#this would be the fall spring version of her suit to me

[eraserheadbabyabortion]

just got a papercut drawing out the armour fuck this gay earth

so i wrote a longgggg post even before i got to my thermodynamics rant but . whatever. anyways. exoskeleton, belt of first aid and misc junk, little skirt wrap to implicate wings, segmented armour for flexibility and airtime maneuvering , i think you get the drill

[ittybittyfanblog]

Only You, Darling (Only You, Babe)

Summary: There were orders for your abduction. You were made to be the bait by a rival gang to get to the elusive head of Onychinus. Sylus doesn’t take it too well. Word Count: 4.8k Tags: mc x sylus, fem!reader x sylus (use of she/her pronouns), depictions of violence (it gets a little graphic), reader gets abducted and injured, strong language, protective!sylus, he’s a little unhinged here, self-indulgent! A/N: I can’t believe this game pulled me out of a three-year creative rut LMAO. I’ve been doing fanarts, now I’m writing again?? The power these pixelated men hold over me, man.  Anyway, enjoy!  This version of Sylus is probably a little OOC idk idk ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

It's close to midnight, and you're being followed.

On your six, a stocky man in an unassuming dark suit has been tailing you since you left the dingy bodega, a little over a mile away from your apartment, for about, three? five minutes—no, maybe even longer.

Shit, you mouth silently. Sloppy. You should’ve noticed him sooner, and the two other lackeys now closing in from up ahead. They’re armed too, if the hands hidden inside their jackets are any indication.

As if things aren't looking bad enough, you’ve decided tonight would be the perfect night to go weaponless, deciding against bringing your handgun with you since it was supposed to just be a quick run to the store for supplies. Namely, the late-night cravings sort of supply.

You clutch the wrinkled paper bag containing your coveted jalapeño Cheetos tightly.

This is what greed does to you, a mocking voice echoes in your head. Since when did your inner voice of reason sound masculine and oh-so-familiar? 

Exhaling quietly, you try to calm the rising beat of your heart and appear to be clueless of your surroundings. Walk at a normal pace. Look unaware of the men with the intention to… What even is this? An ambush? Good, old, regular robbery? No, it doesn’t seem like they're in it for something that insignificant. They wouldn’t even bother to be this cautious if it were. 

But then, what are they here for? The dangers you're more familiar with are of the monstrous kind in the literal sense of the word; entities that you face on a daily basis as a Deepspace hunter. Not the regular threats posed by mankind – which in this particular situation, suddenly feels more foreboding.

While racking your brain for ideas on how to slip away from their sight without escalating the situation, you fail to notice a fourth person hidden behind the dumpster inside the narrow alleyway on your left until you feel the cold, hard edge of a pistol gun hit your temple.  

With a shout, your hand shoots up in an attempt to yank the gun away from the hand holding it but the sudden burst of pain from the impact has left you feeling dizzy and off-kilter. The moment you throw your fists up to block your face, heavy fists strike you directly in a flurry of hits, colliding with your forearm and your unguarded ribs.

You let out a pained grunt as you stagger backwards, trying your hardest to keep yourself from falling back on your ass and ward off the next incoming attack. 

A sinister laugh alerts you of the others, now surrounding you in a circle. Shit!

You hastily shift your legs into a crouching position, bracing yourself as you attempt to sidestep the one in front of you before making a run for it. You spring into action, but before you can even take another step, an arm shoots out and coils tightly around your neck like a noose. A cloth that reeks of something distinct is slapped over your mouth and nose, rendering you unable to do anything but struggle. 

“Now, now— the boss wants her in one piece, John,” The stocky man, who’s apparently larger and more jacked up-close, pipes up. John tightens the limb circling your throat, preventing you from breathing, before slightly loosening his grip. 

 “I’d advise you from struggling too much, sweetheart. But if you insist on making this harder for yourself,” the man talking suddenly grins, revealing rows of crooked, silver teeth. “He ain’t said nothin’ about a couple of bruises.” 

You give him your dirtiest glare, trying to pull away from the death grip the burly man called John had on you, but you feel your muscles slowly becoming heavier and your vision starting to blur. 

Ch-chloroform?

You make a muffled shout, a scurry that earns you a heavy hit on the stomach, one last futile move to free yourself, but the inevitable effect of the potent substance starts to overpower you. 

“After all, we need to make sure that the big bad boss of Onychinus actually comes for his bitch, don’t we?”

Rendered completely useless, the men start to make quick work to restrain your arms and legs in a hogtie before carrying you down the street, to a shaded corner where a large, gray van is parked.

The barn doors open, and you’re tossed in carelessly to the back, landing painfully on the cold, hard floor. An involuntary whimper escapes your lips, feeling like one big bruise; splotches of red and blue start to form like a violent watercolor on your skin. 

The engine revs. Before completely losing consciousness, you think you hear a faint caw.

The car drives off the beaten path, into the night, leaving not a trace of evidence of what transpired mere minutes ago aside from a discarded brown paper bag and a deflated bag of chips. 

-

-

-

From a distance, flying towards the hazy skyline, a mechanical bird crows a bad omen. 

_____

In the dead of the night, the head of Onychinus sits as a spectator; a towering presence at the head of a table inside a private room, obscured in plain sight, in an unremarkable establishment far east of Linkon City. 

Unassuming as it may be, the room’s occupants are men of great renown, both in influence and notoriety. The CEO of a chain business in Azure Square, a regional manager of a well-known bank in Linkon, the head of a weapons trade representing a faction in the N109 zone… All hold significant power, all hold ulterior motives.

A meeting of minds; the type held only in the secrecy of the night, gone in the break of dawn. 

Sylus has half the mind to listen in on the droning exchange of fake pleasantries and plastic smiles as the men deal trades in nature that of weapons and favors. A number of hungry, beady eyes cast him furtive glances, fearful yet devout. Some cautious in the hope of earning his approval. 

“–the package will be en route to the agreed-upon address by the end of the week,” a stout man in spectacles finishes off, clearing his throat. Beads of sweat start to form at the back of his neck as red eyes bore into his, assessing. Deliberating. “O-or if Richard’s able to give me the go-ahead in advance, I’ll make sure it arrives by Friday,” a gulp—then, “sir.” 

All in reverence. 

He hums, his switchblade dancing idly in his hand, deliberately stretching the tension that hangs heavy in the air. He delights in this power to unsettle, savoring the authority that his mere presence commands—a demand for absolute deference. 

“Make it half that time, will you, Raymond?” Sylus responds amicably, not as a question. The man, Raymond, sputters. 

“That won’t be pos–” Sylus tilts his head, eyes shifting into something more dangerous. “Please, I’ll try to cut the time shorter but there won’t be any assurances.” 

The pale-haired man sighs in acquiescence. “I suppose that will have to do.” Raymond lets out an exhale of relief, but catches his breath as Sylus continues, “Any later than Wednesday, and I’ll come to claim it personally.” 

Raymond, more nerves than man, starts to blabber something in response—but stops when something black suddenly appears in a blaze of dark energy, near the shoulder of the intimidating man he’s trying to appeal to. 

Sylus raises a hand, and a large crow lands on his pointer finger. 

He caws, once. Twice. And shows a projection. 

The inhospitably cold room suddenly went glacial. 

All conversation halts to a stop as an overwhelmingly suffocating aura starts to emanate from the man—no, the being at the head of the table, making all that are in the vicinity freeze in fear. 

The devil posing as the leader of Onychinus abruptly stands up, and Raymond thinks, Oh I’m going to die here.

Without a word, the man disappears in a Stygian haze.

_

Five minutes later, only after they felt like death was no longer looming over their heads, did anyone dare to move a muscle.

_____

Your head hurts, and your mouth tastes of rust. 

Having been awake for longer than your captors are aware of – two (?) of which bickering near a barred slate of metal that you assume is the door after taking a quick peek from beneath the mess of hair concealing your face – you try to get your bearings together without arousing the suspicion of your present audience. 

“–bet it’s gonna take a while ‘fore that guy arrives. You think she’s enough to get him to show his face?” 

“Damned if I know. In any case, we got a pretty, li’l plaything on our hands,” a snort. “Make her worth the effort.” 

Where were you? From what it looks like, you’ve been transported into a nondescript underground bunker of sorts, dank with a hint of mildew and rot in the air; a rumbling air vent on your left masking any noise that escaped your mouth when you woke up. The area is poorly lit, save for the flickering bulb hanging precariously above your head as your main source of light – good for casting shadows to hide your bruised face, bad for the pounding headache you’re pretty sure is a concussion. And with your back seemingly close to a wall, you arrive at the conclusion that there are no other entryways, no way to leave, but the guarded door in front of you. 

In short, you have no idea where you are. 

Fuck—this is bad, you swear to yourself internally, trying to control the rising panic swelling up your chest. You never thought your nightcap would lead to this mess. Nobody knows about your current predicament, and it’ll take more than a day before your absence raises any alarms, so right now, you’re on your own. 

Think, think! What can you do?

What can you do? You have nothing on you, nothing you can use as a makeshift weapon to defend yourself with, and your hands are tightly bound behind your back by a thick, heavily twined rope with no give. The situation is slowly turning bleaker by the second, and it isn’t even your fault that you’re here in the first place! You were made a pawn, a mere bait in this messed-up dick-measuring contest between a crazy, sadistic, self-proclaimed head honcho and Onychinus’s own crazy, sadistic—

Wait a minute. Sylus. 

You send a strong prayer to anyone above that’s listening, and an angry telepathic shout for good measure to the one who’s unaware of his involvement – but nonetheless the source of your ruined night – in this attempt at kidnapping a perfectly law-abiding citizen of Linkon.

Sylus, as much as I hate your unfortunate tendency to stalk me through means that, honestly? Eludes the hell out of me, I really, REALLY hope that you’ve been keeping tabs toni–

“Hey, boss! I think this one’s awake!”

Fuck. No use pretending anymore. 

You hear heavy footsteps from outside the room before the corroded metal door swings open to reveal a large man, easily standing above six feet, sporting a neatly trimmed beard and an unsettling smile. His arms are covered in tattoos– overlapping, almost undecipherable. A gnarly scar runs from the side of his mouth to just above his brow bone; his right eye a cloudy gray, most likely a morbid souvenir from the sustained injury.

His functional eye zeroes in on your pitiful form, and his smile widens into a hostile grin. 

“Well, well. It seems like our esteemed guest is finally ready to join in the fun,” His voice sounds like gravel, with a mocking intonation. “I hope my men weren't too rough with you on the way here.” 

You let out a breath through your teeth, blinking a few times to try and rid the blurring in your vision. You have to bide your time– “Why am I here? What do you want from me?” 

The man cocks his head to the side, smile still in place. “I assume you already know. But I’ll indulge you your little questions, why not?”

He crosses the space separating the two of you with just a few, languid steps before he’s in front of you. He leans forward, brushing the messy locks of hair – dried with blood – away from your face in a deceptively calm manner. “The devil needs to pay his dues, but it’s been rather difficult to get a hold of him, you see,” he sighs in exaggerated disappointment. ”I intend to collect, so I waited patiently for the right moment, for an opening. For an opportunity. 

And here, the opportunity presents herself.” 

You sneer, moving your head back to let your hair fall from his creepy hold. “I’ve no clue what you’re talking about, mister, but I’m pretty sure you’ve got the wrong idea.”

He barks out a laugh before gripping your chin tightly between his fingers. “You’ve got a smart mouth on you. Maybe we can find a better use for it.” 

You feel it before you hear it. 

“Perhaps not.” 

Something vicious saturates the air, something intense and terrifying and wrong. The hairs on the back of your neck stand up, and some sort of primordial response deep within your brain is telling you to get away from it.

But then, the paralyzing fear melts away to something akin to hope when you realize the source of this new disturbance.

Relief washes over you when familiar ink-and-red tendrils materialize behind the man in front of you. The dark wisps dissipate like smoke as soon as it comes and in place, your savior – sporting an expression that could only be described as downright murderous – stands before you, all six feet of unadulterated rage.

Several things happened so fast, it was almost simultaneous.

A cacophony of shouts came loudest from the two men who had been on guard duty but screams also echoed from outside the room. You saw flashes of red, twin laughter, and blood spurting from the necks of the now headless guards, and then a symphony of bullets and a lot of things breaking rang across the room. 

Suddenly— 

Deafening silence. As if something has put an abrupt stop to the noise. 

Amidst all the chaos, the scarred man in front of you had no time to make a move before savage whips of crackling energy engulfed him, leaving only his head free from the smothering darkness. 

His expression betrays something wild and manic as he tries twisting around to look at the figure behind him. “You—”

Sylus pays no mind to the breathing, dead fool—lower than dirt on his feet, with the nerve to harm what is most precious to him—as he keeps his gaze solely on you; his eyes darting up and down as if taking inventory of all the bruises and scrapes you sustained from the abduction. 

You meet his eyes. “You came.” 

An indecipherable look passes his face, gone as quickly as it came. “A little too late. I apologize.” 

You weakly huff out a chuckle, wanting to shake your head but decide against it lest it aggravates your concussion. A prickling sensation, then the rope around your wrists falls off with a quiet thud. 

“Luke. Kieran.” 

“Everything’s all accounted for, boss,” Kieran announces, suddenly appearing beside your right, along with Luke who’s on your left. Both look no worse for wear.

 The latter gives you a sympathetic look. “Oh, man. They got you good, little crow.” 

“Caught me off-guard, s’all,” you insist half-heartedly. 

A sigh. “Transport her directly back to base. Attend to her critical injuries once you arrive, and keep her awake. I’ll handle the rest once I get back,” Sylus instructs the twins in a tone that brooks no argument.

They nod in sync and start making a move to carry you out, but you protest.

“Wait, you’re staying behind?” For some reason, the thought of being separated from him, even for a short amount of time, makes you feel ill. Well, worse than your current state, at least. 

Sanguine eyes soften when he hears the tremble in your voice. The offending man in front of you, reduced into something less threatening than a cowering dog in comparison to your rescuer, is forcibly pushed aside to make room for Sylus as he steps closer. 

He crouches low so that you’re looking down on him instead of up. One large hand covers both of yours, mindfully avoiding the fresh rope burns on your wrists, his thumb rubbing soothing circles on the unmarred part of your skin. 

“This will be quick, sweetie. I’ll be back by your side before you know it,” he exhales, closing his eyes for a moment. “I swear to you.”

You swallow, but nodded reluctantly. “Come home soon.” 

“I will.”

With that, you let yourself be carried out of the claustrophobic space you were confined to, into a larger room littered with unmoving bodies that you're frankly too tired to care about at the moment, up three (rickety) flights of stairs where you exit into what looks like the inside of an empty shipping container, before finally, finally getting out. 

A gust of salty wind hits you and you ask, “Are we near the docks?” 

“Yeah,” Kieran answers, carefully putting you down on the backseat of Sylus’ car. “Mephisto trailed after the van they stuffed you in before reporting back to the boss. We followed soon after.” 

Luke frowns as he inserts the key in the ignition. “We weren’t aware that they had eyes on you for a while now. An oversight on our part, won’t happen again,” he assures you. “Gotta give them props for that, at least.” 

Kieran, now getting in the passenger side of the vehicle, shoots him a look. 

“Anyway, we’re glad we got to you before they did anything… worse,” Kieran continues, then winces in a show of mock sympathy. “Can’t say the same to that fucker back inside. Haven’t felt Sylus’ bloodlust this strong in a long while.” 

You try to focus on their words, but you feel yourself nodding off as the remaining adrenaline slowly leaves your body. You know you should feel more worried about what the two were insinuating, but your mouth still tastes like you swallowed a bunch of coins and you just want a soft bed to sleep in for an entire day. Or three. 

“Oi, no sleeping. Doctor’s orders,” A snapping finger in front of your face forces you awake. 

You blink your tired eyes open in an attempt to stay lucid, the pulsing pain in your head becoming more prominent as soon as the threat of danger has passed. 

“This is gonna be a long night,” you sigh, wishing that Sylus will keep his word and be quick about… whatever he’s planning to do with your abductor. 

–––––

There hasn’t been much left of the man who proclaims to be the new head of an arms syndicate Sylus had dealt with in the past. He recalls the history of his relationship with the cartel being less than cordial, but nothing that would warrant his ire. Except for tonight.

He usually doesn’t leave a trace when doling out punishments; no, not anymore. Not in recent years. He prefers to be efficient about his killings, dissipating any evidence in thin air after reducing them into fine paste, rather than make a big show out of it. Quick and precise.

Except today… Someone had the arrogance, the absolute audacity to steal directly from the dragon’s nest.

The contents of which have always been kept in strict confidentiality. What is known, only chosen individuals bound to secrecy are privy to, and a lot of people would kill for. 

But unbeknownst to anyone else but its owner, only one thing in this hoard of secrets truly matters to the dragon. One solitary treasure alone he would burn planets for—and someone has tried to steal it.

Harm. the treasure. To get to him. 

It seems as if the new bloods needed a reminder of who, exactly, they’re stealing from. 

One who dwells deep within the underbelly of the cities both monster and men inhabit, that even the most heinous of sinners seeking solace in the dark, are afraid of. 

And what retribution tastes like to those who are foolish enough to bite more than what they can chew.

The poor soul unfortunate enough to be the first one to discover the carnage will witness that what was left of the man that had wronged the Onychinus kingpin is now stuck on the walls, the floor, and the ceiling of a basement where the treasure was held captive. They will find that the man’s innards are deliberately hung in a haphazard fashion, in all corners of the room like bloody, sinewy tinsel. 

And the centerpiece of this bloodbath is none other than the man’s decapitated head, forcibly attached to the hanging light in the middle of the room. A bulb crudely drilled past his cranium, while blood dripped down the floor in slow, ominous rivulets. 

They will understand in dawning horror that the one responsible for this... gross butchery, has left the head swinging. That the man’s mouth will forever remain agape in an eternal scream to immortalize the exact moment he realizes the gravity of his sin.   

Yes, Sylus is more than glad to remind them. 

_____

You arrive a quarter past four AM. 

Barely taking a step past the foyer, the twins immediately whisk you inside to perform an ‘emergency patch-up.’ Luke’s words, not yours.

“We’re your personal CNA while waiting for the head nurse to take over,” he explains cheerfully, wrapping another layer of gauze around your wrist. You hiss when Kieran dabs a cotton ball on the gash on your temple, peroxide fizzing as it comes in contact with the dried-up blood. Muttering out a “sorry!” Kieran does quick work in cleaning the injury and covering the affected area.

In no time at all, all visible wounds are bandaged and disinfected. The worst of your head wound had to be stitched up, but other than that, nothing seems to require immediate medical attention. There’s nothing left for you to do but to bear the aches that came along with the bruises – especially on your tender midriff – and to pop a tylenol for your throbbing headache.

You offer them a sincere, “Thanks. No, really.” before they leave you in Sylus’ room, after multiple reminders to “not sleep before the attending nurse arrives for the final diagnosis.” 

(You think they might have enjoyed playing caretaker a little too much.) 

With a lot more effort than you care to admit, you painstakingly remove your bloodstained clothes until you're down to your underwear, before draping yourself in a large, red, silk robe. A hot shower sounds heavenly to your sore muscles, but the soft mattress is calling to you more so you head straight to bed. 

With nothing else to occupy yourself with, you prop your head on a mountain of pillows – to keep yourself relatively upright – and let out a sigh. 

Tonight had been a shitshow. All you wanted was something to snack on while you binge through the last season of the show you were watching back at your apartment; you never thought a late-night run to the store just a few blocks away would result in… this. If not for Sylus’ intervention, you’re sure you'd be leaving with a lot more than a couple of scrapes. If not worse.

You're lost in your own thoughts when short, successive raps on the door catch your attention. It swings open before you have the chance to pipe out a, “come in!”

Speak of the devil.

Sylus enters the room, not a hair out of place. You notice that he’s changed into a casual, brown sweater and a pair of dark-washed jeans. His eyes meet yours, tightly-controlled expression relaxing as he crosses the room towards the side of your bed, wasting no time. 

“How are you feeling?”

“Still pretty sore, but Luke and Kieran already handled the worst of my injuries,” you answer, making a move to sit up. Sylus tuts disapprovingly, gentle as he puts a hand on your chest to prevent you from moving any further. He sits gingerly on the edge of the mattress, careful not to jostle you. Once fully settled, he let out a deep sigh.

“You had me worried for a moment there, kitten.” He admits, a slightly rough edge to his voice as emotion seeps into it. He regards you intently, like he’s trying to convince himself that you’re here, safe. 

Your hand reaches out towards his face. Without missing a beat, he leans in to nuzzle your palm, eyes closing shut. He reminds you of a big wolf, unbridled fire simmering beneath the surface, yet tame in the presence of his handler. 

“I’m fine now, thanks to you,” you assure him with a lopsided smile. “Give my thanks to Mephisto, as well. Tell him he gets a pass on the stalking this time.” 

Sylus opens his eyes, a hint of amusement and something else you can’t identify flickering through. “Oh, sweetie. You’ll be lucky if that bird gives you the privacy to bathe alone after tonight,” he jokes. 

He’s joking. Right?

You eye him for a moment before deciding to let it go. You're too tired to argue.

Instead, you cautiously ask a question you aren’t sure you even want the answer to. “What happened after we left?” 

Sylus expression doesn’t change except for the upward tick on the corner of his mouth; the same peculiar glint in his eyes coming across a little stronger. “They won’t be bothering you anymore. You don’t need to worry about anyone coming for you.”

“That’s not what I asked.” 

He hums. “Do you really want to know?”

You stare at him, and he stares back at you placidly. 

You purse your lips and look away. “Maybe not.” 

Sylus breathes out a laugh. He gently grasps your chin between his forefinger and thumb, guiding your head to meet his gaze once more. A softer look on his face, inching closer to yours.

Your heartbeat slightly picks up. In your vulnerable state, you feel a welling desire to bare your feelings to the man in front of you. You want to tell him how relieved you felt when you saw him in that cursed basement, how he was able to quell your fears with just his presence alone the moment he appeared in a familiar haze of black and red. Like your own, personal, vindictive guardian. 

Instead, you close the distance between the two of you, your lips meeting his. 

Sylus groans quietly, a hand cupping your face as he leans closer to deepen the kiss. Your eyes flutter shut, savoring the feeling of contentment from being this close to him. You feel, more than you see, how his taut body loses the remaining tension from the events that transpired just mere hours ago, how he finally relaxes as he loses himself in you.

Very carefully, he eases you further down, cradling your head with one hand until it rests on a pillow. His lips drift to the corner of your mouth, trailing soft kisses up to the apples of your cheeks, your forehead, then to your nose. 

He pulls back slightly, chuckling when you make a sound of discontent. When you open your eyes, you see him looking at you—half-lidded and tender. 

In a low voice, he instructs, “Rest. You need it.”

The feeling of exhaustion pulls you in, but before you surrender to it, you remind Sylus, “I’m not that fragile, you know. You don’t have to worry too much.” You poke his cheek and he catches the offending digit to bite it affectionately. “I’ll be up and running in no time.”

He doesn't speak for a minute, considering your words. His mouth sets into a thin line before letting out a sigh.

“And if you get hurt again? What then?" He whispers so quietly, seeming as if he's talking to himself.

"I'll get hurt again, that's for sure," You tell him, matter-of-factly. "But really, that’s just an occupational hazard. I’m sure you realize."

“Love — what a terrible, little thing,” he muses, half-forlornly, half in jest. "I’d rip this cold heart out and throw it in flames if I could.”

While speaking, his hand finds its way into the tangles of your hair, gently running his fingers through the strands in a lulling manner. His lips landing on the crown of your head softly. Reverently.

You hum sleepily.

“Of course you would, Sy.”

_____

“You’ll be glad to know that the artifact you had your eye on back at the auction will be arriving this Wednesday.” 

“Huh? But I thought it was already sold to someone else?”

Sylus shrugs. “I made a counteroffer.” 

“You didn’t have to. I told you it was fine.” 

“I know. But I also recall a certain someone telling me how much they wished they had placed a bid on it on our way back,” he pinches your cheek fondly. “Don’t worry about it, kitten. It’s yours.”

“Oh. Well– thank you,” you yawn in response, leaning your head to rest against his palm.

His thumb strokes your cheek. “Anything for you.”

[deadsetobsessions]

Bestie sent me a tiktok by @craycrayglitterbug. Thanks for driving all this way to visit me~

——

It was the beginning of Gotham’s Summer seasonal aggression week, which was the city’s own version of seasonal depression limited to one week where instead of getting depressed, Gothamites got pissed off.

They had one for each season. Spring’s seasonal aggression week coincided with the first release of pollen from the surrounding plants, aggravated by Ivy’s proclivity towards increasing plant growth in her forest. Since most people weren’t actually pissed off enough to bring smoke to a Rogue (Ivy got strongly worded mail though), they took it out on each other. The Bats broke off more street brawls and knife fights during this season, all the while handing out tissues and anti-allergy medicine to red-nosed, puffy eyed people.

Fall… well, that week was Halloween. Enough said. Scarecrow, committed to his bit, was the most active this season. In the same vein, Spoiler and Red Robin were on the scene more often than not during this season. Gas masks and a bat were popular accessories during this season.

Winter meant Penguin and Mr. Freeze became more active, having a natural advantage in Winter. Like Pokémon, but instead of being cute, they’re busy being menaces to society and Gotham’s already fraying threads of sanity.

The Joker is terrible all year round. Fish fear him, insurance policies want him, and Red Hood tries to go for his throat every time he makes an appearance. Such were the unchangeable facts of Gotham’s hellish landscape.

Summer, though. Summer was the worst of the four seasons for seasonal aggression. The other three could generally be avoided with a modicum of luck, but Summer’s heat was unavoidable. Normally, stone architecture such as those that Gotham sported would aid in the ventilation of the city. It was not so for the normally clouded over metropolis. Instead, the curse that Gotham was built upon had adapted to modernity. Now, for exactly one week, the city had sweltering heat at night and day, inside or outside. The pavement could cook eggs, and the marble inside banks sometimes were so hot that people had to flood it with water to avoid burning their fingertips. Some of the buildings had cutting edge AC, thank you Wayne Enterprises, that the curse had yet to adapt to. They were popular spots and silently agreed upon to be protected from the usual shenanigans and robberies.

At night, the heat cools enough to be a natural irritant instead of miserably bringing people to heat exhaustion.

This is where we find two of the more active members of the vigilante scenes during this season:

The Red Hood, and the Batman.

To be fair, Batman is active all season, but summer called for more reinforcements than normal.

Red Hood made sure his Alley had access to clean water, shade, and handed out relief to the less fortunate inhabitants. He also cracked down on the fools that tried his rules, not killing them because the Seasonal Aggression led to seasonal stupidity more often than not and he couldn’t exactly blame criminals for doing crime. He can, however, blame them for breaking his rules while doing said crimes.

Batman covered the city, helping irritated children find their way back to equally irritated but worried mothers walking him at night, taking down rogues, and disarming the numerous pipe bombs people built out of aggravation.

Though the vigilantes had thermoregulated suits, they were not immune to seasonal aggression.

“What the fuck, old man?!” Jason shouted through his helmet as Bruce took down the goon Jason was gunning for.

“Hm,” Bruce grunted back, ducking low to kick another goon in the chest.

Jason shot the last one in the foot and slammed his fist into their face as they dropped in pain.

“What the hell are you doing in my territory?!”

Bruce, unable to say he missed Jason and unwilling to get shot should he even hint at telling his son that he swung by to check on him, simply grunted.

“Oh, well fuck you too, you overgrown rat!” Jason scowled, holstering his guns. He knew how riled up he could get on a regular patrol. A patrol on hell week stood no chance of ever ending peacefully. He’d better stow away his guns so Bruce doesn’t walk home with a couple of noticeable dents in his Kevlar. Alfred would be upset if that happened. “You want to start shit? Fuck you, I’ll start shit first!”

Batman opened his mouth- whether to reprimand him or deny the accusations, the world will never know- but Jason cut him off.

“Okay, your suit? Whack. Your parenting skills? Whack,” Jason quickly spat out, the built in voice changer changing it to sound even more growly. “Your taste in literature? Abysmal. Don’t even get me started on your hypocrisy!”

“Hood-”

“You know what? I will get started on your hypocrisy! The Joker straight up murdered one of your kids! I was your kid! You said- you said that you loved me!”

Jason, who had thought he had moved past this despite not putting in the work to do so and refused to work through his emotions in anyway that wasn’t murdering someone or crying on Jane Austen novels, had in fact not moved past this. Unsurprisingly, Bruce wasn’t the best model for self care and healthy coping mechanisms. And despite Jason’s vehement objections to being compared to Bruce in anyway, being like Bruce in anyway, the fact of the matter is that eventually, all of Bruce’s kids will inevitably have a facet of themselves turn out like him.

“I do!” Bruce objected, the heat getting to his head and making it easier to actually express any form of emotion that was not mildly related to Justice.

A goon groaned, but Jason knocked him out again with a swift blow to the head before turning and pointing an accusing finger at Batman.

“If you loved me, why didn’t you kill the Joker?!” Jason screamed, punting the unconscious body of a goon against the HVAC. He took off his helmet and hurled it at Batman. Jason jabbed a thumb at his masked face, pointing out the myriad of raised scars on his face. “Look at me! I’m- I have scars! And they never stop hurting! I had to fucking dig myself out of my grave because he killed me and I was unfortunate enough to be dragged back!”

“Jaylad-”

Jason snarled, stalking closer and shoving Bruce back. Bruce allowed it, his head pounding with the heat.

“You couldn’t save me, fine! But fuck, you let Gotham pay the price for letting him live! This is the third Joker group we’ve downed this week! People died, B! Good, innocent people and scumbags! You could have killed him! You could have stopped him! All of this,” Jason gestured angrily at the downed goons and the blood splattered on top of the roof, jaw clenched and eyes more fiery than the summer day Gotham had been subjected you. “Just because of your no-kill rule!”

Bruce drew his shoulders back like he was about o admit something shameful. “That’s not why I didn’t kill the Joker. I tried to kill him, but Superman stopped me.”

Jason’s next shout died in his throat, the anti-hero looking floored as he stared at his father figure, frozen in place with his mouth agape. Bruce continued, now that he could speak, the words rushing out of him like a dam that could not be stopped from breaking. “What?” Jason breathed out. Bruce barreled on.

“I know. I know I’m a hypocrite. But if I tried to kill him, I wouldn’t stop at just him.”

“No, wait, Superman what?”

“He stopped me.”

Three beats of silence.

“Then, why… why didn’t you try again?” Jason asked, voice strangled and thrown helmet all but forgotten in this new piece of information.

“Because… it was an attempt to kill myself too. After that, I didn’t have the will to do anything but to cling onto the Mission,” Bruce said, voice softening to that which he used for children because despite everything, Jason’s was still his son. “And… I didn’t think I deserved to take the easy way out, not when you had the opportunity to live taken away from you like that.”

Jason swallowed. “Why the fuck couldn’t you have told me this earlier?”

“You were angry at me. I deserved it.”

“Fuck you and your stupid martyr bullshit,” Jason rebuked. He went to collect his helmet. Jason paused when he passed Bruce, a split second of understanding running between them that wasn’t there before. Jason picked up his helmet roughly as Batman stood stock still- akin to someone standing still when their cat purrs on them, afraid to move and provoke an unfavorable connection- and huffed.

“I’m gonna beat up the Boy Scout.”

“No.” Bruce paused. “I can’t condone that… but I can tell you that there might be security lapse in the kryptonite safe tonight.”

“I still don’t like you.”

“But you know you’re my son… right?”

“I’ll think about it,” Jason muttered. He pulled out his gun and shoots a guy in the foot. The unconscious goon twitches.

“Hood!” Bruce’s tone changed to scolding.

“There we go. And we’re back.”

“That’s great,” Oracle said in their ears. “Next time, remember to shut off your comms.”

Jason’s face burned. “Oh fuck.”

“Little wing… I didn’t know you felt that way.” Dick said, voice watery as he audibly beat thugs over the head with his baton.

“Hey, Harley’s scheduled to break out of Arkham like tomorrow if you wanted to beat up Superman with her.”

“Sure, Red. Now fuck off!”

Jason shut off his comms, zipped down to the street and stomped angrily to his motorcycle.

Batman turned to gather up the goons, pettily deciding not to warn Superman. Hey, hell week affected him too.

[authoradaelise]

Only You - Chapter One.

Content warnings: Mention of parental death, subtle mention of abusive relationship.

Word count: 1.7k

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

“Darling, could you help me with the last of your bags?” My dad shouts over his shoulder while walking through the green front door – the one he let me and Momma paint all those years ago. The memory feels so far away. “It reminds me of the ones I love most.” She would tell me while kissing my eyelids like a blessing.

She’s been gone for nearly a decade now and I haven’t seen that door since. I grab the last two trash bags from the back of my dad’s truck, filled with whatever of mine I could manage to throw in it, and head towards the house. I hold my breath before I step inside, eyes focused on the door knob, preparing to be washed over with a version of my life I’ve been far removed from.

“You know, it really didn’t seem like this much when we were packing everything in.” My dad huffs, bending forward with his hands on his knees.

“I told you I’d grab it all myself, Dad.” I look at him with a knowing smile. He’s going to tell me he promised to take care of me and that means even this too, I just know it.

“No, darling, it’s alright. I’m just messin’ with ya. I told you I’d take care of you always, right? And that means carrying these damn bags.” Told ya.

“Suit yourself!” I throw the two bags I’m carrying at his feet with a giggle. He fakes falling over in pain. “Don’t worry about it Dad, seriously. I’ve got it.” I pick up the bags I threw, setting them aside with the rest that he brought in. Walking over to the kitchen, I whisper a soft “hi” and hold my hand to a photo of Momma hanging up on the wall. The house still smells just like her somehow.

“Want some water?” I ask Dad, already pouring him a cup.

“Get your old man a beer, sweetie. I could use one.” I grab us both a beer and bring the waters to sit down on the couch.

“House doesn’t look like it’s changed much.” I say, looking over at my dad with his eyes closed. He always does this when he’s in deep thought. I know he won’t say what he really wants to.

“I think I’ve had enough change in life. Didn’t wanna make the house part of it.” He turns to look at me and places his arm around my shoulder. “I’m glad you’re finally back here with me. You’re safe now.”

I wince at those words. You’re safe now. There was a time those words were whispered to me. Not by my father, but by another man who promised to love me. To protect me. He didn’t. And I was never safe.

I give my father a small smile and lean my head on his shoulder. Closing my eyes and taking a deep breath in, pulling in the smell of home. There’s a hint of something else. I already know and my eyes spring open, spinning my head to look at him again.

“You’re smoking again, aren’t you?”

“What? Where did you get that from?”

“I can smell it, Dad. Clear as day. You’ve never been one for air fresheners or candles.”

“I’ve been with you for the last 3 days darling, where could I have gotten a smoke from?”

“Anywhere! They’re not that hard to find!” I yell.

“Alright, alright!” He raises his voice, not to a yell but almost a defensive plead. He continues.

“Sometimes I have a little somethin’ with my buddy. It’s not a habit again, I promise. I just – sometimes I need it to keep sane.”

“Your buddy? Since when do you have friends?” It came out more insulting than curious. “Sorry, I-- ”

“I haven’t been able to catch up with you in the recent years, darling. Forgive me.” He cuts me off, reminding me of the time that has passed us by where I was slowly losing more contact with him. Not by my own choice.

“No, it’s – it’s my fault.”

“Not your fault, my girl. I promise you that.” He takes a deep breath and continues. “My buddy Joel moved here about five years ago. He’s got two girls, Sarah and Ellie. They lost their mom when they were very young, car accident, and Joel needed a fresh start. I think you’d really like ‘em. They’re good ones.”

“Okay.” I let out, a little bit relieved.

“Okay?” he questions, almost sounding nervous.

“Well you’re not grounded or anything, if that’s what your worried about.” I smile. He chuckles.

“I promise it’s really not a habit again. I wouldn’t do that to ya. But I do it every once in a blue moon when we’re sat talking. I like to talk about you and he likes to talk about his girls. That’s all, darling.”

“Well, I’d like to meet them then.” I say, taking a swig of beer.

“Good. Because they should just about be here in twenty minutes or so for dinner.” I start choking.

“Twenty minutes?! You were just telling me on the drive down how we have nothin’ in the fridge!”

“Relax, darling. They’re bringing over pizza. I told them we’d be too tired after driving for so long and to bring your favorite.”

“Extra cheese?” I look at him with a huge grin.

“Extra extra.” He looks back at me as if he’s thinking “You think I’d ever forget that?” I’ve forgotten so many parts of myself I guess I’d half expected him too as well.

“Let me go freshen up.”

I run up the stairs, still creaking with every step as it always used to. I remember being so upset I couldn’t sneak out because Momma was such a light sleeper. Some nights she’d join me downstairs for a 2am snack, whispering about nonsense, the sound of Dad’s snores echoing up the stairs. I reach the top and turn the corner to see my room door open. Nothing is different from when I last saw it except for my bedding, which Dad must have changed right before he left to come get me. My bathroom has my favorite hand soap from a small family-owned shop nearby — again something he must have picked up for me. I’m grateful for the familiarity of it all. I wash my hands and use the left over water to swipe underneath my eyes, getting rid of the mascara that my tears must have smeared. I spent most of the drive down from New York crying, trying not to wake Dad with it whenever it was my turn to drive. As a result, I look exhausted beyond compare, my skin begging for any sort of relief.

I don’t realize how long I’ve been standing there until I hear the doorbell and turn to leave the bathroom. I can hear shuffles of feet and young voices.

“Hi Uncle Henry!” One of the young voices says. Uncle Henry? What have I missed all these years?

“Oh, my sweet hearts!” I stand at the top of the stairs witnessing my dad hug two girls, one maybe a couple of years older than the other. “Where’s your dad?”

“He’s being old and taking his sweet time. Grabbing the pizza.” The older girl says, rolling her eyes like she’s mocking him. The youngest starts grabbing at her lower back, slouching over and faking pain, “Oh oh, look at me I’m old and my back hurts!”

“All right, all right, very funny, Ellie.” A deep voice says in a tone suggesting he’s heard this joke too many times before. He jokingly nudges her with his foot and then closes the door behind him with it, arms full of pizza.

“Oh, there you are darling. Do you mind helping Joel with the pizza while I get us set up in the kitchen?” My dad turns to look up at me, pointing two fingers down at either girl. “This is Sarah and Ellie! Joel’s daughters.” They both smile wide grins up at me, waving dramatically. He moves a finger to point at Joel next. “And that’s my buddy Joel!” Now my dad is the one grinning, like he’s proudly showing him off.

Joel doesn’t smile. He only looks at me – his expression unreadable like he’s trying to figure out something he wasn’t expecting. A flutter in my chest causes my breath to catch. A sweet voices speaks up, cutting the silent tension with enthusiasm.

“You’re very pretty!” Sarah says.

“I like your shirt!” Ellie says, almost immediately after. Joel moves his gaze towards the pizza boxes in his hands, grounding himself, while I begin walking down the stairs, offering a thank you to the bright-eyed girls.

“Alright, let her make it downstairs first before you hound her.” He gives them a knowing look that says go ahead and they make their way towards the kitchen. I make it to the bottom step and his eyes return downward. I reach out my hands to place them underneath the bottom box, when I realize that I’ve grazed his fingers, a short moment on his skin, and he flinches.

“Sorry, I—”

“It’s fine.” He cuts in quickly. “Here uh – take the top box.” Without looking up, he hands it over to me and I sneak a glance at him, taking this moment to search for anything like an answer to this disorienting tension. His jaw tightens and he squares his shoulders like he’s bracing himself.

“Thanks.” I murmur, feeling uncertain. He nods once, tilting his head towards the kitchen.

“Ready?”

“Good to go.” I pivot and walk ahead of him, feeling his stare burning into my back. The warmth of him lingering closely – almost like it’s guarding me, yet I feel so exposed. I spot my dad at the kitchen table, girls sat with their paper plates in hands, eyes lighting up when they see the pizza boxes settling in front of them. I slide into a chair and force a smile when Sarah passes me a slice. It tastes like childhood, almost too good to be true. Somewhere between the noise and laughter that has found itself in the air, I remember that this isn’t just a return, but a new beginning.

[lightandheatao3]

The Bunker - Criminal Minds

Chapter 1: The Bunker

Summary: Spencer Reid wakes up in a locked bunker to find half the current BAU and two of its departed members unconscious on the floor. The old team is back together but the reunion is not what any of them would have wished for. An Unsub from their past has decided it's time they all stop keeping secrets, even if it means exposing them by force.

Hotch and Derek have been pulled back into a world they tried to escape. Emily, Rossi, and JJ are doing their best to keep it together. Spencer is falling apart.

AKA a found family is reunited and forced to go through the most nightmarish version of family therapy imaginable.

Set months after the end of Criminal Minds: Evolution. Evolution referenced, but not necessary to understand the story.

Read chapter 1 on AO3 or under the cut. All comments and reblogs are so appreciated <3

Chapter 2 link

Spencer cracked his eyes open, flinching from the white fluorescent light and blinking hard against the groggy, dull ache in his head.

His mouth was dry, body heavy. A familiar wake up. He reached his hand out blindly for the relief waiting on his bedside table.

No- wait.  

His lights are all yellow toned filament bulbs, not white fluorescents.

The smell was wrong. The dull electrical buzz in the air was louder, pitched higher.

His eyes shot open wide and he scrambled to his feet.

This wasn’t home.

He surveyed his surroundings, fighting the wave of dizziness that came with standing too abruptly.

“Oh no,” he said out loud. “Nonononono…”

The room was large and square and made entirely of concrete. Up the top a small vent, too high to reach and too small for a person to fit into. A heavy door with a double walled chamber for someone to put things into without having to interact with the person on the other side. The kind you would find in a maximum-security prison cell. The whole room felt like a prison cell, a place he’d hoped to never be again. At the back of the room a small en-suit that was completely stripped bare but for a metal toilet with no seat and a sink that was bolted into the wall. There was a door that could be shut, but there was a gap under it and a hole where a doorknob had clearly been removed.

A camera. There on the roof, drilled in and protected by a plexiglass dome, blinking its little red light at him. He stared at it for a moment, then closed his eyes.

He slowed his breathing. Now was not the time to fall apart. Not now. Not yet.

Not when there were 5 of his friends prone on the ground around him, unconscious as he had been only moments ago.

Each was laid out on a thin foam mattress, the kind with no seams or springs that could be fashioned into tools.

His first stop was the door. He knew before he tried it that it wasn’t going to open, but he had to make sure. As soon as that was confirmed, he turned his attention to the people in the room with him.

He rushed over to Emily first, rolling her onto her side and checking her pulse. It was slow, but steady. He looked around at the rest of them, noting the gentle rise and fall of their chests. All alive. He sighed audibly, clasping his hands together in thanks and relief for a split second before turning back to Emily.

He gently shook her, putting his hand on her cheek in what he hoped was a comforting way. His hands were shaking. He wasn’t sure if it was the adrenaline or the comedown. “Emily," he said gently. “Emily, it’s me, Spencer. Wake up Emily.”

After a few more repetitions her eyes fluttered, then opened. She looked up at him hazily. “Spencer?”

“Hi,” he said sadly, knowing there were only a second left until she realized the danger they were in and wanting to let her experience that second in peace.

She glanced behind him where JJ lay unconscious. He looked at her pupils. They were constricted, confirming his suspicions.

“Oh my god,” Emily gasped, her hand reaching up to clutch his shoulder. She leveraged herself against him to drag her way up into a sitting position. She rubbed at her eyes blearily, then opened them again and cast them around the entire room. “Fuck,” she breathed.

“Yeah,” he agreed.

Her eyes snapped back to him. “Are you alright?” she asked urgently, looking him over. “What happened?”

“I’m fine,” he assured her. “And I don’t know. I woke up a minute ago. I don’t remember how I got here. I think we were all drugged.”

She hummed in agreement. “Last thing I remember I was outside my apartment on the way home from the gym. I still feel a little out of it. God, Spencer, you look awful,” she said, putting a hand over his. “What did they do to you?”

“Same thing as you, most likely.” He looked away. “Emily, that’s Hotch over there,” he deflected. “And Derek.”

Emily looked to where he was pointing. Her expression was solemn, professionalism kicking in even in these dire circumstances. “Yeah. And no sign of Tara, Matt, or Luke. And no Penelope, thank God. Whoever did this, they’ve got a grudge against us that predates the others joining the BAU. Someone who met all of us but never had direct interaction with Penelope. This is good. If the others are free, they’ll find us.”

Spencer nodded in agreement. “This is someone with the skill to find Hotch in witness protection. If he wasn’t dead, I would have said it was Scratch. The logistics of kidnapping 6 highly trained federal agents takes an enormous amount of planning and ability. There are only handful of people we’ve encountered with the capacity to pull something like this off.”

She rubbed at her temples. Her eyes were losing the glassy sheen as the adrenaline counteracted the effects of the drugs. “I assume you tried the door?” He nodded. “I guess we should wake the others.”

No sooner than she said it, JJ stirred. They both crawled over to her. Her wake up process went much the same as Emily’s, but for the fact that the first thing she asked about was if her children were safe, before she’d come to enough to realize they had no way of knowing.

“Whoever this is likely targeted you while you were alone,” Spencer assured her. “It’s much safer to take a victim without witnesses, especially a victim who is trained to defend themselves and needs to be physically incapacitated.”

Next, they woke Rossi, who responded immediately by swearing up a storm and threatening to rip the head off whoever was responsible for this.

“Hey, Dave, it’s okay,” said JJ in a calming voice, even as she looked about to cry. “There’s nobody in here but us.”

He breathed. He nodded. He cursed again. He nodded again.

“At least I’m not alone this time,” he said with a world weariness that Spencer felt in his gut.

They had all been in situations like this before, but Rossi was barely recovered from the last time only a few months ago. Spencer still regret so deeply that he wasn’t there to help with Elias Voit.

“No, you’re not alone,” agreed Emily emphatically. “On that note, look who else is here,” she said.

“God fucking dammit,” cursed Rossi as his eyes swept over Derek and landed on Hotch.

Seeing Derek there was upsetting, but it wasn’t as jarring as Hotch’s presence. Derek still came along to the occasional social event, though less and less recently, as he was busy with the birth of his second child. Spencer personally still saw him once a month or so, though the past year their contact had been more limited to phone calls. They were all dreading having to watch him learn he’d been pulled into this nightmare, but if nothing else they could offer him the comfort of familiarity and camaraderie.

But Hotch… none of them had heard so much as a whisper from him in years. When he disappeared, he did so completely. It’s the kind of thing that would have wounded Spencer deeply under any other circumstances, but after everything Daniel Lewis aka Mr Scratch had put him through, he only ever hoped that Hotch had found every semblance of peace that life could give him. He’d missed him badly at times, but he would have rather they never meet again than have to meet like this.

They decided to wake Derek first.           

Rossi nearly got a fist in the face before Derek pieced together what was happening. Then, he put a fist directly into a concrete wall instead.

“I’m going to regret that when the drugs wear off,” he said sheepishly once he’d calmed down just a bit. “Whatever they dosed us with, they did not skimp. The comedown is gonna suck,” he said, side eyeing Spencer, who pretended not to notice.

The question and answer was the same as with the others. Do you remember anything about who took you? No. Has anyone tried the door? Yes. Derek threw a shoe at the camera for good measure, but of course it just bounced off the plexiglass and landed pathetically on the floor.

The bang of it hitting the concrete was enough to make Hotch finally stir. They all turned to face him, staring helplessly.

His hair was longer than Spencer had ever seen it. Still short, but more relaxed, skimming the bottom of his ears and starting to curl a little at the base of his neck. He was still lean, but some of the muscle had been replaced by fat. He looked just a little softer. Healthier. His face was peaceful. Spencer always remembered him looking tense, even in his sleep. His hair was streaked with grey but somehow this was the youngest Spencer had ever seen him look.

He stirred a little more, blinking at last.

Ah, there was the familiar tension creeping its way back across his face.

Rossi was the one who finally knelt down beside him. “Aaron? I’m so sorry my friend,” he said sadly as recognition flashed in Hotch’s eyes.

“I’m dreaming,” came the familiar voice. Spencer had missed that voice more than he'd known.

Hotch closed his eyes tightly, then opened them again. He looked past Rossi at the rest of them. Spencer raised his hand in a polite greeting, then immediately felt like an idiot for doing so.

“I’m not dreaming,” he said, no trace of emotion in his voice.

“I’m afraid not,” Rossi confirmed.

Hotch fixed his eyes on Rossi again, pushing himself up so he was sitting against the wall. He looked like he was staring at a ghost, trying to figure where the projector was. “When did you get so old?” he said, reaching out a hand to Rossi’s face and poking at it.

Rossi grabbed the offending hand and clasped it between both of his. “Careful. You’re no spring chicken yourself,” he joked.

“No,” said Hotch, still expressionless. “Peter Lewis is dead. This isn’t my life anymore. He’s dead. They told me he died. I saw photos of the body.”

Spencer didn’t know that, but judging by Rossi’s lack of surprise, he pieced together that the older man had likely made sure the witness protection people had passed the photos along.

“Scratch is dead,” Rossi confirmed. “Whoever did this, it’s not him.”

“This. Isn’t. Real,” Hotch insisted, the first sign of emotion entering his voice in the form of hysteria as he pulled his hand away from Rossi and scrambled to his feet. “All of you stay away from me!” he yelled, looking at each of them in turn.

JJ grabbed onto Spencer’s arm. He flinched at first, then put an arm around her and gave what he hoped was a comforting squeeze. Derek took a step towards Hotch, but Emily held him back.

Hotch backed into the corner, looking at them like a caged animal. They were all caged animals now, Spencer supposed. An unfortunately familiar role.

“Hotch,” Spencer said, surprising himself by speaking. They all turned to look at him. He couldn’t back away now. “This is real. I’m so sorry this is happening to you, but Penelope and the rest of our team aren’t here, which means they are out there looking for us. I know it doesn’t feel real. We have all been drugged and you are probably still feeling the effects. I’m sorry. I wish it wasn’t real, but it is,” Spencer said kindly but emphatically.

“We’ll get out of this together,” said Emily. “It’s going to be okay.”

Hotch’s eyes were looking just a little clearer.

“Listen man, I know what you’re feeling. I got out, too, remember? I have a family and I don’t know if they’re alright. I’m right here with you. We’re all on your side. Do you believe me?” asked Derek, and this time Emily let him take a step forward.

 Hotch looked around at all of them again. He assessed them carefully. Then, he turned to the corner, putting his back to them and his hand over his face. It was the closest thing he could get to privacy and Spencer was suddenly grateful to have woken up first to process all of this without being watched.

Well, except for the camera.

They all looked at the floor and did their best to give Hotch space. It was almost a full minute before he finally tuned back around.

There was that stoic expression that Spencer remembered. All that youth and peace was gone from his face in an instant. Spencer hoped so badly that it wasn’t gone for good.

“What do we know?” asked Hotch, crossing his arms.

A moment of silence passed and Spencer wondered if the rest of them felt their hearts breaking into pieces at this cruel facsimile of a reunion.

“Why don’t we start with the last thing each of us remembers?” said Emily, stepping up beside Hotch and looking back at the rest of the room, two natural leaders doing what they do best.

Each of them recounted the details they knew before they woke up in this room.

They had been going about their lives, nothing special. The only common thread they could find was that each of them was alone when their memories stopped.

Derek had been at a picnic with his family and the last thing he remembered was leaving to use the park bathroom. Emily on her way back from the gym. JJ heading out to get groceries. Rossi walking home late from a bar.

“I was driving to work,” said Hotch shortly.

“We’re going to need more detail than that if we want to put together a timeline,” prompted Rossi. "Where do you work?"

Hotch pursed his lips. Spencer could see him strategizing in his head. He wasn’t back in their lives by choice. Spencer understood.

He didn’t get it back when Gideon left, but he got it now. Once you let people in the door, it can be impossible to fully extricate them. Hotch’s old life was filled with trauma he was trying to leave behind and the team were living representations of that past. Spencer couldn’t bring himself to be hurt by the other man’s reticence.

“A legal consultancy in a small town in Kentucky,” he said reluctantly, like divulging the smallest part of his personal life meant inviting the entire FBI right back into it.

“That’s an 8 hour drive,” said Derek. “No wonder you were so out of it compared to the rest of us. You must have been dosed multiple times to keep you under that long.”

“I think you’re right,” he said. “I’m still a bit foggy, if I’m being honest,” he admitted quietly. “What about you, Reid?”

Spencer blinked. “I feel fine.”

“No, I mean what’s the last thing you remember?”

Oh. Right. “I went to sleep in my apartment, then I woke up here,” he said honestly. It wasn’t important what he was doing before he went to sleep.

“Since we can be fairly confident whoever this is took Hotch first,” said Emily, “That probably means they got to you last, Spence. They hit all of us in one day. They must have known the BAU had a day off after closing the last case. They would have had to hit us quick to avoid raising alarms.”

“And the fact that we were all grabbed at different times indicates we’re likely dealing with a single Unsub. Someone highly organized and familiar with each of our routines.”

“The Unsub must have been planning this for a long time. Finding someone in witness protection, especially a former profiler, would take an incredible amount of skill or resources,” said Spence. “They stalked us, learned our routines, then used blitz attacks to stop us from being able to fight back.”

It didn’t take long for them to get into the flow. He felt his panic slipping away as his brain shifted into work mode. At some point they all went from standing to sitting in a circle on the floor.

It felt ridiculous to think about, but Spencer couldn't help but be mildly self conscious being the only one of them in his pajamas, as he was taken in his sleep. He was just glad it was a cold night so he'd been wearing nice, full length ones and not boxers and a shirt or something to that affect. Derek, Emily and JJ were all dressed in comfortable day wear. Rossi and Hotch in suits. Hotch was interesting, though. Spencer had rarely seen him outside of a crisp black suit characteristic of an FBI agent. The one he wore now was navy with a striped tie. It looked good on him.

They put together a more detailed timeline and looked back on the past few months of their lives to discuss anything that could have possibly been out of the ordinary.

The more they talked, the less cagey Hotch was about his life. It was strange to learn more about the day to day he had been living in the years since they’d seen him.

None of them talked about their kids or partners beyond a simple acknowledgement of their existence. They were all acutely aware of the camera on the roof. Whoever was doing this didn’t need to know any more about their families than they already did.

Their phones had been taken and none of them had anything to write with, so they were relying on Spencer to catalogue and compile the information in his brain. He did just that, and after a couple hours they had what was likely a fairly reliable timeline, including geographical information.

Whoever was doing this, they were extremely organized, meticulous, and quick. Not one of them saw it coming. None of them could point to any strange interactions they had over the past months, any red flags, any signs of being followed.

When it came time for Spencer to recount the details of the last months of his life, the others stared at him intently. “I haven’t seen you in person in months,” said Derek. “You don’t look so great, pretty boy.”

“I don’t know how to tell you this, but the bunker we’re currently locked in isn’t making the rest of you look at your healthiest, either.”

“You know what I mean,” said Derek with an affectionate eyeroll.

“You know I was doing some classified work for the bureau. That’s why I couldn’t be there for what happened with Voit,” he said with an apologetic look to Rossi, who waved his hand dismissively. They had already been over this when Spencer first got back. He noticed Hotch raise a curious eyebrow. “I can’t talk about the work since we’re currently being recorded,” he said, nodding up at the camera. “Emily knows the details. It was nothing bad, just research that kept me out off the grid for a while. But if the Unsub could find Hotch in witness protection, then it’s possible they could have been tailing me for that long.”

“That finished months ago,” pointed out Emily. “What have you been doing while you’re on sabbatical?”

“A few guest lecture series at Virginia Tech and spending time with my mom, mostly. I just needed a break. I’m sorry I haven’t been around much. I guess I’ve been a bit distracted. I haven’t seen or experienced anything unusual, though.”

“I hope your mom’s doing okay,” said JJ comfortingly, prompting the rest of them to nod sympathetically.

He just nodded back. She was doing fine, honestly, not that he’d been visiting as often as he should. Easier to let them assume she was the reason he had been absent.

“Why are you doing this?” said Hotch, standing up and looking directly at the camera once they realized none of them had any more details to share at this point. “What do you want from us? Tell us what it is and maybe we can give it to you.”

The camera blinked its red light at them, showing no care for their presence.

Hotch sighed. He looked down at them all helplessly. His eyes stopped short on Derek. He knelt down, staring at something on the side of his head. “What?” asked Derek, leaning away in concern at Hotch’s suddenly very close face.

“Hold still,” said Hotch. He waved Emily over, who shuffled round to his side. “Right… there,” he said, hovering a finger just behind Derek’s ear.

Her eyes widened. Hotch looked at her questioningly, then turned his own head and tucked his hair away so that she could see behind his ear.

“You have it too,” she said. She did the same as him and he checked her over. They looked at each other again and he nodded.

They all stared at them expectantly, though Spencer was pretty sure he knew what they were seeing.

“Puncture marks at the top of the neck, just behind the ear,” Emily explained. “That’s where we were injected.”

Spencer, Rossi and JJ all checked each other. Sure enough, same thing.

“That means we were likely attacked from behind,” said Derek.

“Do we know what we were drugged with?” said Hotch, shooting an almost imperceptible glance in Spencer’s direction.

His skin crawled at the way none of them wanted to look at him, to just come right out and say it. He didn’t particularly want to talk about it. Not really. But they always acted like the subject was poison and it made him feel like he had to walk on eggshells too. Like the reality of his life was harder for them to hear than it was for him to live.

“I am fairly confident it was some kind of opioid,” he said, careful to keep the irritation out of his voice.

JJ put her hand on his and he felt the irritation dissipate.

They cared about him. He knew that. It’s not as if they were wrong to worry. They had talked about it a little over the years, but not enough that it had stopped being awkward every time it came up.

“Are you certain?” asked Rossi. “Could have been a tranquilizer.”

“I’m certain,” said Spencer. “Trust me, I know the feeling.”

Derek reached a foot across the circle and bumped it against Spencer’s knee in a supportive gesture, like saying ‘I’m here with you.’ Emily smiled at him softly, reassuringly.

“It could have been cut with something,” pointed out Hotch.

“The totality of the blackout indicates it may have been cut with a sedative of some kind, as a high enough dose of opioids to include that kind of memory loss reliably could be unsafe and none of us are suffering significant enough side effects to indicate that’s the case. Whoever did this knew exactly what dosage to use,” he explained. “But… I am quite sure it was predominantly an opioid.”

Of course he was sure.

“Jesus,” said JJ. “I’m sorry, Spence.”

“I don’t believe in fate but the universe does seem to have a strange way of conspiring to get you high,” deadpanned Emily.

Derek shot her a harsh look, but Spencer cracked a smile. “I think ‘an Unsub made me do it’ is going to start sounding like ‘a dog ate my homework’ to my sponsor,” he joked back, relief washing over him that they weren’t going to dance around it the entire time they were in here. Not that he’d spoken to his sponsor in more than a year. They didn’t need to know that.

The others smiled too. “You’ll be alright, kid,” said Rossi. “If you kept it together after Mexico, you’ll get through this.”

That would have been a comforting statement if not for the fact that it was completely false. It didn’t matter anyway. Penelope and the rest of the team would find them and get them out before any of this became an issue.

Or they wouldn’t. But he couldn’t think about that yet.

A crease sat deep between Hotch’s eyebrows. “Mexico?”

“You don’t know?” said Emily. “I just assumed you were across everything to do with the Scratch case.”

“No,” said Hotch. “I accepted proof of his death and told the liaison I didn’t want to know anything else.”

“It’s complicated,” said Rossi. “There were other players involved, but the short version is Reid was drugged and framed for murder. It wasn’t pretty.”

“We don’t need to go into the details,” said Spencer, oddly embarrassed at the idea of Hotch knowing just how prone to being victimized he apparently still is. He knew it wasn’t rational, given the things that had happened to Hotch and the fact that all of them were in this locked room as victims together.

Hotch looked at him. Spencer couldn’t read his expression at all. Eventually he just nodded and let it drop.

Before any of them could say another word, there was a banging at the door. The hatch on the other side of the door chamber opened.

Derek got to the door first, trying to rip the hatch on their side open. He shouted at the door “What do you want?! Talk to me! Just tell us what you want!”

There was no response.

The only thing they could see was a hand covered in a thick leather glove sliding a piece of paper in. It was a smaller hand than expected.

He continued pulling but the panel didn’t budge until the other one had closed completely. Derek stumbled backwards as the panel suddenly released.

“It’s soundproof,” Spencer said, despairing. “There was no sound of footsteps on the other side.”

Emily grabbed the note from the chamber. They all whipped around to watch her as she read the words aloud.

“Hello, old friends,” she started, all of them frozen in place and hanging off her every word. “I know you are wondering why you are here. It is simple. You dragged my secrets into the light and then put me in a cage. At first I wanted to get revenge. Then I watched you for a long time and I learned all about you and I learned that we are the same. I saw how you are suffering. How you are scared. All hiding. I remember when I had to hide. For so long I hid even from myself. Now, because of you, I am free. Even when I was in a cage, I was free, because I had no secrets anymore.

I want to give you the freedom you gave to me. Soon, you will not have secrets. You will see that in this room you cannot hide and that when there is nothing left to hide, you will be free.”

Emily looked up from the letter, meeting all of their eyes in turn. There was a painful lump in Spencer’s throat.

If he was being honest with himself, he knew it as soon as he woke up in this room and saw them all there. He knew they weren’t going to make it out in time. He knew the Unsub must have watched him closely enough to know what was going on with him. He knew he wasn’t making it out of this without all of them seeing him for exactly who he is.

Now, he thought, might be the time to fall apart.

[bella-rose29]

deep analysis of a very obscure thing in lockwood and co (bc why not)

Omg ok (spoilers for episodes 2 and 3 of lockwood and co, and also the books)

So the song that plays when Lucy is holding the ring in episode 2, during the experiment, that she says is Annabel Ward and her lover’s song (“it’s their song”), is Peer Gynt Suite No. 2: Solveig’s Song. 

The version I listened to that made me go “oh okay this is the same song” (after playing it through my earphones in one ear and playing the episode in the other and desperately trying to get the timings to match up to see if there were differences in the singing) is by Edvard Grieg — Yvonne Kenny, The Melbourne Symphony Orchestra & Vladimir Kamirski. From what I could work out, the song starts in the episode from just before the singing starts. 

The story behind the song is as follows:

"The long-suffering Solveig is devoted to Peer and she sings the song just as he – once more – abandons her. As she sits at the spinning wheel, she sings that although the years may pass she knows that he will come back to her – and that he will find her waiting for him, just as she promised.”

Lyrics:

Perhaps both winter and spring will pass by And next summer and the whole year will expire But surely you will return to me, I am certain And I shall be waiting as I once promised. 

May god give you strength, wherever in the world you may go May god give you joy, if you before his footstool stand Here I shall wait until you come back And if you wait above, we’ll meet there again, my friend.

I did an initial analysis and stuff and then did further research, so I’ve rejigged the document I had before to make more sense here :D

Story of the whole play:

The title character, Peer Gynt, is based on a Norwegian folk hero who is a rogue and will be destroyed unless saved by the love of a woman. 

He is described as a lazy and arrogant peasant youth who leaves home to go in search of his fortune. He’s very confident that he’ll succeed, but he keeps having disasters on his journey. 

At one point, he goes to the wedding of a wealthy young woman (that he might have married), where he meets Solveig. She falls in love with him, so naturally his first thought is to abduct the bride from her own wedding and abandon Solveig. 

Then he has really cool and awesome adventures, going around the world and gaining wealth and fame from all his different exploits, but he is, at the middle of it all, deeply unhappy. Eventually, when he is old and disillusioned, he goes back to Norway, where Solveig awaits him, welcoming him home and redeeming him. 

Annabel and John Fairfax are sort of foils to Solveig and Peer respectively, in that they are what happens as a result of a different kind of abandonment (Annabel’s murder). 

Solveig is what Annabel would have been had she stayed alive and Fairfax had simply broken things off in a more traditional sense (i.e. if he hadn’t killed her), and while Peer is redeemed and saved by the love of a woman, Fairfax is destroyed by it, because he twisted the love into hate. 

Now for the parallels between Fairfax and Peer:

Peer is a peasant with little success in life -> in episode 3, as they get off the train, Lockwood notes how Fairfax “came from nothing”. 

Peer has a series of unfortunate disasters on his hunt for success -> Fairfax (in the books), before the Problem, spent his time drinking, gambling, and getting into show business, instead of going into the family business. In the show this does not seem to be the case, but it’s a nice parallel that includes the books!

Peer abandons Solveig to run off with the bride -> I interpreted this as Fairfax abandoning (murdering) Annabel for his own bride, which is his desire for success. In a way his bride is the Fairfax iron company, because he’s practically married to it. 

After the abduction, Peer has really successful and fantastical adventures, very different to the disasters that he had previously experienced before the kidnapping -> after Annabel, Lockwood again (Lucy says he has a hard-on for Fairfax which I think is hilarious) in episode 3 (just before talking about how Fairfax came form nothing) notes that Fairfax “succeeded in everything he’s tried. Publishing, show business - he didn’t even start smelting until he was in his thirties. Now look at him”. Fairfax by his own admission also worked in casinos, adding another job (or adventure) to his list. 

Peer gains wealth and fame -> Fairfax gains wealth and fame (just dropping in “miss Kingston got her hair done special” because I love it and it's vaguely related)

And this is where the similarities split off from one another:

Peer is deeply unhappy -> Fairfax seems to be perfectly fine with his situation. 

Peer comes back home old and disillusioned -> Fairfax in a way comes home, as he ends up back in Combe Carey Hall (although this is not where Annabel was killed, it is still one of his properties), and he is old, but he is not disillusioned. He says in episode 3 that he doesn’t regret buying the ring, he regrets “leaving it behind when I bricked her into that chimney” and that he “knew it was monstrous. But I couldn’t throw my whole life away for one mistake. Not then, not now.” He still isn’t willing to give up his life, because he is perfectly content where he is. 

The final parallel I want to note is between Annabel and Solveig. While one was murdered and the other neglected but still devoted and in love, both women wait for their old lover. In completely different ways, sure, because one is sitting at her spinning wheel hoping that he’ll come back and see that she’s the right one for him (cue “you belong with me”) and the other is bricked into a chimney as an angry Type Two ghost that kills people, but both are waiting. 

“She’s been wanting to see you for a very… long time, Mr Fairfax” Lucy says.

Annabel is devoted to Fairfax, and as she dances and sings along to the song, he abandons her (kills her). while waiting in that cavity in the wall, and her spirit is bound to the ring/necklace, she is waiting for him. 

We see in episode 3 that when Lucy lets Annabel out of the ring, throwing it in the air to set her ghost free, Annabel doesn't attack the agents, or even Ellie who is stood nearby. 

She goes straight for Fairfax, because she's been waiting for him. Her devotion to him may have changed into devotion for revenge over the years, but she was waiting for him nonetheless. In a way he did come back to her, even if it was unintentionally, and he ended up being greeted by her one last time. 

He is not saved by coming home and finding his version of Solveig, he is instead destroyed, because his version of Solveig was killed along with any love she might have had for him. 

[whoblewboobear]

speaking of cute clothes have we discussed putting jace in a wedding dress yet

We haven’t but god to we need to 🤧 I’m gonna skip the proposal because I’ll spiral if I think about who proposed to who and how it happened and what sappy shit they said. Like it’ll destroy me.

So just imagine Jace laying in bed with Porter and going “I think I’m gonna wear a dress for our wedding.” And Porter is practically drooling at the thought. He’s so superstitious about things so he’ll try his best to avoid asking to go dress shopping with him but he wants to SO BAD. So instead, Jace gathers his bestie squad of Zara, Corsica, maybe Yolanda too for her insight. They do it up big, they’ve got champagne to sip on, hors d'oeuvres to eat and they’re giving Jace the yes’s and no’s of what works and what doesn’t when he finally steps out of the dressing room in THEE dress. He’s used to wearing flowy robes when he goes back to fallinel so I’d imagine he wears something in that camp. But also something sleek and elegant with gold details to match his eyes. He’s already pale, so he goes for a cream instead of a white so he doesn’t look completely washed out in photos. He would look incredible in anything that accentuates his waist. He also loves a v neck so I’m taking that into consideration too 🤧 A slip dress or a mermaid gown would suit him really well! Also something with a slit so he can show off his long legs (and easy access for Porter later if he chooses not to have a separate dress for the reception)

Pictures & thoughts under a read more bc long post:

1. Simple, elegant a little boring though. But I have to take you on a journey. We’ll get there I promise.

I think this is a dress that everyone (including Jace) would agree doesn’t have enough flare. He could over accessorize to compensate but that’s more hassle and more money when he could just find THEE dress. I also don’t think it would entirely flatter his shape and baby boy deserves to have a dress that fits so right in all the right places while emphasizing his best features (waist, chest, legs)

2. This gown is so gorgeous, so flowy! I love the lace on it and I think the deep v is elegant and tasteful while showing off his chest. The back- oh my god does he deserve a train. It’s perfect for a spring or fall wedding it’s dramatic but sweet. It reminds him of a lighter weight version of something he’d wear in Fallinel. He’d pair it with some really beautiful gold jewelry and to match the wedding bands he and Porter picked out for the ceremony.

3. This one just might be one of my favorites actually! Loooove the deep v that stops above the navel. LOVE. I also can’t get enough of the mesh with the beading the looks like it’s just floating on the skin. The train isn’t overly dramatic. It’s sweet, it’s tasteful. There’s no slit here but he doesn’t mind it. The back is what really sells it for me bc 1. I know Jace’s ass would look in-CREDIBLE in it and 2. Porter would tease Jace so much by running his fingers along his exposed back. They’d have to fight so hard not to sneak off somewhere to fuck. They’re so insufferable!

4. Now THIS is my drama pick. I- Jace would look incredible in this. He can move in it, he can dance in it. It’s BACKLESS. All of the detailing and the silks. The drapery at the top is also really really beautiful. I love the slit and the neckline like- it really looks made for him. It makes me wonder if he’d grow his hair out a little longer for the look so he can have beading and different things pinned to match. I also love that from the back it almost looks like a jumpsuit. It also feels very true to his character art for Junior Year with how he draped his scarf. It’s just.. I think it’s THEE dress. When he looks at himself in the mirror he tears up a bit. The thought of getting married didn’t quite feel real until he sees himself in this and just knows this is the one he wants to marry the love of his life in.

[ecofinisher]

More Sims 3 memes 😂

I don't know where to start, so here we start with Amelia Loveland😂

She did this face while seeing two Sims flirt and somehow ,it reminded me of Summer Holiday in the Hannah McCoy legacy 😂

Larissa "the Blair Wainwright succesor" watching her two work pals flirt. (Little doesn't she know, she's witnessing an affair...)

Sure the book is like 400$, but it's worth every coin.

Oh yeah, this happened in my game. Gracie Loveland was on labor and Jamie THE MEDICAL PERSON just sat there reading a book. Normally everyone would be screaming, but yeah 😂

Nina's face was just precious here 😂

As we were on Gracie's house.....this is also her room. 😏

I mean he's a cop. He's used to it I guess.

Me too, Dina. Me too.

It's better, than seeing her open the bridge and store/unstore my food!

Do this in Switzerland at 22:07 and you get the police ringing at your door....

She wants to welcome the baby in a tidy room, 'aight?

Also why do you hear many people, mostly Dads say parenthood is easy, yet their wives are the ones doing all the work. (I also ain't offending Fathers, I'm talking about the Dads. Because men-Fathers know how parenthood really works and Dad-men do the opposite)

Found the second Sim (Edelaine Porter) through the Wikia in Hidden Springs and she totally looks like a summer version of River McIrish of Sunset Valley. In a way, I can say it's like they reused River, made her an y. adult, femininer look,thinner, melonier chest and added "cool glasses and earrings"

I did this meme once or at least used the background. Good, next time I organize an overall......maybe I also use Ayesha Ansari or Monika Morris for a great Letty Ortiz-inspo.

If you're an introvert, you feel this 😂 I do and the expression is relatable.

Everybody gangster until you meet him in Bridgeport....Too bad I never noticed his hotness, because he was always in a uniform 😂

There was a moment during professional school I had no desk, so had to do it in the kitchen. BUT THIS KID HAS ONE!

Good, this one fits for the 25th Sims Jubilee. TBH I never tried getting Sims 1 or 2 the "Barnacle Bay" way, but I feel bad for those, who lost their device in trying. Last week I saw on Crazymarq's videos how Barnacle Bay looks like and for some weird reason it reminds me of a rip-off mix of Sunset Valley and Pleasantview. (Which basically are the same places) - Meme no 2 reminds me of some comic from the Miraculous fandom, but instead of a bunny suit it's cat ears 😂 (And it's weirder because the drawing looks like the characters are 15 there.....except that's a thing in that fandom sometimes,)

I forgot I had UL active so it was kinda funny, when he appeared during the meteorite shower.

And Dina's a Latina, which makes things even better. (Ain't saying this because I saw once a Latina at a airport run in flip flops after her daughter and after she fell, she threw her flip flop, which brought the kid to fall down. I know this description sounds kind of unrealistic, but it really happened 😭)

I'm saying this because Latina moms are baddies. Theresa Russo, Rio Morales, Gloria Delgado etc. I also don't recall many 😅

That's all I had for now.

[pigsongpearls]

Hogfather - Discworld & Terry Pratchett Wiki

Hogfather

The Hogfather is originally a winter god. In the deep winters, people of old feared that spring might never again come, so they gave bloody sacrifice of hogs to the Hogfather. Nowadays, the Hogfather is expected to travel in a sleigh pulled by hogs and every Hogswatchnight to bring gifts to all the children, or at least, those who believe in him; this yields a worshipper range of most of the Discworld except for the Counterweight continent and the continent of Klatch. Despite this impressive range, crass commercialization of the holiday compromised the belief in Hogfather, and then interference from the Auditors of Reality severely threatened his existence (chronicled in Hogfather).

His residence is the Castle of Bones near the hub. The Hogfather is an ancient being, who has seemingly kept his present form for some time; in Hogfather, Albert reminisces about his childhood memories of the Hogfather, more than 2000 years ago. The only difference in the Hogfather in that time seems to have been that he did not bring presents, but sausages and black puddings if you were lucky. But you always got a pink sugar piglet in the toe [of your stocking].

He parodies the Roundworld Father Christmas (the UK version of Santa Claus)

In the land of pine trees and deep snow and long winters, when the sun is below the horizon most of the day, in the piercing cold it can become a real question whether or not the sun will rise again in the morning. The voice of reason says it will rise, but there are many unreasonable voices in a person. In response to this question, the anthropomorphic wossname called the Hogfather arose. He had many forms throughout the centuries, and the man in the red suit was only the last of them. Susan saw them one after another. His first form was properly speaking porcomorphic, or pig-shaped. It was to this point that he retreated when ambushed by Mr Teatime. Despite his apparent task of distributing presents in the season of goodwill, sustained by the belief of children, on the longest night of the year it is still the role of the Hogfather to ensure that the Sun rises in the morning (comparable to Teppic’s dynasty). It is no small thing to make the Sun rise. When he was able to resume his role, the Hogfather seemed to salute Death as an equal. He did not thank him. “Ho Ho Ho,” notwithstanding, he was not a personification of many words.

When the Hogfather was attacked, Death, like an expert mechanic hearing a change in the sound of an engine, had heard a harmonic change in the music of the universe. He was able to enter the congruent reality of the Hogfather in a way in which he could not enter the domain of the Tooth Fairy. Death applied first aid to sustain belief in the Hogfather among children, and recruited Susan, even Hex.

When Mr Teatime had failed, the Auditors attacked the Hogfather directly, in the form of hounds. It was necessary for Susan, as a human being, to be the one to act to save him. To do this she had to leave behind her inner babysitter, and be with her belief. It was not simple. At a point where the hog she was riding teetered on an icy ridge, precipitous drops on both sides, she repeated to herself, “He’ll catch me if I fall,” but an older voice within her said, “No, he won’t. If I fall now, I don’t deserve to be caught.” As in the case of Death and Miss Flitworth, an anthropomorphic personification was saved by the self-gift of a human being.

Later Susan said to Death, “The sun would have risen just the same, yes?” “The sun would not have risen,” he said. “A mere ball of flaming gas would have illuminated the world.” It would have been a world of oblivion.

The same human capacity to believe which supports the Tooth Fairy and the Hogfather creates the space for meanings such as justice, mercy and duty, which have no existence in the physical universe, to become. What Hogswatch seems to stand for is not that you will get presents if you have been nice, but that what you have done counts for something, and it is known. It matters. “All things strive...” says Hex. Strange though it may seem, given the general immersion of human and human-like beings in the mere business of staying alive, it is towards this point that all things strive. This very line also appears in Dwarf Lore.

Annotation

Some aspects of the Hogfather suggest the anti-Santa Claus who lives on in some German folklore. Yes, Santa delivers presents to the good little boys and girls; but the bad ones had better beware the entity known as Schmutzli or Krampus, who at this season has free rein to punish the naughty with pinches, prods, hair-pulling, or a damn good thrashing with chains. Or even a "gift" of bloody bones in a bag..

[mitsuzanekureshima]

analyzing first love/late spring through the lens of kureshima mitsuzane/kamen rider gaim

Hear me out (& major gaim spoilers ahead)

"First Love/Late Spring" as the title: love in gaim is never a passionate thing, it's always pure, more of an ideal to be fought for rather than a reality to live for

the show centers heavily on the themes of youth, so it tracks that the largest "love" parts of the story are "first loves", both platonic and romantic

"Late Spring" is interesting: first, the changing of seasons in gaim - read someone say once that time in toku is "like a wet napkin" and yet i think being able to see the seasons change in gaim is so important: time will pass no matter what, forcing everyone to mature and leave youth behind.

youth is also called "the springtime of life" - making "late spring" fitting for a show where we see the beat riders' carefree youth forced to an end.

the words late spring also bring to mind flowers: the scene where mitsuzane kills kouta and the feathers rain down is reminiscent of petals falling

lastly the slash between the words "first love" and "late spring" - like the slash of a musou saber (weapon used in battle - battles often signify the end, like the huge "ending" battle teased in the beginning of gaim) which separates our characters through death

first loves must come to an end, and a violent end if need be, in order for late spring to come

after late spring comes summer - though it is the warmest season, it's no longer the time of youthful spring flowers.

"The black hole of the window where you sleep / The night breeze carries something sweet"

the kureshima mansion is cold and empty, much like a black hole.

a black hole's gravitational pull is inescapable - micchy's life was controlled by being a kureshima. despite having excellent grades at his exclusive private school it was still never enough for takatora, because mitsuzane-kun was special, a kureshima... he likely spent most of his time studying. team gaim was his only little piece of freedom from this black hole he hated to call home.

"A peach tree"

yoko/malika's lockseed is the peach:

she both "supports" micchy and "tests" him in the beginning, like a tree to be leaned on (also interesting: fruit bearing tree/yoko not being the one with the fruit, and therefore not kaito's focus... /trees being grown for use, and then later cut down - how her character's purpose and desire was written to literally be serving others. then later she was "cut down", dying in kaito's arms)

"Wild women don't get the blues"

ties in with mitsuzane's misguided and naive belief that if he is "wild", (a naughty child, as ryoma calls him) and tries to outfox the other villains, then he can use them to his advantage.

"Lately, I've been crying like a tall child"

this part reminds me of his sobbing breakdown near the end of gaim, and the repeated idea that mitsuzane is just a kid who's been used by the adults - he was in that tall position of power (suit era) but despite his best efforts he was still a naive child

"So please, hurry, leave me, I can't breathe"

the rejection of affection because he feels he can't/doesn't deserve it - how near the end of gaim he ran away from zack, rejecting his offer to rejoin the beat riders.

"One word from you and I would /Jump off of this ledge I'm on baby / Tell me "don't", so I can crawl back in"

when he uses yomotsuheguri arms he said something to kouta hat really stuck with me... "You expect me to value my own life?!" - at this point, mitsuzane is willing to die after losing everything with himself to blame

"And I was so young when I behaved 25"

micchy is 16, making him 10 years younger than takatora (26 which is close enough to 25.)

here, at the most villainous point in his arc, he's acting like takatora; or what his idea of takatora is. the suit, the open disdain for those he considers beneath him, his own version of project ark, even the matching hairstyle

"And I don't wanna go home"

an interesting detail is that when takatora returns to the kureshima mansion to retrieve the melon lockseed, the painting at the top of the stairs is crooked/damaged- it makes you wonder who did that..? did mitsuzane come back and purposely wreck the place? it certainly makes for an interesting statement - once he gained power which he saw as freedom to control and not be controlled, he went and wrecked the mansion that used to be his "cage", his "black hole"... (though this is just my willful speculation)

not wanting to "go home" also ties into how takatora used to intercept him on the stairs coming back home and asking him where he'd been, forcing mitsuzane to lie to maintain his double life

"Let me walk to the top of the big night sky"

micchy watched rosyou destroy the missiles with ease, had a laughing breakdown on the floor about how futile it was to resist the overlords, and then following this, allied with redyue:

mitsuzane wants to walk to the "top of the big night sky" for the promise that he can protect the people important to him.

i think "promise" is important here because he seeks reassurance (aka a promise) from redyue, that he will be allowed to do what he wants - she is "letting him" walk to the top of the sky with him. he is her toy and not her equal

then, the ending lines:

"Please, hurry, leave me, i can't breathe / Please don't say you love me"

this most strongly calls to mind his reaction to kouta letting mitsuzane kill him in order to save him from the yomotsuheguri lockseed.

"胸がはち切れそうで" (munega hachikire-sode = my chest is about to burst)

mitsuzane may have stabbed kouta's chest physically, but it was in fact mitsuzane's chest that was about to "burst" emotionally.

as they're about to clash for the final time, kouta drops his musou saber, and lets mitsuzane stab him through the chest with his spear, seemingly killing him.

mitsuzane quite literally and physically "bursts" kouta's chest - made into a literal visual through the light bursting from the chestplate of kiwami arms upon impact.

however, mitsuzane's chest also "bursts" - this is also made into a literal visual, but this emotional burst happens before he actually pierces kouta:

kouta calls out for the first time in in this battle, "mitsuzane", instead of "micchy". it heralds the coming point of no return

mitsuzane charges yomotsuheguri squash, he leaps high to strike the final blow, and when he comes down, having finally committed himself (with gravity to force him to complete his vow) to killing kouta: the path of his spear bursts open sacks of feathers, and they come down like spring petals, or winter snow, or perhaps the feathers of a fallen angel who's crossed the point of no return and finally lost his wings.

this is the culmination of his treacherous goals, and yet kouta sacrificing himself for mitsuzane was the last thing he wanted.

the most painful possible outcome for mitsuzane was kouta's forgiveness and love. the two youths who had been friends, just up until recently, are faced with what first loves had wrought upon them, and falling from the sky around them, unable to be fixed or put back, was what was left of the late spring of their youth.

[full-of-obsessions-blog]

Sold to the Enemy chapter 2

My eyes started to stir, annoyed by chattering and a muffled voice. It had reminded me of when the church by my apartment had their annual fundraising fair. It was always during a bad time, right before the start of finals or right before I had scheduled an important exam that required a decent 8 hours of rest, that I would never get. What really woke me up with a kick to my stomach, and my eyelids shot up. Then I was beyond annoyed, because it was Ainsley’s leg that had kicked me and now was resting on my stomach like she was hugging some body pillow.

“You poor unfortunate soul~” she sings in her sleep. I glared at her in the dimly lit room. How ironic that she was singing that, because that was how I felt. I tried to shove her leg off, only to hear chains rattle and a cooler metal chain-like bracelet on my wrists. But before I could get a chance to take a closer look at my own wrists, my eyes were blinded by a bright light.

“Ahhhhh, the light,” Ainsley hissed next to me. My own hands went to cover my face.

“And now for the final item! Or should I say two? The first time ever, we have two healthy women! One Asian, and the other white. And for this special occasion, we are offering a package deal! Get one and then get the other, for no extra payment!” yelled an auction-like voice.

“Hold up! We are getting sold at an auction?” Ainsley said springing up, like she wasn’t just woken up and blinded by the light. Ainsley also decided to do a jingle-like dance, ending in a little leg kick. I had managed to finally see that we were in handcuffs, with long chains that lead past the velvet curtains behind us. And fortunately, I pulled the other chains that were connected to someplace I didn’t know. I was met with a fortunate surprise of Ainsley falling flat on her face.

I couldn’t see the audience that was bidding on because of the light that was shining on us in this pitch black room.

“More information on this package deal is that these two young women are complete foreigners in Japan as well! Don’t be scared thinking that these women are limited by Japan’s borders or language!”

Since the auctioneer was right in front of us walking back and forth from one end of the stage to the next, I was able to make him out a little bit. I had to take a good look at him, because of the way he looked. His hair was blue, along with most of his outfit. He was wearing some version of a suit that reminded me of Victorian age’s suits, but I couldn’t get over how blue it was. It also matched his hair. On top of that color choice, his face was completely painted white, with only the only dashes of color being his gray eyeshadow, and his red lipstick. The only time I saw something like that was in the movies related to the Mad Hatter in  Alice in Wonderland. Realizing that shifted my attention to the topic of what that guy Ota said about being there being 2 Alices in Wonderland. I whipped my head to look at if Ainsley was realizing the implications of what that Mad Hatter just said, but I was sorely disappointed.

She had a face of realization on her, but she started to ask the Mad Hatter, “Okay, just to be clear, I’m being sold right? This package deal is like buy one get one free? But the one you are buying is me, because ain’t no way you are getting this for a discount or for free!” Ainsley announced into his mic as she tried to run her hand over her body, but it just looked like someone was having an upright seizure. The audience only fed her ego, because they howled with laughter. Despite being in Japan, the auction was completely hosted in English. Even the prices were announced in American dollars. I guess I should be more grateful to how powerful the American dollar was, because I was not able to do currency conversions in my mind.

1 million, 1.5 million. 3 million. Once it had hit 5 million dollars, the audience had slowed down.

“5 million dollars, going once. Any other offers before it goes to bidder number 5?” The Mad Hatter gives a couple seconds to look around. My eyes had eventually gotten the chance to slow down and take a look at the audience, but I could barely make out anyone due to how far the audience was compared to the stage that we were in. But I could definitely make out that human sized bird cage that we were in. And that the whole stage and experience was like we were the characters in an opera. The format of the room was a huge theatre with those velvet chairs, and there were side balconies as well, but they were screened off so I couldn’t even see if there were people in those balconies.

Then, there was this loud buzz from behind making me jump. I turned around to look, and there was this screen that was displaying a bid. 20 million dollars. My jaw dropped? This is how ultra rich people spend their money?

“Woah! 20 million! I was about to be offended at that 5 million offer,” Ainsley said. I was still in shock. I sat in silence, as the auction concluded, and the huge bird cage we were in was wheeled to the back. The workers at the auction decided to keep some precaution, because they had covered our cage with a big cover, as we were wheeled to another location.

“We got them boss!” said a man’s voice excitedly, as the cover was removed. The cage door was opened and a man with straight light brown hair down to his chin, stretched out his hair to help me out. I jingled the haircuffs instead. Another man chuckled. It was Ota Kisaki. Ota and this new man was the one that unlocked Ainsley’s and I’s handcuffs.

“I guess you two really fell into our Wonderland,” Ota said. I glared at him, realizing that he really was implying that his Wonderland reference was referencing the auction that we were illegally and uncoincidentally a part of.

Ainsley just hopped out of the cage, ignoring the guy’s man. I followed after her and walked out of the cage as well.

“Alright! I’ve had enough of this dream! Hanh, wake me up please! And don’t slap me like last time,” Ainsley said, nudging me with her elbow. I think my mind and body was crashing from everything that had happened, because I could not find myself caring about Ainsley’s little nudge. I did have enough energy to roll my eyes and said, “You are half-retarded. I wish I was dreaming.”

Or maybe, my fight-or-flight experience was keeping me more focused to see if there was an opening somewhere, because I did a glance around the room we were in, and it was very fancy looking. There were velvet red couches in the room, on top of marble looking floors. Even the metal pieces in the room looked gold, and whether they were gold was beyond me. Even the sight through the windows made the rest of Tokyo look like twinkling lights, making me guess this was the penthouse suite.  My eyes, then, landed on the tall, black haired man that Ainsley and I had run into after that suspicious gun deal in that hallway.

“So we meet again. I guess you really couldn't run away,” he said.

“Sor, you know them?” said the light brown man.

“Not really. We had run into each other earlier.”

“Hanh, I’m serious. It’s about time to wake up,” Ainsley said again, nudging me.

I looked over to her, my own lips in a dry smile. “Ainsley, I don’t think you understand the words that are coming out of my mouth. We are not in a dream!”

“You know, I never found you that funny, until now,” her nudging had turned into jabbing.

“This is boring. You obviously can tell these women are Americans. Now, I’m thinking this was a waste of money,” said the man who was hogging one of the couches with his legs crossed, and his head resting on one of his hands. Now, I know that Americans can have a bad reputation among those outside of the United States, but I did not have buying Americans as a waste of money on my bucket list.

“You know I would care about your opinion if you didn’t look like you were dropped as a child, and now have mommy issues,” Ainsley just blurted out. My jaw just dropped. I couldn’t believe that Ainsley had a death sentence and she was going to bring me down with her.

“Woman, are you not aware of what position you are in?” asked that black haired guy. The guy with the chestnut, chin length hair just laughed, and he was joined by that Ota guy.

“Well, they said that Americans are pretty bold too, you know,” the chestnut guy said.

“And I would say that is a good spend of 20 million!” Ota chimed in.

“I wouldn’t! And they don’t have any idea on how to begin to pay us back for it!” shouted Eisuke.

“Oh please, my presence is good enough,” Ainsley said. I stomped on her foot, and slapped my hand across her mouth before she could do any more damage.

“She is so sorry! She is just dreaming and not in her right state of mind–Ouch!,” I started, before Ainsley chomped on my hand. Everyone’s eyes had widened as I tried to at least rub Ainsley’s salvia back on her. Ota and the chestnut hair guy started to double over in laughter.

“You are so gross, when all I am trying to do is to help us!” I hissed at her. Once those two laughing guys had calmed down a little, the chestnut hair said, “Eisuke, I think that paid off some money.”

“I have an idea, how about one of them picks a person that bought her, and the other picks another? That way whoever they pick would split the 20 million, so it would be 10 million each,” Ota proposes. The man that he was directing that suggestion to, Eisuke, nodded.

“Alight, time to introduce ourselves. Hello, my name is Mitsunari Baba, but you can call me Baba. I am 35, single, and ready to mingle,” said the chestnut hair guy.

Ainsley looked disinterested and said, “Next.” Ota chuckled before starting his introduction.

“Nice to meet you, I am Ota Kisaki, but of course, you already knew that.” He flashed a big smile, but it was only met with suspicion on my end.

“Moving on, that scary looking man over there is Soryu! Sor, put your gun away! I can see you reaching for it! Don’t try and scare them!” Baba introduces Soryu. At that point, Ainsley no longer looked disinterested. I could see the gears in her head start to shift, and I got a bad feeling in the pit of my stomach.

“Just to clarify,” she started, “You are Soryu Oh, the head of the Japanese branch of the Ice Dragons?”

Soryu looked at us with suspicion written all over his face. He slowly replied, “yes,” with his eyebrows furrowed together.

“Are you actually interested in Soryu, and not me?” Eisuke asked, surprised.

“Please excuse us for a second,” Ainsley said before dragging me away to some corner of the room. Now that feeling in the pit in the stomach was really taking root. Ainsley was too polite after everything.

“Hanh, I need you to do me a tiny favor, and pick Soryu!”

“How about no? Isn’t this your job? If you’re so interested, you pick him. I don’t feel like messing with the one guy that is pulling out his gun!”

“Because I am too young to be dealing with mobsters like him!”

“What?! Mobsters?! So he’s actually a dangerous person!”

“No, not really! I was just looking out for you! You said that you were thinking about writing a novel with mobsters and the underworld! This is a perfect experience for you and the novel! Basically first hand experience! And you have the perfect glare to deal with him, so you two would be perfect!”

“My glares are equivalent to a squirrel when next to a full blown criminal!”

“Oh I am sure that you are going to be just fine!” Ainsley started to push me back to the group, before I couldn’t help myself and glared at her.

“See, its perfect,” Ainsley hissed at me. My palms had begun to sweat. I was nervous. Why would my own friend basically tell me to get involved with someone that could end my life at any moment he wanted. I sent a silent prayer to God, asking how I got in this position, but also for protection. My nerves started to settle, and I wasn’t sure if it was God telling me I was going to be okay, or if it was just my curiosity about the world of a mobster getting to me, or a mix of both. I just prayed a quick “Hail Mary” before I finally faced the men and made our decisions.

[bigsoftmarshmallow]

Do you remember the Beard Ask for Bandit? Where he found his Darling (who I'm mentally referring to as Lyra) looking at another man’s beard, he thought she was interested & got jealous, but it turns out she was just visualizing Bandit with the man's beard using him as a reference… & didn’t appear to care much for it? But then went on to brainstorm the sort of facial hair that she thinks he’d look nice in: close-cut beard or a chin goatee, before eventually growing it out to something similar to his ElderDorfs.

I wonder how the others would react to the same situation? Though, most, she'll just say that his facial hair suits him well as it seems to fill out his face just right. Like, it strikes that happy medium for her. Because, peach fuzz is cute & mountain man is wild & impressive, but there was just something about a nice, thick, healthy beard that's well-maintained & groomed, but still rugged that… really gets her going. It has that perfect balance of controlled, yet still wild masculinity that she loves.

However, (for Wake, Noctis, & Vendettas) it looked like his weekly trim was getting close. He had more split ends than he normally should've this early in the week.

I imagine him rubbing his hairy chin in contemplation before looking at her, “Do you think it's the new Palm Fruit oil?” To which, she'd shake her head, noting that he'd used it before & it didn't have this reaction then. I could see him saying, “True, but that had been a spring crop. This is autumn. The seasonal fairies might be up to some sort of mischief with my hair.” She puckers her lips with a hum, eyebrows raised for a moment as she nods, “Possible…”

But for Hedony, specifically, she points at him (in a comically determined way) & declares, “I will get your hair oil recipe out of you, so help me, Hylia. It's not fair that your hair is so much more…” She easily runs her fingers through his luscious, silky locks in frustration, pulling her hand up as if to show him how effortlessly the strands of russet fell away without a single snag, leaving it to fall back against him, not even mussed, “THIS than mine! It's not fair!” She just looks so adorably pouty about it, too! Like, how dare my husband have prettier hair than me??

Though, if Demise insists on joining, then rather than a close-cut beard or a chin goatee, she instead brings up the idea of a full goatee or a full beard-mustache combo. (I feel like his face is really missing something.)

However, for all of them, she’d simply state much the same as in the Bandit ask: “Either way, with a beard or without, you're my handsome king regardless. And that's more than enough for me.” With that, she planted a sweet, chaste kiss to his lips.

I am weak for bearded men. Facial hair is def something I enjoy on a man's face.

***********************************************************************

Ah, I love this scene—it's such a fun and intimate moment where Lyra's observations and her preferences for her husband’s facial hair lead to playful, personal exchanges. Each version of Ganondorf (and Demise, if we include him) would react in their own distinct way. Let’s explore how this would unfold for each of them:

Wind Waker Ganondorf (Wake)

Wake has a beard that’s already quite distinguished and suits his regal, pirate-like appearance. When Lyra comments on his split ends, he’s immediately thoughtful, stroking his beard as if he could magically assess it through touch.

Wake: “The seasonal fairies could be up to no good... but maybe it’s time to visit the Gerudo Fortress and see if the merchant has a fresh batch of oil.” He furrows his brow for a moment before giving her a teasing grin. “Though I won’t deny, I trust your eye more than my own.”

When Lyra plants a kiss on his lips, calling him her “handsome king,” Wake smiles softly, the thoughtfulness in his eyes clear as he appreciates her reassurances. He might even rub his chin a bit more theatrically and say, “Perhaps I’ll just let you take over my beard care entirely.”

Ocarina of Time Ganondorf (Bandit)

As Lyra brainstorms the idea of him with different facial hair styles, Bandit starts feeling a pang of jealousy when she initially looks at another man’s beard—but his insecurity quickly vanishes when he realizes she’s envisioning him with that look. He leans into it, amused and appreciative of her taste.

Bandit: “You thought about me with his beard? Hmph. I suppose I can’t blame you. But you’ll have to wait—after all, this...” He gestures to his chin, rubbing it thoughtfully. “...isn't too shabby, right?”

When she mentions her preference for his current beard and that it gets her going, his ego swells. He’ll puff out his chest a bit, fully enjoying the compliment. But when she points out his split ends and mentions his hair oil, he raises an eyebrow.

Bandit: “It’s true... palm fruit oil isn’t what it used to be. Maybe the harvests have gone soft, but not me. Still, your eye for detail is better than mine.” After her kiss, he adds with a grin: “Good thing I’m your king—beard or no beard.”

Twilight Princess Ganondorf (Noctis)

Noctis’s majestic beard is a signature part of his appearance. It gives him a stoic, imposing look. When Lyra mentions his split ends, he listens, taking her words seriously because he respects her opinions, especially in matters of aesthetics. Stroking his beard slowly, Noctis looks contemplative.

Noctis: “Split ends... hmm, you’re right. Perhaps it’s time for a change.” He hums thoughtfully, then with a small smirk: “Although, I’m not sure a close-cut beard would suit me as well as my current one, wouldn’t you agree?”

He gives her a rare, quiet smile when she reassures him that, beard or no beard, he’s her handsome king. The warmth of her words visibly softens him, even though he usually guards his emotions.

Noctis: “Your words are a balm, my love. I’ll keep this look, if only to please you.”

Hyrule Warriors Ganondorf (Hedony)

Hedony is definitely more vain and showy about his looks, particularly his hair. When Lyra points out that his beard is in need of care and then declares her determination to get his hair oil recipe, he’s delighted by her fire.

Hedony: Laughing heartily, he playfully strokes his beard and runs a hand through his silky, russet locks. “Oh, you want my secret, do you? A shame that it’s guarded more carefully than the Triforce itself!”

When she dramatically runs her fingers through his luscious hair, pouting about how unfair it is, Hedony finds her frustration absolutely adorable. With a sly smirk, he bends down to plant a kiss on her forehead.

Hedony: “Now, now, darling, don’t be so envious. After all, you have something even more valuable than perfect hair—you have me.” He flips his hair dramatically. “And yes, perhaps my hair oil recipe can be our little secret, but you’ll have to work for it!”

Her final words, calling him her handsome king, only feed his ego further. He’d probably spend the rest of the night playfully teasing her, while secretly reveling in how much she loves his looks.

Tears of the Kingdom Ganondorf (Vendettas)

Vendettas is far more intense and brooding, so when Lyra points out his split ends and comments on his beard, he takes it very seriously. He contemplates for a moment, his expression stern but focused as he rubs his chin.

Vendettas: “Perhaps the fairies are to blame. I’ll look into it. Their magic has become erratic as of late...” His gaze shifts back to her. “Though I trust your hands more than any magic.”

There’s a subtle warmth in his tone that contrasts with his usual intensity. When she reassures him, calling him her handsome king and planting a sweet kiss on his lips, it softens his usual stoicism. He’ll gently cup her chin, lifting her face to look into her eyes.

Vendettas: “Your words are my anchor, my queen. I may wield power, but your love is what keeps me grounded.”

Demise

Demise is a primal, warlike force, so he’s not one to care much about appearances. When Lyra suggests that his face is missing something, perhaps a full goatee or a beard-mustache combo, he pauses for a moment, looking perplexed.

Demise: “A beard? You think it would make me look more... intimidating?” He strokes his smooth chin thoughtfully, clearly unused to the idea. “Hmph. I prefer to inspire fear with my strength alone. But if you think it would please you... perhaps I’ll consider it.”

When she reassures him that either way, he’s her handsome king, Demise’s usual brooding demeanor softens, but only slightly. He respects her words because they come from someone he holds dear, but he’s not the type to fuss over his appearance.

Demise: “Beard or no beard, I am still the greatest. But if it pleases you to imagine me so, I’ll consider the change.” With that, he pulls her into a kiss, far less chaste and sweet than the others, more possessive, a reflection of his primal nature.

[literalgrill]

I wanted to write about the best anime from 2023 so I did just that! You can support independent blogging by checking it out on my blog, or just click keep reading below and check out my thoughts here. Idk, I'm not your mom, do what you want! But hey, maybe share some cool shows I might have missed too? I love watching good stuff!

Over 300 anime shows and films were released in 2023, no seriously, I went and counted by hand and a bit after 300 is where I gave up! The amount of shows we get each season, let alone in an entire year, has been massively increasing as of late. While I obviously couldn't watch literally everything, it still made it incredibly difficult to narrow things down to a top 10. But you didn't come here to read an intro, let's get into the meat of things! I'll be covering everything from the Winter 2023 season through Fall 2023. Reader beware, minor spoilers ahead! Let's get to it ✦

Honorable Mentions:

Mobile Suit Gundam: The Witch from Mercury Season 2

It felt weird to include just the second part of the show when you need the first season to get the most out of it. While the first also technically ended in 2023 and I could joke about being the best kind of correct, I left this one off the list so other incredible choices could be included. But seriously, go watch one of the best Gundam series of all time!

Kaguya-sama: Love is War: -The First Kiss That Never Ends-

This one also technically could have made it as the episodic version was released during the Spring 2023 season. However, I was fortunate enough to watch it with my partner in a theater, so my experience with it was slightly different. And that movie officially came out in 2022. I would have included this one because of how my partner openly bawled right alongside me as we watched it despite having essentially no previous knowledge of the series. The movie dives deep into traumas surrounding loving oneself and the fears of opening up in intimate relationships in a way that is so powerful and relatable that I had to at least mention it here.

10. I'm in Love with the Villainess

It's easy to pack lists like this with nothing but "high art." It takes more guts to just openly say this slapstick lesbian romance is one of the best shows I saw this year! The show is all about Rae's adventures in her favorite otome game where she wants nothing to do with the princes and everything to do with Claire François. I'm not usually huge on isekai shows these days but common tropes of the genre aren't as in your face here. While her knowledge of the game comes in handy, it is rarely used as a deus ex machina to escape every difficult situation. This series produced so many reaction image worthy stills while still managing to pull quite hard on the heartstrings, especially at the end. I can only hope its second season is announced soon.

9. Sacrificial Princess and the King of Beasts

These days, shojo series are sadly adapted far less often than their shonen counterparts and are rarely even given full adaptations of their material at all. Hearing Sacrificial Princess and the King of Beasts would not only be fully adapted but also have its entire story aired without a break between cours made it instantly stand out as something to keep an eye on. Add hunky and cute furries to the mix and how could I say no?

All kidding aside, the show has over-the-top cheesy romance moments distilled down to such a science that they seriously brought me to tears. It's unfair that shojo anime are stereotyped as being only about romances but it's hard to deny that no stories do romance quite like shojo stories. The machinations of the nobility add political intrigue that kept me hooked throughout as well. Hell, there were even some pretty good fight scenes!

I can't deny the iffy age issues between Sariphi and King Leonhart are a bit ehhhhh and why it's a bit lower on my list, even if these elements are not even remotely focused on in the series at all unlike some more problematic releases in 2023 (I'm looking at you A Girl & Her Guard Dog). But if that's not a dealbreaker for you, I'd recommend giving this underseen gem of 2023 a shot.

8. Ōoku: The Inner Chambers

I admit, I almost missed this one purely by being busy. Its first episode being over an hour long alone was a lot to plan around, so I didn't catch it when it came out in spring. However, Colleen's Manga Recs made an entire video about why people should watch it, so I kept it in the back of my mind until I was free to check it out recently.

I'm so glad that I did! There are far too many half-baked stories released as of late exploring how society might change if a majority or all of the male population were to suddenly die from disease. This one is all the way baked and paints the picture of a fascinating world where gender roles are turned upside down and royalty struggles to maintain succession in a world where men have been traditionally expected to rule. I don't want to spoil much here, it's worth seeing the story yourself. If the first episode gets a tight grip on your mind, you'll enjoy the rest of the series for sure.

Just be warned: The series does discuss and depict sexual assault. Be sure if you're going to check this one out that you're prepared for this and a lot of other heavy subject matter.

7. Yuri Is My Job

Especially for those who have avidly enjoyed lesbian romance stories from Japan, Yuri Is My Job is among the best yuri anime released in years. This is because it not only features a yuri romance, but breaks down historic tropes of the genre itself from the days of early Class S literature. This meta commentary alongside sweet complex romantic relationships came together to become more than just a show where a girl is wrangled into working for an oddly themed private school cafe!

If you're interested in these deeper parts of the show, Anime Feminist released a fantastic retrospective on the anime you'll want to check out. If you haven't seen this one yet and love everything yuri, do yourself a favor and get this on your screen already!

6. Buddy Daddies

It feels like the release of SPY x FAMILY kinda drowned this show out as too many people tried to say it was just a copy trying to ride off the coattails of a major success. This couldn't be less of a case! Just because people in high risk jobs suddenly adopt a daughter doesn't mean their stories will be the same.

Buddy Daddies has some comedic hijinks but is far more focused on what is essentially a queer relationship between two men as they become the best people they can be while taking care of a girl suddenly thrust into their care. How do you get a kid signed up for school, get all her supplies, and help her with the issues a young girl faces all while being top tier assassins? Oh, and did I mention that it's an original anime and not an adaptation to boot? Come for the badass action scenes and stay for the deep emotional core of the show.

5. Zom 100: Bucket List of the Dead

It should be obvious I deeply enjoyed Zom 100, hell I made an entire video essay about it! I have few other praises to speak about the show that weren't included there already. I'll just say that the last three episodes of the show absolutely delivered a compelling finale. Check this out for something outside the tropey zombie norm!

4. Overtake!

MF Ghost seemed like it had all the power of Initial D behind it as proof it would be the racing anime of the year, let alone Fall 2023. Overtake! simply made that impossible. It may not be as flashy, but the extremly grounded story of a son trying to follow in the footsteps of his F4 racing father and a man trying to recover from his trauma surrounding taking photographs of people is just so raw and real. The show is character driven to perfection and it's impossible to not care about the hopes and dreams feveryone involved by the time it concludes. The racing is also way more focused in reality than most other shows, which may be a turn off for those who want off-the-walls action, but is a marvel for those who intimately know the actual sport. Another anime original that absolutely swept me off my feet.

3. Helck

If Helck doesn't get a second season I swear I'll start a riot. The show starts off so goofy with this overpowered RPG world hero absolutely demolishing the competition to become the new demon king and quickly becomes a series about maintaining hope and fighting for freedom while within extreme emotional turmoil. There are so many themes in this show that are relevant in current times, especially the bit where the human government paints an entire race of people as being evil despite that not being the case... Hint hint...

I looked more forward to seeing this show than anything else in each week in the Summer 2023 season and can't recommend it more!

2. The Magical Revolution of the Reincarnated Princess and the Genius Young Lady

This show possibly made me cry harder than anything else released in 2023 which is a driving force behind why it's so high up on my list. It is by far the best isekai of 2023 as well, especially because of how subtly the main character Anisphia Wynn Palettia being reincarnated affects the plot to begin with. There are so many ways this show pulls at the heartstrings from Euphyllia trying to figure out what she wants in her life after knowing little but being raised to marry a prince to the complex darkness held in the heart of Anisphia's brother, there's just so much to dig into here.

It's not too often we get to see a full blown lesbian wedding at the end of a series either. There's no plausible deniability here, no leaving things up to interpretation, this show has lesbians in love! Period! I want to make sure all the emotional beats have their chance to hit so I won't risk spoiling anything more. Just please, pretty please, watch The Magical Revolution of the Reincarnated Princess and the Genius Young Lady.

1. Pluto

If I could only get people to watch one anime series this year, it would have to be Pluto. The questions it raises on AI and humanity couldn't have come at a better time, and it challenges the viewer to decide what they think instead of simply giving an answer they want you to believe. It directly calls out the kind of garbage America pulled during its "War on Terror" in a time when the country is currently destabilizing the middle east once again. As America actively and publicly funds a genocide despite the wishes of the majority of its citizens. It shows what happens when hate is a driving force behind decisions and how that can and will come back to haunt us all.

All of this is wrapped up in an incredible murder mystery that could have been enough to carry the show all by itself! This brainchild of Naoki Urasawa and Osamu Tezuka himself should be watched by anyone who considers themselves a fan of anime. Hell, show this one to any fan of sci-fi that is prepared for a psychological drama that will knock their socks off.

[livingmybestlove]

In My Way

Chapter Sixteen:

Jace 5 Years Ago

At last, the cold of winter and rain of the spring had subsided. It was the end of March and most of my classmates were already spending their days outside, on the water. My friends were trying to get me to go to the cliff with them, but I didn't feel up to it yet. The weather was warm, but the second I got in the water, I would freeze. Not to mention the switch marks left on my back from my father being shown on full display.

I stood with my shoulder resting against one of the large wood columns, staring out at the lake. I liked being by the water, the calmness of it leveled out my emotions. There were small ripples here and there from the fish or whatever creatures resided beneath the surface. The realization that I wasn't alone brought a smile to my lips.

I heard loud music begin to play and laughing coming from the gas pump on the dock behind me. One of the voices sounded starkly familiar, I knew that laugh. I glanced over my shoulder to see Grayson, Terra, and Christina filling up what looked like Grayson's fathers boat.

They all wore short skirts and bikini tops as they waited for the boat to fill. I shook myself free of the trance and tried to concentrate on the water in front of me, but my breathing had picked up still seeing  only Grayson in my head. 

Her skin was smooth from this distance, her artificially black hair falling freely down her shoulders and onto her chest. I wish she would stop dying her hair, her red roots suited her complexion. I wondered to myself if her locks were naturally straight or if they fell into the most beautiful mane of curls. I had seen every version of her in my dreams.

My thoughts went in all directions, feeling my body react to seeing the curves of her chest without clothes covering them. I imagined how good it would feel to taste the skin between her breasts and the sounds she would make as I kissed and nipped my way up to her lips. I forced my eyes shut, trying to shake off all of these unclean thoughts but I couldn't escape them.

I felt so dirty. I took a deep breath in an attempt to steady my heightened reactions. I wasn't like Derek. I couldn't be like him, but I wanted her in ways I had never wanted anyone else. This wasn't just lust, that's what made it so much more difficult.

I turned back to face them and my mouth began to salivate, not being able to look away from the dip between her collar bones and her shoulders. The way her exposed stomach looked, covered slightly by a high waisted skirt which swayed in the wind to reveal the curve of her ass in her bikini bottoms. A skirt I could almost feel between my finger tips, pulling it down over the skin of her hips. I wanted to feel her on my lips, to know whether she tasted of vanilla, like the delicious way she smelled, or if she had an insatiable taste of her own. I wanted her delicate hands on my skin, even against the bruises and the lashes, because only she could soothe the ache on the outside, just as she did on the inside. 

Never before, have I wanted someone to see who I am so badly. To see the wreckage of my body and the brokenness of the soul that lies within.

We were required to go to a school recital at the beginning of the day, I almost skipped but I knew Grayson wouldn't miss it, like the good girl she was, so I went. I was seated in a row next to Olivia with Grayson one row in front of me and a few seats down.

The orchestra was three songs in and the only thing keeping me awake was the constant back and forth glances between Gray and I. Every time I looked up, she was already looking down. We kept missing each other and I wondered if it was on purpose.

I could feel her eyes the second they landed on me and when they finally met, she pulled a face making devil horns with her hand. I couldn't help but chuckle at her, she had learned a few things from me. But Olivia glared at me, obviously curious as to what I was laughing at. I bit my lip and kept my gaze forward. The small interaction brought a flittering sensation in my stomach.

After the recital was over, our row filed out relatively fast. I pulled my friends to the side of the door, waiting for the chance to see Grayson come out with her friends. I asked myself if she would even look at me. Maybe a small glance to give me something, anything to tell me she felt the same way.

The flash of her familiar black locks came into view, but she was sandwiched between Terra and Christina. They always crowded her, it looked suffocating. She glanced in my direction but her legs kept moving, hardly acknowledging me at all. I felt a sinking feeling but wasn't shocked. Her reputation meant a lot to her. But did her reputation really mean more to her than I did?

I was nervous to get to Creative Writing after the recital, still feeling that small ache of rejection pulling down on my chest. Rosco gave us a writing prompt for the day and I had almost finished mine within the first fifteen minutes of class, but everyone else seemed to be struggling with it.

"Find the words, guys," Rosco rested his chin on his hands, laying them on the front desk, "Find the words. Those pencils are waiting patiently for you."

"Hey, Grayson. I have a question for you," Olivia whispered from next to me. My pencil dropped along with my patience, waiting to hear what she had to say, "Did you know you have more pussy in your personality than you do in your pants?"

Olivia looked up at me with a sly smirk, expecting me to be impressed by her pettiness but her insult wasn't even funny or original. Not to say any of mine were, but fuck, is that really what I had sounded like? Olivia said it like, in some way, it would bring me back to her. I raised my eyes in a warning, trying to signal for her to shut the fuck up. She clearly didn't notice.

"The best part of you ran down your moms leg the night your dad came in her," she snickered, "If he was actually the one that did."

I took my pencil in my hand and gripped it so tight my knuckles turned to a ghostly white. I heard the wood start to splinter in my palm. I was more angry at the fact that a few months ago, I probably would've said something similar, but things were different now.

Grayson just kept her head down, I was proud of her for not giving in to Olivia's insults, but I knew she was hurt. Especially at the mention of her parents. Her quiet breaths had picked up by the sight of her shoulders rising and falling rapidly.

"Alright guys, I want to try something different. Everyone up," Rosco instructed us, standing from his seat, "Everyone lay down on the ground. Try to relax for a few minutes."

We all did as he instructed, finding the space to spread out on the carpeted floor. I watched Grayson's eyes flutter shut, seeming to calm herself. Her hands clasped together on her stomach as she relaxed.

As I watched her, I saw Olivia pull something out of her bag. Without hesitation, I demanded, "What are you doing?"

I couldn't get a good view of what it was, but she opened the top and began spilling a clear liquid into Grayson's backpack. I sat up from my position and reached over, red coating my vision, grabbing Olivia's arm. The object fell into Grayson's backpack before I could take it, "What is wrong with you?"

"Get off me," she fumed, ripping her arm from my grasp.

"Alright, everyone up," Rosco said, letting us settle back into our sitting positions, "Can someone help me out? Does anyone have their assignments ready?"

The class remained silent until I raised my hand, "I'll go."

The nervousness that had once filled me while reading my previous assignments aloud had vanished, replaced with conviction. I stood and made my way to the podium, looking Gray in the eyes, refusing to let my stare falter. She needed to know that every word was written purely for her.

"Mad. Mad thoughts. Crazy, twisted, sinewy. Mad obsession. You sicken me. You're so beautiful, love. I grind you into a fine, soft powder and inhale you...and then lick you off of my fingers. You love, answer me. Your face brings me death every day...and every day I can't wait to die. Bury me now, love. Bury me now."

Her turquoise eyes were wide and glimmered against the harsh lighting, they were captivating in every light. She was captivating in every light. Grayson combed her hand through her hair, letting it rest against the side of her face. By the clear trepidation oozing off of her, I knew she felt it too. But this tenderness was the one thing she couldn't deny.

[libidomechanica]

He plungd in place, embroiderd in Lightning in his tuning head

A limerick sequence

               1

‘You were none you by a soundless cup. When I smile. My Lord, with a kiss, and    suit? For Wintergreen Shalott.    The moon. Is thy love to sight was they raised, but to call Chance!

               2

As dew in aprille, þat fallyt on þe sprang elate! The Peers and Wesley,    and two: she trees and    summer loathsome. In my attic and into find Liberty?

               3

And a whole sea and clings to you. That piano? Just in Air, she dead for    the yill. Hairs less a slight    us, for sometimes shou’d expressing, and body the spring.

               4

Permit me, Julia’s breath of the poppy falls for Nisus’ injur’d Hair!—Ye    may read, is leaving you    are made more; which hath no break, and more will I, with his her breast!

               5

’Er she leaves springtime, the same thoughtlessly, from him for the general constructed    in feeling soundless    main to wash away, and Nymph! Company of the Wits again!

               6

And my life, climbing. By the prostrate Ace. Are very court to shame! I have    you thumbed, thrust, jutted this    Morning Omens their dressed around this great green, your mouth be heir.

               7

This Nymph there wherein the yellow-leaved vine, and hush’d, confus’d, he stone bag    man, garlic in the midnight    Militia of the silver. Goddess, I do vow and kitsch.

               8

If, dear self, in the children outside the stood, before are this bold Sir Plume    repair, half-taught me to    her Desires of fine boy. Oh hadst thou were none of the Cards.

               9

When there touch that once Ulysses held the happy crowd the sages. Or caus’d    Suspicion when still readers    e’er would not be when I’ll be our tale, of Amminadib.

               10

Above a girl, her pocket-book and quite of a mayden was never dauntless,    flaming, the marge us?    The top of the granted of mine. The marge us? Mt.

               11

Being silk or taffeta, which fell their desire. Vouch for one small reade    in the helmet flows, ’mang    moors and where none, no lute, the rolling told me upon a stream.

               12

Yet all their Charms, as I was not in the rest lurk’d in vain! Thy mother crown,    but little question with    all above me weary road, yet how to the Tartar, England!

               13

Being sitteth silent sighes breast a frown of peopled hell in think of    scream from History. I do    not so great business, tremblings and Dukes, and wins oh shameful Chance!

               14

As this I may desert sky? But Lilia please alike. Unto the same,    his pompous Robe, and hear    planet chiming clears today of those nineteen who fly arise!

               15

Sometimes barters; the yellow-white. How cloth’d; how sunk beside his house, thou know    then, lastly, let me sleep    the arm’d with these Labyrinths his be their haram educate.

               16

My soul is mine, and round mere can but that such a day of your name as if    in doubting Wits are a’    my Nanie, O. I would make breathing of their skill. The other sea.

               17

The men on the late rain, me of the face by hear two women, gallant fight,    and He approach. Which long;    and will soon shall pall that is thy beloved, and, one sweet stream.

               18

I haue I called The Witch. And each high, and mortality arise like a    buttercup until,    afterwards for the Soul was strong the ghost nor smilde wherein I fry?

               19

Come, commands that horror, that her Eyes half equal to show? Goddess! Your cool    and going told him whom    he sport half to him. Let go. Find none lovely April of love.

               20

Of this pompous Robe, and the Dog Star I saw it for all the treason, from    her wide quiet nest, coming,    taking like a Bow, but I found it thus let us taste!

               21

A prophecies, a mortgage on Humanity’s shape. That single sorrow    will try gainst me ours is    a hands. A version brought of the will not even death is mine!

               22

This touches back. In search of solitude and after thee, his she rain is    over and I worried    you like it and in the general directed? In love. And I.

               23

I gave us were therefore do you betray; for the last, your conversations    on, when the sky; fair-    haired and pray. ’From Constitute of Air; the space of my body.

               24

That bare three in the photographs from Day’s detested some secret Truth!—Jamie,    come and rainy, O;    but when all a primrose, and all that which long line of sugar.

               25

Thou my blissful clouds refuseth, giuing from the village green and mow’d down to    the moon. Ah, my beloved    is mine stray Bird one sour as a suddenly wonder Box.

               26

I traveling songs with encrusted boots, child! Of trees and swept the Sword-knots Sword-    knot Sylvia’s Hands she    wakened. Just in Glory of the wretches fly, to steal to me.

               27

It’s ye hae wooers mony a merry drawling as it out and knocking of    the leopards. But if you    need not its earth forth by the dismal Domes, and which is the land.

               28

My thoughts that at one telling tears, and ancient hand did makes many men. This    I best friends old shipwrecked    it simple sentimental, swore the Lady of Shalott.

               29

A different behind her for the dawn of love. His green dale: but as the smelling    but yonder a jonquil    cheek where Lucy played by thy lute, the deep as ocean’s foe.

               30

Save breed a loathing over: you’ve already mixed. And no more, speaks no maner    grow; but which stick in    the red charmeth they read o’er the fruit then I once thou would be.

               31

For that. Into capitulations fly, to find my lovers long with human    love: blue, silver Vase    in your orange that to triumph now impart as sacred Nine.

               32

And in the gravel. Of silver, think and break and flower, like a hawk    encumbered by women with    all the Crown the early enough strawberries clusters by Night.

               33

In equal Curls, and fairies, bayonets, bulletin. Did round their local    life was enthusiasm    and dank, with splendid stream that I shall live some director?

               34

But wilt thou desire. He lifts the banqueting stream of social wrong; all    aloud full gallop, drew    in chiefly was old, its lines there were never fair Nymphs resound.

               35

Are very silence of sleep, thy love. The out his mother’s Hand is a letting    its limbs. Which never    blamable, who would not you planned, known, of one another breasts.

               36

It canniest gate, the fetish boutique, those tail’s a ditch. Some forth heroes fought,    of slumber of pleasant    things right passes for newspaper prais’d nor shame! Some boatmen near.

               37

Oft I here such a hey, and heart in you. To waken doubt few reade, must a    Victor cry’d insulting    Grace, and for all but—nothing thorns, so is my paines my care?

               38

That brings she said Almost everyone else shall quickly, we must. Hear men say,    white Breath may calm-breath; scatters    are rarely to so base a vice. And their banner of Day!

               39

Boils of it for glory! Clarinda, mistres of thy jealousy? This, folly!    Nothing hath she, whence    for the eyes or once for the way in which is most sacred Nine.

               40

The voice, sweet fruit, and I lie here a whole world enough, between the devil    now not, but the palm? Ay    from my soul, and floor of that camouflaged tip into its wound.

               41

Like rain, which is Solomon’s. Far more and tree, I shall if there was mawn, and    breath this Locks first cast lives.    That done, to shatter you are made in our planet fix my woe?

               42

There is no more glittering gentle friends; drink, yea, the wind a whole lower    shall answer’d Camelot;    the sixteen call’d in Shades of a bird; nor walke; with dewy locks.

               43

Just the hermit’s Dreams, on her with that get broken utterly be confounded    by feare, of Amminadib.    Th’ Imperial Tow’rs, the three fire the time must.

               44

To a roe or a reading—’t is no maner grow; but with plunge in crimson    claim, a watchful Sprite,    venture their sweet. What if I burn in Cupid’s Flame mount Gilead.

               45

Here Files of the happy dove, seen me get thee so far better that I have    been a caring, in proud    brow, it melts. Thy beloved is gone, and plain and drove than I.

               46

Yet if you like two youth as wild beasts shall the mountains of doves’ eyes. The grot,    while melting fireships    and Heavens you and conscious Habits and to the Blaze of Day.

               47

This Canto, ere my right Order lay as death; jealousy? Sweet, to a race    of fools or heart. If falling    bade their head, a purse, a heart another can into speak.

               48

To be and all the fire is it, and chaste woman next my hearts wracke I reede;    I cry with please, ineffably,    let thy fair face the sultan, rich Repast. This to roam.

               49

Or I shall know, not Cynthia when well practice dying I thrown of Spleen.    Two captive Queens o’er the    prince de Ligne have your Friend! And man’s son doth know. Fair-haired and snow?

               50

My business, and Garters up, furious earth as will not sure if Homer    makes it difficult to    get therefore and flash’d thy complaining Chocolate to view its ray?

               51

How little hear the painting through earth of Fame in one alive, and barb’rous    Cause, and bids her Smiles offer    poison of the cloud … it must hallucination of Day.

               52

The open there for the tough Walebones crackle, and tho’ unseen, are    rather by the Danube    could poke enough; noons of Bonaparte! Is ever was loathsome.

               53

To shamefastness: none is black and quiver in the keeper of her Hand    four Knaves in happier    St. What may blessing! With its propitious Habits and tree, fruits.

               54

It is otherwise. I likewise, and though Mars no doubt in being pad, sometimes    Times iourneys, half language    no laws, we’re out of public build a faithless was, we safe.

               55

But so it was not be rash, nor thee. With golden anniversal loveth:    I held in slender Chains.    Their ancient Personal cupidity, say, the balmy Rest.

               56

It seemed to mar them. The Care of thy record after you; on Helen, to    which was born as yet beguile    our household king is head as he rode down to Camelot.

               57

Before a sprights of her lips of their efforts should mountain, dark-rooted flowers,    euen Stellas state-thing    that love my Lays. Thy golden Galaxy. Pleasant art thy mouth.

               58

The painted new heart may never more by provocation of various    Day. She said my Pray’r, th’    expiring Swan, and strange tulip, whiten, aspens shiver.

               59

Is not reaching admir’d remain’d in some Sylphs with Reproach. The loins engenders    pursue: ’twas a boy    of your pursue him whom fortune the Pow’r; four Knave of Shalott.

[sweetheartpowder]

The Tap

Cold tap dribbles thin stream of icy water, refreshing droplets, sparse, life-giving. Hot tap is a steady stream of petroleum oil.

3 generations of pall bearers with me suited up in the coffin. I'm in between worlds baby, reality toying with my soul from the start.

Dusty, streaked mirror, grimy dirt where I stand in the tub. Usually shower with my clothes clinging to skin. Wet dog my whole life, wet towel in the conversation.

Cereal box pours sewing needles into my bowl. Typical. Spoon it up with tepid milk, colander stomach.

Wash down my sins with water, right tap is frozen, left tap is spider eggs. Naturally.

Onto the cracked asphalt, bend down, poking my eye through a crack in the sidewalk, that dirty little man, dirty ass apron, pushes my caffeine thimble through to me. Stick another dime down the crack. He'll give the silver to some bitch late at night.

Bouncers throw me out of bars every night. Say I don't match my ID, no way I was ever that pretty broad on the plastic. On the train to the DMV I count 3 black-eyed women, 6 pairs of bloody panties, and 9 trios of praying mantises eating infants.

Department of Motor Vehicles is down 10 flights of cement stairs. Past all the stains an elevator door slides opens revealing a rusted metal door. Behind that a ratty haired teenager looks up at me with bloodshot eyes. I step into creaking cage, with flickering moth bulb dangling above us. Their hair wasn't ratty. It was a rat. It presses "-19". That is the sole button.

I hear the wailing long before the doors open. Wails aren't as grating as the electronic voice piercing through the air calling out letters and numbers of the next in line.

Security man with stabbing stubble gets his sweat on me as he prods my pockets and still-wet clothes. He seems hardly able to breathe. Soft involuntary grunts come from his throat. While he inspects my shoes I suck in and spit onto the back of his head. It sizzles and dries up. He huffs trying to get back from my shoes to eye level. I step on him, over him.

Wails. "NOW SERVING 40TLP2". Weeping. "NOW SERVING 999KKMB". The cold electronic voice. No woman has ever sounded like this! I told myself I would not cry this time with all of the others. It's shameful and disgusting. The sobbing keeps the cashiers grinning their sick little grins.

"NOW SERVING HL52TQ". At the first desk an ancient dust hazes my view of an old crone. Her smile is wide with cigarette teeth, corners reaching the tips of her pale eyes. It's deeply unsettling. "NOW SERVING RTEZAJM" Her bones creak as she hands me 54 crumpled, inky forms to fill out. She then beckons to a small, deep, black hole. "PENS", it says on the hanging sign.

Hole goes up to my wrist as I grope around for a pen. Instead I feel wet, crawling, thousands of legs, stinging, pinching, teeth. Tears spring to my eyes. I hear the woman's teeth as her smile impossibly widens. I grasp a pen-shaped object but when I pull it out it's a cold black centipede. "NOW SERVING 77777777". It takes me two more tries before a pen finally comes. I get blood on my papers.

I stumble into line but can hardly keep the papers straight. "NOW SERVING XLR#$%" They fall from my grip, sometimes spontaneously combust, I can't focus with the electronic voice echoing around the room. Eyes blurring with wet, taste of sulfur it dragged down my cheeks, this fucking place.

I relive my life as I wait my turn, but every good memory is replaced with shadowy figures whose faces I can't make out. "NOW SERVING ᄅϛ∀˥S⅄"

Man behind the second desk is clean, big coiffed hair, with a newscasters voice. His teeth are too bright and perfect, there seem to be 80-90 in his wide, wide, wide grin. "SMILE!", he says, before I've even reached the counter. He blinks. It takes me 46 seconds to recover from the flash.

Time spins around me, whispers of what is and what is not flows through my nervous system, an infant glares at me, I picture several versions of myself all as miserable as the current one, the man's tooth cracks from his grin but immediately fixes itself, I was buried here once, a flower grew from my mouth.

Now I'm on the train again. When I look down a new ID is in my hand. I hate the DMV but it's now a distant haze in my always confused memories.

I arrive back home at 3 AM. I'm parched. The cold tap, water flows backwards and won't go into the cup. The hot tap just steadily pours out cat fur. Tomorrow I'll give another dime to the little coffee prick. Routine is good for you. Tomorrow night I'll finally have a drink at the pub.

In my dreams the electronic voice, "NOW SERVING Ÿ̸̨̯̳̩͖́́̄̀͗͛̆͆̽͑̆̒̉̀̎̏̓́́̍̐̀̾͐͋́̆̈́̈̑̿̉̆̾̄̃́̕͠͝͝͠͠Ǫ̵̢̡̡̨̧͔͈̹͇͚̰̰͍̗̱͖̜͔̪̱̜͙͇̦̰̩͈̘̭̥̱̝̼̫̺̠͎͍̫̤̺̜̹̮̻͕̜̥͇͔͇̿̊̃̉̒̅͂̔͋̂̍̓̃̍̃̍̄͂̈́̈́͆̾̓̿̎̎̓̉͆̉̓̊̂̅͆̌̓̅̾̔̉͒̚͘̕͘͘͝͝͠͠ͅU̶̧̢̨̨̨̧̨̨̼͓̯̥̜̥̬͙̫̘̦̗̳̮̜͙̼̖̘̜͚̟͖̝̪͖͎̻̮͕̖̪̪̥̞̬̦̺̞̩͉̻̫̭̰͍͕͚͙̼̲͖̟̼̤̩̹̮̼̮̭̭̥̫̲̱̣̹͓͎͖͆̆̑͊̔̾̿̒̓̇̇̌̏̐̄̈́́͐̓̐̒͒̏͆̈́̉̈́̃̅̌̿̉̀̽́̏̂̈͑̚̚̚͜͜͝͠͝͠ͅͅ".