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spextronaut · 1 year

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Thoughts on this week’s episode of the Mandalorian:

Watching the recap at the start of the episode and VERY AGGRESSIVE REMINDER that Bo-Katan called Din “brother” when they first met please please god do not make them have a romance 😭

If any of y’all know Doctor Who,,, these starfish things look like fucked up Oods

Imperial Mandalorians???? What the fuck??

Why is there melodrama. Why are these aliens so fucking ugly

Once again that’s just earth when will we get some decent fuckin out of orbit planet designs

GROGU <3333 DIN <33333

begging for the pattern to continue from last season with the helmet removal increases pls let Din take his helmet off today

I love that Din is having his name used more it’s so fun

These walls are so white I am fucking BLIND

JACK BLACK???? JACK MOTHERFUCKING BLACK??? OF MARIO MOVIE FAME?!?!? WHY ARE YOU HERE???

Grogu my fucking beloved

I seriously can’t get over this I love his beard but fr why the fuck is Jack Black here

Grogu loves his pets omfg <33

Not the fucking Jerry Maguire reference I hate him <3

Still can’t get over the fact that Jack Black is canonically in Star Wars

Din once again being prejudiced against droids it’s really stupid lmao

A Kuill reference?? 2 seasons after he died?? Damn

hehehe Clone Wars reference

Din has another concussion that’s fantastic

We’re finally back to this being the Mando show with Bo Katan as a side character and I can’t even begin to tell y’all how happy that makes me

This place looks like it was inspired by Tokyo that’s really cool

Fuckin yEET

oooo the girls are fightinggg

what the fuck how do Droids drink

I love when he gets violent <3

… Droid race allegory?

The droids drink lube that is so fucking dumb

Droid morgue????

DARK SABER DIN!!!!!!! LETS FUCKING GOOOOOOOO

god he is so,,,, he’s hot I can’t be argued with on that

woww big surprise that the guy that was so obviously evil is evil

was that. was that a Keanu Reeves lookalike

I hate old people

Slay good job Bo Katan <3

BUG!!! BUG BALL!!!

GROGU HE IS SO FUCKING <33333

yay Jack Black is back

they get a key? for all that?

That’s a big fucking key what the hell

Grogu gets a knighthood and he didn’t even do anything I love that for him

THE WAVE 😭😭😭

Din this will be so simple just pull out the fuckin Darksaber

hehehe Bo Katan gets to be a badass that’s fun

Din fr you can stop this so easily just. Darksaber it’s not that hard

At least give him some popcorn if he’s just gonna watch goddamn

… kinky

Din. Beat his ass. Beat his fucking ass you deserve it

Din keep the fucking saber you know how it works

DIN. KEEP. THE. FUCKING. SABER.

Don’t let him give it away I’m gonna get so mad I know he doesn’t want it but HES SO HOT WITH IT THEYRE PLAYING HIS THEME AND EVERYTHING

Fuck this show. Fuck this show. Let him keep the saber. FUCK THIS SHOW I AM SO GODDAMN MAD RN

Can’t believe I was like oh this is the Mando show again bUT NO

HE DIDNT EVEN TAKE THE HELMET OFF I AM SO FUCKINGGG PISSED

Begging this to be a misdirection and the Darksaber will actually reject Bo Katan and force her to give it back to Din and that the last two episodes are good

Im so fucking mad at this episode i hate that fucking ending god fucking dammit Din deserves so much better, Pedro Pascal deserves so much better this is the show that truly got him into the spotlight and his character is being treated like shit and he doesn’t deserve it

I hate this episode but I had fun for the first 3/4 of it so I’m giving it a 6/10 overall it would’ve been much higher if Din didn’t give Bo Katan the fucking Darksaber

The worst part is that him desperately and easily giving away any semblance of power to Bo Katan fits his character it fits his character so well but that’s not how the last two seasons and TBoBF set up his arc and that’s why I’m so mad about it and hope it’s a misdirection

If it’s not a misdirection I honestly can’t say that I’ll come back for s4. I love this show and I love the characters but I would much rather live a life of pretending the fan fictions are canon than watch the show dig itself into a hole it can’t escape and ruin all the characters I love

And I don’t hate Bo Katan I like her and I like that they’re setting up her and Din not getting along very well anymore that’s good but i don’t think the way they’re treating her should be so prevalent considering the other things she’s in, she can have this arc in a different show or hell even her own show it doesn’t have to be in Mando

I’m gonna stick around until the season finishes but if it doesn’t get any better I’m not gonna come back for season 4 unless Tumblr says it’s absolutely amazing or some shit I just can’t take this disappointment anymore

Final comment: good episode when you ignore the ending, the ending was shit. Jack Black was the peak of the episode, but Grogu and Din (especially with the Darksaber!!) were also great and I am very much ignoring the end of the episode it’s not real if I don’t look at it

#spencer rambles #the mandalorian season 3 spoilers #the mandalorian spoilers #the mandalorian season 3 #the mandalorian #I’m so unreasonably mad about this episode y’all #din djarin #din djarin my beloved #grogu my beloved #grogu #bo katan kryze #that’s not a /neg tag but like… I’m not happy with her rn #the mandalorian s3 ep6 #the mandalorian season 3 episode 6 #the mandalorian chapter 22

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xo8ball · 9 months

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OK OK OK FAVR SONG FROM EVERY FOB/MCR ALBUM (if I listed MV's too I'd be here all day :] )

FOB

TTTYG: Dead on Arrival (my grandpa likes this one so I like it too!!)

FUTCT:Dark Alley, or Get Busy Living!!

IOH: I'm Like a Lawyer, or G.I.N.A.S.F.S!!

Folie á Deux: Headfirst Slide, 27, or West Coast Smoker!

SRAR:,,,the entire album,,,

AB/AP: ...the entire album is such a fucking banger

MANIA: The Last of the Real Ones, HOLD ME TIGHT OR DONT, Stay Frosty Royal Milk Tea

SM(F)S: THE ENTIRE ALBUM IS SUCH A FUCKING BANGERRRR AUGH

MCR

Bullets: Honey, This Mirror isnt big enough for the both of us, Our Lady of Sorrows, and vampires will never hurt you!!

Three Cheers:The Ghost of You, To The End, It's not a fashion statement, it's a deathwish (it's not on the actual thing but I love Desert Song)

Black Parade:This Is How I dissapear, Dead!, Mama

DD:TLOTFK: EVERY SINGLE SONG ON HERE FUCKS.

Conventional Weapons: Boy Division, Tommorows Money, The World is Ugly, AMBULANCE

Black Parade/Living With Ghosts:All The Angels, Emily, Not That Kind of Girl!!

(Sorry if this list is kinda long, I'm just normal about these albums :]]] )

you're on tumblr who is normal here :3 (positive)

granpa has taste me thinks!!!!! AND I GETTT ITT its so hard choosing from srar and abap theyre INSANELY cool <3 SMFS MY BELOVED THEY DID DROP A BOMB LIKE THAT AND PRETEND I WAS GOING TO BE ALRIGHT. NO IM NOT I'M BETTER THAN EVER

for mcr, YES desert song deserves that spot from here to the moon (and from the earth to the morgue) ALL THE ANGELS AND EMILY MY ULTRA BELOVEDDDDSSS <3 love that living with ghosts is there you just get it buddy

nows my turn heehaaa!

fob

tttyg : postcards specially has my whole heart, sounds so... TEENAGER. special mentions to : saturday, chicago, dead on arrival, and calm before the storm

futct : i definitely have a fave and it's XO can you see.... but as corny as it is, i love dance dance, and also nobody puts baby, 7 minutes, snitches and talkers, music or misery, and get busy! never gets old :]

ioh : SO HARD BECAUSE ITS BANGER AFTER BANGER ..... defo hum hallelujah because i love her so bad! golden too, carpal tunnel, fame > infamy, youre crashing, ive got this ringing, after life of the party and dont you know who i think i am :3 (DID I LIST ALL OF THEM IDK... LOL LMAO)

FOLIE... you cabt do this to meeee..... literally cant stop listening to the whole album its all good! but top top top Mega Top faves are headfirst slide, suitehearts, 27, what a catch, shipped gold standard and disloyal order, but cant pity 13 queens against eachother<3

ON SRAR ITS SO BAD FOR ME its really good but the mighty fall wins by far it just does it for me. ALSO I REALLY LIKE THEM ALL but tmf.. shes special

abap is crazy good and twin skeletons will always kill me as uma thurman dances on my dead body. cant choose too much, Novocaine, 4th of july and jet pack blues also are very <3 IRRESISTIBLE WINS MV CATEGORY HERE first time i saw it i almost frew up from laughing its so good for my humor

mania will be forever my close to first fave post hiatus! wilson expensive mistakes GETS IT and also sunshine riptide <3

on a special note : believers never die! dear future self and from now on we are enemies are ingrained so bad in me <3

for the newest addition in the family, smfs is a good album back to back! so good right now, i am my own muse, flu game, what a time to be alive and the title track are the ones i find myself singing the most, but i do like every single one!!

Well that's a lot! now for the vampires :3

bullets : this one album hits close! but early sunsets made a home in me, as well as drowning lessons, headfirst for halos, skylines and turnstiles and well demolovers too because!!

revenge : BOMB album will say that. every single song is SO good<3 i never told you will always be mine mine and forever mine! but i really like every single song in there, jetset life is good too, helena and ghost of you also win! oh no THEYRE ALL GOOD also best demo is i never told you. "covered in blood and piss" forever.

tbp is my second favorite album ever, the theatrics, the feeling, the instrumentality....... <3 i dont love you, the sharpest lives, mama and sleep go by far to be my adored most repeated ones, but cant really choose! mcr you put a curse on me

dd is AMAZING the comics are CRAZY GOOD it was the FIRST INTRODUCTION I HAD TO MCR whatever so cool so dancey so party <3 SING IS MY BABY GIRL NOBODY TOUCH HER everynyan hates her but i love her. save yourself, destroya, scarecrow are soooo good too.......... my baby girls

conwep IS MY girl she gets me. gun is the only one i dislike as i said but mdhfjejemwnwb <3333 so much love to her <33333 ambulance, surrender the night, burn bright, kiss the ring and make room! my babies

living w ghosts KILL ALL YOUR FRIENDS FOREVER <3 emily, my way thru home is you and all the angels get it<3

mention to foundations because i still cant heal and cope I LOVE FOUNDATIONS REALLY REALLY BADDDDDD SO MUCH WO M7CH IM SO PUMPED UP FOR MCR5 <3

oh thats longer now. OKAY ALRIGHT drop me your fave era or looks :3

#asks

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cmi-miu · 3 years

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Ya’aburnee - Chapter 2 (Seventeen Soulmate AU)

Soulmate AU: The last words your soulmate says to you are the words tattooed on your wrist.

Pairing: SoonWoo, (JiHan, SeokHao)

Title: Ya'aburnee (arabic): yak-BER-nee (n.) lit. "you bury me"; the hope that your lover or beloved will outlive you as to spare yourself the pain of living beyond that person.

Summary: It’s the death anniversary of Soonyoung’s soulmate. And both Soonyoung and his husband, Wonwoo, are not handling it well.

Fate seems to mock him as Soonyoung stares at the June 15th circled on the calendar. A wallet-sized picture of Mingyu sits clipped to it and it takes everything in Soonyoung’s power to not hurl something at it.

He’s been up since dawn break and all he’s done is either stare at Mingyu’s photographs or watch Wonwoo running around their apartment preparing the memorial food for the Myojae.

It’s a morbid atmosphere that surrounds them and it feels like walking around in a morgue room every time Soonyoung and Wonwoo cross paths while preparing for the long trip.

“Could you pack the songpyeon while I go change?” Wonwoo whispers as Soonyoung enters the kitchen. He doesn’t wait for a reply and rushes to their bedroom, leaving Soonyoung staring at the offering food sitting sadly on the countertop.

He packs the songpyeon with great care—Mingyu’s favourite—and places all the doshiraks in a large carry bag. Soonyoung then drags the bag to the living room, puts the memorial tablet in it and waits for Wonwoo.

When his husband comes out of the bedroom the two don’t even share a word as they exit the apartment. Soonyoung holds the door for Wonwoo while his husband carries Mingyu’s portrait out.

The car ride is possibly the most awkward one Soonyoung has ever shared with anyone. Neither speaks and both have tears stubbornly rolling down their cheeks. A sullen silence engulfs them as both find themselves incapable of consoling their husband.

By the time they arrive at the burial site in Anyang, Soonyoung is more composed than Wonwoo. They carry the food towards the raised mound of earth where Mingyu is buried and Wonwoo stumbles when he sees a figure already sitting there.

Soonyoung’s raises his eyes at Wonwoo’s hesitance but continues walking towards Mingyu‘s mother nonetheless. Sitting beside her as she cleans his tombstone.

“Mrs Kim,” he whispers and she turns to greet them with a morose smile. “Let me do the rest.”

She nods his head as if tired and turns to Wonwoo, who stumbles towards them in uncertainty. Soonyoung starts unpacking the food and setting up the ceremonial table, and tries not to cry when he pulls out Mingyu’s portrait from the carry bag.

It’s the one he’d taken of him after Mingyu’s high school graduation. He remembers their first kiss the same night and the intensity of the stinging in his heart increases tenfold.

Wonwoo edges closer to the woman and she gently pats his cheeks, tears streaking her cheeks as she tries to form some semblance of a smile.

“Wonwoo-ya,” she whispers, holding his face gently. She leans up to kiss his forehead and another slew of tears makes its way down his cheeks. “My sweet, sunny child.”

And it’s like the tightrope that was his sanity has been broken and all his emotions creep out as he watches the woman, crying into her hand as she caresses his face.

And Wonwoo cries.

Wonwoo loses all semblance of where he is and who he’s with and let’s himself cry after months of staying dumb. Because it’s been a year since Mingyu’s death and he’s still unable to let go.

Because it’s been a year since he’s been left alone and he still hasn’t learnt how to be without his brother.

Because at night when nightmares strangle him, Mingyu is not there to comfort him.

Because he’s terrified and Mingyu is no longer his shield against the world.

Soonyoung is startled when he hears it because he’d never expected Wonwoo to cry. That is not to say that he didn’t think Wonwoo didn’t cared about Mingyu. It’s just that he didn’t think Wonwoo was the type to show his emotions so easily.

But watching his husband weep like a child in his Aunt’s arms, hiccuping like a baby, Soonyoung finds himself helpless.

What am I supposed to even do? How should I console my own husband?

He watches the pair crying and he’s sure that if it continues both will continue crying themself sick. So, for the first time since their marriage he decides to forget his own loss (for the time being at least).

Soonyoung finishes setting up the ceremonial offerings, then shifts towards Wonwoo. He gently pulls the man away from his Aunt, mumbling, “it’s time for the ceremony, Wonwoo. Let’s finish the ceremony first, okay?”

His husband freezes under his touch, not letting go of his Aunt’s embrace until the woman pats his shoulders. Wonwoo looks at his Aunt and slowly lets go of his death grip on her as she nods at him with assurance.

As if telling him that Soonyoung’s safe. He won’t hurt you.

She then turns to the portrait of her son and with tears anew, and starts the prayer. Soonyoung and Wonwoo watch from behind her, waiting their turn to make their offerings.

“Mingyu loved cooking, you know?” His mother tells the pair over a quiet lunch.

They’d moved to a small restaurant after finishing the memorial rites and it had been thirty minutes since anyone spoke. Mrs Kim must’ve thought talking would somewhat brighten the tense atmosphere.

“He loved cooking, stitching, cleaning the house,” she laughs gently as she says the last part. “Sometimes his father would grouch that he was supposed to be born a girl instead.”

“That’s why you called him your little baby girl, right, Mrs Kim?” Soonyoung smiles at the woman, chuckling at the memory of when Mingyu had told him that years ago.

The woman laughs heartily at that, nodding her head and wiping away some of her tears as she continues, “he used to love it when I called him that. Used to say that it made him feel special.”

“Only Mingyu would like that nickname,” Soonyoung shakes his head smiling endearingly.

The atmosphere sombers down again but Mrs Kim doesn’t let the silence reign. She huffs a sigh and holds Wonwoo hand across the table, rubbing it gently as she continues, “he was so very fond of Wonwoo.”

Before she can continue they’re waiter brings their order and Wonwoo thanks the heavens that his Aunt was interrupted. But, soon as the waiter leaves she starts speaking again.

“Your mother was so young when she left us, my child. I remember the day you came into our home to live with us. All those things you had to suffer…” she tells the man, sighing sadly as she picks up her chopsticks. Wonwoo and Soonyoung follow suit, waiting for her to take the first bite. “Mingyu really cared for you a lot, Wonwoo. In fact, I used to joke with him that he was your mother. He reminded me so much of her. I’m sure that’s why it was easy for you two to get along as well, right?”

Wonwoo doesn’t speak and simply nods his head. And Soonyoung can tell with the way Wonwoo’s hands clutch desperately on to the table cloth, that the conversation makes him uneasy. He can’t fathom why it would but it makes him uneasy to watch his husband uncomfortable like that. Still, he can’t exactly stop Mingyu’s mother from speaking either so he does the second best thing he can think of.

He opens the rice bowl for Wonwoo and brings the man’s hand towards the chopsticks, mumbling “eat.”

He’s not sure how that helps but the action does make Mingyu’s mother stop talking—for a while at least. But it doesn’t last as she continues talking about Mingyu and Wonwoo and their childhood and Soonyoung doesn’t understand why Wonwoo looks more and more terrified of the subject but after some while, Soonyoung changes the topic of the conversation to Mingyu’s father.

“Mr Kim didn’t come with you, Mrs Kim?”

The woman freezes mid-bite and sends a worried glance towards Wonwoo before changing the subject again, “I packed some food for you two so don’t forget to take it before leaving for Seoul.”

Soonyoung frowns at the subject change but doesn’t speak of it. A side glance at Wonwoo gives him enough insight to know that Mingyu’s father is probably off topic for the man and that Mingyu’s mother is aware of the fact. He’s exceedingly confused by everything now but his husband is scratching his arms almost hypnotically and that worries him.

He stops Wonwoo from scratching his skin out by holding his hands back. His hands are small and Wonwoo could easily escape the grip but he doesn’t. He stops scratching but doesn’t look up.

Mrs Kim seems to sense the tension between them as Wonwoo tries to get Soonyoung to let go but fails to make him lose his grip. She clears her throat breaking the moment and smiles at them looking out the window as she says, “you two better head back to Seoul now. It’s already starting to dark out, it’ll be night the time you two get back home. With traffic and all…”

Wonwoo stays quiet and Soonyoung follows suit as they let Mingyu’s mother pay for the food (something she’d insisted on). And then they follow her out to the main entrance again.

“Wonwoo, dear. Could you clear up the Myojae supplies for me please?”

He quickly nods his head and leaves Soonyoung and his Aunt near the entrance of the restaurant. And soon as he leaves Mrs Kim turns to Soonyoung before the man can excuse himself to go help his husband.

“Soonyoung,” she mumbles, eyes downcast. “I know you felt that awkward air between us when you asked about Mingyu’s father. I know you chose not to speak of it because you didn’t want to upset us more.”

“I… figured it’s a family matter that… I shouldn’t get involved.”

“Are you not family then?”

“I am but—“

“Wonwoo was 13 when he started living with us,” she tells him in a hurry. And Soonyoung figures it’s because she doesn’t want to speak in front of Wonwoo, so he lets her speak. “Mingyu’s father never approved of his living with us. We weren’t living the best lives back then and having another mouth to feed was tough. We fought a lot and more often than not it was about Wonwoo staying with us. And all that anger was usually taken out on Wonwoo. Mingyu was too young to stop him and I was too weak.”

“He didn’t abuse him enough to warrant police action or anything but…” she adds so as not to let him get the wrong idea. Soonyoung tries to process the sudden influx of information being shoved at him but it only makes his mind hurt. But the woman doesn’t seem to care for his nerves as she continues, “but it was enough to ruin his childhood… enough to make it impossible for him to function without someone always there with him. There for him. Comforting him. He needed a protector and—“

“And Mingyu was the protector…”

Mingyu’s mother nods her head and bites her lips, guilt evident in her eyes as she continues in a quiet voice, “once Mingyu was old enough he would stop his father. They fought a lot about it but Mingyu never let Wonwoo hurt again. He always protected Wonwoo like an elder brother. He was younger but…”

She looks up at him then. Crying again but this time for her adopted son. “And if that wasn’t enough, Wonwoo’s ex-husband…” She can’t continue speaking and Soonyoung finds him incapable of helping her so all he does is patiently wait for her to regain her composure.

She’s about to speak again but that’s when Wonwoo comes back, carrying the bag full of empty lunch boxes and the ceremonial tablet and Mingyu’s portrait.

He stands beside Soonyoung smiling at his Aunt, waiting for her to shoo them off. And sure enough she kisses his temple goodbye muttering an innocent “take care”, and sends them off.

When they get back to their apartment it's 9pm. Wonwoo excuses himself to the bathroom and Soonyoung decides to make some kimchi stew for dinner.

He’s adding blocks of tofu in the stew when he hears Wonwoo enter the kitchen. Over his shoulders he tells the man, “could you check the rice please, Wonwoo?”

Robotically, his husband moves to the rice cooker to check the water level and closes it when he sees it’s still got some water remaining. Soonyoung waits for some kind of confirmation but when he doesn’t receive any response he turns around to find Wonwoo leaning against the countertop, eyes bloodshot, looking utterly broken.

But that’s not what makes Soonyoung shiver in fear. It’s Wonwoo’s scratched up arms.

Soonyoung moves on autopilot. Racing towards his husband as he stands limply, watching him reach overhead for the first aid kit.

The gashes are deep and almost sinister. Red and bloody, some are quite deep considering they are self inflicted and done by just his nails.

Soonyoung douses them with alcohol first but is at a loss at what he should do next. They don’t have enough bandage to wrap the wound, and neither is the injury severe enough to warrant one. But he also doesn’t want to leave it open lest risk infection.

“Just… let it go,” Wonwoo tells him then. Speaking for the first time since that morning. “It’ll heal itself.”

And it’s only then that Soonyoung realises that they’re standing way too close. He can see the tear tracks on Wonwoo’s cheeks and can imagine Wonwoo seeing the dark circles under his eyes. Wonwoo is flushed red and his lips are swollen from biting them too hard and Soonyoung’s heart breaks at the image of the man.

He’s scared—terrified, in fact—and he’s not sure who to trust. It’s clear as day in the way Wonwoo edges back into the countertop despite it digging into his lower back that Wonwoo doesn’t trust Soonyoung. That he’s rather scared of him but doesn’t show.

Soonyoung tries looking into his husband’s eyes but when he finds Wonwoo straining to avoid eye contact, he steps closer to the man. And slipping his arm around his back, pulls Wonwoo closer to himself, turning around so that the countertop isn’t digging into his back.

“Let’s eat,” he says and moves back to the stew, leaving Wonwoo to set the table.

They eat in silence and move lethargically as they clean up and get ready for bed.

And lying in bed, staring up at the ceiling, Soonyoung decides to speak.

“What’s your favourite memory with Mingyu?”

Wonwoo doesn’t give a reply and Soonyoung doesn’t force him to, instead chuckles warmly remembering his own.

“Mine is when we went to a skating range for our third date.” He recalls, turning to his side so that he’s looking at Wonwoo. Wonwoo turns his head, alarmed at the sudden movement, but doesn’t move away. “He was the one who had suggested it. And the entire day all he did was fall on his butt! I swear when he first stepped onto the ice he looked like a baby giraffe who’d just learnt walking.”

And just like that laughter fills the bedroom. With Wonwoo snickering giddily at the mental image and Soonyoung laughing out loud at the memory.

They fall silent after a while but Wonwoo fills it with a whisper. Soonyoung is proud that he could make Wonwoo feel confident enough to speak.

“Back when Mingyu was in highschool,” his husband tells him, “he was crazy about fashion designing.”

“I didn’t know he was into fashion design?”

“He was,” Wonwoo says, turning to his side so he’s face to face with Soonyoung. “So he entered a competition to test his skills out, but a day before the contest he found out it was a girls only event.”

Soonyoung starts giggling as he listens to Wonwoo, “I can already imagine where this is going.”

Wonwoo nods his head, finding it hard to speak as he recounts, “so he asked me to steal makeup from Aunty’s room and dress him up as a girl! And then, bought a wig and a miniskirt just to attend the contest!”

Laughter bursts into the room at the anecdote and both husbands are rolling in the bed, tears in their eyes for a completely different reason. Soonyoung finds some composure in the chaos and wheezes asking, “so wait. Did he win or not?”

Wonwoo is laughing so hard he finds it hard to even give a reply and just shakes his head in denial.

By the time they cool down both are heaving with remnants of the laughter clinging to their lips as they look at each other.

“I even took a photo of him that day,” Wonwoo tells Soonyoung. “I’ll show it to you someday.”

And they continue talking that night. About Mingyu and all these crazy little stunts and stories. And Soonyoung feels a little closer to Wonwoo. For a night, Soonyoung only lives to make Wonwoo forget the pain of Mingyu’s death.

Because when Soonyoung lost a soulmate, Wonwoo lost a loving brother.

#caratwritersclub #seventeen fanfic #seventeen fanfic rec #seventeen fanfiction #seventeen soulmate au #seventeen #soulmate au #svt fanfic #svt otp #svt soulmate au #svt angst #soonwoo #unhappy marriage #death anniversary #heartbreak #fanfiction #ya'aburnee

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owlsbride · 4 years

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This Too Shall Pass

Chapter III: The Reaper.

London was no longer London. At least not the London he had come to love. Now it was a mix of modern buildings as tall as the sky itself. The old carriages over the years had been replaced by modern cars much faster and more compact at the same time. Now there were buses and even high-speed subway trains. Modernity was a new world and infinite possibilities. There was no misinterpretation, he had adapted well throughout all these years. He had learned to use every technological advance that came his way: cell phones, computers, the glorious internet, television. He even enjoyed from time to time going to the movies. He had learned that the latter was not significantly different from how people's cinematics records worked and that in a way filled him with pride. Even if he was a deserter, he had to accept that his people were far more intelligent and advanced than humans. He was used to modern life; it could be said that he even enjoyed it. He had come to learn some of the little pleasures that this era could bring him. He could sit for hours in some trendy little cafe, (where in order to pay a cup of tea, a regular person would have to consider selling a kidney on the black market) just to watch humans live their lives as fast as possible, coming and going without even pausing for a second to look to the side or behind, without even having the slightest consideration for what they did to the other or to the world in which they lived. These people lived oblivious of the finiteness and fragility of their bodies. They walked around proud of their cars, their clothes, their lovers and their promising careers, never stopping to look at or ask the needs of the others, never acknowledging that in the end death was inevitable and that at the last breath she equalled them all. Royalty, politicians, businessmen or beggars, they would all follow the same path and some of his former colleagues would be willing and able to judge them and take them without the possibility of the slightest protest. Oh these humans, they would never know what they got till is lost forever. He had lost everything once, even his sanity, and he was sure he would not do it again. Not now that he saw things as they were. His obsession with death had long been replaced by his obsession with life. That was what had driven him away from what had made him a legend so long ago, and what drives him crazy every time a little more. It was the burning desire to know what life was afterlife itself. How to prolong it, recover lost moments, and why not, create new ones. How to find once again what was lost and how to restore it as an exquisite work of art. Ironically, to reach his goal, he needed death: he was tied to it, and just today, in these times, the business of death was dying. Hilarious. Something as simple as passing, now it was complicated. In the good old days, when he had decided to turn his back on everything he knew, he had become London's best-known mortician. With his small business in Camden Town, he had had access to the most extraordinary elites of English society, and yet also made important contacts with simple commoners. As an undertaker, he had connections, the most varied and they all turned to him. Of course, he was not moved by money, he had never cared, he simply demanded in return a good joke that would make him laugh. After all, even death was not to be taken too seriously. He ran his business diligently getting to know more people than he ever imagined, one more curious and entertaining than the other. As an informant for the queen's watchdogs, he had managed to get into the elite, and thus each subject of study reached him without significant problems. He was happy, Oh what wouldn't he give for listening to the Earl's little voice once more asking for information? That butler was an incredible specimen, and he would have loved to dissect him. Oh lord, if only the little boy wouldn't be so stubborn about his stupid vengeance. Today the Parlour was not enough. Undertaker knew that if he wanted to continue his investigations even nearly 200 years later and with many incredible technological improvements, he had to be able to access another source of income. Modern times meant diversifying. Today, everyone's favourite mortician was no longer called to make arrangements for the afterlife. No. Now there were hundreds of other undertakers who did the same as him. Therefore, a place in the hospital morgue had been secured for some time. Who better than him, after years and years of seeing corpses to perform an autopsy and making himself time to take a look at his hidden agenda secretly? So yes, Undertaker was happy. Even if he missed the old times sometimes, he still ran his Parlour in the afternoons and was a forensic doc in the mornings. Just like a superhero with a secret identity, thinking about it, too many identities. Undertaker was sitting on the counter at his place, his long booted legs swinging lazily. The newspaper rested next to him, he had just finished reading the news, and they were hopeless, people in London were dying in droves, more like hundreds a day and that sort of hurt. Of course, he had witnessed other pandemics and knew very well what the consequences were. Not only did people die from the disease itself, but the devastation left, and the collateral damages were incalculable. It was as if the Horseman of the Apocalypse from the bible really put his feet on the slaughtered Earth. Undertaker knew that by now his fellow shinigamis would be desperate from overwork and felt sorry for them. How much would the lists of people to die have increased in recent months? He also felt sorry for the doctors who work non-stop to save lives. Two sides of the same coin: medical services and shinigamis, both barely surpassed by an infamous virus invisible to everyone's eyes, even his own. He regretted his work in the hospital too, it had been interrupted in these months, and he no longer had access to people's bodies for security measures. Obviously, the virus did not affect him in the least, but he had to keep up appearances. He sighed bored as his black nails drummed on the surface of the counter, he had no pending work, and he only had to wait. Sighed and wait. No more laugh, no more research, no more hilarious strange glances from his fellow doctors, nothing. Just desolation in every corner. His day couldn't get any worse, he burnt his bone-shaped cookies and was running out of tea. He would have to go to the store soon. He hated the store, he much preferred Lau's herbs, even the funny ones, those who made people laugh and relax when used in the right amount, and if not, still, he was not one to judge. So picking up the keys, he was ready to go out when something or somebody took him by surprise. "Heh heh, but if it's none other than the red shinigami ~ Tell me, sweety, Dear William gave you some free time?" "Undertaker, always a pleasure ..." Grell began nervously. Being in front of the legend of the shinigamis made him nervous "I have a favour to ask you." "A favour? Hmm ... How long has it been since the last one?" The silver-haired man chuckled, removing his bangs from his eyes. "You know what to do ~ give it to me first. Come on, you know what I want." "Undertaker ..." Grell pleaded "Now is not the time, besides you know I don't know how to do it." "My my, your face is priceless; you are still a nervous wreck." The Undertaker smiled almost fondly at the younger reaper. "What do you want?" "I need you ..." Undertaker raised an interested eyebrow, putting the keys back where he had found them, the tea could wait. Not every day a Shinigami would show up at the doors of a deserter asking for help. "I mean... WE need you." "You mean the London Despatch?..." Disbelief in his words, Grell nodded "Now, that's the joke of the century Grell, come on, I don't have time, I'm running out of tea". Grell Sutcliff rolled his eyes. He hadn't changed in years, Undertaker was just the same and he kind of like it. If it weren't for his relationship with William, Oh, the things he could do to the revel grim reaper in front of him. "Really, Undertaker? Is that what you do now? Take tea like an old lady?" the red-head spoke loudly, pointing at Undertaker's hidden scythe. "Well ... I'm quite old after all" Undertaker smiled and Grell pouted. "Ok, Ok. Why don't you take a seat on one of my special coffins and explain yourself?" Grell blew out the breath he didn't know he was holding and accepted the invitation. It was his idea after all, and he couldn't bring a no for an answer to his beloved William.

The chilly winter covered the city with a heavy mist. The sky threatened to snow at any moment. It didn't take long to convince him. Once young Grell Sutcliff had finished telling him his crazy plan and talked about how much the Despatch needed the help, he was ready to go. Plus, the red riper dared to say that the snob William T. Spears would have more than a headache knowing that he, the renegade shinigami, would accomplish the task better and faster, and nothing made him happier than bother poor Will. He was ready to wear the shinigami outfit one more time. He had to admit that he had missed it and that there was nothing like fieldwork. He was prepared to prove that no one could ever match him. Within just a few hours, he had been able to carry out the work of four shinigamis together and was just getting started. He caressed his lifelong companion with devotion, he had never gotten rid of his lover, and today they were walking together once more. His scythe was fantastic, and he loved her. Standing on the terrace of the hospital, he checked the list one more time. There were only two names left before the end of the shift when something caught his attention. She wasn't on the list moments ago. Her name had appeared suddenly, and she should not be there: Gwenhwyfar O'Doherty. He knew her, he had seen her from time to time in the corridors of the hospital. The young Irish doctor, lovely green eyes, cute freckles, she was so full of life. Working diligently every day to save others and yet here she was about to take the somersault that would make her, at best, one of his own kind. She wasn't ready to go, the world needed her. "I wouldn't do that if I were you, dear~ You are very much need it right now~." and his soft chuckle got lost in the winter night.

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ancientbooshartifacts · 4 years

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Queerly Beloved

Author: SmilesAwakeYou

Year: 2009

Rating: PG-13

Characters: Garth Marenghi, Dean Learner, Todd Rivers, Dr. Rick Dagless, Lucien Sanchez, Liz Asher, Thornton Reed, Julian OC, Noel OC

Adjusting his tie and shifting the book in his hand, Garth regarded the camera aimed at his handsome face. He raised a brow and opened the pages of Blood Gush to read the genius that lied therein. Mustering all of his strength, he tried to think of what exactly it was he was trying to convey to the camera. What did newscasters call it again? Ah yes. Gravity. So, with all the gravity he could muster, he stared the camera down as inspired words tumbled from his lips. “’Ah,’ she yelled, clawing at the bloody stump that was once her beautiful pearly alabaster arm. ‘My arm, my bloody arm, what have you done with it you ruddy bastard?’ “’Eaten it, of course,’ replied the rabid magical badger who was still noshing on the bloody vestiges of her once beautiful appendage. With that, she kicked ‘im in the head so hard, his eyeballs popped out and exploded like two water balloons full of cream getting hit by a lorry.’” Turning his full attention back to the camera, Garth arched his eyebrow once more. “Hello. That was my terrifying and harrowing epic Blood Gush, a tale of a woman caught in a lie betwixt herself and a satanic cult of terrifying woodland animals.” He allowed a small smile to flit across his face. “Let’s see if you can muster up the courage to travel alone in the woods again after reading that bit of literature.” He killed the smile as a sudden burst of gravity hit him, causing him to scowl. “In my television program, Garth Marenghi’s Darkplace, I sought to venture into the deepest, darkest, most dankest vestibules of my twisted psyche. What were my fears? What were my terrors? What had made me most whiz the bed as a kid? “As I answered those and many other unanswerable questions, I came to realize that the horror I had to spill upon the unsuspecting world would leave her crippled, mangled, like a bird that’s run into a closed window because it’s so stupid it can’t see that it’s glass and then leaves a streak of blood there that I’ve then got to go and clean up because my wife’s too squeamish, even though Sheffield United is playing. Because of this, Darkplace was canceled. That and the Beeb found out it had more stock footage of baby animals than it had originally thought, leading to the premiere of Baby Animals Yawning Are Quite Cute, Yeah? now entering its 25th season. “Anyway, as I questioned and pondered and schemed and was generally brilliant, I came up with an episode so mind-shakingly and bowl-movingly earth-shattering that it was never allowed on air… much like the other six episodes. Of course, it dealt with very sensitive issues and, with the help of my producer Dean Learner” – a picture of Dean and Garth flashed across the screen, both of them looking dapper as Dean stroked his glorious moustache – “we wrote what proved to be the most harrowing episode yet. An episode that dealt with… the Gay Issue.” Garth paused, waiting for such a monumentous statement to really sink in and stick to his viewers’ sides. “So join me now and sift through the demented horrors from my brain as this episode, previously unaired on British television, is seen for the first time. Unless you’re from Finland. They got a hold of it there somehow. We may be suing.” ******* CUE OPENING CREDITS EPISODE #7: “QUEERLY BELOVED” DR RICK DAGLESS, MD walks down a hallway in slow motion. Various hospital goers look on in impressed wonderment. He is truly a great man, as is evident from his walking prowess. DAGLESS [voiceover] Darkplace. It’s a bit mad to work in a place this dark. All this mad darkness can get to a lesser man. Sometimes I think I might just have to blow this popsicle stand and go somewhere a bit less mad and dark. LIZ and SANCHEZ walk by, waving merrily. But, hey, they people here ain’t so bad. Plus, were I to leave everything would go to shit. Cut to THORNTON’s office. THORNTON is sitting at the desk, smoking a cigar and stroking his moustache. DAGLESS [voiceover] Thornton Reed. Now there’s a mangy old grizzly bear if I’ve ever seen one. Which I haven’t but I have seen specials on the Beeb and they are quite impressive. Anyway, Thornton had called me in to discuss some very important business which was business as usual, given the fact that I was his official important-business go-to guy. DAGLESS So, what’s the word, Thornton? THORNTON Puts down his phone Oh, Dag! I cannot believe how mad and dark this place is. So mad and dark! If you were to leave, everything would go to shit. DAGLESS [voiceover] See? DAGLESS Well what dark madness is afoot today? THORNTON Well, you see, there’s some mess happening with one of our morticians. Turns out he’s gone missing! DAGLESS Missing you say? THORNTON Yes. DAGLESS Well, that’s no good. Probably off fucking about with one of the cadavers. THORNTON Laughs heartily before looking deadly serious. Now Dag, dead bodies aren’t something to joke about. Especially since all the cadavers are male! Necrophilia is one thing but gay necrophilia is a horse of a different color. Specifically all the colors… meaning a rainbow-painted horse. A gay, rainbow-painted, dead horse. DAGLESS Gives a manly laugh. If that’s one thing I can’t abide by, it’s anal sex with dead bodies. SANCHEZ and LIZ enter SANCHEZ What’s Rick talking about? His normal Friday night? LIZ Now come on fellas, there’s a lady present. DAGLESS Hardly! Everyone laughs at the hilarious joke. LIZ Still laughing. Oh, I find it so attractive when men put me in my place! THORNTON Striking his desk with resolve. Now now. Let’s come to order. As I was telling Rick, there’s a small order of business concerning a missing mortician. DAGLESS Necrophiliac you mean. Everyone laughs. THORNTON Now Dag, while I too find the prospect of a man getting his jollies by do the genital jamboree with some dead sod downright hilarious, we still need to figure out just where in the Dickens he might have got to. LIZ Is it possible he might have gone home? THORNTON Trust a woman to come up with such a stupidly hair-brained idea. He shakes his head. No, Liz, he hasn’t gone home because he CAN’T go home. He sleeps here. Prefers to, actually. Plus he’s contractually obligated. All the morticians are. Can’t have them running about, giving away secrets of the dead to just anyone. SANCHEZ Well where could he have got to? DAGLESS I don’t know. But wherever he’s got, we’ll find him. I think we should start in the basement. THORNTON Right, you three go down there to the morgue and I will stay here and make sure he’s not skulking about in the proper hospital. DAGLESS Sounds like a plan. ********* INTERVIEW WITH DEAN LEARNER Dean, his mustache twitching thoughtfully, gave the camera a baleful look. “Now, when Garth came to me with this idea, I thought he was downright mad. A whole episode about the gays? Preposterous! But then he sat me down and actually talked out the plot with me and, well, I’ll be diddled with a fiddle stick if it wasn’t downright brilliant.” INTERVIEW WITH GARTH MARENGHI Arching an eyebrow, Garth regarded the camera. “Now, you might find it interesting to know that we actually created more of a stink with our talk about morticians than the homos. Surprising, that. Turns out morticians are very easily offended. It’s not our fault that their jobs almost invariably involve bumming the dead.” INTERVIEW WITH TODD RIVERS Todd, shifting in his chair, steepled his fingers as he contemplated the camera. “Well, yes, when Garth told me about the subject matter of this episode, I was duly alarmed but it is my duty as an actor to overcome all obstacles, no matter how gay. Actually, the thing I ended up taking issue with the most was all that bad-talking about morticians. I got an advanced copy of the script and told Garth, ‘Hey now! What have you got against morticians?’ You see, my grandfather worked in a morgue and I remember many a happy childhood day spent romping about, putting make-up on corpses and coming home smelling of grandma’s pie and formaldehyde. But Garth stuck to his guns and, yes, I think the episode benefited from it in the end.” ******* Cut to the basement. It is dreary and dripping noises sound from all around. DAGLESS [voiceover] Now this was certainly an odd case. Morticians are notorious for being boring and not having much of a life, so where could this one have disappeared to? It was quite a mystery indeed. SANCHEZ Oh, hey now, what was that? LIZ I didn’t hear anything. DAGLESS That means absolutely jack shit, Liz. It’s a well-known fact that men have a superior sense of hearing to women. What did it sound like, Sanch? SANCHEZ It sounded like a distant moaning. DAGLESS A distant moaning? SANCHEZ Yes. DAGLESS My, that is odd. LIZ Perhaps we should go down to the morgue? DAGLESS My God, Liz, no one likes a pushy woman. But perhaps you’re right. LIZ I’m sorry, Rick, that was out of line. DAGLESS It’s alright. There’s a wailing noise, like man mourning the loss of a child. Or that of a wounded monkey. SANCHEZ Hey now, what could that be? LIZ It sounds like it’s coming from the morgue. DAGLESS Only one thing to do then. Let’s go! They all begin to run in slow motion. Cut to MORGUE. DENNIS THE MORTICIAN pulls up his pants and whirls around. DENNIS Oh, Dr. Dagless. Other doctors. I didn’t hear you coming. SANCHEZ Well, you seem like you were too busy doing some “coming” yourself. DENNIS His small eyes dart about like a shrimp. I was just changing my pants. DAGLESS Right, well, we’re not here to discuss your disgusting habits. We came here to discuss a missing mortician. DENNIS Oh, you mean Maurice? Yes, he’s been missing since this morning. DAGLESS Any idea where he could’ve got to? DENNIS No. Not one. Though he did say that one of the bodies was behaving… strangely. Everyone exchanges a look. SANCHEZ Strangely, you say? DENNIS Yes. Strangely. Then he buggered off. Suddenly, the moaning noise is heard again. SANCHEZ Sweet holy moley, Dag, what was that? DAGLESS I dunno, but it’s sending chills right up the old spine chord. LIZ Perhaps we should go investigate? DAGLESS You and your bright ideas, Liz. The moaning continues. But perhaps this once you’re right…. Again. SANCHEZ Pulls out his pistol. C’mon lads! And lady. Let’s go find us a mortician! DAGLESS, LIZ, SANCHEZ and DENNIS all take off, running in glorious slow motion with intense music drumming in the background. They enter a small, dark room with candles and spiderwebs everywhere. DAGLESS [voiceover] As soon as we entered the room, I knew something was afoot. This was some bad joojoo. SANCHEZ I don’t feel good about this, Dag. DAGLESS I know. I know. DENNIS whips around and points to a corner. DENNIS Oh God! What is that? LIZ shrieks. LIZ Oh my, how horrible! A man with fantastic hair lurches forward, flinging out his arms and doing jazz hands in a sparkly red jumpsuit before grabbing SANCHEZ as his gun goes off. SANCHEZ and the man grapple and wrestle until DAGLESS jumps in to pull them apart. Throwing the man off of SANCHEZ, he pulls a cross out of his shirt. DAGLESS Be gone, foul creature! The man hisses and sashays away. DENNIS My God, that was Maurice! DAGLESS It’s too late now. You’re friend has become a vampire. A demon of the night. Nosferatu. LIZ Oh my! How could such a thing happen? DAGLESS Well, when you’re messing about with dead bodies all day, it’s no wonder that a vampire might sneak its way in. Turns to SANCHEZ. You alright? You’re holding your neck. SANCHEZ Holding his neck. Oh, I do believe I’ll be alright, old friend. He falls to his knees. But I think I also got bitten. He falls completely on the floor. DAGLESS drops to his knees and rips open his shirt. DAGLESS Nooooooo!! SANCHEZ picks his head up. SANCHEZ Well, I don’t think I’m dead yet, so you might still be able to save me. His head falls to the floor again. DAGLESS Oh. Alright. ******** INTERVIEW WITH DEAN LEARNER “People actually seemed surprised that Garth and I wrote this episode together. To be fair, it was Garth’s concept to begin with. But then I got in on the action which some people – i.e. my wife - found rather suspect. I mean, what’s so strange about two men researching an episode about gayness by going to pubs that cater almost exclusively to homosexuals? Sure, the experience was disgusting, but it was also educational.” He paused. “And hazy.” ****** Cut to a hospital bed where SANCHEZ is lying down, a bandage around his neck. SANCHEZ Thanks for dragging me out of that hell hole, friends. DAGLESS Not a problem, mate. I know you’d do the same for me. DAGLESS [voiceover] The problem was that we didn’t know when the vampirism would manifest itself. Or how. LIZ Don’t worry, Sanchez. You’ll be good as new soon. SANCHEZ Thanks, Liz. DAGLESS turns to DENNIS. DAGLESS Now you: go and try and find out where Maurice or whatever’s left of him could’ve disappeared to. I’ve got to go talk to Reed. Cut to THORNTON’S office. THORNTON Pounding his desk authoritatively. I don’t like it, Dag, I don’t like it one bit. A vampire? In this hospital? Now that is just a pain in my arse. And neck. DAGLESS I don’t like it much either, Reed. Not at all. And there was something a bit off with this vampire. He was a bit… fabulous. THORNTON Fabulous? What in God’s great glorious manteats do you mean by that? DAGLESS …I don’t know, Reed. I just don’t know. DAGLESS [voiceover] But I did know. Or at least, I had an inkling. I suspected that this vampire might be the rare kind… the campy kind. A gay vampire. ******* INTERVIEW WITH DEAN LEARNER “It was actually my idea to make it be vampires that would spread the gayness. Because, you know, gayness – just like vampirism – is spread through the blood.” He glanced over behind the camera to where the producer was shaking his head. “Oh, it isn’t? Well, anyway, that’s what we thought at the time. I originally wanted to call the vampires ‘campires’ – get it? Campy vampires? – but Garth didn’t get it and I thought… it Garth doesn’t get it, who in blue blazes will? So we chucked it. Best decision I’ve ever made.” INTERVIEW WITH GARTH MARENGHI Garth regarded the camera with an annoyed look. “We ended up running into a bit of a problem with the gay community given the fact that the gayness could be transmitted through the blood. Something about AIDS or some bollocks. So I just said, ‘look, I don’t get all uppity when one of you tries to play it straight, alright? So don’t get in my face when I try and give you people some airtime.’” He smirked and settled back in his chair. “And that ended that argument.” He paused. “Although we weren’t allowed to air the episode. But that’s neither here nor there.” ******* Cut to SANCHEZ’s bedside. He is unconscious and DAGLESS sits beside him, looking manly and concerned. DAGLESS [voiceover] I was worried about Sanchez. Would he be turned gay? Or would he just become a vampire? I wasn’t sure which was worst. Sure, getting my blood sucked out by my best friend was bad enough but getting chatted up by him as well? That was just bone-chilling. SANCHEZ stirs. DAGLESS Can you hear me buddy? It’s your friend, Dag. Just know that I won’t rest until you’re back to normal. Of course, I might also have to give you a stake through the heart but, well, that’s something I’d be willing to do to save you. SANCHEZ In a faint voice. …Dag? DAGLESS moves in closer. DAGLESS Yeah, mate? SANCHEZ I… I feel strange… like… like someone’s doing the electric boogaloo in my Johnson… I’ve got the strange urge to… to dance to ABBA… DAGLESS Shh, it’s ok old friend. SANCHEZ I… I think I might fancy… Boy George… DAGLESS Fight it, Sanch, fight it! SANCHEZ I… Dag? DAGLESS Yeah? SANCHEZ What am I wearing? With that he pulls down his sheets to reveal that he is wearing cut-off jean shorts and a bedazzled silver top as well as a kerchief. His eyes have also gone red and vampire fangs appear. DAGLESS raises an anguished fist. DAGLESS Nooooo! THORNTON and LIZ burst in as SANCHEZ prances up to try and bite DAGLESS. They struggle until DAGLESS gets out his cross again, throwing the transformed SANCHEZ off of him. SANCHEZ cowers in glorious slow motion. SANCHEZ Waaaaargh! ******** INTERVIEW WITH TODD RIVERS Todd crinkled his forehead, his fingers still steepled. “Uh, in that scene I was actually meant to kiss Dagless rather fervently on the mouth. But, as I’ve stated in previous interviews, there’s no limit to my acting… save when it comes to making whoopee with another man. Because while I may be a professional, I’m still straighter than two jockstraps filled with testosterone. And me trying to do the tongue tango with a bloke, well… it just wouldn’t be convincing. Even if I acted my ruddy pants off.” ********* The fighting continues until SANCHEZ is thrown off DAGLESS, causing him to lash out at both LIZ and THORNTON. DAGLESS Get away from them you animal! But it is for naught because both LIZ and THORNTON are bitten. THORNTON Oh, oh ow! That ruddy hurts, it does! LIZ Oh, I do believe I have been wounded! SANCHEZ pauses before running out and DAGLESS goes to the doorway. DAGLESS I will find you and get you! LIZ and THORNTON both fall to the floor. Oh no! Liz! Reed! He looks to the sky. Noooooooo! Sanchez! You gay bastard! Dennis bursts in. DENNIS Dagless! I believe I found out who the root of the problem is! He looks around. What happened here? DAGLESS They got bitten by Sanchez. I’ve got to go stop him before he bites anyone else. DENNIS But wait! You know that body that Maurice had said was behaving strangely? DAGLESS Yes? DENNIS Turns out he’s the head vampire! Only he, uh, bit me too. He continues to look unharmed. DAGLESS looks him up and down. DAGLESS Where? DENNIS shifts uncomfortably before gesturing to his bathing suit area. Ah. Well, where is this vampirical bummer? DENNIS Downstairs. Hurry! DAGLESS runs out of the door. Cut to the basement again. It is still dark and dank and drippy. DAGLESS is running through the halls in slow motion. DAGLESS [voiceover] Now this was worrisome. The head vampire? Here? In this very basement? That was quite the head scratcher. Why here? Why Darkplace? Why Sanchez? This bastard was going to answer those questions. And more. DAGLESS enters the cave-like room that MAURICE was in before. There is a man standing there in a purple cape with his back to DAGLESS. DAGLESS Oi! You! The vampire turns around. He has on sparkly gloves and a pink fedora. He hisses. VAMPIRE How did you find me, lovie? DAGLESS By my own wits. That and Dennis told me you were down here. VAMPIRE Really? He didn’t seem to mind me too much before. DAGLESS Scowls in disgust. Hey, what you do in the privacy of your own home is your business. Except for when you’re at my hospital. The VAMPIRE starts to advance but DAGLESS whips out his cross again, stopping him in his tracks. Nope, not so fast. Now tell me… why are you here? VAMPIRE Very well. I can tell your will as well as your heterosexuality is too strong for me to sway. He sweeps his cloak and walks around the room, DAGLESS mirroring him. I came to this hospital by accident – I had been hiding out after wreaking havoc on a naval yard by posing as a dead body – and couldn’t help but bite that pretty Maurice when I saw him. Now that I’ve seen this place, I’ve realized that the hostpital is no place for a woman… it is a place for big, beautiful, capable men doctors. And I love it! Not even you can stop me from making this into one big poof factory! Because that is the goal of the gay vampire: MAKE EVERYONE ELSE GAY! DAGLESS I can stop you and I will stop you! Just you wait! The VAMPIRE cackles before disappearing in a plume of smoke, leaving DAGLESS alone and coughing. The others! DAGLESS dashes out of the cave. ******** INTERVIEW WITH GARTH MARENGHI “Now, there were accusations that this episode was homophobic.” Garth scoffed, leaning forward to regard the camera. “So, yeah, maybe I do find bumming grotesque, but this episode is about awareness, yeah? To show that homos are people too. Or rather anyone can be gay.” He thought for a moment. “Or a vampire.” INTERVIEW WITH DEAN LEARNER “Yeah, I heard lots of things, right, like ‘oh, you’re perpetuating the stereotype that gay is contagious’ but no!” Dean pointed a decisive finger at the camera. “No. We were trying to show that it’s not contagious.” He paused, stroking his moustache. “Lest of course you exchange bodily fluids. Big difference.” ****** Cut to THORNTON’s office. SANCHEZ and THORNTON are dancing to loud techno music while DENNIS and MAURICE throw satsumas at each other in their underwear and giggle. THORNTON is dressed only in a mesh shirt and a banana hammock. Everyone has fangs. DAGLESS bursts in, breathless. DAGLESS No! No men! Remember you’re men, not poofs! Everyone ignores him. SANCHEZ runs his fingers through THORNTON’s hair and grinds against him. ****** INTERVIEW WITH TODD RIVERS Todd’s hands fell into his lap and he shifted, avoiding the camera lens with his eyes. “Yeah, I don’t actually remember filming that scene.” ********* DAGLESS Turn off the techno! Put on your pants! Stop with the glitter! The VAMPIRE enters in a cloud of smoke, laughing. VAMPIRE All are powerless to the draw of manflesh! He outstretches his hand, flashing his fangs at DAGLESS. Join us, Rick! Join usssss. DAGLESS Never! At that moment, LIZ enters. Her arm is wrapped around another very attractive nurse. LIZ Hi, Dag. So you found the head vampire? DAGLESS nods. Oh, well, I’m a lesbian now. This is Nancy. NANCY Hi! LIZ Isn’t she adorable? DAGLESS Er… LIZ and NANCY begin to snog. It is very hot. Everyone stops dancing to stare at them. MAURICE drops a satsuma. VAMPIRE What? Why did you stop dancing? Keep going! Grind on each other! DAGLESS laughs a manly laugh. DAGLESS You forgot, vampire, the only thing a heterosexual man can never forget: that lesbians are HOT. VAMPIRE Nooooo! DAGLESS And now, for your weakness… He pulls out a wooden stake. Stake to the heart! At that, he thrusts the stake into the VAMPIRE’s heart. He shrieks and disappears. The techno music turns off and everyone goes back to wearing their normal clothes save MAURICE, who stays in the red jumpsuit. LIZ and NANCY stop making out, causing everyone to groan. SANCHEZ Come on, Liz! Don’t stop now! LIZ Sorry fellas, I’m back on men. SANCHEZ Hey-o! LIZ …Except for Sanchez. SANCHEZ …Hey! THORNTON Thank Christ on a cracker for you Dag! I was actually beginning to think Duran Duran was a stellar band! And Sanchez’ pecs were driving me absolutely nutty. SANCHEZ Thanks, Reed. But thank you more, Dag. Without you, we all would have been bumming within the hour. MAURICE Yeah, thanks for saving us! DAGLESS Don’t mention it. Just remember to be more careful when you muck about with those dead bodies from now on, ok? DENNIS Will do. Now we need to get back downstairs to those cadavers. DAGLESS And your necrophilia! Everyone laughs for a good two minutes. MAURICE Alright, thanks again! MAURICE and DENNIS begin to leave, holding hands. SANCHEZ Um, you fellows do know you don’t need to do that anymore right? They exchange a look and drop their hands. DENNIS Right, yes, sure, it’s a… a mortician thing. THORNTON Right… or a gay thing! Everyone laughs again as the camera pans to look at each of their mirthful faces. Cut to the roof of Darkplace. DAGLESS is standing, solitary, overlooking the city below. DAGLESS [voiceover] That day we dealt with vampires, sparkly shirts, gays and, most importantly, the hotness that is two women snogging each other. What did we learn? Was there a point to it all? Had that mortician really been boning a dead body? Was there a reason why that other mortician had been dressed like a very tarty woman? Did Liz have any lingering bisexual tendencies? These and other questions had to be pondered. But for now, we were all a little bit older, a little bit wiser and a little bit more wary about going into the basement. ********** INTERVIEW WITH DEAN LEARNER Dean shifted in his chair, cocking his head and lighting a cigar. “Sure, so maybe the focus groups didn’t go wild for the episode but I thought it was a hell of a success.” He paused, looking wistful and taking a puff. “I just didn’t see why my wife felt the need to use it as evidence during our divorce.” INTERVIEW WITH GARTH MARENGHI Garth leaned back in his chair, an earnest look on his face. “So, as you can see, there was absolutely no homophobia in this episode. Only truth. And two hot women getting it on. So, really, the gays didn’t need to get all up in arms about it. And the guy who played the Vampire? Absolutely did not need to sue us. I mean, how was I to know he was actually gay? You should really warn people about that before they accidentally make jokes about poofters and shirt-lifters in front of you, expecting you to laugh.” Garth regarded the camera with utmost seriousness. “It’s just common courtesy.” CUE END CREDITS

#the mighty boosh #mighty boosh #boosh #Garth Marenghi's Darkplace #darkplace #garth marenghi #Dean Learner #Todd Rivers #liz asher #Lucien Sanchez #rick dagless #Thornton Reed #dean learner/todd rivers

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chiseler · 4 years

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Neg Sparkle #8

“Neg sparkle" is a kind of film damage manifesting as twinkling constellations on the image. This column is about a different kind of film damage, the mental havoc wrought by overindulgence in cinema, though I hold out the possibility that a human being so afflicted may be in some ways better than the normal kind.

"I'm just a storyteller, and the cinema happens to be my medium. I like it because it recreates life in movement, enlarges it, enhances it, distills it. For me, it's far closer to the miraculous creation of life than, say, a painting or music or even literature. It's not just an art form; it's actually a new form of life, with its own rhythms, cadences, perspectives and transparencies. It's my way of telling a story." Federico Fellini.

"I'm a big fat liar." Also Federico Fellini. The late Buck Henry credited Fellini, in interviews, with spouting "all sorts of lies and nonsense that he can't possibly believe," but it might be amusing to take him at his word. Is cinema a new form of life? It might explain much.

If this is true, are the characters in films living, breathing people? We SEE them breathe, move, and blink, even when they're supposed to be dead: check out Scatman Crothers' flickering eyelid JUST at the moment the arch-perfectionist crash-zooms in on his supposed corpse in The Shining. But we know they're played by actors (or some form of animation, sometimes synchronized to an actor's voice. We know Scatman Crothers went on acting for several years after his character, Dick Halloran, was axed to death. But we also know that Dick Halloran continues to show the Torrence family around the Overlook Hotel decades after Scatman Crothers died from pneumonia and lung cancer. So who was granted immortality?

But movie characters borrow their life from the words on the page and the bodies and voices and talent of the actors embodying them. Does the camera steal the soul, as some Native Americans are alleged to have believed? If so, the motion picture camera allows the soul to stretch its legs in its prison. But wouldn't any sentient being become terribly bored, forced to play out the same role, ad infinitum? Jeremy Brett, typecast as Sherlock Holmes and suffering from manic depression, threw himself on the pavement of Baker Street and begged the shade of Sherlock to release him from bondage. Still, I suppose it wouldn't be so bad if you were trapped in Ordinary People or something. Who watches that anymore?

The Shining, then, is a fortuitous film to have started with (I haven't planned any of this) since it depicts a building full of ghosts perpetually reenacting moments of their lives from the 1920s. From time to time, new spirits are recruited from the living through some kind of unseen casting process, but once they've been scooped up, they've always been there. The film could be a metaphor for any film, a self-contained unit of characters doomed to enact dramatic moments, on a loop, forever, 'n' ever, ever.

Still, one would expect that, out of sheer desperation or exuberance, occasionally a character would depart from the script, change a line reading here, a reaction shot there. And we do have testimony that this sometimes happens.

The premier of Double Indemnity. Billy Wilder was a worried man. He'd already recut the film after a disastrous preview (ironically enough, cutting out the scene of ghosts at the morgue). But he felt that in a crucial scene when Fred MacMurray is unexpectedly visited by Edward G. Robinson while waiting for Barbara Stanwyck (who mustn't be seen by Robinson!) he should have directed MacMurray to anxiously look towards the door. But he forgot, and they had no shots where the actor so much as glanced in that direction.

Convinced the tension of the scene would be lost if MacMurray didn't look, Wilder went to the synagogue and prayed. And, at the premiere, as he later related to Volker Schloendorff (on film), MacMurray obligingly DID look towards the door.

Spooky. But spookier still, in no screening I've attended does MacMurray look doorwards. He only did it the once, to please Wilder. But the scene retains that needed tension.

But maybe not. I'm not a candidate from Room 237 yet. Maybe we should think of individual characters as alive, but individual films. We all have our favorites, don't we, just like with our children. Yes we do. Stop shaking your heads. They latch on to us like parasites. And, as we grow, the film seems to change with us, acquiring new depths and resonances, or sometimes exposing a shallowness or staleness not apparent before. Films are said by some (not me) to date, despite the fact that supposedly they don't change at all.

When we view a beloved film, we're taking something from it, but is it taking something from us, too? Ninety minutes or so of our lives, certainly. Our attention, our emotions. This is how it feeds. Like the ancient gods, movies exist by taking up our time and devotion. Otherwise they're just reels of celluloid, videotapes, or a lot of 1s and 0s. I might be at my most alive when watching a film (a shameful admission) but it's at its most alive while being watched, and we exist in a perverse relationship of voyeur and exhibitionist.

But there is a third, more ominous possibility. Cinema as life form. Not the characters in the films, or the individual films, but cinema as a whole. A single vast organism made up of seemingly independent units, like a coral. If the great barrier reef is, as of this writing, the largest life form on earth, cinema could be even larger as it exists in a universe of its own. Not the MCU, but something vaster, less stupid. As the postmodernists would have it, all our cultural creations coexist in the same vast mental space, so that Sherlock Holmes might investigate the murder of Dick Halloran and accuse the Overlook Hotel of being an accessory before the fact.

Cinema, in fact, certainly exhibits many more of the attributes of life than anything that's not life. Life, but not as we know it. A strange and alarming form. It is ever-expanding. New cells, or "films" are accreted every year. More actors die, to live on only within the cinemascape. More audiences are sucked in, giving up their lives and adoration. It grows, it consumes, a vast, multi-narrative genre hybrid, swallowing all in its path. What happens when it's bigger than the universe that spawned it?

by David Cairns

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daryls-dixon-antoni · 4 years

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Chapter 10.) Alone

Daryl and I are walking through the woods, trying to find either any signs as to where the survivors of the Prison could be; as well as our next safe place to sleep.

"What makes you so sure that others survived?"

His voice breaking our silence makes me smile softly, I shrug looking back at him, "What makes you so sure that others didn't?"

"They were good people, I don't think the good ones survive." He says it matter of factly.

I shake my head, "We did."

"I ain't good."

"Oh shut up," I tease, a small smile still on my face. "You helped strangers find a place to stay safe in the middle of the Zombie Apocalypse. You saved my husband after he was shot, you didn't even know if we were the good ones or the bad ones in that situation-"

"You had kids with ya."

"Bad people can still have kids," I respond.

"They don't keep 'em safe in this, you two were tryin'."

I nod, stepping over the root of a tree. "You went beyond the fences of the prison to get medicine for all of the sick people. You're good people."

"Shouldn't have taken as long as it did."

I stop, and turn around, he also stops. I look him in the eyes, "No ones death in that situation was on you. If anything, I ow you an apology... When you'd shown up... right- right after Aaron," my voice cracks, and I shake my head, take a deep breath and then continue, "I shouldn't have attacked you... I should never have- Hell, I don't know why I even did... it just... it was too much I guess."

He's silent, just looking at me. "Aaron asked if you were our aingeal. I think he was right."

"Huh?" He asks, his brows furrowing under his hair.

"It means Angel, and with all this... you've done more for my family then I could ever repay-"

"You don't have to repay nothin'."

I nod; "I don't think I ever could."

"We gotta keep movin'"

I turn back around, and silently we continue on our way.

We make it through a clearing to see one of the dead bent over eating something. I pull out my pocket knife and begin stalking slowly closer, ready to stab it in the back of its head when "Ow!"

Something clanks around my left foot, my angle twisting underneath it's strength and my whole body falls to the ground, the dead man turns around and begins coming after me, my knife has fallen from my hands and is a little out of my reach, I begin reaching desperately for my fallen blade, a grunt or two leaving my mouth, pain shooting up from my foot.

I hear Daryl's feet running towards me, and when I look up he's bashing the head of the dead in, and in one full swoop is in front of me and freeing my foot.

He's kneeling in front of me and asks, "Can you move it?"

I gingerly move my ankle in all directions clenching my teeth through the pain, "It's not broken," I observe. "Or dislocated," I start prodding gently alone my ankle and my foot, "Probably a minor sprain," I meet Daryl's eyes.

"Can you get up?"

I nod, he offers me his hand to help me up, but I shake my head and stand up myself muttering, "I got it."

We keep walking, every step causing more pain to shoot up my leg, there's a point where Daryl looks me in the eyes and says, "Here," while he moves an arm around my side, letting me put my arm around his shoulders and use him to help take my weight off my injured foot.

"Thanks," I whisper, feeling my face heat up.

And off we continue going.

As we make it to a cemetery, my whole entire lower leg feels as though it's basically on fire, and refusing to continue to take any more weight, collapses on me with every step I try to take.

"Hold up," Daryl says, gruffly, before moving his crossbow so it's hung from his front instead of his back, he then hunches down, both his arms curved.

"What're you doing?" I ask, watching him closely.

"Hop on."

"You can't be serious," I mumble. Now, I know I'm not nearly the size I was before the world went to shit; but I'm still not a small person by any means.

"Yeah. This is a serious piggyback. Jump up."

"I- I'm- I mean," I stumble for words.

"C'mon, I can carry you," he reassures.

I hesitantly climb on his back, and he straitens up, his hands on the backs of my thighs as I rest my hands on his shoulders.

"Hey, maybe some of our people are here," I suggest, looking at the morgue.

"Maybe." He sighs, as we start heading towards the large white building.

"Hang on," I say, noticing a small cluster of graves, all white, all with the same surnames on each one.

The bottom of the one in the middle says BELOVED HUSBAND AND FATHER; the two on either sides read BELOVED SON . I stare at the group of tombstones and my heart clenches as I realize I will never be able to visit my Husband or my Aaron's graves. That I never had the opportunity to give Tonia a burial let alone any sort of makeshift tombstone for her. And Mason, if he hasn't made it, there's no way to recover a body if it's still back at the prison. I hear Daryl rustling around behind me, and then he places yellow weeds on top of the three stones.

I swallow and as we stand there, I find myself taking his hand before leaning my head against his shoulder.

We make our way to the entrance of the morgue, and as we open the boarded up doors, Daryl bangs on the door frame loudly and then takes two of his fingers and whistles; both our weapons at the ready.

"Give it a minute," he instructs, and we slowly enter the building, both of us ready to fire at a moments notice.

I close the door behind us as we study the entrance room, the place is spotless, someone's been cleaning it regularly, that I'm certain of.

"Daryl, someone's holding up here," I whisper.

"I know. But whoever it is ain't here now."

He's moving into the room on our left, so I follow him, a coffin with the top open is on the other side of this room, and we approach it together, I'm using him to steady my movements. When we reach a point where we can see inside the casket, we see what was at one point obviously one of the reanimated dead that walk the earth these days, but this one is no longer moving, he's been placed into a suit; as though he were really being displayed at his funeral.

We keep moving, Daryl basically lifting me as we go down a few stairs.

He sets me down in a cramped room, with two former moving dead people who are now truly dead lain on couple of metal gurneys. Daryl places his crossbow down on a counter before clearing his throat as he opens a metal cabinate door, "Let's get that ankle wrapped."

I nod before getting a closer look at the dead men; both in nice suits.

Daryl walks in front of me, at the head of one of the gourneys while opening with his teeth a package of what appears to be gauze that he'd found. He glances at the dead before continuing to open the gauze, "Looks like somebody ran out of dolls to dress up."

"I think it's nice. Someone giving these people a proper send off. One they'd never get anymore. Not with the world how it is."

I meet his eyes, and the intensity of our gaze makes my heart fill with guilt. How could I possibly be falling for this man when the love of my life is buried... how could I let my heart fall for someone this soon? I'm a terrible person. Daryl's probably right, good people just don't survive.

I look away from him, staring at the dead men.

"Come on," Daryl says, gruffly. He moves so he's standing at my feet.

"Hang on," I mumble, using my hands and pulling my body up so that I can sit on the counter, next to his crossbow.

I pull my pants' leg up and kick off my sneaker to make it easier to wrap my ankle.

Daryl gets on one knee in front of me, placing my foot gently on his knee and begins to wrap the gauze neatly around my ankle, his gaze intense as he wraps my injury.

Once he's finished he mutters, "That too tight?"

I shake my head, and hop down as he stands up, the close proximity of our bodies has my pulse racing.

Our eyes meeting again. "Thanks," I whisper, to which he nods.

We get to a kitchen area in search of food and start looking through the cabinets.

When we get to the last cubboards to be opened we find a nicely organized stash of food, complete with bottles of store brand diet colas.

Daryl starts looking through, "Peanut butter and jelly, diet soda, and pig's feet. That's a white trash brunch right there."

I nod "We'll be eating like kings," I grin, reaching in to grab some peanut butter and a cola.

Daryl grabs a jar of grape jelly before saying, "No, hold up. Ain't a speck of dust on this."

I watch him, "Okay... so?"

"That means somebody just put it here. This is someone's stash. Maybe they're still alive."

"You're right. But we have to eat, too. Y'know, so we can stay alive."

"All right, we'll take some of it and we'll leave the rest, all right?"

I smile, "Alright, Aingeal." I gently bump his shoulder with my own.

He grunts at me, before sticking two fingers into his jelly jar and shoves them in his mouth, I shake my head looking for a spoon to dig into my peanut butter with.

He starts licking inside of the jar, "Hey!" He says, getting my attention, I turn to look at him. He's pointing to the cabbinet, "those pig's feet are mine."

I nod, "You got it," I say, finally finding a spoon and digging into my jar of peanut butter.

When Daryl and I look around the Funeral Home to see if it's safe to stay the night in, I notice a piano, something I haven't played in much too long. I smile a little, and sit at the bench.

I tickle a few of the keys to find it's actually still in tune.

I look at the door and note that Daryl has yet to come back, so I start playing.

"Nobody ever knows; nobody ever sees. I left my soul, back there; now I'm too weak. Most nights I pray for you to come home. Praying to the Lord; praying for my soul. Now please don't go; most nights I hardly sleep when I'm alone. Now please don't go, oh no... I think of you whenever I'm alone, so please don't go." My mind starts wandering, thinking of the blessing Daryl has been in my life.

Someone clearing their throat from behind me startles me, and I turn around, "Oh!" I say, seeing Daryl leaning against the entryway.

"The place is nailed up tight. The only way in is through the front door," he says, before making his way to the empty coffin next to the piano. He hops in, and I shake my head.

"What are you doing?"

"This is the comfiest bed I've had in years."

"Really," I ask, intrigued.

"I ain't kidding," he lays himself back, sighing. Then he looks at me, "Why don't you go ahead and play some more? Keep singing."

"Why?" I ask, confused.

"Well, there ain't no jukebox, so..." he trails off, and I shake my head at him and admire for a second how adorable the man looks, cozying into a coffin and looking at me with something close to excitement shining in his eyes. Its almost boyish, the look on his face.

I shrug, "Okay..." I turn around and start playing.

"Get out your guns, battles begun. Are you a saint, or a sinner? If loves a fight, than I shall die; with my heart on a trigger..."

"Let's go eat," Daryl says after a while, and I smile. He lets me take lead in the narrow hallway, as we make our way to the kitchen.

"Hurry up, Woman." He says, a playful tone to his usually gruff voice.

I grin, "Fuck you, I'll just go slower then."

I slow my pace, only to he picked up bridal style by Daryl as he says, "Forget that." I start laughing as he uses my feet to open the door to the kitchen and gently places my ass into a chair at the table, "Here you go."

He makes his way back around the table and sits across from me, "All right, let's eat."

I shake my head at him, and then we both hear the cans sound from outside, letting us know something or someone is out there, my stomach drops.

Daryl stands up, grabbing his crossbow and points at me, "Stay." Before he exits and makes his way to the front door.

I shake my head and do my best to follow him at a relatively quick pace, my bow at the ready.

He pulls open the front doors, a dog with only one eye is standing on the porch, "It's just a damn dog." He turns around, "I told you to stay back," he says to me.

"I can help take out a few of the dead, even with a bum leg."

Daryl shakes his head, and then kneels down, reaching his hand out towards the dog, "Hi. Come here, boy." He leans forward, but the dog yelps, and then runs off.

He stands up, and closes the door, "Maybe he'll come back around, come on." I smirk, so Daryl has a soft spot for dogs, who knew.

We just finished eating the food, and night has fallen. I look at Daryl to see he's already looking at me.

"What?" I ask, feeling my cheeks heat up.

"What if we stick 'round here for a while?" He asks.

"What if whoever lives here comes back and sees two squaters in his home," I counter.

"They come back, we'll just make it work. I mean, they may be nuts, but maybe it'll be all right."

I look at him, closely. "I thought you didn't believe there were good people around anymore?"

"Maybe I changed my mind," his eyes are looking into my soul, I'm sure of it.

We both start leaning closer, and I'm sure I can hear my heart beating inside of my chest.

When our lips meet, it's a lot gentler than I was expecting. His scruff tickling my chin and upper lips as we kiss.

When reality hits, my husbands face swimming behind my eyes, I quickly pull away, rushing out, "I can't!"

It's at that moment we both hear the cans clinking and the dog barking. Daryl stands up, "I'm gonna give that mutt one more chance," he leaves the room in a hurry.

It isn't long before I hear the telltale growling that is definitely not the dog's and Daryl yelling my name.

I grab his crossbow and run as quickly as my ankle will allow in his direction, throw him his crossbow as he leans against the door, trying to keep the dead from getting inside.

He catches it and yells, "Run! Run!"

I use my own bow to shoot an arrow at one of the deads' heads as he moves out the way, a stream of the dead coming inside now, we make it as quickly as we can out of the room, both shooting two more of the dead as we go.

"Anne, pry open a window. Get your shit." He yells.

"I'm not gonna leave you," I snap, shooting another of the dead.

"Go out. Go up the road. I'll meet you there. With your leg you can't out run them! Go!"

I stare at the onslaught of dead running after us, fear engulfing my head. But he's right, I'd never outrun the dead, no chance with my ankle.

I move as fast as I can, sliding out the window, and making my way through the dark lawn. I have to shoot my way through quite a few dead guys, but as I reach the road more and more surround me and I quickly run out of arrows. I pull out my pocket knife and start plunging it through more and more heads, but I'm running out of strength and the area isn't running out of the on coming dead surrounding me. A black vehicle comes speeding into view and my heart races even more, the vehicle distracts me enough that a walker ends up on top of me, causing me to hit my head.

#daryl dixon #daryl dixon fanfiction #the walking dead #the walking dead fanfiction #season 4 #chapter 10

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kuro-shit-posts · 6 years

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Scenarios for ciel, sebastian, undertaker, alois walking on there s/o jumping on there bed?

Hi there! Sorry this took so long, i hope you enjoy it!———-*I always write Ciel and Alois as 18 in romantic scenarios!!*———-Alois: “Love?” the blonde earl called, prancing through the hallway. Young Trancy had not seen his beloved in what felt like centuries, but in actuality, it had only been 30 minutes. Upon entering the hallway, the boy had heard the unmistakable sound of box springs screeching. The rhythmic creeking, his missing lover, that could only mean one thing…Earl Trancy entered the bedroom with a tumultuous force, wooden door slamming hard against the wall “How could yo-! Y/n?” he asked, head cocked in confusion. Expecting to catch his lover in the act, he instead caught a curious case of confusion. Wide-eyed, his lover stood alone on the bed, “What the bloody hell are you doing!” The earl yelled. “U-Uh I was jumping on the bed…” his s/o said sheepishly. The earl continued to look up at his partner with a cocked brow and a frown before the expression melted from his face and was replaced with a wide smile and a hearty laugh. “What?” they asked him. Alois approached the bed to reach for their delicate hand. The earl hoisted himself onto the bed and wrapped his arms around them. “I was afraid you had betrayed me.” he said quietly giggling. “Betrayed?” they asked quizzically. He nodded into their chest. Alois lifted his eyes to meet theirs “You wouldnt do that would you?” he asked lowly. “Of course not! I love you!” they exclaimed, his dark expression quickly switched to a cheerful one “Good!” he exclaimed, “Now might we continue, it’s already 12 and I have yet to annoy Claude today.” he said giddily, as the screeching of the box springs resumed, the dainty hands of his lover laced in his own.

Sebastian:Crimson eyes narrowed in annoyance at the sight before them. Pinching the bridge of his nose, the demon sighed, “Honestly, must you be so childish?” he asked. Hair flying in the air, the bouncing human giggled at his strife “What?” they asked with a smile “Its fun! Plus you’re cute when you’re annoyed.” they said. “Im glad you find this amusing.” he replied, clearly irritated at their immaturity. His s/o smiled at him before bouncing off the bed and landing with a thud on the floor. “I’ll remake the bed if you want…” they said with a mixture of shame and amusement. Sebastian’s narrowed eyes bore down into theirs. “If you please.” he replied “I’m rather busy at the moment.”. “Hmp.” they huffed curtly, crossing their arms over their chest, “Are you actually annoyed with me?” they asked with a pout. Sebastian sighed “Im annoyed at how you always somehow manage to make my day unecessarily difficult.” he replied. “Ouch.” his s/o retorted smugly. “But even though I annoy you, you still…” they happily sang, awaiting the demon to finish their sentence “I am still quite…fond of your presence.” he finished. His human counterpart smiled “I knew it!” they exclaimed. Sebastian rolled his eyes before turning his back on his giddy partner. Waving a gloved hand in the air, Sebastian approached the door to the hallway, “And do clean this up before I return.”

Ciel:The earl sighed as he walked down the hallway towards his room. It was around 8pm and he had just gotten home from a rather exhausting trip to London. Ciel dismissed his most loyal servant, a deviation from his normal routine, and chose solitude over Sebastian’s company. Yes, the earl was too tired to deal with even the most tempered of staff. Eyes closed, Ciel opened his bedroom door and shut it, leaning his back upon the wood with a sigh of relief. Relief that was revoked just as quickly as it had been granted. The creeking of bed springs had entered his ears and come to an abrupt stop upon his entrance. Peeking open an eye, the earl saw yet another obstacle in the way of rest. “Y/n” he said in a defeated tone, he was much too tired to bring himself to irritation. “What on earth are you doing?” he asked, walking over to his wardrobe, where he began to strip down. “I was just having a bit of a fun before your return.” they said sheepishly. “I realize you had already come home.” they continued, taking a seat on the bed “Well here I am.” Ciel replied monotonously. “You couldnt have found a way to entertain yourself that didnt involve destroying the bed?” he asked. “Sorry love…” they replied. The earl sighed, now dressed in nightwear, “Its no matter, Im much too tired care anyway” he said, falling onto the soft mattress with a thud. “How about we just sleep?” he said, voice muffled in the plushness of his favorite pillow. His s/o smiled, before they could reply, Ciel had already fallen asleep. “Mustve been a pretty exhausting trip.” his s/o said quietly. Laying down next to the earl, they planted a kiss on his forehead before whispering a soft, “goodnight”. Their shenanigans mightve been annoying, but at least they managed to keep the bed warm upon the earl’s arrival.

Undertaker:Squeak. Squeak. Squeak. The funeral owner’s head lifted in confusion. What on earth could that noise be? Had a squirrel gotten loose in the morgue? Maybe a rat? Now that he came to think of it, Undertaker hadnt really been keeping up with the hygiene of the building. Undertaker moved towards the sink to quickly rinse the sanguine resin from his hands before travelling to the other room to see what the racket was. Upon opening the bedroom door, the mortician was met with the beautiful vision that was his s/o defying gravity, and then succumbing to it, and then reattempting to defy it again, on the surface of their shared bed. His s/o jumped once more and turned around in the process to face their lover. “Hello love!” they yelled happily. Undertaker giggled at their strange course of action, they never failed to amuse him. “Join me!” they demanded. “As you wish dearie.” he replied and punctuated with a giggle. Shedding his long hat and and robe, Undertaker joined his lover in bliss and found himself, too, defying gravity. Upon looking at his airborne s/o, the reaper took a moment to appreciate the beauty of their soul. Only in the way a reaper could. Another human wouldnt be able to see the gorgeous essence radiating off their body. A demon wouldnt be able to look at this essence without imagining them as a meal. A reaper, was able to see the beautiful colors perfectly and without the addition of hunger pains. How he loved them so.

#kuroshitsuji scenarios #kuroshitsuji imagine #black butler imagine #black butler scenarios #sebastian michaelis #ciel phantomhive #alois trancy #undertaker

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geekmama · 6 years

Text

Dream Baby

Yay! I managed to write something! Many thanks to Ellis_Hendricks for feedback and editing.

After the "Sherrinford debacle", Sherlock's waking mind may once again be entirely focused on The Game, but even the World’s Only Consulting Detective can’t control his dreams...

He woke with a convulsive gasp, and lay blinking at his surroundings for a long minute, the incongruity of the moment striking him with devastating force.

Three months after the Sherrinford debacle, he had thought everything was once again in order. His flat (and its surrounding environs) had been repaired. He and Mycroft had weathered their parents’ wrath and dismay. A positive relationship with his mad sister was being established.

And he and Molly Hooper were, once again, good friends.

Just friends.

Though, in that case, how was he to explain his current state: body still a-tremble, sheets now in need of laundering (and not by Hudders, he could just picture the speculative, teasing gleam she’d throw at him), and his dream still vividly, vibrantly with him?

He found himself swallowing hard, his inner eye helplessly riveted on the slender yet shapely form of dream-Molly, her silken hair strewn messily over the pillow, sheets rumpled beneath her, and her smile… sated, yet oddly innocent, and completely loving… took his breath away.

There was a helpless twitch of reviving desire against the already damp sheets, and he groaned, cursing, threw off the covers and fairly leapt from the bed, and stood there for a moment, swaying.

Was he some spotty adolescent, unable to master his baser instincts?

This entire episode must be deleted immediately!

And yet, as he stripped the bed, throwing the evidence of his discomfiture in a pile on the floor, and repaired, with what dignity he could muster, to his new state-of-the-art and beautifully tiled shower, he found his determination to delete fading.

And this was what philosophers and theologians warned about.

Temptation, thy name is Woman.

And, more specifically, in this case, Molly Hooper.

How on earth can that be? he asked himself as he soaped himself down, annoyed and strangely flustered.

And, again, inspired by that vision of her smile.

Not to mention the rest of her.

He cursed again.

He should turn the shower straight to cold.

Was this the way to think about his friend?

Was this the way a man of mature years and disciplined habit behaved, even in the privacy of his own flat?

The warm water ran down his body. The warm eyes of Dream-Molly swam through his brain, enticing.

No. Enchanting.

He sighed, and finally leaned his forehead against the cool tile.

Apparently this was the way such a man behaved.

He closed his eyes to the world and was lost in that ephemeral vision… sighed again… and surrendered to the moment.

He had thought the dream would fade, as most dreams do, dissolving into a misty subconscious, leaving, perhaps, a warm afterglow, but affecting day to day existence very minimally.

This did not prove to be the case.

Strangely, every detail of that dream remained alive in his mind, and he found himself returning to it over and over as the hours and days passed.

He did not contact Molly. For one thing, she had gone out of town for a few days, traveling to the Lake District with a couple of her co-workers – both women, thank God, or he suspected he would have been piqued toward intervention. And after her return… Dream-Molly still plaguing him… bewitching him… there was a dearth of legitimate reasons to visit Barts – Lestrade was fairly astounded at the lull in criminal activity – and Sherlock was reluctant to visit his Siren’s native ground for the less orthodox purposes that had served in the past.

This lack of real life Molly seemed to do little to assuage Sherlock’s predilection for Dream-Molly’s companionship. He began to wonder, in fact, if Dream-Molly’s perfection would taint his view of the actual woman – which might be a good thing, considering what his imagination and subconscious were capable of in Dream-Molly’s regard. Disappointment might yet cure him of this sudden, very strange obsession, and things could go back to… to what they had been before.

That his heart invariably sank at this idea told him how contorted had become his thought processes. He would have said deformed, but could not quite bring himself to use such a derogatory term in relation to his… beloved.

He was sitting in his new chair by the fire, drinking a cup of tea supplied by his landlady (who was still unaware of his state of unrest, thank God), when this description… this endearment… occurred to him.

Beloved.

Well, she was, of course. Had been, as a friend, for many years.

But Dream-Molly was… different. So much more.

Ridiculous, he told himself for the hundredth time.

Or was it?

There was only one way of knowing.

And fortunately for his sanity (for he had begun to wonder about it, of late), Lestrade called that very evening regarding a possible homicide that looked to be a seven, if not an eight.

A visit to Barts morgue was in the offing.

And, ever-cognizant of Molly’s schedule, Sherlock knew that she would be on duty.

He swept in as per his habit, and there she was… there it was, as she turned to greet her visitors: that smile that lit not only her countenance but her whole being. The element of satiation might be missing, but the happiness, the love was there, as in his dream. He found himself halting in his tracks, and felt an odd tingling against his cheeks.

My God, he was blushing!

Her smile was fading at his hesitancy, and she suddenly looked concerned.

“Molly!” he blurted, forestalling the question on her lips, “It’s good to see you. Can you show us Mr. Steed? Lestrade here has promised me an eight, but I’m reserving judgement until I see the body.”

“Yes… yes, of course. Hello, Greg.”

“Evening, Molly. It’s been a while, hasn’t it? But the forces of evil never rest quiet for long – much to Sherlock’s gratification.”

Sherlock said, with a slight wince, “Gratification is hardly the word, in spite of what you may have assumed in the past.”

Lestrade rolled his eyes. “Assumptions be damned, you’ve always been like a kid in a candy shop when there’s something wicked afoot. Though maybe recent events have changed things up a bit?”

“Yes. Well. How could they not?” Sherlock said, glancing furtively at Molly. He felt heat in his cheeks again, and said abruptly, “Mr. Steed, Molly? None of us wish to be at this all night.” And then his heart sank as he realized how that must have sounded to her. Like the old Sherlock.

Who, in many ways, was no more.

And indeed, a look of annoyance slightly diluted the fondness of her gaze, though there was still a question in her eyes, too. However, she obediently turned to do his bidding and Sherlock stood silently watching her comply. Studying her.

Wondering what it would be like to ease that lab coat off her shoulders, let it fall to the ground… slip his fingers beneath the edges of that cherry-bedecked cardigan… brush his thumbs over the sensitive peaks that swelled beneath the flowered cotton of her blouse and the soft lace of her bra … take in her look of surprise… wonder… her small gasp of pleasure…

“Here he is, John Steed, age 41,” said Molly. “The preliminary exam showed deep slashes to the abdomen reminiscent of the ritual suicide customs of Japan. Unfortunately not deep enough to sever the descending aorta.”

Lestrade grimaced. “So, a helluva death. Poor devil.”

“Yes,” muttered Sherlock, though he was rather thankful than not for the gruesome distraction.

It was all business for the next quarter hour or so as they examined the corpse and questioned Molly on particulars.

“Murder,” Sherlock said, finally. “I’m nearly certain of it. Lestrade, can we get a look at his flat?”

“Sure. But it can wait until morning, eh? I have a meeting at nine that I can’t miss, but after that I’m your man. Say 11:30. Shall I pick you up?”

“No, text me the address and I’ll meet you.”

“Right.” Lestrade gave Molly a grateful smile. “You’re the best, love. Thanks for taking us in on such short notice.”

“Always happy,” she said, returning Lestrade’s smile with great sincerity.

Almost too great. Sherlock felt a familiar twinge that he suddenly realized was jealousy.

Bloody hell. Had he never known himself at all?

His consternation was obviously writ large on his face, for when she turned to bid him farewell the words died on her lips and her brows rose. “Sherlock?” she queried uncertainly.

He stared at her for a long moment, then cleared his throat and said, “Your shift ends soon, do you fancy some takeaway? I can wait for you.”

Her eyes widened. Perplexed. But also gratified. “Yes. I… yes! That would be lovely!”

Lestrade was observing the two of them with amused interest, of course. However, all he said was, “Well! In that case I’ll take my leave.”

“Yes, off you go,” said Sherlock. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Good night, Greg,” Molly said, laughter in her voice. But as soon as the door swung to in the detective’s wake, she turned to Sherlock, eyeing him curiously. “Sherlock, is everything alright?”

“Yes, certainly. I mean…” His voice trailed off as fear, confusion, chagrin warred for primacy in his breast.

But he could not lie to her. He would not.

“Molly… there is… something,” he said finally. “But it should wait until we’re back at the flat. Is that… acceptable?”

“Yes. Of course,” she replied, smiling again, though somewhat worriedly. “Just let me finish a couple of things and I’m with you.”

He wanted to take her hand as they were leaving Barts, but did not dare. He glanced down at her as the lift rose to the ground floor and wondered at his trepidation. It was only Molly. But somehow, now, he knew she was so much more. Everything, really. His better half, as old husbands said of their wives, being aware of so much history between them, good and bad, Heaven and Hell, and siting it as a matter of course.

There was a great deal between him and Molly Hooper, and it was past time the Heaven outweighed the Hell.

It was a black night, not too cold, but drizzling rain, and unfortunately, for once, his ability to flag down a cab failed him.

“Let’s take the Tube,” Molly said, giving his coat sleeve a tug, near the wrist, and leading the way, a last flash of her smile seen in the pool of light by Barts’ doors before they were swallowed up by the night.

He turned his hand swiftly and caught hers. He knew she turned to look up at him in surprise, but he ignored it, and together they walked up the street.

Almost immediately the rain began to increase, from a drizzle to a shower.

“Oh, no!” said Molly, laughing as they walked faster – and then five seconds later she gave a squawk of dismay as the heavens opened and they were caught in a real downpour.

“Come on!” Sherlock shouted. Together they hurried across the silver and gold of the lamplit street to a place he knew, the side entrance to an office building that was situated down a few stairs, a well drained and solidly sheltered alcove at the foot of the tower of steel and glass. “Careful!” he admonished, as she slipped a bit and half fell down the ill-lit steps, but as he steadied her he found she was still laughing.

They fetched up against the solid door and, in that small, cold space, hidden by the noisy curtain of rain, he took his life in his hands, bent, and swiftly kissed her.

He felt her small gasp, felt her stiffen, felt her small hands clutch at his coat. He drew back slightly, and he knew she was staring up at him, trying to see him in the black night.

“Sherlock?”

She sounded so shocked that his fear reared up again. “I… I suppose I should have asked first.”

There was a moment’s hesitation. And then she kissed him.

A sound escaped him that he could not but acknowledge was a small moan of relief, and he slipped his arms about her slight form, pulling her close against him, his head bent to hers, her kiss turning to kisses, tentative, yet eager, too, the moment stretching out, his heart thudding in an admixture of wonder and delight.

They were both panting a bit when they finally paused for breath. And Molly said, “Sherlock… is this… what is this something?”

“I dreamt of you,” he said, shamed. And, at the same time, thrilled.

“A dream? Wh-what sort of dream?”

He gave a chuff of laughter. “The sort I haven’t had in years,” he admitted, cheeks burning again, and infinitely grateful for the blind, cool night. “Molly… I know you will always be my friend. But… I want more. And you… you still think of me in that way… don’t you?”

Her hand rose to caress – he turned his head and placed a kiss on her palm – her slim fingers brushed the wet curls from his forehead. And she was silent for a long moment,

But then she spoke. “Are you sure? I mean—“

He kissed her again, with nothing tentative about it this time, showing her a little of the passion that was so new to him: a shining, beautiful thing with which to show his love.

He had never thought of carnal relations in this light. But with Molly…

When it ended, and they were forehead to forehead, warm breaths mingling, keeping the cold at bay, he demanded, low and intent, “Do you still want me in that way?”

“Yes. Of course I do,” she said, her voice shaking.

They held each other, then, for a time, and those moments were replete with such tenderness, such heart-filling love, that neither of them noticed when the downpour slackened, faded, then turned to mist.

It was past nine when the small sounds of the arrival of morning tea served to wake Sherlock, still lying abed, snug and warm with his Beloved. His Better Half.

His Molly.

“Oh! Oh!” came Hudders’ startled coo, and he could not repress a crooked grin. She must have noticed the pile of discarded raiment: still damp coats, Molly’s cherry cardigan and flowered blouse, his own shirt – the aubergine Dolce and Gabbana, worn last night as extra insurance, what with the whole of his future happiness at stake. Shoes, too. But not trousers or underthings.

The bedroom had been the place for that… and the beginning of intimacies… well, that he had only dreamt of.

Prolonged, and oft repeated, through the hours, and the dark night, and the sound of rain.

Intimacies that had left them both wrung out… probably a bit sore… and yet even now he could feel renewed desire seeping through him. His fingers twitched against her skin,

Hudders was leaving – his landlady now knew which way the wind blew and he had no doubt he and Molly would be subjected to some twitting and smug laughter when they eventually emerged from their nest.

And now Molly was waking.

She moved… groaned a little, and when he loosened his embrace, she turned onto her back.

He followed, for fear suddenly prodded him once more.

What did she think of all this in the light of a new day?

But there had been no need to worry.

There was nothing but love in the brown eyes that looked into his… her silken hair strewn messily over the pillow… the sheets rumpled beneath her...

Beneath them.

“Good morning,” she said, her voice soft, and edged with that now-familiar admixture of wonder and delight.

And her smile… that smile… took his breath away.

~.~

#Sherlock #sherlolly

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keeptheotherone · 7 years

Text

Sherlolly Appreciation Week Day Four

Canon prompt: season three. This complies in the loosest sense; set when Sherlock was using Molly’s flat as a bolthole during the Magnussen case and an outtake from The One After Sherlock Gets High. AO3 FF

Natural Consequences

Molly noticed the smell before she was even in the door. Cat poo-- lots of it. And she knew just which roommate to blame.

“SHERLOCK HOLMES!” she bellowed,

dumping her satchel and rounding the corner, only to slip in her haste ... on something slick and squishy that definitely didn’t belong there.

Molly sighed and looked down. Of course this would be the day she didn’t forget to take off her shoe protectors before she left the morgue.

“Oh. You’re back.”

It was so unlike Sherlock to say something so exceedingly obvious that it distracted Molly from how to step out of her shoes without contaminating either her hands or her opposite shoe.

Then again, it was so unlike Sherlock to be wearing dishwashing gloves and carrying a spray bottle of cleaner and a roll of kitchen paper.

“What on earth happened?” Molly took in the frankly alarming amount of feline feces visible from this point in her flat with growing horror. “Where’s Toby? Is this all from him?”

A loud meowing sounded from the direction of the bathroom. Molly didn’t move, unwilling right now to face what was sure to be more of the same.

“Toby’s in the bathroom,” Sherlock said unnecessarily. “And yes, this is all from him, as incredible as it seems.”

“What on earth did you feed him?” Molly’s vocabulary was limited by her shock. The mess was everywhere--the entry tile; multiple patches on the sitting room carpet, the sofa, her desk chair; the kitchen island (gross sobbing); and a trail of smears leading to the bathroom door.

Sherlock shifted his gaze. “I can’t tell you.”

The rage welled up like a ground spring after snow melt and drowned her voice.

“I’ll take care of it,” he said in a rush. “You won’t have to do a thing. I’ll pay to have the carpet cleaned. And the furniture.”

“And the vet bill!”

“Why a vet bill?”

“Sherlock!” Molly’s voice was so shrill it hurt her own ears, but it was worth it to see Sherlock wince and his shoulders hunch. “If Toby is having this much diarrhea, he’s obviously ill! He could be dehydrated! He’s only five point four kilos!”

“Seven.”

She gave him her best “don’t start with me” glare.

“Sorry,” he muttered. “But I know why Toby’s sick, and I assure you, it will pass.”

This statement was accompanied by a loud, prolonged splattering sound from the direction of the bathroom, followed by a pitiful, “mew.”

Molly buried her face in her hand to hide the laugh that threatened. It wasn’t funny. It really wasn’t funny. When she had herself under control, she sidestepped her way to the kitchen. Toby’s bowl was not just empty, but freshly washed. Undaunted, she opened the cupboard under the sink only to find the rubbish bin completely empty--not only had Sherlock destroyed the evidence, he’d failed to replace the bin bag. She sighed and turned, hands on her hips.

“You threw it in the skip, didn’t you?”

“A fifteen minutes’ walk with eight random turns. I doubt I could find it again.”

Molly doubted that, but all she said was, “Well, I’m not sorting through a skip when I’m not being paid.”

“I deduced that.”

Another well-practiced glare.

“I mean, er ... why don’t you go out for dinner?” He stripped off his gloves and reached in his back pocket, pulling out a few bank notes. “Call a friend. My treat.”

Molly looked at the disaster that was her beloved flat and surrendered. “All right. I’m calling Meena. I’ll stay at her place tonight, and she’ll have a spare pair of scrubs for me to wear to work tomorrow. And when I get home, I expect to find a perfectly healthy cat and a perfectly clean flat. Is that understood?”

“Perfectly.”

Sherlock breathed a sigh of relief as the door closed behind Molly Hooper. He was just trying to help, but he had calculated a ninety-four percent chance Molly would disagree, hence his refusal to give any details. But the next time Toby ate several yards of yarn, Sherlock would not expedite the elimination process with laxatives.

#sherlollyweek2017 #season three #sort of #ktoo writes

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atelophxbiia-archived · 7 years

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( last rites ) ;;

he’s had empty graves && unmarked tombstones;; morgues with empty cabinets && names like john doe && unknown. he carries an empty urn sometimes for the humor of it. but it’s been centuries && everyone knows that there’s nothing in this earth that could hold him down.

his bones are made of the soil, the magic of leaves && trees pressed into his marrow. they say what belongs to the woods must always return to it && he asked for no parade, no fanfare. only to be returned to the earth, buried in the roots && to spend the rest of eternity home.

“ blow my ashes into the face of everyone i’ve ever hated. ” — a. lyon

a god may never die, but the sun can set on a story—&& it’s the legend that lives forever. he closes his eyes as the stars come out, the first person he’s ever loved at this side. && when the moon is round && high, the stars are the brightest in the sky, his beloved takes his ashes to the mountaintop && watches them disappear into the desert.

“ i hope i die human, ” he says, joking. but he doesn’t know—will there be a wolf skin buried with his bones? he hopes not—that the body they bury is the one he knows best. but he doesn’t know && he hopes that the snows of st. petersburg will welcome him one last time.

he’s been made cold, so far away from home. he knows the warm sun, the farms like the back of his hand. && he only asked, in the end, that they bring him back to where the sun rises && the earth is warm, so maybe his bones will thaw && he’ll know what it feels like to be somewhere he belongs

#¯\_(ツ)_/¯#( &; selfpara )

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somemusiings · 7 years

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Scream Queens Sentence meme - Chanel Oberlin edition. (pt.1)

I'm all for public shaming, I practically invented it. It's a sign of a healthy culture.

Despite my outward bravado, I was dead inside.

I ordered an asp online so I could kill myself like Cleopatra, and now I'm just waiting for it to sense my body heat and come out and bite me so this will all be over.

Is it? Is it insane? My life is over!

My parents didn't even call me on my birthday because they were too busy hosting a fundraiser for Jeb Bush.

I realize that my killing (insert name/pronoun) might just seem like a bridge too far, but trust me when I say this had to happen.

Never! I apologize for nothing.

Everyone here but me is a dork! You're always trying to pull focus!

Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today because a backstabbing bitch got exactly what was coming to her.

The weird ethnic spices will send the fatties racing to the bathroom to blow liquid fire out of their huge, swollen bowels.

I like my pumpkin spice lattes extra hot, so please comply with my request.

I’m sorry, did I ask you to pull down my panties and blow a compliment up my butt?

The name of my future perfume is Revenge.

You’re so confident without being mean. What anti-depressants are you on?

Yeah, walk away now! You haven't even seen half of what I'm capable of!

What do you think, (name)? How about I just drown you in it?

Shut up! You don't die from getting your face burned off!

I may be awful but I’m rich and I’m pretty so it really doesn’t matter.

Because if any of you ever tell/(because if you ever tell) I will make sure you end up laying right next to (name or pronoun) in this freezer.

Idiot, you don't get STDs from blood oaths.

Totally spit in your coffee, bitch.

Sweet Yeezus, I don't even know where to begin with you.

You get STDs from dirty toilet seats and drinking the water in Mexico.

Every time I try to plan something, you dumb bitches ruin it.

The culture that says it's okay for a man to objectify a woman for her appearance is the same culture that pressures girls as young as ten to have eating disorders.

Yes, okay, I burned her slightly, but stop saying that I killed her.

I wish I had killed her, because now she's walking the Earth with a burnt-off face, murdering people.

A Red Devil! A guy in a Red Devil costume attacked me!

I'm skinny as Karen Carpenter in the morgue and (name/pronoun) still won't commit to me.

They're so my jam, even though they make me obese.

I can't stand you. But you also remind me of a young me

Yeah, no, I tried. See, I really tried. But all of this flowery, peace-on-Earth crap, it makes me want to puke.

I am a kind and devoted and loving friend to all. I'm not some crazed psychopath.

Now, call me old-fashioned, but I choose to believe that we are sisters who are in this together.

It’s like a second vagina to me.

And then at midnight, we just burnt the house down.

We’re going to play a game called cocaine or dildo.

Oh, my God! I'm burping uncontrollably like Robert Durst.

So I'm just feeling, like, super alone right now.

It's high time for a little GD payback.

You know, I've never thought of myself as a killer, but I am seriously considering ramming this pick into the back of your eye socket.

#scream queens #sentence meme #rp meme #ask meme #roleplay meme

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thatsoundssobeautiful · 6 years

Text

Forgotten history, forgotten legacy,

Facts of the past sure can influence our future

‘Fore they can face the truth, my people fades to black

Back against the wall, living in a world in war.

Ignorance the number one cause of death

Knowledge and faith the only wealth worth collecting

Culture saved from the shade, Black slaves finally free.

This new video not only introduces the first single from the Black Panther album, by Kendrick Lamar, SZA and The Weeknd, but showcases one the most beautiful visual artistry since Alright and LOVE from Kendrick.

This is most definitely a perfect way to picture Black History in this month of February.

The clip contains a lot of symbols and follows a certain logic to express an impactful message.

Let’s get to the analysis.

Ancient Egyptian Mythology

Black people raising their hands left with nothing but Faith,

The raising hands of a helpless and dying Black people.

Kendrick Lamar is arriving as Charon, the ferryman of the god of death Hades, who carries souls across the Styx, river to the hell.

This very first scene pictures what Kendrick calls the hell on earth when he came in South Africa by the time he was preparing To Pimp A Butterfly.

“I don’t see Compton I see something much worse, the land of the landmines, the hell that’s on earth”. Complexion

“We all came on a boat looking for hope, all you can say is that you’re looking for dope

These days ain’t no compromise, your pain ain’t mines half the time […] – Cape Town.” untitled 08

This image also exists in the Ancient Egyptian religion, with The Celestial Ferryman would navigate the soul through the winding waters of the Underworld.

Save the children

“This is for the kids” – Kendrick Lamar.

“Barefoot babies with no cares” Complexion

The visual continues with this idea of death as the faceof sad woman is shown above a group of kids attending royal funerals.

Red in South Africa refers to mourning, violence and sacrifices. Therefore all the kids wearing a red hat implies they’re either dead or mourning the death of their beloved friends and family.

Kendrick stands among these children, with the will to go and save them, empathetic, feeling their pain, wearing orange, which is also associated with mourning death in Egypt.

Afrofuturism

“You can bring a bullet, bring a sword Bring a morgue, but you can’t bring the truth to me” All The Stars

Afrofuturism is no news to African-American recording artists.

Last year, we listened to this Joey Bada$$ song that sampled Sun Ra (from: Space Is the Place, 1974), and its concept of Afrofuturism. The goal is to critique the present-day dilemmas of black people, and to revise, interrogate, and re-examine the historical events of the past.

That way, African intellectual (musicians, writers,..) use the codes of science fiction, technology, magic, historical fiction, as well as hints of Afrocentrism and the Egypt civilization, symbol of prosperity and royalty in the history of Africa.

The idea of space is really important too. That’s why you can hear Joey Bada$$ rapping “[he’s] just a black spade spawned out the nebula.” – GOOD MORNING AMERIKKKA.

From the same idea you can appreciate SZA singing the hook:

“‘Cause maybe the night and my dreams might let me know All the stars are closer, all the stars are closer, all the stars are closer”.

Dancing in the stars is also a way to feel closer with ancestors, enjoying the present, looking forward to the future with the memory of the past.

Sapology

Société des ambianceurs et des personnes élégantes (SAPE). Sapology is the movement from Congo Kinshasa and Congo Brazzaville in opposition to the Western fashion trends.

The Sapology movement owns its proper clothing identity and has been challenging Paris trends for over 100 years.

This is an original message of self-expression and self-affirmation to the White world.

To continue with this idea of standing for your ground, Kendrick states the following :

“I recognize you far as confidence and calculated promises all in your conversation […] Corrupted man’s heart with a gift That’s how you find out who you dealin’ with A small percentage, whom I’m building with I want the credit if I’m losing or I’m winning” – All The Stars

He’s clearly adressing himself to the capitalist Western society, just like he did in untitled:

(What the white man say?) A piece of mine’s That’s what the white man wanted when I rhyme Telling me that he selling me just for $10.99 If I go platinum from rapping, I do the company fine What if I compromise? He said it don’t even matter You make a million or more, you living better than average You losing your core following, gaining it all He put a price on my talent, I hit the bank and withdraw Hit the bank and withdraw, hit the bank and withdraw Put myself in the rocket ship and I shot for the stars Look at what you accomplished and what he said to the boy I’ma make you some promises that you just can’t ignore” – Untitled 3

NEGUS, Black Royalty, Black Panther – Long Live The King.

Walking in a forest of dead trees, King Kendrick is on his Soul searching.

Wearing Black Panther clothes is not just a hint to the movie he is promoting, but is a fact that he’s retracing his forgotten Black history.

When he sang I (Love Myself), this wasn’t only for the people suffering from suicide tendencies, but this was also for the Black community and diaspora, too divided or not enough united. Recognizing our history and identity, acknowleging yourpast can help you moving forward.

Let’s notice that he’s wearing here a yellow hat, which stands for richness, and being aware of your inheritance is worth gold.

What is more, in Ancien Egypt, yellow would also mean eternity and immortality. Then having Kendrick is a wood of dead trees implies the idea that he and his people (the panthers) won’t die, but multiply and are still stepping.

“I promised Dave I’d never use the phrase “fuck nigga” He said, “Think about what you saying: ‘Fuck niggas’ No better than Samuel on Django No better than a white man with slave boats” Sound like I needed some soul searching My Pops gave me some game in real person Retraced my steps on what they never taught me Did my homework fast before government caught me So I’ma dedicate this one verse to Oprah On how the infamous, sensitive N-word control us So many artists gave her an explanation to hold us Well, this is my explanation straight from Ethiopia N-E-G-U-S definition: royalty; King royalty – wait listen N-E-G-U-S description: Black emperor, King, ruler, now let me finish The history books overlook the word and hide it America tried to make it to a house divided” – I (Love Myself)

Suggestive color coding

SZA gets back with a shining and triumphant red in the background, before turning into pink.

Pink refers to the Carribean, with vivid colors of the wax and the vibrant dances which all suggest something more cheerful.

From the joy and celebration we go to more quiet emotions with blue visuals. This color sets up some kind of peace, wisdom, purity.

More thn this, throughout to thie blue color, the video shows warriors (maybe a reference to Ethiopian warriors).

Shades of gold follow up these blue pictures.

The part of SZA is an actual celebration for life, and embraces to the fullest the African culture within our skin, our dances, our fashion…

Closer to the African Civilisation, History and Spiritualities

Color coding

Sapology

Black Panther Movment

Les mains d’un peuple qui ne meurt pas, mais se multiplie

Kendrick Lamar, SZA – All The Stars (Meaning), Highlight of The African Civilization Forgotten history, forgotten legacy, Facts of the past sure can influence our future 'Fore they can face the truth, my people fades to black…

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gurukula-blog · 7 years

Text

This Mortal Coil

Mari and I called for an Uber immediately, neither of us having the strength to operate a car.

“How could this have happened?” she sobbed in the backseat of a Ford Focus belonging to Joshua, our driver, a plain looking boy who seemed like he was on the autism spectrum. He drove us through the winding mountain roads to our ashram.

“He was fine. We were all dancing, and then, I blacked out. Did anything happen after I blacked out?”

“No, we wrapped you in a blanket, and he carried you to the Uber. He was the picture of health and beauty, and now, he’s gone.”

“He can’t be dead!” I screamed. “He just can’t be.”

Joshua chimed in. “I don’t have service up here. Do you know how to get there?”

“Of course,” Mari cried. “We go there every day.”

I had a thought. “Maybe it was some kind of a mistake. Maybe it’s a test.”

“A test!” Mari exclaimed. “I suppose it could be a test.”

“So do I take a right?” Joshua asked. “I don’t even have the address saved. I’m so sorry. My phone is not getting any apps.”

Annoyed by the interruption, I remembered what Swami Kurt had to say about annoyances like these. ‘Be kind to the plain. They will remember you a lot longer than you will remember them.’

I said calmly, “I think it’s a left actually.”

Josh turned left and we wound up on a dead-end street.

“We passed it,” Mari sobbed. “Turn around and take right and then another left.”

“Oh, the right was back there,” Joshua answered.

“Yes, it was back there!” She was absolutely inconsolable.

By the time we arrived at the ashram, the police had already cordoned off the house.

“Wait here,” I told Joshua. “We might need you in a few minutes.”

We rushed up to the door but a detective stopped us. I forget his name, but he was short and bald with slender shoulders. I didn’t like the look of him at all. He looked like he couldn’t wait for a murder to go down so he that could get an invite to the Hollywood Hills. He’d never be here otherwise.

“I’m sorry, ladies,” he said, “but this is an active crime scene.”

“We’re family!” I shouted.

“What relation are you to the deceased, a Mr. Kurt Leer?”

“It’s Swami Kurt, and we are his disciples,” I answered.

He snickered. “Blood relatives only.”

“What happened to him, huh? We were with him last night,” I said.

“Was he called by the Brahma?”

“Yea, probably not. Why didn’t you say you were witnesses?” The troll man pulled out a little notebook. “Did you arrive before or after the orgy started?”

I looked to Mari for answers. Orgy?

“There was no orgy!” she exclaimed. “Swami Kurt has taken a vow of celibacy.”

“Oh, there definitely was an orgy.”

“Lies!”

“Hey, I’m not a liar. Two paramedics had to free a young man whose genitals had gotten trapped in Mr. Leer when the deceased’s buttocks seized. We got all three talking to PTSD councilors now, and the boy may never get an erection again.”

“It’s not true!” I said.

“So, you weren’t here for the orgy?”

“No, we left after my friend here got sick, around 9:00.”

“And did you see who brought the cocaine?”

“There was no cocaine!” I exclaimed. “Swami Kurt swore off any and all ego-centric drugs. No cocaine. No alcohol. He didn’t even allow mirrors.”

“There was absolutely cocaine. We found powder in seven of his orifices.”

“Seven?!” I screamed. I didn’t realize people had so many orifices.

“And he was found in a room of mirrors!” the officer continued.

“That’s the clown room,” Mari said. “So we can see our inner clown. I’ll never do coke in there the same way again.” She sobbed into my shoulder.

“I think we left before all of that.”

“Then, you’re not going to be much help to us, I’m afraid. We need you to clear the area for our investigators.”

We turned and began to walk towards the car, but even though the detective had been rude, I still needed to warn him.

I turned back. “Don’t be alarmed if he turns into a being of pure light. It’s perfectly natural and it won’t hurt you.”

“Excuse me,” he answered.

“The true Brahman will transform into energy shortly after death, like Jesus did. It’s called rainbow body. When Swami Kurt turns to light, don’t be afraid.”

“Yea. Okay,” he said.

We walked back to Joshua in the Ford Focus, and drove home to await news of the funeral.

Two days later, the troll detective called us to fetch Swami Kurt’s body, even though we weren’t ‘blood relatives.’

We arrived by car. By this point, I had fallen back into the embrace of material food. Swami Kurt’s death had been too big a blow, and I no longer had the strength to maintain a light fast.

Mari was much stronger than I was on this front. She was on day eight of her fast. As I lifted her in and out of the passenger’s seat of my pink Lexus coupe, I could not help but admire her steadfast resolve to the teachings of our beloved guru.

The detective met us in the lobby with a technician, an attractive young Black man in teal scrubs.

“Thank you for coming, Ms. Devine,” the detective said.

“I thought you could only speak to blood relatives,” I answered, Mari being too far into the other realm to mimic our mortal tongue.

“Apparently, he died owing all of his blood relatives money, and they won’t give him another dime. You are the only one who will answer the phone.”

“What is left of him after his ascension?”

The detective looked at the technician with a raised eyebrow. “Like on the autopsy table? His body?”

“Is it a shell? Lotus petals perhaps?” I asked.

Mari rejoined us from heaven. “We will scatter them in the desert at Joshua Tree.”

“Uhhh…” the cute technician mumbled. “He’s a corpse.”

With that word, Mari fell back to the divine city, and I had to catch her and prop her up before returning to speak with the men from Los Angeles city.

“We didn’t get the name of your funeral home you wanted us to send him to,” the detective said.

“Can we see him?”

The technician led us into a cold blue room, the city morgue, a ghastly place with very low energy. He opened a metal door and pulled out the corpse of our beloved guru.

“It’s a body!” I gasped.

“Yea,” the cute technician answered.

“Is it him?” the detective asked.

“It is his corporeal shell,” I answered.

“Ok, so that’s a yes,” the crude little man said. “The official cause of death is listed as heart attack brought on by cocaine use and of course the excessive physical activity of anal sex with an underage boy. We obviously can’t charge him for that now that he’s dead.”

Mari gasped. “You’re wrong! It must have been a kundalini awakening exercise. It’s the only explanation.”

I agreed. “The boy’s soul is trapped!”

“His demons must be very strong to have stopped the ceremony.”

“Alright,” the detective answered.

“You never sent us any directions for delivery. Which funeral home will you be using?”

“We will burn the body by funeral pyre and leave his ashes in our Ganges, the LA River.”

The troll detective did not understand, instead leaning on his bureaucratic masters. “We don’t really allow funeral pyre’s in California because of the threat of wild fires. You can have him cremated though.”

The cute technician backed him up, probably because he felt threatened by his authority. “And you can’t dispose of human remains in the LA River, because there’s usually no water in it, and it’s just going to sit there, and pollute the homes of whatever wildlife do try to live there, like pigeons and ducks.”

Bureaucracy can pollute a mind more than human remains can pollute a river, I thought, but I held my tongue because both men were too deep into their chosen illusions to see the truth.

“I can give you the name of a good funeral home that will give you a no hassle cremation,” the technician added. “They don’t have any religious affiliation either if that’s a problem.”

I nodded, and we left to meet Swami Kurt’s shell at the home. The cost was just over five hundred dollars, which I happily paid from my savings, just like I had always happily paid for the ashram’s needs. I reasoned, whatever I had to pay in worldly dollars was a pittance for the prize of enlightenment.

We arrived at the funeral home half-an-hour later, just after the van which delivered the body. The home was in a 1920’s mansion in Hollywood, very chic. Swami Kurt would have been happy to be handled in a place with such ambiance.

A middle-aged Armenian man named Michel greeted us in the lobby, which had wonderful wallpaper and a fetching chandelier. Very fashionable. We sat in a receiving area where a young woman, his daughter I think, brought us tea.

“The coroner tells me you are looking for a cremation,” Michel said.

“Yes,” I answered.

“No,” Mari interrupted. “We want to see his body go back to the Earth, to be recycled or he will be trapped on the mortal plane.”

I understood what she meant from our lessons with Swami Kurt. “Like in the Tibetan Book of the Dead, where they are fed to vultures. What are your options for something like that?”

“We don’t have a vulture package. You can get a burial or a cremation. If you get a burial, we will have to prepare the body according to California law, and I can do cosmetic things to prepare it for viewing.”

“What sort of cosmetic things?”

“He’ll have to be embalmed. Then, I can give him makeup for the burst blood vessels under his eyes. I can stitch up his anus too. Whatever you need.”

“What sort of viewing do you think this is?!” I exclaimed.

“No, we cannot have him exposed to unnatural chemicals.”

“He died from unnatural chemicals,” Michel’s daughter added quite unprompted.

He shooed her out of the room.

Mari pressed her point. “We may not be able to feed him to vultures, but what about coyotes? We’ve got a lot of coyotes in California.”

“No, we have vultures here too,” Michel responded. “We just can’t feed him to animals.”

“But his soul…”

“No, I get that, but California law won’t let us do it.”

You see: Law. Order. The bureaucracy of the mind.

“Then, give him to us,” I shouted.

“What will you do with him?”

“Nothing.”

“No, you’re going to feed him to animals, and I can’t allow that.”

“Nuh-uh!” I insisted.

“I don’t believe you,” Michel answered.

Mari scoffed. “Such a waste!”

“Do you want a cremation?” Michel asked.

“I guess if that’s our only option,” I answered.

“Ok, and who is paying for this?”

“I will,” I answered.

“No,” Mari said. “It’s too much, Sage. At the coroner and now this…��

“Just for now. The ashram will pay me back.”

“Ok. I’m just going to need a credit card on file.”

I gladly handed over my Visa for the procedure.

#satire #mortality #literature #novel #novella #blog #death #funeral #fiction #ashram #gurukula #adevinecomedy #hollywood #spirituality

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