a cucumber. Safe… as a lock. Thanks, though.” 

You tried your hardest to give him a reassuring smile. He didn’t look like he bought it, but got in his taxi and left. 

From here, you followed the driveway into a tunnel carved out from the trees. 

The air was crisp and clear and everything seemed quiet except for the sound of you huffing and puffing down the path, leaves crunching under your feet, plastic bags rustling, your suitcase flopping around behind you like a defiant animal on a leash, fighting against each step. 

Fucking exhausting. 

About halfway, you spotted a flat boulder peeking out from the earth a few strides into the forest. You dropped your suitcase, shaking the plastic bags from your wrists, and blundered through the trees towards it. Your rubber legs ached with relief when you sat down criss-cross applesauce on the cool stone. Catching your breath, you leaned back and tilted your face up towards the canopy. A breeze rattled through the pines and ashes and cooled your cheeks. 

You spent some time here, stretched out on the boulder, admiring the contrast of the dark, rheumatic branches stretched out towards the powder-blue sky. When your labored breathing calmed, the quiet sounds of the forest started to come into focus. Leaves rustling. Birds warbling. The whistle of wind.

It felt nice. 

Peaceful.

Eventually, you heaved yourself to your feet and resumed your journey. You walked and walked, legs and wrists and arms aching, body and mind sapped of energy, until the tree line opened up into a clearing. 

The cabin came into view, and a bone-deep sense of nostalgia struck you. 

You remembered the first time Ethan brought you here, the summer after you started dating. Everything seemed to pulse with life. The trees, glowing green with leaves. The roaring river in the background. Ethan. The future, in general. 

What’s the word for the kind of nostalgia that guts you? The kind that feels like a 30-pound weight in your stomach? The kind that shreds your heart to pieces in your chest? 

That’s exactly what you felt when you saw the cabin. 

It looked cold. Dead. 

The inside felt no different. Everything was dark. Cool, still air bit your cheeks. Canvas was draped over all the furniture. It smelled of dust and damp and better times. 

You dropped your belongings to the entryway floor, collapsing in a heap among them, then cried your eyes dry.

Once you gathered yourself, you found the phone to call Sarah. 

She walked you through the ins-and-outs of making the cabin habitable. How to turn the water back on and get the fireplace going. Gave you permission to use whatever you want or need… which, so far, is just some firewood, a quilt from the cedar linen closet, and this couch. 

You blink your bleary eyes a few times, before looking back to the window. The world outside has lightened. Frosted trees stand out in the rich, Neptunian veil of morning, every branch appearing lacy and crystalline, important and beautiful. 

Have I slept? Or did I sit here all night, staring into the abyss?

“Fuck it,” you sigh to yourself as you sit upright, “Might as well make some coffee.” 

Ding

The elevator doors slide open.

Dieter follows Parker onto the fifth floor hallway of your apartment building. 

As he walks down the familiar hallway like he has so many times before, a guttural, foreboding feeling builds in his veins. 

The sensation is unbelievably heavy, but hollow. Knight’s armor. A church bell. The barrel of a gun. 

It reminds Dieter of the first time he came here, when he sensed Ethan’s presence on the other side of that door. 

“Hopefully the landlord didn’t change the locks,” Parker says as he flips through his keychain, isolating one labeled LOU. The key slides in without protest. Parker pushes the door open and enters the apartment, Dieter hot on his heels.  

When Parker flips the light on, the state of your apartment makes Dieter’s stomach drop. 

Ransacked is the first word that comes to mind. 

Every drawer and cupboard in your kitchen sits ajar, their contents disorganized or spread across the countertop. The couch and chair cushions are all discombobulated. Dirt tracks dried into the white carpet trace the heavy flow of boots that moved in and out of the apartment. It looks like every surface of the place has been perverted. 

Dieter crouches down to set an overturned cubby upright, shoving a pile of your hats and scarves and gloves back into their rightful place, muttering, “Fucking pigs.”

A leopard print pattern catches his eye, and he plucks out a scarf, draping it around his neck before returning the container to its home. 

“Pigs is right,” Parker snorts, slamming closed cupboards and drawers, “This place is a fuckin’ stye. I’m glad she’s not here to see this.”

Dieter rubs the soft fabric between his fingers and brings it to his nose, inhaling your scent. A freshly-baked smell that prods his tender heart. He stands and starts towards the kitchen, but freezes when he notices the door to Ethan’s room is open. His eyes flick from Parker, totally preoccupied with reassembling the kitchen, then back to the doorway. 

Curiosity gnaws at his insides. 

He approaches it, trying to act casual despite his pounding heart. At the threshold, he pauses to peak inside, not entirely surprised to see the room exactly as he pictured it. 

Well, mostly, anyway. 

No file cabinet or deep freezer, but open spaces where he thought they’d be. Taken as evidence, probably. Empty file folders are strewn across the desk. But the navy blue walls, the hardwood floor, the mirrors… all there. 

That horrible, palpable emptiness, like loss on loss on loss… that’s there, too. 

He glances over his shoulder at Parker, still distracted, then looks back into the room. When he steps through the doorway, a rush of adrenaline spikes his pulse. 

Why are you here?

Dieter cautiously wanders over to the desk and starts picking up the empty file folders, halting when he finds a sketchpad beneath one. 

He flips through the book of abstract black-ink illustrations. Some of them scribbles, some exquisite, some in-between. All of them saturated with emotion. Hopelessness. Guilt. Anger. Grief. Frustration. Every time he turns a page, a new sensation strikes him. Shame. Resentment. Suspicion. A whole dictionary of dark emotions. 

Scattered throughout, though, he finds a few that feel… not lighter, per se, but different. They feature negative space and soft curves. Clean lines and chaos. Love. 

They’re you. 

Of course they’re you, love. Of course you were his light in the darkness. A brightness carved out of soot and rot. 

A fond smile creeps across his lips. 

For reasons he can’t quite explain, Dieter looks to one of the mirrors and asks, “Can I take this with me? To give to her?” 

Yeah, sure. 

“Thanks,” he nods and tucks the book into his coat pocket, glancing over his shoulder before quietly inquiring, “Any chance you know where she is?”

Not here.

“Yeah, no shit,” Dieter thinks. He jumps a little when he hears the response crystal clear in his head. 

Well then why the fuck’re you here? You’re wasting time. 

“Me? What about you? Didn’t you move on from this place?”

After this, Ethan goes quiet. 

Dieter shrugs and looks away from the mirror to study the framed photos on the wall. Photos of Ethan with, who Dieter assumes are, his kids. None of them recent. The vast majority of the pictures feature you. 

You and Ethan kissing on your wedding day. The two of you posing somewhere with mountains in the background, drinking on a beach, dancing at a party. Each one depicts big, genuine smiles. The adoration you had for each other is evident. 

As the successor to your heart, maybe he should feel a twinge of jealousy, but he doesn’t. He actually finds it sweet. It fills him with warmth to know you spent a long while being well-loved. 

The wall of photos displays relics from Ethan’s youth, too. 

Graduation photos, family vacations, a bar mitzvah. Dieter picks up on something. A distinct before and after. He stops on a picture of Ethan as a child, hugging a younger boy—his brother, Benji—by a lake, and it starts to come together. Although he can’t quite pinpoint the defining line, it splits him in two and fractures into shards. 

An icy cold rush overtakes his body, like the word gave out from under him and he’s suddenly submerged in freezing water. He can’t breathe. He can’t scream. Feral, panicked energy pulses through his veins. His concrete limbs can’t move, paralyzed as he sinks, deeper, deeper, deeper…

Dieter returns to himself with a jolt, gasping for air. 

He takes a step back and slumps over, pressing his palms into his knees as he pants, “What the fuck, man? What the fuck?” 

You need to find her before it’s too late. 

Red bubbles up his chest.

“You think I don’t fucking know that?” he sits up, jaw clenched, fists balled, and steps into the through-line of the mirrors. They reflect off one another to form a long, curved tunnel that stretches out on either side of him. Dieter looks from one mirror, to the other, seeing his image captured within each infinite layer. 

“Fuck you, man,” he seethes, shaking his head, “You fucking did this, you know that? Fucking piece of shit. I’m fucking trying, ok?” 

The last sentence comes out hoarse and thick. Heat works up his throat and his vision blurs with tears. 

“Whoa—hey, Dieter,” Parker runs into the room, all wide-eyed and searching Dieter’s face, “What’s wrong?” 

A sob heaves his shoulders. He hangs his head, shaking it from side-to-side, “I’m trying, Parker.” 

“I know, baby, I know,” he coos, pulling Dieter into a hug, reassuring him, “We’re gonna find her.” 

“What if we don’t?”

“We will. Keep that faith, papi. We will.” 

Dieter buries his face in Parker’s bony shoulder, releasing the pent-up worry and guilt festering infectious in his chest for the past day. Parker pets his hair and rocks him back and forth, letting out a few of his own sniffles alongside Dieter’s. 

When their crying starts to peter out, Parker gives him one more squeeze and pulls back, asking, “You wanna get out of here? This place is a fucking mess, and we gotta catch that flight soon anyway.“

“Can I look in her room first?” 

Parker’s eyebrows knit together over bloodshot eyes, and he nods, patting his friend on the shoulder before stepping aside. 

Dieter approaches your bedroom cautiously. Paranoid thoughts circulate in his brain, all those what-ifs and delusions of tragedy. What if he finds you here, cold and lifeless? What if you’re dead somewhere while he pokes around your apartment, looking for clues? Is he doing enough? Could he do more? 

But when the door groans on its hinges as he pushes it open, and he sets foot inside your bedroom, the impending doom percolating in his veins drains from him almost instantly. Many of your things have been rifled through, like the rest of your apartment, but the place holds an air of serenity. 

It feels warm and safe. 

It feels like you. 

Flipping the light on, he closes the door behind him, then walks over to your bed and crawls under the covers, burying himself beneath them. 

The sheets still carry a faint whiff of sex and sleep from before the two of you embarked for LA. His lungs expand with a deep, wide breath. Eyes drifting closed, he thinks of you. How you’re feeling. Where you are. What you’re doing. 

He picks up the bite of a chilled breeze. The steady babble of a river. Warm hands. Burnt tongue. Coffee, bitter and black. 

The signal drops. 

Not much, but enough for him to know you’re not in immediate danger, which brings him some solace. 

Still under the blankets, he pulls out his phone and dials your number. It rings and rings until your voicemail picks up. 

“Hey, this is Louella, sorry I missed you. Leave me a message and I’ll call you back, thanks.” 

“Hey doll, it’s me. I’m at your apartment. It’s a fucking mess. Parker and I stopped by before going back to LA. He’s coming with me to help… well, to help find you. Anyway. I’m in your bed. It still smells like us. It was hard for me to fall asleep last night without you. Waking up without you is… it’s hell. I don’t know. I miss you, Lua. It’s been one fucking day and I miss you more than I’ve ever missed anyone in my life. I love you. I’ll call you when I get back.” 

Despite your lack of sleep, you managed to make this morning a productive one. 

You removed the slip-cases from the furniture and dusted, then forced yourself to eat a halfway decent breakfast of buttered toast and scrambled eggs. After washing the dishes, you soaked in the tub for a while, staring up at the wood-paneled bathroom ceiling as you contemplated what to do with yourself, both in the short-term context and the long-term. 

While drying off, you noticed the bright, mid-day sun shining down into the valley, making everything glow golden. It looked inviting. 

You dug through your suitcase, sifting through the clothing you packed with a warmer climate in mind. Shorts. Dresses. Bikinis. The best you could do was a sweater and some pajama bottoms. 

Down by the riverbank, you found this creaky wooden porch swing and settled on which to sit and ponder. 

You smooth the tip of your finger along the dewy lip of the mug, breaking up a curl of steam with each lazy revolution around its circumference. 

Today is the shortest day of the year. 

The winter solstice. 

Every once in a while, wind rolls down off the snowy tips of the Sierra Nevadas and meets the warmth of the California sun. The creaky wooden bench sits square in the middle of these contradictory weather conditions. Hot and cold. Dry and damp. Constantly churning, waxing and waning from one state to another. 

A crisp gust of wind from upriver cuts through the sun-baked pocket of air where you’re seated. You huddle into your jacket and bring the steaming mug to your lips, hissing when the black coffee scorches your tongue. 

The thought of Dieter shoots through you like a bullet. 

You picture him beneath the covers of your bed, fully clothed in his furry winter jacket, wearing your scarf, eyes clenched shut, wishing you would come out of hiding because it’s safe now. 

It rattles you. 

An infinite number of memories and worries and hopes and what-ifs flood your mushy, sleep deprived brain. They all muddle together in an incomprehensible cluster fuck that sets your blood ablaze and makes your ears ring. Your body contracts, squeezing a sob from deep within your chest. 

Fuck. 

Every single ounce of you aches to see him. To smell him. To feel his arms wrapped around you and hear his voice murmuring honeyed affirmations in your ear, telling you he loves you and understands why you had to leave. 

You pray he understands that you didn’t want to. Of fucking course you didn’t want to. You had to. For his sake and for yours. 

During the FaceTime call with Parker, when you first saw the cops outside your building, then David Alterman, you could only see two paths forward: Dieter would choose you or his career. 

Would he have chosen you? Maybe, but it would have been foolish. 

He would have to support you through whatever punishment the state of New York has queued up against you—prison, probably—on top of dealing with the fallout. The public backlash, the halt of money flow, not to mention the loss of his career, which means more to him than public opinion or money. In his own words, acting is his fucking purpose in life. 

And for what? An incarcerated girlfriend? Even if you put the issue of your pending criminal charges aside, you still wouldn’t be worth that loss. 

It would be gradual, but eventually he would feel it. 

It sneaks. 

He would come to resent you, and you wouldn’t be able to fault him one bit. 

Would he have chosen his career? Maybe, but it would ruin you both. 

If he chose to break off your relationship in order to salvage his career, you would have to hear him say it. You would have to know, with certainty, that you take second place in his heart. Maybe this is a selfish notion, this desire to be his number one priority. If he didn’t choose his wife over his career, why the fuck would he choose you?

Not only that, but if he chose this path, he would have to shoulder the hardship of two broken hearts. You know he loves you. You do. Ending your relationship would devastate him. He would be plagued with guilt and shame and regret, all the same as if he chose you to begin with. 

It seemed cruel to force him to make this impossible choice. No matter what he did, it would be wrong, and he would carry the burden.

This is when you saw the third path branch out before you. 

The one where you could sneak out before the sun rises, dragging your monster by its tether behind you. Where you could lock yourself away in a boarded-up room and wait for her to take you. You, not him. 

You would rather absorb the blame, from him and everyone else, a million times over than curse him with the responsibility of this dissolution.  

This is a mercy kill. 

An act of love. 

It may not seem like it to anyone else, but really, it is. 

This thought brings you some solace. 

Another gust of wind blows shivers down your spine. You bring the mug to your lips to test the coffee’s temperature, finding it tepid, but drink it anyway. 

Dieter wasn’t sure what to expect when he came home. 

Worst case scenario, he imagined cops waiting to arrest him for bribing an elected official or tell him you turned up dead. Best case, he imagined opening the door to find you there. Problem solved. Happily ever after. He would kiss you breathless and never let you doubt your station in his life again. 

What was most likely, though—and what he found—was something in the wide gray area between his paranoia and hopeless romanticism. 

Lincoln was sprawled out on the couch, scrolling through TikTok on his phone, while Darlene sat at the dining room table, typing away on her laptop. 

Although he tried to keep an open mind the whole way here, he couldn’t help but be disappointed. Here he was, exhaustion burning his bones to dust, expecting some kind of a celebration, only to find out this was a checkpoint, not a finish line. 

Lincoln and Darlene both perk up at the sound of the door opening. They both rise from their respective places to greet Dieter and Parker. 

“Hey, welcome back!” Lincoln calls as he grabs Dieter’s suitcase, “How was your flight?”

“Fine,” he grunts, then nods to Parker, “This is Parker. Parker, this is my PA Lincoln and my publicist Darlene.” 

“Former publicist,” Darlene corrects, shaking Parker’s hand, “Nice to meet you.” 

Parker gives her a polite smile and a nod to her and Lincoln and tells them, “Thanks for your help.” 

“Want me to take your suitcase?” Lincoln asks Parker, dark blonde eye brows raised in expectation. 

“I’ve got it, love,” Parker waves him off with a dismissive hand, then turns to Dieter, “Where do you want me?” 

Before he can answer, Lincoln cuts in, “Here, I’ll show you to the open guest room.” 

A small smirk tugs at the corner of Parker’s mouth. He shrugs, “Lead the way, pretty boy.” 

Even in the dim illumination of the waning daylight, Dieter sees Lincoln’s cheeks flush pink. He grins and starts off down the hall. Before following, Parker looks at Dieter, raising a mischievous brow as he glances between him and Lincoln, mouthing, “Cute.” 

“Any updates?” Dieter asks Darlene as he slides off his crocs and starts towards the kitchen. 

“Well,” she sighs, crossing her arms, tilting her head to one side, “There has been progress.” 

The way she says it sounds like the beginning of bad news. He pauses his search for food and frowns at her. Static rises in his throat. 

“And?”

She walks to the dining room table to grab her notebook, flipping back a few pages as she approaches the kitchen island and leans against it. 

“So, I was able to trace her steps to a transit station in Fresno. I went up there yesterday and talked to security. Found out she took a cab from there, but the cab company won’t disclose where they dropped her. The driver reported that she seemed… off. Said she seemed scared and was very secretive, like she was in danger or something. He thought maybe she was running from a domestic abuse situation, and requested that the company not disclose her location.” 

Dieter gapes at this, unable to formulate words. She continues. 

“She talked a few other cab drivers before this one, so I talked to them. They told me she didn’t give them an address, just said it was about sixty miles away, up in the foothills. But that’s… that’s all I was able to get. The trail runs cold there.” 

“Can’t we throw some cash at the cabbie who drove her? Whatever it costs, I’ll pay it, I don’t care—” 

“I tried,” she shook her head, throwing her hands up at her sides, “I told them to name their price, they said it wasn’t about money, it was about safety.” 

Heat spikes his blood, overwhelming him with nervous energy that sets him into motion, pacing back and forth, running his fingers through his hair, rubbing his neck, clenching his jaw. 

“What the fuck do we do now?”

“Do you know if she has any family or friends in that area? Maybe she mentioned something in passing—” 

“No, of course she didn’t,” he scoffs. 

Darlene doesn’t say anything. Her hazel eyes follow him from side-to-side. 

“I know her family is from Ohio, her friends are from New York. Anything else is a fucking mystery to me,” he shakes his head and stops pacing to holler, “PARKER, get in here!”

A few seconds later, he hears footfalls in the hallway, then Parker rounds the corner, blinking at him, “I know you didn’t just call for me like a fuckin’ dog.”

“Does Lua know anyone out by Fresno? In the mountains?” Darlene asks him. 

Parker frowns as he thinks about this, shaking his head, “I don’t think so.”

“Distant relatives, old friends,” Darlene glances at Dieter, “Exes, anything like that?”

Dieter glares at her, nostrils flaring, to which she defends, “We have to cast a wide net, I’m just asking.” 

Parker shakes his head again, “No. 

“What about Ethan’s family?” 

His face stays fixed in a searching expression. No glint of recognition. 

Dieter’s shoulders slump. 

Parker looks at him, brows knit together with concern, and adds, “But honestly, I’m so fucking exhausted, I might not be remembering right now.” 

They sit there for a moment, dull and disenchanted, until Darlene sighs, “Well, should we order some takeout?”

By late afternoon, the sun starts to sink down into the ragged black tree line of the far away mountains. 

Rays of light catch the atmosphere just right, casting a shimmering golden hue onto the cabin. One of these beautiful glowing beams streams through the window and manages to hit you square in the eyeballs. 

Grimacing, you flip your book belly-down onto the end table and push yourself up into a sitting position. A yawn expands your lungs. You stretch your arms above your head, then let them fall limp at your sides. 

Charred logs glow inside the fireplace. No flames. You rise to your feet and trudge over to it, swinging the grate open to slide a few more logs on the fire. They sizzle and pop as they catch heat and light ablaze. 

You look around the cozy, rustic living room, glancing at the clock on the wall, then out the window. 

Earlier today, while poking around the cabin for something interesting to take your mind off… Well, everything, you stumbled upon a small stash of homemade wine. A glass–maybe a bottle–sounds nice right now. Maybe you could make some food, too. Probably should. 

You pad across the dark lacquered floorboards to the cellar door, and push it open. Wrinkling your nose at the mildew scent, you flip the lightswitch on and tip-toe down the stairs, then across the room to the wine rack. One-by-one, you pull out the corked green glass bottles and take note of their year. A few are labeled Plum 2017. Two Strawberry 2018s. Half a dozen Red 2018s. 

One of the bottles reads White 2017. A fond smile tugs at the corner of your mouth. You slip the bottle under your arm before jogging up the stairs to the main level, where you sift through Sarah’s record collection. A Frank Sinatra album catches your eye, so you put it on, then pour a glass of wine and survey your limited options for supper. 

A part of you wants to say fuck it, skip the meal. Just let your empty stomach soak up the wine. Let the tiny tendrils of alcohol branch out into your bloodstream and work its numbing magic. Maybe it’ll dim the acute pain simmering beneath your sternum. 

Then you spot the lemon on the counter, sitting beside a bulb of garlic and a blue mesh bag of onions. 

There’s pasta and olive oil in the cabinet. Parmesan in the fridge. You could make something nice with that. Maybe watch the sunset. 

I could do it tonight.

No. 

Why not? 

You picture Dieter the first time you saw him. Shifty and slightly arrogant, all blown-out pupils and twitches. Basically a red flag wearing a human suit. You thought he was handsome, though. And his booming laughter brought a real smile to your face for the first time in weeks. 

It felt familiar. 

It felt like sunshine kissing your skin after a long bout of darkness. 

Shaking the picture from your head, you start rummaging through the cupboards for a pot and saucepan. You fill the pot with water, toss in some salt. 

When you pull the chef’s knife from the butcher block, you pause to examine the blade in the golden hour light. 

I could slice my pulse open. 

No. 

Why not? 

You picture Dieter the second time you met him. Kaleidoscope skin and chartreuse aura. Acid stripped away the cocaine ego to expose his bare bones. And they were beautiful. 

Something happened that night. A tethering. A melding. Some ethereal otherworldly connection that intertwined your souls. 

Even though he was essentially a stranger, you couldn’t shake the sense that he had always been and always would be a part of you. 

Swallowing around the emotion welling up in your throat, you shake your head. Too messy. 

The thought of your own blood makes you queasy. If some has to find you like that? 

Fuck.  

Your stomach twists into nausea. 

You set down the knife and find a cutting board, then resume your dinner preparation, singing along to the music, concentrating on the mechanical motion of the blade tearing through the onion, meeting resistance with each aromatic layer. 

The goddamn knife is dull anyway. 

After mincing the garlic, you nudge your little piles of chopped-up produce into the gleaming pool of melted butter in the saucepan. Steam rises with a gentle sizzle, moisture meeting fat. 

Inside the pot, tiny ripe bubbles line the underwater walls, waiting to burst. 

Turn up the heat. 

Stir the saucepan. 

Sip your wine. 

You tap your fingers on the countertop, following the beat of the brass band, and quietly sing along with Ol’ Blue Eyes, “No one would care, no one would cry. If I should live, if I should live or die. What now, my love? Now there is nothing. Only my last, my last goodbye.” 

You picture Dieter at the beach, holding your hand as the two of you waded through the tide. The best day of your life. 

You picture him in his boxers, watering his plants. You picture his warm brown eyes flicking between you and a sketchpad. Him taking the first bite of a gooey brownie and groaning with delight. Laying behind you in the bathtub, arms wrapped around your waist underwater, planting a soft kiss on your cheek bone. Waking up in the morning, his wild dark curls all bent the shape of his pillow indent, a wistful, sleepy smirk on his lips. Laughing. Smiling. Telling you he loves you. Meaning it. 

A deep ache of shame spreads across your chest. Your stomach churns. Tears burn behind your eyes, then spill over, streaming hot down your cheeks. 

How fucking stupid are you to think the darkness wouldn’t come and swallow everything whole, Dieter included? 

What, because you’re in love, the two of you should be spared? 

Has that ever stopped her before? 

I should fucking know better. 

A far-off, high frequency noise starts in your ear and it cuts audio for a second. Everything around you seems far away. Not real. You feel spectral, like you’re dreaming or a ghost or in a tv show or something. 

Entirely fiction. 

Sniffling, you wipe your damp with the sleeve of your sweater. 

You grab the wine glass off the counter and swallow its contents, then refill it, splashing a little vino into the saucepan before setting the bottle aside. 

A roar swells as the ingredients get to know each other. You take a deep breath, inhaling the sweet, pungent scent, then notice steam billowing off the water in your pot. The still surface has erupted into a consistent boil. You throw about half of a pound of fettuccine into the pot. More than enough, but who the fuck makes only one serving of pasta? 

While the fettuccine cooks, you pour some cream into the saucepan, then whisk and whisk and whisk, pausing periodically to stir the pasta. Once the sauce thickens,  you whisk in pre-grated parmesan a pinch at a time. You fish a strand of fettuccine out of the boiling water and confirm its al dente status, then transfer a few spoonfuls of pasta water into the sauce before pouring the pot over a colander in the sink. 

It calms you, this process. The step-by-step. Seeing the fruits of your labor unfold in real time. Each checkbox marked calms your ragged nerves more than the last. 

Before you know it, you’re curled up in an adirondack chair on the deck, quilt draped over your shoulders, twisting fettuccine around your fork as you watch the sun sink down into the mountains, turning the sky into this beautiful vivid watercolor. It’s fucking gorgeous, you’ll give it that. 

Am I really going to go through with this? 

That’s what you came here for, isn’t it? To end this? To ascend into that glowing iridescent tunnel? To cross the threshold and finally return to the sea of love?

It’s funny, you think, how your whole life you were afraid of dying because you didn’t know what came after. 

But after seeing it, you know you had it completely backwards. 

Death is a piece of cake. You weren’t scared once when it happened. It’s like the light turned on in your room and you knew there was nothing hiding in wait. Nothing sneaking. 

Life, though? 

Life is scrambling through the darkness of uncertainty, trying to find a beacon. When you make contact with them, you cling to flames, hoping they’ll burn forever to keep you safe and warm. They won’t. They always burn out. 

By the time you finish your pasta, the wine has fully assimilated into your bloodstream, drowning all the excess noise in your head. You polish off the bottle while watching the sun sink down into the Sierra Nevadas. Dusk absorbs the light. The atmosphere shifts from midnight blue to inky black, enveloping you in darkness. It doesn’t even bother you. 

Head swimming with wine, you lay out on the cold deck and stare up at the nighttime sky, littered with dazzling pinprick stars. 

They remind you of all the times you stargazed with your father, and the plastic glow-in-the-dark stars Ethan hung on the ceiling of the first bedroom you shared with him. 

They remind you of how incredibly vast the darkness is. 

How the hopeful glimmer of a star can appear so bright and so close, but really be lightyears away, in another galaxy, another life. 

Maybe the next one. 

[ Next Chapter ]

[poppyclangen]

PoppyClan Update:

Hello guys! I know it's been awhile! Thank you for following and sticking with me throughout this story, its been an honor to write and draw for you! However, I've got some BUMMER news. My laptop, who is nearly seven years old now, has decided to crash for the hundredth time and wipe all of my clangen files (totally deleted the whole game off the desktop, needed to redownload). This, HEARTBREAKINGLY, means all of my clans have been deleted forever. My attempts to recover them have proved futile, and im DEVASTATED- but, I figured we can still salvage some semblance of hope from this disaster;

PoppyClan 2.0! I'll put up a vote to see what you guys would like to do story-wise going forward!

Lemme know who you're feeling about this! And im so, so sorry for having to pivot after a 100 moons its TERRIBLE I know.

[lightning-and-sparks]

Ranking the New Tracks (brutal)

Spoilers for 2025 maybe?

Disclaimer: your opinions are fine don’t let me cramp your style, I just happen to be a bummer.

Unstoppable.

I’m so sorry this just isn’t it. It’s believable to come from a Just Dance game but I would not use this one as a big promo song. The coach looks good but that’s about it. The background is mediocre. Looks like a Brezz map but worse, every original has its cheap copy lmao. The choreography is predictable which is a bummer.

Calabria.

Yeah okay. It’s cute and not that bad. This would’ve had a chokehold between me and my two sisters fighting over characters. I’m not sure why the unicorn is such a huge deal especially with the marketing but she’s cute so whatever. The background is really cool and adds to the lore of them being humans trapped in the game. Song is odd but fine and choreography seems ok.

Yes, and?

This map is so ugly I’m so sorry. I know everyone seems into this one but man, it looks so disorganized. Why are they in a basement looking ass museum? The random foot is so funny it saves it a bit. The coaches are ugly and the background looks unfinished. It’s a pass for me but ik missions are going to be linked to this one.

Basket Case

If you know me by now this song is right up my alley. The background fits the vibes and reminds me of blue’s clues which is fun. I hate the other coaches on the left and right. They are so out of place but this whole map kinda looks weird so not as jarring as Yes, And? by any means. Can’t wait to play it seems solid enough.

Poker Face

This is tough because I love the Gaga maps but seems kinda… cluttered. Theming is strange considering you already have the card suit motif at your disposal… oh wait it’s there just poorly executed. How many of you immediately knew the people in black are the club and spade suit? Yeah, readability is poor. Also, there are four card suits so why are you jamming hearts and diamond together instead of making a fourth coach? There are already so many three coach routines in the previews. Also, are you guys riding the high of the Darkest Hour floating heads because why are they everywhere?

[bluesyjean]

It's the last one, so I might as well do this. Very big thanks to @c0ffeeb1ack for organizing a rewatch. I really enjoyed all the commentary and going through the series one episode at a time rather than binging the whole thing, and it made me appreciate it so much more. (Especially s3, which got infinitely more fun on a rewatch without my Big Nerves about what was going to happen. s1 is forever my girl, but there are some genuinely great moments in s3.)

Extra hot takes for Oblivion:

SO HAPPY LUTHER AND KLAUS GOT TO DO SCENES TOGETHER. The entire Void sequence was quality. Knowing these two are such good buddies irl it's about damn time they got to hang out more on screen. They must have had so much fun doing this.

It took me a long long time, but Sparrow!Ben grows on you. He's hilariously trying SO HARD to be an asshole every time he opens his mouth you just have to laugh. So extra.

I forever wish Lila wasn't pregnant. I'm sorry, it just doesn't do a great service to her or Diego because now everything has to be about this. My relief when Stan wasn't theirs was so short lived.

Five whispering conspiracy theories with Viktor is so good. I missed them being besties, so happy he's still the one Five trusts. (In a "I'll kill you myself" if you fuck up again kind of way, but that's just Five for you.) We love paranoia.

Also was so happy to have Five and Allison actually talk to each other, even if it's just to fight. I've waited so long.

This episode had a lot of interesting character combos. Sloane and Ben with Five, Luther and Klaus, I could have had more of this.

Didn't notice before that the sigil thing is on the back of the guardians. Which means...? Nothing, but I did notice.

Love that they always turn blue when life is being sucked out of them. Just a bunch of little blue aliens.

The first time I watched this I was convinced that Five would eventually lose that arm again when they fix the universe. I hope not, poor left-handed little guy. He loves to write. :( But that might also mean deaths happen again. Fully prepared for bummers in s4.

I was not as enthralled with the soundtrack of s3 as I was in past seasons, but I will say the closing song is the only one that made its way into rotation on my playlist. Great choice.

Desperate for Abigail to be a horrific villain in s4. Please give me this, it's all I ask.

Anyway I might end up watching the last season this way. (One episode a day.) Great idea! Taking time to enjoy something, what a concept. Thanks all!

[colorisbyshe]

June's Monthly Music (PART DEUX!!)(I KNOW ITS TOO LONG IM SORRY)

Click here for part one (highlights being Kaytranada and Charli's albums)(listen to Cactus Water by Channel Tres who was on Kaytranada's album)

RECENT MUSIC:

Goat Girl's motorway is for the girlies into... the indie girlies. Music to reflect on your life to.

JESSIE WARE!!!!!!! & ROMY's LIFT YOU UP! Feel good dance track. Just vibrant and joyful. What a lovely way to end Pride month.

Normani FINALLY released her album. Not mindblowing (and some of the teaser versions of songs are better) but it's enjoyable to listen to all the way through. Highlights are "All Yours" which feels luxurious, "Take my Time" which is sweet and pleasant, "Insomnia" which has a sprinkling of Daft Punk in some of the vocoding, and a more energetic "Little Secrets" which closes the album out. This is a solid debut which promises greater things down the line. Good sensibilities, just needs a bit more oomph.

Spinning off of that, check out "Endless Night" by Maeta.

Tove Lo & SG Lewis are back at it again with a mini EP! Let Me Go OH OH sounds the way Kylie's Love at First Sight MV looks, if that makes sense. Busy Girl is for Cunts on the Runway. Heat is for dancing at the club. Desire is a club mix track that is generic and yet perfectly calculated--like a chocolate chip cookie made up premium ingredients.

Megan Thee Stallion has an album out and narrowing this down to a handful of tracks is hard, even with singles excluded! Rattle is scathing and yet too cool for the haters. Down Stairs DJ combined with Where Them Girls At has convinced me she needs to collab with Cupcakke*. Worthy is summery and poppy. Spin with Victoria Monet will have you doing body rolls without even realizing, Otaku Hot Girl is a fun sample... I forgive her for insulting Sasuke avis I know where she's coming from lol.

Nayeon's album is kinda hit or miss to me but I love ABCD's bigger than life energy and the dance break in the MV. HalliGalli is just like refreshing fruit punch on a hot day

Despite not feeling the title track, Red Velvet did pull through with some music you can just float around to, Last Drop and Night Drive would be nice to wade into the ocean and stare up at the stars to. Bubble has an almost 80s Jpop veneer to it. And Love Arcade gives the album some energy it very much needed, lol. Not my fave RV project but not the bummer I expected!

She, this blog's namesake, has a new mini album! Spectral Touch and With You are expansions of She's Chiptune sound but maybe with some appeal you might find in Kavinsky's music--not the same sound at all but that sort of "driving at night through neon lights" type vibe.

The Used has a new album out, it's more of the same, but I loved the video game trailer bombasticness of Depression Personified and the return to an older whininess (said with fondness) in Before I Leave. Emos, check it out.

Catharsis by 9mm Parabellum Bullet is more rock music. Japanese and surprisingly melodic, this track is haunting. Maybe Buck-Tick enjoyers should check it out.

If you liked the Tove Lo ep, check out Baddy on the Floor by Jamie xx. Honey Dijon absolutely elevates this track into transcendence.

Amaarae said "Fountain Baby Part 2!!!" this! is a swooning afrobeats track, wanted is a song that crawls to you and up your body and grabs your hips, and sweeeet is such a natural evolution of Fountain Baby. This whole project is worth a listen!

TuNGSTeN is by Hiroyuki Sawano (TECHNICALLY a different project than my other shout out) and it's just evocative and makes me clutch at my chest but also wanna run.

Power of Two by Victoria Monet. Idk why she's doing a Star Wars song but... fuck, she hit it out of the fucking park. It's like of Kendrick/Sza's All the Stars had a dark, more cosmic child.

Lynch. has some more Japanese metalcore for anyone interested. Standouts are the frantic Un Deux Trois and A Fierce Blaze while the track Remains might appeal more to the crowd who wants more of the melodic bits that Catharis had. Buck-Tick fans I'm saying try out Remains. Not as good but you'll see the vibe

Getting no Sleep by Tinashe is a surprising follow up to Nasty but suuch a good follow up to her album BB/Angel and its more cerebral elements.

"Know You Did" by bongjeingan is a korean indie rock song not afraid to get WEIRD with it. This is a song that is everything all at once. Goes surprisingly hard at the end.

Somethin Bout You by The Knocks and Holiday87 ft Betsy feels like a dream of the 80s had by someone who passed out at the club after too much fruity drinks.

"Security" by Raleigh Ritchie (AKA LOUIS FROM IWT!V!) is a a more lowkey track than some on this but the lyrics are relatable and I remain charmed by his blunt writing style--he gets to the heart of the matter and carves at it.

OLDER MUSIC I'VE BEEN INTO:

"Shout" SawanoHiroyuki[nZk]. Type of song that worked great for a Trigger adventure anime (but not dunmeshi lol).

Selecta by Chase & Status ft Stefflon Don. Dancehall drum & bass great for playing a first person shooter. Click heads and bop.

9m88 was recced to me and while I haven't explored much, "Love Rain" is crooning and jazzy and a song that exists outside of time.

A throwback older than some of my followers Sonique's Sky is just good eurodance.

*this month was too stacked and i haven't listened her new album but i WILL!!

[pynkhues]

Hi! I just read an extremely popular Brio fic and it was wonderfully well written but I found I kept losing interest. I realized it’s bc while Rio felt somewhat authentic for the AU, Beth seemed like a completely different character. There wasn’t really much background information on her so the changes didn’t really make sense to me, even in an AU setting.

How do you approach AU settings to make sure the characters feel connected to the originals? Like in your pornstars AU I can still see Beth in there, even if it’s not something I would have ever expected of her! So I’m curious as to how you approach that.

Also why do you think this seems to happen more to Beth versus Rio? Are people just projecting themselves onto her you think? Idk I just feel like she has such a strong personality that I’m curious why I seem to feel that way in some fics.

Anyways, love your work 🩷🩷🩷

Hi! Thanks for your lovely words, although I'm sorry for your experience with that other fic. It can be such a bummer when we're overall enjoying a story - whether fic, or books, or shows - but for whatever reason it's just not quite landing. I know the feeling pretty well, haha.

For me, I find that capturing a character in all writing is basically about distilling two things:

What they want

What they need

These two factors in so many ways embody the main narrative arc of a story. In fact, many author talks I've been to suggest that plot in its entirety is a matter of asking three questions - what does a character want? What's standing in their way stopping them from getting what they want? And how will they overcome this obstacle? I don't entirely agree with this, and it's not a method of plotting that I personally subscribe to these days (although I have used it in the past and still sometimes find it helpful when I'm stuck), but I do think it can be useful to think about in terms of the role character motivation contributes to story overall.

More to the point though, I find dividing a character's wants and needs to be super useful, both in terms of analysis and writing, as to me, it's those wants and needs that really feed into everything when it comes to characterisation.

Beth's actually a great example of this as her want vs need are both complimentary and frequently in conflict with each other:

What Beth wants is to earn enough to save her house, provide for her children and get herself, her sister and her best friend to a point of financial security that doesn't leave them in a state of constant free fall.

What Beth needs is to feel real self worth, to connect with the woman inside of herself beyond wifehood, motherhood and even sisterhood, and to be seen and acknowledged as that woman by people she respects (i.e. Rio, but not just him). She needs to be seen as capable, and to feel autonomous and in control of her future.

Both of these wants and needs have greater implications when filling in the details of a character. In Beth's case, her adultification as a child in raising her sister feeds her lack of identity as an adult at the start of the series and her need to find herself (she's been raising children her whole life!), Dean's cheating compounds those feelings of self-worth, and him losing the family house is what becomes the catalyst for Beth to act. Her wants are created due to the situation Dean forces her into, her needs have been there for a lot longer than that.

When writing fic in general, but especially AUs, I try not to change the wants or needs of the characters. Like I said, I tend to view them as pretty crucial to the character overall, but I also think those wants and needs are what makes me feel connected to them as opposed to other characters or other shows. Those are the things I like! Why would I want to change them?

And anyway, I tend to find it super fun figuring out how those wants and needs might guide characters in a different setting. In both the porn star AU and the pirate AU, I really wanted to use the time period, the industry and the context of those story worlds to see how Beth might navigate her needs and wants, and to see how those factors might influence the shape of her story arc. It was pretty interesting to realise that I didn't think much changed, even in the pirate AU which is set so far in the past. I hope that means I understand her as a character, or at least, I guess, my interpretation of her, haha.

As for other writers - - yeah! I mean, in some ways I do think Rio's probably easier to write because his own wants and needs are more ambiguous on the show and he's therefore a little more malleable in fic. A lot about him can be true when we ultimately saw so little of him, whereas Beth, as you said, has such a strong personality and defined character that to change elements of her voice or her background, or to make certain decisions for her, can leave us with the age old feeling of: 'she wouldn't do / say that'.

I do think that, especially by the end of the series, there was a not insignificant portion of the fandom who didn't like her so ultimately wrote her differently (I personally had issues with the fact that so many people wrote Rio as punishing and Beth as both taking and deserving that punishment, which is why some high profile fics in the fandom aren't of particular interest to me), but I think there are other factors as well.

Yes, some projection, yes, some who mostly wrote her to be able to write about Rio, yes, some who were simply disinterested in her interiority, but I also think GG was a lot of people's first fandom, and a lot of people's first time writing fic, and that ultimately, Beth was a complicated character who only got more complicated over the four seasons of the show. She's not easy to write, and I do think the fandom was chockfull of talented writers, but a lot of talented writers who were still ultimately pretty new to writing.

I've been writing for a long time (man, I think I worked out that I posted my first fic when I was about 13 which was like, twenty years ago now, haha, and I had my first short story published in a journal at 19 too), and ultimately writing is a skill like anything else - you get better the longer you do it. :-)

[sinners-in-paradise]

Chapter One: A Hero in Paradise

Masterpost

Chapter written by @monsterhatdoodles

–––

The willow tree swung in the wind.

Dero swung with it.

The hero’s stab wounds were deep. Multiple. Fatal. His blood dropped down, watering the tree as it stood alone in the fields of hades. Dero slowly drifted with the wind, tied upside-down up from the tree.

The deformed dark matter’s long, black body was caked in blood. His cape was tattered and torn. His four spider like legs were limp, wrapped in red string.

A pale blue reaper yawned, and snapped his fingers. Dero woke with a snap.

“Ah! You’re up!”

The reaper seemed bored, but chipper.

“I’m Papi, and long story short, you’re dead.”

The only response was sobs. Papi began to feel a little awkward. He fluttered his wings to shake off the feeling.

“So, uh…. Welcome to the underworld, buddy! Your final resting place. Hades, if you will. You’re going to be here for a while. Forever, actually. There’s no escape.”

Dero continued to sob. He began to struggle violently against the red string holding him. Papi looked around before continuing.

“Yeah…so…that’s a bummer. But on the plus side, you never have to eat, drink or sleep again! Or pay rent! Isn’t that great? You won't age either. Time's real funky here.”

Dero began to choke on his own tears and blood. Papi tried to avoid eye contact.

"I’m sure you’ll make plenty of friends here. Probably. I can’t really tell much about you other than that you can cry an awful lot.”

Dero finally was able to choke out some words between his sobs.

“Please…. Help me…”

The light blue reaper fiddled with his hands.

"Yikes... er.. sorry. Can't help you with that, buddy. Boss strung you up like this for a reason. I can't go against its orders. You know how it is."

Dero's sobs became louder, riddled now with helplessness and despair.

"Listen, I gotta go. Lotta more dead people to deal with. But before I go, I feel like I should mention that hades, it, uh... does things to your body. Bad things. You'll see."

Dero shook violently.

".....Bye."

With that, the light blue reaper vanished in a flash, leaving Dero alone, cold, and suffering.

Weeks (or at least, they felt like weeks) passed. Dero spent the time wailing and sobbing. He spent the time thinking of his friends.

He thought of Ades, who's advice he'd always ignored. He thought of Wisp, who just like him, was fooled by her guise. He thought about Dolly, who was now left alone in her grasp. And he thought about her. Even now, that memory was so beautiful to him.

–––

"This place just goes on forever, doesn't it?" Gwen growled indignantly. The purple, round felian fiddled with her ponytail, irritated. The scar across her chest had been itching recently, and she wasn't in the best of moods.

"Well, I think these fields are very pretty." The gentle voice that replied came from a frail but beautiful woman. Dressed in a hospital gown, she looked over the fields and sighed. Her white hair rested above lavender eyes that were firm, but full of kindness. A long tube stretched out from her hand and unraveled into nothingness. Small orbs of spirit flame flickered playfully around her.

"Right, Celeernyx?"

The halcandrian behind Dulciana was slightly startled. Her green hood and dress, stained by the black ooze that covered her face, drifted slightly in the wind as she turned to the woman. Her cat like ears, wrapped in the vines extending from her wretched crown, twitched slightly as she looked at Dulci with perpetually tearful eyes.

"Oh? S-sorry, I was distracted. Yes, t-these fields are beautiful.."

Her voice was sad; scratchy and distorted.

"You're both delusional. The sooner we get out of here the better." Gwen replied before moving onward hastily. Dulciana let out a small sigh and followed.

Gwen liked these two, even if they were a bit too slow paced for her liking. The grey haired woman was far too peppy for the situation she was in, and the Halcandran kind of freaked her out with the whole melting face thing. But the three had been together for a while now, and Gwen would rather suffer a million deaths before she let another family of hers down.

Suddenly, Gwen stopped. She turned to the others with a face of slight discomfort.

"Do you... Do you two hear that?"

Dulciana stopped and listened while Cele tilted her head in confusion. Gwen listened to the sound, and as she was able to slowly distinguish what it was, a chill ran down her spine.

"It... It sounds like sobs."

Dulciana looked around for a moment, before pointing to the distance. "There," she said, her face somber. She was pointing to large willow tree in the distance. Its leaves were blood red and its trunk was stained a starch white.

The trio carefully approached the tree. The sobs got louder. Cele looked around the trunk of the tree for the source, only to find nothing. Suddenly, she felt a drop of liquid hit her newly grown wings. She looked up and let out a small gasp. A slender figure was hanging from the branches, his blood and tears dripping to the floor.

"Dear Nova..." Cele moved swiftly out of the flow of blood. "Who.. who is that?"

Dulciana thought she recognized the shape, but she wasn't to sure at this distance. She prayed her theory was false. "Whoever this is, we need to help him." She looked at Gwen. "Do you think you can climb up there?"

Gwen shuddered. Something about the figure seemed familiar to her too, but in a much different way. She didn't want to get closer to... whoever this was.

"M...Maybe they deserve to be up there..." Gwen tried to think up further excuses, but was cut off by a voice from the figure.

"Please.....H.....Help....M....Me........"

As much as she hated to admit it, Dulciana recognized that voice from her time watching over Pleiades. She shut her eyes, her teeth clamping together.

"Gwen. Get him down. Now."

Gwen groaned. She slowly climbed up the tree. Her claws sunk easily into the bark, allowing her to climb to the figure. They seemed to be sharper as of late.

The closer she got, the more uncomfortable she became. The figure struggled as she approached. The stab wounds he bore seemed all too similar to hers. She felt a sickening feeling in her stomach.

“He….lp…..m……m…..e…….”

The poor creature was crying, slurring over its own words. He must have died horribly. As Gwen got close, she saw that the figure seemed to have several large sewing needles stuck in his back. Gwen’s stomach churned as she cut each red string one by one. She tried her hardest to avoid looking at Dero’s bleeding body.

Eventually, the last string was cut, and Dero fell to the soft blood-soaked grass below. He let out a miserable, pathetic cry as Dulciana went to help him up. Her worse fears were confirmed. It was Dero, after all. He began to whisper a name Dulci was all too familiar with.

“Pleiades….Pleiades you were right… I’m sorry.”

Dero passed out, his blood still flowing onto the grass below.

[elfdyke]

no you’re literally right, lesbians deserve to have a popular ship for once and that whole post read like op was making up a guy to be mad at. i have never once felt like farcille detracts from the story. like sorry a wlw ship is actually popular for once and you’re mad about it? weird as hell @ op

GENUINELYY im such a story over ship kind of media consumer but um when the ship is PART OF THE STORY…??? because its not just ‘a ship’ its a main part of the story and a huge driving force for the characters.

anyways glancing at the tags on that post is actually such a bummer how bad the echo chamber is acting like there’s ‘big farcille’ thats ruining the fandom. and yet my rebuttal against this gets blocked and therefore removed off the post so no one can see my opinion.. OKAY!!!

[charliesinfern0]

some high school ai doodles! (+ bit of a lore dump under the cut ^^)

i think high school ai would be like very deadpan and kind of serious, with a bit of a trickster streak. like, in osomatsu-kun she doesnt have much of a personality and is deadpan (sort of similar to the rice balls before they became neet ai), but shes a a little bit shy and clumsy bc shes figuring out the whole living thing.

then in high school her disposition becomes more intense, on the outside she looks super serious but if you were close to her you’d know how much of a menace she is. she gets straight As and is an impeccable student, but in her free time one of her favorite things to do is to just lightly mess with the sextuplets (though sometimes she does aim to cause psychological damage) she loves scamming and tricking osomatsu and choromatsu the most, and she just likes to confuse the rest of them with her antics. she’s just a little silly ^^

then after the sextuplets start to drift apart, ai starts to become a little distant with them too. she still talks and sometimes hangs out with them, but usually she talks to each of them one on one (except for choro and todo bc they’re still around each other the most). she starts to focus more on her studies and her future, having some kind of bitter awakening to the fact that this wasn’t going to last forever, that at some point shes going to have to start thinking about the future and not dwell on the past.

there’s a moment where ichi, yanagida and their friend group are hanging out and yanagida notices ai and nudges ichi and is like “hey, isnt that your friend? you wanna invite her for karaoke after school?” and ichi is like “uhh…” and yanagida is like “are you nervous about asking her? :O do you have a crush on her?? ill ask for you then!” and he goes over to ai and ichi chases after him and he gets ai’s attention and asks her to join them after school and ai looks over at ichi who is standing behind him and he flinches and looks away and she looks back at yanagida and politely declines, saying that she needs to study and walks away and theres this awful awkward silence before yanagida is just like “…huh, bummer! sorry about that ichi!” and ichi is dying inside but hes just like “haha yeah but its fine we can just try inviting her next time!”

(there is in fact a next time but she declines again, and again, until she finally agrees but its really awkward, especially when yanagida pushes ichi and ai to do a duet together, but they ended up having a little fun by the end of it, but that only makes her leaving all the more bitter)

a year or so after graduation, she leaves for college, with a bittersweet goodbye from the sextuplets, not knowing if they’ll ever see her again :(

[drill-teeth-art]

I have nothing to say but you and your partner’s vibes makes me happy. I’m vibing with my own partner seeing other couples being happy with each other! Sorry if this is weird, just been a bummer day and your interactions reminds me to shower my partner with love.

Every single day I wake up as the luckiest beast alive because I have the best partner in the world who loves me too. I've been dating it for years, and I have a HUGE CRUSH on it like omg. It tells me about its art, and writing, and interests, and I'm so so so fortunate to have it and get to hear about all it loves and share my passions with it. I'm in the middle of planning my move in with it, and I couldn't be more excited. I go crazy blushy omg when it tells me what it's up to. Teehee swinging my legs cutely hanging on its every word style.

You SHOULD shower your partner with love. Go crazy! Go grateful appreciative of those in your life that you cherish!

My partner is the love of my life and my best friend in the whole world. I couldn't be more thrilled to get to live and grow and change alongside it. Everyone should go look at its art blog NOW. It's my biggest inspiration: @energons

[lumiidragon]

So I’ve been on a bit of a break which is why I’ve been pretty MIA, so sorry about that!  but I finally got to watch Season 7 of TNR and I can finally put my own review on it~! Please note that this contains spoilers, so if you haven’t seen it yet, stop reading here!

So I’ll start with my season issues before its good points. First off, the dragon secret is out to ICARUS and it was...incredibly lack luster. We had a 1 month time jump and the big reveal of dragons was rather...anti-climatic. I was really expecting a bit more from that, but oh well. Also, in the first episode, we get to finally see nadders, but they’re all hyper aggressive and it’s the only way we get to see them. They don’t show up again. Sad on that one. Next, of course is Thunder’s “alpha”-type thing he did to stop the nadders. I REALLY hope it was just a dominance stance as in “I’m tough and I’m being loud, so back off” and not “Thunder’s becoming the new alpha like Toothless” or else he is going to lose serious character points from me. It’d make literally no sense, especially since he nor his family are obviously alpha’s of all dragons and an alpha status isn’t some unlockable ability, it’s earned.

So the next thing and probably my biggest issue with this (especially those of you who know me will know I was going to have issues with this) BUT THEY KILLED THE FUCKING DEATHGRIPPERS. YES. THEY. KILLED. THEM. The deathgrippers are the ONLY dragons that got this treatment and that is actual bullshit. Oh, and if I hear literally anyone say “BUT THE DEATHRGIPPERS WERE BAD AND EVIL AND BLAH BLAH BLAH, my eyes are literally going to roll into the back of my head so far that I am going to make actual eye contact with the demon that controls the meat puppet that is my body. I don’t want to hear this comment because they are WILD ANIMALS and literally an animal cannot be good or evil please stop pushing that onto the dragons because that is an incredibly toxic and harmful way to view an animal species. So yeah, this alone knocked off a LOT of points from me because there was actually no reason for them to do this.

My 2nd biggest issue is OH MY GOD CAN THUNDER STOP BEING A DAMSEL IN DISTRESS. The whole poison dart episode was the worst and it was so eye rolling that I could hardly enjoy it. We get it, Thunder needs special attention and saved every other episode. Let’s move past it because it’s so boring that it’s starting to hurt his character for me.

My last big issue is that for a season that introduces the Realm of Giants, we...didn’t see the realm??? What was the point of that? We saw hardly any of it and though we got the Octofin and the Shellfire, we didn’t get to see much else. Of course, I didn’t get my bewilderbeast either, so that’s a bummer.

My last petty, but still an issue is that they’re starting to force this Tom and Jun romance. I’m not against there being a romance, especially for these two, but it’s starting to feel more like a “Hey, here’s a main male and female character, so let’s make sure they have apparent crushes on each other for reasons” instead of working up a more believable romance.

As for good points, characters outside of Tom are getting some good development and D’Angelo is quickly rising to my top favorite character. Jun, also being my least and actually disliked character starting out is starting to really build and I actually like her a lot more now. Also, the humor in this series has also gotten a lot better, too. I’m loving it.

I think the BEST points for this season are the villains, however. Actions are starting to have real consequences and are things that can’t be solved in just a single day with a teenager’s big idea. Also Buzzsaw is FINALLY worth having in the series. He’s becoming a much more formidable villain who is doing actual damage and thus making his time in the series much more interesting. The cliffhanger for the series is the best one so far. Sledkin is also becoming a very enjoyable villain instead of just the “shady co-worker”. And Dagur being canon means that RTTE is canon to TNR, so that is AMAZING.

All in all, I give this season a 7/10. It’s shaping up nicely, but the deathgripper deaths and thunder hurt it a lot.