#you better cath these hands

[heademptie]

Ghoap x Comms!Reader continued...

Reader avoids Ghost as much as they can, not wanting to stir things up more than they already have, but they're only successful because Ghost allows it. And Ghost only allows it so he can better observe them. He's tried pulling strings, using his rank and reputation to try and find out more about reader. But it comes up short. He gets access to their file, but its all fluff inside, lots of it confidential or just blank. Their name isnt even on the file, just the callsign (to keep reader anonymous) Laswell gave out. He asked her too, but she didn't have the answers he wanted.

"Tell me about them." "Not much to tell, I'm afraid. Why? You think they're a threat?" "Don't know yet." "Should I be worried, Ghost?" He pauses, thinking it over. But Laswell knows well enough, that if there was a threat, Ghost wouldn't hesitate. So she sighs and hands over the lackluster file. "They work behind the scenes, no field record. They were brought here-" Her voice drowns out with information Ghost already knows, the extent of Laswells knowledge on the matter. On first glance the file looks fine, personal information left blank or blacked out, a brief service record. Nothing in the field, like Laswell said, but a few listings for assistence with signal decoding. But most of their work is as a mundane office drone, 'A temp,' Ghost thinks amused.

So he skulks around base and observes.

Johnny is confused. He's been able to read Ghost for some time now, their connection and dynamic so intertwined, so in tune with each other, thriving since Las Almas. He notices almost immediately, the sudden hostility and caution Ghost displays on base, it takes him a bit longer to find the target.

He tries to ask outright, of course he does because why wouldn't Ghost talk to him, but he gets shut down. A gruff response. "Don't know what you're talking about Johnny."

Soap pushes, of course, but he gets repeatedly shut out. He moaps a bit, like a kicked puppy, before he catches on to who has made Ghost like this. He's surprised when he cathes the critical look of Ghost when Reader walks by, and he doesnt miss the quick glance they flick over Ghost. Then that glance jumps to him and reader gives a small smile and nod, one that looks a little too nervous to be oblivious to Ghost's scrutiny.

So he finds them the next evening, Reader is leaving tomorrow, going back to wherever they were before, so they went out for a drink. He slides up next to them easily, and gives a bright, syrup sweet smile to ease into things. Reader is a bit tense to begin with but relaxs just a bit once conversation starts. Soap starts slow and vague, idle chat morphing into talking about readers time on base before eventually reaching his desired point of discussion.

Immediately, the mood shifts. Reader is subtle with it, smile becoming a little tighter at the corners, and eyes scanning over him with an increased intensity. They play dumb, not lying to him but repeating his words, asking thier own questions, faux confusion furrowing their brows.

'They're good at this,' Johnny thinks as reader gives another vague answer, easing him in the direction to make a false assmunption. He's not mad, a little annoyed, but mostly he thinks that they're clever. 'Maybe this is why Simon is suspicious,' reader is still on guard, but as Johnny relaxes into the back and forth, so do they. Its like a game now. 'A simple desk worker shouldn't be this good'.

The night comes to an end and Johnny insists on walking them back to base. He'll bring it up to Ghost again, mention how reader easily navigated the pseudo interrorgation, get him to talk. Its on the walk back that reader looks over to Soap, eyes kind yet critical and sighs. He looks over and reader offers a smile. Theres something in that smile he doesnt have the chance to decipher before they've caught him off guard.

"It's his business to tell you what's going on. I don't want to step on any more toes, especially since im out of here in a few hours."

Soap goes to ask more, opens his mouth, ready to launch into his questions, eager to finally get answers. But they put a hand on his shoulder and he falters.

"But for gods sake just tell him already."

He's confused, but the look they give speaks volumes. Oh. Oh. Johnny understands now. The hostility, the caution, the observation. Just as they saw through Johnny and cupped his weakness in their gentle hold, they had done the same to Simon.

Oh. This is...

Reader is gone the next day, as was expected, but Ghost is only slighty eased, and Soap finds himself a little on edge. It's not till weeks later, with readers voice nagging at him with that kind exasperation, that Soap (a little liquored up) is in Ghosts barrack.

They're shouting at each other, fear turning into misplaced anger before it goes quiet in the small room. They're both breathing heavy, Ghost, Simon in this moment, breaks it.

"I'll kill anyone who hurts you. And I'd be pleased to." He follows closely, closing the gap until uncovered hands grasp Johnny's face, as gentle as Simon can manage. "If you're mine, no one, no one, can touch you." Johnny is thrilled.

As the sun rises, the two are twisted together in the sheets of Ghosts too small bed, Johnny wears a tooth rotting smile. They think, seperately, offhandedly, that they really should thank that too clever reader.

[andhumanslovedstories]

any advice for nursing students/new nurses?

When you buy a stethoscope, get it engraved with your name, I literally cannot tell you how much that has saved my ass. All stethoscopes look the exact same, even if you think you got a unique looking one, and they're super easy to lose, and they're a hundred plus bucks. engraved!!

There's literally so many acronyms, and everyone assumes the acronyms they know are universal, and no one is correct. Get comfortable with the phrase "remind me what [x] stands for" when someone rattles off a string of letters you don't recognize. (sometimes the person talking to you doesn't know either! whoops!!)

Ask questions all the time actually. This is the ideal time to do so and everyone will be scared if you don't.

For straight cathing patients, you can usually get a lidocaine gel that numbs the urethra, which helps with discomfort. Also for straight cathing patients, if they have a vagina, make sure you visualize the urethra before you start the whole process. You don't want to have to find it later when you're sterile and can't touch anything.

If you've never used a bed pan, it is surprisingly much harder than you would expect. familiarize yourself with them before you have to place one for the first time.

At the end of every shift, find one thing you can point at that you did and were proud of. You can be proud of helping a patient get up and walk. You can be proud that your patient's pain never got above a 4. You can be proud that you helped out another nurse's patients while they were dealing with an admit. You can be proud that you didn't get visibly mad at a patient who was screaming at you. You can be proud that you got to the end of the shift and everyone is alive. You can be proud that you realized you were in over your head and called for help. Find something each shift to be proud of, and the corollary to that is behave in ways that make it easier to be proud of yourself when you look back at the way you spent your shift

get good shoes.

prioritize sleep.

meal prep

pick a few things about yourself that are harmless, not at all intimate small talk. I also have a few fun facts about myself that I love to talk about but don't overstep any boundaries (stuff like that I'm from Virginia, that I'm part of float pool so I can tell you how this room compares to others in the hospital, I have dyed hair and people love talking about that). Draw boundaries to be personable but not inappropriate. Genuinely, practice small talk. You have small talk when things are going fine so you can have Big Talk when someone's breaking down crying or starts screaming in the hallway or wants to leave against medical advice or is furious that their visitors are gonna get searched on the way in. Build rapport before you need rapport.

Sort of similar to the last one, I try to care very deeply about my patients on shift and then forget about them when I go home. I debrief with my mom or Cyrus or my journal, and then I take a shower. The shower is my mental reset time. I tuck my nursona away and emerge as just some dipshit in a towel. Find whatever ritual helps you end your shift.

there are many ways to be a good nurse. sometimes you need a hardass. sometimes you need a cheerleader. sometimes you need a goofball. sometimes you need someone who doesn't chit chat but will always get your teeth brushed, your hands washed, and your hair braided before breakfast can even get to the floor, no matter how shortstaffed the floor is. sometimes you need someone who will talk to you at three in the morning about what the dying process is like. it is impossible to be all things to all patients. as a new nurse, you start by focusing on basic minimal competency, but pay attention to what parts of the job energize you, what parts come easy to you, and lean into those. get competent at the things you are bad at, get passionate about the things you are good at, and you'll have a better chance of building a nursing practice that you can keep up with the shit times start.

the shit times can start anytime but oooh boy do they tend to arrive at your six month mark.

[dduane]

...So I was noodling around with the above image as preliminary work for a piece of Middle Kingdoms concept art that's going to illustrate a chapter-heading rubric from The Door Into Sunset. And while working on it, I belatedly realized that to correctly set up that scene, I was first going to have to tear up the entire left-hand side of the image (and the space beyond it), because the new covered fish market I had in mind wasn't going to fit in the space.

So I rolled my eyes at myself (I should have seen this coming...), got busy tearing it up, and then built the fish market. It's very loosely based, as I think I mentioned somewhere here earlier, on the famous Vismarkt, the covered fishmarket in the center of Brugge in Belgium (a.k.a. Bruges). (Image via Carto.net.)

Back in medieval times, right through to the Renaissance and beyond, fish was originally sold in Bruges in the open, from wooden pallets. But other stallholders in the main market complained about the smell, and the fish-sellers themselves weren't happy with the venue: selling such perishable goods out in the broad (and often hot) daylight was suboptimal. A permanent, covered place for the fishmongers' stalls makes more sense. Yet at the same time, you want decent light on what you're selling or buying... just not direct sun.

Choosing the architecture for a market like this in Darthis city was also going to be an issue. The Vismarkt was installed in a new dedicated market square in 1821, with the architect opting for a Victorian-cum-Classical look: not something that would make sense in this alternate Earth—if I was seriously considering a straightforward copy, which I wasn't. However, the Darthene architectural aesthetic does contain both building styles very like our Romanesque style, and elements similarly reminiscent of Gothic. (Though in the Middle Kingdoms the AU-Romanesque wasn't abandoned when the kinda-Gothic came in, but coexists with it).

After I'd given the situation some thought, I found myself wanting something that drew on those two traditions... or would maybe kind of split the difference between them: a building open on all sides that would be relatively light and airy, recalling a tent or canopy. This kind of design's unquestionably made a lot easier in that universe by the availability of magic-workers able to pull stone out of the ground without excavation, and also able to fashion it into the desired shapes without the use of physical tools. So finally I settled on a broad, vaguely Gothic-styled cross or groined vault as the preferred shape for the roofs: then rummaged around to see what I could find in the local toolkit that would enable me to build it.

Semi-plan view:

Diagonal side view:

(Please note that all of these images are the result of the digital version of kitbashing, as I don’t currently have anything like the skills to create shapes like these in Blender.)

Better lighting in this case is fortunately a materials-technology issue, long since solved on our own Earth. The stone of the roof segments is what architects now would refer to as an "alabastrite marble", about an inch thick—light enough to need relatively little in the way of external supports, and thin enough to transmit light readily. This marble's name comes (probably obviously enough) from alabaster, which has been used on and off in European church windows since medieval times as an affordable alternative to glass, in times and places where that’s been expensive.

This approach has had occasional revivals in modern our-Earth architecture. However, since alabaster is only useful in relatively small pieces, and is vulnerable to heat and moisture, it's often replaced by thin-cut marble set in metal frameworks. One good example of this would be the Beinecke Rare Book and Manuscript Library at Yale. (image via Amusing Planet)

The thin-cut Vermont marble transmits light safely without endangering the documents. But sometimes genuine alabaster has been used, too: the Cathedral of Our Lady of the Angels in Los Angeles features tens of thousands of panes of it. (image via Expedia)

The equivalent use of marble in the royal Arlene library rr'Virendir, in Prydon city—replacing much ancient glass destroyed during the earthquakes accompanying the last battle of the Great War—is probably where the Darthene authorities got the idea for this implementation. And since the marble used in this construction would almost certainly have come from Arlen, light-colored marble being the country’s “vernacular" stone due to it being quarried all over the place there, it makes perfect sense for this marble to have been a gift of the Arlene Throne to the city of Darthis. And would also account for the presence of his grace the King over there by the market stall up against the wall, pretending to check out the produce while he also checks out the nearly-finished construction (and, idly, two of his spouses).

The Queen is after all very picky about making sure her contractors are getting things right. Yes, she jokes a lot about having lots of room in the dungeons if things go wrong... but sometimes, if you don't know her, it's hard to be sure she's joking.

Meanwhile, so far, it doesn't look too bad.

Things learned over the past couple of weeks, in between also doing other work:

Translucence is a bitch to master in Daz Studio

Certain aspects of Blender are conspiring with one another to make me scream

My rendering computer is displaying a tendency toward quirkiness in the memory department that would register as nearly endearing if I could figure out what was causing it

...But at least now that the set I need is pretty much done (except for some minor tightening, straightening, and tweaking of materials and color temperatures), I can turn my attention to the question of how to produce the rather specialized VFX required for the two shot I'm setting up. ...Yeah, all this work has been for a two shot. But that shot needs people in the background, and the right street furniture. And nature abhors an undressed set. ...See also: "the backs of the melons."

Next challenge: track down a source for heaps of digitized prawns. :)

[meteorologears]

Here, officially, is my hard cover, completely hand-bound copy of Catch 22!!!!!!!!

The illustrations on the inside cover are of yoss+friends (first page, closeness to yoss representing narrative importance), and cath+other villains (closeness to cath representing their influence on each other).

All of this is completely hand bound, manually illustrated, etc. I also had to completely rework the pdf so it fit--to that end, if you want my pdf, here it is. It definitely doesn't contain additional material. Some progress photos under the cut:

The editing-the-pdf took me about 12 hours. One overuse injury later, I was ready to print! I got them done at a local print shoppe, folded all the pages, trimmed them (all of this sounds paltry but it took the better part of a day and a second overuse injury). Then came designing the inside flaps, ironing the fabric and then fabricbinding it to the chipboard exterior, sewing all the pages together, designing the title page, and finally!!! FINALLY!!! My idea has been realized!!! Thank you for coming to my TED talk.

[infiniteeight8]

Steter: One of them thinks the other has gotten bored with their sex life.

This has never happened to Peter before.

People may not like him, but his sexual prowess has never been questioned. No one has ever left his bed unsatisfied, and a number of people had kept coming back even against their better judgment because of it.

Of course Stiles would have to be the exception in this, too. Five months together and over the last three the frequency of their sex life has slowly declined from more than once a day to a couple times a week. So far it seems to be holding steady there, but that doesn’t help Peter figure out what’s wrong. For the first time he understands why people read those inane articles about how to spice up their sex lives. He hasn’t sunk that low, but he has been poking around Stiles’ porn hub account for inspiration, which is almost as bad. Not that it’s done any good: their actual sex life is more interesting than the porn in his history, even now.

Thanks to werewolf senses, Peter returns Stiles’ laptop to its previous state and is on the other side of the room, reading, when the door swings open and Stiles comes in. “I swear,” he says, letting the door close behind him with a thump that’s very nearly a slam, “the best thing about being in a long term relationship is finally getting past that feeling that you have to prove something to everyone.” Stiles sheds his coat and hangs it up without being told, for once. “Jamie was all over Cath for half of dinner, never mind that there were four other people there. Like, I get it already, you’re a stud, you’re having all the sex! You can stop demonstrating any time now!” Stiles throws up his hands, then comes around the couch and drops down next to Peter. “Maybe I should just make my excuses until they’ve been together a few more months.”

Oh.

Peter sets a hand on the back of Stiles’ neck and starts rubbing at the spots where the tension always collects. “Assuming it lasts a few more months,” he says aloud. “Not everyone is as lucky as you are, finding your one true love so early.”

“Don’t jinx it,” Stiles protests. “Wish our happiness on everyone! Manifest their dreams!”

“Isn’t it supposed to be your dreams?” Peter asks, grinning. 

“Yeah, yeah, work with me here.”

“I always do,” Peter murmurs.

[stoupax]

@mapeslyrup ehehe, if you say so...

Areum Roseroad's a middle child, between older brother Daris and younger sister Senna. he becomes the patriarch of the house when their father grows too senile. Daris is the lead engineer/architect of the family business, Senna married a man in their ancestors' homeland of Koryo and lives in Kara-Tur, and Areum practices law. he wanted to go into bill-drafting for public works, but the powers-that-be in Baldur's Gate were like hmm seems like a conflict of interest, since your family operates primarily as a construction magnate, so he ended up specializing in trade policy. this means he's had the pleasure of dealing with mister arms dealer Lord Gortash over the years.

his wife and the love of his life is Narae, a renowned wizard and magic theorist, and they have one son: Sarim.

...or two sons, since Areum's longtime animal companion is the grey parrot, Cath. Areum loves birds and maintains an aviary in the glass conservatory attached to the Roseroad manor.

Areum's father (Sarim's grandpa) passes away just before the events of BG3. Areum returns to work after some bereavement time, and finds that Gortash has specifically handed him a weird case that needs immediate attention. irritated and unwilling to wait for the wheels of bureaucracy to get this done (Areum wants this shit off his desk ASAP) he goes and handles the menial aspects of it himself. it includes inspecting a small storeroom of confiscated property from an Elturelian tiefling moving into Baldur's Gate.

among this guy's stuff is a scroll case. it's the only thing Areum can actually get into out of all the crates and chests. it turns out to be some kind of IOU to the owner: a djinni wish in exchange for an old favor. the djinni tied to the scroll is surprised, because Areum is not the guy who is supposed to redeem this wish, and his circumstances since asking the tief for the favor have changed drastically: he's stuck in an empty demi-plane of Air. the djinni and Areum are both dumbfounded by each other, and there isn't time to figure out wtf is going on here, because This Is When The Nautiloid Flies Over the City.

Areum shuts the scroll case in a panic and unthinkingly shoves it in his pack, tries to leave the warehouse to see wtf is going on, but guards keep him inside. Sarim, in another part of town, is abducted.

(in an alternative timeline, Areum does get out of the warehouse, and is abducted instead. he's just a fucking lawyer, so when he's on a crashing illithid ship, he quickly makes a pact with the djinni in the scroll out of necessity. congrats Areum, you are a level one warlock! eldritch blast your way back to Toril!)

in the days following the Nautiloid flyover, Areum and Narae are wrecked by the disappearance of their son. he's considered one of the countless missing civilians, and they take part in search efforts, trawling wrecked parts of the city for him. soon they're called upon to identify a body that matches Sarim's description. it turns out to not be him, but it freaks them out more than it brings them relief, and then Areum remembers the scroll. he fills his wife in on it and they open it together, to see if they can wish Sarim back.

due to wibbly wobbly Netherese magic, the djinni can't whisk Sarim from wherever he is. he cannot locate him, and even if he could, can't guarantee that bringing him here won't have dire consequences. not wanting to go back to the lonely darkness of his inexplicable prison, the djinni suggests a pact. he doesn't want to lose this tether to the Material Plane, and Areum seems a much better character than the tiefling the djinni originally owed the wish to. Narae's very skeptical of warlock pacts, but if this can help them figure out what's going on and how to get Sarim back, then it's a chance worth taking. with his wife as a witness, Areum ties himself to the djinni, and the scroll is destroyed.

somewhere else, the tiefling is PISSED that he lost the scroll. he had plans for it, damnit. (surely this won't bite Areum in the ass, right?)

incidentally: the djinni, whose name is Iram (UNINTENTIONALLY CLOSE TO AREUM, LMAO) is the father of Sarim's "ex," an air genasi named Ayaz (who was also abducted by the Nautiloid). it's a little while before the dads realize this connection. I love Dad Pact and I can talk about it forever. Iram, Ayaz, and the rascally tiefling mentioned above belong to @kota-stoker.

[threepandas]

@dairy-farmer Posting here instead of dumping in the the ASK box~☆ o/

That SAID! I have just come across the Predator/Prey tag on Ao3?

And oh MY, Oh My~ Hello Ideas~✨️

Cause TELL me that's not a Certified Bat Kink™. I'll call you a liar.

Letting them RUN? Chasing them down? The adrenaline, the pounding heart in their chest, gasping for air as they struggle to to think, the desperation, the FIGHT? Winding path ways and fear spiked arousal?

Every shadow could be you~

Every sound, bouncing from the walls, a signal of your next attack.

Where are you~? Did they escape? Gotta run! Gotta Run~! But they can't escape. And they get them. Death from above, a lunge from an alleyway, striking from below. Legs swept out from beneath them. Flailing limbs sent crashing to the cold earth.

The STRUGGLE.

Hot, frantic, bodies pressed tight against each other. One trying to "escape", one trying to pin them down. Can't make it EASY now, can we? That defeats the purpose.

Gasping for air. Flushed with exertion. Clothes torn or cut free. Pressed to the dirt. Trapped. Like a cornered animal. With someone POWERFUL pinning you down.

Is it the Bat? Nightwing, finally letting his rage and brutality have a constructive outlet? Jason, trying to rewrite their bloody past with something BETTER? Or maybe it's Ra's, some part of a scheme he did not realize would cath the Detective's attention so~

They HAVE circled each other for so long, after all. Hurt and been hurt. Fought like dogs. To think, all he had to do to catch the boy's eye... was to HUNT him.

Do you see him as a man NOW, Detective? Pressed to the dirt? Held, grappled, still beneath him? Dispite your best efforts you could not escape. But of course, he WILL release you... when he's DONE with you. To the victor goes the spoils, after all.

A voice meant to be so very calm, growling in his ears. Calloused, powerful hands, roaming possessively. Taking as they please. Bites and sucking, groping hands, arms like steel bars that hold him still. As he is filled. As he is fucked.

Rut into like nothing else matters.

Shaking apart on it. Letting his brain go blank. Nothing but how deep and rough and perfect it is. Undignified and whining, gasping for air, feeling like he's only held together by the powerful arms pinning him down. Temporary relief, yes, but addictive, isn't it? That beautiful, restful, blankness? The high that sex and adrenaline gives you?

Can anyone ELSE really give you that, Detective?

Ah, but no need to snap. Just a question, isn't it~?

[lostfirefly]

In my midnight confessions, when I say all the things that I want to (Bedtime Story Series, Ch. 1)

Welcome to a new series (sorry not sorry) about Buggy and Catherine. This will be a short series of stories in the format of fairy tales that will be dedicated to Catherine's past. English is not my native language, errors may occur. As always, feel free to share your thoughts :)

Masterlist is here

Description: Catherine shares her backstory with Buggy.

Warnings: Egyptiiiiiaaaaan nights, sadness, broken heart, mention of dead parents, I hope "1000 and 1 nights" vibes (@fanaticsnail, thnx!).

Words: 3320

Buggy x OC from my “You’ve Got the Same Dream as Me” series.

Taglist: @gingernut1314, @operationroots, @hey-august, @yujo-nishimura, @emmiebugz-blog, @mydearlybeloathed , @cyberkittenduck

The title is taken from "Midnight Confession" by The Grass Roots.

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

“Why doesn't he want to come to Loguetown?”

“I don't know, Jules. Every time I ask him to come with me, his face changes and he avoids answering. I don't want to pressure him.” Catherine sighed heavily and took a sip of wine. 

“Maybe he killed someone and is afraid to come?” Jules giggled, taking a bite of pizza. 

“What are you saying? You know, sometimes you talk about Buggy in a tone that makes me uncomfortable.” Catherine narrowed her eyes. 

“I'm sorry! I know you're head over heels in love, but I'm worried about you. I don't know, maybe because I don't know him well.” Jules shrugged. “I only talked to him when we spent the night at his place after the desert adventure, and even then he was reluctant to talk because he was busy looking at you.” Jules giggled and smiled mischievously. “God, I still remember you running out of the airport squealing. But, Cathie, even though you call me all the time, send me pictures, I still worry about you. You’re my sister.” 

Catherine laughed. “God, Jules, you remind me of our father right now.”

“Oh, yeah! He'd probably conduct a whole investigation to make sure that his beloved little Catherine was not harmed.” Jules laughed. “I can see that picture. He walks into the living room with a pen and a notepad with ducks and says: Evelyn, our daughter started seeing someone, not just anyone, but he's a clown it seems. I have to find out who he is because we trust him with our Cathie.” 

“And mom says to him, Dylan, stop it and put your notebook in a drawer and better read the newspaper. Our daughter is not going out with a complete idiot.” Catherine laughed and took a photo of them together with Buggy from the shelf. 

Jules put her hand on the table and rested her fist on her cheek. “Yeah, and then mom sits Buggy down to eat her carrot cake, and dad brings two bottles of beer. One for himself, one for your boyfriend. Dad sits down in his chair, crosses his arms, and stares at Buggy, barely blinking. Your clown is embarrassed and doesn't know how to act.”

“Hah, yeah. I think our parents would love him.” She turned the photo to the camera, trying to smile. “Look how cute he is.” Catherine put the photo aside and took a sip. “At least mom and dad had time to see your Ethan. He went on picnics with us, came to dinners. They got to know him. ” Catherine's tears flowed. “But they didn't get to see my Buggy. I'm so sad they'll never meet him, Jules. But you know.. I told them about him when I went to visit them at the cemetery on my last visit to Loguetown. Yeah, I told them about.. You know.. How.. I told them that I’m happy and safe now. I always tell them this so they don't worry.” Catherine wiped her wet eyes. 

“Cath…” Jules reached out to the laptop screen.

“I mis–” Catherine heard a noise in the hallway. “Quiet, I think Buggy is back. Wait!” She listened to the sounds. “Hmm.. No, I imagined it.” Catherine quickly wiped her tears. “I don't want him to see me crying.” 

“Make sure those Egyptian mummies don’t come to get you.” Jules cleared her throat. “Don’t get me wrong, Buggy may be a good guy, and I know you love him, but are you absolutely sure you're safe with him? In every sense, Catherine. I don’t want you to get hurt again. Remember what that bastard Flynnie did to you?”

“Jules, Buggy would never say or do something like that. He loves me.” Catherine took a sip. “Come visit us, and you will change your mind about him. I know that even with all my stories about him, Buggy seems like an asshole to you. But trust me, he's a different person when we're alone. He's kind and funny. He just needs some love and car–.”

The bedroom door swung open and Buggy shuffled into the room, looking upset. 

“Fuck, you scared me!” Catherine jumped out of her chair, startled. “I almost had a heart attack.” She laughed slightly. “Hi.” Catherine reached out, pulled Buggy closer, kissed him on the cheek and saw him become red. “I heard noises in the hallway, and then silence. I thought I imagined it.” 

“No, that was me. I was hungry and went straight to the kitchen.” Buggy glanced at the laptop. “Fuck, I didn’t know you were talking.” He tried to smile. “Hi, Jules.” Buggy quickly glanced at Catherine. “Should I leave?” 

“What? No! No! Don't go anywhere. I think we should wrap it up anyway, we've been talking for two hours. Okay. Jules, I’ll call you tomorrow. I have to feed my blue-haired guzzler. Say hi to Ethan. Bye!” Catherine blew a kiss to her sister. 

“Bye, guys!”

Catherine closed the laptop, leaned her head back on the chair, and ran her knuckles down Buggy's cheek. “You look sad. Is everything okay?” She watched as he nodded silently. “You must be hungry. Come on, let's go into the kitchen, and I'll make you some mac and cheese.” Catherine jumped up from her chair, grabbed Buggy’s hand and pulled him into the kitchen. 

“Give me ten minutes and…” Catherine opened the door and her eyes widened. “Oh, my God! Buggy…” Catherine squeezed his hand and looked at the table where there was a bouquet of blue roses, a bottle of her favorite wine, Chinese food and her favorite sandalwood candles burning. “What is this?”

“Well...” Buggy scratched his head. “I thought it was a while since I set you a dinner with your favorite stupid candles. What have you turned me into, woman? A grown man arranging fucking romantic evenings.”

Catherine stared at Buggy for a long moment, blinking silently. 

“Oh, fuck! That look!” Buggy rolled his eyes and prepared for what would happen next, spreading his arms. 

Catherine squealed, jumping on him, and hugging him with her arms and legs. “Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!!!” Smack. Smack. Smack. 

“I knew this was gonna happen.” Buggy wrapped his arms around her waist and kissed Catherine’s forehead. “You're welcome, cotton candy.” 

“Love.” Smack. ​​“Love.” Smack. ​​“Love, love, love you!” Smack. Smack. Smack. “You’re my best!” Sma-a-a-a-ack.

“Stop doing this, woman!” Buggy rolled his eyes. “Do you want Chinese food or not? See? It's your favorite. Fucking noodles with shrimp and a ton of sweet sauce.” 

Catherine jumped off Buggy, clenched her fists, squeezed her eyes shut, and started squealing and stamping her feet in joy. She sat down on the chair, picked up her box, and looked at the candles. Buggy sat down next to her and poured her some wine. 

“You still look sad.” Catherine stroked his hair. “Are you worried that you came while I was chatting with Jules? I only had nice things to say about you.”

Buggy exhaled heavily.

“What happened, little bear?” Catherine took his hand and began to stroke her fingers over his palm.

“The show last night. It wasn't perfect.” He pulled his hand away and picked up his beer. 

“What are you talking about? Everything was great. I've heard great reviews for every single act. People love your shows. I love your shows. And I love you. Don’t be sad, better tell me about your day.” Catherine kissed him on the cheek and twirled her noodle around her fork. 

Buggy gestured wildly as he recounted his day, not noticing how he was stealing shrimp from Catherine's portion and how she was eating all of his nuts from his rice. Catherine laughed at his every joke and with a story about Richie chasing the caterer all over the arena. Buggy asked how her day was going, and Catherine laughed even harder, joking that she was finally getting him to take an interest in her person. Buggy was upset, of course, but Catherine quickly solved the problem with an additional portion of shrimp and a kiss on the cheek. 

“You even got me a fortune cookie. Thanks!” Catherine sipped her wine and took one cookie from the box, breaking it open. “Let's see what's in there. Oh! Look! You're about to meet the love of your life.” She set the paper aside. “Meh! You're six months late with your fortune, stupid cookie. I've already met the blue-haired love of my life.” Catherine glanced at Buggy, who became even sadder. “Are you sure you're okay?” She watched him nod. “You're tired. You've been working hard these days. Here's an idea! Let's stay in bed all day tomorrow. We'll order pizza and watch stupid shows. And for now let's get my wine and your beer, and go to the bedroom? What do you think?”

Buggy nodded, took the glasses and went to the bedroom without saying a word. Catherine followed him, quickly changed into a pair of cow pajama bottoms, pulled on his t-shirt, and climbed onto the bed to hug Buggy laying curled up in silence. 

“My Buggy Bear, why are you sad?” Catherine asked softly, stroking his back. “Is something bothering you?”

“Cathie-pie.. Who... Who was with you yesterday?” Buggy asked in a sad tone.

“Where?”

“In the hallway. In the tent. I saw.. You were chatting with a tall handsome guy near the candy machine. I walked past and saw you together.” 

Catherine thought, replaying the day before in her head. “Oh, my God! Buggy! Are you upset because of him? It was some stranger who came to the circus with his son. They asked where their seats were and what the most delicious sweets were. They wanted to buy candies. Are you jealous of the stranger?”

“I’m not jealous. I just. I don't know.” Buggy shrugged and exhaled sadly. “You were laughing loudly. And looked happy. And the cookie.. the cookie said.. Meh, forget.”

“Of course, I looked happy. Because I came to see your show and you. Do you know how happy I’m when I see you on stage? I’m so proud of you at that moment. Although I’m always proud of you, but in those moments especially. Your fangirls sigh for you, and I know that you will go home with me. That's why I looked happy.” Catherine kissed his temple. “You're so funny, my flashy fool. And don't listen to the cookie, she doesn't know what she's saying.” She kissed him on the head a few times and hugged him tighter. 

“If you want to leave, will you tell me? Or.. What if I suddenly become the one to break your heart. Will you tell me?”

Catherine exhaled. “You will not be the one to break my heart, my Buggy Bear. You know, I think you’re in a down mood today, my love. How to cheer you up? How to cheer you up. Oh! I know how to cheer you up. Do you want me to tell you a bedtime story?”

“I don't know.” Buggy turned onto his back and laid his head in her lap. “I have never been told a story.”

“What do you mean never?” Catherine rounded her eyes. “And what about that man who raised you? You told me about him. He didn't tell stories?”

“No. Nothing like that happened.”

“No, no! Is that man still alive? I want to kick his ass.” Catherine started running her fingers through Buggy’s hair. 

“Oh, I'd like to see that.” Buggy giggled. “He would be very scared watching you yell at him from the bottom of your height.”

“Go to hell, I'm not afraid of him. And that gray-haired grandfather from the desert? Didn't he tell you any stories?”

“He’s not a gray-haired grandfather from the desert, Cathie-pie. Stop calling him that.” 

“I don’t care. What was his name? Mayli? Meh! Whatever. Every child deserves a fairy tale, Buggy. I wouldn't be surprised if that dude who raised you read fairy tales to that guy whose name is forbidden in our house.” Catherine started running her fingertips over Buggy's forehead. “No! I’ll tell you a fairy tale, and even you're almost 36 but who cares. Let's pretend your story was a little late on the way. Oh, you know, I know a good bedtime story.” She kissed his forehead, started stroking his hair and felt how Buggy snuggled closer to her. “Now close your beautiful green eyes and listen. A tale about how one girl's laughter was stolen.”

Buggy covered himself with a blanket, closed his eyes listening how Catherine began to speak in a half whisper.

“Once upon a time, in a small village, there lived a sweet girl named Everlee. She was kind, cheerful and a laugher. Everyone in the village knew and loved her. In the evenings, after university, she helped her mother in the bakery. It was the best bakery in town, there was almost never a free space. In the morning, the premises were filled with the smell of fresh bread, buns and other goodies with crispy crusts and delicious fillings inside. People on their way to work or home always come in to get a bun with hot cheese and fresh coffee or tea.”

“I can even smell the smells you're talking about, cotton candy.” Buggy felt Catherine hug him tighter. 

“Oh, yes, I can smell them too.” Smack. 

“One day, a young man named Flynnie started dropping by the bakery. He came in every evening, hoping to see Everlee. And one day, he asked her out for a walk. Everlee had been on dates before, but this date seemed special to her. She was young, and she was impressed that Flynnie came to the bakery just to see her every evening.” Catherine gently stroked Buggy's body, feeling how with every movement of her hand he became more relaxed. “Flynnie brought Everlee magical flowers that changed their color depending on the time of day. He took her for walks in the forest, where they met the most magical animals. Antelopes from under whose hooves little marshmallows appeared, birds that wove decorations from candies. Everlee loved to walk in this forest. She continued studying, to help her mother in the bakery, spend time with her family, and it seemed to her that she began to fall in love with Flynnie. One day, Everlee's family noticed that she began to laugh less. Her ringing laughter always sounded in their house, but there was less of it.”

“What? Why?” Buggy opened his eyes.

“It turned out that Flynnie was an unusual guy, he was an evil wizard who decided to steal Everlee's laughter. She did not notice it until, one day, Flynnie cast a spell on her. He said that Everlee was too cheerful, and it irritated people and especially him, and she would not laugh until she met her true love. And she would not meet her, because she would lose her cheerful character forever. He snapped his fingers and Everlee stopped laughing. The wizard locked her laughter in a cage and turned her heart into stone.”

“NO!” Buggy blushed. “Sorry. I didn't think I would say it so loudly. What happened next?” 

“My little bear is intrigued.” Smack. “Everlee's parents tried to make her laugh, but she was afraid to do it. Because of the curse, she believed that she irritated people. Everlee’s family took her to different villages to good witches, who tried to cure her with decoctions of various aromatic herbs. Nothing helped. The sorcerer continued to return to Everlee's house, trying to strengthen the spell, but her family drove him away with magic water and special amulets. They hung them on the door so that Flynnie could no longer enter their house and torture poor Everlee, who spent her days cowering in her room. Everlee had a magic mirror that she looked into every morning and didn't recognize herself. She cried and asked the mirror to help her get back to her old self, but it said it couldn't help. The mirror only said that Everlee must find her love. But how? Everlee knew that Flynnie broke her heart by casting the curse. She believed in him, she trusted him. But he turned out to be evil, who tried to take away all the good that was in her and Everlee cried during the nights a lot because of it, because Flynnie took a part of her soul and her heart. But Everlee was lucky. She had a wonderful family. Their love and support helped partially break the curse.”

“Why partially?” Buggy asked quietly, taking Catherine's hand. 

“Because the curse was strong. After six months, many good guys have tried to resolve the spell by asking Everlee out on a date. But they weren't able to make it all the way to the end. Time after time, the spell grew weaker. Everlee felt she became old self, but she was afraid to laugh for a long time, although she tried. Her family brought toys and goodies that broke the spell a little at a time. But it wasn't enough. Over time, thanks to her family, Everlee began to laugh again, but it seemed to her that it was not the same laugh as before.”

“Cotton candy…”

“Yes, my love.”

“Is Everlee okay now? Did she manage to remove the spell completely?”

“Oh, yeah. Everlee was almost completely fine. And many years after those events, Everlee went to an amazing sand country, to change her surroundings, to have some rest and look at new amazing animals. But suddenly she met the one who finally destroyed the last little traces of Flynnie's spell. She met true love, even though the villain said it would never happen. And now Everlee is happy that she can not be afraid to be herself. She laughs again as before, knowing that the love of her life will not turn her heart into stone, because he makes her laugh every day. And she's happy every day when she wakes up next to him, and she loves him very much. She knows that his love will not allow Flynnie or anyone else to cast a spell on her again. Because he protects her and will drive away any villain from his precious Everlee. Every morning Everlee wakes up and realizes that she's finally cured. The end.” Catherine kissed Buggy in his forehead. “Did you like the story?” 

Buggy looked at Catherine for a long time. He sat down on the bed, leaned his back against the headboard and Catherine immediately curled up under his armpit, feeling Buggy hold her tightly in his arms. 

“Cathie-pie…” Buggy said quietly, as gently as he could, as if afraid to disturb the fragility of the moment. “How old were you?”

“21.” 

“If we ever meet this fucking Flynnie, will you tell me it's him?” 

Catherine laughed, “What, are you going to scare him with your chop chop thing?”

“We'll see.” Buggy kissed her on the head. 

“I can already see you…” Catherine placed her hand on his chest. “What do you call it when your parts spin? Chop Chop Flannon?”

“Cannon.” 

“Sorry! You have so many of your chop chop things.” Catherine started smiling. “I even see this picture. Flynnie comes in and thinks he's dealing with a normal person, but surprise, shithead! My blue-haired hero split into pieces and kick Flynnie’s ass.” Catherine pecked Buggy on his nose. “Thank you, my silly clown.”

“For what?” 

“For breaking the curse until the end. For teaching me to laugh again, like I did before.” Catherine hugged Buggy around his waist. “I love you so, so much, my Buggy Bear.”

“I love you too, my cotton candy. And I promise I never never never hurt you.”

“I know, don't worry.” 

“And you know what? Let's go to the bakery? After your story, I wanted a bun with hot cheese.” 

[tuatha-de-danann-blog]

The Real Mother of the Gods

Random internet articles will tell you how Danu is the mother of the Irish gods, like some overarching ancestral figure.

When reading the actual lore, this idea is pretty false. There may be a Danand, mother to three gods, but no great Danu. This is even argued, as a better translation may reveal they are three gods of skill, the word for skill confused or made into the name of a goddess.

While I was reading the verse portion of the Lebor Gabála Érenn volume 4 (LGE) on the tuatha, I discovered something interesting. Ethniu is named as mother to seven of the major gods: Luichtaine, Creidne, Goibnu, Dian Cecht, Nuada, Dagda, and Lugh.

Additionally, in the Cath Maige Tuired, if I am not mistaken, Ogma is named as one of her sons.

It is a shame this isn't discussed more. The prose text of the LGE does not mention this either. It mostly recounts who is the father to whom.

Ethniu is daughter of Balor, a Fomorian king. The Fomorians share ancestors with the gods, and live on islands close to Ireland.

Folk or fairy tales tell how Balor heard a prophecy that his grandson would kill him, so he locked Ethniu up, surrounded only by women, until a man looking for a magic cow Balor stole sneaks in and she gets pregnant with Lugh.

In the LGE it is mentioned she is given to Cian, a god, in marriage and they have Lugh.

But turning to the verse texts in the LGE, here is the small passage:

"They were powerful against their firm conflict,

The seven lofty great sons of Ethliu.

Dagda, Dian Cecht, Credne the wright,

Luichne the carpenter, who was an enduring.

consummate plunderer,

Nuada who was the silver-handed,

Lug Mac Cein, Goibninn the smith."

(The names have variations of how they're spelled in the LGE.)

Her first six sons are over different skills/roles, a smith, wright, carpenter, a physician, a king, and a druid/wizard/warrior, but her son Lugh possess all of the skills and becomes the king of the gods after Nuada’s death.

I think Ethniu/Ethliu should get the credit for being mother of the gods.

[atmilliways]

Wrong On The Money (29)

part 29 of ?? | 1108 words | Teen+

Blackmail fic on Ao3 | on tumblr

Summary:

It takes five seconds of the door closing behind Eddie as he’s wheeled off for his last round of tests before being released from the hospital. Steve counts.  “Soooo,” Robin prods. “You’re moving in with the Munsons. How . . . did that happen?”

29.

It takes five seconds of the door closing behind Eddie as he’s wheeled off for his last round of tests before being released from the hospital. Steve counts. 

“Soooo,” Robin prods. “You’re moving in with the Munsons. How . . . did that happen?”

He runs a hand through his hair—which feels horrible because hospital shampoo leaves a lot to be desired. (And he’s not even allowed to shower because of the bandages, he has to wash out of a glorified bucket.) “Oh, you know. I saved Eddie’s life, and my parents suck, so. . . . And Wayne’s cool with it.”

“That’s good.” She cocks her head thoughtfully to one side. “So you and Eddie are getting along? I was a little worried you two would be at each other’s throats in here, but I stand pleasantly surprised.”

“Yeah, well. . . .” Steve sighs. Might as well broach the subject of his recent self-discoveries now. “I like him,” he admits. 

Robin snorts. “I wouldn’t go that far. You know I would never assume—”

“No, I mean I like him Robs.” He runs his hand through his hair again, fuck the texture. “He’s got this ‘fuck what people think I’m going to be whoever I want to be’ attitude, and he’s good with the kids—He protects the kids. I’m pretty sure all his walking on tables shit at school is stuff he plays up to draw attention away from kids like Dustin and Mike. His uncle got sick at the end of last year and he . . . did everything he could think of to take care of him, just like he stood his ground to protect Dustin from those bat things. He’s loyal, and he’s funny, and intense, and . . . okay, he’s a huge nerd, but he’s. . . . I don’t know. I like him.”

It’s rare that he surprises Robin into complete silence, but he’s done it now. She sits back in her chair, opening and closing her mouth a few times as though chewing on whatever it is she’s considering saying. . . . Wow, Steve thinks, he’s inspired her to think before she speaks. New record.

Finally she says, “Just to be clear, is this a—” she looks around the room, but it’s still empty aside from them and the door is still closed “—bathroom floor conversation?”

“Uh, only if you mean that not literally. I don’t feel like getting up. Unless you count the cath—”

“Stop.” She shoves a hand against his face, doubly interrupting him. 

“They took it out after the fever broke—”

“No part of that sentence made me want to learn more, dingus!”

They bicker back and forth for a while, and it’s comforting. Normal. Enough to get his mind off the itch of his healing wounds and the room’s other occupant for a little while, until inevitably . . . well, circling back to talk about the room’s other occupant. 

It’s a relief to be able to talk about it. Steve isn’t used to being so in his head about a crush. With a girl, he would be flirting up a storm by now (“Maybe it’s better that you’re not,” Robin comments with a snort, and Steve knows she’s thinking of the You Suck tally at Scoops), laying the groundwork for asking her out. With Eddie, though. . . .

“He’s obviously not a girl,” Robin agrees, “but that doesn’t mean you can’t flirt. Well—try to flirt. It’s not like your penis stopped him from calling you Big Boy in front of god and the entire party.”

Steve groans. “Please don’t say penis.”

“If you get to say boobies, Steve, I. . . .” She stops, wrinkling her nose. “You know what, I don’t need to say it more than necessary. The point is, I’ve made my point.”

Outside the room there’s a clang of metal, as though someone nearby has dropped a bedpan. Steve’s eyes dart to the small window on the door; shapes move on the other side of the glass, a child that’s either laughing or crying carried past by a parent.

“No,” he sighs, turning his attention back to his best friend. “The point is, there is no point. Sure, I like him, but . . . nothing’s going to happen.”

And Robin doesn’t get it. He knows she doesn’t, wouldn’t, couldn’t—not without the full context, and he doesn’t feel up to that yet. Coming out to his platonic soulmate was easy, but that? Steve doesn’t think he can take her screeching at him right now. And it is definitely screech worthy, he knows that, but. . . . 

There are some things even Robin doesn’t get. 

Like being a reformed asshole, and needing to make up for it. She’s always trying to tell him that he has made up for it—by wanting to change and actually doing it, by protecting the kids, by being her best friend even though she’d been sure she was unlikable in a lot of ways for a long time before Starcourt, take your goddamn pick, Steve. But he’s pretty sure there’s a difference between correcting the behavior going forward and paying penance for his actions in the past. 

Eddie had been desperate to save his uncle. It wasn’t like he hadn’t been working himself to the bone trying to scrape together the funds every other available way; teenage parties had been cranked up to eleven all over Hawkins for months with how hard he was pushing, and Steve had noticed the grime under his fingernails from some part-time manual labor job somewhere. So the blackmail, in Steve’s book (even if this is all the concussion-related brain damage talking), is excusable. 

Steve’s excuse for being a douchebag had been . . . what? His parents didn’t care about him very much? He never had a good role model, never had to work too hard for anything he had? He’d picked shitty friends and a shitty crowd to hang out with, and let popularity get to his head and make him a selfish jerk? That’s all bullshit. 

Robin argues with him of course, because that’s kind of their shtick. She lays out a case for Eddie clearly being into him too. Points out that with Eddie he wouldn’t have to make up explanations for the scars and the nightmares and the nail bat in his trunk. And the kids, of course—the kids all loved Eddie, that whole D&D nerd thing had charmed them long before Steve (as far as she knew) had even met the guy, and who knew that was Steve’s taste in guys but hey, she's surprised, not judging.

“Nothing’s going to happen,” he repeats, unmoved. 

He doesn’t voice the thought that even if he could have Eddie (which he doubts), he wouldn’t deserve him. Not like that. 

Being friends is fine.

[garricks4thwingqueen]

My New Pillow Part 2

   Word Count: 1382

Tigger warnings: NSFW mentions, Swearing

  synopsis: This is a continuation that was much requested for Dain Aetos X reader My New Pillow which can be found here: Part 1                                          

   

Part 2 

                                                       Dain’s POV 

   I soaked in the warmth of the shower. God I loved that woman and what she did to me. How she made me feel. How she made me feel like home, how she made me feel that I actually belonged somewhere and was actually capable of loving someone or learning to love someone and truly care about them. This is a new side of you, I like it. Cath cut into my mind. I rolled my eyes mentally at the male red swordtail. Yeah you also seem a little flirty yourself lately.  I chidded back, turning off the steaming water and reaching for my towel. I don’t know what you're talking about, this dragon runs solo. I could have sworn he had a snarl at the end of that as I smirked right so you and Avonmora are absolutely not flirting or whatever dragons call it. All I got in response was a huff as I was walking back towards her room. My girls room. “Aetos.” Garrick greeted which slightly caught me off guard as I was madly in love with his little sister and he still didn’t know yet. “Tavis.” I said swiftly with a nod as we continued our opposite ways. I was now thinking about all the ways that Garrick could possibly figure out to kill me later after he finds out; probably several ways involving Xaden for the hell of it. I made sure no one was around as I reached for the door knob that was already turning. “How did you?” I asked when closing the door behind me. “Your audible sigh gave you away.” Y/N smirked. 

                                                  Y/N’s POV

     “Why the long face my Great Dain?”  “I was just thinking about the million and one ways your brother and Xaden are going to come up with to murder me after we tell them.” I giggled softly, wrapping my arms around Dain’s waist. “You really think they are your biggest threat?” I smirked. “I- ugh I- yes?” Dain stuttered and you couldn’t help but still be in a fit of giggles. “Oh my sweet sweet innocent Wingleadrer.” “Who else should I be oh-” You were now in a laughing fit as you noticed Dain’s face drop to the tenth degree as it clicked inside of his mind that indeed your best friend would be a bigger concern to him amongst the rebellen bunch. “How could you forget about sweet sweet Imogen, my love?” For a split second you could have sworn Dain Aetos actually looked speechless. “I- I don’t know, she’s not going to break my neck is she?” “I can’t make any promises but I can promise I’ll be right here by your side no matter what anyone else thinks about us. I love you.” “I love you too.” He said softly pulling you in closer to him and resting his chin on top of your head and taking in your touch and scent.  “Shall we head down to the dinning hall?” “There’s an Aretian special pastry you're gonna love; it’s like the berry tart at Basgiath but a thousand times better. Hold my hand?” Dain grabbed onto your outstretched and gave it a squeeze. Even if you were both ready or not to relieve your secret you both deserved to catch a break. 

                                                  Garrick’s POV

 We sat around the dining table at Riorson house. A table it had been so long since all of us had sat around it. I took a second to take in the odd group before us; Imogen on my left, her hand resting on my knee under the table, then Violet, Rhiannon, Xaden and even Ridoc and Sawyer; the only two people that were missing were. I almost choked on my tartlet as I looked up and saw Dain Aetos’s arm wrapped around my little sister as they each had a plate in their hands Y/N coming to sit on my right and directly next to her. Imogen slapped my back hard “Close your fucking mouth Tavis you’ll let a bug fly in.” I closed my mouth as Y/N greeted me with a “Good morning my handsome big brother, you should listen to Imogen more.”  Across the table Xaden gave a smug look and a nod towards the new couple; “what's up with this?” He gestured between my little sister and Dain. She shrugged “Same thing that's up with you and Violet and Imogen and Garrick.”  “I- I-.” I sputtered, it's not like Imogen and I had been exactly in the open but thanks to my little sister and her best friend we now were.  “Oh come on. You don’t think Immi and I don’t talk.” “I no, I know you do but seriously Y/N; You and Aetos? His-” “His what? The enemy? The enemy’s son? Dangerous?” She snapped. “I no that’s not what I-” “Then what was it Garrick?” “I just don’t want you getting hurt. He has betrayed our whole group before.” I said honestly. 

                                                 Y/N POV

    Your boil was boiling. “He's here isn’t he? Fighting for our side?  You and every fucking one else at this table knew what happened these past few months wasn’t Dains fucking fault. It may have been his father’s but not Dain’s.” You paused a new entire wave of emotion ran through a whole new desire for Dain on a different level. You looked towards Dain trying to stay strong and finish your train of thought when you knew he had that same lust and desire in his eyes. Oh god’s their fucking you thought. Cath and Avonmora were fucking and you and Dain had just. Yes we have mated Dragons, hurry up and finish so I can fucking take you. Dain said through your mind with lust and desire. Everyone was now staring at you. You couldn’t help but look towards Xaden knowing he had felt the same feelings several times. Given the smug look on his face you could tell he was reading yours pretty damn clearly. “Get used to Dain being around because I love him and not his father, get used to it and I know you will because you're my big brother and you love me.” Dain didn’t let you finish talking or breakfast as he grabbed your wrist gently excusing you both with some lame excuse that you both had to shower or something. When all you both wanted to do was fuck each other senseless until Cath and Avonmora stopped fucking each other. “Fucking mated dragons.” You heard Xaden snicker; you didn’t hold back your signet as you focused on the glass of Xaden’s water as you and Dain walked away. “Hey I was fucking drinking that!” You heard Xaden snickering as you knew your favorite trick with water since you got your signet last year had worked. “Mated Dragons?” was the last thing you heard your brother groan as you and Dain rounded the corner. “How did Riorson know?” He has mated dragons, remember?” “Right.” 

   Dain shoved your bedroom door open and pushed you onto your childhood bed and all the two of you did for the rest of the afternoon until your dragons finished their own fucking was fuck. You couldn’t get enough of him. Enough feel of your safetynet, your forever, the person that you were now tied with until one of you died, your everything.

           It had to have been several hours later when both you and Dain and your Dragons had finally finished. You two had best learn to shield. Cath snickered into both of our minds. “I could get you used to this though.” Dain said contentedly.’ You hummed in agreement as you nuzzled into him and laid your head onto your favorite pillow. “Me too. My favorite pillow.” Dain chuckled at your words and your yawn. “Good night my love.” He said softly tracing the lines of your rebellion relic which was oddly soothing. “Good night my Great Dain. I love you.”  “I love you to my favorite rebel.” He yawned as he kissed your forehead. Goodnight our sweet riders. Both Cath and Avonmora said into your minds as you nuzzled in closer to Dain if that was even possible. Indeed, you could get very, very used to this.

[nyanbinary-perineum]

Hey it’s the tiny slime boy again. I can’t stop thinking about being your toy again.

You could squish my form in your hands for as long as you desired. I’d be nothing but a simple toy to keep yourself entertained. My smooth and cool form being perfect for the task.

However eventually there would be a better use for me. I would be the perfect size to be your portable fleshlight.

Molding my form over your musky cathing cock really is my ideal purpose, and I’d try my best to lie to myself about the pleasure I felt. Regardless my mind would be long gone and dissolved by the time you finished. It wouldn’t be over though as you simply left me wrapped around you as you went about your day. Leaving me to indefinitely huff your musk, so that I’ll never recover from needing it.

-💧 (if this one is ok)

I believe that one is taken, little slime ;3c

You really do sound like you'd become the cutest little puddle after your thoughts were melted away from being used the way you were always meant to be~ ;3c

Too cute~ I hope you're having a good day, little slime ^.^ I enjoy hearing what goes through your mind even if slimey fantasies aren't my usual, it's very fun :3

[aneurinallday]

The Grey Man

Chapter 7: Cut

The thugs’ leader - a broad man with calloused hands and a friendly Cornish accent - approached.

“Good evening, Mister Shelby,” he said, with the cheerfulness of a milk-man delivering bottles to the door. “Good evening, Doctor Holford. The name’s Pascoe.”

As soon as he introduced himself, Tommy sensed that neither he nor Holford would be walking out of there alive. A hired gun who intended to spare his victims would hide his identity, but a hired gun who intended to kill them wouldn’t care.

“Don’t shoot my horse,” said Tommy. “She’s a good animal.”

“She is a beauty,” said Pascoe admiringly, patting the horse’s white neck, “Reminds me of one I rode as a boy. Maybe I’ll keep her.”

“As long as she’s cared-for.”

“Of course. I’d never harm an animal.”

Tommy was pushed to the ground, sitting with his back against one of the cars. He could feel the tyre against his back.

“Sit tight, Mister Shelby,” said Pascoe. “I’ll get to you in a minute.” He turned to face Holford. “How are you, Doctor? It looks like they did a number on you already - that’s quite a shiner you’ve got there. I hope you’re not too tired.”

“How long have you been searching for me?” Holford demanded. “What took you so long? I’ve been missing for twelve fucking days! Twelve! Do you have any idea what they’ve put me through? Take me home directly.”

“Sorry, Doctor. We’re not here to take you home. We need to ask you some questions first.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, the truth is…” Pascoe leaned in close to Holford, who recoiled. “Mister Mosley don’t trust you no more. Three years you were Mister Shelby’s doctor, and Shelby never suspected a thing. Not a glimpse, not a whisper. Everything was going according to plan, and now this. What changed? How did he find out?”

“I…I don’t know.”

“Did your conscience get the better of you? Did you decide to come clean?”

“No.”

“Then how did he discover the truth?”

The half-burnt newspaper. The photograph. Dr Michael Holford and Mrs Cath Holford, standing side-by-side at Mosley’s wedding.

“I don’t - I don’t fucking know, you idiot. Listen, he just turned up at my house. Next thing I knew, I’d been abducted. How is that my fault?”

“Just him, by himself?”

“Yes.”

“Did he take you away at gunpoint?”

“Yes!”

While they spoke, Tommy carefully flexed his hands, testing the tightness of the rope. His fingers searched the ground behind him, but found nothing. He felt higher, and encountered something with a hint of sharpness: the corner of the metal fender, the semi-circular well which housed the car’s front wheel. It wasn’t sharp enough to cut through the rope, but it was sharp enough to gradually wear through the strands. He shifted position as imperceptibly as possible, and gently began to rub the rope against the metal edge.

“Did he ask you questions about Mister Mosley?” Pascoe pressed.

“I suppose so.”

“What did you tell him?”

“Nothing. I told him nothing.”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course I’m fucking sure. Why are you asking me all these questions?”

“Well, Mister Mosley wants to know if you’ve turned traitor. It’s my job to find out the facts.”

“I…I don’t - ” Holford fumbled for words, his mouth trembling. Then he gathered his thoughts, squared his shoulders, and drew himself up like the landed gentry that he was. His old tone of authority made a triumphant return. “This is ridiculous. Let me use the telephone again. I want to speak to Mosley directly.”

“Mister Mosley don’t want to speak to you.”

“You’re wrong. Oswald and I…We’re old friends. He’s known me for years. He wouldn’t just - ”

“Mister Mosley’s a busy man. He don’t have time for you. Besides, he ordered us to deal with you.”

Holford shrank again, as if his spirit had collapsed on itself.

“Oswald is my friend. He wouldn’t wish harm on me - he wouldn’t - ”

“Mister Mosley wants you out of the picture. You see, you’re compromised. His word, not mine. Thomas Shelby knows things about you, and you know things about Mister Mosley…Do you follow me?”

Of course, Tommy thought. It made sense. Holford was a direct link to Mosley, and that made him a threat to Mosley’s operations. Mosley and his friends had pulled the strings, but it was Holford who’d done the dirty work - Holford who’d faked the X-rays, delivered the diagnosis, thrown away his professional integrity. If the doctor’s actions were made public, his life and career would be ruined.

And now Holford was Tommy’s prisoner, and Mosley had no way of knowing what words had been forced or coerced out of him. Who knew what advantage Tommy had already gained? Who knew what fascist secrets Holford had already spilled? He was no longer an ally, but a liability. He was a loose thread that needed cutting. A mouth that needed silencing. And here they were - the men who’d been sent to do the cutting and the silencing.

“There must be a misunderstanding,” said Holford. “I did everything I was asked to. I did everything perfectly.” He looked around in panic, realising he was surrounded.

Pascoe nodded to his men. “Hold him.”

Two of the men grabbed Holford’s arms, while a third stood by, and the fourth continued to guard Tommy.

Holford’s face spasmed as he tried to hold back tears. He drew in a shaky breath.

“Tell Oswald, I would never betray him,” he continued with increased desperation. “I’m loyal. I’ve always been loyal. If I revealed anything to Mister Shelby, it was only because I was forced.”

“Oh, so you did reveal something?”

“N-no. That’s not what I meant.”

A swift blow to the stomach knocked the wind out of him. Before he could recover, he was shoved face-down on the ground. His left arm was pulled straight to the side, his left wrist tightly gripped and pinned to the tarmac. He tried to pull away, straining against their grip, but they were stronger.

Pascoe put away his gun, and pulled out a pocket-knife. He tested its weight in his hand, and smiled. He turned to Tommy.

“What do you think?” he asked, “Which part should I cut off the doctor first? Since you’re the one he wronged, I’ll let you choose.”

“Nothing, preferably.”

“Why, what do you care? He’s your enemy.”

“Well, seeing as how he’s my prisoner, his wellbeing is my business,” said Tommy. “I’d be remiss if I let anything happen to him. I’d rather you put that knife away. We can talk like civilised men, the three of us.”

“Can we?” Pascoe scoffed. “You’re mistaken, Mister Shelby. The doctor’s no civilised man. Isn’t that right, Doctor?”

He spat on the ground next to Holford.

“I know what you are,” he continued, his lip curling with distaste. “What about your new friend here? Does he know what you are? Have you told him your little secret?”

Crouching down, he cut open Holford’s left sleeve, all the way from the cuff to the shoulder.

“Listen to me,” Holford pleaded. “You don’t have to do this. There are other ways this can be resolved. I have money, I have land. I can - ”

Holford never got to finish his sentence. Pascoe readjusted his grip on his knife and, with the casual precision of someone who’d done this many times before, began to carve at the doctor’s skin.

At first, Holford tried to suppress his cries - awful groans clawing their way up his throat and crawling through his gritted teeth. But as the skin began to peel away, he could contain himself no longer, and let out a series of screams - wild, wordless screams of pure pain.

Bothered by the noise, Tommy’s horse snorted and fidgeted. Tommy continued working at the rope, slowly wearing away strand after strand. One by one, he could feel them breaking.

Pascoe held up a piece of bloody skin. He gave it a wiggle, then tossed it aside.

“I’ll ask you again,” he said. “Have you betrayed Mister Mosley?”

Holford could barely breathe through the pain.

“No,” he gasped, “I swear.”

“Why are you lying to me?”

“I’m not lying! Shelby found out everything by himself. Mister Shelby, tell them.”

Tommy said nothing - not wanting to draw attention to himself while he was still working on the rope. Besides, he knew that there was nothing he could say that would make a difference. Pascoe was a man of desire, and he had already decided to torture Holford to death. No protests would dissuade him.

“Tell me the truth,” said Pascoe. “Tell me, and I’ll make it quick.”

“I am telling the truth!”

Pascoe went back in for another slice. Holford screamed until his voice cracked. At one point, he tried to gather himself and started to speak, but then the knife changed angle, and the words scattered into incoherence. The birds in the trees had fallen silent.

“Keep crying,” Pascoe encouraged him. He was breathing heavily, but not from exertion. His face was flushed with excitement. This work was what he lived for. He wasn’t in it for the money - he was in it for the pleasure.

Finally he stopped and straightened up. At his feet, Holford lay whimpering. The pain kept him paralysed - he couldn’t move for fear of making it worse.

“What shall I peel off next?” Pascoe asked. “Your face?”

“Stop,” Holford said faintly, “Just stop.”

“What about your hands, then? Or I can cut off your fingers.”

“Not - not my hands. I’m a doctor, I need my hands. I need them.”

“Soon you won’t need anything but a nice bit of earth, Doctor Holford. Turn him over.”

They flipped Holford over so that he lay face-up on the road. There was a dark stain at his crotch; in his agony, he’d lost control of his bladder.

“Look,” one of the men laughed. “The good doctor pissed himself.”

Tearing open the buttoned closure of Holford’s trousers, Pascoe yanked them off and flung them inside. Then, less roughly, he pulled Holford’s underwear down around his ankles. Holford wailed, curling his legs to try and cover himself.

“Leave me alone.”

“What’s the matter?” Pascoe mocked him.

“Leave me alone!”

The rope around Tommy’s wrists was tantalisingly frayed, but he resisted the urge to start yanking. If he fucked up now, it was all over. Patience was key. Without moving his head, his eyes darted around, seeking his next move. He observed that the man guarding him was the same one who’d disarmed him. Tommy’s Colt M1911 was holstered at the man’s side, under his arm. Tommy could see it. He just needed to reach it.

“Your orders were plain, Doctor. You were meant to ensure Mister Shelby didn’t bother Mister Mosley no more. You had the smarts - that’s why Mosley chose you. But you fucked up. I don’t know when or how, but you fucked up. Now you have to pay for it. Should I take your balls first or your cock first? I suppose it doesn’t matter. It’ll sting the same either way.”

“Just shoot me,” Holford begged, eliciting laughs from the men around him, “Just end it.”

“Now why would I do that? It’d be a waste.”

“Just fucking shoot me.”

“You’ll die when I choose. No sooner.”

Pascoe crouched over the doctor, seeking an angle to start cutting. He pushed up Holford’s shirt so it wouldn’t get in the way. Holford struggled, his whole body twisting as he tried to wriggle free. But he was no fighter, and these men were killers.

“Too bad I don’t have time to introduce you to the rest of my knives,” Pascoe continued, “You deserved longer. It’ll be Mister Shelby's turn soon. But I’ll make the most of the time we’ve got.”

He taunted Holford with the blade, letting the edge shine close to his skin.

“Don’t worry. I sharpen ‘em every day, keep ‘em nice and shiny. This won’t take long.” He glanced down to check Holford’s size. “It’s not like there’s much there anyway,” he added, laughing.

“Help me!” Holford cried, to nobody in particular.

“Nobody’s going to help you,” Pascoe promised. “Your servants called the police when you didn’t come home, but Mister Mosley hushed it up quick. As far as the world knows, you’ve caught a nasty bug off one of your patients, and you’ve gone on a nice trip to the Mediterranean for your health. Too bad the sea air won’t cure you. Even that woman you call a ‘wife’ isn’t worried. The coppers aren’t looking for you, nobody’s looking for you.”

Holford sobbed.

Pascoe tapped his knife against Holford’s thigh - gently enough to not break the skin, but firmly enough for Holford to feel the keen edge. The doctor’s struggles ceased - stilled by the blade’s touch. He fell silent.

“Look at me. Look at me so I can see your eyes.”

The knife’s edge glided gently upwards, towards Holford’s pelvis.

“I’ll peel a little off first. Then I’ll sever the whole member. Then I’ll shove it down your throat - that’s how you like it, after all. Mister Mosley told me so, while he was in a rage about you disappearing.”

Holford offered no resistance - his body had gone limp. He seemed almost as if he’d lost consciousness, but his eyes were still open, staring up at Pascoe with a glassy vacancy.

“Where did the tears go?” Pascoe tutted, “Oh well. You’ll be crying again soon enough.”

The rope broke.

Tommy flung himself upon his guard, momentum carrying them to the ground together. As they fell, Tommy’s fingers wrapped around the familiar handle of his holstered Colt. He drew it. Shot the guard in the face. Shot the two men holding Holford down. As Pascoe turned to look in the direction of the gunshots, Tommy shot him in the eye. Blood splattered on the road, on Holford’s face, on the doctor’s torn white shirt.

The one thug still living swung around, and bullets struck the car behind Tommy as he returned fire, but the exchange lasted only for a moment. As the echoes faded, Holford remained cowering on the ground, covering his head as if expecting more shots.

And just like that, five men lay dead in a quiet stretch of English countryside. After a while, the birds began to chirp again.

Wincing, Tommy rose to his feet, holstering his pistol. He stepped over the dead guard, kicking aside his limp leg, and scanned the surrounding fields to make sure nobody else was coming.

He turned to see Holford sitting upright among the dead bodies, naked from the waist down. The blood had drained from his face - he looked ghostly white and glassy-eyed. His ripped shirt was half-hanging off him.

Tommy approached him.

“Can you stand?” he asked.

Holford didn’t respond. He was shaking uncontrollably - a combination of shock, fear, and exposure. The flush of adrenaline was fading, leaving him cold.

“C’mon,” Tommy said gruffly, “Let’s get out of here.”

He reached for Holford’s good arm, but the doctor flinched away. A chill breeze reminded Tommy of the late hour. The shadows were long - soon it would be dark.

“Fuck this place,” he muttered.

He mounted his horse, fully intending to just ride away. But as he glanced down at the miserable doctor, he realised he couldn’t leave him behind.

What options did he have? Shoot Holford and leave him among the bodies, then let the police try and figure out what the hell had happened? Maybe they’d trace it back to Mosley, and the fascists would face consequences for Holford’s murder. But the idea quickly evaporated as he looked at the doctor’s tear-streaked face.

“Get up on the horse,” he said. “I’ll take you back.”

Holford remained mute.

“Look,” Tommy sighed. There were threats he could’ve made, but instead he chose the factual approach. “Night’s falling. It’ll be dark soon. There’s no guarantee anyone will pass by. If you stay here, you’ll freeze to death. If you come with me, I’ll take you back to where it’s warm and get you cleaned up.”

The promise of warmth must’ve persuaded Holford - or perhaps he just wanted to get away from Pascoe’s corpse. He rose unsteadily to his feet, pulling his shorts back up. Feeling wet cloth drag against his thighs, he glanced down, and belatedly remembered that he’d wet himself. Mortified, he looked up at Tommy to see if he’d noticed.

“It happens,” said Tommy, “Don’t worry about it. Get up on the horse, eh?”

Holford looked left and right along the road, hoping against hope that he might see another car coming; but Tommy was the only living person for miles. With resignation in his eyes, he hobbled towards the horse and rider; cradling his left arm, which was streaked with blood from Pascoe’s cutting.

Tommy extended his hand to help him up, but Holford hesitated. He tried to speak, but couldn’t. Written in his eyes was the question: Are you angry with me?

“You’re safe,” said Tommy.

After a moment more of hesitation, Holford took his hand, and with difficulty climbed onto the horse’s back. The stirrup - his only foothold - was already occupied, so instead he stepped on Tommy’s shoe with his socked foot, swinging his other leg up and over.

He tugged down the hem of his shirt, trying to stop his shorts from touching the back of Tommy’s coat. His body pressed against Tommy’s from behind, and his uninjured arm wrapped around him, seeking support. Tommy could feel the doctor shaking.

“Let’s get you back to the caravan.”

Tommy clucked his tongue and spurred the horse to a slow trot - she couldn’t go faster under their combined weight. They rode in silence through the gathering dark, Holford’s grip growing weaker and weaker as cold and exhaustion set in. After a while, Tommy felt the doctor’s head resting against his shoulder.

Chapter 8: Firelight

[lastromanticist]

Cath Cnocha update #3

Promising a plot summary was overzealous if you know anything about this text please reach out or if you want any more info on it just ask , I got 8 pages transcribed today, and Kelly's hand whilst better than his letters was still difficult to read. But I have preliminary findings. First the text opens with summary on Conn Cetathatch Reign with explicit mention of him Slaying Caithair Mhor during the battle of Magh maqha (Possibly Cath Magh Mucrama's ill have to check)which seems to repeat a tradition in the book of invasions.

Kelly transliterates names oddly , though I don't speak Irish, so maybe it's just because these translations are from before name standardisation. Cumhall is introduced as abroad a tradition that seems interesting to me when comparing with lays that deal with the subject in the dunaire fionn. I also have no idea what Kelly's exemplar manuscript is, but I can confirm it's in his hand. I am very familiar with his handwriting

The text seems long, really long. The last page I transcribed was the 8th after about 6 pages of the description of Cumhalls sea voyage back to Ireland.

It recounted how Cumhall plundered munster and Meath. His reason for this is because he felt like the chief of kingship. Which motivated the king's of Ireland to appeal to Conn. The absence of Tadg mac Nuadat from what I've read so far is interesting too.

Finally gonna have to compare this with what I have of the Irish american when I get good enough at reading irish scribal hand then speaking irish , because from the footnotes of that text alone I think these might be completely different text traditions which isn't surprising given the same is true of Cath Fionntragha I wouldn't be surprised.

[blueepink07]

Kotoko door analysis

(slight mentions of murder and violence)

In this post, I'll try my best to analyse Kotoko's door art! It will have 4 sections! Feel free to skip to which one you want, but I can't guarantee that there aren't parts in which I correlate what I say with an earlier phrase!

1. Colours

2. Door

3. Door elements

4. Kotoko - body language and item

Colours

The predominant colour for her door is deep pink. It's interesting, because it is very similar with her song title!

This shade of pink is often associated with boldness, exitement and something alarming.

Kotoko is excited to work with us, as stated in her voice lines for the second trial. She promises to use her strength for Es in order to punish the evildoers, happy that there is someone who she thinks understands her views.

"Kotoko: To be honest, I don't know your true intentions. And I don't know whether you are a similar person with similar thoughts. Who knows, maybe it's just my delusion of wishful thinking."

Kotoko is working alone most of the time during her MV. Her desires to change the world and punish the evil, are aspects that even she knows that are very hard to achieve alone. Despite the "lone wolf" saying and association with many characters, wolves are animals that work better together, as a pack. They are loyal and care about eachother, they hunt better and protect, having a common objective of self-preservation.

Kotoko's frustration and desperation in this voice line, illustrates that people, in general, aren't very fond of her actions and wishes. She yells at them, because she's tired of having to explain her desires. On top of that, the fact that she has to work alone, means that she is hardly achieving what she wants.

"From the beginning I've never asked for your understanding! My actions, one by one, are bringing earth closer to peace. Useless Weaklings should just shut up and let me protect them!"

When she sees Es, she can't shake the oportunity of not working with them. She is hoping for a change, and thinks that maybe, just maybe, she finally found the right person, the right partner.

"Kotoko: Let's shake hands. We will be companions."

Boldness is really self-explanatory considering Kotoko's character. She is not afraid to put herself in danger, because she is confident in her skills. In order to protect people, she is overworking herself and fights untill exhaustion. By calling herself a "fang", it indicates how she has the tendecy to consider herself a weapon, an intem used to deliver justice, showing how little concern she has for her well-being.

"Good morning, Es. I’m Yuzuriha Kotoko. I’m your fangs."

Deep pink is a colour that cathes people attention. It is composed from red and white, the darker the pink, the more red used. This colour is associated with something alarming, basically danger. It is a nice parallel, considering that Kotoko attacked the guilty prisoners, and is a dangerous person in the eyes of the evildoers.

Moreover, intense pinks often creates a sense of urgency. In the MV, Kotoko is seen running almost constantly, never taking a break, and trying her hardest to find clues and take action. She is determinated to deliver justice and to pursue her work. Along with her desperate and strong singing, the urgency can be felt and seen.

Next, we have a shade of teal, which is used for the text!

Teal symbolises individuality, renewal, morality, practicality, welcoming, logical, private.

Individuality -> Kotoko is seen as an unique person due to her unusual wishes. She is not understood by many, she gave up on asking people to understand her, although she craves for support and help.

Morality -> she has a strong sense of justice and such learned to distinguish what's bad or good, right or wrong. Moreover, being a law student, means that she wants to pursue a career based on these principles.

Practicality, renewal -> Kotoko is trying her hardest to give her best, even more now that she has Es as a partner. Practicality can also mean "usefulness" or "utility". Combined with Kotoko's views about herself, in which she considers as a weapon to be used, it makes a lot of sense with her character.

"(laughs) Just as I hoped. So you want to work together with me, right? I’ll live up to your expectations and use up all of my power for you."

Welcoming -> Kotoko offered Es to work together, basically welcoming them to team up. Even now, this most likely represents her willingness to continue the deal, looking at Es with a pround grin, in a way that express her happiness that she has a partner.

Logical, private -> Kotoko, despite offering to work with Es, didn't reveal much information about herself, other than her beliefs. Although she wants to work with us, for logical reasons, she keeps details in the unfortunate event that she might be betrayed. Also, in her MV, she is shown carefully finding information, analysing it and, then, going into action. She carefully plans, and keeps her identity anonymous, the best example being Kotoko hurting the man from the alley with men boots, for the police to not suspect her.

Door

Now that we covered the colours, let's proceed to the door.

Due to medieval style that it has, and because the material used it's most likely iron, I think it looks very similar with a dungeon door.

"A dungeon is a room or cell in which prisoners are held, especially underground. Dungeons are generally associated with  medieval castles, though their association with tortue probably belongs more to the Renaissance period."

Considering the definition, I think it fits a lot with Kotoko. She sees herself as Es's companion, above the other prisoners, whom she beats up based on our judgement. The torture part isn't far fetched either, seeing the state Mahiru and Fuuta are during this trial and, who knows, maybe even in the next.

However, the appearance of the dungeons can have a bigger correlation with Kokoko's character. Dungeons are places of torture and imprisonment, therefore they correlate with deeply hidden, unconscious thoughts and fears.

It's no wonder that her VD will be pretty much Kotoko and Es discussing her current actions and the deal. Even in the song preview, she is asking why do we want to stop her? Isn't it what justice is about?

Kotoko might feel a litte betrayed by Es, who doesn't want to continue this vigilante justice in the prison. As I stated before, Kotoko is very happy, having Es as a companion, with whom her work is easier, feeling more closer to ending her mission of eradicating the evildoers. Kotoko is a logical person, so I think that deep down she will realize easily that her and Es don't have the same ideals and principales. She was alone for a long time, her wishes not being seen with good eyes by others. I don't think Kotoko doesn't fear deep down that Es will betray her, if she'll be voted guilty, although these things will surely be hidden by her tough front. She is scared of not having a purpose, a way to prove herself, and without Es, all these things will dissapear.

Moreover, the fact that this door is the most "open" in the sense that, due to the iron bars, we can see the darkness, her subconscious, it indicates that she'll probably be the most open to share her views, new details about the crime. After all, even in the first voice drama, she has no fear in letting Es see her "heart", and now, she has the same attitude.

"Kotoko: After all, Es, you can touch (access) my heart (inner world), right? Through songs and videos..

Es: That is correct.

Kotoko: Then there's no problem. People who understand will automatically do so."

Kotoko, in reality, didn't change much, but she become more confident, because now she has a reason to give justice, a new purpose. In a way, it's like an addiction for Kotoko, this feeling of being right and punishing evil. And it was even more pronounced, because of our vote and deal. An addiction it's not something that you can get rid off easily: the more you do, the more you want it and need it.

"Don't stop/ I need a good reason to give justice/ Give me my next purpose"

Now, this will be just a speculation on my part, but based on the fact that dungeons can symbolise (the deepest fears and thoughts), and that the door is the "most open", I think we will dig much deeper in Kotoko's subconscious, maybe finding more elements of her relationship with her own desires and the lack of self care, maybe even more information about why she made this decision of dedicating herself for justice. Even if these things will not happen, what I'm sure of is that Kotoko's MV will be a banger!

Door elements

Because we covered the door itself, we will continue analysing the elements from it: the wolf claw marks, the eye and the weighing scale.

The claw marks

"The imagery of the claw has long been associated with the idea of the hunter, the protector, and the warrior. The sharp edges of the claw symbolises our ability to defend ourselves and our loved ones and represents the primal force that stirs within us. Whether carved from stone or crafted from metal, the claw symbolises the strength and perseverance that lies within us all."

No wonder, claw marks symbolise Kotoko's strenght and ability to protect others, as well as her ferocity when she is giving punishments to evildoers. It's not the first time when she feels connected to the wolves, seeing herself as a part of the pack. She is determinated to achieve her goals of eradicating evil from the world.

Claw marks can symbolise passion and intense emotions. The intoxicating feeling that Kotoko has every time she manages to find a bad person, when she has a new purpose, a new utility. Also, it can illustrate Kotoko's lack of sympaty for these kind of people and how she doesn't feel any remorse, being pround of her actions.

I would also want to point out the rust:

Although ruin, most of the time, symbolises neglect and decay, further accentuating Kotoko's murder and the beatings in the prison, which resulted in Mahiru being on the brink of death, it can also represent endurance and impermanence.

"Rust is also a reminder of impermanence. It serves as a symbol of the fact that everything in life is temporary and has an expiration date. It can serve as a reminder to cherish the present moment and not take anything for granted."

In this case, Kotoko will most probably lose her power and authority that it was granted to her by Es, when accepting the deal. She exploited this new power, by punishing the guilty prisoners without Es's knowledge, being convinced that their ideals are totaly aligned. In the end, this deal will turn out to be nothing but temporary, depending on her future verdict.

Also, isn't it interesting how every claw mark has three scratch marks (Fuuta's number), and together they are six (Mahiru's number)?

Weighing scale

"The scales (specifically, a two-pan, beam balance) are one of the traditional symbols of justice, as wielded by statues of Lady Justice. This corresponds to the use in a metaphor of matters being "held in the balance"."

This one is a pretty known fact, that scales represent justice, fairness and equal treatment.

Justice is pretty much the main part of Kotoko's character, so no wonder that we have an association with the lady of justice. However, it's important to remember that we are the ones that are voting the characters, Kotoko is just following our decisions. So not only it serves as a reminder for the deal established, but also at our own hypocrisy. Our judgements are nothing but impure, they are not fair, because our biases come to play. So seeing this weighing scale, which is supposed to represent fairness, it's quite funny. To further highlight my point, the eye on the door is not covered, not even closed.

So in the end, it's an interesting way to show our hypocrisy and Kotoko's, because, she's following our judgement without bothering to find more information about their specific crimes, blindly trusting Es, in the process.

Eye

Considering that we talked about the eye, let's continue with it.

The way is shaped, and because of the big emphasis of showing more Kotoko's right eye (here, in the door art, but also, in the thumbnail), this more likely represents the eye of Ra.

What is the eye of Ra?

"The Egyptian eye is found in various amulets. The idea here is that it can help push the negative energy away while bringing harmony back into your life. It's interesting because a lot of pharaohs were using it as a way to protect themselves while also destabilizing the government. That said, you need to be careful if you choose to invoke this energy. It can sometimes become violent and out of control."

This eye represents very well the situation that we have with Kotoko. If we consider her the eye of Ra, it can easily illustrate how we "invoked" her by making this deal, in order to protect us and give us information about the life in prison, but she became too violent and went out of control, punishing the guilty prisoners without Es's acord.

What's even more interesting is that eye of Ra amulets were most of the time coloured in a dark crimson colour to ward against evil spirits. Kotoko has dark crimson eyes, the similarities between this eye and her are fascinating!

Moreover, there is a legend in which the human Ra become old and weak, so people started to disregard his laws and rules. Annoyed, he punished the people, sending his daughter Ra's lion eye, which anihilated almost all humanity!

A summary of the legend: feel free to skip!

"According to legend, the human Ra was old and frail, and because of this, his people began to disregard his laws and directives. To punish his people, he dispatched his daughter, Ra’s lion’s eye. The eye grew enraged and annihilated humanity. The gods were worried that the eye would kill everyone. Ra got his eyes drunk on red beer and passed out. The eye then calmed down and returned to Ra."

There are other myths too. For example, one of them, which is very similar with what Kotoko is doing this trial, states that the Eye of Ra is designed to acquire information. Then justice is brought based on the info accumulated by the eye.

"Kotoko: Using you, in the position of a prison guard, with information you received from the interrogations. Paired with me, in the position of a prisoner, with information I receive from my life in prison… us sharing it. What do you think?"

Anyway, I think we talked enough about this eye, let's proceed to next section, which is the last!

Kotoko - body language and item

Kotoko's shown grinning at us with a confident attitude, quite proundly, having one of her hands on her hips, and in the other holding a baton.

Grin

"Grin is defined as a facial expression that expresses the feeling of pleasure, amusement, or insincere. The body language carried out for this expression is that the person smiles in the manner that his mouth is open and the teeth are visible."

Feeling of pleasure of having found her "awaited hero" and punishing the people who have sinned.

Hand on hip

"The hand on hip pose usually means you're feeling confident and ready to take action."

Kotoko is demonstrating us that she is ready to do whatever "next purpose" or task we are giving her. She is looking at us like we are her partner, and she can't wait to take again action!

Also:" just like how the pose can make you feel more confident, placing your hands on your hips can assure you that you’re capable and know what you’re doing."

At the same time, she is also reassuring herself and her actions, probably thinking that the task ahead or "the dirty work" as she calls it in VD, will be difficult, but, at the same time, will bring her the satisfaction of knowing that she contributed more in punishing the bad people.

An interesting fact!

"Police officers often place their hands on their hips to show that they’re ready to take charge. This pose is so common in police officers that you might be able to tell that someone is a cop when they’re not in uniform!"

Further implying the new authority that it was granted to Kotoko after the deal!

Considering that we talked about police officers, let's get to the item, more precisely the baton! (btw, kind of upset, because I can't really find something else to talk about her pose, as for other characters! But her door is still one of the prettiest!)

Baton

The first time I've seen the art, I genually thought for a moment that she is holding a sword, realizing shortly after that is just the baton from her second sprite! But, because I made this correlation, I immediately thought, again, at the Lady of Justice, but this time, at her weapon!

"In ancient times, a guilty verdict was executed with a literal swing of the sword on the neck of the accused. The symbolism is thus used to convey the idea that justice, when enforced, should be swift and with finality.

Swords likewise symbolize authority and respect, denoting that justice stands by its every ruling and decision. However, notice that Lady Justice’s sword is unsheathed, meaning justice is always transparent and is never just an implement of fear."

The baton, in this case, is like the sword for the Lady of Justice! (so many associations with her!). Kotoko is using it to showcase her authority and to command respect. Es is the one that "rules" and makes the decisions. Kotoko is the one who is swinging her "sword" and punishes, basically doing the dirty work.

"You're too kind. You can't bear to see the prison changing due to your choices, can you? You need allies. I'll do the dirty work."

This is very long! I am tired, but also excited to see Kotoko's MV! The symbolism, the elements on the door are so fascinating... It actually makes you wonder if Kotoko sees herself as a Lady of Justice in her own way!

Thank you for reading! ~🐺

[amazingmsme]

Pre-Infusion Pity Party ramble under the cut but I’m just so overwhelmed rn & just want to get it all out

But god do I hate being like this. Why do I have to get stabbed in the chest every fucking month with a big ass needle, & pumped full of chemicals every other month just so I can fucking live? Why did my life have to change so much when I was just a kid? There’s gonna come a time where I’ve been knowingly living with this disease for longer than I had without it, & I don’t know how I’ll feel when that day comes. Rare disease awareness day just happened & I completely forgot & didn’t even care. It’s coming up on the 7 year anniversary of my outbreak, & it’s always a rough time for me

& to make matters worse, for over a fucking year it feels like older family members are dropping like flies. I don’t even know how many funerals I’ve been to in the past year. & we have yet another one on Sunday. & you see the toll it takes on everyone around you & you’re just like… are they next? Are they gonna be taken away?

I don’t have any irl friends because my supposed best friends stabbed me in the back & burned our friendship to the ground over a long torturous year, & while I am genuinely so much happier without them in my life, I feel so isolated. When I try to talk & engage with people, they act like you’re a fucking freak for trying to have a human conversation. Everyone is afraid of interaction now, & it sucks because humans are supposed to be social creatures. & it hurts because I’ve missed out on so much social interaction with my peers when I was & I know that my disease played a pretty big hand in that because I was the sick kid. Other mothers said shit to my mom’s face about how healthy their kids were, & even family members implied shit, essentially blaming her for my illness/weak immune system

& then you get diagnosed & those people fucking grovel & act so sorry & sympathetic but you know their true hypocritical character. It’s honestly revealed the ugliest of humanity. True sympathy is rare I feel like, replaced with pity

& I hate to say it, but most of the time, I don’t even like what I’m writing. There’s a line in Rainbow Rowell’s book Fangirl where Cath was reflecting on herself & her writers block/fics she’s written where she contemplates how many times she’s written this line, or some version of it? & I get caught up writing things others want to see, but the writing itself feels like a chore. & it’s not the fact that I think what I’m writing is bad, but I feel nothing.

I’m writing for fandoms & characters I’m not particularly wild about, & feel obligated to fulfill the request. Tbh there were only a handful of tickletober fics that I was actually excited about writing, & I fucking hate that. It’s why I was so over the moon when all the Hatchetfield & Epic peeps started showing up. Because I felt inspired again, & I can’t remember the last time I felt a spark like that

I haven’t been truly happy in a very long time, & I’m not sure when they’ll get better. But there’s still glimmers of light through the storm… even if they’re small or fleeting

TLDR: I’m fucking sick of getting infusions for the rest of my life, people all around me are dying, my best friends betrayed me, & I’ve been in one of the biggest creative slumps