#but in the single most incomprehensible and unfamiliar way

[the-single-element]

Christ, the King

In the early 20th century, as the dust settled from the incomprehensible death toll of World War 1 and the political upheaval that it created, Pius XI wrote a pair of open letters about the role of God, and the role of seeing others as our own family, in an increasingly nationalist world.

One of the results of those letters was a new religious feast day, which we celebrate today: a solemnity that celebrates Jesus as "King of the Universe".

What an interesting title.

After all, Jesus spoke often of a certain Kingdom. But he also said that the Kingdom about which he spoke is "not of this world".

And to describe him as its "king"... well, that's not new. After all, we see people try to call him a king throughout the Gospels. And every time people do it... he dodges the title. He refuses to use it for himself, neither confirming nor denying. He says "those are your words, not mine". He even leaves the area to avoid people acting on that idea.

On the other hand, he freely admitted he had authority. He deliberately equated himself with the "Son of Man" of Daniel's apocalypse, a connection confirmed in the later apocalypse written by John of Patmos.

Surely he has authority in the Kingdom of God.

Surely a Kingdom has a King.

So what was he running from? Why was he so gunshy of the role?

Well. What do we imagine when we think of kings? We picture absolute authority, yes. But... as this world understands authority.

We imagine a man on a throne, draped in expensive clothes and accessories, leaning on a sword. We imagine a man who lords it over his domain, who wields his power according to his own will, without any checks or balances, whose might is such that he can unilaterally establish justice... or else, act unjustly and not only get away with it, but get everyone to act like it isn't unjust.

We imagine... at the farthest extreme... Tom Parkinson-Morgan's fever dream of a man wielding life-or-death power who doesn't even realize anymore that his decisions are life-or-death, a man who "may murder without a single impulse, or even intent, sight, breath, or even thought of his murder [...] an idiot indifferent to his own violence."

Jesus's contemporaries might have had such thoughts about other kings. But their concept of "the king of Israel" was, at least at first glance, more positive. Their dreams were aimed in another direction: the hope of the Messianic age. They imagined that the Messiah, the "son of David", would restore the kingdoms of Israel and Judah. Would reclaim a particular stretch of sacred land between the Jordan and the Mediterranean, would free them from Roman control, would maybe even conquer new territories for the Jewish people to live.

A brighter vision, for them. But there's that nationalism that had Pius XI so worried, right? Our people, our kingdom. Someone from our own culture and ethnic stock sitting on a throne, conquering by the sword.

Over and over, the Gospels remind us, by their descriptions of Jesus's contemporaries, just how badly Jesus's message was misunderstood in his own time. He tried as hard as he could to explain the unfamiliar logic of the Kingdom of God - saying things directly, using metaphors and parables, and even performing miracles that could serve as working, real-world examples - and people consistently took it the wrong way.

And none more than this. People who accepted him as the Messiah - people who should have been in the most receptive position to understand what he was trying to say - were so sure they knew what "king" meant that if he ever uttered the word they would have "dragged him off" to put a crown on his head and a sword in his hand.

But that kind of kingship is impossible in the Kingdom of God. It doesn't even make sense. In the Kingdom, in that world we long for, authority is service - the two are one and the same. Jesus described it himself, modeling what true kingship is (according to the Kingdom's logic) at the Last Supper, in contrast to those earthly kings.

And if Jesus is the King of this Kingdom, it's not by his earthly descent from David. It's not even exactly by his divine nature.

No. He came into his Kingdom on the Cross. That's why he replied to the repentant plea of that crucified man to "remember me when you come into your kingdom" with "today you shall be with me in paradise". The Kingdom had come to Earth, there, on a bloodstained hill.

And this is otherworldly to us. Not because we can't understand it in the abstract, in theory, but because it's so hard to relate to our day to day existence. Like... what the world would even look like if this was true? What would it even mean to have a world where authority is not the power to command and control, but rather found in service? So many of our baseline assumptions about humanity, about society, are tied up in a paradigm that seems antithetical to this.

We even have idioms for it, don't we? Idioms to express the cynical acceptance that brute force can make people treat evil as good. Phrases like "might makes right".

Yet as otherworldly as we may find it... this is the Kingdom Jesus has established. He came into ultimate authority by ultimate service. By going to die, he touched the foundations of the Kingdom of God and has built his fortress on that bedrock. He has proven by example, by dying and by resurrecting, that the existence of the Kingdom means, far from "might making right"... that somehow, in defiance of everything we've been taught by this world... right makes might.

What does that mean for us?

We await the Kingdom. We listen to Daniel and John's apocalyptic imagery, their promises that beyond the tribuations lie an incredible hope, that beyond the desert lies the promised land, that beyond the Cross we may find the Resurrection.

The hope of awaiting the Kingdom is the hope that, some day, all of a sudden, the rules of this world won't have power anymore. That's what Advent is about - knowing what we're missing, and waiting "with inexpressible longing" for it to finally arrive.

But we need to actually know what we're missing. We need to be careful about the allure of earth-logic solutions.

We need to be a little hesitant, in particular, about longing for rulers. For some universally loved political leader - or at least, "universally loved" among those we associate with - to establish earthly peace. Do we think that will free us from worry? Do we think that kingdom will last?

David, the King of Israel whose descendent Jesus's contemporaries were awaiting, had such a kingdom. But his dynasty crumbled too, tragically, because he eventually capitulated to using his earthly might, to being a king in the earthly sense (counting his subjects like cattle, and choosing the best of the herd for himself), instead of relying on God's logic.

And in our modern age... well, Pius XI wrote those letters, in part, because he was watching kingdoms crumble right outside his window. He was one of the first popes, after the Middle Ages, to openly acknowledge that earthly monarchies had no special advantage over other forms of government or state (although it took, as it often does for Catholic hierarchs, longer for Rome than it did for almost any other institution).

The world as we know it is passing away. Its logic is metastable - it looks unshakeable, it looks secure, but push it too hard and it collapses.

And what of our own authority? What of our own power?

There's a reason we have another one of those idioms, grown in the soil of our cynicism over a cynical world: "power corrupts".

We can't let ourselves think of power like this world's logic encourages us to. The danger of, without even noticing it, knuckling under to "might makes right" is too great to ignore.

And this is the reason that, despite Jesus's protests when he was here, there is a reason to imagine him as a king. Not as an earthly king, but as a King of the other type, a King in the Kingdom of God, whose authority has made a beachhead in this world as well.

Because if, as John of Patmos implied when his apocalypse turned to the topic of Christ's future triumph, Jesus is not just a "king" but a "king of kings", an emperor?

We who have power here on Earth, to survive - to not be destroyed by the bribe that turns kings into tyrants - must be willing to turn that power into service. To see that power as delegated, as entrusted, and "to whom much is entrusted, much will be required". To join our own earthly fiefdoms to a world and a power structure where authority is service - where to give multiplies the gift astronomically - where life isn't zero-sum or mathematical but find its foundations in expressions loving care... and then to act like it.

The Kingdom of God - the only kingdom or authority which does not pass away - is coming.

And the more of our own lives we can join to that kingdom, to the eternal world and its weakness that is stronger than strength, the more of it will survive to see the new heaven and the new earth.

May this be a hope for us, as we enter the season of Advent, and through all the long years until that moment when Jesus returns in glory, the King of Kings who wipes our tears away.

After washing their feet, Jesus put on his robe again, sat down at table with them, and asked, “Do you understand what I was doing? You call me ‘Teacher’ and ‘Lord,’ and you're right; that’s what I am. So if I, your Lord and Teacher, have washed your feet, you ought to wash each other’s feet. I have given you an example to follow. Do as I have done to you.

[pocketramblr]

I read Last Dragon Chronicles forever ago and the part I remembered best is being really confused the first time I read Fire World

Fire World is so weird it literally plays out like a fanfiction of the rest of the series- an alternative universe where David gets to be the bio son of his found parental figures? Where his love interest gets to be introduced as his childhood friend? Where his future daughter just turns up?? Also everything is magical in a different way? I very much expected that Fire World would turn out to be an in universe story David wrote to get some kind of closure but then it turned out to be a 'normal' parallel universe and gadzooks was calling to this au David for,,, some reason?? For help I guess?? What happened at the end??

#we got your bio family trope we got your childhood friends priority of the author's main ship we got the mc getting to be a magical child #and an important person central to the plot and world much earlier than in canon #it's. literally fanfic stuff #but in the single most incomprehensible and unfamiliar way #but dang it if i didn't love the series and read it all even if now I'm confused #chaos is my lifeblood #pocket talks to people

[thunderheadfred]

❄️Todoroki HC's🔥

Aged-up pro hero Shouto. NSFW under the cut. Minors do not interact.

- - -

General

Might as well be tied with Bakugou for the #1 pro hero spot; they seem to pass the crown back and forth every other year. Everyone knows about their intense frenemies uber-rivalry. Well. Everyone but Shouto.

He's asked to speak at a lot of charity events. If he has time to prepare (and hire a speech writer) he is capable of stirring crowds to standing ovations. But if caught unawares... he gets cornered into hilarious on-the-spot interviews. He's been memed. Mercilessly.

He's an OP character, but unfortunately he rolled -500 in fashion sense. Eventually he wises up and hires a stylist. When he finally cuts his hair a slightly different and even more flattering way, it's a national event. People faint in the street.

Does god-awful sleight-of-hand magic tricks when he meets young fans, even though nobody asked him to. The second-hand embarrassment is palpable. But he keeps doing it. God, why does he keep doing it?

Has hovering arm syndrome in every fan photo.

Super into pop music. Not a fan of any particular group or artist, couldn't tell you the name of a single song. But every time he turns up the volume on the radio it's like... really? THIS? Probably pumps that shit through his hero agency to keep up morale. Has no idea what you mean when you tell him his music taste doesn't match his personality.

Similarly, he enjoys brainless romantic comedies and old silent movies. Doesn't laugh at jokes but loses it over physical comedy. Thinks Buster Keaton and Harold Lloyd are the funniest people who ever walked the earth.

He's long and limber. Runs practically a hundred miles every day just to "relax." Doesn't even get sweaty doing it. A filthy yoga addict. He'll probably live to be 200 years old.

He can regulate his body temperature for quirk use but in everyday life he's always half a degree outside the Goldilocks zone. It drives him quietly insane; he has an epic love-hate relationship with his thermostat.

Has a therapy animal pet. Doesn't matter if it's a dog or a cat or a bird or an iguana or a teeny tiny rodent. It's the best-behaved animal in the country and speaks more languages than you. It has its own room and an instagram account with millions of followers.

Lives in a traditional Japanese estate that doubles as a national treasure. Probably has government-appointed snipers at the gate, and he's just like, "don't worry about it." You are afraid to touch anything. Fuck, don't even look at anything, just to be safe.

Has an outstanding personal chef who only gets to cook five things unless (thank fuck!!) company comes over. Impossibly picky eater. He rotates between a few "safe" foods and suspiciously side-eyes everything else. If you cook something unfamiliar for him it will be the most awkward meal of your life, because he'd never tell you he doesn't like it. But oh lord, just look at his face.

This clashes directly with his love of traveling. Frequently uses his hero earnings to visit exotic foreign locales over long weekends... but rarely tries the food.

- - -

Dating

A grey-ace demisexual disaster. You could count the number of people he's been attracted to on one hand. He falls madly in love every time and always gets his heart smashed to pieces when his crush can't magically intuit the meaning of his frigid longing glances and generically courteous romantic gestures.

Which is stupid, because he gets propositioned constantly. He can't walk out the door without being flirted with. People keep slipping him their phone numbers and he always directs them to his agency like a moron. It's a good thing he will never understand how attractive he is because that's the only thing keeping him from total world domination.

Conventional attractiveness does not compute. Shouto doesn't have a type, doesn't care that he's an eleven whilst you are merely mortal. He will fall for your personality above all else.

Probably falls head over heels because your schedules overlap in a completely ordinary way and he witnesses you doing something endearing or brave or most likely: utterly mundane.

Pick a favorite, because you're his favorite coworker, or his favorite barista, or his favorite random bystander in line at the grocery store. You made him smile once; then he spent the next three months daydreaming about your future together before you accidentally stomped on his foot, initiating your first real conversation.

He's big on healthy communication. HUGE. He goes to therapy and it shows. Will talk through literally everything to the point of delirium. Sometimes his dedication to resolving every issue right away can get overwhelming; sometimes you just need some frickin time alone. But it pays off, because the two of you have practically never have a "real fight." There's just no way for bad vibes to fester.

STILL, his family wasn't exactly... erm... verbally or emotionally supportive, shall we say. For that reason, he might not give you all the compliments you deserve, because it simply doesn't occur to him to do so. He assumes you know how he feels. If you're self-conscious or insecure in the relationship, it might take him a while to notice. But when he figures it out (or even better, when you tell him directly) he will make it up to you with enthusiasm.

Will take you on lavish dates. Spoils you rotten without actually intending to. He's clueless about money. If you wanted a sugar daddy, you just hit the fucking jackpot. But if the word valet makes you uncomfortable, perhaps suggest some romantic picnics instead. He can still go all out with the food and five-star location without making you see cartoon dollar signs.

Chronic Insomniac. Stays up too late watching YouTube every night. His viewing history is an incomprehensible blur of k-pop music videos, serial killer icebergs, and super girly crafty ASMR channels. When he's watching a video, he is unreachable. Please call back later and try again.

He's disgustingly cute when he sleeps. Doesn't snore, but drools. Sometimes the drool freezes and leaves frost trails on his face in the morning. Still sleeps with the giant stuffed cat pillow that his mother gave him when he was like, zero. He'll inadvertently suffocate you with it, and you will welcome death with open arms because awwwwww!!!!!

The first time he tells you he loves you will be after your traditional Japanese shinto wedding. You won't hear it again until you start a family. Honestly, it's a good thing he doesn't say it often and is always holding you when it happens. It's a knee-buckler.

- - -

Icy-Hot

I don't even need to say it. Shouto is as old-fashioned as they come. You will never open another door or pull out another chair for yourself as long as you live. He will ask before he holds your hand. He will ask before he kisses you. He will stop and check in if you so much as breathe funny during sex.

If you don't orgasm at exactly the same time while staring into one another's eyes, he'll consider himself a failed lover. God forbid you want him to pound you into the futon... cause you are going to have to present that scenario to him in writing first.

Physical intimacy rarely leads to sex. He loves cuddling, craves physical affection. He'll sprawl all over you and turn into goo while you hold him close. He's an amazing, astounding, phenomenally good kisser. And that's... nice and all... but sometimes you have to grab his face and say, "Shouto, I'm horny," before he's like so that's why you're currently dry-humping me?

Even if he isn't technically a virgin the first time (or the millionth time) you sleep together, you won't know the difference. He's a blushing violet. Every. Fucking. Time. This doesn't mean he's a bad lay, oh no. But there's always ten minutes of confused bumbling before he hits his stride and remembers oh yeah, I DO know how to fuck good.

Absolutely silent during sex. Focused. Intense. Sometimes you have to push him a little to make any kind of noise at all, just so you know you're pleasing him (oh don't worry, you are).

His cock is Just Right. Not to big or too small. Perfectly proportioned and symmetrical. Somehow pretty. Like a fucking factory prototype. It truly is not fair.

Gets handsy and restless at night, even if you both have work the next day. Seems to crave sex at three in the morning. You've given him more than one exhausted handjob.

Gets offended if you don't cum. Will go down on you for hours. Of course he uses his quirk to tease you. He doesn't typically use it during actual intercourse, but he's all about foreplay, and he'll use every tool in his arsenal.

His sex drive is completely fucking unpredictable. Sometimes he's all over you, other times he's an icy slab. His line of work leaves him busy and stressed on a near-constant basis, so you can't entirely blame his personality for this one. Just give him some time and help him take care of his basic needs. He'll come back around soon enough.

#todoroki shouto #todoroki x you #todoroki x reader #todoroki x y/n #gender neutral reader #todoroki headcanons #bnha headcanons #mha headcanons #smut #fred writes #bnha #mha

[lovelystay]

ℂ𝕠𝕞𝕖 𝕙𝕠𝕞𝕖 🍒

𝕟𝕠𝕟 𝕔𝕠𝕟

(ℝ𝕖𝕢𝕦𝕖𝕤𝕥)

[Rᴇsᴜᴍᴇ : han jisung had a boring college life , nothing exciting until he started to know you. You were like a drug and he quickly got addicted. ]

Jisung’s life is very boring , no family , no friends, no girlfriend , no special skill , nothing exciting . You were probably the only good human interaction he had in all of his college years , a young beautiful student , third year in college , very lovely with him. He thought you were interested in him , but , you only came up to him because of some activities that your teacher told every new student to do, like asking older classes about their college experience and some other things.

After you’ve talked to him , he was smiling all day his heart was beating fast , he couldn’t stop thinking about you . Han tried to get closer to you , but each time he did ,it was too short , too fast for him . I mean, of course , he is in his last year of college and you’re in your third year , the schedules are so different . But jisung found another way to stay close to you , the difference is ; you’re not aware . As weird and creepy as it sounds , he thinks that it’s not a big deal because he’s not hurting you ...

Han’s life was boring and lifeless , so devoting his free time entirely to you wouldn’t be really bothering .

After stalking you on social media and tracking you down from time to time , he decided that owning something from you would be a great form of reward .

Today was the day when he finished classes an hour sooner than you. Which gave him the time to get to your dorm . As soon as his classes ended he hurried to get there , he had no one to wait for and no one to wait for him .

His heartbeat got really fast but he was confident anyway , the doors could get unlocked with a 4 digits code , Han sometimes followed you when you get back to your room so he already had the code fully memorised in his head .

Quietly and surely , jisung stepped into your little home , penetrating your personal space without you knowing anything. He was very quiet and careful with the noise, the walls were pretty thin and no one was supposed to be here .

With his bag still on his back, Han bends down to take off his shoes leaving them almost right in front of the door and then rush to find out where your room is .

He found it pretty quickly after opening a random door, everything looks so nice. It smells good , everything is cleaned and pretty just like jisung would have imagined. Han stepped inside and wondered about what he was doing , wasn’t it a little too much ? Was he crossing a line ? Why would he do something you clearly would dislike if he likes you so much ? Too much question came to himself and he decided to answer none, the bad has already been done , he’s here already, he can’t step back after coming this far...

He shook his head trying to clear his mind and searched your room to finally open your closet . The first thing that came to his mind were your underwear. Jisung loved to imagine you in cute lingerie and even just basic underwear it would turn him on like crazy and would get him a boner randomly in class . As soon as he opened the closet ,he opened random drawers in hope to find what he’s looking for. Jisung let out an audible gasp when he found laced black underwear, his heartbeat got faster and faster imagining you wearing those , just for him . He took them in his hands and slowly observed them , watching every single details. Curious , he wondered what they would smell like , he could feel his sanity slowly leaving his body and mind not caring about anything anymore. Han took them in one hand and brings them up to his nose , he practically inhaled In them, appreciating the good scent they had. Jisung quickly got carried away , instead of heading back to his home and living your dorm before you came , he took off his own underwear and pants down to his thighs and masturbated with your piece of clothes. He shifts between putting the underwear on his pink tip and down his nose ,thrusting up to get himself off, he immediately set a high pace because of how excited he was. The adrenaline of sneaking in your dorm was already getting him sick but having an underwear you probably wear not so long ago got him really rilled up.

Little did he know , you had a test on this last hour and you could leave earlier if you finished before the bell rings. Which happened, you were so happy, the test wasn’t as difficult as you thought which resulted in you completing it pretty quickly. With a smile on your face you headed back to your dorm, happy to finally getting to rest after this day that seemed so long. You instantly perceive a pair of shoes that were totally unfamiliar to you , they look like a man’s. No one even came here and you don’t have any pair looking like this one. It triggered something in you, someone is in your home without your consent and is probably dangerous. With your body starting slowly to shake out of fear, you tried your best to be quiet and got to the kitchen to get a knife. Your hearing wasn’t the best but wasn’t bad either, you could hear some sounds coming out of the direction of your bedroom. Someone is definitely there. Slowly and on your tiptoes you walked to your bedroom scared to life and wanting to get that stranger out of your home.

Your hands seemed to start trembling but your grip on your knife was tight enough so you were sure you wouldn’t drop it .

The steps you took were small because you were nervous but you still were getting more closer and closer to your room. The door was slightly open , not completely but not closed either which allowed who to take a peek of who was inside. You moved forward until your shoulder was touching the door, you stopped breathing and focused. But your grip on the knife loosened and you dropped it, the sound of the knife dropping on the floor scared you so you immediately screamed, Jisung was as scared as you, he knew when he heard the sudden noise that it could only be you that was there. You glanced at the person that you soon identified to be Han jisung , he was almost naked , you could see his private parts and your closet was open with panties dropped to his side , you understood what he was doing and panicked. He definitely knew you were there now. While you were almost paralysed with fear, he hurried to put his pants back on as nothing happened. Your thoughts were tangled you couldn’t understand a lot and everything got exhausting and stressful at the same time really quickly. You saw him struggling to get up and trying to get to you so you started screaming in case someone was passing by and could hear you and save you , which would probably not happen . Han was quick to put his hand on your mouth to shut you up , you got disgusted and scared and told him «You’re a dirty and disgusting pervert get off me! » you screamed fear and total honesty. Jisung get surprised at your words and got mad. He loves you so much and care about you but instead you just think of him like a disgusting being. He lets you go for a second to get the panties and immediately shove them in your mouth roughly making you gag a little.  «  Who’s the dirty and disgusting now huh ? Try and talk with those cum filled underwear of yours in your mouth. » he said laughing at you and how dumb you looked.

« I wonder how you actually taste down there » he smirked and touched you from your breast down to your covered pussy only hearing muffled screams coming out of your mouth. Han sweared he could’ve cum right there just by feeling your intimate parts up in his hands. He bite his lips and pressed his hand harder on your clit giggling at your face with the wide eyes you just gave him. « Let me show you how good I can make you feel baby » jisung said his voice full of sincerity and looking at you eyes full of lust.

You shook your head left and right knowing that the words that would come out if you tried to talk would be incomprehensible. He smirked and told you « I know you act like you don’t want it because you’re scared but I want to taste you anyway ». He noticed that you two were still standing next to your room’s door so he grabbed you by the arm and forced you to go with him on the bed. Jisung then brabbed the top of your bottoms and slide them down to your ankles leaving you completely exposed to him. You tried and shook you legs to hit him and maybe get away but he was way stronger that you and you probably wouldn’t be able to go past your bedroom’s door anyway. Han smacked your thighs and seized your ankles to spread your legs and force them open, he laughed pridefully when he got a clear glance of your vagina, he could only imagine it before but now he surely won’t have to anymore.

Jisung grabs you by the thighs and dives in. His tongue teased over your clit, stopping occasionally to suck on it wanting to hear the girl he’s obsessed with scream his name. Your moans and cries were muffled by the underwear, but Han could hear them well enough to think that you were enjoying what he was giving to you. He was tasting you and feeling you get wet against your will.

You were extremely ashamed of yourself even though it wasn’t your fault but you felt the pleasure building up and your high getting closer as jisung was licking and kissing your private parts. He could probably tell. While you cried louder hitting your high jisung looked at you smirking , he looked at you in the eyes and continued to eat you out , overstimulating you. It hurts really bad, you knew you were sensitive and hoped he would’ve stopped sooner just Han just wouldn’t. He enjoyed receiving a reaction from you whether it would be a good reaction or a bad reaction, as long as he has your attention he is happy. Seeing you squirm around and try to get him get away from you was enjoyable for him. But you really hated it his tongue kept circling around your clit were it hurts the most when you were overstimulated.

Jisung got worried someone may hear you two so he added a hand over your mouth considering that the piece of clothing wasn’t enough anymore .

« Are you ready for my cock sweetheart ? » han said in a mocking tone , knowing you couldn’t answer. You tried to scream again in hope that someone would come but he got up and leaned it your ears to warn you « You better keep your voice low or the disgusting guy like you said isn’t going to treat you so nicely anymore », you could feel his hot breath tingling your ears as the words came out. Nicely ? That was nicely ?

Han got back up and said in a normal tone of voice « I hope I’m your first, I want to be a special someone for you, because you’re very special to me ». You almost wanted to throw up hearing him acting as he love you after he did all of this mess. You looked at him in the eyes in a very derogatory way that he didn’t quite enjoy. « Alright » jisung sighed.

His cock was already out and firm. Tears were rolling down your eyes again crying and choking on your own spit. He took his hard and leaking cock in his hands and slid it up and down your pussy moaning and feeling your wetness mixed with his saliva. He entered you and stretched your pussy out earning a gasp from you. To test and by curiousness of your reaction, he immediately set a high pace that got you to scream, breathing was already hard with that thing in your mouth but it now became harder as you couldn’t catch up with him. It made your boobs move in a way he loved, so to not keep his hands empty he grabbed them liking the pleased feeling of your hard nipples against his palms.

Jisung loved fucking you so much it could become a drug to him, he’s already addicted to you anyway.

You didn’t even tried to fight him anymore your whole body felt numb and every single one of your muscles aches.

When he felt his high coming, the stalker pulled out, he grabbed his dick in his right hand and jerked off in front of you rapidly, throwing his head back hissing and moaning your name until thick white fluid came out and landed on your breast. Decorating and marking you in his own way.

#yandere #smut #non con #rape #stray kids #han #jisung #han jisung #skz imagines #stray kids fanfiction #stray kids yandere smut #stray kids yandere #han jisung yandere #stray kids smut #jisung smut #stray kids non con #stray kids rape #jisung non con #jisung rape #han smut #han non con #skz han smut

[wooyunhwa]

kingdom of welcome addiction | C.S.

view pinned post for masterlist!

Genre: smut (mostly suggestive in this part though)

Pairing: demon!san x fem!reader

Word Count: 3.8k

Warnings: blood drinking, virgin mc

Synopsis: When you accidentally summon a bloodthirsty demon boy to your bedroom, you form an unexpected contract with him.

A/N: Thank you for reading and comments are super appreciated as always!

If you had to read the words pythagorean theorem one more time, you were gonna smash your brains in. 

You reached over to your phone, unlocking your screen to the group chat. 

y/n: anyone wanna come over and help me with this dumb problem? my heads gonna implode. 

chaeyeon: busy tonight, Y/N. lol, just summon a demon or smth. 

yuri: lmao that ouija board is still there right? I think we left it under your bed 

chaeyeon: I don’t think you summon demons with a ouija board, yuri

y/n: ugh you guys are no help. brb, summoning demon...

You realized how weird this conversation would sound from an outside perspective, but it was a sort of inside joke you had within your friend group. You and your friends had joked about ‘summoning a demon’ before, and you’d even used a Oujia board a few times and done fake seances to freak each other out. The results were always disappointing—not that you ever actually wanted to contact the dead or anything, but you were at least hoping for a spooky story or something you could tell. 

You knew they were joking around, but your brain felt a little delirious from all the math churning it into mush. 

You switched tabs from your test, typing in the search bar “how to summon a demon”. You chuckled a little under your breath at the ridiculousness. But at least then you could tell your friends you actually tried. They’d get a kick out of that. 

You followed a few rabbit holes down some forums, mockingly reciting strings of incomprehensible Latin. If you were gonna do this, you were gonna commit fully. 

“You called?”

You scrambled backwards, nearly jumping a foot off the bed at the sudden unfamiliar voice echoing in the room. 

Then you saw him. 

He was perched on your bookshelf, one leg dangling lackadaisically over the edge, the other folded up at his side. You caught a glimpse of his piercing crimson-red eyes illuminated in the dim candle-lit room. He looked particularly cat-like in his position, a devilish grin painted on his face, what looked like fangs coming to two sharp points in his mouth.

The man picked up a pen from your bookshelf, twirling it in his hand casually with playful twists of his fingers. “You’re new…” he mused, glancing at you up and down. “And... cute. Fresh blood. How'd you get my number, hmm?”

You sat stunned, dizzy from confusion. Your words were lodged in your throat, unable to utter a single sound. This had to be a dream, right? Had you fallen asleep while working on your homework? It wouldn't be the first time.

He tapped his fingers impatiently against the oak of the bookcase, waiting for your next move. The only words you could manage came out in a hoarse croak, shaky and uncertain. "This—I'm dreaming…" 

He shook his head, clicking his tongue tauntingly against his teeth. "Oh, there's a lot of things I could do right now to assure you you aren't," he started, the gleam in his eye particularly sinister as he drew his gaze up and down. "But trust me. You wouldn't want that." 

“Who—”

“I have a lot of names, but you can just call me San. Your friendly neighborhood demon.” He flashed a fiendish smirk. “Well, maybe don’t linger too much on the ‘friendly’ part.”

“D—demon?”

“What, you didn’t know? You’re the one who summoned me, darling.” He drew out his words, slowly, carefully, continuing to play with the pen in his fingers. The way he spoke sent shivers down your spine, as if he had the power to kill you at any moment. He probably did.  

He pressed his palms against the top of the shelf to hoist himself off, the books on it threatening to topple with the sudden movement. The minute he vaulted down from the shelf, you were able to get a better look at him. 

The first thing that drew your eye was his impossibly broad shoulders, accentuated by the tight cut of his shirt. It contrasted against his tiny waist, cinched in neatly with a belt. His proportions were unreal, and so very fittingly non-human. He was undoubtedly the most incredible sight you'd ever seen in your life, human or otherwise. He made his way over to the bed where you sat. You snapped your laptop closed, pushing it to the side, your blood turning to ice as he inched closer to you. The way he sauntered across the floor almost seemed like he was floating, like gravity was merely a fun game to him.  

He poised himself over you, his powerful stance alone commanding you to look at him. His fingernail dragged under your chin with a distinct sting, pulling your gaze up to his intense eyes. It was cold, like a dull knife, causing your body to tremble slightly. His piercing eye-contact was entrancing, even spell-binding—you couldn't tear your eyes away. "How cute," he teased sing-songily, “you’re a virgin.”

Your eyes widened, still pulled in by his magnetic gaze. “How did you—” 

"I can smell one from a mile away. The scent… it's just so…" he paused to lick his lips, drawing his tongue slowly over his black metal lip ring. "delicious." 

“Anyway, you must have had a reason to summon me, no? A soul to harvest? A sacrifice maybe?” Something about his tone was giddy at the idea. “At your service, darling.” He drew down in a playful bow, his mouth twitching into a smirk. 

You hated to say it, but he was entirely your type. From up close, you could see his other piercings more clearly, several earrings lining both ears, glimmering against the cartilage. His right eyebrow donned a shaved slit, decorated with another piercing. Of course the demon you summoned in your dream would be your ideal man. Well, he kind of looked like the edgy Hot-topic boy of your 7th grade self’s dreams, but you couldn’t deny that was still kind of your type still. His jet-black hair framed the sharp cut of his jaw perfectly—you were sure he could see you practically drooling over him at this point.  He looked crafted by heaven—hell?—itself.  

Even so, no single part of you desired for him to take your virginity right this second. Maybe under different circumstances, but not with the time ticking down on your math assignment and the fact that he was a fucking demon you just conjured into your room.

You shook your lewd thoughts out of your head, worried for a moment that demons might have some sort of mind-reading powers you weren’t aware of. “Well, uh, actually… I need help with my math homework.”

He snickered, his eyes trained on you like prey. “You can’t be serious. Tell me you’re not serious.”

“I’m kind of serious. It’s like 10% of my grade.”

He clicked his tongue against his teeth again, breaking eye contact finally, and you felt a sense of relief as you finally had a moment to breathe away from his suffocating glare.“For someone who just summoned a demon you’re a real buzzkill.”  He perched himself on the edge of the bed, resting his butt lightly against the edge of the frame. “Fine,” he groaned. “Let’s say I actually helped you. You know how this works, right? If I do something for you, you have to give me something in return.”

You gulped. This was a dream, it had to be, and the best you could do was go along for the ride. Even so, you couldn’t help but feel shaken, despite doing your best to convince yourself it wasn’t real—like some sort of subconscious defense mechanism your body employed in danger. And, well, he kind of seemed like danger. “Like what?”

“Well, normally...” He glanced back over, pinning you down with his gaze once again. “It’d be your soul.” 

Your breath stopped in your throat. You weren’t quite sure if you were ready to give up your entire soul for 10% of your math grade, although that was a pretty accurate metaphor for your college experience. 

“Your virginity maybe?” he hummed, drawing his tongue back over his lips, then, seeing your expression, shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly. “No? Damn. It doesn’t hurt to ask.”

“Um… I can offer to make you dinner?”

He paused, his eyes widening for a second, then burst into a cacophony of laughter. It was the first time he broke his exterior, and for a moment, he looked a bit more human. “I’ll take it.” Then, more “but you realize a contract with a demon is binding, right?”

 “So, I’m contractually obligated to make you dinner, that’s what you’re saying?”

He paused, his smile turning amused once more. “Feisty. I like you,” he winked flirtatiously, sending heat rising in your cheeks. You hated to say it, but he was devilishly charming, on top of being probably the hottest being, human or not, you’d ever seen. 

You glanced at your phone, noting the time ticking down slowly but surely.  “Okay, I’m not joking. The math. My assignment is due in 45 minutes.” 

He clicked his tongue in annoyance. “Fine. Let’s get this over with.”

He sat next to your side on the bed for a while, guiding you through the problems like some sort of hot e-boy math tutor. Not that you were complaining about that. The way he sat was surprisingly cute, one leg tucked up at his side, the other folded underneath him.

“Where’d you learn math, anyway?” you asked, admiring his immaculate side profile as his eyes trained on the laptop screen, typing the answers in. “They have like, demon school or something?”

He gave you a side glance, and you once again felt uneasy under the heat of his gaze. “A demon never reveals his secrets.”

“I thought that was a magician.” 

He visibly stifled a laugh, pressing his lips tightly to avoid giving you the satisfaction of breaking his serious exterior. “Can you be quiet? I’m focusing. I’m a demon, not a mathematician. This is way out of my scope of work,” he grumbled through his teeth. 

You watched him silently as he worked. As he typed, his tongue lingered just outside his parted lips in concentration. “Even you sitting next to me is distracting,” he hissed quietly. “You don’t realize what your scent is doing to me right now.”

Right. Your virgin scent. Was that really so appealing to him? 

“Fine. I guess I’ll go make dinner. You promise you’re gonna turn this in in time?” 

“I’m contractually obligated,” he responded dryly. 

You hoisted yourself off the bed and headed to the kitchen to make dinner,  but something about leaving a stranger in your room felt strange. No stranger than accepting he was a demon, though, you supposed. 

You returned with a large plate of pasta, pretty much the only thing you had on hand. He received it apprehensively from you. 

“What?” you asked, offended at his look of disgust. “Sorry, I didn’t have any fresh human souls on hand. My bad.”  

You sat across from him on the bed, watching in fascination as he nibbled slowly at the thin spaghetti noodles. “You have any hot sauce or anything?” he asked, wincing as he took a few more bites. 

“I barely had enough pasta to feed two people. I’m a broke college student. Anyway, I never forced you to accept the dinner offer.” 

“I didn’t think it’d be so bland. What, you didn’t know demons prefer spicy food?”

“I didn’t know demons existed until today. Whatever, it doesn’t matter. This is all a dream I’m going to wake up from in a bit anyway.”

A wicked smirk danced up on his lips again. “Oh, you still think it’s a dream? Cute,” he sang condescendingly. “Well, then I guess it wouldn’t matter if I did this...”  

Your heart seemed to stop in your chest as he crawled forward on his palms. You felt his breath linger on your neck first, then the gentle scrape of his pointed canines against your sensitive skin. Every hair on your body stood up. He pressed them down slightly, just enough to feel the tension on your flesh. Then he bit harder, nearly piercing as he sunk them in.

You reeled back, shoving him off you breathlessly. “What the fuck-”

“You still think it’s a dream? Then it wouldn’t matter if it sunk my teeth in. You’d just wake up, right? Isn’t that how dreams are supposed to work?” he taunted, a smile curled up on his lip. His fangs gleamed under the still-dim light of your bedroom. “Humans are so amusing,”   

You wiped at your neck, rubbing circles where his teeth pinched your skin. He sat himself upright again and stood up from the bed. “Well, my end of the deal is over. Consider you released from your contract.” 

“You’re leaving?”

“Well I’m not gonna stay here.” His hand came up to his ear like a phone. “Call me if you have a soul to harvest. You know my number.” 

He was gone before you could blink, like an apparition, disappeared just as quickly as he had appeared. Your eyelids grew heavier as you reflected what had just happened, and you wondered what would happen if you fell asleep in a dream. Would you just wake up? 

You collapsed into bed, still unsure whether or not the past few hours had actually happened or not. Part of you hoped they had—there was something about him that was so deeply captivating, you would do anything to see him again. 

As he said, you did have his ‘number’.

You woke up dazed, still unsure if you had dreamt the events of the night before. The only sure way to know was to check your assignment—if you had really fallen asleep while doing your homework, you wouldn’t have turned the assignment in, right?

You opened your online class page, scanning for the assignment, and there it was, in bold letters: 

Submitted: 98%. 

Your breath caught in your throat. You felt two distinct emotions: relief that you got the assignment turned in, and complete disbelief that your encounter last night was not part of your imagination.

You could summon him again. 

He seemed about as harmless as a demon could seem. At first, he had been entirely intimating—his aura made it seem like he could have eaten your soul right there with no second thoughts. But watching that powerful being, capable of so much evil and chaos, do something as mundane as your math homework… that was the most entertaining, and almost adorable thing, you’d ever witnessed. 

Besides, you had something he desired, something you could dangle in front of him to keep him coming back. You had your virginity, which seemed to be the ultimate prize for a demon like him. The way he had talked about it last night, it seemed you were irresistible for him. But he also accepted your rejection so easily. 

As long as you kept drafting up meaningless contracts, he had to oblige, right? You weren’t sure exactly how it worked, but that’s how it seemed from your interactions last night. If it worked like you thought it did, his job as a demon was to make a contract with his summoner, no matter how insignificant, as long as he takes something in return. 

That night, you read the same latin phrase you had before he’d appeared, this time off a sticky note push-pinned in your wall. 

You heard him again before you saw him, and you whipped your head around to see where he was standing behind you. 

He wore the same playful, devilish smirk, displaying his fangs. “Hmm, you decided to let me harvest your soul now, have you? That was quick.”

It had barely been 24 hours, and yet you’d already forgotten how incredibly hot he was, for lack of a better word. Your lips parted slightly in awe, forgetting for a second to formulate a response. 

“I hope your silence is a yes,” he interrupted. 

You shook your attraction to him out of your head for a moment, remembering what you brought him here for. “I want you to clean my bathroom.”

He laughed in disbelief, plopping himself down on the bed. “I’m sorry, you want me to what?”

“That’s how this works right? I summon you and do what I want. And I give you something in return.” You leaned against the desk behind you. 

“What am I, your errand boy?”

“But that is how this works, right?”

He clicked his tongue against his teeth in annoyance. “Yes,” he grumbled reluctantly. “But what do I get this time?”

“I cook you dinner again.”

“I’m gonna need more than that.”

“I’ll let you bite my neck. Draw blood if you want.”

His eyes widened at your proposal. His reaction confirmed your suspicion—the blood of a virgin must be like crack to a demon like him. His face went flush. “Deal,” he confirmed eagerly. 

You watched him as he cleaned, and there was something satisfying about watching this bloodthirsty demon scrubbing the bathtub on his hands and knees. He almost looked a bit pathetic. You stood in the door frame, unable to help from grinning at making him perform such menial tasks. A lot more was at stake now than just dinner, so you might as well have some fun with his end of the bargain. Even on his knees, you couldn’t help but watch him in awe. Every part of him was sculpted immaculately—his appearance was distinctly human, and yet he was in all other ways otherworldly. 

“I can’t believe I’ve been reduced to some human’s lowly errand boy,” he hissed through his teeth. 

“Less talking, more scrubbing,” you demanded with a smirk, and he shot you a deathly glare. 

You followed through with your promise of dinner, and this time you came prepared with hot sauce. He devoured it eagerly, and you felt proud for making a dinner worthy of a demon’s praise. 

But there was still one more promise you had to follow through on, and the thought made your head spin.  

He sat across from you on the bed, eyes trained on your neck in a very un-subtle display of desire. You’d never felt so wanted, even if it was just the thought of your virgin blood that had him practically drooling. 

“You sure about this?” he asked hesitantly. It was strange that he was even asking permission, as he seemed so eager the other night to just sink his teeth right into you. 

“I’m contractually obligated,” you teased dryly. Then, more seriously, “But yes, I am.” 

He placed his left hand on your neck, steadying it in place. His fierce, almost predatory gaze washed over you completely. 

He leaned forward, parting his lips to drag his teeth gently along your neck. You tipped your head back, giving him a better angle. He teased there for a while, lingering his sharp canines on your skin. His breath was hot and heavy against your neck, the warmth of it sending chills rocketing down your spine. Your lips parted slightly, gentle moans escaping at the sensation. The situation was predatory, and yet it felt completely sensual in a way you couldn’t quite describe.

He paused for a moment, lips fluttering over your skin as he spoke. “You have no idea how hard it is not to completely drain you,” he whispered, voice dripping off his tongue with a sort of lustful hunger. “I promise I’ll only take a bit.”

He sunk down, and you heard it before you felt it—the distinct sound of teeth piercing flesh. You cried out a bit, bringing your own hand to your mouth to muffle your whines. It stung a bit, but in a twisted way, there was something about it you liked. You felt his tongue draw over your wound slowly, lapping deliberately at the fresh blood like a starved animal.  

He moaned against you, and it echoed in your ear like the most divine sound you’ve ever heard. He may have been a demon, but his noises sounded like they came from heaven itself. He pulled your waist against his as he slowly bathed his tongue over the punctured flesh, his fingers squeezing as he grasped at your waist. He littered a few faint kisses across your blood-stained skin, moving slightly down towards your shoulder blades. The sudden sensation drew soft, pleasured moans from your lips. 

As he finally pulled away, parting his lips tenderly away from your skin, you caught the faintest glimmer of his blacked-out eyes before they flickered back to normal. His deep red irises sparkled like rubies as he maintained eye contact. He brought one of his hands up from your waist, gently wiping at his blood-stained lips with the back of his palm. “Sorry, I couldn’t help myself for a second. Your skin tastes so sweet, like candy,” he praised softly, voice deep and wanting. “And your blood, fuck—it’s like nothing I’ve ever tasted.”

The seductive gleam in his eye signaled that you had awoken something in him, something you hadn’t meant to. He was still holding you, probably without even noticing, but you didn't want to draw his attention to it quite yet. You wanted to experience it for just a bit longer if you could. Something about the way he held your waist against his made you crave more of him. 

Almost as if a switch flipped, his expression went dark, his fingernails suddenly digging all the way into your waist. You yelped in pain as he nearly punctured the skin through your clothes. “I need you to walk away from me right now. Before I do something I’ll regret,” he growled. You watched as his eyes flashed to the same demonic black for a moment. 

You gulped, slowly backing yourself away from him, scrambling off the bed. "Farther," he groaned painfully, his breathing becoming heavy and labored. His hands clenched at the blanket on the bed, balling into restrained fists. "Now."

You ran from the room, your feet moving before you even knew where they were taking you. You ran all the way down the hallway to the front door, sliding your back down against it as you collapsed to the floor. Your limbs shook weakly, trying to calm yourself down. You must have sat there for an hour or more, completely frozen, not quite aware of the passing of time. You wiped the blood of your neck, but it didn't do much, smearing it across. 

When you managed to finally stand up again, you made your way hesitantly towards the door of the bedroom, swinging your head around the doorframe first. 

"San…?" you called apprehensively.

But he was gone, leaving only a light imprint on the sheets of the blood-stained bed and two deep punctures in your neck to remind you he was ever there.

[to be continued]

#san smut #choi san smut #yunho smut #ateez smut #san fanfic #ateez fanfic #hongjoong smut #ateez fic #ateez fanfiction

[gay-otlc]

Keepers of the Chaos (Chapter 2)

Summary: Tam, Linh, Keefe, Biana, and Fitz are part of the tiny fandom for Keeper of the Chaos, and Tam and Linh's podcast convinces some of their other friends to watch it as well. The group finds themselves strangely invested in this show, where students at Tumblr High School who work together to write about an elf named Sophia, cause incomprehensible chaos, and fight their rival Pinterest High School.

Content warnings: Cursing, food, L*ura

Word count: 2005

Notes: Check out the beautiful theme song here!

(Read on AO3)

Sophie rolls her eyes as she opens the link her girlfriend sent her and puts in her earbuds. Biana has been incessantly pestering her to watch Keepers of the Chaos for so long that Sophie half wants to watch it just to shut her up, but she's always tired, or busy, and she doesn't really like watching new things. Still, Biana asked her very nicely to listen to this one podcast, and she looked very pretty when she asked, so Sophie's dumb omni ass couldn't refuse.

"Welcome to the Twins of the Chaos podcast," it begins after loading for an obnoxiously long time. The girl speaking has a pretty voice, Sophie has to admit- sweet and melodic and vaguely amused.

Maybe listening to this podcast won't be so bad if she can listen to that girl's voice the whole time.

But another person speaks, adding "Where some chaotic twins discuss our favorite show, Keepers of the Chaos," and his voice is not as pretty. She continues listening anyway, since Biana may or may not murder her if she stops.

The two voices- whose names are Linh and Tam, apparently- start talking about Keepers of the Chaos some more, giving Sophie a summary she's heard tons of times from Biana and Fitz- though the twins explain it slightly more coherently and with less... whatever the verbal equivalent of keyboard smashing is. Biana usually starts rambling about her favorite characters, like Lynn- not "Lynn the fandom mom," but the other Lynn- and Avery, or sometimes Nora and Darwin. Sophie doesn't understand any of those names and loses track of the conversation as soon as it involves too many unfamiliar names.

But Tam and Linh are making more sense, at least for the most part, until they start mentioning specific couples. The conversation gets again comprehensive soon enough, though, and Sophie does smile at the name "The Dark Duck."

By the end, when Tam says "half of them wearing sleeping masks with teal eyes painted on and the other half watching the chaos with mild amusement," Sophie is curious enough to be mildly intrigued. She listens to their outro music, and before she can regret it, types out a text message to Biana.

Sophie: fine

Sophie: ill watch it

Biana responds instantly with an array of heart emojis. Sophie blushes.

Biana: can i come over and watch with u?

Sophie: ok!

Sophie: moms making mallowmelt

Sophie: but u cant have any

Biana: >:(

Biana: hope u like being single then

Sophie: fine u can have some mallowmelt

Biana: yayyyy!

Biana: ily

Sophie: ilyt

Sophie: now lets watch ur stupid show

Biana: on my way!!!

Sophie smiles, shaking her head. She's a little annoyed, but fine, it sounds interesting enough from the podcast. And what else would she be doing? Studying? Having US history as an alternative would make even the most horrible of shows seem good. She stuffs her textbooks into her backpack and shoves some things out of the way so her room looks a bit neater before rushing downstairs. The mallowmelt smells good enough to make her mouth water.

"Mmm..." she sighs, barely taking time to let it cool off before taking a large bite. "That's so good. Thanks, Mom."

Edaline  smiles. "You're welcome. Just save some for your father and I."

"Fine, fine. I have to share with Biana, anyway." Sophie huffs and takes another bite. "She's coming over, is that alright? We're going to watch a show together."

"Sure, just make sure to get your homework done."

Sophie rolls her eyes. "Fine."

"And keep the door open!" Grady calls. Edaline laughs as Sophie's face flames.

"I'm going back to my room," she grumbles, taking a plate of mallowmelt with her and walking up the stairs. She manages not to trip over her own feet and drop the mallowmelt, thankfully, as she grabs her laptop and opens Netflix. Sighing, she searches for Keepers of the Chaos and clicks on the show that comes up before waiting for Biana to arrive.

The doorbell rings soon, and Sophie carefully sets down her laptop and her plate on her bed before rushing down the stairs. Panting slightly, she opens the door for her girlfriend. Biana's wearing a t-shirt with the Amsterdam flag on it. Sophie has no idea why. Maybe Biana likes the country? Her girlfriend is pretty weird. "Come on in," she says, realizing she's been staring. In her defense, Biana is pretty and Sophie is very omni.

"Ready to go watch Keepers of the Chaos?" Biana asks. She bounces on her toes slightly.

"Alright," says Sophie. "I set it up on my laptop in my room."

"Awesome! You'll love it."

Sophie follows Biana up the stairs and into her room. They sit on the bed together, Sophie leaning against the wall and Biana leaning against Sophie, and Biana presses play. Somber kazoos begin playing in the background as the theme song starts.

We're on the edge of chaos

No one is straight

We're making fanart

Because L*ura we hate

And we're gonna have teal eyes in the end!

We must be weird, and we must be gay

(We must be gay!)

We will find every bit of sanity that we have

And give it all to Lynn

Ohhhh

We must be gay!

Biana dances a little along with the song, and Sophie can't help but smile. A curvy, round-faced person with short dark hair and colorful earrings plays a few notes on the piano, and then a KEEPERS OF THE CHAOS logo flashes across the screen. Then, a group of students sit in a classroom.

"Shai! Tater! Lynn! You three finally got together?" says the same person who just played piano, gesturing to a redhaed wearing a Sappho lesbian flag cape. She's holding the fingerless-gloved hand of a lanky person with brightly colored hair, and they're holding hands with a tall girl who has chin length brown hair. The rest of the class applauds the fiancees before returning to their own conversations.

"Yep! Thanks, Ink," says Tater.

Ink smiles at them and turns to a person with light brown skin and golden hoop earrings partially covered by long dark hair. "Hi, Kiri, how was your break?"

"Good! Here's to a good 2021?" Kiri turns to the person next to them. "How about you, Ref?"

Ref has short brown hair and red glasses. "Yeah, my break was dOPE," she says, leaving everyone to wonder how he did that with their voice. "oH, and happy belated Hanukkah to Shai!"

"Thanks, you too. And guess what! I didn't set my hair on fire this year!"

A short guy with strawberry blonde hair looks concerned. "Um. Congratulations?"

"Thanks, Sam!"

Sophie looks away from the screen and at Biana. "There are a lot of characters..." she mutters.

"Yeah, but you get to know them well enough eventually," says Biana. "Now shh, let's keep watching!"

A lot of other characters are introduced in various conversations, and Sophie's brain has a hard time keeping track of them all. She does remember Tara, a curvy, bored-looking girl with long sideswept bangs, and Blue, a bisexual who may or may not be an arsonist. She doesn't know either of their personalities very well yet, but she likes them so far. Lucat, a pale, blue haired asexual, who later joins the Hanukkah conversation, also seems cool.

Once quite a bit of introductions are done- Sophie lost count at around twenty something- are over, an announcement comes over the school's loudspeakers.

"Welcome back, Tumblr High School!" announces a voice. "I hope you all had a good break. Now, the Tumblr staff have an important announcement for you all. High schools in this county, like ours, Pinterest High School, and Instagram High School, will be holding a competition. All members of the winning team will receive a scholarship to AO3 college. If you are interested, meet in room 69 after school. Now, onto other announcements..."

Somber kazoos play again as the principal's droning voice fades into the background. A montage of the previously introduced characters wishing they could go to AO3 college moves across the screen. After a few minutes of them zooming through school and talking about how fucking boring it is, all of them gather in the room (some of them with more jokes than others) to discuss the competition.

A blonde woman welcomes them into the room. They wait a while to make sure no one else will arrive, but once everyone is there, the woman clears her throat. "Hello, everyone! I'm glad you're interested in joining the competition. My name is Shannon Messenger, and I'm in charge of admissions at AO3 College. My coworker L*ura and I designed this competition."

Sophie gasps and looks at Biana. "L*ura? But isn't that the person they hate? They said that in the intro!" Biana smiles at her, and she blushes as she realizes that she's kind of... maybe... invested in the show now. She decides she'll endure the "I told you so"s later and looks back at the show, trying to telepathically tell the characters not to trust this L*ura person... and perhaps not Shannon either. It's too early to tell whether Shannon will be an antagonist or not.

"All of you will be working as a team to write a story together. The main premise is that a twelve year old girl named Sophia is a telepath, but she can't tell anyone her secret. Then, she meets a teal-eyed boy named Finn, and he tells her that she's an elf. She travels back to the elf world with him, where she struggles a bit at the elf school Firefox, makes friends with some other elves, learns that she is an illegal creation of a rebel group called the Dark Duck, and another rebel group- the Rarelynoticed- tries to kidnap and kill Sophia and her friend Deck. There are other details to be included into the story, which will be given out to the participants as a packet. The object of this competition is not to determine your ability at coming up with story ideas, but your ability to work in groups and execute well developed ideas. Does anyone have any questions?"

Someone raises their hand- a short, tanned girl. "Lynn?" prompts the principal.

"Did you say the rebel group was named the Dark Duck?"

"And the Rarelynoticed?" adds another person, with rectangular glasses and a red bracelet.

"Raise your hand before speaking, Auran," scolds the principal. "But yes, those are the names."

"Alright then," Auran mutters.

"Unless anyone else has questions, we'll be sending out sign up forms for everyone interested, and then we will distribute the information packets about your story. You can talk to each other and start planning."

No one else has questions, so once they've all filled out the sign up form, they gather in small groups and flip through the packets, making sarcastic comments or mocking names ("'Rarelynoticed' though-" a stylish hijabi named Raiin sighs as they come across a page of information about the group) as they try to form some semblance of a plan. Once they all agree that they've made a lot of progress, they make plans to meet up again soon and walk back home.

Unbeknownst  to them, a pair of ominous teal eyes watch from above.

Somber kazoos play once again, and the credits roll.

"So, what'd you think?" Biana asks as Sophie closes her laptop.

Rather inaudibly, Sophie mumbles "It was good."

"What was that?"

"It was good! I liked it!"

Biana grins. "I told you so." She leans over and kisses Sophie on the cheek. "Thanks for watching it. I have to go do some homework, awesome seeing you!" As she walks out, Sophie hears her singing under her breath. "We must be gay..."

#tumblr kotlc fandom fandom #keepers of the chaos #shai types things #cursing tw #we must be g a y #shai's writing

[baoshan-sanren]

Chapter 44

Emperor Wei WuXian And His Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Birthday

Prologue | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 Part 1 | Chapter 8 Part 2 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12 | Chapter 13 | Chapter 14 | Chapter 15 Part 1 | Chapter 15 Part 2 | Chapter 16 | Chapter 17 | Chapter 18 | Chapter 19 | Chapter 20 | Chapter 21 | Chapter 22 Part 1 | Chapter 22 Part 2 | Chapter 23 | Chapter 24 | Chapter 25 | Chapter 26 | Chapter 27 | Chapter 28 | Chapter 29 | Chapter 30 | Chapter 31 | Chapter 32 | Chapter 33 | Chapter 34 | Chapter 35 | Chapter 36 | Chapter 37 | Chapter 38 | Chapter 39 | Chapter 40 | Chapter 41 | Chapter 42 | Chapter 43

WangJi feels the wrongness.

It is obvious, and yet, somehow deceptive. A thin layer of oily filth on the surface of clear water. A dusting of poisonous pollen over healthy crop. It is not quite a smell and not quite a taste, but something less substantial, a feeling of a malicious presence behind an unfamiliar corner, a breath of foul air on the back of his neck.

He turns to XiChen first, but his brother’s gaze is vacant, trained on some unseeable point in the distance. A thread of uncertainty tugs at WangJi’s chest. He had been taught to trust his intuition, but the tumult of the past seven days has left him dazed and hesitant. 

He does not know what being in love does to one’s instincts. Perhaps it is always a chaos of emotion, of deceiving signals and unexpected disturbances.

He is ready to ignore the wrongness, when he notices that the thin line between his uncle’s eyebrows has noticeably deepened, his eyes locked on the black chest at the foot of the dais. Wei Ying is standing in front of the chest, head tilted slightly, an adorably puzzled expression etched into his features.

It is staggering, how lovely he looks, even underneath all the strict trappings of tradition and rank. Unchecked, WangJi’s gaze is constantly drawn to him, to each lazy flick of a wrist, frustrated sigh, tilt of the head, to each smile ranging from delighted to tolerant, to ruthlessly savage. He has done nothing but watch Wei Ying, and strive to appear as if he is not watching, a feat most difficult to accomplish, even with the entire length of the hall between them.

“Uncle,” he whispers, “what is it?”

Uncle frowns, “I think--“

His words cut off. Wei Ying is reaching into the chest to grasp whatever lies inside. He has leaned forward to do so, and now, WangJi can only see a sliver of his face, his expression hidden.

An unnatural stillness drops heavily on WangJi’s shoulders. It feels akin to submerging into the depths of the Cold Pond too quickly, the pressure of the sudden change squeezing the air from his lungs, muffling the sounds to dull and incomprehensible echoes. For a few moments, all of his senses blur together. The light is dimmer, but he feels rather than sees its absence. The wrongness is now a bitter taste on the tip of his tongue. He imagines that he can hear Wei Ying’s breath stutter, all the way across the hall. Or perhaps it is only his own breath he is hearing.  

A hand grasps his forearm, and the eerie, unnatural stillness snaps, recoiling away from him. The sensation is as jarring as leaping to a standstill from a speeding sword. Sounds multiply, overlapping, painful in their intensity. His ears are ringing. His stomach turns violently, propelling bile to his throat.

The dimming of the light was not an illusion. Wei Ying is still bent forward, still half-hidden, but now, a deep black shadow is spreading from the inside of the chest, enveloping his arm, creeping over his shoulders, coiling around his waist.

The hand around his arm tightens, pulling him to his feet. WangJi is sure that only an instant has passed, but the hall has already exploded into chaos. He cannot separate the roar in his ears from the din around them. Some people are attempting to move back from the head of the hall. Some are attempting to move forward. WangJi does not need to be pulled towards Wei Ying, although his uncle is doing just that, his grip on WangJi’s arm tight enough to sting. Wei Ying is perfectly still, and WangJi sees those around him only in periphery; the green flash of Nie HuaiSang’s robes, the purple of Jiang WanYin’s. Wei Ying’s robes had been blue and gold, but now the black shadow is merging with the cloth, looming over the throne, tendrils that resemble both smoke and flames licking against Wei Ying’s face.

The first blast of uncle’s spiritual power nearly knocks WangJi to his knees, all the more so for being unexpected. The deep, vibrating note of the guqin cuts through the din as effectively as a blade. There is no finesse in this sound; uncle, who had always preached precision and care, is now using only pure force. 

The radius of the blast is wide and vicious. Every cultivator around them is swept off their feet. Tables shatter against the marble walls. The throne topples. The black chest cracks, splitting into two.

Wei Ying does not flinch. He does not move. His hand is wrapped around a black mass, a whirlwind of darkness that has no distinct shape. His face is pale and utterly blank, half hidden by shadows.

“Wei Ying!”

WangJi’s words are drowned out by another note, and another, a quick succession of them, each one powerful enough to make the ground tremble. The darkness seems to shudder under the onslaught. It shrinks, condenses, but it does not release its hold, as if each note only serves to wrap it more tightly around the body it captured.

WangJi does not make a decision to step into its hold. His thoughts are frantic and disordered, his movements clumsy with urgency. Whatever had been in the chest, whatever Wei Ying is holding, must be the source. If he can only pry it out of Wei Ying’s hand, they may be able to suppress its energy.

The darkness does not want him. It is cold and slick, an icy impenetrable surface that skitters and slides against his skin. He is close enough to touch Wei Ying, but he cannot breach the barrier. The rich and mellow sound of XiChen’s xiao joins the overlapping notes, and WangJi blindly fumbles for the Qiankun bag at his belt.

He cannot remember storing his guqin that morning, but it is there, as comforting and familiar as his sword. Next to his uncle and brother, WangJi’s skills are insignificant drops in a vast lake of power, but he does not mean to suppress or eliminate. He only wants to reach Wei Ying.

The black mass shrieks in displeasure, the sound too shrill, too human, a piercing cry of hundreds of furious voices. 

Wei Ying’s face is gray. His lips are blue. The blank look in his eyes is gone, the eyelashes half mast over a black chasm of impossible depth. WangJi can now see ghastly pale fingers wrapped around an unfamiliar, twisted shape. He reaches for it without thinking, closing his hand around cold flesh and black steel. 

For the length of a single breath he feels only the icy surface against his skin, and has a fleeting thought that the object must be a weapon of some sort, although no part of it has yet to become visible. In the next breath, a sharp, searing pain flashes through his arm. He does not hear himself cry out, but he feels Wei Ying’s fingers tremble under his own, the movement slight and drowned out by agony.

He cannot loosen Wei Ying’s grip. He can barely hold on at all. He has moments, perhaps less, before the pain becomes too much. There must a number of ways to separate Wei Ying from the object, but WangJi can only think of one.

The snap of bones is louder than the sound of the guqin, the sound of XiChen’s xiao, the shrieking of the black mass. WangJi has had his wrist broken in the past, but he has never before heard the sound with such sharp clarity, with such heartbreaking anguish. 

Nerveless, now truly devoid of life, Wei Ying’s hand releases the object it had held. WangJi does not look to see it fall.

The coiling darkness, the resentful energy, the item that had managed to contain its power, it all immediately ceases to matter. The black tendrils are still rising from Wei Ying’s skin, even as WangJi pulls him back, away from the throne. He feels light and hollow in WangJi’s arms, skin cold to the touch. The sound of uncle’s guqin shifts and changes, the xiao following suit, now aiming to trap and contain. Other cultivators have stepped up to his uncle’s side, merging their power with his own. There are people around WangJi, around Wei Ying, a jagged crush of alarmed, unimportant voices.

He cannot find a heartbeat. He cannot see Wei Ying’s chest rise. All of the lessons he had been taught, all of the knowledge he had gathered at Cloud Recesses, under his uncle’s stern teachings, seems to have floated away. Faced with Wei Ying he does not recognize, utterly lifeless, colorless, Wei Ying who may never smile again, he cannot think clearly, he cannot speak or breathe.

A lifetime seems to pass, when in reality, only moments have gone by before the sound of the guqin changes again. The melody is a shock to the system, intimate and soothing. His own guqin had been abandoned, but now he summons it without thought. 

Stupid, to not have thought of Cleansing before his uncle. Wasting precious moments in thoughtless panic. His fingers have practiced the melody enough where playing it does not require focus, but his hands are trembling, made ungainly by misery and fear. They do not settle until he feels XiChen’s presence by his side, Liebing’s harmony powerful and stabilizing, merging with his own.

There is an inescapable feeling of normalcy to this, even in the midst of chaos. Despite their difference in power and technique, XiChen and WangJi have played the Cleansing more often together than they have played it apart. Still, WangJi’s trepidation persists until he sees Wei Ying’s chest move.

They are shallow breaths, barely noticeable. His skin is still devoid of all color, his face lifeless and terrifyingly blank. But even a whisper of a breath is enough to give WangJi hope. 

Somewhere, outside of his full awareness, someone lifts Wei Ying’s head into their lap. A purple coat is spread over him, although he is not likely to feel the cold. Voices, low murmurs and hushed whispers fold around them, coming and going, rising and falling. 

He does not know how much time passes, how long the melody wraps around Wei Ying, attempting to disperse the leftover darkness, but when XiChen gently takes his wrist, pulling his hand away from the strings, his fingers leave bloody smears behind, startlingly bright against the white surface.

“Let them carry him to a bed,” XiChen says softly, “Uncle has rested and will take over. You must rest as well.”

WangJi blinks at his brother, struggling to understand. The light in the hall seems to have changed, casting shadows where it should not. There is nothing unnatural about these shadows however, and now that he can let himself breathe without tension, he can feel that the deep sense of wrongness has either dissipated, or been removed.

There are people around them. Rows of Imperial guards, members of the Nie Sect and the Jiang Sect, all forming a loose circle in an otherwise empty hall. WangJi does not remember the other Sects leaving. He does not remember uncle leaving. Jiang YanLi is the one who had lifted Wei Ying’s head onto her lap, and she does not seem to have moved once since doing so, her robes twisted and hopelessly wrinkled. Her face is colorless as well, but her expression is calm, devoid of fear. The Rogue Prince stands at her shoulder, a silent, blind specter in white, motionless as a statue.

Of all the people Wei Ying had named as his family, just that very morning, only two are present at his side. WangJi knows that he should ask about the others. Wen Qing should be here. Nie HuaiSang should be here. He should ask about the object. Had it truly come from the Wen? Is Wen Qing in danger now? Has the object been properly suppressed, or is it still dangerous to Wei Ying just by its sheer existence?

There are thousands of questions he should ask, but he only voices one.

“Can I stay by his side?”

#the untamed #cql #mdzs #ficlet #m #wwx emperor au #clumsy chapter #no time to edit #must sleep #should've waited to post it tomorrow but i hate leaving a cliffhanger up for so long #the anon was right #2-3 more chapters is wishful thinking #there are multiple POVs of these few hours #and we've gotta go though at least two others #before the conclusion #so yeah #if this passes 100k imma cry #ily chickens

[moonknightly]

Could Feel You Surrounding Me : Santiago “Pope” Garcia x Reader

Word Count: 3.1k

Excerpt: “Thinking about the aftermath almost felt like giving yourself false hope. You didn’t want to think about the future until you knew for certain that Santi was in the clear.”

Warnings: Uhh mentions of injury, blood, cursing. That’s it I think? This one has a happy ending fellas!

The first emotion you experience is shock. It’s unfathomable, how someone you love and care for so deeply, with every inch of your being, could be at the forefront of a situation you thought only existed in dramatized TV shows — under harsh lights, covered in bandages that turn from white to red and only do so much to hide the cuts and the bruises that mark their skin. Attached to various tubes, drains, and IV lines. So many different wires.

The sight is near unbearable, and it doesn’t get any easier, no matter how many hours or even days pass by in a blur of fast-moving staff wearing stethoscopes and scrubs. And everytime you close your eyes, you tell yourself that once you open them again, you’ll finally be used to it. You tell yourself it’s not gonna hurt as bad this time, but it’s even harder than it was before.

And the sounds. God, the sounds. The unfamiliar, almost haunting beeps and buzzes that start to become a comfort because they serve as the only reminder that they’re still there. The excruciating and traumatic cries of a family’s hearts breaking from down the hall mixed with rare periods of somber silence. The rapid-fire exchange of incomprehensible medical terminology, so many different medications and diagnoses and explanations that you just can’t wrap your head around.

It starts with the shock, because while you knew that this reality existed outside of those damned TV shows, and while you were aware of the possibility of having to live it yourself, given his line of work, you never thought you would actually have to face seeing Santi lying in the ICU like this.

Because he promised. Each and every single time he went out on a mission, he promised you that he’d come home to you, safe and sound and in one piece. And Santiago never broke his promises. Not a damn one.

But it had been a freak accident, and he hadn’t even been on a mission, and that was probably what freaked you out the most. The new realization that it could happen at any given moment, at any given time in any given circumstance.

All of the sleepless nights spent in your empty bed, praying to any divine being that would listen, worrying over his safety and just wishing him home, and he’d managed to land himself in this position during a boy’s trip into the mountains for a little leisurely camping.

They’d been rock climbing, something they were all five well-trained in, but the rope had been settled against a rock with a rather sharp edge, and the constant pulling of his weight had cut straight through it. It was a fall that he was lucky to survive. The paramedics who arrived on scene hadn’t expected to find him alive, and definitely hadn’t expected him to come back once he needed to be resuscitated.

His neglect to check the ridge was something that seemed so out of character for both him and the other boys. No detail was ever overlooked. It was hard for you to believe that he hadn’t noticed how sharp the edge of the rock had been, but you also knew Santi — he never would have thought it would happen to him

There were several things the nurses told you that you didn’t quite understand, and honestly, you couldn’t find it in yourself to ask them to clarify, or put it into words that actually made sense. As ignorant as it was, you almost didn’t want to understand. You didn’t want to focus on all of his injuries and the no doubt long recovery ahead until he opened those big brown eyes of his that you so adored and kept them open.

Thinking about the aftermath almost felt like giving yourself false hope. You didn’t want to think about the future until you knew for certain that Santi was in the clear.

What you did understand was that he had several broken ribs, some injuries to his spinal cord, and a moderate traumatic brain injury amongst other things blunt force trauma to his abdomen and chest caused. He’d needed a blood transfusion down in the ER, and he was on so many different medications, you couldn’t keep up.

They’d sedated him after a mild seizure, keeping him in a medically induced coma for the first two days before waking him again. He hadn’t been able to stay awake for long though, and while your eyes had briefly met, you don’t think he really registered who you were or what was going on.

It was day four now, and he was breathing on his own. He was waking up unprompted more and more, usually to vomit, but would fall back asleep after only a minute or two. Sometimes he would glance towards you as if to make sure that someone was still with him, sometimes he would only blink at the ceiling. He’d move, but only if a nurse asked him to touch his nose or wiggle his toes, and he hadn’t said a word.

But neither had you. Each time he looked at you, you could only stare back, blinking away your tears until you were sure he was asleep again. Only then would you let yourself cry, and fuck, did you cry. You were sure you had cried more in the last four days than you ever had before.

Only one person was allowed in the room at a time, and the only time you left his side was to let one of the boys visit. Frankie usually sat with you in the cafeteria while the other three took their turns, trying to get you to eat something, but he’d convinced you to use the time that day to run home and get a shower in, and grab yourself some clothes and other things you’d need since it was apparent you wouldn’t be leaving. He knew no one other than Santiago could convince you to stay the night in your own home rather than in the recliner by his bedside.

Frankie also knew that as brave as Pope was, he’d want you next to him through it all. He’d be heartbroken if he woke up and you weren’t there.

You’d be just as torn up over it.

A nurse checked on him every hour, and it was this particular nurse’s last round before shift change. You liked her. Her name was Casey, and she was always so gentle with him. It was obvious that she actually cared about her patients, not just for them, and you appreciated it to no end, words failing every time you tried to properly thank her. You knew the comfort was something he needed, something you were still too scared to give him. You were afraid to touch him, so terrified that you’d hurt him or cause him even an ounce of discomfort. You hadn’t even touched his hand.

But, it was something you needed to get over. You both needed it.

You watched as she worked around him, checking to make sure everything was still in place, double checking it even after she was sure nothing had wiggled its way loose. She peeked over her shoulder towards you. “The doctors are bringing in an occupational therapist tomorrow.”

“For what?” you asked, shifting in your chair, eyes flickering between her and Santi.

“We’re hoping to keep him awake long enough to get him to write a few things down. See if communicating that way is a possibility. And if not that, maybe we can get him to point at a chart with different letters to spell things out.”

You shifted again. “Is he ready for that?”

“The doctors seem to think so. The longer he stays awake, the better we can gauge where he’s at cognitively.”

You stayed silent at that, your stomach flipping as another bout of fear moved through you.

Casey seemed to know exactly where your head was at though, and she stopped momentarily to reach back and set a reassuring hand on your shoulder.

“He’s expected to make a full recovery sweetheart. I’m not the type to believe in miracles and things like that, but given what he’s already pulled himself through, he’s one lucky man.”

You smiled gently, putting your hand over hers, but a frown quickly worked its way back onto your face. “I’m just scared he doesn’t recognize me. Every time he looks at me, it’s almost like he’s looking through me.”

“And does that make you love him any less?”

You were taken aback by her words, completely shocked. But you immediately shook your head, eyebrows furrowing. “Of course not.”

“And why’s that?”

“Because it’s not his fault.” Your answer was again immediate. “Because he just went through some shit and it’s not his fault at all. I vowed to love him for better or for worse, and that wasn’t a promise either of us took lightly.”

“Exactly,” she shrugged, pointing to him. “Because that’s still your husband. He’s still your Santiago. There’s just a few kinks to work out, and even if those kinks did become permanent, you’d still love him, right?.”

“Absolutely.”

“Then there’s nothing to be afraid of.”

You knew she was right. You knew that even if he didn’t recognize you at first, the doctors were near positive that he would eventually. And even if he didn’t, and he had to relearn you completely, it’d be worth it. Because at least he was still alive, still breathing. You still had him.

“Thank you.”

Casey smiled, smiling and squeezing your shoulder gently before turning her attention back to Santiago.

Once she was finished, she turned towards you again, tilting her head to the side. “You know, he could really use a bath. And I think he’d appreciate it if you were the one to do it instead of me.”

The smirk on her face was entirely noticeable, and you knew exactly what she was doing, but you still nodded your head, suddenly craving the physical contact, that connection.

“Great,” she hummed, leaving the room to grab the supplies you would need in order to give him a sponge bath.

She returned a moment letter with a cloth, some soap and deodorant, and a basin of water, instructing you to stay clear of any bandages, and to not worry about his hair. If he woke up, you could try to wash his back, but otherwise she didn’t want you to worry about that either. You nodded your head, listening intently even though it was all pretty straightforward. She turned off the bed alarm, showing you which button to press once you got up again, and left the room.

Once Casey was gone, you took a moment to just stare at him, even though you hadn’t truly looked at anything else in the last four days. He looked better than he had when you first saw him, really. He had some color back in his cheeks, and the lines on his forehead had smoothed out. He looked almost peaceful.

You sighed gently, giving yourself one final push before stepping forward, carefully peeling the blanket and the sheet away from his body.

Should you try to wake him? Or would it be better for you to just go for it? You decided on the latter, thinking it would be better if he woke up on his own accord. If he stayed asleep, then it was obvious his body needed it.

“Hey, sweet boy,” you whispered as you sat down on the edge of the bed, pushing a few sweat soaked curls away from his forehead. “I’d ask how you’re doing but that seems a little redundant right now.”

You chuckled to yourself, shaking your head as you reached for the cloth, wetting it and applying a little bit of soap. You started on his arms, staying away from his IV and the bandage near his elbow. Your touch was gentle, slow, but the feeling of his skin under your fingertips after not feeling it for days set both your body and soul ablaze, chest so full of love and something else that you couldn’t quite place. Relief, maybe? You didn’t know.

“The boys have been in and out,” you continued, even though he couldn’t hear you. You just wanted to talk to him. “Frankie told me you woke up for a second the last time he was in here. He cried a little bit, but he’s never gonna admit it.”

You hesitated, moving to untie the hospital gown as much as you could, pulling it down just enough to reveal his chest, being extremely careful not to accidentally disconnect a wire for the heart monitor. You started on his upper arms.

“The boys feel like shit. They all think there was something they could’ve done to prevent it, even though everyone knows it was just a stupid accident. Benny’s taking it really hard.”

You brought your free hand to his lower stomach, your fingertips tracing random shapes and patterns into his skin as you moved the cloth over his right shoulder, your eyes glued to your movements.

“I miss you so much,” you sighed, shaking your head slowly. “I mean, I know you’re right fucking here, but you know what I mean. I miss your hugs, your kisses. Your voice. Those beautiful, beautiful eyes of yours.”

The tears started before you even had a chance to realize. You could feel them trailing down your cheeks, falling onto the sheets below.

“I just really need you to be okay, you hear me baby? I need you.”

Your voice cracked, and you felt yourself begin to shake, the sobs moving through your body with relentless force. You made yourself stay quiet though, not wanting to scare a nurse or a family down the hall, or even Santi himself.

Nothing had ever been so hard. This entire experience had been more than difficult, but as you sat there, thinking about how things could have gone in an entirely different direction, and how you could have walked away a widow instead of a wife, you realized exactly how true Casey’s words had been. Santi really was lucky, and so were you.

And if this was hard for you, you couldn’t even begin to imagine how hard it would be for him once he was fully conscious again, and able to make sense of everything that he’d been through. The doctors were still unsure of just how far his brain injury ran, but they were sure there were things that would take time to come back to him — like his ability to speak, possibly his ability to walk. They predicted that he’d have migraines for months. Light sensitivity, some dizziness and confusion that could last just as long. Fatigue, general weakness. Pain. His recovery was going to be hell, and there you were, having sat by his bedside for four days feeling sorry for yourself.

How could you have been so selfish? In a time where your husband needed you most?

You felt selfish even crying, but you couldn’t stop. The tears just kept pouring, and the hole in your chest grew and grew as you continued to spiral deeper and deeper into your thoughts.

You were only pulled from them when you felt a set of knuckles gently brush against your cheek, and for a moment, you thought one of the boys had managed to sneak their way in, or maybe it was even Casey coming to check in one last time before heading home for the night.

The last thing you expected to see when you blinked your eyes open was a familiar pair of warm brown ones staring right back at you.

Brown eyes full of recognition and worry.

You gasped, not able to stop the sound before it left your lips, but you did refrain from throwing your arms around him, knowing the action would probably hurt him or knock something loose. Instead, you reached up, taking his hand and intertwining your fingers with his.  

“Santi?”

He blinked a couple of times, looking as if he wanted to say something in response, but he could only frown, and you knew him well enough to notice that his inability to speak was already frustrating him.

But you almost took that as a good thing, because it showed that he remembered waking up before, and how he hadn’t been able to speak any of those times either. The fact that he remembered was good, right?

And he might not have been able to verbally speak, but there were still so many things he could say without words. You felt him squeeze your hand, three times — a silent “I love you”, something he had started doing not long after saying it to you for the first time.

“I love you too, baby. I love you so much.”

He pulled on your hand, trying to bring you closer to him, and you started to shake your head, still worried about hurting him.

“Santi, no-”

This time he gently smacked your hand, effectively silencing you as he pointed to his shoulder, and you knew what he was trying to tell you — you wouldn’t hurt him if you were only lying against his shoulder.

He knew exactly what you were thinking without you needing to speak, too.

And you couldn’t deny him, not when he was looking at you with those puppy dog eyes he knew would get him anything he wanted.

You tossed the washcloth back into the water, and pulled his gown back up, redoing the ties before scooting further up the bed. You made sure that everything was out of the way before leaning back against him, keeping your eyes trained on his face the entire time. Only when he didn’t flinch did you finally relax.

And you both simply laid there, staring at one another, letting your eyes do all of the talking. Neither of you looked away, not even once. Not until Santi’s eyes started to close again, his exhaustion taking over once more. You kissed the corner of his mouth, and you watched as his lips twitched upwards into a small smile before he gave into unconsciousness.

He’d managed to stay awake for over half an hour this go around, and for twenty minutes the next time he woke up, and another twenty after that.

And when morning came and Casey walked into the room for the first round of her shift, all she could do was smile.

Santiago was awake again, and you were the one asleep, lightly snoring from your place on his shoulder, looking so completely at peace.

And he was looking at you like he was the luckiest man alive.

#santiago pope garcia #santiago pope garcia x reader #triple frontier #triple frontier x reader #triple frontier imagine

[hadjalterdoneanythingwrong]

The Myriad Worlds

(3b/?)

"I hope you're happy with yourself."

Mash sat on her bed, speaking to the scale that had just appeared beside her.

Don't act like you aren't happy, o seeker mine.

"You threw me into another timeline. I thought you just... warped my own. Now they're going to be looking for me, and they're going to try and drag me back."

Most of those who [bargain] with me do not win.

"You said none of your twists were harmful. You lied to me."

I'm sorry, are you hurt? Is anyone? ...Anyone that matters?

Silence.

"...Who are you?"

I am [विखंडित]. I am the last of my kind. I come from the world your [Master] called home. I was sent here before she was by the [Eye]. She used me to make every single change to ever inflict your maddeningly content little lives.

"You—"

Mash scrambled off of her bed, away from the scale. "So it's your fault too, then? Everything was just one wish after another!?"

I can see into your mind. You are misunderstanding.

"What am I misunderstanding??"

You blame us for Goetia. For the Singularities. You think, because we molded your world like the cheap children's clay it is, that surely we must have crafted it to begin with as well. You blame us for Roman. You blame us for the Crypters. You blame us for the less-than-stellar hand you were dealt upon birth. And I am here to tell you, no. We didn't do a thing before Salem. We didn't do a thing during. We did not craft your world. The [Eye] saw everything that was wrong with it, and she took the reins from there. Why? Because she loved you. She loved all of you. She never wanted any of you to suffer again. Yet, every world needs conflict to remain stable. Utopias cannot exist in any world, in any timeline, in any universe. Not because it is impossible, but because of the one who comes to punish them. So she tried to think of ways to spice it all up. DO NOT BLAME HER FOR TRYING TOO LATE.

The room shook. Mash clutched her head, that searing pain returning.

The door opened.

"Mash? Are you—"

Carina's eyes fell upon her. Upon the scale on the bed.

...Sh-She's going to forget. It'll be fine.

Carina entered the room.

It'll be fine. The world will come up with some excuse.

She picked up the scale.

What mundane thing will they turn this into?

"...I figured it had to be one of you."

Mash's eyes widened.

Ever astute you are, [Your Malevolence].

"Are you from her world?"

I am here from there, yes. The [Shape] you take there is that of my own world.

Carina exhaled through her nose, and smiled. "How exciting. I'll have to look into it sometime."

She dropped the scale and turned to leave.

"...S-Senpai, you..."

Carina's gaze met Mash's. They stared at each other in silence for a moment. Mash looked long and hard into her Master and Senpai's eyes.

She could not find her Master and Senpai's eyes.

"...you knew?"

"Of course I knew." Carina spoke in an odd, unfamiliar tone. Like she wasn't herself anymore. Like she was something bigger. Grander. Incomprehensible. "Who do you think has been keeping the others in the dark? It wasn't the Wish-Wyrm."

Wish-Wyrm. Is that what the scale is called?

"Then why... why didn't you say anything? Why didn't you tell me from the start?"

"Because, Mash..." Carina lowered herself, and gently held her hand underneath Mash's chin. Those unrecognizable eyes swirled and shifted until... vaguely, ever so vaguely, they resembled the eyes that Mash knew again.

"No matter what timeline we're in, all I want is to make sure you're happy."

The tone didn't change. The voice stayed the same. Yet somehow... that usual comfort was there.

"I know what you're doing is wrong. It's insane. But I don't care. As long as you're content. I'll do whatever it takes."

Carina kissed Mash's forehead, and stood straight again.

"The only reason I can't keep pretending now is because they're on their way. Conflict is inevitable. ...And frankly, I can't wait to see what they're made of."

She made her way to the door, but stopped.

"...Oh, but... Mash?"

"Y...Yes...?"

"...I love you." Carina turned to face Mash. There were those eyes. There was that smile. There was that voice. Like nothing ever happened. "In every timeline, I love you. In every universe, every single possible future, I will always love you. Please, don't ever forget that."

Mash felt tears begin to form in her eyes. She couldn't quite tell why.

"...Also, you should really do something about your hair. I'm having to suppress everyone's minds every time they look at you. Just saying~"

And off she went.

"...I... w-wait, what?"

Mash pulled out her mirror, and took a long look at herself.

Her hair was turning black.

Her one visible eye was turning a bluish indigo. The other was turning red.

She screamed.

No one seemed to answer.

#[lore] #[the Evil One's advent]

[liquid-geodes]

Read at your own risk

Vent post, feel free to ignore. Pretty much just a summary of yesterday and how it's left me feeling today. Nothing you guys really care about but I guess I just also feel like I owe an explanation for why I'm so.. off these next few weeks. I don't mean to be too much of a buzzkill, or be too clingy, or too annoying trying to keep people around but it's just, a lot right now and I know that doesn't make it okay but I'm just-

There's a lot going on and it feels like I have absolutely no one to talk to who will actually get it because they're part of the situation and will also take the time to just listen

Like obviously I have mutuals who have listened already or even just asked if everything was okay, but it's just different when I know that nobody else in the world is going to know just how bad I'm hurting because they just aren't me

I honestly appreciated you two that were there and just listened, and I appreciate you who just asked if I was okay and reminded me that you were here for me

So yeah, the situation itself is pretty bad. But for some reason, the entire time I was sitting there I was just.. so numb to it? Like, I didn't have any feelings towards what was happening or anything even though this is maybe one of the most serious times in my life where I should just be incomprehensible and feeling everything about the situation.

But none of my negative feelings are about the situation, y'know the thing that matters like a LOT.

And I know that what I'm feeling isn't fear or something like that, because that part already came to pass last night, and even then I was afraid for all the wrong reasons.

But now I'm just filled with insurmountable guilt, I guess? Because things have already been strained between my parents for a long time, not to mention just how my mom has been lately mentally and physically. But the fact that it's yet another fight and, even though I'm technically not involved in the situation, I'm still a major reason people are mad at each other. And it's all because I was dragged into the situation and am having to face consequences for something I shouldn't.

And I guess my guilt really just ties back to the way I've always blamed their fighting on me: it's genuinely my fault they're even still together. Mom tried to leave him before when I was young, and yeah that fucked me up, I wanted to be back home where I had friends and both my parents and I wasn't just somewhere completely unfamiliar and uncomfortable. Understandably I was miserable, and that's the whole reason mom even decided to come back anyway, IM the reason she came back and stayed where she was unhappy. Like, that isn't a new thought for me. I have felt this way every single time there's been a fight, every single time mom's been upset and hurt by his words, every single day I think about how I fucked up my mom's chance at being happy. Pretty fucked up a third grader can even put things together like that huh?

But that's just how it's been ever since we came back. Now Everytime there's a fight or something goes wrong it just always leads back to "well this wouldn't be happening if you weren't here" and I think the worst part is that it's true... A lot of this WOULDNT be happening if I just, never existed...

So imagine how fucked up I have to be feeling inside now that, at 20 years old, the only thing I've heard recently is "if it weren't for you I would have killed myself a long time ago" so now I'm the only thing keeping my parent alive?? I'm now singlehandedly responsibly for the life of my own mother while simultaneously being the exact starting point and cause of why she's so unhappy and has been treated like shit and wants to die in the first place.

And I want to clarify: neither of my parents have EVER blamed me for being the cause of everything. But I'm not stupid. I know that if I had just shut up back then about not being happy and just not make my mom feel guilty for leaving everything would be FINE. I logically can not think of any other reason for things to have gone the way they did except for because of me.

And isn't that just a really fucked you thing to have to hear almost every single day?? How much stress that has to put on me because if I say the wrong thing or disagree with her in any capacity she might react like I don't love her and decide "hey you were the only reason I haven't killed myself, and now you're treating me like everyone else, guess I will proceed to kill myself and it's your fault now because hey, like I've said multiple times before, YOU are the only reason I put up with everything and even bother trying to live! Good luck living with yourself!"

I shouldn't have to be afraid to leave my mom home alone while she's upset because I have to go to work and can't be home to keep an eye on her. Like how absolutely FUCKED is it that every second of every day I'm having to fucking plan for what to do in case she fucking does it??

I'm physically incapable of giving a shit what happens to me anymore. Yeah I still get scared and afraid of however my dad will react because hey we can all agree it's big scary when someone loses their temper and screams at you. But that's it! Those situations have resolutions! They end and you finally don't have to dread waiting for it to happen anymore because it just happened! It's all this other stuff that I have no fucking idea if or when it'll even happen! And it's really fucked up! How could parents make their children feel this way! How can they acknowledge that what they're doing isn't good for you and still do it anyway!

IDK everything just has me feeling sick to my stomach, and my body wants to just cry... But my brain hasn't let me cry for me in a very long time... I don't get to be sad over my own issues, because hey you brought this on yourself by being the reason this dysfunctional marriage is still together

But youre allowed to cry over others and how the situation is affecting them, because while you don't really get to care about yourself or your own feelings anymore, you actually care a LOT about the people around you and THEIR feelings

I never knew it was possible to care so much yet be so numb at the same time....

#this was honestly a heavy vent post for me #vent post #vent posting

[artificialqueens]

Galactica, Chapter 46 (Group Fic) - TheDane/Veronica

A/N: Click here if you’re looking for previous chapters (or here if you’d rather read on AO3). 💫

Last Chapter: Pearl invited Adore to a party

This Chapter: Adore has a very bad week, the design team gets more cronuts, and Raven has a lunch date with her bestie.

***

“I don’t understand…”

It had been a great night. Pearl had picked her up, both of them dressed to kill, Adore’s hair freshly dyed an icy turquoise. They’d had dinner, laughing their asses off while they swapped stories about concert debauchery and their favorite bands, and then went onto the party. It was just hours of dancing and flashing lights and pounding bass, their bodies pressed together, chemistry electric like it’d been when they first got together.

Things were so heated at one point that Pearl dragged Adore off to fuck her against a brick wall, making her shiver and moan, fingers gripping the lapels of Pearl’s motorcycle jacket.

After the party, they’d gone to an all-night diner in DUMBO for pancakes, sharing sticky kisses, leaving most of the food untouched as they giggled happily, party drugs slowly leaving their systems.

And then lastly, they’d wandered over to the bridge, the best spot in the whole city to watch the sunrise.

It was then, snuggled in Pearl’s arms as they watched the sky slowly begin to brighten, the first faint rays of light turning a few clouds pink, when Adore carefully brought up the idea of being monogamous. If not now, she figured, clinging together under a cotton-candy sky, then when.

“This open thing, I just...I feel like it’s making me paranoid, you know?”

What she wasn’t expecting, not after a night like that, was that Pearl would immediately let go of her, shaking her head, saying, “I’m just not ready for that.”

Which brought them to the present moment.

“I don’t understand…” Adore began, eyes welling up with tears. “Didn’t you have fun tonight?”

“Yeah, of course. I always have fun with you,” Pearl said.

“So then why-” Adore gulped as a single tear spilled down her cheek. “Why am I not enough for you?”

“It’s not that! You’re great. You are. There are just things I miss when we’re together. And I don’t want to make you a promise that I can’t keep.”

“Like what? What do you miss?”

“Like…” Pearl faltered. “Like, little lacy panties and kissing with lipgloss. Having a manicured hand in my hair while I eat a girl out. Watching an ass in high heels and smelling floral perfumes. Carrying her tiny purse-”

“So...I’m not femme enough?” Adore asked, head still shaking in confusion.

“You’re the one who asked.” Pearl sighed, pushing away from the bridge. “I like you, and it makes me sound like a douche, but, I dunno Adore. I’m a lesbian. I like girls. Sometimes-” Pearl looked over at her. “Sometimes you seem more like a boy.”

Adore swore she could feel her heart shatter, a wrecked sob leaving her. Growing up, one of her biggest sources of shame was not being enough of a “girl.” She never liked frilly things, she never liked the things her older sisters did, like ballet classes and fashion and shopping. She remembered being a kid, bored silly with the endless conversations about nail polish and push-up bras that she was subjected to.

When she came out, one of the best things was that a lot of those expectations were suddenly removed, lifted from her shoulders. She could make her own rules, and so she did. But sometimes, secretly, she still worried. She still glanced at her reflection when in a group of other girls, still wondered sometimes how she measured up.

Most of the time, she got plenty of validation--her friends praising her constantly, and even her sister’s lighthearted shade was affectionate, never failing to slip in a compliment. So she was able to curb her inner demons, really believe that she was beautiful and cute and lovable, even if she wasn’t the most feminine.

But today, hearing Pearl’s honest opinion...it was like someone confirming her worst fear. Like a boy. As she continued crying, her chest aching, she felt like even more of a monster than she ever had.

“C’mon, don’t cry.” Pearl didn’t touch her, and Adore was so thankful for that, as it would have made everything worse. “You’re a really cool boy, and it’s fun to spend time with you.”

“Just stop talking.”

“Let’s get a cab and head back-”

“You think I wanna ride in a cab with you right now?!” Adore asked angrily, swiping at her eyes, surely smearing her makeup even more. “Fuck you!”

“Adore-”

“Just go!” she exclaimed hoarsely, glaring right into Pearl’s tired eyes, daring her.

After a resigned sigh, Pearl muttered, “Whatever you say,” and turned, walking back towards Brooklyn.

***

Courtney had almost finished getting ready for work, putting the last touches on her makeup and looking for a pair of earrings both plain enough to be acceptable, but that she was certain she hadn’t worn in the last two weeks. She’d just pulled out a pair of small, inoffensive black hoops when her phone started buzzing, sending a wave of fear and nausea through her all at once.

It was barely 6:30, and getting a phone call at this time could only mean that there was some pending disaster for her at work--or worse, something she’d already screwed up. She reached for the phone with her heart in throat, stomach churning, only to see to her surprise that it wasn’t her work phone ringing. Brow furrowed, she picked up her old personal iPhone, wondering what could be wrong.

“Adore? Are you okay?”

“Pearl and I broke up,” came Adore’s shaky voice, hitching on the last word.

“Oh god, I’m so sorry!”

“We had the best night, I thought things were turning around, and then she-”

What came next was almost totally incomprehensible as Adore tried to speak through her sobs.

“Where are you, honey? Do you need me to come and-”

“I’m on the Brooklyn Bridge.”

“You’re what!?” Courtney’s heart nearly stopped, panic rushing through her like a bolt of lightning.

“No, I’m…It’s just cause we were at a party here. Don’t-” Adore managed to chuckle drily through her tears. “Don’t worry.”

“Oh. Okay. Good.”

“I’m just gonna walk across and then like...I dunno. Probably go home and sleep all day. But I thought...maybe we could hang out this week?”

“Of course! Whenever you want, just say the word. Okay?”

“Okay. Thanks. I’m sorry to...I know you’re probably heading to work, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. You know you can call me anytime. And Dore?”

“Yeah?”

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

***

Pearl was leaning back in her chair, her eyes closed, a constant throb behind her right eye.

Normally, she had nothing against the big glass doors and windows that let her entire team see her at all times, the installment of them her own choice, but right now, Pearl desperately wished she had a private office.

She was feeling absolutely wretched from last night, and if she was being honest, it wasn’t just leftover alcohol and party drugs that had her feeling like shit.

Adore had completely misunderstood, had refused to listen to her when she explained herself, the whole thing a terrible terrible mess.

It wasn’t Pearl’s fault that Adore had agreed to something she apparently wasn’t cool with, this whole situation only happening because Adore didn’t actually know herself.

Pearl crossed her arms, groaning, the lie comforting for a moment, but it was just that, a lie.

Adore had asked for honesty, but it seemed like Pearl had made a mistake indulging it. She didn’t know what to do, the guilty feeling new and unfamiliar.

“Pearl?” Pearl opened her eyes to see Laganja standing at her door, a curious expression on her face. “I need you to-”

“I don’t need to do shit until after you get me a coffee.”

“Okay boss?” Laganja raised an eyebrow. “Way to be a bitch.”

Laganja turned around and walked away, Pearl groaning as she slid even further down her chair, today going from bad to worse to terrible.

***

“Hello! Earth to Chachki.”

“Huh?” Violet looked up, Bob’s voice cutting through her thoughts. It was midmorning, Trixie coming into work with boxes of cronuts, a smile on his face as the designers had flocked around him.

Everyone had gathered at the couches, Violet’s stack of magazines she had already read in the corner, Maxwell asking if he could read them when she was done.

“Are you going to eat that?” Bob pointed at Violet’s plate.

“Oh.” Violet looked down, the pastry untouched. “Umh-” April had been kind enough to bring Violet a plate without being asked, her and Alexis sitting side by side. “What’s Trixie’s deal with these anyway?”

“With the cronuts?” Jovan looked over at her, Maxwell next to him.

“It means there’s a tough week ahead-” Maxwell waved his cronut around. “It’s kind of an apology in advance.”

“Ha,” Violet smiled, that statement so fitting with everything she knew of Trixie, the man downstairs in a meeting with Bendela.

“And the question still stands on whether or not you're eating that,” Bob nodded, his eyes still firmly on Violet’s cronut.

“Ah.” She hadn’t even tasted it, but Violet was not in the mood, Sutan’s question about Aspen still playing around in her head. “No.”

“Dibs then!” Blu grinned, reaching over the coffee table and snatching it from Violet’s plate.

“Hey!” Bob yelled, outrage on his face. “That was mine.”

“We can share it.” Blu smiled, breaking it in two.

“You guys,” Alexis rolled her eyes, taking a sip of her coffee as she flicked to the next page. “Awww, look!” Alexis lit up, turning the magazine around. “Remember when Lupita Nyong’o wore my dress to the Grammys?”

“Gimme!” Maxwell reached out, snatching it from Alexis' hand and Violet leaned over so she could see too, Jovan inches away from her.

Lupita looked stunning in her dark blue gown, the flowy skirt making her look like a goddess, Alexis’ signature draping all over it.

“She looks great,” Violet said, “You should be very proud.”

“Thanks, girl!”

Violet looked closer at the page, grimacing when she saw Katy Perry’s weirdly unflattering, asymmetrical suit.

“Katy Perry, though, what an absolute mess. It looks as if Maxwell and Jovan collabed while on acid.”

The second the words left her mouth, Violet regretted them.

This was the first time she had spoken her mind around her new coworkers, the first time she had let out her most sarcastic and dry thoughts, her heart speeding up.

Jovan and Maxwell looked at each other, and Violet tensed, prepared for the angry response she was sure would be coming. But instead of snapping at her or putting her in her place, both men burst out laughing, the rest of the group quickly joining in.

This was unlike anything Violet had ever experienced in school, her peers not laughing at her, but apparently with her instead, the feeling completely new. No one giving her death stares or looking at her like she was a stain on a carpet.

“Omigod, draaag them!” Bob exclaimed, wiping his eyes.

“I-” Violet didn’t know what to say. As a child, she had kept her mouth shut, never saying anything, even when it got her in trouble. It had gotten better at the academy, her body speaking for her, but her classmates and coworkers had taken her silence as a judgement, her corrections of their work like attacks instead of the advice she had meant it as.

In college, she had just stopped giving her opinion all together, another girl leaving a critique in tears when Violet had shared her honest thoughts.

“I didn’t mean-”

“Just to be clear,” Maxwell smiled, “I refuse to have this color story pinned on me.”

“Oh girl shut up,” Jovan grabbed the magazine. “It’s not the colors that makes this terrible, it’s the fucking cut. Are you blind?”

“Anything but the neckline is fine.”

“Okay, so you are blind?”

“I think all of it looks like shit too.”

“BLU!”

Violet smiled, watching her coworkers argue, for once, feeling like she completely and absolutely belonged with them.

***

Bianca stepped off the elevator into her foyer, nearly tripping over a pair of studded black combat boots telling her that she wasn’t coming home to her usual empty apartment.

“Adore? Hello? Where are you?”

Bianca walked through the living room and dining room to the kitchen, assuming that’s where she’d find her sister, but there was no Adore to be found.

“Adore!”

She started to get concerned when yipping from the dogs guided her into the den, where Adore was curled up on the giant L-shaped sofa, buried under 3 blankets, a half-empty bottle of Jack Daniels sitting on the coffee table.

“Hey.”

“Hi.” Adore looked up, blue eyes red and watery, lip quivering, and Bianca immediately softened at the sight.

“What’s wrong?” Bianca asked, although she had a pretty good idea already.

Adore rubbed her eyes and sniffled before saying, “Please just don’t say ‘I told you so,’ okay?”

“Aww, baby girl…” Bianca rushed to her side, wrapping her up into a hug and rocking her, rubbing her back, letting her cry it out. “I’m so sorry, pussycat.”

“I’m so stupid,” Adore cried into her neck, and Bianca shook her head vigorously.

“You’re not. Not at all. She’s the stupid one. Okay?” Bianca murmured against her temple.

“Do you have any ice cream?”

Bianca smiled slightly, brushing away a few of Adore’s tears with her thumbs. “I’ll have some delivered. Cookie dough or fudge brownie?”

“Both.”

“Coming right up.” Bianca pressed a kiss to Adore’s forehead and reached for her phone. The fact that things between Adore and Pearl had ended like this was no surprise, not to anyone with half a brain, but she still felt badly for her sister, would still do anything possible to help her feel better.

***

“Juju!” Raven stood up, smiling brightly as she watched her best friend make her way through the restaurant. “It’s so good to see you!” Raven pulled her in for a hug, breathing in the scent of the coconut oil Juju always used.

“Hi gorgeous!” Juju said, hugging her back, and Raven grinned, pulling back to take her in.

Juju looked amazing, her brown hair styled in her signature curls, her blouse of the day a satin lilac with a bow. And of course that bump, growing every day.

“Mama, how did you grow this much in two weeks?” Raven put a hand on Juju’s belly, a tight pencil skirt holding it in. She couldn’t feel the baby yet, but that didn’t matter.

“My best guess is curly fries.” Juju laughed. “I’ve been hitting up Arby’s on my way home from the salon every day, because I…” Juju framed her face with triumphant jazz hands, “am garbage!”

“That’s why we love you,” Raven giggled, pressing a kiss to her friend’s cheek before getting back into their seats.

Raven and Juju had been friends for years. Raven had liked Juju from the moment they met,  Sutan putting her in Juju’s salon chair the second he had signed her for Elite, but they hadn’t officially clicked until she had started dating Raja.

Raven had never really had a best friend growing up, and she was so happy that she had Juju, even though they didn’t see each other as much as they both wanted to. Raven often visited the Sanderson household, spending her evenings there sometimes when Raja worked late--but with the twins, Detox and Kelly around, they rarely had time just the two of them. So as soon as the waiter came by and took their orders, she got down to business.

“Tell me all about your trip!” Raven said. “How’s the new location doing?”

“Oh man. I mean it’s going well so far, but could I have chosen a worse time to open up a new salon? I’m so busy already, and now this new kid. I’m a little worried.”

Juju’s New York salon was such a success that over the years she’d opened up several more locations: Los Angeles, Miami, and Chicago. And now, her latest one in Atlanta, opened just a month before she’d found out that she was pregnant again.

“If anyone can do it, you can!” Raven told her with an encouraging squeeze, remembering how hectic things had been after the twins were born. “Look at it this way...at least it’s only one baby this time.”

“Ha! That’s true. Anyway, so far so good. Plus it’s around the corner from the best restaurant I have ever been, in my life”

“In Atlanta?” Raven asked, stirring her iced tea, one eyebrow raised.

“Yes, don’t be such a snob!” Juju laughed.

“Whatever you say,” Raven replied.

“Rave, seriously. I mean the food was good, but the desserts?”

Raven perked up, eyes getting bigger and bigger as Juju proceeded to describe a decadent chocolate mousse cheesecake and coconut bread pudding soufflé.

“Stop, omigod!” she finally interrupted, picking up her napkin to fan herself with it. “This is too public. It’s like watching porn on the subway.”

Jujubee laughed, clapping her hands. “Sounds fun! I’m gonna try that. Also...” Juju gestured to the dessert tray rolling by, piled high with confections.

“Ugh, I would push my grandmother in front of a bus for one of those!” Raven groaned, and Juju laughed again.

“So have one! You can’t still be on your runway diet, right?”

“No, I am. “ Raven sighed. “Galactica is doing that showroom thing for the holiday collection next week, and in December I have two swimwear shoots.”

Just thinking about it, Raven groaned. She was excited about the Galactica booking, showroom shows technically way below her level of modeling, but Raven took any excuse she could to work with Raja, spending time with her finacée more than enough reason to put up with the tedious task of playing mannequin for the day.

What was starting not to feel worth it, was the swimwear shoots.

Raven wanted the money, and she was happy she had work, but she couldn’t wait for Thanksgiving, Sutan giving her a mere 6 hours of carte blanche to eat whatever she wanted.

“I’ve been in the gym two hours every day, eating like, grass and leaves.”

Raja had been sweet about it, encouraging her and helping her, but her fiancée just didn’t understand, getting in shape and most importantly keeping the same shape never an issue for Raja, Raja’s measurements largely the same in her 40s as they had been in her 20s. Raven was just happy that Raja seemed to love her body no matter what, the grind of being perfect getting harder and harder every year.

“It’s been horrendous.”

“Aww, I’m sorry boo.” Juju reached over the table, squeezing Raven’s forearm. “If it helps, Kelly’s getting into cooking and yesterday she made us the most god-awful pancakes I’ve ever had. I didn’t want to discourage her so I had five.”

“How is you eating five pancakes supposed to make me feel better?!” Raven shrieked.

“They were terrible!”

“They were pancakes! Do you know how long it’s been since I had a pancake, you fuckin’ bitch?!”

Juju opened her mouth to reply, but instead, caught sight of the absolutely enraged expression on her friend’s face and burst out laughing. Soon both of them were laughing, clutching their sides, completely unconcerned with the number of Upper East Side ladies giving them the stink-eye.

***

COURTNEY: Hey honey, how’s it going?

ADORE: Well. Bianca is keeping the liquor cabinet well-stocked, so...counting my blessings.

COURTNEY: I really want to see you.

ADORE: Me too. Ditch work tomorrow and come hang out with me.

COURTNEY: Ha! I wish.

ADORE: Maybe Friday? Sleepover at my place?

COURTNEY: It’s a date. <3

***

“If you’d please direct your attention to the beading samples in front of you, I’ve made horizontal and vertical variations, the horizontal the pattern I’ve integrated on the bodice-”

As an assistant, Violet had been used to Fame’s steely blue eyes every single day, a squint, a lifted brow, the twist of a mouth more than enough to tell Violet everything she needed to know.

Now, it felt like Fame was a complete stranger, her boss sitting with Raja at her side, both of them completely impassive, Fame’s face not giving anything away.

“And it’s my clear conviction that that will be the best choice, the lines creating a more pleasant visual.”

Violet knew it wasn’t her outfit, her hair styled with a golden clip exactly like Fame liked it, her nails the almond shape and pale pink that was never a problem, her shoes the regulated height so Violet wouldn’t tower over Fame if they had to walk anywhere together.

“For the sleeves, I hope you’ll considered the flared options,” Violet twisted her mannequin, showing off the right sleeve that she had carefully attached with loose stitches to her dress, “But I’ve also done a more traditional slender-”

“Violet.”

Violet froze, looking over at Fame, her boss wearing a white sweater and white high waisted pants, the row of pearls on her Jimmy Choo’s matching her bracelet and earrings.

“That’s all.”

“Oh,” Violet felt her stomach clench, a flash of disappointment washing over her. “Yes Miss.”

Violet grabbed her mannequin, knowing defeat when it was staring her in the face. She had no idea what she had done wrong, Fame cutting her off mid sentence, all the other designers getting feedback or questions.

Violet watched as Alexis rolled up, the other woman instantly filling out the room with her personality, even making Raja laugh as she showed off the several garments she was working on.

Violet swallowed her disappointment, breathing through her nose as she left the meeting room, her nails digging into her palm.

Years of ballet had taught her that sometimes, even your best wasn’t enough, but without feedback, Violet had no idea what to change or how to fix the situation.

She sat at her desk, tailoring thankfully sending up a package with options for details on her prêt-à-porter so she could distract herself.

Violet was going over the button options for the clothes that would end up mass produced for the stores, when she felt Trixie’s hand on her shoulder.

“Good work today Violet.” Trixie smiled, sitting down on the edge of her desk. He was wearing a blue fuzzy sweater with a teddy bear on it, the creation so clearly made by Katya, a clipboard in his hand.

“Thanks.” Violet bit her cheek, doing her best not to let the disappointment show on her face.

“I know it’s tough right now, not knowing where you stand, but remember. You’re most likely already in the collection somewhere.” Trixie’s voice was soft, which actually only made Violet feel worse, his compassion not at all what she needed. “While we’re waiting for placements and final feedback, I need you to focus on Holiday.”

“Yes.” Violet nodded. She only had one piece in the holiday collection, but she still had to do her best.

“Everything is happening Monday, and I hope you’re ready for it. I expect you to be there bright and early, getting to know how these things work will be crucial for your further career here.”

“Yes sir-” Violet cut herself off, the sir feeling all wrong. “You got it coach.”

#rpdr fanfiction #thedane #veronica #galactica #adore x pearl #adore delano #pearl liaison #courtney act #violet chachki #bianca del rio #raven #jujubee #miss fame #trixie mattel #lesbian au #fashion au #bob the drag queen #miz cracker #yvie oddly #blu hydrangea

[popculturebuffet]

New X-Men Xtrospective Part 1: E is For Extinction “They Will Need Us”

I am SO fucking excited for this one. As might not be obvious to ALL of my readers but should be obvious to some, I fucking love the X-Men. They are one of my favorite superhero teams period as are several of their spinoffs such as X-Factor (All versions), New Mutants, and Marauders. I love the wide cast, the hugely vast universe within the already vast and wonderful marvel universe, and the sheer amount of GREAT stories. I own all 11 movies, have several action figures, and two posters from Jonathan Hickman’s current and utterly dynamite run right above me right now as I work, as well as a marvel 80′s themed poster behind me that’s at least half x-men for good reason. I love this gang of mutants and I have not talked about them enough. 

I”ve done some X-Men stuff sure: I’ve talked about hickman’s time as head writer of the books a year in earlier this year, I did a few scattered reviews back when I did single issues of comics, and then we get to the one I beefed big time: covering ALL of X-Men evolution. While it’s a noble endeavor I freely admit to overexerting myself: I recapped the episodes way too closely, gave myself no real schedule and did so while I was already covering two shows a week at the time. My point is it was a good idea, but the timing was REALLY fucking bad and if I do it again, I intend to do it right and iwth a proper place in my now properly paced schedule. I also planned to do the movies which, unlike evolution, I have solid plans to do once I clear out some of my projects. Point is I burned bright and then exploded and took a whole projecet with me phoenix style. 

I had until this moment yet to do a really big x-men project, something digging into the comics, something that could help fans both of the comics and not get familiar with something really good, and help me dig into both the good and bad of something. I jsut needed the right start. 

Then Christmas gave me that spark, that project that gave me the idea for a butload more x-men content on here and was the perfect starting point for some. See my friend Marco lives in Honduras, and so since i couldn’t afford to send him anything for christmas in the mail, as i’m not exactly rich, I instead offered him three reviews of anything.l He still hasn’t taken up two of them, nor one I gave him for graduating college, but the first one was a doozy, something he hadn’t read due to not liking the art, which is fine as I have some art in comics I don’t like everyone has diffrent tastes, at least for the first arc, and something VITALLY important to x-men as a whole and that’s the backbone of hickman’s current run: the first arc of new x-men, e is for extinction. And given New X-Men is one of my faviorite comics of all time I not only lept on it.. but decided fuck it I’m covering the whole thing. So every so often on here from now until I finish, i’m going to be covering Grant Morrisons ground breaking, mind shattering, status quo destroying run on the children of the atom. This.. is going to be fucking awesome. Buckle up. 

New X-Men came about in 2001. Stop me if you heard this one: The X-Men, once marvel’s best selling title and one of i’ts most beloved, had been set adrift in a seal of editorial bullshit, bad writing, bad storylines and a stale continuity where not much could change or grow and things always reset to about the same place it was last week. If this sounds familiar it’s because it somehow happened AGAIN thanks to Ike Perlmutter’s bullshit, hence the current hickman run, but we’ll get into all of tha tsome other time. Point is as it was in 2018, so it was in 2001: The x-men were in bad straits and marvel reached out to a host of various creators to swing for the fences and find a new direction, something to bring sales and life back to the book. To my shock they actually took a LOT of diffrent pitches in before Morrisons won and from huge names: Geoff Johns, who had not yet returned to DC never to leave, Alex Ross, Keith Giffen.. all huge creative types. but in the end the best man won.

For those unfamiliar with him, Grant Morrison is a gloriously batshit scotsman with a long, storied and delightfully insane history in comics, mostly at DC before and after this comic. This is for good reason: DC scouted Morrison specifically because of his early work at 2000ad. See at the time Alan Moore had hit it really big with Swamp Thing, taking a d list, so so book and making it into an utter masterpiece and giving it thoroughly interesting mythology. Given it was a blockbuster hit that’s still widely loved and discussed, as it should be today, DC decided to repeat the strategy of asking British indie comics creators to come do the same to another property. This same experiment is why Neil Gaiman’s The Sandman exists, so.. yeah it was actually a great strategy and naturally Grant had their first big hit with Animal Man, a metafictional take on a b-list hero that made him a loveable family man, while also putting him through hell and playing with the medium and dc’s vast history, the last two being Morrison’s trademark from then on out.

 They’d next go on to reinvent one of my other faviorite teams: THE DOOM PATROL!  The patrol are a bunch of victims of strange accidents who got powers out of them that are basically curses... and Morrison solidified that concept, taking over after a weak run that ironically enough was trying to imitate the x-men’s success at the time. Instead Morrison just went all out with his weird shit for the first time and made them a team of broken but likeable people with weird powers fighting just the weirdest most incomprehensible shit, a run i’ll likely be digging into eventually along with the team as a whole. It’s also, along with Gerard Way’s recent run, the bedroock for the current and utterly masterful doom patrol series I need to catch up on. They also apparently once wrote a satrical comic starring and lik mocking hitler... a fact I somehow JUST learned but naturally doesn’t surprise me at all. 

Morrison’s career at dc, after doing some creator owned stuff there when Vertigo opened up, hit it’s peak in the late 90′s as they were given the go ahead to reinvent the Justice League, with the wildly successful and awesome JLA, another book I probably need to take a look at that put the big 7 back into the team.  And by now your probably getting the point of me covering his career pattern.. besides giving morrison the praise they deserve, and they’d have some really great runs after this.. and some terrible ones but no one’s perfect. My point is that at this point in their career Morrison’s greatest skill was taking something that had grown stagnant or been forgotten, blowing it up and reworking it into something glorious and new. Taking what worked, scraping away what didn’t and on the whole making something fucking glorious out of it. So here we are. The X-Men needed a new coat of paint and uncle grant had their lcd laced psycadelic paint bucket and brush shaped like a pidgeon at the ready. And for better, way better and admitely sometimes here and there worse,they changed the x-men for good. Some changes were rolled back out of spite, others finally got their chance after said rollback recently, and some were just outright thrown on the grown and smashed with a hammer. But for the most part Grant left a huge impact on the x-men and i’m here to show you why, warts and all. To me my x-men, this is new x-men.  Now naturally there’s even more exposition but i’ts more in what COULD’VE been. Originally while Wolverine, Cyclops, Jean Grey and Professor X were all part of the team the other two members of the slim roster for this run, Beast and Emma Frost.. weren’t. Originally Morrison was going to have Colossus and Moira Mactaggert, long time team ally, token human until very recently, and now thanks to hickman one of the most important x characters peirod and long before that a fan favorite of mine, on the team, with Moira taking over for beast. 

This.. didn’t pan out since Marvel apparently either didn’t give a shit about their plans or already had things in motion as the climax of the longtime legacy virus storyline killed both off. Colossus until Joss Whedon, bastard he may be, brought him back for his terrific Astonishing X-Men, and Moira SOMEHOW stayed dead until House/Powers of X. See this speaks to one of the big roadblocks morrison faced: Jonathan HIckman currently has absolute power and all his writers working in concert, a new way of doing things comic companies shold honestly copy en masse as it’s really working wonders. Grant.. was just one of many writers and one of three main x books the others being Chris Claremont’s XTREME X-MEN, basically “let the legend do what he wants since he can’t get freedom on the main book” and another writer on uncanny... before eventually chuck austen took over and I will tackle that horrible mess some other time. Point is while Morrison was setting the tone, costume style and making the big waves, they still didn’t have full power and thus had to play nice with eveyrone else.  So their next idea was Rogue, making mer more like her x-men evolution version.. except Chris wanted her, so that was out, though being a decent enough guy he willingly gave up Beast since the moira thing meant Morrison needed a science person. As for Colossus replacement, as it turned out a fan had suggested Grant do something with Emma Frost since Gen X was canceled and while Morrison had zero intention for it clearly Emma clicked with hthem and she was soon both a main part of the cast and one of their biggest contributions to X-Men as a whole.

As for what I think of the needed changes.. they ended up being for the best. I do like Moira... but Hank ended up being a much better fit for the team dynamic wise and power set wise, while Emma was the same. While Colossus, Rogue and Moira are all fantastic characters, I think what we ended up with was just a better mix overall. I DO think the team is incredibly white, but that’s a general x-men problem, even with having an assload of diverse and intresting characters, so it’s not entirely his fault. All in all it’s a fantastic roster: four of the x-men’s best, their leader in the field for the first time in forever, and a new and intresting wild card. IT’s a nice ballance of characters and we’ll get more into it as we go. Now all the expositions done, we can finally dive head first into new x-men. I hope you survivie the experince under the cut. 

After an utterly gorgeous and striking cover, the one used up top, we get one solid page to introduce us to Morrison’s mission statment, how  they feel and how good Frank Quitely’s art looks

I cropped it best i could for tumblr but this one image immidetly says a lot. Our heroes are just.. easily taking down this sentinel, an old model... the same one we’ve seen a dozen times. What were once the grim, possible destroyers of an entire race of beings in days of future past and devistating killing machines in the present.. had become stale easily defeated murder bots There had been noble attempts to really make the sentiinels work again like the horrifying omega sentinels, humans forcibly converted into sleeper agent killing machines, during operation: zero tolerance, but otherwise they were mostly just a prop for the x-men to knock down. And that.. really is morrison’s whole point. Lampshading and mocking the fact the x-men had grown stale, things hadn’t really progressed.. and that it was time to move on. But to Uncle Grant’s credit, they not only uses this as a mission statment but it’s plot relevant: this mission will both be explained soon and explains why Logan and Scott are out and about enough to end up where the plot will soon need them. It also helps, via the sight of the syndey opera house establish something Morrison made a staple of their run: the X-Men going global. While the x-men were never really NOT global post claremont, Morrisons run has them handling rescue missions and what not worldwide far more often than most runs before it sans Claremont, and really made it feel like they weren’t just another super team but a global force of good with a specific goal and mission. More on the global aspect next time, as that’s where it really comes in but I felt it was important to show it was there for minute one. 

So yeah before we move onto the first full scene of the run, let’s talk about the costumes. 

We’ll talk about Emma’s later since she’s not introduced to the story for a while but yeah. There’s a sharp, obvious and immediate change just in the outfits, which take after the movie’s more military look, having the x-men not only look more like a unit but more like a professional orginization. Someone to come and help when needed. While this would take on more siginifigance in a bit, we’ll get to it, it also fits Morrisions own views that the x-men were less of a traditional superhero team and more something different on the edges that fought things out there, sorta what like he did with doom patrol. And it’s honestly a valid interpretation as the x-men are often seen as outlaws and misfits by society for beingn well.. mutants. Not as trusted as the avengers. So having them adopt this look played into that: Having them look more professional and focused as The X-Men have a less blanket mission statement than the avenger.. but also mildly threatning. Something to alarm the humans. It’s an utterly brilliant look thrown best together by the big yellow x’s, still giving it a nice flash of color to show off and show this is still a comic and this is still damn colorful.. this just isn’t your AVERAGE supherhero comic or the x-men your used to. IT’s a real shame the only fox x-men movie to use it was fucking dark phoenix.. a film where it didn’t even fit as xavier was getting flashier and more reckless so why wouldn’t he have more garish and colorful and more traditional superhero outfits. They did look good in their variants in first class though. Props there. Point is this is a classic, utterly stunning look, and tha’ts coming from someone whose fine with goofy superhero outfits and perpetually bitter hawkeye is almost never allowed to wear his actual comic outift and is instead stuck with shades instead of you know.. a mask. Or anything resembling an actual good looking costume. This though this is how you do a less superheroy costume: practical and realistic, but still cool looking and comic book friendly. 

We cut to a mysterious lady, we’ll come to know her as Cassandra Nova and while I know her origin... i’m saving it for later as the comics themselves explain it eventually, and a simpering dolt she brought with her, Donald Trask, a distant relative of the creators of the sentinels who, via holograms she’s showing cro magnons slaughtring the neanderthal. Her point is that Mutants are going to do this and she’s clearly fearmongering him and trying to talk him into genocide: to wipe them out before they wipe out humanity. And it’s here we get one of hte most important plot points of Morrisons run and one of the most intresting: according to cassandra’s research Humanity will be no more in 4 generations. Mutankind is on it’s way to overtaking them at last.. i’ts still a few decades off.. but it’s coming. It’s sometihing that the whole decimation nonsense sadly snuffed.. and John Hickman has thankfully brought back. I’ll get to his run once i’ts complete in a few years, but point is it’s an utterly marvelous plot hook: Humanity, whose already attempted genocide a few times, is now in real danger of what their petty, racist, fearful attacks have been about: being replaced. It’s one of the central themes of the work the other two being “Just what IS mutantkind and what will it be”. WHat are they as a people? We’ll dig into these as we go but the threat of exctincion is the backbone of this arc... and will lead to something truly ghastly. 

It’s then we get our title page.. which nothing really to add it just looks really good and helps show off who are cast is and what they can do with striking simple art. 

And since we’re already talking the art of the book, let’s take a moment to discuss an intresting detail of this run: despite it’s short length there’s quite a few diffrent artist, who we’ll talk about of course as we get to each one. The most common and notable though is Frank Quitely. Frank Quitely is one of Morrison’s closest and best creative partners, having a unique, squishy art style.. i.e. the one my friend didn’t like which is why i’m covering this. And while I like the art style quite a bit, I do get why it’s not everyone’s cup of tea: His art is squashed, weird, and admitely some faces can be good god no incaranate. But it’s also why I like it: his characters feel unique, each body and figure feels like it was custom made and thus feels.. real. Like this is a person before you. And given comics can often surrender to having everybody look the damn same, this is nice. His faces may sometimes look similar but his bodies are where the action is. But while having a realistic feel his work also has a weird alien quality that perfectly fits Morrison, and thus his run on x-men. I will say while I love All-Star Superman, his art fits less there in the more hopeful silver agey story, so he’s not an artist for EVERY STORY OF EVERY TYPE.. but when it comes to sci fi weridness, he fits it like a glove so i’ts unsuprising he and morrison are practicaley soul mates, nor that his art sets the tone perfectly for the run: this is something new, diffrent and strange.. and what says x-men at it’s best more than that?

So after our opening titles we cut to the mansion where Hank is showing off his latest and greatest invention: Cerebra. Cerbebra is a massively upgraded version of Cerebro, aka Professor Xavier’s iconic helmet that allows him to track mutants to help them out.. and covertly backup their conconousness for his long game plan, but shhhh, don’t tell anyone yet that’s not going to be retconned in for a few decades. Though i’m damn certain if Morrison has heard about the current era of x-men and how it both builds on what he built, shatters the status quo and is incredibly weird, he’d be damn proud. As for how it’s diffrent Cerebra not only has a large dome around it but said dome allows the machine to amply Charles powers to a global reach. He can now see mutants all over the world anywhere in the world, something I didn’t realize wasn’t ALWAYS a thing because it seems so simple. It’s also likely to bring it more in line with the movies. And while marvel has done TERRIBLE with bringing things in from the movies or in line with them in recent years, i.e. making star lord more like his movie self while forgetting that’s how he already used to be in canon before later writers thankfully did hte better step of merging the two, Hawkeye’s outfit, Cap’s outfit or Nick Fury Jr.  But for every mistep there’s also been tons of times it’s worked out really well such as here, as well as bringing hulk into the avengers for the first time since the founding, making tony stark more like the mcu version and less like a nightmarish self righetous dicktator who rightfully gets beat up and called out a lot, making Scott Lang prominent since he became prominent in the MCU, Wakanda being a major force in the marvel universe as it always should have been and various titles that have popped up to tie into movies, often bringing back a team or property that hadn’t had a book in some time like Ant-Man, Black Panther, and Shang Chi just to name a few. It’s not always hawkeye looking all jeremy renner is what i’m saying.. though thankfully comics clint isn’t that uninteresting. Hopefully the series will change that. 

So yeah along with a bigger shinier cerebro we’re also introduced to a big change in Hank whose taken on his lion form rather than his classic gorilla with a weird haircut or his return to that except bald. Here he’s more like aslan in a human body and I.. love it. It looks great, helps sell hanks delima of being brilliant while looking like a beast and makes sense: he kickstarted what was likely his own secondary evolution by drinking the potion that made him bestial, so it only makes sense his body wouldn’t be all that stable even if it took years to change again. And even that makes sense as hank was breifly turned back to his original hairless ape mutation during x-factor, easily one of the books.. worse decisions honestly and one that louise simonson thankfully later undid. That probably bought him some time hence why it’s only mutating further now.  It also adds an intresting wrinkle which the run will explore further: how far does this go? Will he regress? and how much hank will be left? And how will society treat his new form? 

For now he’s actually extatic. While he’s going through hormonal changes, and giving out some excellent banter with Jean

Which also includes one of the greatest lines in comic book history, one that’s been in my head for decades and made me absolutely love henry mccoy. 

He’s just great is what i’m saying. As you can tell it’s stuff like this why i’m glad Moira fell through. While I love her.. Morrison’s hank is just a delight and one really questionable subplot aside, we’ll get to that, he’s one of the highlights of this run with an intresting internal struggle, and great chemistry with EVERYONE. And that is the main reason i’m glad Moira fell through as his history with everyone but Emma, who he still has a great raport with, means each interaction has weight. He’s close friends with both scott and jean and thus serves as their needed confidant, while still being able to buddy and banter iwth good old weapon x, and speak with his mentor charles as an equal. While I love moira... Beast just fits into the cast too perfectly and I 100% suspect Morrison was only using her because, while she’s awesome, Claremont wanted her and thus gladly snapped her up when he no longer had a science person. I’ll get into his Jean soon enough but she’s likewise fantastic and easily my faviorite version of the character.. not that until very recently there was much honest competition. 

So Cerebra fires up showing a massive cloud of mutants, showing just how much of a huge spike theirs been with Xavier wondering what it all means.. and Hank seeing a weird flare on the mointor for just a second with his special eyes. But since Xavier isn’t stupid and isn’t the kind of idiot who just dismisses it as a fulke, and since Scott and Logan are in the field, he decides to confrence call them in to see if they can go take a look. 

And naturally we get to see what their up to and get context for what the hell happened in the first page. Our heroes were on a rescue mission to save Ugly John, tha’ts what people called him, a three faced mutant who ends up passing out as they head out of the atmosphere for a second. Wolverine is regenerating and smoking out of his neck becaue he could still smoke back then before marvel decided “he’s setting a bad example”.. in a comic meant for teens and adults. 

I mean I get it on some level as the x-men cartoon was a huge thing in the 90′s and Ben Grimm is basically a giant children’s toy with the mind of a surly 40 year old jewish man from yancy street, but stilll it’s just.. why. I may not like smoking but it’s not like it was SPIDER-MAN saying

It’s a grown man.. whose not a sterling roll model and who Claremont went out of his way to have Logan point out his healing factor means it really dosen’t hurt him in the long run and when Kitty, an actual teenager, tried one of his cigars she choked. I know it’s a weird thing to get hung up on but while i’m all for keeping kids from smoking, this was a really clumsy way to try and hehlp that that made no sense and will never make any sense. 

One tangent later we find out that Cassandra was showing Trask a simulation on a flight to, unsuprisingly, south america, to a sentinel blacksite. Between covertly funding civil wars as they do, the US Goverment naturally founded an experimental sentinal project, and a second master mold during the production of the first line... when larry trask asks where it could possibly be well...

Subtly was not the trasks strong point.. or common sense... or.. not realizing their creations would dominate humanity too or not dying. 

Anyways we then cut back to the x-men, as their having a psychic zoom meeting with Charlie giving one of his patnted big speeches.. and like a lot of this comic it’s too damn good not to use 

The reason I couldn’t should be obvious: This one speech sums up the x-men, why their great and why their necessary in a nutshell: in a world full of prejucided morons.. there’s plenty of scared kids who NEED the x-men to protect and guide them, and with a surge in the mutant population, their needed now more than ever. We also get a good explanation in universe for the uniform change: Charles had them in the superhero outfits hoping humanity would accept them if they were packaged as something they know. Since that clearly hasn’t worked he’s trying new ways to reach out and thus going with a diffrent more rescue team approach to the uniforms. He assigns Wolvie and Cyke to go check out the flair as you’d expect and the meetings over. On the blackbird we get our first hint at a subplot as Logan noticed Cyclops couldn’t wait to get out of there, and is being a tad distant to his wife. He actually has reasons for being kind of cold for once instead of just bad writing as he just came back from being possed by apocalypse. Yeah that happened. So the experience has rattled our boy some what. More on that as we go. But Jean ducks the subject with hank but does breach the fact that Charles has been going kind of crazy with the spending, new uniforms and ambition lately. Hank explains it perfectly: After all the death, suffering and misery the x-men have endured lately, the aforementioned deaths I talked about that took Colossus and Moira off the roster, have lionzed Charles to make sure it was all worth something and look towards the future. 

But enough hope time for horror as Cassandra makes her first direct move, trying to take over Charles brain , make his body her own and use cerebra to kill lots and lots of mutants. We then get one of the best moments of Morrisons run with Charles response to a horrifying monster trying to take his brain

While it is shocking to find out Charles has a gun..it’s a grim but kind of understandable precaution. The guy once got fully taken over by a brood, assembling the New Mutants in part because the brood wanted to create more of i’ts kind with more super powers. You’d be paranoid too if some of your beloved students were brought together partly due to your good intentions and partly because a space monster wanted to make more space montsters out of helpless teens, and even horribly gaslighted one of them. We’ll get to that some day. Point is Charles brain is one of the greatest weapons on earth and if the wrong person got a hold of it, it’d be the end of said earth. Thankfully Charles does not need plan gun, as Jean yanks Cerebra off him but the sheer HATE Charles felt from Cassandra, the sheer power has rattled him.. and also told him she’s in Ecuador and his X-Men need to be warned NOW. It’s a great way to set up just HOW powerful Cassandra is.  Speaking of which as our first issue of the arc ends, we find out two things: Cass faked being int he government but really just used dead soldiers as prop.. and just what kind of sentinels are out there.. wild sentinels. Easily my faviorite variant of the old killing machines and one that’s barely used despite being really damn awesome. Their adaptive killing machines, designed to mutated just like their pray and take tech from around them, as a result they look like a jumble of guns and parts.. but not only does it give them a unique, cool look.. but it makes them ten times deadlier as instead of being big bricks of robots that while intimidating, the x-men know how to kill... their unpredictable variable killing machines. You can figure out how to kill one sure.. btu the next might be entirely diffrent. They are one of morrisons best creations and I hope someone uses the idea again.. aka hickman. Please use it jonathan I know your focused on nimrod but come on. 

And we end on one of the best lines of the entiire run as we close out the issue

Yeah it goes without saying but i’ll say it anyway; Morrison is really damn good with dialouge and being damn quotable. 

So we open with another great quote “When I got up today I didn’t expect to kill 20 million people”... and Cassandra being aware Wolverine and Cyclops are on their way and sending the Wild Sentinels to dispatch them. Also our heroes brought Ugly John along while while a dumb move, Wolvie does point out how dumb it was to divert to Ecuador with a civlian in tow.. after the plane crash of course. As for “wait what plane crash’, the sentinels attack and start picking it apart... and since letting them have such good tech is a terrible idea, Scotty blows up the damn plane. So to recap our heroes are stuck in ecuador, surrounded by murder machines, and oh look their there and knock off cyclops viser. Fantastic. So yeah our heroes are fucked. And naturally captured by the enemy.

The rest of the x-men are doing SLIGHTLY better. While beast makes a note for his girlfriend, more on that later on, Charles is in bed, half alive, explaning the rationale I gave for why he has the gun with Jean refusing to let him get back out of bed and you know.. put on the device that just nearly killed him. But when beast announces they lost contact with our boys.. yeah that ceased being an option. 

Back in the Ecuadorian Genocide Factory, Cassandra does the obvious and kills donald trask as his real purpose..was to stick around and be stupid for a bit while she copied his dna so she could have full control of her new murder toys.She soon uses them, having a horrifying death chamber slaughter john.. or at least flash fry him. Wolverine takes it how you’d expect and since the sentinels need to “perserve trask dna”.. they can’t fire on him without killing her. Scott escapes.. and in a heart wrenching scene mercy kills john.. before getting badass. 

To anyone who says Scott Summers is boring, unintersting, or a stupid asshole idiot head I present exhbit shut the fuck up. Morrison gets scott just right, deconstructing his emotional suppression, while showing him off as a dedicated, companionate man who gets the job done and who seconds after tearfully having to mercy kill an innocent mutant whose death was partially his fault, wastes no time making it painfully clear to the person responsible she WILL die if she tries that again. Logan however realizes she’s already won in some fashion as she’s grinning.. and yeah never a good sign when a genocidal madwoman is grinning like a loon.. and when we find out why.. it’s even less good>  We cut to Genosha. A lot of you probably know what happned to Genosha but in case you don’t know what it is it was once a horribly racist country that genetically enslaved mutants and used them for slave labor. It was freed, but still struggled to truly move on.. till Magneto showed up, took the country for himself and made it a home for all mutants. When we last saw him he once again tried to take over the world leading to Logan seemingly killing him. Right now though Emma Frost finally enters the scene teaching some mutants.. when a young one named Negasonic Teenage Warhead.. yes that one and yes she was entirely chosen for deadpool for her name, reveals, via precognition, that their all going to die.. right as the sentinels attack. 

Genosha.. is gone. In an eyeblink 16 million mutants are dead, a possible future gone, and one of their greatest leaders is no more. Yeah Magneto WAS alive.. but paralyzed so he could do nothing when his island was utterly slaughtered. Only a handful of mutants will be revealed to survive. Humanity had done a lot to mutants before .. but for once.. they’d succeeded in wiping a massive chunk out. What was an x-men location for DECADES at this point.. was now a smoldering crater. A what could of been that would hant the x-men ever after, even now into utopia it remains the darkest day in mutant history outside of hte decimation. It is a truly horrific moment.. and if the changes already hadn’t made it clear this is morrison saying “NO character is safe, nothing is safe, and nothing will be the same and I damn well mean that”. In one act of hate the world has changed. And it hasn’t finished changing yet. 

Issue Three opens hammering in things, as Jean and Beast are in the ruins of genosha, with Xavier having found ONE surivor among the rubble, and our heroes sturggling to find even them, though Jean eventually picks them up and uses her TK to sift through the rubble. 

They find Emma who emerges from a bunker in shock, clutching NTW... and not realizing she’s dead until later and revealing she now has diamond skin, her own secondary mutation. Secondary Mutation was a birlliant idea, new powers sprouting up within established mutants.. it’s just morrison barely used this great idea as did hardly anyone else. Only X-Men Blue ever really dug into it and those were artifical at that. IT’s a great idea..it’s just barely used and at most heavily implied to explain changes in powers like Jamie Madrox Multiple Personalities later on or Doug Ramsey’s vast increase in power. Disapointing. 

While Charles takes in the tragedy and the fact his old frienmie is dead, the x-men wonder what the fuck Cassandra is and what to do with her.. why did she kill 16 million people, and what the fuck is she. I mean I know, but as I said i’ll explain that when the story does.  IN the other room Beast tends to Emma who wants none of not fucking killing Cassandra.. and is utterly right. Bitchy, because i’ts Emma, but right: she killed 16 million people. Say what you want but while it may not be up to the x-men to kill her.. she shoudln’t be living much longer. She commited genocide. Emma decides fuck that and prepares to leave summoning a cab and making peace with being a glorious living fabrige egg. Emma did apparelty change in generation x.. but Morrison is responsible for returning her not only to being a bitch, but a gloriously delightful one And really I don’t think they reset her character entirely: she’s not the heartless monster she started out as: she has empathy, grace, and caring.. she just buries it under a lair of absolute bitch and after you know, surviving a fucking genocide who can blame her? And honestly.. I love their verison of her. She provides a nice contrast to the more idealistic, even logan, x-men and a nice contrarian voice in the room without being obnoxious and her style and sacrastic swagger makes her endlessly entertaning. Thanks to morrison she’s stuck around to this day and went from a pretty good character.. to a great one. And what makes her this way, or as jean puts it “such a bitch?”

With that settled, Hank explains what Cassandra is: a competing species. As he puts it sometimes evolution takes a quantum leap forward.. and Cassandra is the result. Thus she wants to wipe out the compettition and is so far above humanity, she dosen’t need them... especially since she knows what Hank now knows: humanity is at an end. As hank puts it we have an E Gene, one that basically shuts off a race.. and thus the x-men now know what we learned earlier and that cassandra wasn’t lying: in 4 generations there are no more humans and something has to repalce htem. And Cassandra wants it to be her. 

Before Logan can do what he does best, and asks why she looks like charles, Cassandra escapes, and Scott briliantly urges them to fight only on instict as she’s a telepath. A damn awesome fight insues including Cassandra donning Charles Psoonic battle armor, Scott being put in his black bug room and the general good looking chaos you’d expect from a superhero fight. While this goes on Emma has an ephinany and realizes she likes to teach, the x-men have a school.. and she shoudln’t give up on helping kids just because of what happened and turns around. 

Cassandra is near victory, slipping her way to Cerebra.. and planning to kill only one mind before getting to the millions she wnats, a horrifying slug manifesting around her.. only...

So the x-men accept this and cassandra rises.. seemingly saying “I am charles” Huh... and then charles uncaracteristiacally shoots her saying things must change

We’ll get to what all of that means next time as we close on Jean and Scott in bed. Scott explains why he’s been so distant as what I said earlier: fighting off apocalypse stripped away a lot of illusions about himself and he’s having a hard time walking back from that but Jean is willing to help.. but before they can resolve their  issues.. charles has an annoucnment to make and grant has one last whopper of a suprise to end his opening arc on, and just like genosha...it’s a game changer of titanic proportions

No longer is Xavier’s School hidden. Their walking into the light now and so is charles. Hope they surivive the experince. Obviously this move is brilliant: while it removes the veil of saftey the x-men had it also brings on tons of new possiblities and unlike secondary mutation, this one not only stuck but would impact the x-men for good: no longer would they hide and cower.. their mutant and proud.. and their here to stay.  E For Extinction is one of the best x-men stories period. Blisteringly paced, full of great character, great concepts and utterly terrifying and terrific moments that would impact the x-men all the way to present day. It’s beautifully drawn, well paced, and a masterwork. I highly recommend it and it’s a great kickoff to a great run. Shame the run couldn’t of ended on this kind of high but.. we’ll get to that. For now this is a masterclass in how to start a run and if you haven’t read it do so NEXT TIME ON NEW X-MEN: A bunch of weirdos try to harvest mutant organs, the x-men get a brain in a jar and a new teamate, and Scott maybe cheats on his wife. Until then, goodbye goodbye goodbye. 

#new x-men #x-men #grant morrison #frank quitely #e is for extinction #the x-men #wolverine #logan howlett #cyclops #scott summers #jean grey #henry mccoy #beast #professor xavier #charles xavier #professor x #cassandra nova #emma frost #the white queen #sentinels #genosha

[crow-crowson]

Canary Glow. ❜

Summary:  Gods are not constant.  Like most, they have a beginning  -  even if not an end.

Chapter: 1.

Chapter trigger warnings:  N/A

Author’s notes:  This is set in a fictional world that I created myself, featuring just a handful of my own cast!  This is just one story I plan to make with these characters, as I figured the best place to start in any narrative is the beginning.  This novel will delve into the creation of Huron as we know it today.

      “What in the blazes is that?!”

    Wide green eyes followed the burning arc in the sky intensely, watching its fluorescent trail shimmer as it rocketed towards the ground;  neon yellow, crackling like electricity, and showing no signs of slowing down.

    The speed of that thing…  it’s incomprehensible!  It looks like it’s going to crash!

    Aldierno watched as his surroundings lit up, a fierce sheen of gold spreading across the treetops as the comet continued to fall.  In a display of primitive fear, the man flung himself onto the ground, arms shielding his head, his face buried into the dirt as he braced for its impact.  It was far too late to run away...  impossible, really, with how close it was.

    The sound of it hitting the ground was unlike anything he’d ever heard--  a crash of thunder so loud that his hands abandoned his head in favour of his ears.  Even then, the noise shook his brain, rattled thoughts around like loose change, and the searing light that followed like a shockwave had his eyes screwing shut, his face pressed tightly into the mud.

    Please, please just let me die quickly.     Whatever this thing is, let it kill me in a single moment.

    Time crawled by like a snail, his body on fire with the knowledge that he would soon be engulfed by pain.

                                                              But it never came.

    After what felt like a lifetime, Aldierno raised his head and squinted.  The woodland was dark once more, an eerie silence smothering him like a quilt.  What just happened?  What did I see? What was that?

    His questions were rewarded with a sudden beam of light shooting high into the sky, breaking the clouds and vanishing into the abyssal black above him.  It was hard to look at, blinding even, but he persisted in trying--  in trying to make sense of anything that he’d witnessed thus far.

    When his world dimmed once more, Aldierno found it in him to stand up.  Aside from mild disorientation and a fiercely fast heartbeat, he had left the situation unscathed.  Knees knocked as he straightened up, heightened senses latching onto anything they could.  The whistling wind;  the breeze weaving through the trees;  the dull scratch of dirt beneath his bare feet.

    He only realised he’d taken a step forward when he found himself closer to the treeline than before.

    What are you doing?  Turn around.  Go back to the house, where it’s safe.

    … but the uncertainty of what had transpired was tantalising.  Perhaps it was the rush of bravado one experienced after surviving something fearsome, or the curiosity that was allegedly responsible for the death of so many cats, but he felt intrigued-- no, compelled--  to press on.

    “To hell with it,”   he muttered through clenched teeth, stalking into the undergrowth before he had the chance to change his mind.  He couldn’t explain it, that cloying need to go forward, but it raged in his head like a war cry.  It saw him filing through the thicket, braving the sharp bite of brambles and the pervasive scratch of nettles without a single complaint.  Even so, the deeper into the dark he went, the more foolish he began to feel.

    And then light.

    Dim, at first.  A pale yellow in the distance, like the very first rays of morn, before it opened up into a pool of liquid sunshine.  As he emerged into a clearing, Aldeirno found his gaze falling to the ground, gaze snagged by an unfamiliar crackle.  It was teeming with some sort of current, grass combed over, frayed ends burnt and fizzling.  Slowly, he inched a toe towards the lip of the undergrowth--  then quickly recoiled when he received a sharp static shock.

    How is that possible?  Grass burns.  I use it in fires all the time.

    A murky shape in the near distance caught his attention.  It looked weathered and strange, composed of old rock and something all too cosmic.  It was simultaneously shimmery and plain, and through a crack did Aldeirno think he saw something molten.  It oozed like lava, its canary glow both beautiful and foreboding.

    Caught between a rock and a hard place, he hovered at the entrance to the clearing for several minutes.  Every so often, he stuck his foot out, then retracted it once more, not keen on the idea of getting shocked again.

    You’re never going to find out what the hell that thing is if you don’t press on.     Maybe I don’t need to know.     Really?

    It should have been no surprise to him that he found himself darting across the clearing without much regard for his sense.  A dozen sharp static shocks wrangled the soles of his feet, his teeth grit as he skidded to a halt in front of the strange stone, surprised by how quickly he’d grown a tolerance to the current.  It was a force of nature, of that he was certain, but it seemed residual at most.  If it wasn’t, I’d absolutely have been fried.  He dropped to his knees, eyes all but bulbous as he raised a trembling hand to touch the foreign mass in front of him.

    It fell apart before he could.

    Like an egg after a bird had emerged from it, its granite walls crumbled to the ground, forming a small pile of rubble beside what could only be described as a ball of light.  Aldierno tilted his head, persistent in trying to grasp exactly what he was seeing.

    There was something dark swimming in the centre of the golden glow;  a nondescript shape that seemed suspended by invisible string.  Slowly, it began to unfurl, and from the light did Aldierno witness a body come into view.  Then arms, then legs, slowly followed by a vague head shape.  The thing was tiny, an inky black blot on a white sheet, and only when two pinprick lights appeared on what he could only assume was its face did the man think to fall back.

    He landed gracelessly on his rear, the corners of his vision swimming.

    “Wh-What are you?!”   he exclaimed, voice wobbling meekly, as if it was going to break at any moment.  He was numb to the current, heart pounding in his chest as he witnessed the shape flicker like static.

    Then, akin to a phoenix, it rose.

    He watched the indiscernible mass float upwards, limbs fanning weightlessly outwards.  It slowly morphed into a more determined shape, its limbs like fine pencil streaks, two tall ears sprouting atop its round head, before it expelled a final pulse of light.  As the energy faded, Aldeirno’s surroundings began to dim once more--  and then the body fell.  The mysterious creature hit the ground with a resounding thup, its still mass resembling a ragdoll that had been hurriedly discarded by a rambunctious child.

    What is this thing…?   Aldierno asked himself as he inched his way closer.  He could taste his pulse, feel it flickering across his tongue like lightning--  and the effect only worsened as he lowered himself to a squat, his tall, lanky frame dwarfing his unknown visitor in moments.  Despite their clear difference in size, the man felt tiny in its presence.  There was something about it that radiated power, power he’d had yet to witness with his own eyes.

    Gingerly, he nudged the body with the very tips of his toes.   “Hello…?”

    But it was no use.  His persistence, though valiant, elicited no response.

     The longer he stared, the deeper the strange thought sank into him.  He felt it first in his mind, then in his soul--  a streak of nonsense so woefully insane that he came to fear it:  I need to take it with me.  He couldn’t describe the desire unfurling in his brain like a bad omen;  the desire to pick the thing up and take it back home, nurse it back to health somehow.  It wasn’t as if he knew much about playing nurse, nor did he feel he was overly altruistic as a person.  Though he would have liked to exercise his good will from time to time, the simple fact was that his land was Godless.  It didn’t pay well to appear weak.

    But this poor thing…  it looks so small, and so defenceless, and it’ll probably get eaten if I leave it alone.

    Your self-preservation is piss-poor.  How have you lasted this long?

    “... damn it,”   he muttered, scooping the creature up and drawing it close to his chest. Though it was unconscious, he felt a strong surge of life spilling from it.  The longer he held it, the deeper the pit of dread in his stomach felt--  as if he’d touched something forbidden, opened his mind to a knowledge that should remain unknown.

    He clung to it regardless.

#writing #short story #original characters #writers on tumblr #fantasy #friendship #hurt/comfort #online novel #raku; #aldierno; #canary glow; #oc novel #fandomless oc story

[ilovehallas]

Leave no witnesses

Relationships: Zevran/f!Mahariel, Tamlen&f!Mahariel

Summary:

As Andrastians give their loved ones to the fire, the Dalish give theirs to the earth.

Serket Mahariel knows that she's burying more than just Tamlen's body, but she never did learn how to experience grief in front of others. So she decides that she won't, and holds a funeral for two.

Tags: unprocessed grief, (not actually) unrequited love, hurt/comfort

[Events ended up aligning in the worst of ways in my game: after Zevran approached the warden to spend the night with her, he of course states that this is a matter of fun rather than feelings. Very soon after the confrontration with Tamlen happened - while I was on my way to Orzammar and the Deep Roads.]

Read on AO3

In the aftermath of the battle, it was as though all sound had disappeared in the void the fight had left. Silence droned on, deafening and maddening, not even the sheets of metal of her haphazardly thrown on armor scraping together would make a sound.

Reluctantly Serket tore her eyes away from the body before her.

“We should move camp a bit further” she stated, tone flat.

Nobody seemed to move for a moment, all of them just standing around her where they’d last slain an enemy, bodies still tense in combative postures. She couldn’t say for sure who was who, the light of the fire was in their backs so they were more like shadows than people.

“Even if we were to burn the darkspawn, their stench will linger” she continued. She didn’t like this, how her words seemed to echo in the dead air. Nobody was speaking. They were only looking at her.

“Move the camp” she reiterated. “I’ll take care of this.”

The first figures shifted, moving to follow her command hopefully. Some lingered uncomfortably, leaving with protests she didn’t bother to hear when she eventually stared them down. She must’ve said something too, but who cared what it was as long as it got the job done.

Good. She watched them, not turning her back on them just yet, not as long as she couldn’t be sure they’d stopped looking at her. Their eyes weren’t needed here, their questioning, prying eyes. Not a single one of them. Serket wouldn’t let them find answers because these weren’t questions any of them should be asking.

Something brushed up against her hand unexpectedly; her mabari Isun was circling her, reluctant to leave her side. First her sword dropped out of her hand, then her shield fell to the ground as she reached out to pat his broad head with trembling fingers. “You go too” she said, pushing gently but unyielding as the animal whined in vain at the rejection. With a sad little bark he eventually relented, trotting away to where her companions were busying themselves.

Once the sounds of the camp being torn down reached her, she set out to do her part, grabbing the nearest dead shriek. The horrid smell coming off of its deformed body stung in her nostrils and the repulsion stirring in her gut mixed with the exhaustion made it difficult to drag it away. This first one wasn’t too bad however, she dumped it into a natural shallow pit in the earth not far away. The second one was tougher, this one heavier and requiring her to get up close to securely grip it and hoist it up enough to carry. Her face was inches from its foul skin, lungs breathing in the blighted fumes. It was something visceral to hold on to, an anchor that kept her thoughts from wandering. By the last one, her limbs were shaking a bit under the strain, little shocks like lightning running through the muscles of her legs occasionally, her hair and her clothes sticking to her sweaty, itching skin, metal digging painfully into her flesh.

She surveyed her work, this little mount of meaningless dead meat. Time to face the facts. She staggered back to the field of the fight.

The sight of what remained of Tamlen was like a small earthquake, a rumble deep down at her core barely reaching the surface despite its violence. This wasn’t a case of a peaceful corpse that seemed as if he were only sleeping, the torment Tamlen had endured was readily apparent. His hands resembled claws now with how strangely contorted they were. He had no hair left; his skin was stretched tight over the bones as if most of his flesh had simply melted away, skin darkened in many places from spots of decay. Serket couldn’t even make out any last traces of his vallaslin. So this was where he’d been all this time. This was where she would follow if the Archdemon didn’t get her first.  

She’d have to dig a grave. Staying the night to sing for him wouldn’t be an option, neither would be planting a tree in blighted soil, she couldn’t offer any of the proper burial rites but she could dig a grave at least. At the very least.

Blinking against the stabbing headache, Serket looked around for any tool that could assist her because even like this she knew that she wouldn’t be able to do it with her hands. Frustration bubbled hot and angry in her when nothing caught her eye and it became apparent that she would need to go back to the others; she tried to run a hand over her feverish face but recoiled when she touched it to her skin and realized it was still covered in grime and blood.

She didn’t want to go where people were with their unfamiliar eyes, full of curiosity and pity and incomprehension. Everyone was a stranger to her, in a strange land, at once miles away from her and smothering.

With a silent sob, Serket picked up her shield again, raised it high above her head and thrust the pointed end into the earth. Again and again she hacked into the ground with it, coming to kneel in the dirt.

But of course there would be footsteps. Her eyesight now blurry from either sweat or unshed tears, she squinted at the approaching figures. This time she could see that it was two of them, one had to be Alistair, the other Zevran, trailing a bit behind. It was a cruel joke to play on her, she thought. Like a hot iron to her vulnerable flesh.

“Can we… help?” Alistair ventured, and she could see the way he helplessly turned his head as if looking to Zevran for counsel.

Serket shook her head. She wanted to tell them to go away, but as so often her tongue was tied suddenly, the words clear in her mind but somehow not coming over her lips. When the two men wouldn’t immediately leave, desperation took hold and she tried to communicate, trying to get her hands to sign words but they wouldn’t unfurl, wouldn’t release the shield she was clinging to.

“Are you sure?”

Of course she was. She wasn’t stupid. She willed her mouth to form words, anything to make them go away.

“I only need a shovel” she managed to get out, relieved that her tone didn’t seem to betray the effort it took to speak. Despite the pain she managed to get back on her feet. She wasn’t going to give them anything to see, this wasn’t the time or place for any of this.

“Wouldn’t it be—“ Zevran started, but she cut him off.

“I need a shovel, not you.”

The harshness of the words only registered in the way she had to spit them. She meant it. She really meant it.

“I guess I’ll… check if we have one” Alistair said, taking the first step backwards before he turned to face the camp instead. Zevran did so as well but not without another look at her, and as they walked away she saw that they were exchanging words she couldn’t hear. For a moment she was overcome with the urge to call them back, to beg them to help her, or to gouge out their eyes for seeing her like this.

Serket listlessly stared at the little hole she’d made in the soil. Everything about her felt so brittle. She’d hoped she would carry it with a little more dignity, but apparently not. She resumed her work even as the shield proved ineffective. Perhaps it would’ve been wiser to let them intrude and endure their presence, because then at least they wouldn’t have known that it hurt. But it wouldn’t have been fair to Tamlen and her.

She wasn’t sure how much time had passed by the time she became aware of another presence approaching. Who was it this time? Serket hit the shield down harder. Wynne? Morrigan? To tell her that a spell could do what she was doing much easier or to berate her for her sentimentality? Sten, here to let her know that a buried ghoul does nothing but taint the earth? Leliana, with empty condolences for something she didn’t understand? Or one of them again. Alistair was alright with how easily he listened, but Zevran…

When she lifted her head however, it turned out that it was Isun, carrying a shovel in his mouth as he ran up to her. Expectantly the dog peered up at her, wagging his short little tail and nearly bumping the shovel’s handle against her from the excessive movement.

Wordlessly she took the tool from Isun and set it aside before she slung her arms around the mabari and buried her face in his bristly fur. Everything seemed to crash against her all at once and she was getting sucked down under fast; she pressed her eyes shut and waited for the onslaught to ease. Everything was too much all of a sudden, every little sensation burned. A wail she refused to release lodged itself in her throat, it pushed upwards but she stemmed against it with all she had, even as it choked her. She dimly noted the tears streaming down her cheeks as she waited for the end to come, one way or another. Her heart was pounding in her head. This was more than grief alone.

Isun held still for her as long as it took.

“I think it’s alright if you help” Serket said when the tide receded and leaned onto the shovel in order to stand. Isun barked a few times and pawed restlessly at the ground until she gave the sign that he could begin digging.

Serket had inevitably witnessed a few funerals in her lifetime. Life and death were intertwined, that was a law of nature that none of them would ever escape, so these occasions were commemorations of both aspects joined together. That’s why they were always a communal effort as well, to be reminded of the connections between them all, even those given to the earth. The ties that bound her and Tamlen together were knotted and wound tightly. That day they had been on the threshold together facing opposite directions; Duncan had pulled her towards life for another day then, and today she could give Tamlen that push he’d needed to go forward as well. In that way, things had ended as well as they could. Neatly and tidy.

Serket felt like throwing up. Nothing about this was good, no matter how she twisted it. She’d told Tamlen not to touch it. The clan didn’t know where he’d gone. They didn’t even know where she was now and where she’d come to rest one day. It was so unbearably unfair, all of it, that she had to bury her friend in this place so far away from home, in this pitiful grave with nothing.   She felt like throwing up, but maybe this was exhaustion.

At the end she was almost too weak to let Tamlen’s fragile body down into the hole, along with a branch she’d broken off a nearby tree. She had to arrange his limbs as much as she could so that it would fit. Once he was nestled into his resting place, Isun and her covered him back up with dirt, watching as Tamlen disappeared for the last time. What remained was only a little mound to mark the spot.

And just like that she was left the last witness of that day.

A bit deliriously, Serket scratched the mabari behind the ears, hoping that the gesture could convey her gratitude when it was all she could give right now. Soon she’d have to leave, go find the others again and find a way to pretend this hadn’t happened. There was one last rite before that that she could give to her friend.

“ O Falon'Din. Lethanavir – Friend to the Dead. Guide my feet, calm my soul. Lead me to my rest.”

The prayer was one to speak for a hahren, not somebody like her, but perhaps Falon’Din would excuse the emergency.

Serket averted her eyes upwards to the sky, the night still dark but bound to light up soon. It seemed like the right time to collapse and fall into a grave of her own. Where everything had been aching before, her body was numb now.

Isun, stubbornly loyal, wouldn’t let her. He lead the way for her as she stumbled along the path, yelping and barking at her each time she was threatening to lose her balance, pacing nervously around her each time she stopped.

“Serket?”

The sound of her name startled like she’d been caught out. Instinctively she attempted to correct her posture to appear more like herself again, glaring at the intruder without any teeth left to bite at him with.  

Zevran didn’t seem to even flinch, putting up his hands defensively. “I came here to meet you half way, not to spy on you. I didn’t see anything.”

Serket had no words for him. Why should she believe it. And why would it matter, if he was still looking at her now. Maybe he hadn’t seen the deed itself, but she still felt raw and exposed in a way she didn’t want to be in front of him. It was stupid enough the first time, by now it was nothing short of humiliating. The normal thing would be to keep walking. So she did that as well as she could, nearly tripping over her own feet when she brushed past him. With each step the weight of his gaze seemed to grow heavier; he caught her when her legs gave in.

This was so mundane. They’d supported each other like this before, when the fight didn’t go like they’d planned and they leaned on the other to walk in a simple act of camaraderie. He was too close now, too personal, but even she recognized that struggling would do nothing to help her. Don’t strip back another layer of skin now.

“Comfortable?” Zevran said in a misplaced jovial tone. Thank the creators. A million times better than feeling, than those looks.

“How long” she asked, the last words of the question coming out silent. She coughed, nearly throwing them both off balance.

“Not far” Zevran replied, “just a bit further down this path. Think we can manage that?”

A nod had to suffice as answer. It was difficult enough to move her legs when she couldn’t feel them. ‘Not far’ only told her that they’d be back sooner than she would be alright, even if time was more than relative in this moment. What was a journey to her could have been only a few minutes on foot. Tamlen was drifting years away from her now, maybe a whole life.

Serket looked around, hoping that something would catch her eye that could give her an excuse to stay behind just a little longer, so she wouldn’t be in this pitiful state when she’d have to face them. She needed to pull herself together.

“Set me down here” she commanded abruptly.

Zevran halted, but didn’t let her go just yet. “What for?”

Whether he was planning on releasing her or not, Serket tried to shake him off so she could be back on her own feet, transfixed by what she’d spotted partially concealed by tall grass. It wouldn’t get better than this river to make her inhabit the self she needed to be again. “A bath. I’m covered in filth.”

Without awaiting her companion’s response she staggered off the path the others had taken, clumsily trying to undo the bands of her breastplate but barely catching them between her fingers. There wasn’t even frustration anymore or despair, just helplessness.

Zevran kept to her side like a judgmental mosquito. She could see him eyeing her with a tilted head, anticipating the moment he might try to block her and guide her back to the flock. He snorted. “Well, maybe not such a bad idea.” They made it to the edge of the river, the water lapping at her boots. She still was clad in her armor, too uncoordinated to undo any of it.

“May I…?” Zevran started, stretching out his hands towards where she was fiddling with a clasp, hovering inches away. It felt cheap to agree, like giving in to a vice rather than accepting relief. Even though Zevran was thoughtful. There was nothing overbearingly personal about it as he helped her out of the bloodied metal and leather and the stained fabric she’d worn underneath. Only gentle assistance for a companion, as though for this brief period this was the most mundane thing in the world. Nothing more complicated than that.

Free of her armor and no thought spared to modesty she could observe the extend of the damage. Compression marks that would become bruises if not for Wynne’s interference with the process, putrid smears of darkspawn blood all over her hands and forearms, she could feel splatters of the taint dried up on her face.

Serket clicked her tongue, and Isun who had been rolling around in the grass approached her excitedly. She bent down and held out her arms to allow the mabari to lick off the blood as she half-remembered that the poison would otherwise wash into the water along with her.

At Zevran’s bemused expression she only replied “It’s okay. He’s already tainted.” Then she waded into the dark river, the coldness of the water knocking the breath out of her. As she gasped for air, her senses were sharpened to a needle-point, rammed right into her brain. Despite the shock she willed herself to get in just a little further, just a little deeper, before at long last she let her legs break away from under her. She landed in the water with a little splash in an awkward sitting position; the cold squeezed tight around her, agonizing in a way that made sense to her.  

“You can go” she called, drawing her maltreated legs to her chest.

“Shouldn’t I stay?” Zevran answered without hesitation. “If you don’t mind, of course.”

“What for.”

“If I come back without you, the other grey warden might get suspicious of me, don’t you think? Yes, I think he’s been waiting for a moment like this.”

Serket shot him a wary look over her shoulder.

The grin on Zevran’s face fell a little, but stubbornly clung to a corner of his mouth. “‘Where is the warden, hm?’ You see, I left her alone in the river, nothing that could go wrong there.” He didn’t say anything for a while as the current tugged softly at Serket. “…I think it might be less awkward if we returned together. Less questions asked, for both of us.”

Somehow, Serket wanted to cry again. She only hummed. Because she loved him. She loved Zevran, pathetically. That’s why his gaze was hardest to bear and yet the only one she wanted. Even after he made it clear she was alone in this and she’d concealed the bleeding wound from him and steeled her heart. His gentleness, the way he didn’t recoil made it worse. The light of the waning stars gleamed on the water surface, little spots that danced distractingly before her eyes.

Zevran was permitted to stay, the damage was done anyway. Couldn’t even be trusted to bathe in the river by herself because of how she’d expended herself. The way they’d see her wouldn’t be the same anymore. And she was terrified of seeing her own face reflected, not wanting to know who she’d find there.  Was it cowardice? To not want to be seen as frail.

Ah… the discrepancy had only grown bigger. With halting movements she curled in on herself, leaning forward so that her face was submerged. Dull pangs of pain rang out in her chest the oxygen slowly went out, drowning out her thoughts. She wished she could compress this ache, could grab it with her two hands and press it to her chest so it could stay close and private with her. She wanted to bury the memory of Tamlen deep under her skin so darkspawn couldn’t get it. She wanted to wring the neck of any feeling that could make her this brittle again. So swallow it down.

“There was a hunter in my clan” she spoke when she pulled back, sluggishly blinking away the water running into her eyes, “who went to investigate some elven ruins he’d come across, without telling the keeper about it. In the end he contracted the taint and never returned to us.” She began scrubbing away at her skin, noting that she couldn’t get the soil out from under her nails even as everything else washed off. “So now he asked me to kill him.”

“Death was a mercy for him” Zevran’s voice sounded distant. “Though I suppose somebody you know asking you to kill them is not particularly pleasant.”

“I don’t feel guilty” she replied, trying to get up again, “since he was in essence already dead. What he was asking for was a burial, so I gave him one. …I overreacted, a little.”

By the shore, her companion had crouched down and was splashing a bit of water in his face. A long night for him too. “Oh, I’ve seen people do worse. No knives were pulled on me, for one, which has happened. But of course, that time I’d have been the one who did the killing” he said cheerfully with a shrug of his shoulder, moving aside a bit for her as she got back on land.

The bath hadn’t done her physical condition any favors, shivering rather than shaking now. Patiently Zevran helped her put her garments back on even if they undid some of the good of the bath. Her armor was left in the bushes. Somebody could come pick it up for her while she rested. And her sword and shield? None of them could go there. It was a burial site now. Zevran only laughed. Tomorrow was another day. Who was going to steal her things? The shriek Sten nearly cleaved in half? She knew what he was doing, clumsy in this matter as she herself was. Gratitude and shame swelled in her chest in equal measures.

Zevran shouldered her once more as they continued onwards. Nature around them was beginning to wake and even as the fog in her mind had grown heavier and her eyes unfocused, she could make out the camp up ahead. With every step, Serket took on more of her own weight while Isun already charged ahead.  

“Don’t treat me differently now. Please don’t treat me differently, not you” she mumbled, her hand still on his shoulder.

Zevran didn’t reply right away. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

The call of an owl rung out through the quiet of the night.    

#dragon age #female warden #zevran ariani #zevran x mahariel #tamlen #female mahariel #dragon age fanfiction #just throwing this out there haha #i die

[wonderfulworldofmichaelford]

Michael in the Mainstream: Artemis Fowl

Since the early 2000s, Artemis Fowl has been languishing in development hell, and it really is a mystery as to why. The series has everything you could possibly want for a blockbuster young adult franchise: it’s a charming blend of science and fantasy with rich worldbuilding and mythology, it has enjoyable and even complex characters who go through great character arcs over the course of the series, it has an enjoyable major antagonist, an insufferable smug villain protagonist who goes through a stellar redemption arc over the course of the series, and tons of crazy heists that combine scheming and fairy magic. There was no reason this couldn’t have existed as a competitor to the Harry Potter series, but alas, it was not to be. The young adult fantasy franchise languished for decades in development hell, until finally Disney pulled it out and put Kenneth Branagh at the helm. Finally, we were going to get the Artemis Fowl adaptation we deserved!

Except we didn’t.

Artemis Fowl is legitimately one of the worst adaptations of any work of fiction ever. It has been held up alongside The Last Airbender and The Lightning Thief as part of the Unholy Trinity of terrible adaptations, and I’m not even going to try and pretend that this “Honor” isn’t well and truly earned. This film is an utterly abominable bastardization of the beloved franchise, to the point where this feels like an entirely different story that had familiar names slapped on it at the last second. If you want to know what horrific extents this film has butchered the story and characters, read onward, but there’s no way I’m going to pretend this film isn’t awful right off the bat.

There is literally nothing in this film that works. Nothing at all. Starting from the opening scene, the establishing shots, you can tell things are wrong – there are news people around Fowl Manor? Mulch is being interrogated? What is going on? The film from the word go is simply making one thing absolutely and abundantly clear: this is not the Artemis Fowl you know. The film goes out of its way to do the opposite of the franchise, merely using names and vague concepts in an attempt to sucker fans into watching it. Butler’s first name, an emotional reveal from the third book, is common knowledge; Opal Koboi, a cunning and threatening major villain who was the antagonist for almost every novel starting with the second, is here reduced to basically a personification of the voice on the phone from Scream; Root, once a short-tempered man who was hard on Holly as a method of tough love to push her to be the very best LEP had to offer to prove women belonged on the force, is here a woman who, while just as angry as ever, robs Holly of a major part of her arc and reduces her to plucky female sidekick. And even outside of that, as its own thing, the movie is just utterly incomprehensible. The story is rushed and confusing, with lots of exposition and action but with no context or cohesion. Things happen and things go from scene to scene, but none of it makes any sort of sense. A character will switch allegiances within a few minutes, characters will somehow find a way to survive deadly attacks offscreen… the worst offender is a character death they try to push off as emotional, despite there being no reason to care for this character, and when all hope seems lost, a deus ex machina saves the day! My wife, who is unfamiliar with the series, and I, a huge fan, both struggled to figure out what was going on at any given point; the movie is really that bad at communicating what is happening, which is even more baffling because the film is a pathetic hour and a half in length, a distressingly short amount of time to establish a new science-fantasy franchise of this scale.

The characters are almost all terrible. Artemis is the standout with how awful he is; no longer the cunning criminal masterminds of the book, Artemis here is more of a somewhat smug little brat who is overly emotional and, worst of all, NICE. He’s so nice in fact that by the end of the film he has managed to speedrun his character development and arcs with Mulch and Holly, who consider him their close friend and ally. Butler is pretty bad here as well, mostly because he is given almost nothing to do and is seemingly only there because he was in the book. In fact, his crowning moment – when he took on the troll – is instead given to Artemis and even Holly, with Butler ending up severely injured. It’s a bit nasty that they changed Butler to be black and then had his (white) master steal his greatest moment; it’s giving me flashbacks to Kazaam. Opal is hit pretty bad as well; being made the big bad of this loose adaptation of the first book’s plot – which is amusingly one of the few books she had absolutely no role in – wouldn’t be so rough if she was more of a presence and not just some vague, hooded figure who threatens Artemis over the phone and generally does nothing to warrant being an adaptation of the baddest bitch in the series. She’s rather ineffectual and they even try and give her a sort of sympathetic motivation, one where she resents humans for pushing her kind underground. It really is a disgusting waste of a character who could easily rival heavy hitters like Voldemort in the awesome and theatrically evil department.

Holly is almost okay, but her entire arc and a big chunk of her narrative purpose is robbed by making Commander Root a woman. Root, played by Judi Dench, is honestly one of the better characters since Dench has Root dropping lines like “Top o’ the morning to ya” with gravelly deadpan seriousness which makes the character unintentionally hilarious, but the cheap laughs don’t really make up for butchering the story of one of fiction’s finest ladies. As a side note, they have made Holly 100% white despite her skin being described as nut brown rather frequently in the book, and the now white Holly together with Artemis steal away Butler’s biggest moment. And that’s not even getting into how they neutered Juliet, who has also been race lifted but was turned into a child who barely appeared in the film. I’m not usually one to toss about racism accusations, but there’s a lot of red flags here that Branagh’s usual colorblind casting just doesn’t excuse.

The most consistently enjoyable performance is Josh Gad’s as Mulch. From the moment he was cast, I knew he’d do a good job and capture the spirit of the character, and he does! ...sort of. The decision to have Mulch be a giant dwarf and narrate the story in a crappy Batman impression while also violating literally the most important law of fairy culture (don’t tell the humans anything about us) by spilling the beans to M16 is unbearably stupid, and a lot of his jokes are just relentlessly unfunny. But I think that Gad does leak a bit of that Mulch charm at a few points, and it’s apparent he at least somewhat gets his character, which is not something that can be said for anyone else in this film. Sadly, much like his standout performance as Lefou in the live action Beauty and the Beast, he can’t possibly save the trainwreck of a film he’s in.

I guess I’m not entirely surprised by this film. I mean, a lot of quality young adult literature from the past two decades has been horrifically mangled in the wake of Harry Potter – Inkheart, The Golden Compass, The Lightning Thief, Ender’s Game, and Eragon – so this movie really isn’t an anomaly. But it is the culmination of a horrible trend. This is the zenith of horrible young adult adaptations, or perhaps I should say the nadir of adaptations as a whole? For all the flak I could give those other adaptations, on some fundamental level they still understood something about the source material. Ender’s Game still understood it could not erase the ending where children are revealed to be being conscripted to perform the ethnic cleansing of an alien race. Eragon couldn’t completely ruin Saphira, try as it might. The Lightning Thief… well, I mean, I guess the Medusa scene was mostly faithful. But Artemis Fowl? Artemis Fowl goes out of its way to be the opposite of its literary counterpart that there is no way to justify even saying it is based on the book by Eoin Colfer; it would be like having a movie about kids hanging out at the mall and doing mundane stuff, except they’re all named Jesus and Peter and Paul and then saying it’s based on the Bible. Just using names doesn’t mean anything, you actually have to use the themes and characterizations too, and this movie does none of that.

This movie is most comparable to The Emoji Movie. Neither of these works really deserve to be called a “Film” since they are basically whatever it is they’re trying so desperately to be stripped down to the bare essentials. The Emoji Movie is the most basic, by-the-numbers animated adventure film with a “be yourself” message you could ever hope to see, with a story so absolutely basic that just watching the trailer will allow you to predict the every motion of the plot. Artemis Fowl on the other hand is the most cliche-ridden fantasy epic franchise-starter you could imagine, and that’s if you’re able to penetrate the ridiculously dense and cluttered story and are able to make sense of what’s going on. I can think of absolutely no one this film could ever appeal to. There’s not a single redeeming thing about it. The movie is flashy, trashy junk that should never have been released, and Disney honestly did the right thing by releasing this on their streaming service because it would be outright disgusting to charge movie ticket prices for this tripe. The fact Disney has more faith in the eternally-delayed New Mutants theatrically speaks volumes about the quality of this film.

I can’t in good conscious say that this is the worst film of all time. F4ntastic is probably a much worse butchering of characters than this film; Disaster Movie is much more horrendously offensive and unfunny than this; hell, Chicken Little is probably a worse Disney movie because as awful as everyone in this film is, at least they aren’t Buck Cluck! But I don’t think there’s a single movie I hate more than this one. Lucy can finally move over and sleep easy knowing that the fact it’s not based on a pre-existing work has finally saved it from the #1 spot on my worst list; Artemis Fowl is now the reigning champ. Kenneth Branagh should be ashamed of himself for making and releasing this (and doubly ashamed for having the gall to unironically compare his slaughtering of Artemis Fowl’s character to Michael Corleone), Disney should be shamed for putting more money into this film than they did into BLM charities, and I hope that Eoin Colfer finds whatever he was paid worth it to see his greatest creation butchered and disrespected like this.

#Michael in the Mainstream #Review #movie review #Artemis Fowl #Kenneth Branagh #Eoin Colfer #fantasy film #fantasy #science-fantasy #Josh Gad #Judi Dench #Disney #Disney+ #disney movie

[in-dire-need]

Sung Tongs- Animal Collective

There are not many words in the English language that can describe the pure rarity that is Sung Tongs, but these two can just about sum it up- unadulterated chaos. If you are looking for an incoherent cluster-fuck to vibe to at three in the morning, this is the album. That being said, it stands as one of my all-time favorites. 

“Leaf House” sets the stage for what is to come with a mashed up blend of childhood inspiration and what is possibly House of Leaves by Mark Z. Danielewski. Bandmate Avey Tare revealed that the house mentioned is his childhood home and that the song’s core motivation was his father’s death two years before the release of the album. 

The next track has reached immense levels of fame on every niche nook of the internet, but it has nothing to do with Animal Collective. “Who Could Win A Rabbit” was released as Sung Tong’s first single and quickly soared to the top. It was featured in the hit web-series EverymanHYBRID about five years after its initial release, becoming somewhat of a theme song for the series. Ten years after EMH’s initial explosion, “Who Could Win A Rabbit” continues to draw more viewers toward Animal Collective’s psychedelic and manic atmosphere. Because of this, its internet fame has undoubtedly withstood the test of time. The music video presents a terrifying and confusing twist on the childhood classic The Hare And The Tortoise, written by the famed Aesop. We all know how that story goes- the hare taunts the tortoise for how slow he is and challenges him to a race. The hare is the obvious winner, and he knows it. He continues to taunt the tortoise throughout the entire race and even stops to take a nap, completely confident in his speed. While he sleeps, the tortoise gains on him and proceeds to win the race. In the Animal Collective version, the tortoise decides to take revenge on the hare for his cruel behavior by completely devouring him- fur, meat, and bones. This visual presented in the music video correlates with the audio track featured at the end of the album, which sounds exactly how you would imagine that mental image to sound. This being said, it is highly unlikely that the lyrics follow along with this demonizing tale, and instead depicts the fast-moving, chaotic, and repetitive routine of day-to-day adult life.

Following tracks such as “The Softest Voice” describe happy and healthy moments in a person’s life but, despite being completely safe, you cannot get rid of your anxiety and doubt. “Kids on Holiday” was written during Animal Collective’s growing tour season, in which they spent most of their time flying from airport to airport. The lyrics present several people they see in these airports that they feel jealousy toward- a disabled boy with his mother, a Krishna, cultists, fat nuns, and tenors. They just have to believe that they will be home soon and that they can somehow enjoy themselves despite their hectic lifestyles getting in the way.

The colossal ballad “Visiting Friends” bears such an impact that is must come with its own prelude, “Sweet Road”. “Visiting Friends” is a twelve minute long brain-blaster that leaves you asking yourself only one question- What the fuck did I just listen to? Its lyrics and instrumentals support each other in depicting an anxious, bewildering, and deranged jumble of personal worries of the band and vivid scene descriptions. In their own words, it is like when you go to a friend’s house for the first time and everything looks and smells strange, but you are coming home to your own house. Your own home feels unfamiliar and new, and it makes you uncomfortable and nervous. To balance out “Visiting Friends”’s intimidating length, “College” clocks in at exactly fifty-three seconds. There is only one lyric, which blatantly states, “You don’t have to go to college.”

“We Tigers” describes an impromptu and drug-influenced jam session in which it does not matter if real instruments are used or not. A jam is a jam regardless of the means used. The goal is to do it the fun way, not the right way. Its theme is further defended by its energetic disposition, which serves as a stark contrast to the previous two tracks. “Mouth Wooed Her” and “Good Lovin Outside” begin the end of the album with descriptions of being in love with a girl. The final track is not only confusing in sound, but in meaning. Due to its incomprehensible and simplistic manner, most listeners assume that there are no lyrics or deeper meaning. According to Genius, the song not only has lyrics but whole verses that seem to continue the underlying theme of drug use. Sung Tongs ends in this calm and incoherent state, which pretty much sums up the whole thing.

As previously stated, Sung Tongs is an incoherent cluster-fuck to vibe to at three in the morning. It is one of those “no one can see me here” albums, or “whatever, just fuck it”. It isn’t meant to be listened to, or heard, or understood. It is meant to be experienced. Animal Collective did not intend to make an “album” to be consumed by indie hipsters with thick-rimmed glasses and flannels and JUUL pods who need constant validation in lyrics and a bass riff. They made music because they could. They began making music because it was fun, and they fully intended to keep it that way. Sung Tongs stands as a symbol that you do not need to do what anyone else wants you to do. You can do what you want to do. You can do what you need to to make yourself happy and fuck anyone who says you deserve less. In my opinion, a cluster-fuck sends that message much further than a consumable item. So go do what you want to do. Go enjoy yourself, internet.

“But there’s no need to worry

This is just a vacation

It’s not permanent leaving”

#sung tongs #animal collective #music