#even if it is tied to some kind of entity still

[captdedeyes]

Friendly reminder that Wix.com is an Israeli-based company (& some website builders to look into instead)

I know the BDS movement is not targeting Wix.com specifically (see here for the companies they're currently boycotting) but since Wix originated in Israel as early as 2006, it would be best to drop them as soon as you can.

And while you're at it, you should leave DeviantArt too, since that company is owned by Wix. I deleted my DA account about a year ago not just because of their generative AI debacle but also because of their affiliation with their parent company. And just last month, DA has since shown their SUPPORT for Israel in the middle of Israel actively genociding the Palestinian people 😬

Anyway, I used to use Wix and I stopped using it around the same time that I left DA, but I never closed my Wix account until now. What WAS nice about Wix was how easy it was to build a site with nothing but a drag-and-drop system without any need to code.

So if you're using Wix for your portfolio, your school projects, or for anything else, then where can you go?

Here are some recommendations that you can look into for website builders that you can start for FREE and are NOT tied to a big, corporate entity (below the cut) 👇👇

Carrd.co

This is what I used to build my link hub and my portfolio, so I have the most experience with this platform.

It's highly customizable with a drag-and-drop arrangement system, but it's not as open-ended as Wix. Still though, it's easy to grasp & set up without requiring any coding knowledge. The most "coding" you may ever have to deal with is markdown formatting (carrd provides an on-screen cheatsheet whenever you're editing text!) and section breaks (which is used to define headers, footers, individual pages, sections of a page, etc.) which are EXTREMELY useful.

There's limits to using this site builder for free (max of 2 websites & a max of 100 elements per site), but even then you can get a lot of mileage out of carrd.

mmm.page

This is a VERY funny & charming website builder. The drag-and-drop system is just as open-ended as Wix, but it encourages you to get messy. Hell, you can make it just as messy as the early internet days, except the way you can arrange elements & images allows for more room for creativity.

Straw.page

This is an extremely simple website builder that you can start from scratch, except it's made to be accessible from your phone. As such, the controls are limited and intentionally simple, but I can see this being a decent website builder to start with if all you have is your phone. The other options above are also accessible from your phone, but this one is by far one of the the simplest website builders available.

Hotglue.me

This is also a very simple & rudimentary website builder that allows you to make a webpage from scratch, except it's not as easy to use on a mobile phone.

At a glance, its features are not as robust or easy to pick up like the previous options, but you can still create objects with a simple double click and drag them around, add text, and insert images or embeds.

Mind you, this launched in the 2010s and has likely stayed that way ever since, which means that it may not have support for mobile phone displays, so whether or not you wanna try your hand at building something on there is completely up to you!

Sadgrl's Layout Editor

sadgrl.online is where I gathered most of these no-code site builders! I highly recommend looking through the webmaster links for more website-building info.

This simple site builder is for use on Neocities, which is a website hosting service that you can start using for free. This is the closest thing to building a site that resembles the early internet days, but the sites you can make are also responsive to mobile devices! This can be a good place to start if this kind of thing is your jam and you have little to no coding experience.

Although I will say, even if it sounds daunting at first, learning how to code in HTML and CSS is one of the most liberating experiences that anyone can have, even if you don't come from a website scripting background. It's like cooking a meal for yourself. So if you want to take that route, then I encourage to you at least try it!

Most of these website builders I reviewed were largely done at a glance, so I'm certainly missing out on how deep they can go.

Oh, and of course as always, Free Palestine 🇵🇸

#webdev #web dev #webdesign #website design #website development #website builder #web design #websites #sites #free palestine #long post #I changed the wording multiple times on the introduction but NOW I think im done editing it

[jennamoran]

The Far Roofs

cover art by Isip Xin

Hi!

Today I'm going to talk a little bit more about my forthcoming RPG, the Far Roofs. I've previously talked about

general principles,

the rats,

and the campaign.

Today, I want to talk about the Mysteries.

Up on the distant roofs, you see, the rats hunt, and are hunted, by these ... things. These vast, impossible god-monsters.

The Mysteries.

These things that are as much experiences as beings.

I like to anchor them to real-world myths. That's mostly an authorial choice, rather than something intrinsic to their character---

I think if I named them all in some made-up language of my own, called them all things like, I dunno, Alolitha or Eidumir, then they'd come across as cooler ... but also harder to get a handle on.

You'd have to be immersed in the setting to really get what they're about.

So I give most of them a byname that's more accessible. Something like Harpy, Hoop Snake, Lennan-Shee---whatever---so that you can tap into your memories or impressions of real-world mythology and the work of fantasists and cultural tropes and monster manuals from other games and the stories of your childhood and all of that.

Even still, they are vast things.

You might be forgiven, if I just named them without that prelude, in thinking that they seem vast to the rats because the rats are small. Thinking, perhaps, that you could fight off a Mystery like Jackalope, say, or Hippocampus ... if you were lucky, or had a gun ... whereas a rat might have a harder time.

The thing is, to walk in the realm of myth is to lose your grounding in the world. On the Far Roofs you can't rely on your ability to frame a story or a conflict through a rationalistic lens. The Mysteries are not physical creatures of a certain size, but rather the animating spirits of dramatic, life-changing experiences. Like the starring monster of a horror movie, or divinity that visits you in dreams, it's loosely possible to pay them off, or punch them out, or argue with them about Naruto, or whatever, but you can't really extrapolate out from that to resolve whatever underlying problem they can be.

Jackalope isn't a thing you shoot, or whatever:

It's a thing you encounter on dark nights, sometimes, and can't ever really prove you've seen. Maybe you don't even encounter it, just ... find its tracks.

It's not a conflict you can easily rewrite.

As for something like Harpy ... she is dead, the rats have killed her ... and even dead and disembodied your fate is very likely in her hands.

.

This kind of thing is why the rats are valid protagonists in this world:

In the face of the Mysteries, there's not much difference between the standings of a human and a rat. We are all such small, imperiled things.

.

Each of the Mysteries is tied to some internal state. Some mood or emotion or whatever. It's not clear how much that's true, and how much that's a game convention, and how much that's how the rats, who you're going to be getting most of your basic information from, understand them.

... but it's at least a little bit "all three."

This is, fundamentally, an authorial choice. The Far Roofs is an expressionist game. It's a game about emotion bleeding out into reality, about moods and experiences taking on physical or quasi-physical form in the world or narrative around us. So that's part of why I made the Mysteries like this.

The other part is, if you want to make up your own Mysteries, it helps a lot that you can start with an internal state.

Deciding to make up "Centaur" as a Mystery is kind of boring. I think.

Deciding to make a Mystery named Centaur that is on some level "about" mind-body duality or immersion in the body, or wisdom, or the post-exercise endorphin mood, or having ADHD ("I'm stuck on a horse that's going where it wants"), or whatever ... that's a bit more interesting.

Starting with a mood you want to talk about, I think, like ... Sorrow ... and figuring out what mythical entity best matches that (I'd go with Banshee), and then figuring out how its stories work from there:

I think that's the most interesting option of them all.

.

I do give some of them fancy made-up names, to be clear. I'm not opposed to having an Alolitha or Eidumir or whatever around! But that's not the default or primary approach.

.

In theory, the game expects you to make up most of the Mysteries you encounter.

In practice, there's a built-in campaign that features a bunch of them, so there are enough worked examples in the book that you might never have to come up with one from scratch:

there's solid summaries of about three dozen, plus

in-depth writeups of Goblin, Harpy, Hoop Snake, Unicorn, and four other Mysteries that map a bit less precisely to established myths.

.

There's a lot in those in-depth writeups, but my favorite parts are the pages that are just questions the GM can ask the players when that Mystery is at hand.

(Questions, sometimes statements, sometimes actions or power uses, but ... it's the questions that I love.)

I have spent the better part of a decade working on power sets for spiritual, mystical, and divine entities, and you can find some cool rules toys for the more purely mechanically minded here. I like how their game-mechanical writeups all turned out.

... but in both practice and theory, none of that is as cool to me as the list of asides and questions the GM can crib from when the Mystery is involved. Simple stuff like "the wind is rising" or "speak to me of solitude." More nuanced stuff like GM-as-Death playing a spade suit card and saying, "tell me of a nasty accident, and how you avoided or survived it." In every case, a bunch of options.

As a reader, I love the detailed mechanics more. As a reader, I don't really care that much about the actual how of how the Mysteries do things but I love that there is a how. It tickles an important part of my brain, deep down.

... but when I'm actually GMing, I love the lists of phenomena and questions so very much.

I am admittedly usually in a constant state of panic when GMing, so perhaps I get more value out of both the cue card function and the ability to hand off responsibility to the player than others would.

Perhaps.

.

If you're curious about those examples:

The wind rises when you're dealing with Harpy because a lot of her story is the story about how being on the Far Roofs is like falling, like flying, like losing the stable influence of the ground. So naturally you feel the air. You feel the motion. It arises. Naturally you become isolated, or at least experience intermittent solitude, because the ground ultimately mediates almost every social connection and interaction.

Maybe not love or skydiving teams, I guess.

When Death's presence is weighty in your life ... well, it's in your life, so you're probably not dead yet, but stuff happens! You nearly died!

I like that you don't have to think through that theory when playing with this stuff, but it's still all right there, implicit, presented in a couple of different forms.

That's what I have to say tonight!

.

From the Cutting Room Floor for this Post:

... there is still a part of my brain that loves it when you write up the power that lets the Christian God be three species of hypostasis and a single ousia, or whatever, and loves it even more when you can use the same power to combine three mechs.

I have not written up that specific power, though, to be clear, as I rarely put either Christianity or mecha in my games (albeit, see Invisible Mecha) ...

#the far roofs #jenna moran #ttrpgs #invisible mecha

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Does the "This is all a dream orchestrated by Malleus" relate to the Yuuverse with all the Yuus repeatedly going through the story over and over again? I have seen people theorize that every time a Yuu fails, a new one starts over and I'm too sleepy to actually relate this theory to the new events that just transpired.

I think you’re talking about two popular but different theories? 🤔 (Though now it definitely seems like those two theories are converging into one…?)

There were some that believed in the time loop theory. Some powerful entity (usually said to be Crowley) summons new Yuus every time the Yuu from the previous time loop fails and/or dies. It is said that the resets usually occur when Yuu is killed by an Overblot, with the most common “death by Overblot” owing to Grim. Some also embellish the theory with ideas about Crowley’s motives and whether he is a good person or not.

There is an extension of time loop theory—the “Yuu is dead” theory; in “Yuu is dead”, the player character is theorized to be someone who died while crossing the road (yup, an isekai classic; the manga and light novel Yuu all got transported at a crosswalk), and Crowley summoned them into Twisted Wonderland after their passing to serve his own needs. Sometimes people will point to Yuu emerging from a coffin and/or Crowley avoiding the topic of bringing them home (since it’s impossible due to their “dead” status) as proof of Yuu being dead. Both time loop and Yuu is dead theory primarily stem from the many iterations of Yuus across various official TWST media (the manga, the light novel, etc).

Others believed in the dream theory, in which (much like the original Alice in Wonderland), everything in Twisted Wonderland is just a dream that someone is having. There are variations of the dream theory depending on who the dreamer is, but the most common ones I’ve seen assign the designation of dreamer to either Yuu (who has been having prophetic dreams in the main story) and Malleus (whose Disney counterpart is strongly associated with inducing sleep). Sometimes dream theory also includes evidence backed up by Silver, who appears to have some kind of vague association with Yuu and their dreams. It is worth noting that some fans do not like dream theory because they feel that it devalues the experiences had and the relationships formed if nothing was “real”.

As I said before (given what we know of the most recent main story update), it seems like people are now combining different aspects of those two theories to make a new one. The update is still pretty fresh, so I haven’t yet had the time to read up and acclimate myself with the various time loop-dream theory combinations.

One thing that I will note is interesting is??? I remember Yana saying a few years ago that we should treat TWST’s events and vignettes as AUs separate from the main story, and at the time I thought it was to make things easier for the writing team (so they didn’t have to worry about timeline stuff). But now???? I’m wondering if every event and vignette was actually a part of the dream world… The evidence is (sort of??) there!!

I normally wouldn’t include gameplay mechanics as part of a theory (since I compartmentalize meta from the story/characters/lore), but I feel that the gloves are off for this since Malleus initiated what was essentially a fourth-wall break at the end of 7-37 (booting us back to the main screen of Twisted Wonderland after forcing everyone to sleep). The part where he casts his spell is even named “Forced Game Over”, which is very on the nose for a character who is not tied to technology other than being really bad at using it. He also says a lot of foreboding things about how “it would be better for fictional characters to stay as they are forever” (not an exact translation, I’m just generalizing).

AnYWAY, my thought is??? Are the events and/or vignettes meant to be the characters dreaming (not that Malleus necessarily created the dream world, but the dream world is like their collective unconscious and/or everyone having individual dream/their own iterations)???? Because Malleus promises to send them to a world where they can be “heroes”, a place where they can find “happy endings”, where no one has to leave. Most events and/or vignettes have very carefree vibes to them or just generally non-serious conflicts. They’re usually full of tales of carefree school days.

The vignettes and events also being part of the dream world also explains why Lilia (whose magic was supposedly waning is still able to use his quite proficiently), and why some characters who would normally be somewhat hostile towards each other seem more mellowed out in some events (ie Epel and Vil having an amicable relationship in the first Halloween event when they didn’t learn to get along until episode 5, which takes place in late winter). It would also explain why sometimes main story happenings are referenced in vignettes and events, but the vignette and event happenings are not mentioned in the main story. Characters are bringing knowledge of reality into the dreams, but when they “awaken” from those dreams, they cannot recall all the details from them.

Another detail that’s pretty suspicious is the animation that plays when you’re Groovying a card 👁️ 👄 👁️ What covers the screen when you do??? That’s right—thorns, just like when Malleus casted his unique magic. Was this TWST’s indirect way of cluing us in that the whole damn game was just a dream?????? The title whenever we boot up the game was staring at us in the face with the “answer” all along: Twisted Wonderland. A dreamy place full of wonders—but just that, a dream.

xbsjsvwisview. JUST SoMETHING TO THINK ABOUT, I DuNNO 🤡 Sorry for sounding like a college professor lecturing on Disney pretty boys—

#twst #twisted wonderland #twst theory #twisted wonderland theory #twisted wonderland theories #twst theories #notes from the writing raven #question #Malleus Draconia #Yuu #Epel Felmier #Dire Crowley #Vil Schoenheit #Silver #Lilia Vanrouge #Grim #twst manga #twst light novel #twisted wonderland manga #twisted wonderland light novel

[snazzyscarf]

[vibrating at a rate that shatters glass] is anyone going to talk about the new marionetta chapter.

EP 36 DISCUSSION AHEAD

OKAY WHAT IS THROWING ME FOR A LOOP ABOUT THIS is that everything we’ve seen up until now has made the idea that anthonn works for an existential spider creature SO believable. like it’s practically spelled out.

the spiritual thread is silk

the circus members are “tied” together, essentially bound to the same web, restricted movement

the giant bug reveal this chapter using said thread to pull finnegan back and (safe to assume) wrap & consume him

this playing into both the common myth of how spiders feed AND the reality of their behavior. the former being that they drain fluids straight out of the body, leaving a husk leftover vampire style (the bodies of the circus members being left behind & only their souls consumed), and the latter being an external method of digestion via liquifying the body while it’s wrapped in silk (the huge conglomerate of viscera that makes up the entity in the attic)

everything about this concept fits thematically with the circus & what we’ve seen so far. especially with the blatant view of the spider that we got this chapter right?

WELL.

there’s one problem with that.

this isn’t a spider.

it’s convincing enough at first with its behavior. the framing alone makes you want to think it’s one (the way it hangs & appears to dangle above its prey)

but it’s got compound eyes. and only two of them. it only has six legs instead of the signature eight. it tries to look and behave like a spider, tries to convince us that it is one, but it’s just… not?

now I’m willing to suspend my disbelief if this is an art decision factoring in, as it opens up the potential for fascinating inspection on how this universe operates. because spiders famously have multiple sets of eyes, right? it’s one of their defining features! what kind of world could exist that would be able to impose such a harsh limit of eyes onto a spider of all creatures?

a world with the ah’kon would.

i find it interesting that—if this is an artistic decision, and this creature we see is in fact a spider—the deliberate choice to only allow it two eyes gives us a very fascinating look into how the spirit world operates. planting the idea that even native beings of that world do not possess the amount of eyes necessary to see into anything beyond it. because two eyes are limited. in humans, and in this creature.

the only people capable of seeing into both are the ah’kon, and the ah’kon possess more than two eyes. one of which, very pointedly, is incapable of blinking.

the spirit world appears to be inhabited by bugs and fish. we get a glimpse of a fish at the start of chapter 3, and we get a hint of a centipede at the very start of this chapter’s sequence (as well as some other arthropod-looking creature that I’m unsure of)

well. one key feature of bugs and fish, is that their eyes are incapable of blinking. they have no eyelids! these spiritual creatures have the same characteristics in their eyes that the ah’kon do in their third one. human eyes—earthly eyes—on the other hand, can fully close. and the ah’kon have the ability to do that with their lower set.

however, while they do possess eyes from both worlds, each can still only see into their respective ones, never the other.

so it’s interesting that a spider-like creature would be very pointedly limited to only two, unblinking eyes. it drives home the point of just how separate these worlds are. however powerful this creature may be, it is still held back inside its plane of existence. it doesn’t have a place on earth.

well, then what does that mean for this?

i honestly don’t know yet. it’s very clear that eyes are a running motif in this story; they have been since the very start. but this tidbit of information that we’ve received via the “spider” adds more to the puzzle & gives us a little more understanding into how all of the pieces could fit together in the future. :D

#scarf.txt #marionetta #marionetta webtoon #absolutely fascinating chapter that is quite frankly catered to me specifically as a guy who adores bugs #i hope we get to see more of these creatures they’re so cool

[cophene]

𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐂𝐄 | ohshc; five.

* • ° a simple game of croquet

previous chapter || next chapter || table of contents

pairing : ohshc x gn reader summary : perhaps no one at ouran is more qualified to deal with a broken heart than the host club. with a student’s heartbreak painfully obvious to everyone but themself, the host club takes it upon themselves to remedy that. all against that student’s better judgement. notes : multi-chapter fic, sfw, doesn’t follow canon plot word count : 2.8k+

Even though there were a million reasons why you shouldn’t, you couldn’t stop yourself from going to his profile when the last bell of the day chimed. It was a sign of weakness, and you felt terrible for succumbing to it, but you hadn’t been able to rid the thought from your head the entire day. All of a sudden, you just had to see him again, look at his face, find out if you were remembering him right. It didn’t seem right that he could still exist if you weren’t there anymore.

It was a very, very bad idea. You followed the stream of purple blazers out of the classroom, barely aware of anything but your phone in front of you. He was still there. The same as ever, yet not somehow. His eyes were different. Wide and more animated. You stared at his careless hands, the way they slung over railings and shoulders and hips. His smile looked like a foreign entity. It didn’t belong on his face, but it beamed out at you like it did. 

Why was he so happy? 

You never used the word, but his profile genuinely made you feel wretched. An addicting kind of misery that you couldn’t get out of. Picture after picture after picture. You stared hungrily at everyone he posed with, trying to figure out who they were. Was it possible that someone could have taken your place? All of these people, who didn’t have a clue who you were. Him being the only thing you had common.

Except the him in your head and the him looking back at you were two different people.

He’d posted a video recently. At some kind of event with muted lighting and narrow black ties. You told yourself that you knew better and tapped play anyway.

Someone had recorded him giving a brief introductory speech. His hair was carefully styled and his suit was perfectly fitted, as always. He was calm. Confident. Self-assured. He smiled often and easily. It was more like he was talking to a friend than a room of over two hundred people. You were surprised at how much it hurt, seeing the small movements of his hands, the way they accented his sentences and helped them along.

“Do you like giving speeches?” You remembered asking him once. He’d wrinkled his nose.

“Of course not. Why would you think that?”

“You’re so good at it. You never seem nervous about talking to anyone.”

“I’m just good at hiding things. I think I’m too good at that for my own good.”

“You could never hide anything from me,” you said archly. “I know you too well.”

He smiled then. “You’re right about that.”

So many things to regret, you realized. You shouldn’t have said anything to him. You couldn’t think back on any of your conversations together without shrivelling up.

You couldn’t bring yourself to wish you’d never met, though. You weren’t sorry about that. You didn’t think you could ever be.

“Hello? I didn’t know being heartbroken made you deaf too.”

Someone was snapping their fingers in front of your face. You hoped against hope that it wasn’t who you thought it was, but of course the universe would never be so kind to you as that.

“Hello to you too, Renge.”

“Where are you going?” she asked. 

“I was just on my way to the Host Club,” you replied feebly. You noticed that Renge wasn’t wearing the usual Ouran uniform. Instead, Renge had on a light dress with a brimmed hat and matching parasol. It looked faintly twentieth-century. Renge dug her fingernails into your arm and started dragging you—not upstairs, but outside.

“We’re changing things up today. The Host Club has a variety of events that they cycle through for their guests’ enjoyment. You’ll be lucky enough to witness one such event at present.”

“Events? What is that supposed to mean?”

You quickly found out. The Host Club had relocated to one of the lawns outside, tables and chairs set off to the side for the guests. Finger sandwiches and cool glasses of lemonade were served underneath wide blue umbrellas pitched for shade. The main spectacle seemed to be whatever game the hosts were involved in. You squinted at the multi-coloured balls and what looked to be hoops stuck in the grass. What the hell was this supposed to be?

“Ah, so glad you could join us, my poor heartbroken angel.” 

Tamaki approached you then, tipping the brim of his hat in greeting. He was dressed in a white linen suit and spotless leather shoes. You wondered if the red ribbon in his hat and his red argyle socks was supposed to mean something.

“What’s going on?” you asked.

“Have you ever played croquet? It’s a delightful game, especially when the weather is so warm.”

“Never heard of it,” you said flatly. “I thought I was supposed to do my other trial appointments.”

“You would be correct. I see no reason why that can’t happen over a game of croquet.” Tamaki extended his elbow. You stared until Renge hissed at you to take it. She gave you a pointed look before melting uncannily into the shadows of the surrounding trees.

The rest of the Host Club was dressed in similarly old-fashioned clothes. Honey looked absolutely adorable in white khaki shorts and a plaid sweater vest. Kyoya and Mori were wearing similar linen suits to Tamaki, only with blue and green, respectively. To your dismay, the twins were dressed identically in white polos, slacks and caps. The only thing marking them apart were their different coloured bow ties.

You looked around for Haruhi to see what her outfit was. You managed to find her chatting with a trio of girls, wearing a white blazer and striped trousers. She waved when she saw you, then had to reach up to right her hat when it nearly slipped off. You stifled a grin.

“Yay, you’re here!” Honey exclaimed. He ran over to you with a platter of finger sandwiches. “Do you want one?”

You stooped to take one, then whispered in Honey’s ear, “Is there any way you can get me out of this? I’m not even dressed appropriately.”

“Hikaru and Kaoru can help you with that,” Honey answered immediately. “They came prepared!”

“What do you mean—”

As if by magic, one of the twins pushed out a changing screen and the other a rack of white linen clothes.

“Worry not,” Tamaki said. “We have an entire collection of croquet attire at your disposal. The twins will be happy to assist you.”

Great, except that you weren’t happy to be assisted. Honey pushed you behind the screen where you were disconcerted to find both twins already there. They thrust a hanger into your hands and said together, “Wear this.”

You eyed the clothes, then looked at the twins. For a second, you all just stared at each other. Not that you would ever admit it, but the twins looked surprisingly good in polos. 

“You want to take my clothes off for me?” you deadpanned.

With a shrug, the two of them retreated from the changing screen. Aware that you wouldn’t have much choice in the matter, you slipped on the clothes and went outside. At least everything fit pretty well, which made you wonder if that had this entire clothes rack specially tailored.

Tamaki actually started tearing up when he saw you. “You look wonderful,” he said, with a sigh.

“Misery is the best accessory,” one of the twins said, and you had to bite back a swear.

Someone set a hat on top of your head. You glanced up to find Mori trying to set the hat straight.

“Thanks.”

Mori nodded.

For the next little bit, Tamaki painstakingly tried to explain the rules of croquet. There was a specific order to the hoops, the colour of the balls, the direction of striking and the mallets. To you, it seemed like a whole lot of nothing, but Tamaki was being so patient that you tried to humour him. Eventually, it was just easiest to hit your black ball whenever someone told you, scoring be damned.

Small bursts of applause sounded whenever one of the hosts got their ball through a hoop and they would wave and smile like benevolent princes. Unfortunately, the three hosts who should’ve been your fallbacks--Honey, Mori and Haruhi--decided not to participate in the croquet game, and spent the whole time serving lemonade and making small talk with the guests. You tried multiple times to sneak off to join them, but either Tamaki or one of the twins would firmly pull you back toward your mallet.

It turned out there were no trial appointments. It was just you trying to keep up a conversation with four different people and wondering why it was so hard to hit a ball with a mallet.

“So, do you have any hobbies?” Kyoya asked. It was stupid how easy he made croquet look.

“Not croquet,” you muttered.

“It’s not for everyone,” Tamaki said sympathetically. “Are you having trouble? Maybe you’re not holding the mallet right.”

“I’m holding it fine.”

“Honey told us you play volleyball,” the twin you decided was Hikaru said.

“Yeah, but I decided to take a break.”

“How come?” asked the twins.

“People take breaks,” you said evasively. “Is that a crime?”

“Breaks are always refreshing,” Tamaki said. “They can help you see things with new eyes. You might come back and do something you’ve never done before.” Or suddenly become disenchanted and wonder how you’d ever liked such stupid hobbies. That had happened to a lot of things after the break. Nothing had seemed quite as interesting anymore.

People’s interests changed, you told yourself. Nothing wrong with that.

Kyoya leaned on his mallet. “I heard you vacationed in Malta over the break. How was that?”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “And who did you hear that from?”

“Honey.”

Honey was telling everyone your business, wasn’t he?

“It was nice,” you said, the noncommittal answer of everyone ever.

Tamaki’s face brightened. “Ooh, I’ve heard wonderful things about Malta from my father. How was it? You must have met so many gorgeous faces.”

You focused intently on your mallet. “None more than usual.” You had a feeling you knew exactly what bush the hosts were beating around. You had to turn things before they trampled the bush to the ground.

“So, what exactly is this event supposed to cater to? Do people enjoy watching you punt balls around?”

Tamaki looked offended. “This is a croquet party, darling. There’s nothing more refreshing than dressing in light, airy clothes and enjoying a simple game of croquet under the shining sun.” He extended a hand at the various other games going on, the coloured balls clacking against hoops and mallets. How was it that everyone was better at this game than you were?

“And you do stuff like this often?”

“Whenever the opportunity arises,” Kyoya answered. “We like to keep things entertaining. The last thing we want is for the Host Club to become stale. Perhaps a volleyball game would better suit your taste?”

It would. You could just imagine the looks on everyone's faces when you trounced them with a serve.

Kaoru’s next question was about as subtle as a semi truck. “What’s your opinion on physical displays of affection?”

Your ball went in the complete opposite direction you’d intended. Hikaru smothered a laugh and you glared at him.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“Just that. What are you comfortable with?” Kaoru said.

“Do you like hugs?” Tamaki asked eagerly. “I give very good hugs.”

“Or maybe you’re more inclined towards hand-holding?” Kyoya said.

You were suddenly very aware of your hands. You clenched them into fists, embarrassed with yourself. “I would probably be alright with anything if I knew that person well enough.” 

“So you’re alright with kisses?” Hikaru said, suddenly next to you.

“On the mouth?” Kaoru added from your other side.

“We met two days ago,” you said, shoving both of them. “Don’t get ahead of yourselves.”

“Oh, Tamaki!” a high-pitched voice trilled. Everyone turned to watch a pretty girl with a billowing white skirt cross the lawn toward you. A pout downturned her mouth and eyebrows. “I can’t get a ball through the hoop for the life of me! I must be too weak. If only there was someone who could show me how to do it!” 

The syrupy texture of the girl’s voice made you cringe internally. Tamaki ate it right up, however, drawing the girl towards him with a congenial smile.

“Don’t give up hope, darling. Surely a beautiful girl could win an entire match if you put your heart into it.”

The girl blushed and bashfully led Tamaki off. The pair of them looked like a portrait against the lush grass and blue sky.

You shuddered. “I can’t score either, but you don’t see me moaning about it.”

“Well, since you admitted it yourself, you have been terrible at this croquet thing so far,” Kaoru said.

Hikaru nodded. “Mhm. It’s almost embarrassing how bad you are.”

You glowered at them from under the brim of your hat. “Why don’t I show you where you can shove those mallets?”

The twins only laughed, moving off to mingle with a different croquet game.

Kyoya’s face was carefully neutral. “You’re only doing poorly because you’re not focusing.”

“Are you sure these hoops are even big enough for a ball to pass through?”

“Quite.” All of a sudden, Kyoya was beside you. Not close enough to touch, but closer than you were expecting. Your heartbeat quickened just a little.

“First of all, this isn’t a golf club. You don’t have to swing it so far back.” Kyoya guided the mallet closer to your person. Professionally, you told yourself. Nothing intimate about it.

“Just swing back the mallet gently back like a pendulum, through your legs, and there you go.” 

Your croquet ball rolled in a straight line through the grass and through the hoop, so easily it was a little insulting.

“Thanks,” you said, a little sheepishly. “I guess I was overdoing it.”

“Nothing wrong with that,” Kyoya said. You turned to find that your faces weren’t so far apart. A tiny smile touched Kyoya’s lips and you liked how the expression looked on him, how unassuming it was. Kyoya’s eyes flickered to yours and he looked a little surprised.

He said, “I was meaning to ask--”

“Woah, heads up!” someone hollered.

You looked up, then nearly soiled your pants to find a croquet ball hurtling straight towards you. You scrambled back, but not fast enough to avoid the ball, which slammed into your forehead and immediately hurt like hell. You  accidentally knocked into Kyoya and sent both of you sprawling backwards on the grass. Kyoya swore as your head landed right on his stomach, knocking the breath out of him.

“ARE YOU OKAY?” Hikaru, or maybe Kaoru yelled, running up to you. Both twins leaned over you and Kyoya, their faces identically horrified.

“I’m so sorry,” Hikaru said in a rush. “I didn't mean to hit you!”

Kaoru shoved his twin. “I told you hitting the mallet like a bat was stupid!”

“You’re the one who suggested it!”

“You’re the one who actually did it!”

“What happened?” Tamaki rushed to join the twins. When he looked at you, his face turned dark before he exploded.

“You could have killed them!” he shrieked. “Look at that welt on their forehead! Whose bright idea was this?”

The twins pointed accusingly at each other. Tamaki’s face reddened. He looked between Hikaru and Kaoru, probably deciding on who to beat up first.

“Calm down, Tamaki. No one’s dead.” Haruhi placed a hand on Tamaki’s shoulder and all of the steam went out of him. He sagged against her and ran a hand through his dishevelled hair. 

“No, of course not. Please forgive me, Hikaru. Kaoru. I didn’t mean to lose my temper.”

Mori helped you to your feet, Kyoya groaning as you got off of him.

“Are you okay?” Honey said, his eyes wide. “Do you want me to kiss your forehead all better?”

You rubbed your forehead, wincing. “No. I should be fine. I think Kyoya’s the one who needs kissing.”

Kyoya refused Mori’s hand and got up himself, dusting off his suit and readjusting his glasses. If it weren’t for the unfortunate grass stains on his pants and the bits of grass in his hair, you would never have known he’d taken a tumble.

“Sorry about that,” you said.

“It’s quite alright,” Kyoya said, only sounding a little strained. “You didn’t mean to. The twins, however …”

A storm cloud seemed to descend over Kyoya’s brow. He grabbed each twin’s shoulder with one hand and steered them away from you, muttering to them intently. His aura seemed so dark and menacing that a collective shudder went through everyone still present.

“There goes a day,” Tamaki said, swinging his mallet in his hand. He looked at you and smiled. “Now that your trial appointments are over, do you have a second choice for your host?”

You looked straight into his eyes when you said, “I stand by my earlier assessment. If Haruhi’s not here, I’ll just go with Honey or Mori.”

Tamaki’s smile went brittle. “And what if they aren’t here either?”

You grinned. “I guess I just won’t come at all.”

Tamaki fell on his tailbone abruptly, looking shell shocked. “N-not come at all?” He started rocking himself back and forth, whispering to himself.

“I think you might have killed him,” Haruhi said.

“Whoops,” you said.

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#ouran high school host club #ohshc #ohshc x reader #gender neutral reader #disceohshc

[daddy-deathslinger]

Thanks I hate it!! But I love you and your writing so may I request a pt2 of the escaping the realms one you did? Maybe where they find the reader??

I’m happy you were tortured as much by the picture, as I was making it! >:D And thank you so much for the kind words!! ❤️ One part 2 coming right up!

The Deathslinger searches for his S/O after the Entity spat him back out 

Sundown had long come and gone. Night was approaching steadily and without mercy, covering the silent town in darkness. The chilly night air cooled Caleb off, it was just what he needed right now. He felt frustrated beyond words, his heart pounding in his chest and his fists clenched shut. Another day wasted. With a deep sigh, he untied his horse and got up in the saddle. Spending another night at the inn was pointless, he wasn’t going to get any sleep this night either. He might as well be on the roads, on the lookout, than tossing and turning in a cheap bed.

“Let’s go, Polly”, he muttered to his horse, and they rode out of the small shithole town, hopefully never to return.

Caleb despised this place, he had only been here for one thing. His mission. And again he had failed. It had been one year since he was spat out from Hell, one year since he had last seen you, heard your voice. He was on a mission to find you, but so far he had been unsuccessful. And every day without you pained him more and more. He had cut ties with the Hellshire gang, left them to fend for themselves, find a new leader, whatever. He needed to do this alone, he knew that. But some days, the most lonesome days, when solitude hit like a knife, part of him felt like giving up. Turning himself in, going out with a bang in a shootout, anything to make it all end. But thinking of you always kept him going. 

“Might as well rest a bit now that we’re out of that dreadful town”, he said to Polly, and pulling her to a halt he quickly got off. 

He decided to start a fire, keep himself warm and do some thinking. Polly needed rest tonight, even if he didn’t. He built a quick fireplace and got some twigs and branches gathered, and soon a small fire was cackling along. Caleb sat down by the fire, warming his hands, thinking of you. He had searched the whole country, it felt like. Day and night, with very little rest. And yet, you were nowhere to be found. He knew it was a long shot, asking to find you here, in the States. You might not even have been released from Hell, what if you were still there, being tortured? Caleb shook his head to get rid of the thoughts, the memories from that place. He needed to find you, and soon. As he sat there in the night, alone with his thoughts, he could hear something in the far distance. Hooves. A group of horses, galloping across the desert in the middle of the night. Caleb got up from the ground, his gaze fixated on the horizon where he could hear the sound. There he saw them, a gang riding along the road. Five or six of them. What on earth were they doing out here, now? Caleb thought he was the only one who couldn’t sleep these days. As the gang got closer to him, he thought fast. 

“Howdy there!” he yelled out, waving to seem more approachable. “Care to help a stranger out here?”

They outnumbered him, he couldn’t rob them. But he could ask them if they’d seen anything, heard anything. Any leads he could get. To his gratitude, he saw the silhouettes change their routes slightly so they could approach him directly, and soon they slowed to a halt in front of him. In the light of Caleb’s campfire, he took a quick look at the gang in front of him. A bunch of youngsters all of them, some of them barely out of their twenties by the looks of it.

“What you doin’ out here alone?” one of the boys asked. “Lots of trouble along these roads.”

Caleb didn’t respond, he was busy studying a curious baggage on one of the horses backs. It was big, dark, and if he wasn’t mistaken, he thought he could see it move in the shadows. Kidnappers, eh? Well, he was far from above that, so he would let them be on their merry way soon enough.

“Just wondering if you boys have seen a lone person on yer travels? About this tall, hair this long…”

He was interrupted by one of the boys laughing. 

“Mister, we’ve seen a lot of people during our travels! Hard to keep track of ‘em all!”

Caleb swallowed a grunt and tried keeping his cool. Suddenly, he was struck by a feeling, and as he saw the person/baggage on the horseback moving slightly again, he felt his heart skip a beat. 

“Mind if I take a look at that person of yours? Can’t be too sure these days”, he said, pointing towards the baggage. 

At this, the boy who seemed to be the leader shook his head.

“No can do, mister. We got business to attend to, if you’ll excuse us. We ain’t seen nothing and no one. Let’s go, boys!”

Caleb quickly got out a revolver from his coat pocket and aimed it at the leader.

“Wasn’t exactly a request, I’m afraid.”

The boys looked at eachother, then laughed in unison. 

“What, you’re gonna take on all of us with that thing?”

“Crazy old coot!”

Caleb grunted and put away his pistol.

“If that’s how it’s gotta be…” he murmured, searching the bag on his horseback. 

The boys’ laughters were cut short as he pulled out his Redeemer and aimed it at the leader.

“Now, we can do this the easy way, or the hard way”, he said, a slight smile on his lips.

“We ain’t scared of you!” one of the boys shouted, and the next second a loud bang rang through the night.

The hook was caught nicely by the leader’s shoulder, and in one go Caleb had him falling off his horse and struggling for his life as the chain pulled him in closer to his perpetrator.

“Fuck, it’s him!” one of the boys shouted and turned his horse around to flee.

Caleb released the wounded leader and took aim for the boy with the baggage on his horseback. 

“Fuck this!” the boy screamed and turned heels as well.

Just as he was about to gallop away, Caleb aimed a shot right next to the horse to frighten it, and to his triumph the horse rose on its hind legs, making the baggage fall to the ground before it galloped away with its brave knight in the saddle. The rest of the boys were soon to follow, none of them daring to take up a fight against the Deathslinger himself. The wounded leader got up on his horse and rode away as well, and Caleb let him. He had more important business now, approaching the tied up person still on the ground. As he got closer, his stomach curled in on itself, and he felt something he hadn’t felt in years. A longing, so strong it was going to rip him apart. He quickened his pace, and knelt before the tied up figure. They had a bag on their head, and with shivering hands Caleb removed it… And as he saw who was underneath it, his stomach punched a hole in itself and his heart stopped in his chest. It couldn’t be…

“Y/N…?” he whispered, just staring at you.

You were gagged, so he quickly removed the gag so you could speak.

“Caleb!” you screamed, tears trickling down your face. “Caleb, I can’t believe it’s you!”

Caleb stared at you for a couple more seconds, then he shook his head and untied you quickly. He helped you up from the cold ground, and the two of you embraced like you hadn’t seen each other in… well, a year.

“Y/N…” Caleb whispered, feeling the tears burn behind his eyelids. “It cannot be…”

For so long he had searched. So many sleepless nights without you by his side, so much anger, so much grief. And here you were. Or was this a trick of the mind? Caleb had to release you, take a look at you. You looked tired, heavy bags underneath your eyes and tears streaming down your face. He caressed your face, kissed you, held you again.

“Y/N, I can’t believe it.”

“Caleb, I missed you so, so much…” you whispered into his hair, hugging him tightly. 

“Come, sit down by the fire”, Caleb said, and on shaky legs both of you walked up to the campfire and sat down.

Caleb got out a blanket from his bag and swept it around your shoulders. You dried your eyes and curled up in his arms as he sat down next to you. Neither of you said a word. Caleb was dying to know how you were here, what had happened to you, but for now he just wanted this moment to stay like this. You, in his arms, in front of a warm campfire, the crickets chirping in the night. Caleb let out a content sigh and relaxed for the first time in a year.

The Oni searches for his S/O after the Entity spat him back out

Flesh. Blood. Bones being broken, their cracking noise echoing through Kazan’s head. It was all a red mess, a red, bloody mess. And Kazan loved it. He made them all pay for what they had done to him, he made them regret ever taking you from him. As the screams eventually died down, Kazan was left standing victorious amongst the corpses of the villagers. His trembling breath was all that could be heard in the night, his bloody fists still shaking from the adrenaline. He had defeated them all, but where were you? Were they hiding you somewhere? He let out a desperate roar in the night, but to no use. You didn’t reply. His adrenaline rush slowly fading and being replaced by anxiety, Kazan started searching the village. He went into every house, every cellar, tearing up beds and flipping over tables. Nothing. He knew you could still be trapped in the other place, that place where blood and torture were everyday things. The place he had been at, before he woke up here. Shaking his head, he removed those thoughts from there. You had to be here as well, you just had to. So he continued his stubborn search throughout the village.

The last place he checked was the emperor’s palace. It was big, but somehow Kazan knew his way around here. He checked every room, and when he ventured down into the dungeons, a strange feeling grabbed a hold of his heart. A feeling he hadn’t felt in ages, a feeling of… longing. He didn’t know what this feeling meant, but he urged on his exploration of the palace. The prison dungeons were dark and wet, and Kazan’s heavy footsteps echoed through the silent halls. He checked every cell, empty besides some skeletons here and there. Prisoners, living out their final days in this rotten place. As Kazan was nearing the last cell, he let out a frustrated sigh, clawing at his face. If he didn’t find you… Suddenly, a sound could be heard. It was faint, merely a mumble in the dungeon halls, but it sent Kazan running towards the last prison cell. Somehow, that faint sound made him think of… You. There you were, tied up in the corner of the cell, sitting on the cold stone ground. Kazan’s breath got stuck in his throat, the world started spinning and he had to grab ahold of the heavy iron door of the cell. Was this real, or a trick of the mind? You lifted your head to have a look at whoever had stopped outside of your cell, and as you saw Kazan standing outside the door, your eyes widened.

“Kazan…? Is that really you?”

When Kazan heard your voice, all breath was stolen from him. This was real, it had to be. Quickly, Kazan took a more secure grip of the iron door’s handle and pulled it. It didn’t budge. 

“It’s no use, Kazan, they locked me in here. I-I don’t know which one of the villagers has the key…”

Kazan let out an angry grunt and pulled the door handle again. Nothing happened. Taking a step back away from the door, he grabbed his Kanabo from his back. He was so close to getting to hold you again, he was not going to stop now. He gathered all his strength and anger, and with one mighty swing he tore the door open with his Kanabo, and the loud bang echoed through the halls. As the dust settled, Kazan approached you. He quickly untied you, and the next second you were in his strong embrace, hugging him like your life depended on it.

“Kazan, I’m so glad you found me…” you whispered, and Kazan felt his anger turn into a warmer feeling in his chest.

He hugged you desperately, never wanting to let go of your warm body ever again. He had found you, and he was never going to let anything happen to you again. No one would ever hurt you, he would make sure of it. Come what may.

The Pig searches for her S/O after the Entity spat her back out

Warnings: angst, gore

Amanda’s heart was hammering in her chest. The gun felt heavy in her shaky hands. She had never felt this scared in her life, but she had never been more alert. She needed to find you, no matter what. She was making her way down a dimly lit corridor, a corridor she knew far too well. It was here that she had set up Jeff’s tests. Now it was empty, save for the clutter and random machinery parts. This old factory still gave her the creeps, she couldn’t deny that. Even more now, when she was searching for you, not knowing what was going on or if you were safe. She had searched through empty rooms and halls, not seeing any trace of you. She had torn off a piece of her shirt to tie up the bleeding wound on her neck, it helped a bit. In one of the rooms, she’d found a box of bullets to her immense relief, so now her gun wasn’t useless at least. She hadn’t yet dared call out your name, but now she was becoming desperate.

“Y/N?” she yelled as she entered another empty room.

The stench of dried blood and guts hit her nostrils like a fist to the face, and she almost vomited on the spot. Gun outstretched in front of her, pressing her face against her shoulder, she took a deep breath to try and gather herself. She could not be weak now, she had to remain strong for you. Quickly leaving the room, she cast a last glance over at the torture device filled with human remains before she left. Had to be the drunk driver. Amanda continued with shaky yet determined legs, the loss of blood slowing her down a bit. Where were you? As she approached yet another closed door, probably hiding another empty room, she suddenly got a strange feeling. A feeling she hadn’t felt in ages, a feeling of a strange longing. A longing so strong, it was going to rip out her stomach. In one quick move, she forced the rusted door open and immediately was faced with a nightmare. There you were. Strung up from the ceiling, unconscious. 

“Y/N!” Amanda cried out, dropping her gun to the ground and running up to you.

This woke you up, and you opened a pair of groggy eyes. Very soon your grogginess was exchanged for fear, as you noticed you were tied up.

“Amanda…?”

“Y/N! Are you hurt?”

Tears were burning behind Amanda’s eyelids, her heart hammering away in her chest like a possessed drum. You were hooked into a device holding you upright, dangling from the ceiling. Around your chest was a leather harness, keeping in place the metal contraptions, and you were bleeding quite heavily from a wound in your chest. The angel trap. Amanda knew this trap, because she had designed it. 

“Amanda, help me, please!” you screamed, as it seemed to dawn on you how you were trapped.

Amanda nodded, silent tears streaming down her face. This couldn’t be happening. Suddenly she noticed something in the front pocket of your jeans. A note sticking out. She quickly grabbed it, unfolding it with shaky hands.

“You created inescapable traps.”

That was all that was written on the note, and the handwriting was impossible to decipher. Amanda let out a cry of fear, looking back up at you. This couldn’t be. 

“Amanda? What’s wrong? P-Please, help me out of this!”

Amanda tried to collect herself, she tried to think. Who had put you here? It couldn’t have been John, he was dead. Was it the Entity? There had to be an escape, there must be. She had designed this trap, she knew how it worked. You also know it’s inescapable, a voice in her head said, but she ignored it. She had to ignore it. Quickly drying her tears with the back of her hand, she started studying the contraption with her hands.

“I-It’s okay, love, I’m gonna get you out of this. Don’t worry, I promise I’ll get you out of this”, she said as she studied the harness a bit closer. 

But could she really promise that? Shaking her head to get rid of the thoughts, she forced herself to stay focused on her mission. She noticed the wound again, the wound bleeding from your chest. But something was strange with it, it didn’t seem to be related at all to the harness. And then Amanda noticed that the harness wasn’t even attached to your ribcage. A wave of unimaginable relief washed over her and she almost laughed out loud in joy.

“Honey, it’s okay, it’s gonna be okay!” she said, looking up at you. “We just need to find the key.”

“It’s there”, you said, pointing with your gaze in front of you.

Amanda followed your gaze and saw a small jar hanging from a chain from the ceiling. The acid jar.

“I just need to get the key from there and we’ll-”

“No!” Amanda yelled, a bit louder than she had intended to. “I’ll get it.”

“Amanda-”

“I’ll get it, Y/N!” Amanda pressed on, trying to ignore her own shaky voice.

She was the one who had gotten you here, by being your partner, so she was gonna get the key. Quickly climbing up on the contraption you were dangling from, she put her hand into the jar of acid without hesitating. Burning pain exploded in her hand and spread throughout her body, but she persisted. Screaming in agony, she felt her fingers grabbing the key and holding onto it for dear life and she pulled her hand out of the jar. 

“You got it! Amanda, you got it!” you screamed, relief audible in your voice.

Amanda took deep breaths to try and calm down. If you don’t give the pain power, it isn’t as bad, she told herself. Deep breath in, deep breath out. She didn’t look at her hand, as she shakily started to unlock the lock that held the harness together. In a blur, she saw the lock get opened, and you were quick to get out of the harness. Amanda wanted to check if you were hurt anywhere else besides your chest wound, but the world was getting blurrier by the second. She had to sit down, gulping air into her lungs intensely. 

“Amanda!”

She felt you kneel down beside her, holding her in a warm, safe embrace. You were safe, that was all that mattered now.

#dead by daylight #dbd #dbd fanfic #the deathslinger #the deathslinger x reader #caleb quinn #caleb quinn x reader #the oni dbd #dbd the oni #the oni x reader #dbd the pig #the pig x reader #amanda young #amanda saw

[koukaaa-descent]

tell me more about monsoon and indigo please (politely) ((its Hollie and Rose)) (((Rose is our Bracken)))

HI AGAIN HOLLIE IMGLAD YOU LIKED LAMP,,, HELLO ROSEITS NICE TO MEET YOU 👋👋👋

starting with monsoon,,

Monsoon gestated on Vow and was born there. Its birdlike attributes came about because a manticoil died and was absorbed into the soil almost directly above Monsoon’s incubation area, further changing its features. A Bracken is a very adaptable creature in its early life stages.

Monsoon’s beak isn’t explicitly hooked as you might expect in a hawk or falcon. It has a small curve and remains very sharp but seems otherwise harmless. (Indigo would say otherwise; whilst raising Monsoon, it bit him enough times while feeding that he has enough scars to cover half of his hands and some even go up to his forearms. Three bites went down to the bone. Monsoon has, indeed, consumed some small pieces of Indigo.)

The blue dots scattered on Monsoon’s body are a result of a regular variation in Bracken markings, typical of the baseline species. They work typically to confuse its prey or otherwise disorient, seeing as the contrast between the reds and stark blues serves to strain most of its prey species’ eyes. This usually presents in normal brackens as varying browns, light blues and whites.

They also have a lot of symbolism for Indigo. Beneath the light, they appear to be a stark shade of (the color) indigo. Indigo considers them to be the mark that he himself has left on Monsoon’s life.

Monsoon is a ‘special case’ among brackens regarding symbiotic behaviors typically shown with the ones that raised it. Normally, a Bracken leaves their pseudo parents after reaching a juvenile age. Monsoon stays with Indigo far beyond that age range, and displays behaviors that are incredibly odd. You could consider Monsoon to be technically tame. (It is still a wild thing!!!! A very wild thing!!!)

There have been no recorded cases of a Bracken being raised by a humanoid before then. This excludes Masked and Coil-heads. Thus, the behaviors that Monsoon has adopted are recognizable as Indigo’s own habits, body language, and tones.

Monsoon’s kind of like a very large bird. It does sometimes ‘preen’ the foliage on its back. (Yes, it tries to preen Indigo too, to varying success.)

Monsoon runs fairly cold, as it does not have blood.

It does not have bones.

It does have organs.

Monsoon has never met another Bracken, but has interacted closely with Nutcrackers, Masked and jesters. (It likes the music :])

Monsoon is very flexible. It does not have bones to restrain it.

It’s an extremely messy eater. Indigo mostly just lands on March or Vow and lets Monsoon hunt down some manticoils. There have been multiple occasions where Monsoon’s dragged a masked’s corpse back half eaten, oftentimes with the masked still writhing. It’s kind of like how cats drag rats back home.

Ok. Ok I could say More. But I have to move onto Indigo or else I never will

Indigo has four molars and an overbite.

He cannot hear amazingly well, but his sense of hearing is very keen in regards to small, barely audible sounds. For example, he would sooner pick up on a Bracken’s leaves rustling a room away than he would a jester’s song. There are certain frequencies that Indigo cannot hear at all (which also ties in a bit regarding his struggle to hear a jester’s song.)

His eyes are rounded and fairly similar to a Bracken’s, minus the glow. They’re just a solid, glassy white. He is not blind.

Due to his biological composition, there are certain entities who may entirely ignore him. Coil-heads, Masked and Nutcrackers never pay much attention to him unless he explicitly attempts to catch their attention. The chances that they outright ignore his presence are about an 80/20 ratio.

Indigo does not have a good grasp of his emotions.

Indigo is the one who named Monsoon.

Indigo has no real idea how old he is physically, yet retains physical reflexes and body language from previous ‘iterations’ of him. (previous individuals/creatures he was made from.)

He has salivated blood before. Small amounts that stung the inside of his mouth. Wonder where that came from?

Indigo does not have a stomach.

Indigo spent 2 weeks of his life raising Monsoon. Before that, he’d only been alive for roughly four days and with his original crew for two days before getting two of them killed as a result of his actions. The third died in the attempt to protect him from a Masked, which was curious about him, which ultimately meant nothing.

There are incredibly small spines that extend from the bones of his spinal cord, usually remaining pressed flat against his skin to avoid chafing. The longest is only an inch long.

Indigo bites things a lot as a way to stim. It also feels good for his teeth.

Autism. He’s just not alive long enough to discover most of the symptoms aside from biting.

Again, he’s very bad at social interactions. He’s more likely to stare than he is to respond if you greet him.

this is all I can think of rn .,,,. My brain Empty….

#lethal company #oc monsoon #oc indigo #asks #this took so long because I kept getting sidetracked while I was writing #I’ll probably come back and edit this later ouhhh #thsnkyu hollie& rose… if it’s still you two fronting wgen I post this. #rrrgr #lethal company oc

[afuturewithoutus]

something i've been thinking about, essentially non-stop, every time i think of tma is how mag5: thrown away is, to me, an almost perfect representation of & unintentional foreshadowing for the eyepocalypse. i know, i know, jonny's said himself that it was during when he was still playing around with themes for the entities, and it was initially meant to be... i think the flesh? but hear me out on this.

the eye rules the eyepocalypse, and all other fears are therefore feeding it while also feeding themselves; the eye's servants are also the catalyst for the eyepocalypse. with this (albeit common) knowledge laid out, let me explain what i mean by the claim i made:

the episode follows a bunch of garbage truck drivers, and their visits to 93 lancaster road where they find... incredibly odd garbage. it also features several themes of several entities.

the large collections of specific types of waste could be categorized with the extinction, and it being, in general, garbage could tie into the corruption (since... filth).

the bag of doll's heads easily fits under the stranger.

the bag of singed strips of the our father (also called the lord's prayer) can be a hint to the desolation, this isn't even just due to the papers being singed, to me it also feels as if the prayer's “potential” is being destroyed as it now cannot be finished, if this makes sense; the dark, mostly in relation to the people's church of the divine host and the religious themes the cult brought into the dark; and of course the flesh which has some of the strongest religious themes, particularly in relation to christianity (albeit this most often being when cannibalism is at play).

the bag of teeth may also tie in with the flesh, it manifesting in bones and all; the stranger, think “bone apple teeth” (mag34: anatomy class); the corruption, unsanitary/filth, decay (if any of the teeth are decaying/decayed, that is); the end, also manifests in bones; and potentially the extinction due to human remains, which i know the extinction is specifically “destruction of human skin/tissue,” i do think over 1000 teeth could end up falling under it.

and then there's the eye; alan parfitt became so intensely focused on 93 lancaster road, to the point where it started to be a detriment to his health and relationships. the intense desire and morbid curiousity to learn who is leaving these bags at 93 lancaster road, and potentially why they're doing it, not only lead them to keep checking what's in these bags but it also ultimately lead to his death.

and, of course, alan's heart, plated in metal, ties back to the flesh. one could also argue that keiran woodward (the statement giver) sending alan's heart to a medical incinerator could be another small manifestation of the extinction (and this time it's actually destruction of human tissue).

i think i previously said (to friends, not really here) that i've seen a connection to every entity in this episode though i'm not sure whether i was hyperbolizing or if i simply don't remember the potential ties to the hunt, slaughter, spiral, lonely, vast, buried, and web.

i guess what i'm saying, and what my thoughts are, is that mag5: thrown away is a mixed bag (badum-tssss) of entities and the eye, mostly through alan parfitt though also keiran and the others, is kind of like a catalyst to the spiral into their constantly checking what's in those bags, showing manifestions of all the entities, feeding them with their fears. it just a very unintentional amalgamation of entity manifestions that blend in a very eyepocalypse-y way? or, at least, i like interpreting it that way.

#tma #the magnus archives #mag5 #mag 5 #mag005 #tma entities #the flesh #the corruption #the extinction #the end #the eye #the stranger #the dark #magpod #tma spoilers #kind of i guess #the eyepocalypse #afwou.txt #tma theory #i don't know if this *really* counts as a theory #but it's somewhat theoretical #but it's more of an interpretation imo? #i'm so autistic for this podcast. i also really like this episode.

[eluminium]

skizz and the number 3. again!

hey y'all, remember like, 5 months ago or so when I posted about Skizz and his whole weird connection to the number 3? You'd think that after that time, I would be more normal about this.

YOU'D THINK.

BUT YOU'D BE WRONG.

I JUST FOUND ANOTHER GOD DAMN "RULE OF 3" PATTERN WITH SKIZZ. IT NEVER FUCKING ENDS.

SO HAVE YOU EVER NOTICED HOW ALL SKIZZ'S DEATHS EITHER INCLUDE HIM BEING IN A TRIO OR HAVING 3 OTHER PEOPLE PRESENT? (KINDA)

OH YEAH I'M REAL WITH YOU. THINK ABOUT IT.

WHAT WAS HIS FIRST 3RD LIFE DEATH? OH, DYING TO THAT ENDERMAN...WITH REN AND ETHO PRESENT. BAM, TRIO.

WHAT WAS HIS SECOND DEATH IN 3RD LIFE? GETTING EXPLODED BY GRIAN IN FRONT OF DOGWARTS...TOGETHER WITH REN AND JIMMY. BAM, ANOTHER TRIO.

WHAT WAS HIS LAST DEATH IN 3RD LIFE? GETTING KILLED BY GRIAN. WITH IMPULSE HELPING. BAM, A THIRD TRIO FOR THIRD LIFE. HMMMM.

NOW, WHEN IT COMES TO LAST LIFE THIS MOSTLY HOLDS TRUE.

SECOND DEATH? DEATH TO THREE REDS (SCAR, JOEL, LIZZIE) HUNTING HIM ON MAGICAL MOUNTAIN. AFTER BEING ABANDONED BY THE OTHER THREE MEMBERS OF BEST.

FINAL DEATH? KILLED BY REN...AFTER HE AND IMPULSE TRIED TO KILL REN. TRIO. BUT ALSO, WHO COMES UP TO BACK REN UP AND MADE IMPUSLE BAIL? CLEO AND SCOTT. BOOM. THREE PEOPLE. (REN, SCOTT, CLEO)

AND I'M PRETTY SURE WE ALL KNOW WHAT SKIZZ'S LAST DEATH IN LIMITED LIFE WAS...HIM SACIRIFICING HIMSELF TO ETHO FOR MORE TIME...THE REST OF TIES. THREE PEOPLE.

FOR ALMOST ALL THE MOST IMPORTANT DEATHS SKIZZ HAS HAD...IT'S BEEN HIM AS PART OF A TRIO IN SOME WAY...OR WITH THREE OTHER PEOPLE KILLING/ABANDONING HIM.

LITERALLY THE ONLY DEATH HE HAS HAD THAT DOESN'T FOLLOW THIS PATTERN IS HIS FIRST DEATH IN LAST LIFE, WHERE HE GOT BOOGEYED BY REN. BUT HELL, IF YOU WANNA STRETCH IT...IF YOU WANNA COUNT THE BOOGEY CURSE ITSELF AS A KIND OF SEPERATE ENTITY...THERE WOULD STILL BE A TRIO THERE. SKIZZ, REN, AND THE BOOGEY. THIS EVEN WORKS FOR SKIZZ'S BOOGEY DEATHS IN LIMITED LIFE. SCOTTS KILL ON HIM WOULD BE A TRIO, SKIZZ, SCOTT AND THE BOOGEY. AND THE OTHER BOOGEY KILL IS ALREADY THREE PEOPLE WITH CLEO SCAR AND BDUBS.

SO THAT WOULD MEAN THAT EVERY SINGLE BIG DEATH SKIZZ HAS HAD THIS. FUCKING. THREE. PATTERN.

WHAT IS UP WITH SKIZZ AND THE NUMBER 3??????????????

#my writing #dose of skizz #skizzleman #3rd life #last life #limited life #3rdl #lastl #liml #trafficblr #traffic smp #life series #life smp #AM I GOING INSANE #PROBABLY #THEY JUST KEEP APPEARING #THE SKIZZ AND NUMBER 3 CONNECTIONS NEVER FUCKING ENNNDDDD #IM STUCK #FOREVER #RAHHHHHH MY LIFES WOOOORRRKKKKK

[mysticaltora8276]

I’ve just like to say I don’t hate Russell T. Davies writing (well mostly there are plenty of elements that annoy me but that’s true for any writer so we’ll leave it at that. )but I don’t know the 60th anniversary specials just come across as very self congratulatory about his run and it really annoys me. Not to mention that for a 60th anniversary like ignoring things that came before it. No bringing in a character from the First Doctor’s run or an obscure character comic book run does not make a 60th anniversary. There were just some awkward bits of dialogue, and like I’ve said before this obsession of Russell to basically make the Doctor is mundane as possible instead of focusing on the fact that that they are a traveler and an alien and taking people to extraordinary places instead of glorifying the mundane. Again glorifying the mundane is not a problem, but I must ask why would you take someone so extraordinary and try to make him normal? With Moffat when the Doctor was in a normal setting, they didn’t stifle who the Doctor was. Same with Chibnall. The Doctor was still a unique entity and kind of stuck out a mundane settings, but that was the charm. The Doctor is an oddity that comes and takes you to extraordinary places not someone who desperately wants to be normal. The Doctor was and is an eccentric and proud of it. The only time it made sense for the Doctor to want mundanity was Nine and that was only because he’d been through a war but even still the Doctor traveled and were fine with being an eccentric. The Flux was a traumatic moment yes, but remember this is the series in which the Master destroyed just a quarter of the universe…. By accident. Yes, they should address it, but not by clipping the Doctor’s wings. Maybe it’s just me, but it was across as basically saying “are you eccentric? Do you like to travel? Well, then for recovery instead of you know, allowing the person to still be your own unique person you have to basically conform to what I the writer think is necessary even if goes against your character, and take away all your uniqueness.” It just feels a little bit stifling to me. I mean they could’ve had him just taking short trips to planets and taking it easy there from place to place and then coming back instead of constantly staying in one place which may I remind you they hated in previous incarnations?

Edit: Three was exiled on Earth and hated every single second of it. He liked helping but the fact he was stuck there drove him crazy. Eleven retired to Earth twice. Once due to the Ponds being dramatically taken away from him and once Clara came in he jumped at the chance. And he literally locked himself away. The second time was when he was trying figure out about Clara and once he got it he was off once more without a second thought. And that’s not even counting the other time he stayed on a planet when he defended Christmas for a hundred years so the people wouldn’t be wiped out. Twelve stayed on Earth for seventy years to watch over Missy but as soon as Bill comes he books it because he is going stir crazy. He even makes it clear that he’s barely keeping it together. So yeah the Doctor doesn’t do well with being tied down.

And that’s not getting into the whole conversation about family….excuse me the Ponds and the Fam would like a word with you. And their home is the TARDIS. Their fav planet is the Earth yes but ultimately it’s the TARDIS traveling that’s home.

Edit: Oh yeah as for “I have a family now” remark….Excuse me does the name Susan Foreman mean anything?! Susan smack your grandfather he’s being a moron again!

#doctor who #anti rtd #sorry in advance #I just got an annoyed of the constant yammering

[hopefully-inspiring-persona]

(I apologize in advance I didn’t have the energy to type my thoughts so I used dictation and tried to edit as best I could. Also I’m so sorry for the length haha)

I know the fandom has been theorizing the fears being based off of desire Since like the second or third episode if not the first, so I might be behind on the game, but the latest episode really just had all of this click for me and all of the implications of what the entities being based off of desires mean, and I think Jon and Martin are permanently facets of the fears now and have fundamentally changed how they function.

I know we’ve all kind of been like “how the fuck are Jon, Martin, and Jonah (I’m assuming it’s Jonah) in the computer” and at first, I thought that maybe they got transported through the somewhere else and maybe they grabbed Jonah somehow when they did so or one of the entities gravitated towards Jonah in the TMAGP universe. Up until this point, I vaguely assumed that the Jon and Martin that are in Freddie are our Jon and Martin (Jonah being from protocol universe), now I’m heavily leaning towards Jon and Martin might not actually be in the computers. It could also be that our Jon and Martin grabbed this universe’s version of all three voices to use.

in the latest statement, needle guy (I can’t remember name, very excited for him to come back at some point) was talking about how he feeds off of the fear of his victims but also he knows that what he does is out of genuine love, and that he wants to cuddle and be with his victim. And thinking about how all of the previous statements functioned and how a lot of them did include some fear, but it was a lot of love and desire that really took centerstage over any true torture or horrid end.

And that got me thinking about the series one finale. The whole reason Jon was able to get through the Apocalypse was through his love for Martin. Jon and Martin got through everything the fears threw at them through their love and their devotion and their desire to try and fix things. And now desire and love is one of the core aspects of how these entities feed and commit and spread their terror. Jon and Martin fundamentally changed how the fears functioned through their love specifically. The fears were released into the Multiverse through their act of love, and through that sacrifice and the fact that Martin was so devoted to Jon and loved Jon so thoroughly that he would be betraying himself to do what he asked of him.

So yea I think Jon and Martin are fundamentally tied into the fear entity now. They were taken from their universe and transported to the somewhere else through their deaths, and became facets of the fear entities, and changed them so completely (the fears also probably effecting Jon and Martin like S5 Jon was acting in return). Maybe even the entities aren’t against one another they work with each other more now they’re more intelligent. All the statements as of late the fears have felt more targeted they it feels more intelligent. It feels like it has the same thought behind it as the web did. I had a really hard time with the violin statement because a lot of its aspect kind of gave Web vibes, but it ended up being more towards slaughter or voyeurism.

Even with needle guy, he is a mixture of so many different fears. And the way he was talking about his love, and how he was talking about his victim really reminded me of how Jon and Martin felt but in a really fucked up avatar way, which is really what led me to these thoughts. It feels like they’re really all mixed together and it’s all connected through a love or desire, and it has that obsession twisted. Sometimes it does more good for the victim than it does bad, but also still has that tinge of darkness.

I genuinely have no idea if the fears will even function in the same way that we know them. Because already they feel kind of familiar but also it’s really hard to pinpoint one specific fear for each statement. I think it really became more like colors through their tampering, and instead of hating each other they loved each other and they actively tried to blend with each other when given an opportunity to.

So yeah, I’m really excited for less animalistic fears and way more thought out and malicious shit happening across the board. I still don’t fucking know how they’re in the computer but also part of me feels like they’re not in the computer, but also the computers definitely have some kind of personality that is reminiscent of the original Jon and Martin so I have no fucking clue. Alice talking to the computer like Martin talks to the tape recorders is genuinely a significant plot point I feel and I guess we just have to sit and wait to figure out how this all plays out because we’re literally only at episode six lol. 

(on a sidenote, while writing this, I also had the thought that maybe the watcher crown is still in effect, and that Jon and Martin do still have a slight bit of control over the fears and that’s why it feels intelligent? I definitely don’t think it’s the Jon and Martin we know I feel like they are beyond their original consciousness lol. But there’s still that little bit of humanity in them I guess. Like their version of morals is heavily influenced by the fears view of reality, but also, they still have a bit of their original thought process, and so that all mixed together kind of has this more benevolent, yet still malicious version of the entity. Like a monkeys paw almost. Chester and Noris could be the original subconscious of Jon and Martin that is a byproduct of their power over the entity and the reason Jonah is there is because of their strong emotional connection/recognition right before the merge which caused this reality’s Jonah who is probably just as connected to the watcher as he was in our series to become forcefully put into the computer or something)

On a second less long tangent, I love how we were wishy-washy about maybe the entities being about desire, and then Jonny decided in this latest episode to bash us over the head with “ITS ABOUT LOVE AND ABOUT FEAR” lol

#tmagp theory #tmagp #tmagp spoilers #tmagp ep 6

[trixree]

They'd been in love as cadets, but a relationship is hard to maintain from half-a-galaxy and a war-front away. "In love" feels… too simplistic for what it was, for how badly it hurt when their deployments came down, for the distance that Cody never really stopped feeling, as prevalent as the ache in his skull along the lines of his scar. A grief carried around every second of every day like a missing limb doesn't fit inside the words "in love". But those are the only words that Cody has—clones don't say the riduurok.

What they did say, stolen between gasped breaths, crammed into spaces too small for two was: Fox, I want to force myself inside your chest and never leave; Kote, that's kriffing nasty, tell me again. They say, stolen when satellites connect, tucked under layer upon layer of encryption: CC-2224: I miss you; CC-1010: I know. 

They'd connected on Triple Zero only four times before the war's end. 

On the first, they'd met with such a combined fervor that it ignited between them like a wildfire, the kind that leaves a landscape devastated in its wake. They'd come together in Fox's private quarters in the GAR barracks— old and ugly, unremarkable and uncomfortable but for that it had a horizontal surface and a locked door, and that was all they really needed besides each other. 

Fox had made a sound like a sob when Cody pressed him down to the bed, licking deep, wet, and deeper into his mouth with months worth of wanting it and Cody had echoed the sound right back. They'd always been the same, matched from their scores throughout training down to their fucking personalities; their viciousness, their acerbic humor, and yeah, their weaknesses and comforts, too. Of course, Cody had needed it just as bad as Fox had—the animal comfort of it. The sheer relief of their proximity, finally. 

They’d brought each other to emotional, spine-melting, toe-curling orgasms—practiced hands on familiar bodies, racing down a well-known path—before collapsing into a damp heap, Fox spooned along the length of Cody’s spine, clutching him close. Cody held on equally as tight and felt grounded.

"They trained us so well for everything else about the fucking war," Cody would rasp in the afterglow, tracing mindless patterns on Fox's skin with his nails, scratching just enough to show faint red lines, "but they didn't bother to train us how to be apart from each other. Or how to die next to each other." 

It was morbid. He meant every word of it.

Cody would never share a thought like it with anyone but Fox. (His General would earn the honor later, but not now. He hadn't yet. This was early days, still.) 

"That's because we weren't meant to get attached," Fox muttered into the skin behind Cody's ear, slightly garbled from how tightly he was pressed up to Cody's back. He'd clung like the glue the medics use to sew men back together; like he was trying to fuse them into the whole entity they were supposed to be. 

"They were wrong, vod," Cody kissed the words into the top of Fox's bruised and battered hands. (He was taking and giving hard hits even through his gloves to have such marks, and Cody had wondered about it at the time but not enough.) 

"I'll keep coming back to you," Cody had eventually picked up the conversation's sentiment if not the exact thread, because Fox can hold a silence like no one else. "K'oyacyii, Cyare.” 

Their second meeting some months later had been... less ideal. It was the first real misstep of so, so fucking many in a campaign Cody didn’t know he was waging until it was too late.

Cody had arranged to be in Fox’s private quarters by the conclusion of his shift. He’d tapped Thorn for the intel ahead of time. It’d been so long since he and Fox had exchanged more than a quick check-in—Me'vaar ti gar? and an answering oyayc. K’oyacyii over comms—let alone had a moment to call. Cody had wanted to do something mischievous, something a little like the trouble they used to get into on Kamino together, but with a whole lot less risk—something to distract, because kriff knew he needed it; and they’d always, always been the same. 

Fox had been four hours late; Cody had been upset, and frustrated with Fox’s complete and uncharacteristic lack of a reaction. 

“I missed you,” Cody had said, frustrated, tired, wanting to say something much harsher. Why did I come here if you weren’t going to be here? If you were just going to ice me out, even when you bothered to show up?

“I know,” Fox had replied. It had sounded like an apology. Cody was too distracted by the smarting hurt of it—of the acute yearning for that something between them that neither of them quite had the opportunity to have anymore—to realize it was an apology. (It was the only one Fox knew how to give.)

They hadn’t done more than sleep beside each other that night—and Cody remembers clinging so, so tight and it still not feeling like enough to hold them together. They ate a quiet breakfast together in the GAR barracks before Cody had been called away to the Jedi Temple on urgent business.

The hurt was little, in the grand scheme of things, but their time together was so rare and the enormous distance between them let it smart. Let it turn into a bigger scab than needed grow at all. 

The third time Cody saw him, an even longer stretch of time had passed since the last interval between their infrequent visits. Time had grown a series of red flags around Fox, flags Cody didn’t want to see.

Fox was thinner than Cody had ever seen him with bags under his eyes like bruises and new, little silver hairs creeping out from his temples. Fox had done what Fox always did when hurting, when vulnerable, when he felt backed into a corner and on the defensive.

They'd fought bitterly. Fox was like a veritable land-mine of barbs, criticism, and cruelty; Cody gave it as good as he got. They’d always excelled at fighting each other—both of them stubborn, mean, overachieving bastards down to the marrow.

Fox had called him “Marshal Commander” like it was an indictment, like it was an insult, like he’d never say Cody (let alone the reverently-whispered, achingly tender Kote).

“Coruscant changed you,” Cody had said, low and serious, and perhaps it would have been better if he’d shouted, screamed, or otherwise been karking unreasonable about it. Maybe if he hadn’t said it like he believed it, like he wasn’t just fucking angry and hurting, needing comfort Fox couldn’t give—because Fox needed it too, needed it just as badly if not more, and Cody had missed it through his own pain—just to have spared himself the memory of the little flash of agony in Fox’s eyes when Cody’s words had registered. 

Fox had shut his face down fast, icing Cody out in a second flat. He’d said, “You’re right, Cody. It did." And then, "There’s the fucking door.” 

And Cody hadn’t left. He’d pounced instead, dragging Fox down to the rough carpet of his office, kissing him like he was laying a fist across his jaw. Fox had kissed him back with equal ferocity. They hadn’t spoken a word otherwise, just gasps, moans, and yes’s, more’s, please’s. 

They hadn’t held each other in the aftermath. Cody had reached for it, had reached out to hold him, and Fox had turned away.

There were so many scars on his back that Cody did not recognize. 

He’d dressed in silence. Murmured what they always did, even when they were furious, fighting, whatever.

K’oyaci. And then he’d left him. 

And the final time—the blood-thirsty, vengeful now of it all—had been about Fives.

Cody had—in all honesty, Cody wasn’t sure what he was intending to do. But Rex was insensate in the weeks after Fives' death, and it was Fox that had taken the shot—Fox who took a vod from Cody’s vod’ika.

Cody had come to Fox looking for blood. He’d found it alright, but he hadn’t had to work for it. 

Fox was deliriously feverish when Cody found him, slumped over his desk in a puddle of bloody vomit, murmuring nothing but nonsense, eyes bloodshot and rolling in unseeing circles. A fever of 103, the responding medics had told him. A bleed in the brain, the med scanners had said. 

But nothing spoke louder than the chip the surgical team had found in Fox's fucking head.

By the time Fox wakes from his brain-surgery and bacta-dunk combo, Cody has had plenty of time to process—and plan. About thirteen hours, to be exact. Cody can get a lot done in thirteen hours with a holopad and some intel. As soon as he talks to Fox, he’s going straight to his General.

When he does wake, it's all at once: breath hitching, hands twitching, eyes snapping open.

“I’ve got you,” Cody says, and gets to watch those eyes lock on his own. 

“What,” Fox rasps. His eyes say, don’t. Don’t tell me the truth, please, it’ll hurt too much. Don't say a word.

“I wasn’t paying attention. I am now,” Cody says, squeezing the hand sans-IV. With the other, Fox is gingerly touching the plast over his surgical site, eyes widening with something like horror, something like oh fuck, like dawning understanding.

“Cody,” Fox keens, an agonized sound, and Cody crawls in the fucking bed. 

He carefully straddles Fox’s lap as his vod scrambles to bury himself in Cody’s chest, claw his way under Cody’s ribs, and Cody would let him, would keep him there if he could.

“Mhi solus tome,” he presses into Fox’s hair, and Fox wails to hear it. The keening cry turns into full-body sobs, hands clinging to Cody bruise-tight, and Cody rocks him through to the lullaby of, “mhi solus dar'tome, mhi me'dinui an, mhi ba'juri verde."

“You can’t marry me, you piece of shit,” Fox says when he’s finally cried himself out (it could be an hour or an eternity later) limp and exhausted in Cody’s arms. 

“Fucking watch me,” Cody replies, unbothered. 

“Cody, you have no idea what I’ve done. You can’t.” 

“Let me be the judge of that, Fox.” 

“I won’t survive it,” Fox whispers. 

“Let me prove you wrong,” Cody says, and means please; I love you. 

--

For @flowerparrish! Thank you for the prompt, I had so much fun with them!!!! Support me on Ko-Fi! Reblogs are always welcome! Edit: posted to AO3

#trixree writes #speed commissions #prompt fill #commander cody/commander fox #cody/fox #hurt/comfort #rated M #will post to AO3 in the morning!

[headspace-hotel]

Your posts about literary poetry are so strange to me, haha, because I also read a lot a lot of "literary" poetry and... it DOES save my life? A lot? Like that "Pigs" poem, I actually shared it with my bookish friends, because yes, the fleshy meat metaphors are overdone imo, but it was also a really vivid portrait of the way that growing up in a low-income rural area ties into these intrusive, distorted thoughts about self-worth that keep re-occuring throughout the poem. Carter isn't a (1)

favorite poet of mine by any means but also I think it's kind of unfair to reduce him to just disconnected images and cynicism. Some of the most popular poets in literary magazines today, Rupi Kaur aside, which I DO think is objectively bad poetry, are slam poets, and there's an urgency and joy and spokenness to their work that is just completely unseen in English poetry before rap re-infused the poetry scene. Personally I'm so so glad we've moved from the discrete single beautiful (2)

images of 19th century poetry that really do say nothing about social or interpersonal relation, and if you want to hear actual crushing nihilism, that's what the modernists are for. And I promise you both of those genres still exist and get published even on big poetry aggregators like Poetry Daily. It's okay not to like it and I know you've said before that you wish more poetry was rhymed and metered, but that doesn't mean poetry that isn't to your taste is bad? (3/4)

(PS sorry for being on anon I'm on a friend's phone but I don't want you to think this is anon hate where I don't want to own up to my identity, I'm wherewords) (4/4)

We are probably just going to have to agree to disagree on this one but also, I don't dislike individual poems quite as much as I dislike the broad trends

I believe I have read way more literary poems than is recommended, good, normal, or healthy, and there's a post in my poetry tag somewhere that breaks down what I hate most about literary poems in better depth (which I will probably reblog again), but I went through this evolution of my thoughts on it:

When I was taking my "intermediate" poetry class, I was genuinely intrigued and delighted by the range of things you could do with words that I was seeing in all the poems we were reading, and a lot of poems truly felt neat and impactful, and I liked interpreting them and learning to "see" meaning in them.

And then when I was taking my "advanced" poetry class, I started getting more and more critical, and I started to hate what reading these poems was doing to my own writing style.

And then a year later I read like every literary magazine my college library had because...okay long story but I was spending hours every day holed up in the library and that experience turned my existing skepticism into outright disdain

Because listen...there is an initial shimmer to the way unexpected combinations of words and images, like "lemon-lime grieving" or "cumulonimbus cancer" or "ontological algae" plink around in your brain, but after seeing Unexpected Combinations of words thrown together a million times, I started to think most of the meaning I read in literary poems was a kind of pareidolia.

So many poems have no intelligible complete thoughts in them, no consistent entities that are referred to more than once, no narrative, no images that persist longer than the phrases they are in

And it's not bad for art to be open to interpretation, but I had to write detailed journal entries about poems from Poetry Daily for my last class and a lot of this poetry just falls apart like a sandcastle the more you try to analyze it, because there is ultimately nothing there.

Like I said, I've said it all before more articulately. There is a lot more to my dislike of literary poetry. But one thing that really, really put the nail in the coffin for me was finding out that InferKit (a neural network you can feed text for it to complete) could consistently generate "poems" that were indistinguishable from published works by people with PhDs, that could be interpreted and analyzed the same way.

And to an extent I love the role of randomness in art! I think it's cool that humans see patterns in things and assemble narratives! I think it's an unavoidable part of art, and a lot of the "aliveness" of art lies in that indeterminacy!

But it feels like some sort of scam that so many artists with PhDs and MFAs are getting paid to write stuff that barely requires a human writer because the reader is doing so much of the work of interpretation. I'm sick and tired of seeing shapes! I'm not reading tea leaves! Communicate something dammit!

There is also the voyeuristic obsession with the trauma of minorities, the cruelty this is to so many poets that they're expected to constantly write about things that hurt them, the indistinguishable nature of so many writing styles, and the large number of poems that are mostly riding on getting a gross-out reaction from the reader, but I've explained all that in other posts

I don't know what to say. Like, all these poets are being read and circulated in environments where there's a pre-loaded expectation of interpretation and of taking the poet seriously. I'm going to call it crowd-sourced pareidolia because...yeah, I believe that's what it is sometimes. And if a poem has nothing to say to the version of me with no college education, the version of me that is skeptical, or the version of me that wants to hear a real voice that has something compelling them, I don't like it.

#poetry #literary poetry #poems

[literary-illuminati]

Book Review 61 – Helpmeet by Naben Ruthnum

Okay first book of the year that’s surplus to reading list requirements. I put a hold on this because it got shortlisted by the World Fantasy Awards and then, well, totally forgot about it such that when my hold finally came in I had no idea what the book was or where I’d heard of it. Going in totally blind like this was, I think, the best possible choice – spending thirty pages thinking it was some kind of literary period piece definitely improved the gothic horror twist.

The novella is set in 1900 and follows Louise Wilk as she prepares to take her husband, a surgeon, away from Manhattan to his family cottage in the country before he dies of a gruesome and mysterious wasting illness contracted during one of his many affairs (and just ahead of the bank repossessing their house). Over the course of the preparations and travel the history of their relationship and of the disease’s progression are teased and hinted at, and it becomes clear that the disease isn’t anything so simple as syphilis – that really its less a disease and more an incubation.

The atmosphere and presentation feel very pure Gothic horror to me – and very well-done, too. Everything from the descriptions and atmosphere to the repressed and evasive relationships to Louis’ total ostraiza tion from her husband’s social scene even before he began to rot to the whole plot centring around sexual immorality leaving the Man Of Science literally rotting from within and helpless to cure himself no matter how much he scrapes and cuts away.

Of course, the ending turns all of that entirely on its head. The eldritch entity that births itself from Wilks’ rotting corpse is actually quite a sympathetic sort, and sorry to have put the pair of them through such trials. It offers to reunite them – or just unite for the first time, really. Pushing Louis into the husk of her husband’s body like an ill-fitting suit and suturing them together in a way that revives his consciousness around hers as both body and mind begin to synthesize into a single whole. With their help, the entity takes the woman who summoned and sought to enslave it as a host instead, and rides off into the sunset to leave them to make a happy new life in the cottage and the orchard around it. In the end, it’s really quite a sweet love story.

The book is beautifully written, and by that I mean it is grotesque and horrifying in the best possible way. The oblique descriptions of the doctor’s rotting body – how Louis walked in on him shaving away the last rotting flesh of his noise over boiling water, the difficulties of finding whole veins to inject morphine into, the way the gauze over his face turns red and yellow in turns so soon after its replaced – fill something like a third of the books wordcount, and even beyond that rot and decay and filth are everpresent themes.

Speaking of themes, really I can’t judge this at all objectively – the whole presentation of casting aside or stepping beyond conventional humanity as something painful and horrifying but still fundamentally transcendent is one I dearly love, and the book hit it very well. Incredibly happy to have read tis strange little book.

#book review #horror #helpmeet #Naben Ruthnum

[reviewdiaries]

Ace and the paradox of finding peace in 4x09

Ace is very isolated this week, and it allows for some quiet introspection - the possibility of getting into his own special kind of trouble. And isn’t that something Ace has always been spectacularly good at? Whilst I’d love to see more episodes like the last two with entire Drew Crew shenanigans and hijinks, I’m also really loving the separate threads that each of the characters are following. The writers have a beautiful ability to weave seemingly disparate threads of stories together into one cohesive whole that makes the season even more satisfying by the end.

So he’s thrown himself into work, because that’s what he does when the snarls of feeling become too much. And yes, the last we saw he and Nancy were very much more on the same page, starting to feel their way through to an understanding, a want, a please I want to be with you more than anything, I don’t care what anyone else says. But that doesn’t magically fix everything. Doesn’t iron out the creases in his mind where the fears have taken root. That he’s not enough, not worth it, that Nancy will die and he’ll be left with nothing but a fistful of memories and a crippling guilt that it was all his fault.

But it’s still there. In the distraction as he picks up the clipboard and nearly shatters Connor’s mug. In the distant half aware way that he greets the latest addition to the morgue. His mind is half on his job and half on Nancy and the way his heart is tied to hers, a tug beneath his ribs whenever he thinks of her.

And then he is offered a distraction. A beautiful shining puzzle all his own. And he can’t resist, he’s never been able to resist, that’s part of why he and Nancy work so well together, so attuned to the frequency of mysteries to untangle, problems to solve, locks to pick. He’s used to the supernatural - the idea of the morgue being haunted barely rating in his top ten creepy situations he’s found himself in. So of course the latest body has brought in its ghost, and of course they’re trying to communicate with him. And he’s part running through all of the things he remembers from Tiffany haunting George, from Odette, the tips and tricks to try and draw them out, help them move on. Part engrossed in the who and the why and the what of it all. Metaphorically putting his fingers in his ears over all of his own feelings and problems and focussing entirely on this.

By the time he makes full contact, Ace has had time to think about this, to puzzle out the problem of his supernatural visitor. I don’t think you’re here to hurt me - famous last words Ace, but he’s also not wrong on his assumptions so far. The entity could have hurt him when they first announced themselves. He drops to the floor expecting an attack, for something to fall, to electrocute him, for danger of some kind. But nothing comes. He’s realised they, whoever they are, want his attention. Want his help. 

But it’s the phrasing of the next part that gets me.

Maybe I can help you move on. The slight pause, the stumble over the idea of moving on. And doesn’t everything come back to Nancy at the moment? What they have, how they’re wrapped up around each other, tangled beyond hope, uncertain how to move forward, impossible to move back. Pandora’s box where once they admitted how they felt, once they had those first delicious illicit moments - conversations, touches, kisses - they couldn’t ever go back to not knowing. 

Find peace.

He can’t find peace. As elusive as sleep when he thinks about kissing her. And things feel cleaner, lighter, since they spoke. But there’s still a disconnect, still the pain of a dislocated bone when he sees her, so it’s easier to avoid. Easier to stay here in his own space with his own mystery, and not think about the constant beating of what if that thunders in his chest when he thinks of her.

It’s tantalising, the possibility of helping something, someone else to find those things. Like maybe if he can find it for someone else he can see the roadmap for himself. Because it’s all one step forward, two to the side, three steps back. He’s lost and confused and throwing himself into his work at the morgue because it is his. It is separate, isolated, a haven away from the tangles of the rest of his life. And sure, Nancy has a way of finding her way in, even here, she always does, she wouldn’t be her if she didn’t, but on the whole it’s clean lines and antiseptic - impersonal and so far away from the riot of colour and knot of emotions he’s so used to.

So he doesn’t even question. Doesn’t wonder if this might be something bad, something that might hurt him. Just wants to help (doesn’t he always want to help - acts of service, acts of service, acts of service) wants to prove to himself, to the ghost, to Nancy, to the world that he is helpful, he is worthy, he can do this on his own. Wants to shut the feelings away and focus on something else if only for a little while. Plunge his hands into the cold water for the shock of something new, something different, something that takes him out of the loop of his own thoughts.

He’ll tell the others at some point, maybe, he’s not sure at this stage. Too lost in the here and now moment of the puzzle to think about caution, about the need for back up, for different perspectives. To wonder whether maybe he’s being incautious because he hurts, because he’s got a chip on his shoulder the size of the bay, because he’s terrified that Nancy is already moving on and what he meant to her was nothing compared to the size of his feelings for her. It was so much easier to stuff his feelings down and pretend they didn’t exist when he didn’t have the reality of his name whispered out on a gasp from her lips, the feel of her gathered close in his arms, the softness of her hair tangled around his fingers. Now it’s just a relentless barrage of knowing whenever he’s near her and can’t touch her. Worse since their body swap and he became intimately aware of her in ways he still can’t let himself truly think about. Can feel the heat of a blush staining his skin whenever the thoughts slip in. 

So he’ll keep pressing through and ignoring the warnings in his head, and not wonder about the curse in the jar that allows the cursed to talk to the dead. Not wonder about the way he fell when the wave swept over the boat. Not wonder at the way Connor doesn’t seem to notice the weirdness that’s been drifting over the morgue like a dark cloud since this body arrived. Just keep breathing and pressing through against the bruises where his heart ties to Nancy’s, and plunging his hands into cold water until he can hear the voice again. Because maybe if he can solve this, help someone else move on, he’ll work out how he can do it himself.

#nancy drew #nancy drew cw #cw nancy drew #ace [redacted] #nancy x ace #naceedit #nace #nancy drew 4x09 #nancy drew 4.09 #the memory of the stolen soul #nancy drew spoilers #nancy drew meta #nancy drew analysis #good lord they gave me nothing to work with this week #some weeks are a flood #some weeks are a barren desert #where I have nothing but Ace talking to dead bodies #but he is still so soft #and he misses her so much #one day they'll work themselves out #but today is not that day

[finisnihil]

I feel like there’s such an untapped potential in Fair Folk/Fae based horror because when you look into their folklore it’d be perfect for something spooky.

The Fair Folk are fucking terrifying entities, you can never let your guard down around them, you can never accept their hospitality but you cannot for an instant cease being polite and even when you go out of your way to avoid them they still will creep into your life like mold or rot and steal your children for themselves or even pieces of your body. You have to be aware of every loose hair, every drop of blood, because they can use it against you. You have to bargain with the forest if you want anything back from them even your soul and that’s even more dangerous because the forest wants to devour you so bad. They’re eldritch in their horror.

In most modern stories based on them they’re very sexualized and they have a lot of their core traits stripped from them, they come to resemble more so the modern idea of a fairy like the kind you see in Peter Pan. Petty but ultimately possessing some sense of benevolence (Ex. Tinker Bell getting the Lost Boys to shoot Wendy but still having her existence tied to the belief of children). Sarah J. Maas’s fairies are hot guys with neat powers.

On the topic of ACOTAR I struggled to get invested in it because it lacks the tension of an encounter with the Fair Folk, the mind games, the stakes. The powerlessness of not only you becoming more aware of your surroundings but your surroundings also becoming more aware of you. Sure Feyre was spirited away but her place in the world of the fairies was mostly of little struggle beyond being lonely and feeling out of place. The fairies around her could be mean yes but there was an absence of the cruelty, the biting pettiness, the suffocating fear of saying just one wrong thing. When you compare it to works of authors like Holly Black, who is extremely faithful to the folklore, it’s easy to see just much of the Fair Folk’s base concepts were stripped from ACOTAR’s worldbuilding.

In The Folk of the Air series by Holly Black there’s a constant sense of powerlessness in the protagonists and the quiet understanding that kindness doesn’t get you very far with creature like the Fair Folk. Jude only because somewhat respected when she becomes cruel, she only assimilates fully into the world of the Fae when she abandons her notions of her humanity, when she acts like them.

The House of Furies series by Madeleine Roux also has a fantastic grasp on the horror of the Fae. In House of Furies there’s the ever prevalent feeling that the protagonist doesn’t belong among humans because she gives the people around her a sense of uncanny valley. The Fae are these eldritch beings far beyond the understanding of the protag, and they constantly haunt the narrative in the way that they are nature and you can run as far as you want but you can’t outrun what watches you from the trees.

#Nihil Dreams #Fair Folk #The Fae #Folklore #I love Holly Black #The Fae are a special interest of mine #I there was more horror centered in the idea of them #One of my favorite comic artist/writers have a horror comic based on the premise of the Fae and I’m eating it up #I ever roped Doc into it #And she Hates horror