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pinkie-pop · 9 months

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"We've Seen The Devil—He Was Hiding In The Mirror."

Part I Part II

Inspired by @shiny-jr's "I didn't ask to be isekaied" and "We just got a letter, wonder where it's from" series.

Featuring: Gender-Neutral Reader, Twisted Wonderland Various x Reader, Self-Aware AU, Yandere TWST

Synopsis: They swore to love you. Oh, how far they've fallen. No matter, though. For that oath is not theirs alone.

Word count: 3k

Includes: Nightmares, PTSD, maggots and insects (briefly), obsession, trauma, panic attacks

"You are no savior—nor purpose nor God. You are damnation—a phony and fraud."

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Already having retreated to the relative safety of Ramshackle dorm, you get to the work of stripping your layers and washing yourself of the night’s events. The clothes you came in are marred in dirt and blood. Just looking at them has you feeling overwhelmed, and so, rather than try to wash a week's worth of torment from the garments, you opt for the much simpler approach of throwing them into the fireplace and borrowing nightwear from Yuu's dresser.

Approximately three hours have passed since it ended, and the thunderstorms have only gotten worse. You suppose he must still be upset; it seems that not even his beloved retainers could keep him in check. The never ending thunder has long since lost its terror, and as the adrenaline of the night begins to wear off, you find yourself lounging on the couch, less and less inclined to use your remaining energy to clean out your wounds. Maybe you'll just ask Grim to cauterize them later…

There's nothing interesting about the ceiling you are staring at so intently, and so you let your eyes glaze over as your mind drifts off to greener pastures you'll never have the chance to visit.

It's the middle of spring: your clothes are light and airy, the gentle wind causing them to flow around you like a flower in bloom. You have spent the day picking apples from an orchid, and you are now going to have a picnic in a nearby meadow. You descend down the hill in woven sandals, careful not to spill the contents of your basket. A gust of wind almost knocks the straw hat from your head, but the air is cool and refreshing.

Upon reaching the base of the hill, you take a moment to admire the world around you. The sun is warm upon your skin, but the gentle breeze keeps the heat at bay. Leaves and blossoms fall from the sky, mingling with the blooms of the flowers surrounding the area. A butterfly flutters by your nose in greeting, then drifts off to the next new thing. You cannot see the birds, but you can hear their songs as you pass through, looking for the perfect spot to place your blanket.

You find that spot in the middle of the field. It is surrounded by flowers, but not so much so that you would risk crushing them with your blanket. You set down your basket and open it up, careful to pick out the best-looking apple from earlier. You close your eyes and take a bite…

…But it rots the second you bite into it. Maggots gush from the cavity and into your mouth, wriggling and writhing under your tongue. Millipedes and roaches crawl all over you. Worms invade your senses. Ants burrow beneath your skin. They creep and crawl, slithering and squirming, and—

Your eyes shoot open, and the sensation is gone.

Breathing out a sigh of relief, the apple falls from your hand and rolls away. You collapse on your back and attempt to refocus your attention on the sky above you. There’s something interesting about the clouds today.

The first looks like a dove flapping its wings,

The second resembles a woman dozing off.

That one is almost a musical note, and that one looks like a smile. And—no, that isn’t quite right.

It is far more similar to a smirk.

The mouth widens as storm clouds gather and swirl around you. Dancing around in a cruel ballet. Thunder cracks in the distance as acidic rain hits and sears through your skin. The flowers turn to gravestones, and the songbirds begin to scream in human voices. Thorny vines reach up and take hold of your limbs, cutting through your flesh and bones as if they were made of nothing more than paper.

You are already halfway to being buried alive when you realize you’re being pulled in. Desperately, you try to claw your way out of the soil that threatens to swallow you into its suffocating embrace, but it's of no use. It isn’t long before you can no longer fight back. It isn’t long before you—

You bolt upwards, clasping your chest as you heave and gasp for air. Your nightwear is drenched in a cold sweat, but you can't find it in yourself to care. Your whole body feels as if it's on fire, and your whole body heaves with each labored breath. You leap off the couch, nearly tripping on the blanket you didn't know you had, only for a fit of nausea to throw you off balance and cause your fall regardless.

Of course, as if the rest wasn’t enough, sickness has also decided to take its turn in making you miserable. You reach a hand to your forehead, checking for fever. Unfortunately, your entire body is burning up, making this a rather ineffective method. You let your hand drop to your side and take a moment to orientate yourself.

Gathering the thin blanket you had nearly tripped on earlier, you wrap it around your shoulders like a shawl and step into the kitchen. You find a handtowel near the sink and run it under cool water, then place it on your forehead, hoping that your fever will start to break soon. Sighing, you look around the kitchen as it occurs to you that you’ve never been here before. The area wasn’t accessible in-game, and you were too exhausted to look around when you first arrived. The floors are clean, the dishes are all tucked away in their cabinets.

Oddly, however, was the fridge, which, save for tuna and water, was entirely devoid of the contents one would expect a fridge to have. There were other peculiarities, too. Despite supposedly having been abandoned for decades, the dorm was in surprisingly good shape. Nothing seemed to be falling apart, and you were unable to spot even a single crack in the walls or floorboards.

It was then that you remembered Ignihyde’s chapter starts with Ramshackle’s destruction and ends with its renovation, and begin to feel a little silly. Although, the renovations still do little to explain the emptiness of the refrigerator.

Light from a nearby window hits your eye, and you turn to see that the clouds have cleared, making room for the moon’s rays. It is then that you realize that the weather has finally cleared up. Without rain or thunder to interrupt your sleep, you should be able to drift back off with relative ease. Provided, of course, that the nightmares don’t wake you up first.

Feeling a little better, you head back to sleep.

———

The water is cold enough to give you a brain freeze, but luckily (or rather, quite unluckily), your migraine is already so painful that you hardly notice. Even after rifling through every cabinet you could find, you're unable to spot anything resembling medication. You're halfway to trying your luck with a suspicious potion you found hidden in a kitchen cupboard when a voice from the foyer steals your attention.

"Mrah! Wake up already!" You poke your head out from behind a wall and peer into the living room, where Grim is excitedly shaking a pile of blankets. "C'mon, get up already!"

"Grim…?"

"MYAH!" You flinch as Grim leaps into the air, violently swerving his head around in—you assume—frantic search for the source of the disturbance. Upon spotting you, Grim visibly relaxes before tensing up once again and puffing out his chest. "Jeez, don't scare me like that."

"Could you not yell? I have a bad headache," you mutter, unwilling to raise your voice higher than a whisper. Grim, however—perhaps due to his feline features—, has no problem in hearing you and quickly offers a hushed apology. When he does, you nod at him to continue on with whatever he had wanted to tell you earlier.

"Thought I’d take ya on a tour of the place. Y’know, since you passed out before gettin'ta see anything yesterday n’ all." You suppose you don't have anything better to do. Maybe one of the rooms will have Aspirin.

"Alright, lead the way," you say, and Grim, perhaps already forgetting that you are unwell, quickly scampers away. It takes you a moment to catch up to him.

"This is the bedroom,” he says. ”Honestly, I can't believe ya fell asleep on the couch when you could've come here instead." Your gaze falls over to the bed, where someone appears to already be sleeping on it. "Oh, that's just Yuu. Been like that since before you arrived. No one knows what's wrong with it. We can just move it later."

"Do you think they'll wake up soon?"

"What's it matter?" Your surprise must show on your face because Grim seems to see it as a prompt to continue. "I mean, you're already here, aren't you? Whaddaya need Yuu for?"

"Isn't Yuu important to you? They've been with you since day one…"

"You've been with me since day one. Yuu's just our henchhuman." You frown. "C'mon, it's not a big deal. Yuu isn't even human." Well, that would explain the oddities you noticed earlier. Even so, the cold indifference in his eyes is chilling. Yuu was supposed to be like family to Grim. How could things have turned out like this?

Perhaps sensing your discomfort, Grim changes the subject. "C'mon, I'll show you the other rooms."

———

"This is the guest room ya worked on with that hammer. Not that you can tell. After Yuu shut down, everyone went crazy and destroyed the place. Normally they’d be trippin’ over themselves ta’ fix it, but…” Grim trailed off, leaving you to fill in the blanks yourself. As your gaze travels across the room, taking in all the broken furniture, torn wallpaper, and scattered stickers, something pops out at you. Something you don’t recognize.

"What's that over there?"

“Hm? Oh, those’re offerings.”

Well, that certainly raises more questions than it answers.

“For you, duh,” Grim flicks his tail, “Most of the stuff’s enchanted, so it didn’t break even when they tore the place up.” One gift catches your eye. A box of bottles in varying colors and sizes, each with a small label pressed onto their side.

“Those’re from Kalim. He brought a ton after Yuu got sick. Apparently, he bought even more than that, but Jamil stopped him before he could–” You don’t bother listening to the rest of his explanation and instead get right on to skimming through the bottles’ labels. If they’re for Yuu, then surely they aren’t poisoned. After all, Yuu is important to them. You would know that better than anyone.

Upon finding the bottle that matches your ailments, you pop it open and empty the contents into your stomach. It’s horribly bitter, but your headache vanishes on the spot. Nearly completely rejuvenated, you grab a piece of hard candy from a nearby stack of food offerings to rid your mouth of the taste.

Ah, if only potions existed back in your world, too. How very convenient they are. Grim, however, does not seem to share your sentiment. “Myah! At least read the label before ya’ drink something like that! Ya barely glanced at the thing before chugging it. Yer real reckless, ya’ know that?”

“I’m sure it’s fine. I'll even read it out loud, okay? It says…” You begin reading the label description, but stop when you get to the recommended dosage. "Ah."

"Huh? Why'd you stop?"

"I think I may have taken too much…" You say, a bit sheepishly. "It's probably fine, though." Grim appears entirely unconvinced. You don’t blame him for it. You yourself are not entirely convinced. But it was merely a potion, and you had, earlier, survived being hit by lightning. A potion would not be your downfall. You will be fine.

“There are other rooms you wanted to show me, right? Let’s go see them now. I promise to tell you if I start feeling ill.”

“Alright.” Grim’s worry seems to be quelled, at least somewhat. That is good, you think. Although your own worry still sits in the back of your head. Surely, you will be fine.

Yes, you will be fine. And so, you go to see the other rooms.

"Betcha didn't see this before, right?" He was right. You never saw—never even heard of—Ramshackle's library. It's an impressive room, albeit a bit old. The renovations must have skipped this room, though you’re not sure why.

“Do you like to read, Grim?” “Me? No way. Yuu seemed’ta really like this place, though. So I figured maybe you would, too.”

You nod, a sort of nostalgia washing over you as you browse through the titles. “I think I’ll stay here for a while,” you tell Grim.

“Myah, just don’t take too long, okay?” You smile at him, and he leaves.

And just like that, you are alone. It takes a moment for the realization to sink in on you: you are alone. And it is by your own doing, no less. What a terrifying lapse in judgment! What an egregious oversight! It was daylight, now. Nearly evening, but not night. No, it would be many more hours until night. It was daytime, early afternoon, and you were alone. Your shadows give away your location. The light betrays your every move. If the bell were to ring now, if someone were to walk past you in the hall.

Dear Gods, if someone were to recognize you—

No, now is not the time to panic. You have made it this far. All the way to the library. You have made it to the library, and it is daytime. The bell has not yet rung, but it will soon. You must hide. You must keep eyes on all routes of entry and escape. You must find a weapon.

You don’t even realize that you are shaking. You don’t even realize that you are cowering—that you are backing away. You knock into a bookshelf. It is an old bookshelf. Unsturdy. It is an old, unsturdy, bookshelf, and you have knocked into it.

It falls.

You fall.

It all crashes down on top of you.

Books hit your head and body, edges digging into your skin. The books fall and hit you, and you don’t know what has become of the shelf they were resting on. Has it fallen with you, or has it remained strong? Was it really old and unsturdy? Or was that simply your impression? You suppose it doesn’t matter. The books fall all the same.

Your eyes fall shut.

———

Your eyes flutter open. Good morning, world.

“Good morning, Grim.”

“It’s 6 PM,” he says.

“Good evening, Grim.”

“Right…”Grim pauses. “Hey, are you feelin’ alright? After ya drank that potion, ya sorta just…passed out. I read the bottle, and it said drowsiness was a side effect, but you were out for hours. I was startinta get real worried, y’know?” You hum, and go to rub the sleepiness from your eyes. When you do, a book is knocked over the side of the bed and falls to the floor. “Huh? Hey, where’d ya get that from?”

“Hm? Oh, I must have picked it up at the library, somehow.” “The library?” “Yeah, the one you showed me earlier.” Grim places a paw on your forehead as if checking for fever. Finding nothing, he pulls back to look at you.

“We don’t have a library.” Ah.

Well, isn’t that something?

“I must be remembering wrong,” you say. You are not nearly as on-edge as you perhaps should be. In fact, you are entirely unconcerned. In your precious panic, had you exhausted all your energy? Or was it something else? The potion that you drank was certainly suspicious. You doubt it could be poison, but that does little to rid it of doubt. It was your only clue as of now, though. That, and the book. Grim appears to be saying something to you, but all you hear is bubbles.

Bubbles flow from his mouth and replace his words. Bubbles float up to your ears and encase them, isolating you in their silence. Bubbles flood your vision and senses. Your head hits a bubble as you fall down onto the mattress, and bubbles fall into your eyes as they shut a final time.

———

Your eyes snap open. Air fills your lungs and darkness fills your vision.

Your head hurts, but you feel better. You are no longer sleepy-eyed and foggy-minded. You are awake and sober.

There’s a book by your side. You can see it clearly, despite the dark (You’ve grown rather used to the dark this past week, you find comfort in it). It’s the same book you had earlier, when you had first woken up. Had you even woken up at all? Perhaps it was all a dream.

Regardless, the book, at least, is not a dream. This book is very much real, as is this Grim, who is curled up and snoozing by your feet. You think that Yuu is real, too. Although you cannot see them. You do not know where they have gone, and you do not think they have woken up. Perhaps Yuu was not real, after all. Perhaps someone has simply moved them.

The book is real. And it is addressed to you.

Yes, you.

Not Yuu, nor ‘The Player’, but you.

Your name, your actual name, was written on the cover. It is unnerving to see your own name after so long. You are not sure who has written this book, but you think you can guess.

There is only one person, after all, who has access to it.

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kerryweaverlesbian · 5 months

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I want destiel with 13 or 22 (the prompts you reblogged)

Take it easy, with me please, touch me gently, like a summer evening breeze

"You know what this mix is called, Cas?" Dean murmers, pressing his forehead to the side of Castiel's and changing their sway to match the new rhythm.

They've been dancing alone in the kitchen, slow and close, for something like half an hour, and these are the first words either of them have spoken since Dean pulled Cas in. On one side their hands are tangled loosely together, and on the other their arms cross over at their waists, keeping them both pressed together, chest to chest.

"No," Cas says, playing along. They both knew the tape had already been in the stereo when Dean had reached out and pressed play. It wasn't one Cas recognised; all slow, a lot of crooning women.

"It's called, 'For Cas, if we win'. I made it while you were gone." Dean's breath warms the tip of Cas’s ear, and his meaning warms him everywhere else.

"Was there an 'if we lose'?"

Dean shifts his head back to look Cas in the eye. "No. I was never going to happen."

Andante, andante, just let the feeling grow.

Enchanted by the devotion in Dean's eyes, he's caught of guard by his sudden, amused smile. He understands when Dean sings along, sotto voce, "Touch my soul, you know how. Forgot that was coming."

"You've touched mine, now," Cas reminds him, "Or, the closest thing I have to one."

That's how he'd gotten out of the Empty, Dean cradling his Grace to his chest and then fighting his way back through miles of black, sucking sludge, beset by angels, demons and the Empty's own power as he went. The place had been a lot more active since the last time Cas had been stuck there, but no less bleak. There had only been a chance for Dean to finally choke out an, "I love you too, you fucking idiot," when they'd collapsed back out through the portal before he'd fallen asleep for 15 hours straight.

"Your hands were very gentle," Cas notes, and he can feel Dean's face heat as he moves them cheek to cheek, an endearing and unsuccessful attempt to hide his blush. "I felt very secure."

"I didn't want to drop you," Dean admits at a mumble, then complains, "You were freaking slippery, man."

"My apologies," Cas teases, and Dean knocks him with his hip in playful retaliation. "If it helps, you fought me all the way from Hell to your gravesite."

"Sounds like me," Dean says, with a prideful grin that Cas can hear in his voice.

I'm your music. I'm your song.

"Yes. Had I known then how you would change me, I might have held you even tigher."

"Or you might have let go, save yourself the trouble," Dean quips, but there's a fragility to it that has Cas stop the dance and take Dean's cheek in his palm, guiding him to look at him.

Play me time and time again, and make me strong.

"I wouldn't trade the life that we have built for anything. All the time that I have loved you has been-" Cas can't help the tears starting to catch at his voice - "Has been the best of my existence."

Dean's welling up along with him. Perhaps they will both cry every time he tells Dean he loves him. A very small price to pay, in comparison.

"Cas," Dean says in a rasp, and knocks their foreheads together gently. Two teardrops fall from Dean's eyes to Cas’s cheeks with the movement.

Andante, andante, tread lightly on my ground.

No matter who moved in for the kiss, they both lean into it, careful and soft and everything they haven't managed to be with each other until this point. The passion shared between them is palpable, even as the kiss remains relatively chaste. There's no finish line to run to, anymore. No Apocalypse to beat. They have the time to dance together, just as slowly as they please.

Andante, andante, oh please don't let me down.

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sapphic-agent · 7 months

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I know that this isn't a problem unique to MHA, and this isn't even a new complaint within the fandom, but the way the series deals with trauma (physical and mental) is off-putting.

Eri endures years upon years of isolation and abuse? Well, all she needs is a song and dance, and now she's smiling! Because of this, she's completely and 100% recovered from what all Overhaul put her through!

1A endures villain attack after villain attack after villain attack? Well, we've offered them counseling, not that they've been showing signs of burgeoning PTSD or anything, so they really don't need it!

Izuku mentally and physically pushes himself past his breaking point during the Dark Izuku arc, going without food, sleep, and ignoring his unhealed injuries? Obviously, all he needs is for 1A to drag him back by force and make him take bath! He's 100% good as new now!

I've already complained enough about Bakugou's bullying, so I won't rehash that.

Sir Nighteye repeatedly disregards All Might's boundaries in the name of protecting him from a horrible future, using two teenagers as a means to an end in this regard? It's okay! He had a point all along, and he truly cared!

Aizawa, Present Mic, and Midnight lose an incredibly close friend in a freak accident during their school days? Midnight's feelings aren't even explored, Present Mic neglects his own grief in favor of Aizawa, and Aizawa uses his grief as an excuse to be an asshole to everyone around him and play God with his students' futures, with NO ONE calling out his behavior as what it is.

I think the overarching problem with MHA is that Horikoshi simply doesn't know how to handle the subject of trauma or how victims can be affected by it.

It think it's why characters like Izuku, Todoroki, Eri, etc. don't feel like real people sometimes. Because if he actually focuses on their trauma, he also has to make them more complex and complexity can be very ugly. If he keeps them surface-level (Izuku being friendly/saving others, Todoroki being blunt/dry, and Eri being a cute kid), he doesn't have to get into the nitty gritty of their characters.

It would also mean making it about 20x harder to redeem Bakugou and Endeavor.

If we had more than vague flashbacks of Endeavor abusing 5 year old Todoroki, beating Rei and pushing her into insanity, and willfully neglecting Touya as his mental health deteriorates more and more, he would be seen as a lot more than simply overzealous and misguided ambition that got out of hand. He would be seen as a monster. Horikoshi has to keep flashbacks of the Todoroki family surface-level or Endeavor's redemption wouldn't have been nearly as well-received.

And of course we've gone over Bakugou. He has to saturate Bakugou with comedy or the shit he pulls would come off a lot more disturbing. If every scene with him was like the Battle Trials, he wouldn't be looked upon nearly as favorably. He wouldn't be funny or endearing (he isn't to me anyway, but I'm talking about in general), he would just be deranged and violent.

There's also the fact that Horikoshi tries his best to keep things lighthearted. I think it's because he's more comfortable doing so and it explains why Dark Deku was so disappointing. To shroud the story in a darker tone- especially with a character he tries to keep light and cheery at all times- really didn't work for him.

I think the proof is in him keeping so many characters alive when they should have died. He is unable to write the affect characters like Gran Torino and Bakugou dying would have on Izuku which is why he couldn't commit himself to killing them off.

Problem with Aizawa is that no one (Horikoshi included) sees a problem with his behavior. He's justified in his "tough love" and is seen as such a good teacher. Although for Midnight and Present Mic, I feel as though he just doesn't bother giving them any depth at all. Midnight only exists for perverted jokes and Mic is simply supposed to be a contrast for Aizawa (a prop really). He actually did start to give Midnight depth and character, but it was only like five minutes before killing her off😐

(It would have been nice if Midnight being an R-rated hero was a product of society. Her being sexualized her whole life because of her quirk/appearance and just deciding to embrace it because it was the only way to reasonably become a hero has always been my headcanon. Her civilian clothes aren't revealing (not that that really matters) and when it comes to being a hero she's very sweet and encouraging and so unlike what we see usually. When she was being interviewed about her costume, she actually started to give a really good answer before Horikoshi decided to make a cat fight out of it. That really sums up the story as a whole, it starts off really deep and intricate before eventually being interrupted by juvenile jokes and unnecessary situations)

I really wish we could have seen more of Eri's recovery. I feel like her trauma is really overlooked/ignored outside of being a plot device to be saved by Izuku and Mirio. I think the light novel of Aizawa having Bakugou of all people watch her is proof of that. Why on Earth would he take the chance that Bakugou- someone who has repeatedly dismissed others' trauma, attacked those weaker than him, and been insensitive to others' feelings, and has a destructive quirk- could trigger her? Why use Eri- an abused, traumatized kid- as a tool to make Bakugou better? But sure, Aizawa is such a good teacher, right?

(Seriously, what the fuck?)

Someone needed to tell Nighteye to shut the fuck up. This doesn't really contribute anything to this post, but I needed to say it. There's literally nothing good about him (HE STRAPPED HIS SUBORDINATE TO A TICKLE MACHINE TO FORCE HER TO LAUGH)

#anti bakugou katsuki #mha critical #bnha critical #ask #anti aizawa shota #anti enji todoroki #anti endeavor #anti sir nighteye #tw child abuse #tw trauma

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cutesyscreenname · 1 year

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I'd Be Home With You

One Shot

Pairing: Joel x fem!OFC

Summary: Based off the song In A Week by Hozier ft. Karen Crowley. On patrol, Joel and his love are attacked by clickers. They aren't so lucky this time so they do what they've always said they would if they both got bitten.

Word Count: 712

Warnings: death, decay, suicide, general angst and sorrow. I cried editing this.

A/N: I'm sorry I don't know why I felt compelled to write this. I hope its well done enough to make up for how deeply sad the story is.

We lay here for years or for hours

Your hand in my hand

So still and discreet

So long we become the flowers

We'd feed well the land

And worry the sheep

All is quiet in the vast expanse of tall grass and wildflowers. The prey have skittered into hiding, the predators have had their fill. Scavengers have circled and gone away. All that remains is the fanned blanket of fungi weaving across their still forms, pushing up around their entwined fingers gone stiff.

The first comes out of nowhere, shoving her to the ground in an instant. She presses against its chest as the thing writhes and gnashes relentlessly above her. She can't risk reaching for her weapon and give way to the force of it's weight, clearing a beeline between herself and its gaping maw.

The dull scrape of a knife sheathed in its skull, followed by the creature slumping away from her trembling body, brings only a second of relief.

"Joel! Behind you!"

He's older now, still strong as ever but just a hair slower then he once was and this brief lapse in reflex costs him everything. He manages to shoulder the monster onto the forest floor and she takes her opportunity to return his favor, sinking her blade between its unseeing eyes.

The sun's midsummer kiss nudges the vegetation to rise around them, unsuccessful in waking the pair from their cool slumber.

She sees it on him first, the teeth marks. Hearts flailing with adrenaline, neither feel the impact of their combat.

"Joel-" she chokes on her lover's name, tears already careening down the slopes of her muddied cheeks.

He notes the gash on her hand as she reaches for him, soft brown eyes turning to vivid umber, catching the setting sunlight as they wet with the agonizing realization.

"Joel you're bit."

His voice is low, broken. "You are too, baby."

The flies, the flowers, the crows, and the cordyceps. They dance together in harmony, taking what they need from the stillness. If there was anything to give back, their silhouettes refuse it kindly.

After minutes, maybe hours, their tears slow and still in each other's embrace.

"Okay baby. We talked about this. We're going out together. Just as we were, we ain't turnin'."

She nods slowly, hands cupping his saltwater scruff.

"I know baby. Just like we always said. It'll be alright."

"I ain't missin' this time." He says it to reassure her, so she won't fret that he might go mad all alone.

Hand in hand, resting on a plush bed of blooming pasture, eyes on each other's finding peace in what they find there, one last time.

"It's time, baby. I'm goin' home with you."

"I love you, Joel."

"I love you, darlin'."

Hammers pulled back, cool steel placing a goodnight kiss on their temples, counting together.

"3...2...1..."

Starlings scatter to the horizon.

When they didn't return that night from patrol, the search party began immediately. Joel's brother takes the lead, panic only sated by taking action.

It takes nearly a week, the groups rotating shifts and pushing out further each pass, until they find them.

The meadow is eerily silent, the tips of boots in grass catching the eye of the man who gives the alert.

Tommy comes running at the commotion before he's being held back by his fellow searchers.

Let me through right now that's my GODDAMN BROTHER! THATS MY FUCKING BROTHER LET ME GO!

There's nothing to be done, the narrative clear as day as mushroom caps blossom through the wounds at their temples.

Joel always knew things never turn out as planned, but since meeting her he felt certain that he would always end up where he was meant to be.

As the last light slips softly below the treeline so goes their essence back to the stars, ready to again run the race into each other's arms, footing surer with each pass through the cosmos.

They've done it time and time again, stardust and atoms cut from the same cloth.

He knew he would always end up home with her.

And they'd find us in a week

When the cattle show fear

After the insects have made their claim

After the foxes have known our taste

I'd be home with you

I won't lie I've been shit at keeping track of the everything tag list so I'll just tag who I think might like it 😬😬😬:

@pedgeitopascal @mylostloversbookmarks @atinylittlepain @ladamedusoif @avastrasposts @ssuperficialspacecadett @swiftispunk @pr0ximamidnight @wannab-urs @iamasaddie @jksprincess10

#joel miller fic #tlou fic #tw: suicide #joel miller x ofc #tommy miller #in a week #Hozier #I'd be home with you

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oldimgurpics · 1 year

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The Future of oldimgurpics

Hello everyone. Activity has been kind of sporadic again—sorry about that, prior engagements and all. Posts will resume again in the near future, but there's something we need to talk about.

Over the last six months, this account has received a massive amount of new followers—well over triple what it had one year ago today. That's insane to me, especially when I consider the fact I've been running this blog for just north of six years now. I am grateful that you all share my niche interest in these nuggets of internet history I keep picking from the sieve, and would like to keep doing this for a good while longer; even if my inconsistent posting runs counter to that.

However, I may not be able to for much longer.

What's going on?

This was posted yesterday on imgur's blog. At first glance, this seems kind of dire, and while it is pretty bad, it's not as bad is may seem. Imgur has done this kind of thing before, and this has been evident to me for quite some time. When I generate new images, there are far more failed fetch requests than successful ones—often two failed requests for every one success—and when I started, this certainly was not the case. Not only that, but I'm sure some of you have spotted broken imgur links across the web before, especially on forums, especially on help forums. You know, the worst place for an image to be broken? Isn't that lovely? It's tinypic for a new generation.

The issue is not the fact that it's getting rid of pornography, nudity, and sexually explicit content—that would actually be a good thing if not solely for the amount of people's stray nudes that are floating around in the void that would no longer be waiting for someone to accidentally find. The problem is that there is no way to root through what is considered inappropriate content without collaterally annihilating huge swathes of unrelated, inoffensive content along with it unless you basically do what I've been doing, and I doubt imgur—or any company for that matter—would be willing to supply the manpower to do something like that.

Unfortunately, pretty much no matter what happens, we are probably going to lose a vast amount of internet history from this, and while the bulk of that is so far buried under imgur's content servers that most will never even see those images, I still think it's a bad move. Even beyond the fact that it may spell the end of this blog, I think it's garbage that companies can just piss away millions upon billions of images.

Regardless of how mundane and unimportant most of what's on those servers are, (barring the illegal and morally reprehensible stuff) I believe it all still deserves to exist. These images come together into a disgusting, muddy, misguided, tapestry made out of words, photographs, memories that were once woven together with times, places, and people. And while most of those threads have been long severed from each other, I still believe burning the whole thing is wrong. So much of it is a product of an online environment we will never see again.

What can you do about this?

Pretty much absolutely nothing. As much as I want to be like "flood their support! ask them to reverse their decision! find which dipshit exec made this decision and [REDACTED]!" I know for a fact that absolutely nobody at support has any power to do anything about this, and hardly any action can be taken to change the course they've already charted. That sounds incredibly pessimistic, but I'm not without reasons for being so.

Sure, we could raise concerns, and get it sent up the chain of command, but this is more than likely the same bullshit song and dance we see across every website: the parent company doesn't like all those icky images (the ones with the boobs and dicks, mind you. not the ones with bigotry, or gore, or other illicit subjects—to a corporation, these things have a possibility to generate revenue, so they're all fine), and wants them gone to appease the advertising overlords who want to scrub every blemish, imperfection, and deviation from every corner of online to make the internet as sterile and banal as inhumanly possible. Perhaps all of that is pure, bitter conjecture; but be honest: would you be surprised?

Many people (rightfully) make a big deal about sites like photobucket, tinypic, and imageshack all being huge image hosts of the late aughts who basically dumped all their servers without much notice at all, and how that broke so much of the old internet. And while that was devastating, I assure you that if imgur manages to mangle this (and I'm sure they will, like any big web company tends to) this will be much worse than all three of those sites shitting the bed combined.

Imgur has been the biggest image host for over a decade now, and considering the increase in net activity that correlates to their popularity growth, there's an enormous amount of content that's going to break/becoming missing as a result of this. There are countless reddit posts that depend on imgur hosting. There are countless forum posts that will be illegible as a result of this. Hopefully this will be nowhere near the catastrophic degree I'm prognosticating, but I've been online for two decades, seen this kind of thing happen time and time again, and it's always worse than it was the last time.

You are free to do what you will about it. I won't push one way or the other. It just sucks, folks! But that brings me to:

What am I going to do about this?

Well, since the future of the blog is so uncertain, I'm going to start planning around the possibility that I may not be able to generate images for much longer, so there will be a few changes.

I already try to save all the images on this blog to my hard drive locally. Every time you save an image on imgur, the default image name is the URL it comes from, so I'll still have tentative proof that what I post is an imgur pic even if the URL 404s. I'm going to start saving a lot more now, though.

Queued posting will slow down from 4 times a day to just one. I know that's quite a bit lower than my previous output (if you don't look at averages lol), but this will ensure the blog keeps going for a while, even if the worst comes to pass and I'm unable to generate anything else for this blog.

Hope I'm making a bigger deal over this than I need to be. There's a chance I've typed all this out, and in six months time it will have absolutely no effect on how this blog functions. A year from now, many posts may not actually break the way I expect them to. I would love it if all my concerns were over nothing—sometimes, being wrong kind of owns, and this would definitely be one of those cases, but I won't take chances. Hope for the best, prepare for the worst.

Either way, thank you for reading, and please don't be afraid to shoot an ask my way.

#long post #imgur

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1moremilgram-enjoyer · 7 months

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Shidou T1 Cover - Liar Dance

Back at it again with more covers, this time our favorite doctor dude, Shidou with Liar Dance! Will we be able to see through the lies? ... Well, actually I don't think he's even lying to us in this cover so. Probably won't be too hard.

Also this cover is really good too. Absolutely recommend you listen to it if you haven't.

Liar Dance is sung from the perspective of someone in a relationship based on lies.

Having made a vow, to you and you alone Declaring this loveless love of mine in front of you

... Hey Shidou, you sure you didn't pick up Kazui's on accident, right?

Now, they both lie, and they both know they're living in a lie, but they've gone too far and now they feel unable to turn back and separate.

"Stolen? Just whatever do you mean?" Committing myself to this performance, set lines and all Those memories we've desperately created and clung to, they blend together and feelings between us intensify Blabbering on about stuff, could you shut up for a bit? Because everything is starting to look like a lie Is there anywhere left for you to run? Yes, I've realized that we're both guilty here

It's hard to say what the "stolen" line means exactly, but I guess it's just referring to "doing something wrong and lying that you haven't" and isn't meant to be more specific than that.

Dance away, liar This love has swelled up like a balloon, let's turn it into a lie with the prick of a needle On the count of "I-love-you" Just let it soak in, liar This love that's grown so weak, Go ahead and drain the cup till there's nothing left For no matter where we go There's no fixing this

Dance away, liar It's too late to apologize We're already partners in this crime called "love" Who cares if there's no going back? It's swallowed you up completely, hasn't it? Liar Turn me inside-out and I look just like you It's nice to meet you, "Crime" and Punishment" No matter what you say It's already gone off the rails

(Imma be real, "it's nice to meet you, 'crime' and 'punishment'" is quite a perfect line for Shidou)

There's also this line:

"Damn it! You figured it...wait, whatever are you talking about?"

It's not particularly meaningful or anything, I just find it very funny.

The point of the full line is that the lie continues even though they both know it's a lie.

"Damn it! You figured it...wait, whatever are you talking about?" Screwing up time and again is no reason to drop the act Having fallen into this bottomless swamp, will you even realize you're drowning? Everyone and their brother is laughing at you Even I've become unable to see you as anything but a lie But somehow I still have these feelings for you Yes, I've realized that we're both guilty here

You might wonder if "somehow I still have these feelings for you" would imply that the singer does love the other, but I don't think that's the case (see: "declaring this loveless love of mine in front of you" line). Thus, it's possible the feelings the singer has aren't romantic, but still positive. Sort of "even though you keep lying to me, I would still like to be friends" maybe?

That's why at the end of the song, the singer bids farewell without any ill intent. Separating is scary, but it's still for the best.

It's already twisted beyond recognition It's a bit scary. But the moon looks so beautiful, doesn't it? See you again, farewell

The moon looks beautiful for both of them, of course.

That's all nice, but how does this apply to Shidou? It's hard to find who he's talking to, because the song has the lover lying back. Shidou can't be singing this to his wife, Es/the audience, or even the families of the patientes he killed, because none of them lie to him.

No, I believe Shidou is singing this to himself, like Es did in Hibana. In particular, he lies to himself about how likely Flower Person was to survive the transplants Shidou was trying. A doctor like Shidou should have known from the start that harvesting organs to give to Flower Person wouldn't work, that saving them was impossible, but he still did it.

[Throw Down] Throw down, connecting you with me, To keep you alive, you are still living Throw down, the invitation that I can’t take back, Lying, replacing with hope

He was lying to himself here, telling himself if he just found the right organs, that surely Flower Person would survive. That was the only way to keep up hope (Danganronpa reference? <- My brain is broken)

[Throw Down] There are so many truths, as there are so many lives The end that has already begun, I will finally be saved once it comes true Now slowly close your eye, put your regret on display Wish for being there for someone With the same expression no matter who comes I don’t feel scared because I don’t know

The entirety of Throw Down is very hard to understand, but what I think is going on here is that Shidou will be saved when the end to his means begins, when the lie that Flower Person can still be saved becomes true. He then lies to the family of the patients he kills "with the same expression no matter who comes", putting up a front that he's very hurt by their loss and wishing he could comfort them further ("being there for someone"), and then going behind their backs and harvesting the organs of their relatives under brain death.

Why can he be so confident in doing this? He doesn't feel scared because he "doesn't know", he doesn't know for sure that Flower Person will die. And as long as that's still a question mark, he can live with the confidence that he's doing the right thing by trying his best to save their life.

Except, that's a lie, isn't it? As we established, he should know, intellectually, that there's no way that's gonna work. So he lies to himself to keep up hope, he lies to himself by saying that there's a chance, that he 'doesn't know' for sure what's gonna happen to Flower Person.

Therefore, the "fragile loveless love" in Liar Dance would be Flower Person's life. You could even argue "loveless love" being "lifeless life" even works as a metaphor for brain death or vegetative state or coma (all different things btw) or whatever Flower Person was suffering.

Dance away, liar This love has swelled up like a balloon, let's turn it into a lie with the prick of a needle On the count of "I-love-you"

The life of Flower Person can be destroyed "by the prick of a needle", with "I love you" I guess meaning "they're alive" maybe? The exact wording does get a bit awkward, but keep in mind exact wording isn't really important in the first place.

It's funny, the "stolen" line actually makes more sense with Shidou than without him, though you'd have to assume the quotes imply he's talking to another person. "Me? Steal organs? Nooooo"

The memories he clings to are of Flower Person's life, and he's committed so much to the bit lie that there's a chance that Flower Person will live, that he can't turn back anymore. "We're both guilty" feels like a silly way of wording something you say to yourself, but Shidou's self-loathing is something I don't think I have to explain too much.

To late to apologize to the people he's killed and their families, too late to go back and stop doing what he does. And calling "love" a crime in the sense that Flower Person's life has pushed him to kill. "Turn me inside-out and I look just like you" again feels a bit odd under the idea he's talking to himself, but "it's nice to meet you, 'crime' and 'punishment'" is a perfect line for how Shidou feels about Milgram potentially being the punishment for the crimes his lies pushed him to commit.

Even if there are moments where he "screws up the lie" by realizing it's impossible to save Flower Person, he keeps lying. Again, he's in too deep.

Everyone and their brother is laughing at you Even I've become unable to see you as anything but a lie But somehow I still have these feelings for you Yes, I've realized that we're both guilty here

Admittedly the lingering feelings are a bit odd, but you could read that as Shidou still genuinely hoping Flower Person survives despite knowing the mere possibility is a lie.

It's already twisted beyond recognition It's a bit scary. But the moon looks so beautiful, doesn't it? See you again, farewell

Going off vibes more than words, the ending is even more melancholic than in the original, as the lie fading implies this is the moment Flower Person dies and Shidou can no longer keep lying to himself. He accepts his crimes, and even if it's scary, he accepts he deserves death.

Also the unhinged laugh in the middle of the song is just a mental breakdown from lying so much. Sure, why not.

Did that all make sense? I hope so! That's all I have to say for this one. Take care!

#milgram #shidou kirisaki #liar dance cover #watch me always say flower person to avoid disagreeing with anyone

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palmbleeder · 4 months

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with a taste of a poison paradise,

when: sunday, 7pm.

where: marina funeral home - the morgue.

who: mourad ramzi.

status: oops!

content triggers: poisoning, religious guilt & general pondering, death (in relation to) grief, needles.

Myria had always made all too fun - even more than it usually was, at times. Mourad would hear the music first, softened by the walls separating them in other rooms he's working on and know she'd started her day. Danced along to it when he couldn’t keep her company or when she didn't require assistance in the labs where she takes charge for the most part; Mourad's own work mainly having much to do with directing and presentation.

Tonight and the nights prior since, he had honored her wishes by having Britney provide ample entertainment to her unlively audience and partly himself. He never minded it, however when it came to his own work ethic regarding handling the dead, Mourad's was a little different. He preferred the silence; wishing not to disturb them in the eternal slumber they've succumbed to in ways natural or recently, obscenely unnatural. It also came with personal veering on spiritual views, particularly when it came to handling those of his own religion; a crucial reason why he'd considered an associate degree in mortuary science, he figured the places he'll be in could always use more Muslims in their staff. that included Marina.

Half-jokingly, he'd taught River how to wash him if it was his time to go — ‘I wouldn't want it to be anyone else.’ but what he meant is that it couldn’t be anyone else, as the religion that added a deeper layer to their already-profound bond prohibits anyone else. He'd also reminded himself to keep contact with others capable, in case river couldn't go through with it. It's already so much he would have to do, having to lift him into his grave, all the way back home. he'd already notified his mother that he'd like to be buried there - not France, but home. in Cairo, where her late husband and his father lay, all the way in Egypt. right where it all started; his first life, their first loss. She wasn't too comfortable and half participated in those morbid conversations he'd start casually on occasion but so long as he made his intentions clear, he figured, and cut those with a joke aimed at both his mother and river, ‘Ah, and you'd also get to have me in white for once! isn't that what you've always wanted of me?’

Humming along to Toxic - banger, he'd say if he was normal - Mourad wheeled the second to last cadaver back into its locker and returned to his station with another, tirelessly preparing the body through the easier processes from inspections to wiring jaws and securing lids shut, pouring the embalming fluid into the machine (sweetly named the Cauldron) that stood waiting to roar to life. Just then, the door to the morgue chimed in. They'd hung a bell above as a joke to clock running spirits desperate for a second chance at a life and knowing he wasn't meant to be with company, Mourad peered over his shoulder thinking they'd found their first ghost friend.

Not quite, but a puzzling visit all the same, it seemed.

“I... didn’t think I’d be having a guest over or I would've tidied up, hello." Mourad laughed in his confusion, his brows drawn together, a playful glint in his eyes at his the familiar figure. “What are you doing here? you seem lost, my friend.”

He'd found himself in stranger encounters, he thought, and on a whim suggests the unwise when he piped up; rather rushed, seeing the time.

“Shit. I have to get done here. Just... you don't mind hanging back here, do you? — Yes, perfect! So long as you can stomach all of this, of course - but please careful not to touch anything.”

Almost comical, how they'd barely found a rhythm, how all has gone eerily quiet the second the Cauldron started brewing, even as Britney sang away in what seemed to be the longest song ever compared to what befell him and his living company of the night, how the sensation he'd grown accustomed with to his right is now closer behind, when Mourad felt a rather harsh stab into his neck.

"Ah... Fuck, what the.." Dumbly and slowly, he stumbled back, his hand flying to the offending spot and then everything rushed back; the context, the bodies, Myria, this cursed town. Too late when his side hits the station and he winced before instinctively grabbing at a flying hand latching onto his jaw.

"St...op, what the hell are you doing? What did you do-" confusing himself by his own interrogation in his panic, his heartbeat already racing in trampling, arrhythmic steps made worse by the adrenaline. what else are they doing, Mourad? Their grip on his jaw tightened, almost to keep him quiet but then strangely pulling his jaw apart; open, inviting to something he hadn't known until the other arm came in, holding the tube attached to the machine. No.

It took too much effort left in him to push off; a breathless struggle that he realized, a little after he'd finally managed to send them slamming into the cupboard behind and then leaving him there, that he'd been struggling that entire time. that he was no longer pulling in air into his body, that he'd been fighting a losing battle anyway.

The strangest he'd felt, like a hole sucking inwards into his chest, trapping him in, doubling him over, dragging him knees first onto the ground. His head lulls to the side and there it was, the needle in his sights. Emptied out into his neck what could only be what they'd conjured for the Cauldron. Mourad frowns, This is it, his palms lock onto his neck and he's punching out a few breaths he desperately needs when he remembered, Oh, fuck.

Ash-

Mourad tried to say it. tried to establish the line between himself and his maker, tried to get there. How could he forget?

Ash-h... Shit, shit, shit.

His hands flex as he struggled to draw out more air. His shoulders shake, mourad doesn't realize he's sobbing now. He'd imagined it all so differently; so peaceful, a slumber lowering him into the ground to wait until he's called over. A complete circle of a checkered life, that he'd made amends and made it all better - and he couldn't achieve it now, far too suffocated and overwhelmingly exhausted. An instilled fear he never realized would come to him this way, never thought he'd forget; If you can't say your Shahada, you will never find peace.

No - You have to, Mourad. this is for you and your father, for River to carry you over. His shoulders shake as he renews his resolve. C'mon, die as you lived.

Ash-hadu alla ilaha illa Allah, wa ash-hadu anna anna Muhammadan Rasulullah

Relived, Mourad slumped back and let himself fall way away, his mind swirling; his initial fear overpowered by a last sliver of joy that he did utter it. Not think it, not pray that counts in his slipping mind but that he did say it.

He did say it.

Au revoir. All is well.

Right?

#* — ramzi › scripted.#* — verse › marina murders.#tw poisoning #tw death #tw needles #yuh

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simplegenius042 · 7 months

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Music Monday & Last Line Tag

Tagged by @poisonedtruth

Tagging @socially-awkward-skeleton @shallow-gravy @direwombat @voidika @g0dspeeed @adelaidedrubman @chazz-anova @cassietrn @deputy-morgan-malone @strafethesesinners @josephslittledeputy @josephseedismyfather @strangefable @derelictheretic @wrathfulrook @inafieldofdaisies @minilev and @jillvalentinesday

Paul Yellowjack is a character who has gone through many changes. He started as Silva's first real father figure, a teacher who raised her on morals to live by, protected her from Adam when the poor-excuse of a man wanted her back, and lead his people in a revolution against their violent oppressors on the Archipelagos. Ultimately, after the massacre though, he ended up as a tragic fallen hero whose core morals corrupted when put through tragedy after tragedy, leaving bitterness to take his heart and (regrettably) lash out at the world, before Silva could restore his hope again. Left down a dark path for so long he can no longer return as the man Silva once knew (even if there are shades of him deep inside the villain he has become), and sadly neither wishes him to, Paul because of his self-loathing, Silva because of the pain he inflicted on her. There is a longing between them, but both have gone down two different paths, with no way to return to one another (or at least, that's what both believe). I believe this song reflects his turmoil perfectly. I'll probably explain in the tags.

youtube

"I want you by my side So that I never feel alone again They've always been so kind But now they've brought you away from me

I hope they didn't get your mind Your heart is too strong anyway We need to fetch back the time They have stolen from us

And I want you We can bring it on the floor You've never danced like this before We don't talk about it Dancin' on, doing the boogie all night long Stoned in paradise Shouldn't talk about it

And I want you We can bring it on the floor You've never danced like this before We don't talk about it Dancin' on, doing the boogie all night long Stoned in paradise Shouldn't talk about it Shouldn't talk about it

Coldest winter for me No sun is shining anymore The only thing I feel is pain Caused by absence of you

Suspense controlling my mind I cannot find the way out of here I want you by my side So that I never feel alone again

And I want you We can bring it on the floor You've never danced like this before We don't talk about it Dancin' on, doing the boogie all night long Stoned in paradise Shouldn't talk about it

And last line for The Years In Hope County, which is getting pushed for possibly next week.

"We've come a long way. You've come a long way," Elsa tells [Sylvester], downing the latte in her hands like shots at the Fairgrave's bar, "You may not see it but... we're already honouring them, just by being alive."

#far cry the silver chronicles #far cry 5 #oc: paul yellowjack #fic: the years in hope county #oc: elsa omar #so with paul and silva one of their favourite pass times was dancing #and their dance was always a way for them to feel connected with each other and express their familial affection to one another #however the “dance” as described in the song has changed #“you've never danced like this before” being a euphemism for “you've never desired to kill me before”#who “they” refer to are those who have “stolen” silva away from paul especially now in his villainy #that being the residents of hope county and her remaining family like elsa + persephone and allies like gavin and kamski and etc #“coldest winter” and “no sun is shining” refers to both literal examples #like the archipelagos #as well as metaphorical #like his emptiness and loss of silva #“we don't/shouldn't talk about it” refers to both the lack/loss of communication between silva and paul #and paul's guilt preventing him from acknowledging and processing the event that completely destroyed any chance of recovering silva's love #“i cannot find a way out of here” is essentially being unable to escape his eternal servitude to zachariah the orchestrator #“you're heart is too strong anyway”#paul acknowledges that the morals he and others' had taught silva has made her defiant and against his attempts to bring her into villainy #(which also stops silva from giving up and is part of the reason she refuses to join eden's gate and their violence in the future)#it is something he can't help but feel pride and relief from #there's more but you can probably come to your own conclusions on what those are #Youtube

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nalyra-dreaming · 1 year

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soooo, how about that meta post re: soldiers scene..? 👀

Alright :) here goes - long post! My take, obviously.... - I'm adding here this ask as well:

So, this is the evening after Jonah, right.

Louis goes to Grace and the twins, Lestat goes to the Azalea.

There he encounters Miss Bricktop, who not only gives him the letter of the Azalea being closed down for Louis, but obviously made a remark (or a thought) in regards to their relationship.

Now, I love her. Hope we get to see her again in Paris. But she is also the one with the "shitbox" comment in the first episode... without wanting to infer too much (because that was a very special situation, too!!), but something about the remark or thought at the Azalea must have been sharp enough for Lestat to go "I think she's onto us" (and in that rather biting tone) later.

There's a whole bunch of soldiers in front of or at the Azalea, protesting it closing, and Lestat invites them back to Rue Royale.

@ the nonny here: Battalions are made up by officers. In those times it is not surprising that only one skin color would be in a group. Jonah even says it when he visits Louis, he and his squad are apart from others. So there's no preference or bias of Lestat in that, imho.

EDIT: @cbrownjc noted that US Armed Forces were segregated until the mid 40s. TY for the info!

Lestat likely brought the soldiers back for a couple of reasons:

a) He's pissed and likely hungry, and his favorite entertainment place was shut down and now he needs other entertainment

and

b) I'm very sure he didn't want those soldiers to go across the street to Finn O'Shea's establishment. He didn't care for that man's way of doing things from the beginning, and just because he doesn't actively endorse Louis meddling in human affairs doesn't mean he likes the man or would help that guy in any way.

and

c) Jonah, of course. He wants to see if what he perceived, and heard, and... felt holds true. If it is a kink - or if it was Jonah. If Louis needs a variation - or if it was Jonah.

And those soldiers are perfect for all of that.

So, roughly 24 soldiers at Rue Royale.

You do have to wonder what he did to make them follow him, since the actual influencing later on takes a lot out of him, but that just as a note :)

They raid the wine cellar.

The fact that they have one is definitely interesting in and by itself, and later on we see bottles laying around while they lay low, so they drink it, too. Do they have some mixed with blood? We don't know, but it seems drinkable enough. The soldiers go through the alcohol, both the wine cellar and the bar, and Lestat just lets them.

And he lets them do what they want to their home. He lets them upstairs. AND into the bedroom.

With the single bed.

He entertains them, even. And he doesn't touch them, because he is waiting for Louis. Is waiting to see what Louis will do.

And Louis comes home - which in and by itself is interesting, because shouldn't he have gone to the Azalea? But he comes home (which tells me that he trusted Lestat enough with the Azalea to leave it to him for this night, with the aftermath of Grace etc) and finds the house full.

(Lestat sings "Where do we go from here", a truly rather fitting song...)

And - he gets up from the piano while Louis is still approaching, because he anticipates what Louis is about to do. And when Louis is there he is already up and ready to be "picked up".

twirl, twirl, hop, twirl. Others have said it, but they've done this before :))

Louis' questions when entering this scene are "What is this?" and "What are you thinking?" to which Lestat answers the infamous "Well, I thought we could have an orgy, you can fuck them and I can eat them." And then... "What about the coffin room?"

...

Let's unpack this.

"What is this?" Expected, pretty normal reaction. What the fuck is Lestat doing there. And then... Picking Lestat up, collecting him, twirl, twirl, hop, twirl while obviously annoyed. Check.

"What are you thinking?" Here it starts to become interesting, imho, because... what is Louis referring to? The upstairs, their bedroom? The soldiers themselves? The piano singing, wine, etc? Probably all of it, but... Still. Always a good line of question for Lestat, because, well, Lestat. Check.

Andn then ... Lestat's remark in regards to fucking, eating and an orgy are met with a "What about the coffin room?"

And, I, personally... find that the most interesting part of the whole scene.

What do you mean, Louis?!

Is fucking, eating (killing) and an orgy okay while downstairs? Or in a hotel? How often did they use the Azalea like that? (We see Lestat escort someone in who will obviously be a victim in their good times, so this more than likely happened, the only question is the extent and if or how often Louis joined in imho.)

The whole fucking, eating, orgy AND their single bed do not blip in that moment - the coffin room does. I always find that hugely interesting, to be honest?

They are standing in their bedroom, in front of their single bed, with soldiers milling about.

And Louis does not care about that.

And... Louis "only" wants them out (now) when he has heard/read the news about the Azalea. Granted, this happens right after, but still... I remember anticipating a very different reaction to the soldiers. And their bed, given his reaction to Antoinette. Which to me seems like Louis does not see those soldiers as any kind of threat to them - or indeed, as food.

And then Louis demands that Lestat gets them out of there, now.

And Lestat complies.

To an extent that has him bleeding out his ears, and visibly weakened, and that has Louis staring in weirded out astonishment.

And the soldiers... leave. Obviously dazzled. Obviously still in that daze outside.

Lestat must've wiped their short-time memories at least. Or he needed to go after them to kill them, later. Single bed and all that.

And then... of course, that infamous scene.

I heard your hearts dancing.

What a statement.

And what a makeup.

They actually managed to make him look like shit there. That's a feat.

So yeah, the soldiers.

A lot of small things that are implied here once more. Hinted at. Their shared history, what they might have gotten up to in their good times. Louis isn't scandalized by the offer of an orgy, and to me it seems as if they might have (possibly) had other men in their bedroom before, if his response/focus is anything to go by.

And he knew that after they left they would not pose a threat.

And Louis trusted Lestat with the Azalea is somewhere in there, too. And in the fact that Miss Bricktop gave that letter to Lestat and did not wait for Louis.

I know that can be taken as a sign for their couple status, but... Louis takes Lestat along to his business meeting (right) after that fight. And that is very interesting, too.

#alcassin #anonymous #asks #amc iwtv #iwtv #amc interview with the vampire #interview with the vampire amc #iwtv amc #iwtv 2022 #interview with the vampire #lestat de lioncourt #louis de pointe du lac #loustat #soldiers #azalea #iwtv meta #ask nalyra

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arbitrarygreay · 1 month

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I would love to hear more Berryz vs C-ute meta if you're interested! I started out as a Momusu fan and dabbled in Berryz but C-ute felt way, way too young for me at first so I mostly ignored them. By the end of their careers though, Berryz sometimes felt like they were miserable performing while C-ute just got better and better. I've never seen anyone seriously ruminate on this though.

Thanks for the ask!

The thing to know about the era is the industry context. MM is the obvious case, starting in the late 90s when there were some pretty big girl groups (Speed, Zone, Folder5), and of course the Golden Age was called that for good reason.

(Huh, weird, now only Wikipedia lists MM's single sales in table format.) But if you look at the singles sales numbers, they've already fallen back down to Morning Coffee/Furusato level sales by 2003. This is why when you read the ancient fan forum archives (o7) the people who are all around for Golden Age have a grudge against 5th and 6th gens, and the taken-for-granted assumption of management's incomptence. So, H!P is already in a decline by this time (not that H!P broadly was ever as successful as MM in this era), but Tsunku is on a total roll musically, so it can be hard to notice.

And outside of H!P, the idol market (for girls, anyways, Johnny's is still trucking along as usual) is pretty bleak. Avex makes a few attempts every now and then (with dream, BRIGHT, and SweetS), but none of them really take off. For reference, AKB48 starts in December of 2005. I have treasured fan forum memories where Maeda Atsuko was "the one who looks like Kamei Eri". They won't get any real traction (especially sales-wise) until 2008, at which point they spearhead the Idol Sengoku Jidai.

This is the environment in which the H!P Kids are formed and have their early careers. H!P in decline but in denial about it and so throwing about some money they probably didn't make back their money on (very notably, the Sports Festivals actually going so far as to rent out Dome arenas). ZYX, Aa!, and early Berikyuu are receiving god-tier music, Berryz skips doing indies and is doing hall tours right off the bat. (Idols won't really get into livehouses until years later thanks to Idol Sengoku Jidai.)

At the same time, there are some signs. Most notably, the similarities between Berryz and Melon Kinenbi. Sure, I just called early Berryz music god-tier, but there are also quite a few songs and singles in those first three albums are now forgotten deep cuts, aren't they? Even the good ones! At the time, people could definitely predict that Kofuku Kangei would get lost, but the ever catchy Piriri to Yukou? More than that, there is the easy sense that this music is already deeply uncool. Those MKB songs are outright cringe now, especially in the visuals. This is why MKB eventually had to re-pivot to that rocker energy (to the point of mosh pits and even crowd surfing at some of their lives). Berryz, however, were never able to do that. To the end, their music retains a composition style harkening to this mid-00s Tsunku pop, even their dance tracks like Want! or Dakishimete Dakishimete. His last hurrah of the unabashed cheesiness that took Love Machine straight to the top and Koi No Dance Site to peak MM's sales. Pata did a series of posts where he complained about Tsunku's intrusions into Buono's otherwise blessedly Tsunku-free run of singles.

Kobushi, of course, also never recovered sales-wise from their scandal parade and exodus of members. However, because the members of Kobushi grew up in the social media age, as well as after H!P had gone through true industry dark ages, the members reacted to the shrinking by upping the sass and DGAF that make for great clips, Jojo Gundan able to engage with them on improv comedy.

Berryz, meanwhile, kind of had a chemistry problem. They were friendly enough. A newbie like me found their early making-of footage compelling. But they could not really carry a non-scripted segment. Again, maybe a newbie might find their DMs sweet, but the moment you switch to another group, you can see the difference when the interactions have snap and rhythm. Wota joke about Yurina's inability to tell anecdotes. There's a very real reason that only Momochi was able to break out on TV, and even Momochi's schtick feels more forced than the attitude the 48G was bringing to the table, honed by late night variety willing to be really mean to them. Maasa and Chinami are getting pretty good at DGAF, but it says something that they seem to get better mileage when interacting with their juniors (like 5nin J=J or 2nd gen S/mileage) than their own group.

So yeah, by 2007 (around Kokuhaku no Funsui Hiroba) Berryz can tell that it is not going to happen for them. I guess given that they started their careers so early, they really didn't know yet what they could possibly do outside of the industry yet, so they all just stuck around because why not? And they broke up when enough of them had found post-Berryz prospects.

Honestly, I can't give you an answer as to why C-ute succeeded. They were why I thought Kobushi's scandal parade and member exodus would actually benefit them, but I was never really into C-ute's music. Their songs were also pretty unabashedly Tsunku cheese? Someone I met through SNSD fandom really liked e.g. The Middle Management, but didn't seem to get any deeper into H!P. Anyways, some kind of magic happened, with Chisato and Nakki embracing late blooms intersecting with being able to snag onto the Idol Sengoku Jidai momentum with with a will. Who knows? Love is timing, after all.

#berryz koubou #ocute #hello! project #whoops I accidentally a word vomit #I miss writing idol meta #category: idols

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sitaarein · 2 years

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You should totally tell me later! There were a couple moment where I was like “I don’t know Pakistani or Muslim traditions but that seems inaccurate” but overall I’ve loved watching and they’re doing better than I thought they would

I have started typing out an answer to this three times and lost it three times 😭 anyways:

Things I liked:

-The partition: I figure this is the most important to touch upon. While I have some things I didn't like that much about it, on the whole I agree with how they portrayed it: it was an extremely bloody affair and the British after creating problems for several centuries decided to fuck off which wasn't very nice of them

-The Muslim rep: the bathroom scene with Nakia where she talks about how the hijab was her her choice and makes her feel herself YES YES EXACTLY I absolutely adored that. I adore Nakia in general. And even more lighthearted moments: Aamir reminding Kamala to say Bismillah before her driving test, the shoe stealing at the mosque (can confirm it's very real), the wuddhu area's sinks being broken (also very real). I loved how the Eid celebrations were portrayed. I also REALLLYYY loved the Sheikh. Overall, kudos for all that they did you can tell it's written by Muslims

-the familial relations: Mainly Muneeba, to be honest. I liked how they show her and Kamala's bond, and how it's obvious that the trauma Muneeba has gone through impacts her parental decisions with Kamala. Mother-daughter bonds and generational trauma generally go hand in hand in Pakistani culture, and I like that it's being explored in a (hopefully) not too negative manner. Also I just really like her dad he's so sweet and Aamir's so cool.

-Kamran's pack of parents: this isn't even a cultural thing I just love found family and how like five people got together to raise one child imagine the chaos. Other than that I'm somewhat eh on Kamran so far I feel like he's woefully underdeveloped and mainly serves as a plotpoint in the scenes he's in. Pity even the parents turned out to be evil rip now there's basically nothing redeeming about his character

-The wedding: PAKISTANI WEDDINGS AT THEIR BEST SO SEXY I LOVED IT THE EXTENDED FAMILY THE MEHENDI STEALING THE SHOES OF THE GROOM THE CLOTHES ASKING THRICE GIVING THE BRIDE AND GROOM MONEY THE DANCE "I NEED TO GRAB THE MONEY" ALL OF IT CHEF'S KISS

-Islamophobia: specifically that department of damage control and their blatant disrespect and how the Muslims were "already on the FBI's watchlist". Its not too in your face, but it's just obvious enough for people who haven't been aware of this before to feel uncomfortable- as they should.

-The soundtrack: it's quintessential Pakistani music, and so many of the pop songs used were ones I recognized just because of how popular they are here and I loved that. Also I just think they've used music well in general to reflect to the mood.

Things I didn't like:

Honestly there isn't as much of this as I expected there to be

-Not going more into the Partition and it's effects on Kamala's family was a bummer for me I think it would have made for more context and also just a better origin story

-I really wish Kamran had more personality I'd love to like him instead of feeling so eh about him

-Like I've already said, I wish they'd cast a fully Turkish Muslim woman for Nakia instead of a half white Christian. Its a now missed opportunity for those who deserved it. They also made Nakia's hijab a turban instead which they didn't really have to

-I am really really hoping they don't make it a "Kamala vs her family" storyline please please no more Asian stereotypes I want supportive parents don't make her "rebellious" by being more western or something

-I'm sad they didn't incorporate more Urdu. I understand Kamala doesn't speak it too well or read it (which is often the case for American Pakistanis) but I wish they included her parents having conversations in Urdu because that's a huge part of Pakistani identity- language

#ms marvel #asks #overall i think more good things than bad ones #we just have to wait and see where they take it i suppose #anka

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assortedfruitsnacks212 · 2 years

Text

Have Mercy

Characters: Billy Hargrove, Billy Hargrove's Mother

Summary: He's been in Kamchatka for weeks now. The Russians, it seems, find him endlessly fascinating. They've dragged him to that small underground arena so many times he's lost count, setting forth challenge after challenge. Bend this. Break that. It's getting repetitive and, honestly, pretty boring.

All of that changes when they issue a new challenge - one that tests his humanity instead of his strength.

Word count: 1.7k

Rating: M

Warnings: a moment of graphic violence

Notes: If you recognize the opening scene, it's because I repurposed a ficlet I've already published here. I really like both versions though, so I'll keep them both ✨

He's sitting at the kitchen table coloring with crayons. He remembers that table well—white tile with wood trim. The spaces between the tiles left streaks in his drawings if he wasn't careful. Usually he stuck a book under the paper, like the one he has now. The name of the book peeks over the edge of the paper: Wildflowers of California.

It's a rainy Sunday afternoon. The smell of Mom's lavender bushes wafts in through the window, and Neil is gone. Left to run an errand or something. Billy doesn't remember, and he doesn't care. Back then, all that mattered was the light that filled the house when that man left.

As Billy's crayons whisper over the paper, a radiant presence slips into the kitchen behind him. Mom. Following the script, he glances at her.

She looks beautiful today. Then again, she always did. She's wearing jeans and her plum-colored shirt with three-quarter sleeves. Hoops dangle from her ears, and her golden hair streams down her back. She's holding a record album with a white and brown cover. Winking at him, she moves to the turntable by the wall, pulls the record out of its sleeve, and puts it on.

The soft, easy beat of Fleetwood Mac fills the kitchen. Here, dream diverges from memory: the record isn't playing the first song, but the second.

Now here you go again, you say you want your freedom…

Mom goes still, closing her eyes like the music’s reaching into her soul. She even frowns a bit as she taps her hand against her jeans. When she looks at Billy, her frown melts into a brilliant smile.

"Good, huh?"

"Yeah."

"Would you like to dance?" She steps forward, offering a hand. Her bangles slide down to her wrist.

A heavy ache spreads through Billy's chest, and he lays down his crayon. Long ago, on the actual day, he jumped up eagerly to join her. Somewhere along the way, the script changed.

"I... I don't know how." Tears sting his eyes. He swipes them away. Pussy.

"Oh sweetie, that's okay." Mom steps closer, offering her hand again. "Come on. I'll show you how."

He chews his lip, gaze flicking between her hand and her face. Her hair glows gold; her smile warms him like sunshine.

He smiles in answer.

"Okay," he murmurs. He reaches for her hand...

...and wakes with a gasp, cheek pressed against cold metal.

A cough tickles his throat. He pushes up on his elbow, letting the cough tear its way out. The sound rings loudly in his dark little cell. Collapsing to the cot, he shuts his eyes and reaches for the memory of sunshine. Her smile. Already the warmth is fading, leached away by cold metal and a scratchy prison uniform. His eyes burn, and he wrinkles his nose.

Take me back. Please, take me back.

A door opens in the hallway. Voices spring to life, loud and harsh, moving closer. Billy's heart slams into his chest, and he bolts upright.

One of the voices laughs. Then another. There's a lot of them, and they're coming this way.

Rolling off his cot, Billy hits the ground running. By the time the door unlocks, he's curled in the corner, back to the wall, scrambling to push himself deeper.

The reinforced door swings open heavily, letting in the dusty light of the hallway. Guards swarm in—six, seven of them—yelling in Russian. Cattle prods crackle and spit in their hands. The most experienced guard, a big ugly man with a scar running down his cheek, stalks slowly toward Billy.

Trembling, Billy growls, "Commie bastard! I'll tear you in fuckin' half!"

And he could. They all know it.

Scarface stops to look at him, a grin darkening his blocky features. He swings his prod around casually, taunting Billy with it. The lethal end sputters with blue-white electricity.

He points it at Billy and walks forward. Billy snarls and strikes at it, but Scarface jerks it back, and Billy's hand whooshes through empty air. Scarface laughs, and the other guards laugh with him, like stupid kids cheering on their leader in a schoolyard.

Billy's chest heaves. His vision bleeds red.

Fuck you! FUCK YOU!

He roars and leaps at Scarface. Not fast enough. Dodging to the side, the man thrusts his prod into Billy's ribs. Fire explodes through Billy's nerves; lightning sizzles behind his eyelids. He hangs there, convulsing, until Scarface lets him go. He collapses on the floor, where he writhes in pain.

Scarface barks an order. His comrades swoop in, yanking Billy to his feet. Someone slaps reinforced cuffs on his wrists, and they shove him toward the door.

Dizzy and bleary-eyed, he doesn’t even struggle as they drag him down the long metal staircase. Near the bottom, a pain stabs his foot like he just stepped on a screw. He stumbles. A guard grabs him and shoves him forward, shouting impatiently. As Billy limps down the last few steps, warm blood trickles out of the sole of his foot.

By the time he enters the arena, the pain is gone, and the trickle of blood has already dried up.

The guards stop him right inside the door. Scarface barks another order, and a smaller guard steps in front of Billy to unlock his cuffs. Billy steals the chance to scan the place—the familiar concrete columns, the black observation window to his right, and the center of the arena, where he expects to see a collection of loose steel bars on a table. Or a freestanding brick wall. Something they want him to punch through or bend in a test of strength.

Instead, he sees a man in a prison uniform chained by his wrists to a column. Their gazes meet, and the other prisoner frowns in confusion.

Billy frowns too, a chill crawling down his back.

The guard takes off Billy’s cuffs and retreats. Behind Billy, the reinforced door shuts with a clang, sealing him in with the other prisoner.

Lips twitching, Billy takes a moment to study the man. His face is caked with prison grime and framed by blond, shaggy waves of tangled hair. His uniform is a different color, blue instead of green, as if he came from another part of the prison. He stares at Billy, panting quietly like a nervous animal.

A voice crackles over a loudspeaker.

"Pozakhi!"

Billy freezes, his stomach lurching. It’s a word he knows well. They’ve shouted it at him before every test, urging him to break something. To destroy something.

The other prisoner looks at the observation window, then at Billy. His eyes widen.

"Nyet." He yanks at the chains on his wrists. "Nyet!"

Numbly, Billy walks closer. The man yanks harder, his breaths quick and shallow. The rattle of his chains echoes through the room.

"Pomiluyte!" he cries hoarsely. "Pozhaluysta, pomiluyte!"

When Billy's shadow falls over him, he breaks down in sobs, collapsing against the column.

Billy observes the man up close. Beneath the grime, his skin looks as smooth as a baby's. Blond fuzz along his jawline hints at a downy beard struggling to grow.

He's young. Younger than Billy. A boy.

The boy whimpers and screws his eyes shut. Billy's hand flashes out, seizing the crown of his head, and gently forces it back. The boy looks at him, wide blue eyes glistening in the light. Tear trails cut through the grime on his cheeks.

Hardening his jaw, Billy looks at the observation window.

"Davai!" says the voice, more impatiently this time.

His mind settles in a cold, steely calm. Turning back to the boy, he leans in slowly.

"I'm not going to hurt you," he murmurs. "Just stay very still."

The boy doesn't understand. He's trembling now. The sour smell of piss hits Billy’s nose.

Heart pounding, Billy rests one hand on the boy's shoulder, the other on his upper arm. The kid is emaciated from prison—barely any muscle left. Billy could crack him open like a drumstick.

Billy inhales through his nose and exhales through his mouth. Under his breath, he mutters a prayer to whatever god is listening.

Then he shoves the boy away and darts toward the observation window.

He crosses the arena in four powerful strides. Leaping, he catches an imperfection in the concrete, hoists himself up, and catches another— another—until he grabs the lip beneath the window. With a mighty pull, he swings up and, in the same motion, smashes a fist into the glass.

Crack! It's reinforced, but they've never had to deal with someone like him. Crack! Crack!

A klaxon begins to screech. As he keeps pounding, pain slices through his hand, but he hardly notices. He can only see his reflection in the dark glass, the fractures spiderwebbing across it.

Someone's howling like a jungle cat in a trap. He realizes it's him.

The door to the arena swings open with a clang. Guards swarm the room, shouting, their cattle prods hissing and spitting. A meaty hand grabs Billy’s leg and sends him crashing to the floor. A prod bites into his side, and another into his back, lighting his nerves on fire.

Rage explodes inside him, blinding, all-consuming. With a throat-splitting roar, he kicks away a prod and grabs the nearest warm body, ripping it apart with all his strength. A scream pierces the air. Something wet hits the floor, followed by a heavy thump.

And then… silence. Silence, and the sound of his own panting.

When the red fades from his vision, he sees the prisoner chained to the column. He’s staring at the floor in front of Billy, face pale, limbs trembling. Billy’s gaze drifts down. At his feet, a guard lies still, breathing raggedly, a gory stump sticking out where his right arm should be. A pool of blood gathers around him, soaking into his green uniform.

Blinking, Billy looks down at his own hand. It’s holding the severed arm, torn sleeve and all.

The voice crackles over the loudspeaker. "Bravo," it says with dark satisfaction.

His veins turn to ice. Looking wide-eyed at the other prisoner, he throws the severed arm aside. The prisoner just stares, his eyes sharp with terror.

When the other guards grab Billy and cuff him, he hardly feels it. Their voices are muffled like they're submerged underwater.

One thought echoes over and over in his mind.

It's me. I'm the monster.

I'm the monster.

#stranger things #billy hargrove #billy hargrove fic #stranger things fic #stranger things 4 #assortedfruitsnacks212 #violence tw #kamchatka

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rose-skunk · 11 months

Text

Am I the only one who doesn't really like the new Mother Mother song? Ever since Inside Deluxe version came out with Hayloft 2 (and even a bit before that) there's been a change to their music that I'm not a big fan of. I feel like they've gone the Weezer route, the lyrics themselves used to portray how quirky, charming, and different they were but in their current songs they just spell that sentiment out for you instead of letting you infer it from the lyrics. ESPECIALLY with a new song thats basically just "look at how abnormal and out of the box we are", what made O My Heart so great was the same sentiment but it wasn't spelled out explicitly, the entirety of Eureka does the same exact thing as Normalize but way more effectively.

This isn't to say that the song is bad! Musically it's great but the lyrics on their newer songs and albums leave something to be desired that their past songs accomplished. The bridge or hook or whatever you want to call it is so grating on me, a word shouldn't lose its meaning because it gets repeated so many times in one song. Musically the song is great but it's also overproduced, I can hardly hear what they're even singing in the verses because of the mixing of audio and all the effects put over their voices. The music is good as I keep saying but it also sounds like 3 different songs smashed together and sometimes it works but other times it's like "what are you guys even doing here?" It goes from alt pop rock to horror soundtrack, I like the horror soundtrack vibes, I wished they leaned into that more.

And the part at 2:28 when Jasmin screams "Die!" sounds so awkward, it picks up pace so suddenly like it's going from a 25 all the way up to 100. I wouldn't mind that if it wasn't such a sharp jump from one part of the song to the other, it just doesn't really work. (Don't even get me started on the fact that they used the word "unalive" in this song. Tell me you're writing for a tiktok audience without telling me you are) It just feels like they went from writing songs for themselves, or people their age, to writing songs for teenagers going through puberty. They used to sound so real and relatable but it doesn't feel natural anymore. It feels to me like they're trying to capture the resurgence of success O My Heart had in 2020 with their new albums. We will never have another OMH because it already exists and they made it! I really liked the use of violins and horns in OMH because you don't hear that in many rock songs, I just wish their use of it in this song didn't sound like they were trying to make OMH 2 (like they did with a certain song off of OMH.....)

It feels to me like MM is trying to capture the past and live it differently this time rather than moving on with the future. One of their older albums that reminds me of OMH a lot is The Sticks and that still sounds different! A lot darker and more mysterious, I wish they'd reinvent themselves rather than reinvent the past. I'm still a fan of them and I always will be but I'll be a fan of them the way Weezer fans still like Weezer: I'll listen to stuff past Pinkerton but the first two albums are the best. Which album of MM's is their Pinkerton? That's debatable but most tracks off Dance and Cry are still a hit for me, Inside and beyond has me cringing a bit

If you disagree then please feel free to have a convo with me about it! I'd love to talk about MM in depth with someone else! I don't mean to say these things in a needlessly pessimistic way, when MCR came back from their hiatus they managed to make a song that sounded like their old songs while feeling fresh, creative, and new. I know MM could do that too, I'm not opposed to bands changing up their sound from album to album either, The Sticks, Eureka, and Touch Up are some of my favorite albums by them and they all sound so different from each other, the newer songs and albums just sound like most of the alt pop stuff playing on the radio. I don't want them to make a radio hit, I just want them to make songs I like again

Who knows, maybe the new album will come out and I'll change my mind but I have a feeling this will be like the release of Inside for me: all the good songs will be put out as singles

#mother mother #mini rant about one of my favorite bands starting to lose me. such a shame #during the VIP acoustic show before my concert they said this new album was going to be centered around the theme of death #that got me excited. hopefully really. thinking they were gonna go back to their alt rock roots but this single has made me lose hope lmao #i hope to GOD this isnt gonna be a concept album about 'the death if the self while trying to be normal and fit in'#The Sticks was described as a concept album with all the themes of escaping society to get away from the noise but that was an accident #i dont hate concept albums and i dont hate the sentiment of this single but the way theyre going about it just feels so ingenuine #PLEASE if yoi dont agree with me then have a conbersation about it and let me know how you feel!#if youre a teenager that got into them in the last 2 years DNI unless youre gonna say something other than 'idk i like the modern sound!'

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aliypop · 6 months

Text

That's Alright For Such a Night

(Rewrite Chapter 5)

Word Count: 2,764

Writers Note: So far I'm enjoying rewriting this, and Now I'm adding and Rewriting my fanfic series Anyway you do into it to really solidify the timeline.

Warning: mostly fluff / Historic Language and Values

Pairing: POC OC x Elvis

Plot: During the Louisiana Hayride two breakout stars meet in a rush only to learn they've dealt their cards in the hands of fate.

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8

Memphis Tennessee, 1956

There was something in the 61-degree Tennesee carnival air. Perhaps it was funnel cake, cotton candy, the petting zoo nearby, or the slight chill in the air, Or maybe it was the feeling of a spring fling waiting to start.

"I think that may have been my best performance yet," Denise said, walking past the sights and sounds. "And with your growing fame that you've been achieving, you'll be saying the same thing too. Right, Cecelia...Cecelia..." Looking next to her, the young woman she was calling out for was already gone.

"Jesus Christ, this child..."

"Need some help finding her?" Rosa asked,

"No... I do not." Denise huffed,

"Don't be Cruel, to a Heart that's true." were the lyrics and melody coming from the stage right in front of the young woman. Cecelia heard the familiar voice sing. She had listened to the song millions of times. And she had practically worn every record he had out, Blue eyes looking into her brown eyes and through her brown skin. That was the moment in her 21 years on Earth when she could say she was in love with someone. It was just now tricky hiding it from her mother,

"Cecelia! There you are," Denise mumbled as her daughter focused on the young man with the gyrations going on, disgusted that her daughter of such class would even be looking at such a thing. Then again, if she knew the things her daughter had done while her mother was on tour, she'd be disgusted by such things.

"What is he doing with hips..."

"Mother, haven't you heard it's called dancing." Cecelia's glance never left his. And his glance never left hers. Cecelia was watching as he caught the flying undergarments thrown his way. She couldn't help but laugh, and it seemed neither could he. Denise had to admit he was cute, with his perfect smile and hair. But something told her she would have to do something if he even thought to talk to her daughter. Denise knew his type, the shy playboy, and she wouldn't have someone like him ruin her daughter's blazing trail.

"Up next in 16 minutes on this stage is Cecelia Valmos and The Garnets!"

The crowd of teenagers began to cheer even louder as the growing pain of nerves began to kick in for her.

"Oh shit..." she mumbled as her mother nudged her, running through to the dressing room backstage. She took a deep breath as she gathered herself together.

"You were almost late," Daphane smirked, brushing her hair as she straightened her dress.

"What were you doing out there," Rosa asked, watching as Scotty winked at her,

"Oh, I know!" Daphane raised her hand,

"Stairing at your boyfriend." They both teased as Cecelia rolled her eyes,

"Oh, whatever, you two."

"So whatcha gonna sing?"

"Midge, what the hell are you doing back here!" Cecelia clutched her heart.

"I'm your mother's assistant, who's been practically your everything while she's been away."

"Right, uh, probably something from our Jazz album?" Cecelia shrugged as she smiled,

"This is going to be career suicide, Cece..."

"Not if you follow my lead, Rosa." Cecelia handed her coat to Midge as a slight chill went down her spine from nerves.

"Your mothers gonna be pissed about that dress," Midge smirked,

"Midge, she ain't the boss of me!"

"She's our manager..." Daphane smirked

"Right."

Midge glanced at the girls as she then handed Cecelia her Gretsch guitar.

"Good luck, kids."

"Don't need it." they winked,

"What're you gals gonna play for us tonight?" The host said,

"Our new single." She scanned the crowd for the one person she hoped hadn't left yet.

"What would that be..." The host asked, scanning all three girls. It was the first time he'd ever seen such a sight. Three black girls dressed a bit risque in wiggle dresses.

"Oh God, she's embarrassing the label already." Denise sighed. Midge and Cherly, standing next to her, cheer them on.

"Hmm... Oh, uh, Is you or is you ain't my baby," she said. The band began to play the intro. It was a bit slow and agonizing like she was performing one of her mother's hit jazz songs, which she was. Well, a cover more so.

Cecelia could see the crowd in front of her losing interest, and it didn't help her anymore that she was a young woman of color in Tennessee, but it wouldn't stop her.

"Mind if we swing it, boys," she whispered to the band. "Guess they mind..." Rosa groaned,

"Follow my lead." Cecelia mouthed, to Rosa and Daphane,

Taking the pick to her guitar, she did a rift that almost stopped the crowd and got his attention. Playing the melody but making it anew, she took a deep breath and sang.

"Is you is or is you ain't my baby?" her singing was mesmerizing as her fingers picked and plucked the strings, blue eyes attached to her every word, "The way you're acting. Lately makes me doubt." she grinned, her mother wasn't pleased with the rock n roll blues infusion. But she was proud of her daughter not being so awkward, like when she was a kid.

"Youse is still my baby, baby. Seems my flame in your heart's done gone out..."

Elvis had wanted to be the strings under her fingertips. The melody of her music. It almost made him wonder, was this how it felt when she watched him. All those nights ago at The Hayride?

"Elvis, you coming?"

"Yeah... Yeah..." he nodded his friends off as his eyes were glued on her. Sure, he had her records and had been trying to decipher her rifts and guitar licks. Ever since they had been on tour performing. But, seeing her again back from her tour, he couldn't even fathom his feelings that grew stronger for the woman he so loved and missed,

Cecelia had noticed as he walked off into the distance alone. It was almost like he was lost, like something was missing.

"Don't wait up, Midge."

"Cece..."

"I'll be right back." She walked towards the carousel as adoring fans nearly flooded her view for more autographs. And pictures and praises, Cecelia had her eyes still set on the pair of nicely filled-out white pants leaning against the wall. Much like he was back in Florida,

"You okay?" startling the young man, he looked at her. "Yeah, just uh thinkin." his voice was deep with a southern drawl that could bring Jesus to his knees, and my, did she miss it.

"Well. You were great out there, Pres, but you're always great up there." a slight red tint on his cheeks,

"Nah, that goes to you," Elvis wrapped his arms around her waist. "You really know your way around the strings."

"I try to." She giggled, holding onto him, "But, Elvis, my dear?"

"Hmm..."

"Tell me more." they both laughed, butterflies in her stomach as he continued laughing harder,

"God, I missed your laugh," Elvis said as he gave her a quick kiss on the lips.

"Say you maybe wanna get out of here an-" Cecelia stepped closer towards him until they both heard.

"Elvis, my boy..."

"Cecelia, there you are."

"That's my manager." they both said in unison. The two a bit aggravated.

"Call me when you get home to Nashville?"

"If that's alright with you." she smiled back at him. The pair walked to their respected managers.

July, 1956 Beale Street

"Cece, you warmed up tonight." Her hair had been in a bun of pin curls and a pin curl swoop on her forehead. "Of course I am. After all, I'm releasing another album anyways," Cecelia responded to a few of the patrons.

"You might as well. Besides, didn't ya mama open a new recording studio down here."

"She did. Why, I do not know, but I can tell you, we've had some random person callin the place 5 times a day." she laughed.

"Sounds like a lunatic." BB King smirked as he looked at her,

"Hey, you know who your hair reminds me of..."

"Don't you say it..."

"My good friend Elvis. You tryin be like him or something?" he nudged her,

"No." she deadpanned. Maybe it was a bit of a lie, or maybe. She was tired of the press referring to her as "Well... if it ain't my competition, Lady Elvis." that charming smile was right on his face. And there she was again, feeling things she couldn't hide. No matter how many times they both had tried to,

"If it isn't Mr. Suit tails and singin' to hound dogs," she smirked,

"That's cold, don't you think, Cece," BB mumbled as Cecelia sighed. Elvis had a hurt expression on his face.

"And I thought we were friends, babydoll." He winked at her as she laughed,

"Oh sugarpie, don't cry." she teased as she stood up, walking towards the stage. Elvis wouldn't lie and say the joke didn't hurt, coming from her. Well, it wasn't half bad. Besides, she was cute, and he liked how they always seemed to banter. Watching her perform was like therapy to him. Her voice was his medicine, and her glance was his weakness. Catching his gaze, she looked away as a deep blush arose.

"You like her, don't you..."

"I-I well."

"Well, don't."

"And why not, " he glanced at the man beside him.

"I'm her boyfriend," he said, his pompadour bigger than Elvis's. He looked a bit defeated at the news, considering who he was to Cecelia,

"Just kidding, they call me Little Richard baby, and you got it bad." he winked as Elvis rolled his eyes,

"I wouldn't say I do."

"You're lookin at her the way the girls all look at you."

"An how do they look at me," Elvis asked,

"Like they wanna fu-"

"You two talkin about fans?"

"Cece, you were uh- uh amazing." Elvis stuttered. She realized he did that every time she talked to him. Or when he was flustered by her.

"Thanks, say can we talk," she asked. Both Richard and Elvis stood up,

"Alone..." she mumbled. Elvis had a smug look on his face, but on the inside, he was panicking. Did he do something wrong? or say something odd,

"Yeah, sure thing, mama."

"Yeah, sure thing, mama." That's the best you could think to say.

He thought to himself until he felt her hand touch his. It was like he was awakened from a sleeping spell. Cecelia pulled him through the club's crowd. As they were outside on the balcony, he couldn't help but take in her beautiful brown skin in the moonlight and how ethereal she looked. A slight cold chill ran past her arms, causing her to shiver. Elvis had noticed as he took his suit jacket and placed it over her shoulders,

"What did you want to talk to me about baby." He asked, putting his arms around her

"I'm sorry about that Hound Dog joke," she said, poking her head through the window. She saw a few spies of the press lurking around.

"Cece, it didn't hurt much," he shrugged, "Not like how being on that damn show did," he mumbled.

"El, I saw the whole thing, we all did," she sighed,

"The Colonel says it was a smart move."

"For who," Cecelia said, looking directly into his eyes,

"For me. I mean, they want clean fun, and I can I- can"

"Lie to yourself and be somebody you're not." she laughed,

"I mean. If the colo-"

"Elvis Aaron Presley, you serenaded a dog on live television in a tux. That's not the Elvis I know nor like." she stared into his soul, "The Elvis I like was the one I saw at the Hayride with the wiggly hips." she smiled, "So much that I miss those hips st-" She stopped talking as she heard footsteps.

"Hurry, they're over here..."

"El... how much do you trust me."

"As much as Captain Marvel Jr believes in finding the rock of eternity."

"That's a lot of trust," she smirked, taking his hand and climbing the ladder on the side of the building. She then tried to get off the ladder until she noticed her babydoll-heeled shoe was stuck. She tried to pull away to break free. But it wouldn't budge, and the press was getting closer. She then tugged one last time until she heard a

SNAP!

Oh, how Midge and her mother were going to kill her. Nearly tumbling over, she had landed into Elvis, who was carrying her like Lois Lane. She wouldn't lie and say she didn't enjoy it.

"Don't worry, darlin, I gotcha." he looked down as their eyes met again. It was just like a river flowing to the sea. His heart was nearly pounding at how close they were again. He could smell Cecelia's rose perfume while taking in every detail of her face. Elvis was madly in love with her. And he was glad to say she was his. Carrying her downtown in his arms, the two had gotten weird stares, but Elvis didn't care. After all, he was pretty well known in Beale Street, too. In the background, there was music, setting a romantic scene for the two lovers.

"Would you care to dance?" Cecelia asked, handing her hand out to him,

"On what dance floor," he asked, putting her down gently on the concrete. She took his hand. And it was like electricity shot down his body. They were in the middle of Beale Street. Traffic was slowing down, and it was only them,

" Anywhere's a dance floor if you're in the arms of the right one." taking her hand, he spun her close to his chest, the two pressed close together, her other shoe on the sidewalk.

"You're gonna dance barefoot in the street?"

"I don't see why not?" her eyes twinkled as he blushed hard.

"Lord have mercy... I can't with you, Cece," he mumbled as he laughed, her eyes looking up at him as she held onto his 6'0 frame. Spinning her into his arms, he heard the band play the melody of one of his songs. His right hand held hers, and his left on her back. The two swaying as her head was on his chest, he felt butterflies in his stomach flutter,

"Love me, tender. Love me sweet, never let me go." He sang as she swayed with him.

"You have made my life complete, and I love you. so." Cecelia felt every word he was singing to her. Cecelia knew how Elvis felt about her. After all, they had secretly been dating. But she couldn't deny that when he looked at her, it was like she was his universe,

"Love me tender, love me true, all my dreams fulfilled

For my darlin', I love you, and I always will." He dipped her, and their eyes locked onto one another. His eyes looked at her lips, then her eyes, then again at her lips. He wanted to cherish her and never let her go. He wanted to prove that she was all he ever wanted and ever needed and-

SPWOOSH!

It was as if buckets of water were splashed on them.

"No one said anything about a rainstorm."Elvis chuckled, picking her up as she laughed, her hair getting puffy from the water. Cecelia kissed Elvis as he kissed her back, sweetly and giggling,

"Oh, your mama's gonna be pissed."

"Honey, I know." Cecelia laughed harder. They both felt free and secure as if they were the only couple in the world, and it felt amazing to not have to worry or care about who saw them. That was until there were papers on every doorstep with them dancing in the street as the cover.

Elvis Presley Dances With Negro Singer Cecelia Valmos.

Cecelia had been summoned into her mother's office, while Elvis had the Colonel scolding him like a child.

"I can't believe you would do this after everything I've done for you!" Denise said, rubbing her temples,

"It's not that bad, Mother," Cecelia said, looking at the newspaper. She was definitely going to show Elvis that picture when she saw him. Besides, it was cute.

"My boy, this could be career suicide," Tom grumbled. Elvis had laughed. If that bit from him singing to a dog wasn't career suicide, then he'd say he was doing just fine.

"What are we gonna say." Denise look at Cecelia

"How am I gonna cover this up my boy." Tom asked Elvis

"Any way you do?"

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