#well I mean of course it exists but I mean as like a... like a place that is just somewhere you can go and-- no one cares Mint

[pomefioredove]

movie night

summary: vil devotes his time to showing you all the movies you haven't seen yet type of post: short fic characters: vil schoenheit additional info: romantic, FLUFF, reader is yuu, reader is gender neutral, kinda short author's note: I so often think about how yuu is completely unfamiliar with pop culture in twisted wonderland. vil would lose his mind if he found out you hadn't seen a single movie yet. in my heart I know he's a little nerdy about it

It's to be expected.

Of course. Of course you haven't had the time or the means.

It's perfectly reasonable that you'd put your studies and social obligations before leisure time. He understands.

But hearing you so openly admit that you haven't seen a single movie since arriving in this world, let alone one of his, doesn't sit well with Vil Schoenheit.

As it turns out, the mythological being who doesn't spend their free time absorbed in media is real, and they're standing right in front of him with an apologetic smile.

Oh, you poor, poor thing.

Even after the conversation dies and you part ways on good terms, Vil can't shake this odd, itchy feeling.

He wonders what it must be like- not understanding anyone's references, being left out of conversations, still so dependent on a culture that doesn't even exist here.

Is there something wrong with the people you spend your time with? Surely at least one of them would take the time to show you the classics. Just one.

No wonder everyone regards you as naive and innocent. No one's taken the time to explain anything about this world to you. And he's sure that extends far beyond cinema...

"What is this?"

It's the first thing you ask when he opens the door to you. Ever curious, ever clueless.

"Is that a rhetorical question?" he says, looking thoroughly unamused with your naivete.

A projector. A white screen. And a tray full of luxury skincare essentials that he'll be sure to test on you while you're distracted.

"Seriously," you say. "What's going on? Your message was really vague."

He sighs. "Oh, goodness, just come inside,"

Vil sits you down on the edge of his bed and hands you a plush headband to push your hair out of your eyes. He's more than pleased at your lack of protests thus far, and continues to take advantage of your willingness while smearing a sweet-smelling face mask over your cheeks.

"It needs to set before we start,"

"Start what?"

Vil smirks, standing and drifting across the room to a large wardrobe- no, a cabinet. He opens it- no, a shelf. Packed full of DVDs, arranged by date and in pristine condition.

"Wow, Vil. I never took you for a nerd,"

His gaze sharpens. "Hardly. And try not to talk so much right now, you'll crack the mask,"

He hums merrily, delicate fingers dancing over the smooth plastic cases before stopping at a soft white one. "This'll do,"

You watch as Vil returns to your side, carefully inspects your face, and then walks back around to tinker with the projector. You, of course, wait patiently, hands folded neatly in your lap as the screen ahead of you comes to life.

He turns off the lights and sits beside you as a white light illuminates your face, turning the hue of the mask a strange color.

"This is a classic," he whispers. "It's the first film I remember loving."

"It's that good?"

He chuckles. "No, it's quite outdated, and terribly unfunny. I'm just fond of it,"

If there's anything Vil Schoenheit is, it's honest. The entire black and white picture (which you surmise is quite old by Twisted Wonderland standards) is heaped with unfunny and confusing references, terribly paced, and acted like a primary school play.

And yet, there's a sense of warmth that permeates the external terribleness of it, that of which takes form in each of Vil's awkward laughs.

You revel in each of his little comments, his tidbits about the actors, his trivia about the production. He certainly seems to know what he's talking about, and his grace and confidence almost distract you from how nerdy he's really being.

Though, he's really not paying close attention to the screen. Vil seems far more interested in watching you, your reactions, almost as if searching for some kind of approval in the expressions you make. Do you laugh at this joke? Do you ask about this plot twist? Do you enjoy this song?

It's a completely alien experience, having him looking to you for validation, although you make sure to comment on how much you enjoyed yourself. Just to see him smile again.

"Same time next week, then," he says. "One movie won't be enough to catch you up on decades of pop culture, after all."

And thus, a tradition is born.

It's strange for him to think about how you've made yourself a home in his schedule. Wedged between expensive photo shoots and meetings with luxury brands, there's you. One single name in the same spot every week.

He couldn't admit it, but you've quickly become the highlight of his calendar.

"And this is just after they transitioned to movies with sound. It was a grand extinction event, not every studio nor star survived," he says, nodding to the screen ahead.

You hum in agreement. Your eyes are heavier than usual, and you're leaning against your elbow, absent-mindedly agreeing with everything he says.

A part of Vil wants to tease you for finding his taste in film boring, but he's not even sure if you have the mental capacity to listen to big words right now.

"Sleepy?"

"Grim kept waking me up last night..." you sigh. "I'm paying attention, I promise."

He watches you lie through your teeth, and then he watches as your words grow heavy and your body slumps over, awkwardly positioned against his.

Vil sighs- whatever is he going to do with you and that terrible sleep schedule of yours?- and readjusts so that your head is neatly set in the crook of his neck and your body is comfortably fit against his.

He finishes the movie, and lets the screen play the menu sequence over and over again. It's not really worth waking you up over, after all.

You're so cute when you're sleeping.

He hates himself for thinking that. You're perfectly inelegant- awkwardly breathing, practically drooling. And yet, he could stay here for the rest of the night and not wholly regret it in the morning. He just wishes you'd picked a better time to fall asleep on him.

Someday, he'd gladly return to bed to cuddle with you after he'd done his evening routine.

But... just this once, he'll let it go.

#had a rough day yesterday and I use this blog to decompress #twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #vil schoenheit x reader

[therainywriter]

Na-Baron (Suggestive)

Pairing: Feyd Rautha x Reader

So sweet and polite, you didn’t belong in a place like this.

Everyone around you was a scum, a lying piece of filth that would only use that innocence to their own benefit.

You knew this, you weren’t ignorant, but you couldn’t find it within yourself to treat them as they did you, as low as it made you feel.

Fear kept you quiet and respectful as well. All it took was one slip up, and no matter how little you’d be begging for your life.

You’re the newest addition to the Harkonnen’s house, a servant for the Na-Baron, Feyd Rautha Harkonnen. They never enlightened you on what happened to the previous chambermaid, and you weren’t sure you wanted to know.

Some things were best kept unheard of, especially in this treacherous place.

You kept your head down, sticking out like a sore thumb amongst the perfect women around you. They all were beautiful, delicate with a smooth complexion.

Much like their shared appearance, their lack of joy was all the same. At times they seemed almost lifeless, their souls worn down and stripped of any hope for a better life.

Sadness for them bit at your chest, this was no way to live.

Feyd watched you with an unreadable gaze, and though he paid you little regard, his eyes were always searching for yours.

He observed the way you shifted in your stance, fingers intertwining behind your back as you grew nervous. How easy it was to make you squirm.

You hadn’t thrown yourself at him like the others, offering your body as means to please him. They all were so eager, but you- you shied away from him.

In the halls you always pay notice to him with a small smile before bowing your head down, eyes glued to the floor as you passed by.

It drove him insane that such a meek little being could push him to madness.

His eyes hardened and grew dark, he wanted to ruin you, to corrupt you entirely, to own your very existence. Then, perhaps he would see you as he does every other woman in this house.

The day passed slowly and before you knew it you were rounding the corner to the Na-Barons chamber.

You moved quickly, knocking a couple of times before entering when you heard no reply. His room was always clean, pristine even.

It was his training quarters that constantly seemed to be splattered with blood and laden with needle sharp weapons.

You clean the knives first, washing the somewhat fresh crimson off with a worrisome mind.

You always wondered whose blood was spilled. The rational part of your brain knew they were discarded in a bag somewhere, but you could only hope that they didn’t face their end at his hands.

Feyd watched in the doorway as your hands halted their cleaning, your mind was elsewhere, eyes staring distantly as a familiar red swirled down the drain.

“Careful,” his velvety voice insincerely warned.

You jumped, finger sliding against the edge of the knife, skin splitting like butter on the blade. You gasped and pulled your hand back, a loud clink meeting your ears as it fell into the sink.

With a tsk, he moved toward you, holding back a smirk at your wide eyes. “I told you to be careful.”

You gulped, “Forgive me, Na-Baron- you startled me..”

He now stood in front of you, his hand reached for your wounded one. It took every fiber in your body to not fight against him.

Dark, sullen irises stared into your own as he let your blood flow from your finger to his. There was a malicious glint in his eye that made you want to cower away.

“Na-Baron, wha-“ your words halted in your throat as he stuck your finger in his mouth.

His tongue swirled against your lacerated flesh, sucking gently as he coaxed more irony syrup from the cut.

Your skin burned where his hand held your wrist, his long digits wrapping around it so effortlessly. He was enjoying this, his eyes shut as he hummed at the taste.

Your insides twisted at his unhygienic yet somehow intimate behavior. You liked it.

You nearly crumpled at the realization, burning shame coursing through you.

He only drew closer when you tried to pull away, his lean body pressing you against the sink. Your heartbeat was hammering in your ears, mind hazy at his sudden proximity.

His mouth released its hold on your index finger, black tongue darting out to lick his lips.

“There’s something about you,” he said, voice laced with slight irritation, eyes sharp and piercing.

He was enjoying this too much, playing around with you. He wanted to wrap his hands around your pretty neck and choke you until you told him why.

But he didn’t. No- he rather pressed closer, knee sliding between your thighs, lips skimming along your cheek.

Your breath hitched, body tense as you couldn’t possibly lean back anymore. Your brain was screaming for you to run, but you couldn’t.

His hand gripped your jaw, and lips moved to yours, ghosting over the warm skin. His eyes locked onto yours, “Tell me,” he purred against your mouth, “are you scared?”

“Yes,” you responded, voice hushed and small.

At this, he grinned. Black teeth shining at you as he chuckled, the sound low and disgustingly attractive.

He was pleased with your response, and before you could so much as blink, had the knife you’d been cleaning pressed at your abdomen.

“Good,” he said lowly, “always be afraid.”

Your brows slightly knit together in both conflict and confusion.

His lips pressed against yours, tongue forcing itself into your mouth as he kissed you. You moaned against his mouth, leaning up for more when he pulled away.

“Do as you were,” he ordered, twirling the blade between his fingers as he left the room.

Your lips were puffy and mind in disarray, what cruel game he was playing at?

#i couldn’t help myself #this man #working on requests! #na baron #feyd rautha #feyd x reader #feyd x you #feyd rautha x reader #feyd rautha x you #x reader #kind of dark #my writing #rainywriter #dune part two #dune part 2

[misc-obeyme]

What kind of punishments would Lucifer give to Mc if they did a mistake without meaning it? NSFW of course!!

NSFW MDNI

Hrm, well, I dunno. I think if MC messed up on accident, Lucifer would probably be pretty lenient about it. I don't think he'd do much of anything, to be honest with you. I've always been of the opinion that Lucifer is only strict because he wants his brothers to be safe. And that obviously extends to MC.

That being said, it seems to me that you may be implying a different sort of dynamic exists between MC and Lucifer - one that they've discussed previously. So that an accidental mistake turns out to be something that's used as an excuse to indulge in "punishments" wink wink lol.

And if we're talking about sexy times, well, I have opinions on that, too. But I'm gonna put it below this read more 'cause we're getting a bit explicit.

I personally have always headcanoned Lucifer as a switch. I think he can absolutely take on that dom role if his partner wants him to, but I think he also likes to sub for someone he fully trusts.

However, if he's the one doling out punishments, then he's obviously the dom in this situation.

And if that's the case, I think Lucifer is a pleasure dom.

This demon is so madly in love with MC, all he wants is to make them orgasm again and again. And again. And then again.

I think the kind of punishment you're likely to get with Lucifer is a lot of edging. He's gonna bring you right to the brink and then deny you that final release until he thinks you've had enough.

I kinda think he'd probably tie you up, too. I can just imagine Lucifer putting you into some elaborate shibari - dark red ropes or maybe black because he likes to see you in his colors.

But that's only if he has the time to be that thorough. If we're talking a quick and dirty punishment, you know he'll make use of his tie instead. Depending on his mood, he'll wrap it around your wrists or tie it over your eyes or in your mouth.

I think he'd go for the blindfold most often. He wants to hear you whine for release. And he likes to keep you guessing. You get to just sit there, not knowing fully what he's doing because you can't see and he's too quiet to let you hear him.

By the time he's done, you're screaming his name and he's never heard anything quite so pleasant as that.

Neither of you are silly enough to think that this is going to actually deter you from making a "mistake" again. In fact, it's more likely to encourage your bad behavior. But Lucifer doesn't mind. Not if it gives him an excuse to make you come over and over again.

#ooops I think I got a little carried away with this one #I don't know where the heck any of that come from #it just kinda poured outta me #I apologize for the horniness #please look away #obey me #obey me nightbringer #obey me lucifer #obey me smut #anon asks #misc answers #misc naughty times

[hotvintagepoll]

Propaganda

Madhubala (Mughal-e-Azam, Barsaat Ki Raat, Mr. & Mrs. '55)—The Venus of India; heart-throb of all who saw her; responsible for the sexual awakening of every single desi lesbian I know (including me!) And my god, she is breathtakingly beautiful. Look at the subtle grace with which she moves, and that smile - the kind of radiant smile that can make you laugh with sheer delight, or cry because of its hidden pain. Those wild curls! That Cupid's bow! The way she tilts back her head and smiles at you with mischief dancing in her eyes! She has a way of looking at the camera that makes you feel she's sharing a private joke just with you; it's something about that quizzical twist of the lips and eyebrows. As an actress, she is inimitable; she seems to effortlessly inhabit roles ranging from a heart-broken courtesan to a laughter-loving socialite. Fun fact : she's had quite the fan following in Greece! Stelios Kazantidis even wrote a song as a tribute to her.

Ingrid Bergman (Gaslight, Casablanca, Notorious)—Where do I even begin with Ingrid Bergman? I fell in love with her with her astounding performance in the 1956 version of Anastasia -- the best Anastasia movie in large part due to her wonderful and touching performance. She's got this amazing, fascinating intensity to her in whatever role she's in. She commits 100%, and she's got this light in whatever she's in that's stunning. She's utterly convincing no matter what she plays, from an amnesiac possible lost princess, from a nun, from a woman taking her revenge on the town that wronged her, to light romantic comedy. She's never missed in any role I've seen her in! Also she became quite the MILF.

This is round 5 of the tournament. All other polls in this bracket can be found here. Please reblog with further support of your beloved hot sexy vintage woman.

[additional propaganda submitted under the cut.]

Madhubala:

An icon of Bollywood, who was well known for her beauty and has continued to inspire performances and songs into the 21st century. She was at times described as "the number one beauty of the Indian screen" and "the biggest star in the world".

SHE IS EVERYTHING AHHH. JUST LOOK AT HER SMILE-

She's been nicknamed the Marilyn Monroe of India and was one of the highest paid actresses in the Hindi film industry (the term Bollywood did not exist yet) during the 1950s. Also an extremely talented dancer and singer

SHE'S JUST SO STUNNING, like seeing her eyes IMMEDIATELY CAPTIVATES YOU, THE DANCING, THE BEAUTY!!!!!!!!! She worked in Bollywood for over 20 years and passed away at a sad early age of 36, BUT THE IMPACT SHE HAD WAS UNMATCHED!!!!!

That sassy sideways glance she does always has me WEAK AT THE KNEES. And when she's making silly faces at the camera to mimic someone ahhhh my gay little heart <3

Ingrid Bergman:

God, she's fantastic. She's both beautiful and a compelling actor who's more than capable of putting the whole movie on her shoulders if necessary. It's worth noting that while her beauty is conventional, she was seen as refreshingly "natural" with more eyebrows and less makeup than many other leading ladies of the time. She's well known for her role in Casablanca, but in Notorious, Spellbound, (both available on archive.org ) and Gaslight (1944) she shows how immensely capable she is.

I mean...she's Ingrid Bergman. I feel like that should be enough, you know? She's physically beautiful (her eyes!) but watching her is like a transcendent experience. Her voice, her expressions... beautiful woman, beautiful actor.

I'm a gay man but even I understand her appeal. I'll watch any movie she shows up in. Gorgeous woman.

Just try and watch her movies without sighing wistfully, then get back to me!

Choosing 1-3 movies where Bergman was at her hottest was agony because, of course, she was always at her hottest. Not just because she was beautiful but because she was absolutely willing to go up against the bs women in Hollywood were constantly dealing with. When exiled from Hollywood for having an affair with Roberto Rossellini, not only did she refuse to apologize at any point, but she went on to say that Hollywood's films had grown stagnant and boring to her. Though she said she appreciated her time working there, she wanted to try new, different techniques (hence starring in Italian neorealist films, working on stage, and acting under directors like Ingmar Bergman). She was not afraid to chase after her artistic ideals and go outside the box regardless of what society had to say about it. From her first movie to her last she killed it. There's so much more to say about Bergman's career and life, but I've already written five million words so I'll stop at that.

ion words so I'll stop at that.

One of the most incredible actors I've ever seen on film. Her facial expressions are so intricate and poignant that I cannot look away. I'm either ace or straight, but damn she made me question that.

SEVEN TIME OSCAR NOMINEE QUEEN. Girl also PULLED, having affairs with famously hot men Gary Cooper and Gregory Peck IN ADDITION to her three marriages...sexy

She has a very natural beauty to her, and she's from Sweden!

She left Hollywood and only became more beautiful. You could drown in her eyes. She can look innocent AND like she's seen it all. She is effortlessly elegant. She's played Joan of Arc (automatically hot) AND was in the movie that coined gaslight as a term. And where would we be without that!

She was known for being a breath of fresh air on the movie scene at the time with her windswept hair, dreamy smile and soulful eyes. I have loved her in every movie I have seen her in - she was just magnetic!

Where do I even start. There's a neighborly quality to this beautiful, talented actress that makes her hotness one of a kind and her looks impossible to forget

With a career spanning five decades, Bergman is often regarded as one of the most influential screen figures in cinematic history. Known for her naturally luminous beauty, Bergman spoke five languages – Swedish, English, German, Italian and French – and acted in each.

She's hot, don't get me wrong, but I've always found her very approachable, like she could easily be a member of my friend group

A lot of the time hotness in a movie is just about words and framing. "You're the most beautiful person here" [vaseline lens] well I sure hope so because that's who you cast. But when, in Casablanca, they call Ingrid Bergman the most beautiful woman in the world... they were not fucking lying. And such a dynamite actor too!! I'd only seen Casablanca up until last year, and there she's confined to love interest. But in Gaslight she was maybe one of the most incredible actors I've ever seen!!!! Goddddd shes so fucking hot and cool.

#ingrid bergman #madhubala #hotvintagepoll #fuck that old woman #ladies 5

[keishawantskisses]

List of things I am excited to experience in my K-pop idol dr(s) !

∘₊ ✧───────────────────✧₊∘

💭 — CONCERTS AND CROWD WORK

I FORGOT TO ADD SOMETHING HERE☠️☠️

Doing crowd work with my fans while performing is SUCH A DREAM FOR ME OMG. That's like one my main reasons I'm excited to have a concert because I want to interact with my audience; exchanging glances, throwing stuff for one of them to have and of course performing at my best.

🍊 — COLLABS AND HANGOUTS

Okay okay, I know I have yapped in the past about being excited to meet BTS, but first, let me name a list of groups/idols I am so hyped to be in a 2-foot radius of because sometimes a girl cant help but shriek at the thought of them🙈:

NEWJEANS ||

I FUCKING LOVE THESE GIRLS SO MUCH NO ONE GETS IT. Just a little fun fact, MKB(my own gg) is considered to be like an older sister gg to NEWJEANS because they are both famous 5 member girl groups. Some people even say that NEWJEANS' aesthetic is like a younger sister to MKB's; even though MKB isn't all that "mature" it does give off an older sister feel in contrast to NEWJEANS' AND ITS SOOO CUTEEE😭😭

WONYOUNG — IVE ||

In my dr, Me and Wony are really good friends, and we have each others contacts. I've gone to battle for her in my tiktoks and tweets against antis (I am very much popular for this too since it's considered controversial to speak out in defence for another idol and she isn't the only idol I've fought for😭😭) cus she's literally the sweetest idol ever?? I actually love her to death.

CHAEYOUNG, NAYEON, SANA, MOMO — TWICE ||

In my opinion all of TWICE is so cute and I freaking love them all, but I am closest to these four. They're some of my closest girl friends because they were the first friends i made (other than my members lmao) and I love them all so much please I can't wait to meet them (especially since MKB and TWICE both exist under JYP so we're basically always hanging out)

BTS ||

No, because you guys. the dating, fighting and relationship rumours that are gonna be floating around me are gonna be CRAZYY cus of how many frequent interactions I have with the group/ the members individually and how much i talk about them because I am SO down bad for them PLEASE (but we can't let them and army know you guys shhh🤫) and I also just be having the LOUDEST MOUTH EVER🏃🏾‍♀️🏃🏾‍♀️

But aside from how badly I want each and every one of them, Me and MKB are super cool friends with BTS; usually, 1 or 2 of us will visit them for whatever reason needed and whatever occasion like watching them behind the scenes, sometimes, we will appear on their lives in person or on phone (cus we have each others contacts😝🤞🏾), we always wish them happy birthday (as they do back to us), and few times some of us will make special appearances on their game challenges on RUN BTS too.

Also, I'd say I'm closest to being with Jungkook, Jimin, Namjoon, and Taehyung- BUT I get along very well with Yoongi, Jin, and Hoeseok too. I just hangout with those 4 the most out of all of them. [EDIT// Actually I do hang out with Jin too what am I talking about]

STRAYKIDS AND ATEEZ ||

More hot men. Idk what to say more about this LMAO😭😭

💭 — LIVESTREAMS AND BIRTHDAYS

MKB is most infamous (other than our music of course) for our ridiculous lives. But my favourite kind of live is the birthday one. The moment of appreciation and love sent from fans and the celebration from my family members and staff is so precious and important to me. The thought into the gifts and the messages mean so much more to me than what anyone could imagine and it gives so much meaning to birthdays because they are so important to me.

🍊 — PRODUCING, FILMMAKING AND BTS

I have always been a big music nerd and my urge to produce music for a loving and interested fanbase makes me feel so warm. it's just what my silly little heart was made to do.

I have also been super interested in being involved with the work behind the scenes , not just being in the scenes of our music videos. I really want to have a say in what the concept of the video to match the music will look like, the outfit ideas, the hidden lore in the videos. It's just such a dream come true for me, and I'm even excited for whatever travelling needs to be done, too.

💭 — STUPID SPECULATIONS/RUMOURS ?

Being nosey and attention seeking is a deadly combo. Always gotta know something, always gotta be talked about somehow (and I usually prefer the fake dating allegations cus they're just so funny and sometimes cute depending on who I'm being shipped with lol)

🍊 — FOOD

I am THE BIGGEST foodie there is I swear. I have always craved and cried to eat real Korean (and East asian) food without thinking about my money or my skin as well as usual meals too and as much as I want (because I scripted my manager let's me eat anything I want since I don't gain weight (I scripted this for all idols tbh cus I just want to see wony eat SOMETHING😭🙏🏾))

💭 — V.I.P STUFF

When I say VIP stuff, I mainly mean 1st class vacations and trips. I freaking LOVE exploring and travelling.. ON LAND. When I shift though, this will be my first time flying on a plane and I'm kinda excited, kinda frightened. I have a slight fear of heights so I'm gonna have to brave through it and try not to throw up or something.

🍊 — FANMADE GIFTS (fanimations, fanfictions, fan art, real life gifts, fan edits, etc.)

I am so freaking hyped for this stuff you guys stop. One of my main love languages is gift giving and receiving, and I already get so hyped when I get a gift on a random day from a family memeber😭😭.

The fan edits and fanfiction are gonna be crazy tho omg the ships..😭😭😭 (I WILL be looking out for the ship fanfics best believe.)

💭 — GOOGLEBOX BUT ITS KPOP IDOLS

"STOP TALKING ABOUT GOOGLEBO-" STFU AND LISTEN HOE🤬

Okay, so before I explode for excitement, I had this idea to make take the Googlebox celebrities and make a K-pop idols edition, and it couldn't be more perfect. Of course, you might be worried about how little privacy and time to myself off camera I may have now that I've added this into my dr, but never worry!

I scripted MKB to get 2 weeks to a month long breaks depending on stuff like exhaustion, injuries, meeting families, or just having a well-deserved vacation. I also scripted that our fanbase is very respectful of our space and don't bombard us if we're spotted in public.

@4ellieluv @cocozydiaries @samara444 @theshifterbear @livingmydreamlife5555

#shiftblr #kpop shifting #desired reality #law of assumption #master manifestor #4d reality #shifting #drself #shifters #loa #loa blog #shifted #reality shift #reality shifting #shifttok #master shifter #loablr

[wolfscarr]

Helluva Broken Narrative and the most useless character..

Disclaimer: Not saying you can't enjoy this show folks. Enjoy it all you want, this is just a rant about the lack of a cohesive narrative!

I really was completely dead on posting, but I just can't get this out of my head.

I feel people should be acknowledging this far more than it has been, this is extremely important. This goes beyond just episode pacing, this goes beyond the characters....this is something that without it? There is no real show, which is....

Helluva Boss has a BROKEN NARRATIVE.

Some fans wanna claim it has this 'complex' writing and I'm sitting here going like "really? Where?"

It doesn't sorry and know why? Because Season 2 of this show, basically broke the narrative that Season 1 was building.

These past posts of mine, will show you why the narrative is broken.

Now can they continue on with the story they are telling? Yes of course they can, but it won't fix the fact that it's not coherent to Season 1, that it's not needed.

Wanna know who the most useless character in the show is now? If you guessed Stolas, you're correct! In the meaning of making Stolas this guy who did nothing wrong and who's sad....they took away his character purpose.

Stolas has ZERO purpose being within the show now, given how things have played out.

But you might say

"Well he's needed to give Blitz the Crystal and end the deal!"

Except....no, he wasn't. They could have just delivered the crystal to I.M.P. They have Blitz’ number, just call him, get a servant to send it etc.

Remembering my posts above, where you can have I.M.P. killing in Hell as a Season 1 thing?

Maybe they're just getting started with their company? So Blitz wants to supplement with killing in Hell by killing those up top so he goes to see about getting an Asmodean Crystal?

See let's backtrack here folks, the episode Oops it was mainly about Blitz and Fizz reconciling right? Which they do at the end of the episode. Now follow this, if we take into account the above, Blitz' dialogue could be.

Blitz: "Fizz look, I know what happened to you was horrible. I don't...expect you to forgive me, but I'm struggling to support myself, my daughter and my employees with my company. I....if you can just think on it, perhaps I could get one of those Asmodean Crystals?"

The scene ends and Fizz goes back to Ozzie, while along the way he's thinking about Blitz' words and how he was saved by him where in the end, Fizz agrees to send Blitz a Crystal because he's earned it from saving his very life.

Or here's another scenario, Blitz has a Crystal from the start(which he took from Verosika when they were dating), but as things get far more hectic up on Earth with more dangers. The Crystal ends up shattering after I.M.P. gets back to Hell after a job, thus Blitz goes to actually confront his past and reconcile with Fizz in order to try and get a new one.

See how easy it is now, to just remove Stolas entirely? They took away a character's purpose of being in the show....that to me, is completely disappointing. Characters, especially those that are suppose to be IMPORTANT, should have a purpose...without that? You may as well just delete them entirely.

Blitz could have had 2 whole Seasons with relating to the past and those that he hurt, that he TRULY hurt(Verosika, Fizz and Barbie) that would actually matter to him as a character. But instead, all these characters are instead shoved to the wayside, for a character who doesn't matter anymore and only actually matters because the writing is FORCING him to matter.

You can write the narrative in so many different ways with what Season 2 gives us, that completely destroys what Season 1 told us. Are we now expected to just....IGNORE AN ENTIRE SEASON?

They can do this whole "sad Stolas is sad and Blitz is hurt and Stolas is going to give him a crystal." Thing all the way to 'try' and fix things, but it'll fix nothing....because the deal between them was retroactively made completely pointless.

The show will continue obviously, but in the back of the minds....it will be a broken narrative and Season 1 is basically buried 6 feet under. As a writer, this really annoys me....because they had how long between Seasons to nail this down? How long have we all waited just in-between episodes? This shouldn't have happened.

Yes, is storytelling hard? Obviously, none of my stories are perfect....but at least the narrative is coherent from beginning to end.

Anyway...I just...had to get this out of my head, because it was really frustrating and I want it to be acknowledged more. The narrative is important folks, if it's broken...that's not a good thing.

I'm still watching this show....if only because I'm knee deep in it now and I still somewhat actually like the characters, but what I don't like...is this broken narrative that is still hanging around with a pointless character that doesn't matter to the show anymore.

Narratives, coherent narratives are important to a story, without it? You don't have characters and you don't have a story.

#helluva boss #helluva critique #helluva boss critical #helluva critical #helluva boss criticism #vivziepop critical #Narratives are the MOST IMPORTANT THING! #helluva boss season 2 #helluva boss season two #helluva boss blitz #anti stolas

[onboardsorasora]

Something something Lewis and Daniel have been on and off fuck buddies. They don't talk about feelings but it's clear to anyone with eyes that some exist.

Daniel is a little more considerate to Lewis and his moods than he is with other people. Lewis always seems Daniel out first when he has good news or updates. As far as everyone is concerned- they're dating.

Anyway Lewis has been feeling like maybe he should say something, maybe make things a little more serious. Because he thinks maybe it's time to stop lying to himself.

But Daniel feels something serious happening, felt the shift. Has been seeing Lewis staring at him with weight in his eyes. Been noticing that Lewis has been spending a lot of time talking to other people.

He doesn't know what meaning is in the depths of Lewis' chocolate stare but Daniel is sure it can't be anything good. Lewis for sure is about to end things- because why wouldn't he? What reason does he have to keep this up, keep their whatever this is going? All Daniel does is have sex with him, make sure he has the brand of oat milk he likes in his fridge and that Roscoe's extra bed and bowls are accessible when they stay over.

So when Lewis puts his cup down on the table one morning while Daniel was eating his morning cereal, he didn't bother to try and tell himself that it felt serious. Final.

"you know I was thinking that we've been doing this a long time and maybe--" Lewis starts and Daniel stands up to go to the sink. Cuts him off.

"yeah it's probably like run it's course I guess?" Daniel said into the deep metal. His bowl sat silently in the bottom.

"what?" Lewis asked, stunned. But Daniel didn't try to parse it. He hadn't expected his chest to feel so tight.

"yeah like, isn't that what you're going to say? I mean it's probably best we cut it. We probably wouldn't be a good fit or something. I think we'd be terrible together or whatever." His hands weren't shaking where they clutched the sink.

"is that what you want? For us to..break up?" Lewis asked slowly, staring at the tense line of Daniel's back. He'd been thinking about how happy he'd been recently and it was George who pointed out that Daniel might have been the source. They've been doing this dance for so long that it was easy to forget that they weren't together.

Lewis wanted to change that to the positive. But he hadn't anticipated that maybe Daniel didn't feel the same.

"isnt that what you want?" Daniel turned on the faucet- aggressively flicking the handle upwards. The rush of water pressure was harsh.

"why won't you look at me?" Lewis looked down at his cooling cup. Flinching at the loud ting of the metal spoon falling into the bowl.

"just-- say what you're saying." Daniel exhaled turning off the faucet and wiping his hands in the terry cloth towel hanging from the stove.

"well if you want to end things so badly then sure." Lewis couldn't believe he'd gotten everything so wrong. He frowned, sad and disappointed that everything turned this way.

"yeah. Ok." Daniel cleared his throat when his voice cracked. He didn't acknowledge the thickness in his throat or the burning in his eyes. He just nodded to the sink and turned to leave the room.

"that's it?" Lewis' voice stopped him and Daniel whirled to glare red rimmed honey eyes at him. "Daniel?"

"it's what you wanted right?" Daniel snapped.

"what I wanted?" Lewis' eyes widened.

"yes! You think I haven't noticed the staring and the extra time apart. The calls taken in other rooms. It's fine- id been wondering-" Daniel snapped his mouth shut.

"I haven't been with someone else if that's what you're suggesting!" Lewis stood from his chair.

"I never said that?!" Daniel scraped at his wet eyes with the sleeve of his hoodie. He was just trying to get out of this with some dignity in tact. "But you're done with me-"

"who said that?" Lewis looked taken aback.

"you did!" Lewis walked over to where he still stood stiffly and Daniel watched him warily.

"that's not what I was saying." Lewis whispered. He grabbed Daniel's hand to find it shaking. "I love you."

Daniel inhaled sharply.

"I love you and I was thinking that we should make this official."

Daniel's breath shuddered out of his chest. "Why didn't you lead with that?!" He chastised.

"I didn't think you'd immediately like divert to breaking up!" Lewis defended.

"fuck!" Daniel sagged and rested his face into Lewis' neck. "I love you too." He mumbled.

"next time I'll lead with that." Lewis promised, squeezing his arms around Daniel's broad shoulders.

"yes please."

#this went on longer than intended. kinda rambly too because i didnt really know whwre i was going with it #had a vibe and a line in my brain and didnt even use the line. #but i guess it worked out ok #dewis #lewis/daniel #my fic

[hobiebrownismygod]

Have an angsty snippet of my Hobie Brown x Reader fanfiction lol

This is what I headcanon his backstory is something like

TW: Blood, grief, death, very minor fluff, Boulevard of Broken Dreams by Green Day (not really a trigger but whatever), Hobie's lines are bolded btw

A/N I KNOW GREEN DAY DIDN'T EXIST IN HOBIE'S TIME BUT I LOVE THIS SONG SO LET ME HAVE MY FUN 😭

~2k words

___________________

"Aww Hobes, what are you doing?"

A 9 year-old Hobie Brown looked up at his big brother, his stubby little fingers still attached the chords of the older boy's new guitar. "I'm just looking!" he replied with a cheeky grin, holding the guitar back when his brother tried to grab it.

"Oi, give it back you prick!" The boy laughed, trying to snatch it again. Hobie danced away giggling, holding the guitar over his head. "Come and get-HEY!" The older boy tackled Hobie to the floor and pried the guitar out of his hands, holding it back out of his reach. 

"ABEEE!!" Hobie whined, his arms folded tightly over his chest. "Give it back!"

"You stole it first!" Abe giggled, 

"You're a jerk!"

"Who taught you that word?" Abe asked, wagging his finger at his little brother teasingly. "You're too little to be using mean words like that."

Hobie groaned, turning away from his brother and huffing. After a moment, the older boy sighed and crouched down behind his brother. "Ya want me to show you a couple chords?"

Hobie's face lit up. "Yea!"

Ten minutes later, he was all bundled up in his brother's arms while  he showed him the different  strings. "Alright this one's A." Abe put three fingers on the guitar and strummed it. Hobie nodded along, the side of his head on his brother's chest.

"And this one's A7. This one's A minor, this one's B minor, and this one's B7"

"I can't remember all those!" Hobie groaned.

"Alright, alright!" his brother said with a laugh. "How about I play you a song instead?"

"Okay." Hobie pulled out of his brothers arms to sit back against the old, broken down couch, a smile on his face as he waited for his brother to begin.

The older boy smiled at his little brother, pulling his hair back before resetting the guitar in his lap, fingers pressed against the chords.

He began playing. It wasn't the original song, more of a quiet, sadder, solo version. Hobie closed his eyes with a grin, taking a deep breath in. Even if it wasn't the real deal, he loved listening to his brother sing. His warm voice, the sound of the strums...it made him feel safe.

I walk a lonely road

The only one that I have ever known

Don't know where it goes

But it's home to me, and I walk alone~

His brother hummed to the music, tapping his foot to the ground to follow the beat. Hobie followed, moving his head side to side with every tap, his fingers fidgeting together as he smiled up at Abe.

I walk this empty street

On the Boulevard of Broken Dreams

Where the city sleeps

And I'm the only one, and I walk alone~

Abe was really all he had left. He used to have a lot of siblings, two sisters and one brother other than Abe. He was the youngest of the five and of course, the rowdiest. His parents had been pretty cool too, his dad worked at a radio station and his mom had been a stay-at-home mom.

I walk alone, I walk alone

I walk alone, I walk alone

His youngest sister had gone first. She was only a year older than Hobie, but she had been less than five pounds as a baby and always had problems with sickness and diseases. After the water had been contaminated by another one of Oscorp's toxic waste dumps...well she had been the first to go. Her and children from nearly every family in the neighborhood.

My shadow's the only one who walks beside me

My shallow heart's the only thing that's beating

Sometimes I wish someone out there will find me

'Til then, I walk alone~

Then went his mother. She was so grief-stricken by his sister's death that she went into depression. She didn't eat, she didn't sleep, and eventually the water got to her too. They were buried only a few months apart.

I'm walking down the line

That divides me somewhere in my mind

On the borderline

Of the edge, and where I walk alone

His middle brother, three years older than him, went into a rage about the water. He was young, but old enough to do something about it. He went to the station and when they didn't do anything, he made a fuss. He wrote letters to the city board, protested in front of stations and then one day, they took him to jail. He was beat to death two days later, just a few hours before his bail was accepted.

Read between the lines

What's fucked up, and everything's alright

Check my vital signs

To know I'm still alive, and I walk alone

Eventually, the water was fixed. It became, not the cleanest, but better. Babies stopped dying. People were surviving. 

Then the riots started.

People were angry. Everyone hated the police, the officers that patrolled the streets everyday yet did nothing to stop everyday crime. Fights would break out, shots would be fired, and eventually his sister, his oldest sister, got caught in the crossfire.

Someone had stolen her school bag. She asked the police officer nearby if he'd seen who'd taken it. She'd had her hands in her pockets.

He thought she had a gun.

He shot her.

And then there were three.

I walk alone, I walk alone

I walk alone, I walk alone

His father didn't let anything stop him. After his sister's death, he started using his job to make a difference. He spoke out about Osborne on the radio every day. He rallied people together, he told them not to take what was going on in the community.

And then Osborne himself came after him.

He took down his radio station, burnt it to the ground, and threw his father into jail. The poor old man couldn't stand it. He'd lost his wife, most of his kids...the stress was too much. Within months, he'd died too.

It was just Hobie and his brother left.

Him and Abe against the world.

My shadow's the only one who walks beside me

My shallow heart's the only thing that's beating

Sometimes I wish someone out there will find me

'Til then, I walk alone~

Abe did a lot to take care of him. He sold their old, rackety house for a tiny apartment. He worked odd jobs day and night, trying to provide for Hobie. Instead of taking the risk of sending him to school, Abe taught Hobie at home. Especially math and science, something both of the boys shared a love for.

They grew close. Hobie loved his older brother, more than anything in the world. He looked up to him.

He wanted to be like him.

So of course, when his brother started pasting up punk posters next to the couch, bringing home crazy-looking albums and sporting spiked jackets, Hobie couldn't help but want to follow in his footsteps. 

Even now, while he stared at his brother in such adoration, bundled up in blankets, half-asleep while Abe sang, he wanted to be like him. Tall, strong, always looking forward. A rock. A steady, strong, beautiful rock.

That's what he wanted to be.

I walk this empty street

On the Boulevard of Broken Dreams

Where the city sleeps

And I'm the only one, and I walk alone~

Abe finished, setting the guitar down with a sigh, gaze meeting his little brother's again. "How was that? I've improved, haven't I?"

Hobie practically jumped into his brother's arms to give him a hug. "Can you sing it again?" He asked tentatively, picking up the guitar.

"Aww, Hobes! I'm not doing that all again!" Abe said, shaking his head with a laugh. When he saw his brother's pleading expression though, he rolled his eyes. "Ugh. Fine. Ya little brat." He pushed Hobie off playfully before pulling up the guitar again and grinning a toothy grin.

_________________

10.5 years later

_________________

Hobie woke up with a gasp, sitting up straight. His face was wet, cheeks tearstained. What was that?

Abe...he'd completely forgotten about that memory. Hearing his favorite song for the first time. He held his chest tightly, taking deep, shaky breaths. Where was he?

Knocked out in an alleyway...he barely remembered what'd happened. The last thing he could remember was slamming into the wall, falling to the ground, and completely knocking out.

Except...something else had happened. It was only then when Hobie noticed his suit, which was newly black, with white lines. His jacket had disappeared, and the spikes that had used to be a part of it were attached to his suit instead. He pulled at his mask...but it wouldn't come off. It was stuck.

Shit.

He felt completely disoriented, that dream-no memory, had thrown him off. Of all the times he could've recalled that, it had to be now. Of all the times...

He missed his brother. When he reached his hand up to feel his mask, he felt it was wet. He'd been crying. But he'd also been knocked out.

What the hell?

It had to be the Venom. It was talking to him again...changing him. He couldn't let it take over again. He had to stay strong. Not just for himself, but for you.

He had to be strong.

Just like Abe had been.

_____________________

Full Fanfiction being written here:

#lol felt like crying today #atsv #across the spiderverse #hobie brown #spiderman atsv #spiderman #beyond the spiderverse #atsv hobie #across the spider verse #hobie my love #hobie #hobie x reader #hobie x y/n #hobie x you #hobie brown x reader #hobie brown x you #hobie brown x y/n #hobie brown x female reader #astv hobie #hobie my beloved #hobie brown headcanons #hobie spiderverse #spiderverse hobie #spider punk #angst #tw blood #tw death #tw violence

[cuubism]

hurt/comfort you say?

I'm a sucker for party or parties unknown trying to (re)capture Dream or otherwise damage/control him and Hob going absolutely feral to protect him... but what if Hob gets badly wounded protecting Dream and Dream has to take care of him....

I know it's not a new idea but..... I love it...

omg yes i love it. a classic

--

Hob hadn't thought you could die in dreams.

Okay, you could die, but you didn't actually, well, die. You just woke up in a cold sweat feeling all discombobulated until it faded to a distant bad feeling and then nothing.

Figures he'd only learn otherwise now.

(Really should have paid more attention when Dream kept telling him dreams are real, Hob.)

Fucking figures.

He gasps awake in his bed with a whole sword still stuck through his chest, and then immediately checks back out again. Happens when you've got a sword through your aorta. When he comes back to life, Dream is standing above him, holding the bloody sword flat on his palms. The blade, the murderous expression on his face, the hallway light haloing his hair makes him look like a holy executioner.

Hob's heart is still pumping blood all over the bedsheets. "Dream, the fucking--" he starts trying to say, then just checks out again.

When he wakes again, Dream is gone, and Hob feels speared through the heart in another way entirely. Take a sword through the chest saving a bloke's eternal existence and he just dips out? But no, that's not like him, not anymore--

Then he's gone again, and when he wakes, this time--

--Dream catches him.

"Wha--? Dream?" Everything feels muzzy, and he shakes his head to try to clear it. This... isn't his bedroom. He's lying propped up against Dream's chest, Dream's arms wrapped around him, one hand pressed to the hole in his chest-- to where there was a hole in his chest, it doesn't seem to be bleeding anymore. "Where are we?"

"Don't pay attention to it," Dream says, voice close to Hob's ear. This of course makes Hob want to pay attention to it, but whatever's around him, the sort of nebulous impression of lack of place and vaguely unsettling haze, hurts to look at. Dream tuts in disapproval when he tries to turn. "This is an in-between space. Not for your mind to perceive."

"Great. In between where, exactly?" Hob tries to push himself up, but a bolt of pain to the chest has him collapsing back into Dream's arms.

"Between sleep and waking," says Dream. "Do not move."

Hob's not moving again. His breath wheezes. He feels like there should be a sword stuck through his chest, and there isn't, but he keeps trying to breathe around it. No, wait, Dream took the sword out. "Did I die or not? I thought I died."

Now there's a crease of pain in Dream's voice. "Temporarily."

A shiver of unease runs through Hob. "Dream, you're... not supposed to be able to die in dreams, right? For real?" He's not sure what it means. If his deal with Death extends to whatever kind of soul-death they might be talking about that could happen in the heart of the Dreaming.

"Not in a way that carries through to the waking, but you so love to defy precedent," Dream says, teeth gritted, and Hob feels him shudder, and his hand on Hob's chest grows warmer, like he's... channeling power? "Admittedly, the spell they used to ensnare me had unforeseen effects on the Dreaming."

"Okay." Fuck, he's tired. Too worn out for this questioning. He leans his head against Dream's shoulder. Nice to touch him like this, even considering the circumstances.

"I am unmaking the dream," Dream says, "hence, this liminal space. You have already brought it with you to the waking and so it can no longer be easily reabsorbed into the Dreaming."

"Yeah, I noticed all the blood." He shudders, eyes falling shut. Still as tired as if his body is expelling all its blood somewhere down... wherever. "I saved you though, right? I killed that guy before they could finish the spell?"

"Yes." Dream strokes a hand through Hob's hair, a gentle touch. His voice is softer when he speaks again. "You saved me."

"Good." That's all that matters, in the end. Hob'll live. Always does.

He's... slipping, again, he can still sense Dream's hands on him, but it's distant. "Will I remember it, if you unmake the dream?" he asks. He wants to remember it. Saving Dream, and Dream's hands on him so gently. Even if it means also remembering the slide of the sword between his ribs.

Dream hesitates. "I--"

Hob wakes up.

Again.

In his bedroom this time. He comes to wakefulness groggily, spreads his hands on the sheets. They're dry, no blood--

He shakes himself. What is he saying, blood? Why would there be blood? Fuck his head hurts. And God he had a strange dream--

There's a sword lying across the foot of his bed.

A proper longsword, the metal gleaming unnaturally bright. Hob reaches for it, mesmerized, and as his hand closes around the hilt, a voice comes from his side.

"I thought you might like it for yourself."

Dream. He's perched beside Hob on the bed, looking strained and tired. Reflexively, Hob rubs at his chest with his free hand. Nothing there.

But when he meets Dream's eyes, he catches a feeling in them. A fragile awe. A hunger. He catches it and while the exact details won't come back, he feels the moment, the killing blow, the one that he'd struck and the one that had struck him. And Dream, holding him close after, trying to make it right.

He lets go of the sword -- it doesn't turn back into sand, surprisingly -- and takes Dream's hand instead. Dream watches him, utterly still, then says, "You saved me."

"I know." He knows, even if he can't remember the exact detail of it. Dream did... something to make it sort of not have happened, except it did happen. Sort of. "Course I did." It happened because of course it happened.

"Of course," echoes Dream. And then a tiny smile blooms on his face.

And, of course, Hob chases that smile until they're kissing.

He's not quite managed the boldness to kiss Dream before now. But the echo of Dream's hands in his hair and his palm pressed firm over his heart gives him courage. And it feels so right it's like it's already happened, only he knows it hasn't, he would remember that.

Well, maybe it's happened in his dreams.

Now, he kisses Dream, leaning in, and Dream cradles the back of his head, fingers digging into his hair. He kisses Dream.

And this time he doesn't wake up.

#this went a different way than the prompt i feel #dreamling #ask #anonymous #my writing

[delicrieux]

where the lilies grow [彼岸花が咲く場所]

summary. who could it be, this stranger, in your quaint dominion?

pairing. f!priestess!reader x geto suguru warnings for this chapter. longing word count. 2.2k author's note: i miss him imiss hi m imisshimimisshimimisshi- (smut in part 2)

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ masterlist | buy me coffee☕ | wtlg masterlist | next >

chapter 1/4, that with no face [顔のない者]

the autumn night is long only in name— we’ve done no more than gaze at each other and it’s already dawn.

IN THE BED OF mt. kita, shadowed by mt. aino, between the dense foliage of an old forest hiding bones and ancient caverns, a wind chime rings twice.

you lift your head, wooden broom in hand and blisters stinging. you feel it, like the balminess before spring rain. a visitor. for a moment, you expect to see them emerging where the cherry blossoms open by the steps, a thousand leading down to a quiet village misted from the damp morning.

the chimes sing.

“priestess,” a miko by your side, hand clutched to her chest, pale as snow against a her shirokakeshita. her gaze lingers on your profile, carefully sweeping from the pinch of your brow to the slight purse of your lips. she retrieves the broom, “okami mustn’t.”

“ah,” you yield under her smile, “thank you.”

“it’s no trouble. only happiness,” behind, the doors to the shrine part with a heavy creak; the air plunges in incense smoke and murmurs, “is okami troubled?”

“in idle thoughts,”

“oh,” she points a finger up, very pleased with herself, “i read that yesterday in the collection. but, there is no rain today. is okami truly alright?”

“ah, i didn’t mean a poem.”

“of course,” the disappointment is palpable; she bows before stepping back, “okami is much accomplished. and hardworking. please, return inside. it is not suitable for okami to labor such,” the miko flit about to their posts, reverent whispers of ojo-sama and okami against your ears, “the sun will soon reach its apex and it will be much too hot. okami mustn’t fall to summer sickness.”

the heat, it swelters and boils. the nights are frost with your fogging breath and the afternoons melt in kagu-tsuchi-no-kami’s fingers. like a pendulum swinging back and forth, the only bearable intervals exist in the morning and evening.

“thank you,” the gentle incline of your head has her embarrassed, and you retreat without further conversation.

your walk is practiced. your back is straight. a bead of sweat snakes from your temple to the crook of your neck. the heat, even in modest cotton, clings. the shade is lovely; changing colors; you find your basket tucked by the lemon trees, abandoned. sheers you collect next, the weight heavy. on the sharp jaw of the blade you see your reflection. the village elders once called you yamato nadeshiko. you think you lack the gentleness in her gaze.

down the thousand steps. the lanterns hung above are lit and extinguished like clockwork. when it’s dark, the steps are red, the tongue to amaterasu-ōmikami’s mouth called honden. an arduous trek, but no one complains – who would, when takamahagara is at one’s fingertips?

a deep ache pulses in your chest. you must visit mizuno’s grave.

through the innards of the village, the humble people and slanted rooftops reflecting the sun, the kind words and a bag of cherry seeds and stopping to pet ryome-san’s old cat. into the pines. the sound of water as you cross the arched bridge. it burbles through moss, streams winding through rocks and flowers. a river slowly winds her way. polishes the stone, digs into the earth, loves along the roots, and you think she hadn’t been last summer in a place where nothing changes.

the deeper into the woods, the denser it gets. you follow a well-worn path. the cracks in the branches bleed sunlight, almost tangible against your skin. further still, a red dot against a shrub, then two, and three, and four, and more, doused in the shade, the capital of flowers. spider lilies furl. you side-step not to touch them.

mizuno’s grave, a small cavity between the mountains, sits covered in lilies. there’s a wooden hokora, inside – a kokeshi doll that grows hair. you’ve never seen it happen yourself, and only noticed the change upon visit. there’re rumors, and prayers, and lingering, distrustful eyes cast to the pines upon mention of a name. a sore spot in the village body. a bruise, maybe, or a poorly patched wound.

you stop at the threshold, where trees disappear in the back and the cavern opens. a stranger, alert by your presence, stumbles back, and—

“wait!” you hold up a hand, as if the motion would freeze him. it does, “careful of them,” his gaze drops from you to the flowers by his foot. surprise flits to confusion and lastly to something you can’t name, “they will hurt you.”

“the lilies?” the way he speaks is odd, but not unpleasant. he regains his balance just as swiftly as he had lost it. 

and yet. your hand hovers by the shimenawa looped around your belt. you swallow, try to slow your racing pulse. he is not an intruder. not the lingering spirit you had so often heard tales of in the village, some whispering of it, others ignoring. only a stranger with an accent from some other world; you lower your arm.

the sincerity in his eyes catches you. the swirl and gleam from susanoo's storm. a traveler, maybe. they do appear from the mist and fade, come and go, but never here, never here.

he turns toward the hokora, to what he was doing before you found him. observes it from top to bottom, carefully examining it from all angles and finding its origins unremarkable. from the stand it watches over the grounds – the place where the trees and stone become one – and then you.

the flicker of light. the half-smile, something like fondness.

(later, you would wonder. wonder about the pale full moon at daybreak)

for now, he regards you for a long moment, and finally:

"how?"

"i fear you won't believe me. simply do not touch. they're turned away from you. it's not wise to disturb them,"

"like a wake."

"you are stood in a grave," you watch him from your corner of shade, wondering how long he will be, how he came here, where he is from, "wouldn't they be upset by this?"

he touches the bridge of his nose, thoughtful.

"alright."

"i'm not sure how you wandered all this way here," you add, a bit lighter.

his shoulders rise; the smallest shrug, a flash of humor in his gaze.

"dulling my eyes with the scenery. lost," it is as you expected.

"i don't recognize you," there are not many travelers. few are those who happen through your paths, "i have not seen you in the village. are you alone?"

"only a guest," he says amicably, and his cold features are mollified by a smile. it's a strange one, fitting for a strange man. his eyebrows raise, and his eyes close, and he seems hidden and uncovered all at once. the image leaves as easily as it comes, replaced with a soft nod, "my apologies for any trouble."

"of course," you offer your own, "please, no need for such formality. you've done nothing wrong. only be careful. these parts aren't safe."

"because of your flowers?" he doesn’t understand. perhaps he can’t, "what about you?"

"i'll be careful too," you say, holding up the sheers, "they cannot be touched, but they can be cut. i must take some for the evening rituals. after, i can guide you back. the inn has a spare bed if you wish to stay for a bit. neighboring villages are quite a long walk from here."

you watch his boots step toward you. from afar, he had appeared quite daunting – a tall, inked presence, so stark against the luminous backdrop. closer, you find him just as tall, and the sharp shadows sculpting his face soften into something tired. dark hair, dark clothes, dark, sunken eyes.

the summer heat is stifling.

"thank you,"

"not at all," you speak without thinking, because it is natural, as natural as breathing, "it is the least i could offer you."

he hesitates. then,

"maybe it's because you're a priestess. there's something holy in you, isn't there?"

the casual, uncaring ease of his words catch you. a sharpness. an air, maybe, of something older than himself. an endearing oddity. and at your curious gaze, he lets out a snicker, much younger and vulnerable.

"maybe not. sorry."

he retreats into thought, and you retreat to the side. set down your basket, kneel by the flowers not minding the stains of dirt and grass. bring your hands together, a wordless dip of your head. the sharp tip of the sheers point downward – the index between prayer and sacrifice.

you cut where ground touches stem. the flower falls into your waiting grasp harmless. red dots at the end, like it's crying. you place it in your basket. repeat the motion till it houses five. the stranger doesn't question, and when you leave, he follows.

through the woods, again.

"that's where i live," you point once back in the village, up the mountain where, though the trees, peaks the roof of the shrine, "our gates are never closed to those in need."

"holy land," he nods, amused, "thank you, again."

"i must return, but," you look to him, "i never learned your name."

he lingers there, and it strikes you how lonely he must be with no company. an affliction such as this should not move you, but it does – your heart, this gentle thing, feels through slumber, and beats faster when waking up.

his brow furrows as if deep in thought and you're reminded, like the snap of fingers, the odd sense of familiarity – something old and forgotten, a poem that syrups on the tip of your tongue and that you suddenly wish to question: what miseries alone increase in this forgotten garden?

it must be susanoo’s eyes, you think, so alive in their serene sadness, in a face not quite stern but too solemn. does he wring drops from his black ink-died sleeves?

"geto," he offers, "geto suguru. the name, that is."

geto suguru, an easy name to say. geto, short, efficient. suguru, subtle like rain. suguru. suguru, suguru, suguru.

(how can i be certain of you nightingale?)

you say it under your breath, to feel the shape and cadence. his eyes crinkle at the corners.

"you say it as if you've just remembered how."

"oh," you start. how childish of you. the faintness of his smile, an old story. a forgotten stanza. perhaps not a foreigner, no – a ghost, an onryō with the form of a young man, a haunt in his eyes of times gone by. perhaps someone even more beautiful. your heart warms, but you bow your head, perhaps to hide it, "i apologize. only the name is pleasant," when his smile is pleasant, "i will not forget it."

"ojo-sama!" the familiar voice catches the both of you by surprise, and you turn to find a red-faced shrine maiden rushing down the steps and in your direction, "you shouldn't linger! the heat is merciless! it is not good to stay too long outdoors," her fretful gaze travels from you to the visitor, who stares impassively, and settles back. she bows, "pardon my interruption."

"not at all. thank you for your consideration," you return her bow. it is almost as if she flushes harder from this simple motion, a nod from the great priestess in the highest order. or rather, the idea of what a priestess could be. and when you smile at the maiden, the lovely tingle and tremble in her chin, "i was only just showing geto-san to the inn."

"he can find it," she says.

"eh?"

"geto-san," she turns to him, hands clasped firmly, and the directions spill over so quickly you barely catch them yourself. there are more than enough trails leading to the same place, and none seem better or worse than the rest. still, the fact remains: the miko is displeased with a man near the village priestess. with renewed vigor, she snatches the basket from your hands, "ojo-sama, we mustn't dawdle. the evening ritual."

the irritation, however minute, does not escape him.

"i will not intrude. thank you again for the guidance," his eyes drift to yours, "ojo-sama," but he says it as though he's teasing you, or more so mocking her. you find the sound less grating on his lips.

"i will see you," an ember slowly growing. there are duties, and miko, and a summer sun scorching your nape. your words linger behind him like the incense smoke in the honden.

geto lifts a hand in parting. the girl beside you watches intently, waiting for his footsteps to grow distant, before grabbing your forearm and steering you along the road, "beware strangers," and the strength with which she walks has you nearly stumbling after, "they may look human, or be dressed in your cloth. an okuri inu in guise – don't be deceived. such trickery is dangerous. they're more sly and hungry than we are."

"he was very kind."

"we mustn't speak of such things," and in her eyes is the color of night. you have a sense: geto, too, has a shadow trailing after him, "he does not belong here."

you suppose not. and if you could believe that to be so, surely you could ask him to leave. the ghost, the onryō, or man. who, it matters little. it is enough. he is enough. suguru. your mind calls the name as the ocean calls its ships, but only his mouth holds the tide.

(chased by the winds that lift the eightfold waves across)

glossary all poems are taken from shinkokinshu: new collection of poems ancient and modern and kokinshu.

starting poem is by ono no komachi.

miko – shrine maiden/young priestess that works at a shinto shrine.

shirokakeshita – a white kimono base, you’d wear a hakama (pants/skirt, typically red) over it.

okami, ojo-sama – honorifics that would be attached to a name (same as x-sama, x-ojo-sama); okami refers to ‘goddess,’ and i think star struck miko would very much revel their important young lady. ojo-sama is very formal and usually used when addressing ladies of high status.

in idle thoughts – a poem by ono no komachi: the colour of this flower / has already faded away, / while in idle thoughts / my life goes by, / as i watch the long rains fall. tbh there are plenty of different translations of this poem (as with most japanese poetry) and i used this version since i stumbled upon it first, though i prefer this one: while i gaze out during the long rains, / the color of the cherry blossom fades, / much like my life, / which passes in vain.

kagu-tsuchi-no-kami – in classical japanese mythology, kagu-tsuchi is the kami (god/deity/spirit) of fire. no kami is the honorific indicating god/deity.

yamato nadeshiko – the archetype of the ideal japanese woman: beautiful, demure, gentle, domestically skilled. basically, she’s devoted to her family and her husband. very graceful and etc etc husband would cheat & she’d smile, dip her head, and say ‘ok. i made dinner please join me’.

amaterasu-ōmikami – amaterasu is the main/pretty much most important kami in shinto when it comes to worship. she is the goddess of the sun. her origins differ from source to source, but she is one of the ‘three precious children’ along with tsukuyomi (deity of the moon) and susanoo (deity of storms and sea).  omikami is a honorific denoting her status as the most great and important.

honden – the main hall where rituals take place in a shinto shrine, the most sacred. it houses the enshrined kami or deities to whom the shrine is dedicated.

takamahagara – ruled over by amaterasu. heaven basically.

spider lilies – generally mean the life and death cycle. in folklore, spider lilies are said to bloom along the banks of the sanzu river, which souls must cross on their journey to the afterlife.

hokora – wooden, clay, or stone shinto structure to house deities.

kokeshi – a clay japanese doll. this particular one is a reference to okiku, the doll that allegedly grows hair.

shimenawa – a sacred rope usually used to separate common space from holy space, marking a passage.

susanoo – amaterasu’s brother, god of storms and sea.

the pale full moon at daybreak – apoem by  kōin: my heart is like this— / dimly visible through fine / autumn mists that cling / and softly veil its contours— / the pale full moon at daybreak.

what miseries alone increase in this forgotten garden? – fragments of a poem by murasaki shikibu: as the years pass by / miseries alone increase / in this world unknown / to the first snow that piles up / in this forgotten garden.

wring drops from his black ink-died sleeves – a poem by fujiwara no shigeie: shall i tell others / i shed these sad tears thinking / of the cycle of / lives to come as i wring drops / from my black ink-dyed sleeves.

how can i be certain of you nightingale – a poem by hachijōin no takakura: with just a single / song how can i be certain / of you nightingale / hidden in the darkening / clouds as dusky shadows grow.

onryō – in folklore, onryo are malicious spirits

okuri inu – a yokai (entity) taking form of a wolf/dog. found in trails in the woods. they eat travellers.

chased by the winds that lift the eightfold waves across – a poem by minamoto no morotoki: chased by the winds that / lift the eightfold waves across / no salt-sea roads the ship’s / sails scarcely seen if only / i might catch a glimpse of you.

ty very much for reading ♥

#jjk fanfic #jjk smut #geto smut #jjk x reader #suguru geto smut #geto x reader #jjk geto #geto suguru x reader #geto suguru smut #geto x you #geto suguru #jjk suguru #suguru smut #suguru fluff #jjk angst #jjk x reader smut #jjk x you #jjk fanfiction #jjk fluff #suguru geto #geto suguru x you #geto #geto x y/n #getou suguru x reader #jjk imagines #jjk headcanons #jujutsu kaisen

[anthrotographer]

Review of 'The Time Machine' by H.G. Wells

The stories of H.G.Wells are rich and captivating worlds where he makes the unfathomable seem plausible. Wells uses concepts from the sciences readily in his writing as a base of reality. His protagonists tend to be inquisitive types that posit questions about the state of the world, often giving and testing their hypotheses along a surreal adventure. In The Time Machine our protagonist is simply and ambiguously labeled the Time Traveler. He has just transformed physics forever by creating a vehicle that can fold and traverse spacetime. Now he aims to demonstrate to his civilized friends his unbelievable achievement. In a way this demonstration is both a primer for them and a reassurance for himself that he is not in a fantasy.

“Can an instantaneous cube exist?”

This is a question the Time Traveler asks his dinner party audience in order to introduce the concept of Time as the 4th dimension. He claims you need “duration” for anything to truly exist. If a cube only exists for an imperceptible instant then did it really exist? It’s a question that provokes a bunch of thoughts. How long is an instant? If an instant is measurable then the cube did exist for a time, no? But without the evidence of creation or decay of the cube how can we be certain that it existed? This question is a seemingly untestable hypothetical. 

“But you are wrong to say that we cannot move about in Time. For instance, if I am recalling an incident very vividly I go back to the instant of its occurrence: I become absent-minded, as you say. I jump back for a moment. Of course we have no means of staying back for any length of Time, any more than a savage or an animal has of staying six feet above the ground. But a civilized man is better off than the savage in this respect. He can go up against gravitation in a balloon, and why should he not hope that ultimately he may be able to stop or accelerate his drift along the Time-Dimension, or even turn about and travel the other way?"

The idea of memories being a way to time travel brings into thought a swell of philosophy. Is time really just a figment of consciousness. A way for humans to make sense of the world, to traverse it, to learn from it. Many scientists seem to think so (1). A mind altering realization that I can’t truly grasp fully. But what if in a way thinking of time as just a construct of the mind might reveal an ultimate interpretation of this extraordinary tale that’s being told. I’m sure it’s read that way by some.  

Also, ‘if ever a creature could figure out time travel it’s humans’, believes the Time Traveler. His distinction between “civilized” man and a “savage” is problematic to say the least, but we’ll revisit that later because it has major bearing on how our protagonist sees the world. 

Distinguishing the 4th dimension of Time as another measure of existence (like the 3 Euclidian measures of height, length and width) is a way for the reader, and the dinner party audience, to conceptualize it as a plane that we can move along. Today scientists still haven’t cracked the code of time travel and some contest Time being the 4th dimension at all. (2)(3)

“The peculiar risk lay in the possibility of my finding some substance in the space which I, or the machine, occupied. So long as I travelled at a high velocity through time, this scarcely mattered: I was, so to speak, attenuated— was slipping like a vapour through the interstices of intervening substances! But to come to a stop involved the jamming of myself, molecule by molecule, into whatever lay in my way: meant bringing my atoms into such intimate contact with those of the obstacle that a profound chemical reaction-possibly a far-reaching explosion-would result, and blow myself and my apparatus out of all possible dimensions into the Unknown. This possibility had occurred to me again and again while I was making the machine”

Here the Time Traveler is describing his first, future time warp. Imagine flying through time and seeing your home, and world as you knew it, vanish. It reads as an incredibly disorienting experience. And this possibility of stopping at the wrong time and fusing with some obstruction in his position seems like a massive red flag. The logic that Wells presents shows how deep he went in imagining what time travel would be like. He intuitively analyzed many of the potential pitfalls that could occur. 

“What might appear when that hazy curtain was altogether withdrawn? What might not have happened to men? What if cruelty had grown into a common passion? What if in this interval the race had lost its manliness and had developed into something inhuman, unsympathetic, and overwhelmingly powerful? I might seem some old-world savage animal, only the more dreadful and disgusting for our common likeness, a foul creature to be incontinently slain.”

And here begins the traveler’s speculative musings on the futurity of man. I enjoy this aspect of the story in particular because of my own fascination with humanity’s future. Here he contemplates what we might turn into. Projecting forward, knowing that our species has a long history of warring against each other, it would be a safe bet that that would continue. It has for some time. But is it intrinsic to what our species is? One read of this quote is that the Traveler thinks cruelty is currently uncommon, and that we might devolve into being cruel creatures. Wells and the Time Traveler are from England. They grew up as citizens of a colonial power, used to a culture of cruel conquest. They are also used to thinking that to maintain their civilization some other peoples need to be on the sacrificial end. This dichotomic mentality deems all other lives expendable on their route to control, and maybe this line of thinking from the Time Traveler is an example of that mentality bleeding over into his predictions. When I read that last sentence of the quote I couldn’t help but think about the British colonist’s warped rationale for incontinently slaying the indigenous peoples of Australia or N. America. A bit of projection maybe?

Now he’ll actually stop at a time, far different than his own. A moment in time where mother nature’s diversity has been restored, while humanity is “upon the wane.”

“You see I had always anticipated that the people of the year Eight Hundred and Two Thousand odd would be incredibly in front of us in knowledge, art, everything. Then one of them suddenly asked me a question that showed him to be on the intellectual level of one of our five-year-old children- asked me, in fact, if I had come from the sun in a thunderstorm! … A flow of disappointment rushed across my mind. For a moment I felt that I had built the Time Machine in vain.”

The anticipation of a progressive revolution speaks to his belief in humanity’s continued evolution (whatever that means). It can be coming from a societally egoistic perspective or a self-ego perspective, being that the Time Traveler can see himself as a revolutionary inventor. Thinking that we will always be progressing doesn’t take into account the pitfalls that come from our expansion.

I think that Wells actually does a nice job in creating this character that doesn’t get lost in himself too much, and tends to stick to ideas about the world. He rolls with the punches of having some of his hypotheses turn out wrong. He is human of course and does have brief episodes of existential dread, but the plot is more important than character to this story. In a way it is more captivating that way. The protagonist can be an amorphous entity for the reader to plop themselves into to experience the imaginary world of time travel. 

Meeting the Eloi people in this moment shatters the glass of that societal ego. Our traveler was so looking forward to ascertaining the future’s wisdom. My interpretation is that The Time Machine is unwittingly prophetic in distinct ways. And that the future’s wisdom is revealed. More to come.

“For the first time I began to realise an odd consequence of the social effort in which we are at present engaged. And yet, come to think, it is a logical consequence enough. Strength is the outcome of need; security sets a premium on feebleness. The work of ameliorating the conditions of life-the true civilising process that makes life more and more secure-had gone steadily on to a climax. One triumph of a united humanity over Nature had followed another. Things that are now mere dreams had become projects deliberately put in hand and carried forward. And the harvest was what I saw!” “Social triumphs, too, had been effected. I saw mankind housed in splendid shelters, gloriously clothed, and as yet I had found them engaged in no toil. There were no signs of struggle, neither social nor economical struggle. The shop, the advertisement, traffic, all that commerce which constitutes the body of our world, was gone. It was natural on that golden evening that I should jump at the idea of a social paradise.”

He finds a world where the small population of Eloi are thought to be our last descendants. There is very little modern architecture left, and even less not fully claimed back by vegetation. Wondering why there are so few people left and why no one is doing any work, he speculates that it might be the logical order of a fully realized civilized world. A utopia of sorts where life is so easy that we have adjusted to a life of physical and mental sloth. The idea of the exponentially increasing civilizing process is a prevalent idea in present day thought. First it assumes that civility = collective good, when practically speaking only a subset of our population benefits from this modernity while the other part either toils to maintain it or gets excluded from it. Which brings up another variable when projecting forward, which is; what happens to class and human exploitation. The trend of modernity, industrialization, civilization or whatever you want to call it hasn’t necessarily been in effort to make life easier in those respects. Some technologies and medicines have of course had positive effects, but toil and hardship has stayed steadfast (4). You can even argue that there were many ‘primitive’ societies that lived more sustainably and with less toil than us (5). What I’m ultimately saying is that “ameliorating the conditions of life” can be helped of course by developments in our understanding about the world (such as in medical science and tech), but that one of those developments has to be an egalitarian and democratic society. At least if we want to shoot for utopia. 

Anyway, this timeline of history doesn’t entirely hold up as the Time Traveler searches for more clues.

“Very simple was my explanation, and plausible enough—as most wrong theories are!"

We cannot fully affirm the Time Traveler’s conjecture anymore because he has proven himself fallible. Yet he does make some convincing arguments for certain aspects of the changed world. These must be considered. I like that he’s not an all knowing narrator. He is trying his best to have educated hypotheses about this confusing new age.

“Even in our own time certain tendencies and desires, once necessary to survival, are a constant source of failure. Physical courage and the love of battle, for instance, are no great help—may even be hindrances—to a civilised man.”

Here I agree with him that our proclivity for battle is a negative. I feel linking “physical courage and the love of battle” either doesn’t translate well to today (and I’m not understanding) or they are distinctly separate tendencies. You can be courageous and put your body on the line for the greater good of humanity; hence it wouldn’t be a hinderance. That can be through battle or it can be through other means like protest. And once again the Time Traveler makes a distinction here between civilized man and humanity in general. His use of vocabulary like “savage” and “civilized” throughout the novella depict a man who sees himself as a distinct version of humanity or an entirely different being in general. One that’s superior to other peoples. This thinking is in line with 19th century European views and informs their creation of the defunct classification of race (6).

“The Time Machine was gone! At once, like a lash across the face, came the possibility of losing my own age, of being left helpless in this strange new world.”

After a day getting acquainted with his surroundings he gets this heart stopper. Coming to the conclusion that his invention must have been moved deliberately, he begins his search for the culprit. It couldn’t have been the “indolent” Eloi. He befriends one of them that he names Weena and she joins the traveler on his explorations.

“But, gradually, the truth dawned on me: that Man had not remained one species, but had differentiated into two distinct animals: that my graceful children of the Upper World were not the sole descendants of our generation, but that this bleached, ob-scene, nocturnal Thing, which had flashed before me, was also heir to all the ages.”

His first encounter with the Morlocks, the Eloi’s underground counterparts. 

“At first, proceeding from the problems of our own age, it seemed clear as daylight to me that the gradual widening of the present merely temporary and social difference between the Capitalist and the Labourer, was the key to the whole position.”

I had to stop and think about this one. Could it be possible for a class divide of peoples that stretches on for millennia to actually produce distinct creatures? I think 800,000 years is long enough for a species to evolve some changed features, especially moving down into a subterranean environment. Still, the people that lived there would have to have been forced to live there by the upper worlders. In a Capitalist vs laborer dynamic we know from history that uprisings would likely occur amongst the subjugated class which would make it difficult for the dynamic to stay so divided. Especially if the Eloi ancestors were dependent on the labor that the Morlock ancestors were producing, as the traveler hypothesizes. As long as humans have been organizing together there have been some who selfishly try to extract a bigger piece of the pie at the expense of others; at the expense of equality. I think Wells recognizes an existing class divide and extrapolates out from there to create a semi-logical science fiction future. From a capitalist’s perspective having a labor force trapped underground, unable to complain or taint the image of your exclusive eden, seems ideal. This imagery is extremely reminiscent of another classic short story called The Ones Who Walk Away from Omelas by Ursula K. Le Guin (7). Wells’ conceives of many possible variables that might’ve shaped his world, but leaves room for a reader to interpret. I want to take some of his prophetic descriptions and offer up my own reading after the following quote.

“I think I have said how much hotter than our own was the weather of this Golden Age. I cannot account for it. It may be that the sun was hotter, or the earth nearer the sun.”

Well Wells, maybe it was hotter because of human induced climate change. There are plenty of anecdotes in the story that describe humanity as the main arbiter of earth’s future changes. We all tend to acknowledge that as a matter of fact. The agricultural and industrial revolutions proved that we, more than any other species, shape the landscape of the world. But having the hindsight of 21st century knowledge really informs how I see The Time Machine. In the story humanity has decreased in numbers drastically, has devolved in its intellectual capacity, and our infrastructures have collapsed. Humans no longer are “progressing” in the modern sense where progress gets unnecessarily linked with expansion, extraction, and exploitation. Perhaps they are just living sustainably like any other creature. I know a small mention about the climate being hotter doesn’t explicitly point to climate change being the culprit for the Eloi’s reality. Still, could it be that the big existential crisis of our time was never remedied and this led to mass degradation of human society? Some of our smartest minds tend to think this is what’s coming for us (8). Maybe the forces of change ran half of humanity underground and that’s what birthed the Morlocks. Maybe traversing time in The Time Machine was in effort to glimpse into our unassured future.

“However great their intellectual degradation, the Eloi had kept too much of the human form not to claim my sympathy, and to make me perforce a sharer in their degradation and their Fear.”

A great example of the simplistic inclination we have to sympathize with who/what-ever looks most like us. It’s not to say it’s not practical because instinctually we gravitate towards our families who of course resemble us the most. But to overlook the science in favor of habit and familiarity has put humanity at odds with itself and the ecosystem. No matter the race, nationality, or however we choose to divide, the science says that we are all practically the same, with the same basic needs and desires. The same is true of us and the rest of the biosphere full of carbon based life forms. Disassociating ourselves from that collective has given us the illusion of invincibility. The repercussions will be severe.  

“I felt the intensest wretchedness for the horrible death of little Weena. It seemed an overwhelming calamity. Now, in this old familiar room, it is more like the sorrow of a dream than an actual loss.”

Finally after many dramatic happenings (that I can keep listing but I genuinely recommend you read) the Time Traveler has found his machine and is able to return to a more familiar time. Recounting his experience is almost like thinking on a dream. His friends will hardly believe the tale and maybe some part of himself doesn’t either. Remember, if time is truly a construction of a conscious mind then maybe the time machine was merely a device that allowed the traveler to explore their own minds imagination of a prospective future. An experience akin to a deep psychedelic trip or lucid dreaming. In that case he might have thought that progress was inevitable but subconsciously knew that civilization “must inevitably fall back upon and destroy its makers in the end.” Surely some will think he’s just mad. I choose to believe the traveler’s account and take the revelation as what’s possibly to come on our current path.

“No. I cannot expect you to believe it. Take it as a lie—or a prophecy. Say I dreamed it in the workshop. Consider I have been speculating upon the destinies of our race until I have hatched this fiction. Treat my assertion of its truth as a mere stroke of art to enhance its interest. And taking it as a story, what do you think of it?"

https://www.scientificamerican.com/article/is-time-an-illusion/ 

https://medium.com/@imshub13/why-time-is-not-the-fourth-dimension-c520161ea6d9 

https://phys.org/news/2012-04-physicists-abolish-fourth-dimension-space.html 

https://books.google.com/books?id=eHT43wfyw-sC&lpg=PA1&ots=edPFq4SIKR&dq=ancient%20hours%20working%20lives&lr&pg=PA13#v=onepage&q=ancient%20hours%20working%20lives&f=false 

https://groups.csail.mit.edu/mac/users/rauch/worktime/hours_workweek.html

https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC4326670/

https://www.ceremade.dauphine.fr/~ekeland/lectures/Mathematical%20Models%20in%20Social%20Sciences/ursula-k-le-guin-the-ones-who-walk-away-from-omelas.pdf

https://www.nationalgeographic.com/environment/article/climate-change-predictions-2070

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#book review #story review #h.g. wells #science fiction #science #time travel #time machine #the time machine #literary quotes #literary analysis #literary fiction

[c4rm3nn--hq]

if possible, maybe something like the reader telling q about past sh (self-harm) and him reassuring them and saying that he still loves them?

(first time requesting, did I do it right help?)

" 𝑻𝒆 𝒂𝒎𝒐 𝒎𝒖𝒄𝒉𝒐, 𝑨𝒎𝒐𝒓"

A/n:I'm going to do more of a headcannon style since you didn't specify

Use of they/them pronouns can be read as she/her or he/him

Warnings: Mentions of self harm, visible scars

You had been clean for quite some time now. All that was left were the scars, they weren't to obvious but you could see them if you had someone pay attention to you in the way Alex did.

He knew they were there. He didn't bother to ask about them. He knew if you wanted to open up and tell him, you would.

It was until one night you caught him staring at them, you quickly moved to cover them. Alex sighed and grabbed your hand back up and held it.

You looked up at him.

"You know..you made me a lot happier.."

He looked at you deeply. Taking in every part of you.

"Really?"

You let out a quick soft laugh, Maybe a giggle.

"Yeah, I used to..well obviously you can tell, but I used to want to just not exist anymore, I hated life I hated myself, I mean you can see it..." You said gesturing to the marks across you,"...who couldn't see them, they're hideous, I remember after seeing the scars thinking 'no one could love someone with scars like this'," Your voice choked at the end, threatening a sob.

Alex looked at you with his dark eyes confused on how the person in front of him could talk about not being lovable.

"Mi amor, anyone who wouldn't love you for that would be crazy. And they are not 'hideous'," he said rubbing his hands up and down your scars. "You are the most... gorgeous, amazing, perfect, caring, human being I've ever fucking met, so don't ever think otherwise about you self 'kay Mi Corazón?"

Tears filled up into your eyes and began to spill, yes of course Alex reminded you of those things everyday, morning, noon, and night but never in that way.

He picked you up and held you rubbing his hand up and down your back.

"Te amo mucho, amor, por favor nunca lo olvides ni dejes que nada te haga pensar diferente,"

And in that moment you had felt so peculiar that maybe the pain wouldn't be forevermore.

He held you all night, all week, all year, new years day to the next new years eve.

Forever and always.

Neither of you would let go.

✩✰✩✰✩✰✩✰✩✰✩✰✩✰✩✰✩✰✩✰✩✰✰✩✰✩

AHHH TYSM FOR READING

request are open

All rights reserved to c4rm3nn--hq© do not repost my work on other platforms

#quackity x reader #quackity x y/n #quackity angst #quackity fanfic #quackity x #quackity headcannons #quackity qsmp #qsmp quacki #quackity smut #quackity #alex quackity

[blujayonthewing]

#I've played with irl atheists and catholics and everything in between #but it rarely feels like faith is a real factor for anyone-- DM or player #outside of‚ again‚ divine spellcasters and Big Epic Plot Things #I mean there are a couple of 'RAAAHGH FUCK THE GODS >:C' edgy backstory types but #no one is just Normally Culturally Religious and it's WEIRD #like it's not even a matter of faith in dnd! the gods are LITERALLY OBJECTIVELY PROVABLY REAL #so what does that MEAN for the average person! how does it shape language? business? culture? #where are the people wearing holy symbols like amulets-- or the way modern christians very casually wear crosses? #blessings over meals? prayers before bed? burnt offerings? #and like I enjoy thinking about world and culture building but I know that's A Whole Thing but even just like... #it doesn't feel like anyone believes in gods at all except clerics and paladins #like they DO because they factually exist but in the same way I 'believe in' like. the president of france. #like yeah he exists and is important to some people but has no bearing on my life whatsoever #that's such a fucking weird approach to the DIVINE in a polytheist world where those gods are YOUR CULTURE'S GODS?? #I am bad at this myself but I'm not religious so it's harder for me to remember what Being Religious All The Time Casually is like lol #funny enough my character with the most intentionally religious background in this sense #is one of my ones who's ended up wrapped up in Big Plot God Things lmao #'aubree starts the campaign with a holy symbol of yondalla because of course she does why wouldn't she' #'oh okay well she's gonna get deeply and personally entangled with a bunch of death gods immediately' fdkjghkdf oh!! welp #you don't really pray to urogalan unless you're breaking ground for a new building or someone just died so it's STILL weird for her lol #but at least I had the framework there of 'oh yeah the gods exist and matter to me and my everyday life and culture' in general #about me #posts from twitter

[avoidmint]

Redemption didn't cure his bully tendencies.

Don't worry he didn't leave him to drown. There's witnesses.

#sonic forces #sonic au #gadget the wolf #infinite the jackal #sonic fanart #sonic the hedgehog #miles tails prower #Tails and Gadget are ocean fun time buddies and-- come to think of it does the ocean still exist in Forces? I dunno #screenshots show desolate city stuff mostly but yknow what it exists in this AU #well I mean of course it exists but I mean as like a... like a place that is just somewhere you can go and-- no one cares Mint #anyways have a bastard and his forcibly found family #Fun fact also no matter how I draw Sonic he always looks wrong and I have just accepted he will never look right #Shadow looks fine most of the time which just makes it a whole Frustrating Thing but yknow what it's Fine #minturts

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

wondering about Frank and insects but specifically about how it looks like the WH insects are highly stylized, so does Frank even know anything about real butteflies/insects?

& if he saw a real one, would he recognize it? are all of the species names he applies to the WH bugs real, or are they all made up like "Vibrant Eyespot" or "Fluttering Heartwing"?

and then there's the question - does the neighborhood have some of the more 'undesirable' bugs like moths, worms, roaches, spiders? does it have bugs outside of the generic groups of beetles and butterflies? like are there mantids? leafbugs? dragonflies? weevils? or are those too specific/complex/not-cute for the Playfellow Workshop to have included?

and then there's the question of what are the bugs? props? puppets? are they alive or do the neighbors just perceive them as such? Do they even exist outside of art, storybooks, and animated segments? I highly doubt they're alive like the neighbors are, since in the gif of Frank's head spinning, the framed butterflies' wings are moving. which is kind of horrifying if you think about it for more than a second.

just... the critters Frank loves so so so much being a complete fabrication... every piece of knowledge he prides himself on / delights in knowing being utterly Untrue... oof

#by not-cute i mean that most bugs dont sell well as marketable plushies #cute butterflies? round adorable beetles? those fit right in with a vibrant puppet-y world #so it'd make sense if those are the only two bug groups that exist #along with like. caterpillars of course. i can also see bees being a probable candidate for Existing In The World #AGHHHHH THIS HAS BEEN EATING AT ME FOR DAYS NOW #been questioning how the neighbors' consciousness and awareness manifests as well #might make a different post on that since this one has a Topic and id like to Stay On It for once #well. its related. but that deserves its own Pondering #welcome home speculation #i dont know what else to tag this as! #absolutely unprompted #ALSO ALSO are there any animals outside of insects? #does the neighborhood have birdsong but no birds? if one listens real hard to it will they notice it looping? #do they have squirrels? critters in general? is that why wally doesnt know what a rat is? he'd have no reason to. #in his world they simply don't exist. #anyway but i wonder how frank would react to seeing a real butterfly (& insects in general) #the WH ones are gigantic in comparison and overly-colorful and friendly & cutesy #wouldnt it be painful if he was scared of them. if they look too alien. would it be the spongebob butterfly episode all over again #many many thoughts tonight.... #but also.... #what if he tried to frame a real one. expecting it to be Fine and Alive when he pins it bc they always have been #theyve always been perfectly happy fluttering in their frames #but a real one would fucking die. so. yikes #traumatic core memory unlocked! frank frankly has discovered Death

[paellegere]

"their relationship is romantic" "their relationship is familial" "their relationship is platonic" you're thinking too narrow. their relationship goes beyond labels. the family is inherently queer. their platonic love is romantic. the erotic is familial. each one is the other and the other is them

#.txt #i've gotten to the point of relationship anarchy where i no longer understand the obsession with labeling relationships #there's a post floating around like 'it doesn't matter if you view them as romantic or platonic the point is that they love each other' #and i get the message. however may i propose that distinctions such as that don't even have to matter. consider #bold claim probably. but whatever i didn't have the choice to think about love in a normative way and as a consequence i have thoughts #of course i am thinking about wincest but it applies everywhere. jopzier even #jopson views crozier as a surrogate parent but in an inherently queer way. does that mean he want to fuck his mom? probably not #but the fixation and need for redemption turns the traditionally familial relationship into something far more #do you understand #once you leave the normative behind labels become useless #do sam and dean love each other romantically or platonically or familially? consider: it doesn't matter. there are no words to describe it #their love is queer in the sense that it extends beyond normativity. society holds no sway over them. they are ungovernable #i find it ultimately unhelpful to discuss fiction in normative terms when the characters themselves exist outside of normative society #shows like supernatural and the terror are perfect examples. sam and dean were never normal and franklin crew left normal behind #the arctic doesn't care if you fuck your mom. the impala doesn't care if you kiss your brother #this isn't really about anything i just saw that post the other day and i was like. why doesn't this Hit for me. well this is why #however it IS helpful to discuss fiction set within normative society in relation to normativity. it's relevant! #most stories are not however set within the bounds of normativity. that's kinda the whole point of a lot of fiction #baby i explore relationship anarchy in ways that you couldn't even imagine #<-tldr #i have a tendency to write essays in the notes every time i post something. sorry about that. it feels safer here and i am skittish