#aim eulogy

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RIP, AIM: Remembering how we used to talk on the internet

A eulogy for AOL Instant Messenger, and how it changed the way we talk about games and everything else By Luke Winkie published December 15, 2017

Do you remember all the souls you've lost to the internet? Those incidental friendships, forged in IRC clients, Newgrounds forums, 40-man Ragnaros wipes, scattered across the globe when the web was young? They came into your life and played Fall Out Boy over Ventrilo. They came into your life and disappeared forever. Do you remember when snapping a selfie required a frustrating tangle of mechanical coercion, but it was worth it to show them your face? When real-life names were rarefied information shared exclusively through digital blood pacts? AIM shut down today, and the only thing I can think about is how all of those people still exist somewhere, perhaps exploring the same pit in their stomach that I am.

AIM belongs to all of us. As a pioneering force of internet communication, anyone born in the early '90s or late '80s has spent some time on the platform. As a 26-year old, I'm crucially aware that my appreciation for the prodigal instant messenger is colored by a nostalgia that has nothing to do with the service itself. It was simply the medium of choice to grouse about homework, The Decemberists, girls I liked, and the rest of my random bullshit. 

But I do believe that there's a special union between AIM and people who grew up playing games, or at least came of age on the internet with people who played games. The early millennium revolutions in online multiplayer pitted us together and asked us to collaborate, so of course we carried those early internet accords to their logical extremes—talking all night in lonely chat boxes about what's cool, what sucks, and how easy it is to relate. In 2017, the web feels less like something I approach for those connections, and more like an overwhelming ennui that I'm constantly trying to outrun. Boston's Kyle Seeley nailed that feeling perfectly with 2015's Emily is Away, and this year's sequel Emily is Away Too—both of which transport you back to the spongy leather office chairs of your parents' computer room.

"AIM was primarily for one-on-one conversations between teenagers. That's how I used AIM, to have a very intimate conversation with another person. Now we have texting and Facebook messenger, but you can use those wherever you are," he says. "You can use those at a concert or while driving. But when you were using AIM, you were sitting down at a computer to talk to people. You had their undivided attention." 

Emily is Away tributes AIM in the only way anyone can—spinning a yarn of disentranced high-school drama that eventually mounts into something deeply sad. The way Seeley presents an old Windows XP desktop, with the hilariously temperamental tastes of your idiot friends revealing themselves in their bios and away messages (until one day they stop logging on entirely) is immediately resonant. We've all had our Emilys. "When you have a conversation on the phone, you spend 10 minutes making small talk," says Seeley. "On AIM you talk to someone for hours. Like eight hours, 10 hours straight. You get all the small talk out of the way in the first hour, and then you're talking about these big teenager questions. Who am I? Who do I want to be? I think AIM was really good at that."

It was always difficult for me to articulate the intimacy I felt with my internet friends to my parents. There were the obvious, mechanical mistranslations; I begged my mother for early exits from countless family dinners that consistently managed to interfere with my guild's crucial Molten Core attempts. But beyond that, there was a certain shame in feeling loved and valued by people I only knew by username. A latent fear that those who did not understand might consider that affection to be false, or even sinister. That's different now, as social media has flattened out our offline/online dichotomy, but if you were on AIM, you probably remember how once upon a time those bonds felt illegal.

Years ago Nina Freeman, level designer at Fullbright and one of the foremost thinkers on love and technology, launched a flat-out covert campaign to get close with one of those friends. She spent months locked in the holy matrimony of Final Fantasy XI and nightly AIM treatises with a boy named Glenn from New York City. Eventually they met, but not before Freeman satisfied her aunt, (who she was staying with) with a fabricated narrative—Glenn was no longer a dude from the internet, now he was just an old family friend who happened to move east. "I was still in high school," says Freeman. "We made up that whole story."

That secrecy is immediately familiar to me. AIM was surreptitious, clandestine. A service that belonged to teenagers, sequestered from leering ears and concerned authority figures. As Freeman notes, a screen name was one of the few commodities a young person could fully own. A domain, an aesthetic, a communication channel you could control. It was rare to feel fully untethered from your parents, so you guarded that sliver of liberty with your life.

"I wouldn't hand out [my username] lightly," explains Freeman. "I'd only really do it with people I felt close enough with. It seems sort intimate. It was a 'thing' to add someone on AIM. The expectation would be that if we're adding each other, we're going to chat regularly.… It had a weight to it."

Cecilia D'Anastasio, senior reporter at Kotaku (and a friend of mine) went a step further. As an 11-year-old, she was already griefing in the multiplayer Flash games she shared with her friends over AIM. I don't think anything sums up the juvenile euphoria of instant messaging quite like using that power to cheat in stakes-free freeware.

"One of the Flash games I discovered was basically Pictionary, but online and with a chat room. One player would etch out an image in a Microsoft Paint-like interface while the chat would dutifully guess at what it could possibly be. It was very wholesome," says D'Anastasio. "That's why my friend June and I were passionate about cheating. We'd join a game on the same team. Over AIM, we'd tell each other what we were assigned to draw, instructing whoever was guessing to wait a solid ten seconds before revealing the answer. It was a riot. We always won."

Over the past decade or so AIM has slowly been replaced with services that de-emphasize traditional internet patois. Gchat and Twitter are all full of real names and faces instead of coded handles and custom-colored text, and logging in to most platforms scarcely takes more than a click on a Facebook icon. For the most part, this is a good thing. Anonymity is one of the scourges of online culture—a de facto institution that continues to cause a lot of people pain. Personally though, I can't help but feel like we've lost something along the way. There was a certain sublimity in typing from behind the guise of a username. It gave way to a feeling that your AIM conversations existed in some sort of permissive, alternative reality, the ideal spot to work up the nerve for swollen 3 am confessions. In 2017 there is no such thing as "IRL" anymore; your internet presence is permanently married to your day-to-day existence. Everyone on earth spends their waking hours waging wars and making peace with strangers they will never meet. It is overwhelming and insoluble, and there are moments where I wish I could get outside again.

I'm not the only person that feels this way, and there are some people working to restore the parts of the mid-aughts internet that worked. When I interviewed Jason Citron, CEO of Discord, earlier this year, he affirmed a deep appreciation for AIM, and believed that perhaps the online infrastructure might soon swing back in that direction. "When you zoom out and think about the internet and how communication is trending, there's definitely a trend to more live experiences," he said. "The internet has done so much to connect people asynchronously, so I think there's something more macro happening that Discord is taking part in. It's like we're bringing it back to how it used to be."

He's right. One of the things that's made Discord successful is how separated it feels from the rest of the internet. When you join an ultra-specific channel—for niche Hearthstone formats or fan-favorite Persona characters—it's like you're uncovering a league of obsessives that are ready to welcome you with open arms. The true solidarity of dorkiness. It's funny, but by holding back on cosmopolitan design choices (like Facebook integration or a required photo-reel), Cintron stumbled into a scheme that evokes the furtive splendor that made AIM special. This is something Nina Freeman found when she started up a Discord channel to support her growing Twitch following. "It quickly became a community, and now I have a bunch of newer online friends. I'm already cracking up at myself as I'm wondering what they look like, or what they do in real life," says Freeman. "It definitely has a similar appeal." 

If Discord doesn't quite meet your personal instant messaging standards, Citron tells me that, if enough people in the community request it, he'd consider implementing the low-res AIM chimes into the service. You know, door creak, door slam, those disruptive MIDI twinkles. "To this day, that sound still triggers my desire to hop online," he says.  

Kyle Seeley is doing something similar. Yesterday he released a piece of DLC for Emily is Away Too that reskins Steam Chat to look exactly like AIM circa 2006. He spared no expense; you can change your text color, drop in vintage, blocky emoticons, and create your own custom profile so you can tell the world that Warped Tour will never die. "It's a farewell to AIM," he says. As one gaming's foremost nostalgia artists, it'd be wrong if he didn't say goodbye.

Now the AIM generation is old enough to both intellectualize their wistfulness, and use the lessons they learned from the service to create for the today's teenagers. To facilitate affection and respect on the internet, to show them what it looks like. We were the first to taste love on the web, at a time when those feelings had no context or guidance, and I hope that AIM helped create a baseline for young people and the midnight communion with those across the screen. The liberation that comes with knowing that the internet friendships you cherish are just as valid and wonderful as you think they are—these stories matter, because they help light that path. Lord knows I needed it, and I'm sure you did too.

Luke Winkie

Contributing Writer

Luke Winkie is a freelance journalist and contributor to many publications, including PC Gamer, The New York Times, Gawker, Slate, and Mel Magazine. In between bouts of writing about Hearthstone, World of Warcraft and Twitch culture here on PC Gamer, Luke also publishes the newsletter On Posting. As a self-described "chronic poster," Luke has "spent hours deep-scrolling through surreptitious Likes tabs to uncover the root of intra-publication beef and broken down quote-tweet animosity like it’s Super Bowl tape." When he graduated from journalism school, he had no idea how bad it was going to get.

#rip aim #aim #aol instant messeging #old web #techcore #aim eulogy #webcore

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A Hairy Eulogy

Written with permission from @n6918

The next afternoon, Jaune was wandering around the Academy. He and Team RWBY had left the EverAfter the evening before and arrived just as the sun set.

When they were finally able to reach Shade, Jaune was amazed to see how packed it was. So many people from all the other kingdoms had come.

On one hand, many of the locals were struggling to be around those from Atlas, Vale, and Mistral - tensions between them and the Vecchians were rather high, especially after the war.

But on the other hand, he was glad so many people had gotten Ruby's message and taken it seriously; even Saphron and Terra came with Adrian.

He had gotten an earful from her since he hadn't told the full truth, but it warmed his heart to see his family again, and he promised to keep them out of harm's way.

As he wandered, he noticed the doors to one of the big rooms had been shut. He remembered seeing these ones open yesterday.

'Hello?' He wondered, 'What do we got over here?'

Jaune put his ear to the door, and heard what he could only describe as a wedding march.

'Can people get married at the academies?' He didn't know that until now.

Jaune pushed it open slightly, just enough to see inside. What he saw left him very perplexed.

It was dark inside, save for a spotlight aimed at a podium near the front of the room. Team RWBY were there, as well as Ren, Nora, Oscar, and Emerald. Weiss's sister, brother, and mother were with them too, and so was their butler.

Everyone faced away from the entrance, and so didn't see that Jaune had found them.

"Wha-" he wanted to ask.

Weiss stepped up to the podium, and everyone sat down.

"Dearly beloved." She began grandly, "My Friends. Family. And Ruby."

"Whu- HEY!" Ruby pouted.

Everyone laughed. Weiss hid a giggle behind her dainty hand.

"Oh, come on!" Ruby stamped the ground from her seat,

"Right, right, excuse me." Weiss recovered, "That was very mean of me, and I'm sorry, I won't do it again- moving on!"

"Not funny, Bro." Ruby pushed her lips out.

"We are gathered here this afternoon," Continued Weiss, "Ahem, in the sight of the Gods . . . And the enhanced hearing of our fun-loving-four-eared-friend, Blake-"

"PFFT- shit!" Blake covered her mouth and turned away.

Yang threw her head back to laugh and fell off the bench.

"Ooh, look at me, aren't I being funny?" Weiss sounded amused,

"Get on it with it already!" Nora hollered,

"Okay-okay! Okay." Weiss cleared her throat, "We are gathered here today, on this, most dreadful occasion. To mourn the absolute loss of our Dear friend, Jaune Arc's beard."

Jaune accidentally banged his head against the door.

"The fuck?" He stumbled in and carefully shut the door behind him.

Somehow, no one had noticed. Yang's mouth fell open and her eyebrows lowered as she got off the floor.

"Whu- dude." She took her seat and her eyelids lowered too, "Is this seriously what you dragged us all here for?"

"Yes." Weiss didn't even hesitate,

"Oh- Weiss, honestly." Winter looked disappointed, "I was meant to have a meeting with the Ace-Ops this afternoon, I cleared my schedule for you."

"I- I think our little Snowflake has something important to say about this." Klein interjected kindly, his eyes turned from brown to yellow, "Go on, my dear. What about losing this Jaune's beard has you so upset?"

"Thank you Klein." Weiss smiled at him, "as I was saying-"

"Uh, hold-up!" Interrupted Ruby, "Weiss, are you sure this is a good idea?"

"What do you mean?" Weiss raised an eyebrow,

"Well, like," Ruby tried to find the words, "Is this really something we need to cry about?"

"I still don't follow." Weiss shook her head,

"Dude, it's a frikken beard!" Yang found the words quite easily, "It's not like we need to have a ceremony for it!"

'. . . Thank you?' Jaune wasn't sure how to feel,

"Again, you seriously dragged us here to talk about that?" Yang put her hands on her hips,

"Well, how couldn't I?" Weiss threw her arms up, "I needed to talk to someone about this! Preferably a group of people. I mean, it's a completely, criminally rotten shame he doesn't have it anymore!"

"And that wolf tail too." Blake purred quietly, wiping her nose with a loud sniff,

"You see?" Weiss pointed to her teammate, "She understands!"

"Wait-a-moment, now I'm confused." Whitely raised his hand, "Were you friends with some one named Jaune, or were you friends with his beard?"

"Eughhh . . ." Winter shivered in her seat, "Whitley, please. Don't talk like that."

"Why not?" Whitely was genuinely puzzled,

"The picture it paints isn't one I'm interested in seeing." Winter didn't miss a beat,

"I beg your pardon?" Whitely still didn't understand, "I just want to know who we're holding this funeral for . . . And if I should feel sorry for, um, whomever we're talking about."

"Why is that important?" Winter blushed and wrinkled her nose,

"Well, I'd feel quite offended if someone mourned something so superficial about me." Whitely reasoned, "It'd be like if we held a ceremony for your hair before you dyed it white."

"You dye your hair?" Nora leaned over to see.

Winter glared at her little brother.

'No one was supposed to know.' She thought.

"I'd like to know whether we should do this for your father." Remarked Willow, "I think I prefer the idea of celebrating his mustache rather than the man himself."

The two considered.

"It is what he deserves at the moment." Whitely conceded,

"I like the sound of that as well, Mother." Winter nodded, then she turned back to the podium, "By the way, which one is Jaune again?"

Jaune's stared and gaped. He couldn't tell if Winter was being sarcastic or if she really didn't know, but regardless, he didn't like that at all.

'I'm so glad the first time I broke you a twenty was also the last time I ever broke you a twenty.' He thought grumpily, 'I worked with you for six months, and you don't even know my name? You literally ditched me in the Central Location like three days ago!'

Suddenly.

"BARK-BARK-WOOF-WOOF-LOOK-AT-HIM!" Nora did her best impression of an excited chihuahua, "HE'S SO HANDSOME AND COOL HERE!!

By now, Weiss had brought up a projected image of The Rusted Knight's true face. Jaune slapped his thigh, he was shocked but mostly confused.

'Who took that and when?!' He wanted to shout.

The picture Weiss used wasn't very flattering. It showed a very frantic Jaune, with his hand on Juniper's snout. His hair looked good, and it captured his beard nicely, but he had been a total mess there.

The look in his eyes did nothing to help.

That this was even happening made no sense.

Where was team SSSN when you needed time to bond with the bros over things we all understood?

"Thanks to Ruby," Weiss was still oblivious to Jaune being there, "the Visage has permanently been made immortal. And you have my eternal gratitude."

All eyes, except for Blake, turned to Ruby, who didn't look the least bit ashamed.

"My beastly bestie glowed up so good!" Ruby insisted, "Everyone deserves to know it! Look at him! LOOK AT HOW GOOD HE LOOKS!"

Blake hadn't taken her eyes off the picture; she didn't need a second telling. She was practically drooling, but interestingly, Yang wasn't very upset about that.

"Well said, I concur." Weiss nodded.

And the others murmured their agreement.

"What's he putting his hand on there?" Emerald tilted her head, "Is that a deer or like an elk, or something?"

"Oh, it's so cute." Oscar smiled,

"Look at those beautiful eyes!" Added Willow,

"That was Juniper." Explained Weiss, "The Rusted Knight's faithful jackalope."

"I WANNA RIDE THE BUNNY!" Nora shouted suddenly,

"Phrasing . . ." Ren sighed and clapped his forehead,

"As far as this creature is concerned," Put-in Winter, "head-pats and ear-scritchies are of the highest order."

"Wait, the who?" Whitely stuck his pinky in his ear and wiggled it out with a pop, "I can't have heard that right. Who's jacks-a-lot did you say-?"

"You heard me correctly, Whitely." Said Weiss, "Juniper is a jackalope, and she belonged to the Rusted Knight."

She smirked broadly.

"Whose hand is on her snout in the picture." She added.

"Wait, what?" Ren perked up,

"Our friend Jaune is, in fact," Weiss said proudly, "The Rusted Knight from the beloved children's story: The Girl Who Fell Through The World."

Everyone but Team RWBY reacted.

"No . . ." Emerald gaped, "You're lying."

"But-!" Winter looked like she might lose her mind, "But the Rusted Knight was an older man! I thought you said this Jaune was a friend of yours from Beacon?!"

"I KNEW IT! I KNEW IT!!" Nora was thrilled, her eyes sparkled like polished gemstones, "I KNEW I HAD A REASON FOR CALLING HIM FEARLESS LEADER!! AND EVERYBODY DOUBTED ME!"

"But how?" Ren was more impressed, "That story was written almost two hundred years ago."

"Wait, that story was real?" Weiss knew she had Oscar's and Ozpin's full attention now,

"Indeed," She said, "The Girl Who Fell Through The World is, as it turns out, a true story. But certain events were either written out or altered to tell a much better one for children."

The others all wanted to know more, but Weiss quickly hushed them.

"As I'm sure this picture clearly shows," She said grandly, "Jaune's beard truly was a beautiful thing. The edges were a bit crooked, and the corners were somewhat unkempt, but it was thick~ and full~."

Jaune furrowed his brow.

'Am I hearing this right?' He was sure he couldn't be.

"The strands of grey mixed in with his blonde hair," Weiss seemed lost in her own little world now, "like veins of silver lost amid a field of gold, forever twirled and twined like clouds in the early morning sky."

Still looking at the picture, the others appraised his look, like critics at an unveiling. Although, none of them could remember a time when the sky appeared gold.

"And lest I dare myself to neglect," Weiss added quickly, "the way it shaped his~ beautiful face~."

Again, the others collectively agreed.

'Wait a sec, my beautiful face?' Jaune couldn't believe it, '. . . This woman is on drugs.'

"To summarize for those of you who are lost in my explanation, because I know that's possible now." Weiss paused impressively, "Jaune's beard was a hot, sexy thing, and it deserved its own article and three-page-spread in a Reader's Wives magazine."

"Why do you know what those are?" Ren was smirking.

"By the Gods . . ." But Weiss hadn't noticed, "Just looking at it had me weak in the knees and positively dripping~! I'm so sure that if I'd taken my panties off and gagged Yang with them, I could've shut her up for once."

"Ew." Ruby grimaced.

"PFFFFFT!" Blake palmed her face and tried not to laugh,

"Dude, I dare you to try that." Yang didn't think it was funny, "I dare ya, I just dare ya!"

Whitely had clamped his hands over his ears.

"I DON'T NEED TO HEAR MY SISTER TALKING LIKE THIS!" He nearly shouted.

Winter and Willow started weeping. Though for very different reasons.

"I can't believe my sister would speak in such a manner!" She gasped and hiccupped, "It's- it's . . . It's undignified! She used to be so precious!!"

"My darling girl is growing up!" Willow dabbed her eyes with a handkerchief, "I'm so proud of you my dear!"

Klein just stared blankly and his eyes turned pink. He wasn't sure if he should laugh or cry. And when he decided to do anything, he promptly fainted.

Whitely caught him just in time, Ren and Oscar gave him a hand too, and they laid Klein down on a free bench.

"In closing," Weiss finished, putting the picture away, "I wish to say this. Fare thee well, oh glorious beard and tail! You shall be sorely missed-"

The spotlight went out, and darkness filled the room.

"Agh!" Shrieked Ruby, "I'm blind!"

Winter and Ren readied their weapons.

"Who's there?!" Demanded Weiss, "How dare you interrupt-"

"Okay, I've heard just about enough." Jaune's voice boomed from the back of the room.

The main lights turned back on.

Weiss saw Jaune and screamed for a second before calming down.

"Oh, hi Jaune!" She tried, desperate to save face, "I- um . . . How are you doing?"

"Well enough to know that I could have a three-page-spread in Dazzle." Jaune smirked.

The colour drained from Weiss's face, which Yang, Blake, and Ruby thought looked hilarious. They didn't think her skin could get any lighter.

Dazzle was a popular Health and fitness magazine, and it often showcased some of the best, most physically attractive people on Remnant.

Yang mentioned once that Weiss sometimes read them, but only when she needed . . . Inspiration.

"Oh." Weiss anxiously bit her lip, "Um, I see . . . Uhm . . . Wh- we- huhhh . . "

She took a deep breath and bit the bullet.

"How much of that . . ." She asked, "how much of that did you hear?"

Jaune was still smirking.

"I came in at around the 'Dearly beloved' bit." He answered.

Weiss's pupils dilated.

"Ah- . . . Ha . . ." Was all she could say.

Jaune's smirk became a smile.

"I'm not upset, just so you know." He told her.

"Ohhhh . . ." Weiss buried her face in her hands, "Gods, I've made such a fool of myself . . ."

"If nothing else, I just think it's funny." Jaune crossed his arms and cocked an eyebrow, "I didn't know I affected you like that."

"I thought you said you didn't think you had an affect at all!" Called Nora,

"I do now, apparently!" Jaune called back,

"Please stopppp." Weiss begged, raising her head, "Look, I'm sorry. I mean it, I am-!"

"Hey."

Jaune put his thumb on her chin, tilting her head up to look her in the eye. Weiss stopped at once.

"I forgive you." He said simply.

And for the third time since they'd met up again, Jaune have her a hug. Weiss's strength returned, and she threw her arms around him, squeezing tightly.

Everyone cooed as they watched.

"But you know," He reminded her, " I could always just grow my beard out again-"

Weiss jerked back in his arms.

"YES!" She didn't even hesitate and blushed when she realised what she'd done, "Uh- ahem! Please. Yes. Please. Please do."

Jaune wheezed and laughed.

“YOOOOOOOOOO-!!” Ruby, Yang, and Emerald laughed too, none of them could believe their ears.

"Okay, okay." Jaune recovered, silencing the crowd, "I'll grow my beard out again."

"EEEEEEEEEEE!" Weiss balled her hands into fists and jittered excitedly on the spot.

Blake was excited, too, and was bouncing in her seat with glee. Once again, Yang, surprisingly, didn't seem to mind. She just smiled.

"But if we want to do this right . . ." Now Jaune bit his lip, "I gotta ask you something."

He dropped down on one knee and took Weiss's hand in his.

Everyone gasped.

Was this happening?

"Weiss Seraphim Winona Schnee." Jaune proposed, "Will you do me the honor . . . of signing a prenup with me?"

The mood died at once. Strangely, Ren was the only one doing his very best not to laugh out loud.

"What?!" All the girls except for Weiss shouted,

"Wh-. Ah- eh- m, what." Weiss fumbled,

"There's always a catch." Winter sighed, shaking her head, "And Seraphim is my middle name!"

"Lousy blood-sucker." Muttered Willow,

"I'm surprised you know what that is." Realised Ruby.

For those who don't know, a prenup, or prenuptial is an agreement made between two people before marriage. It establishes either the husband's or wife's rights to property and support in the event of divorce or death.

Somehow, it rubbed the girls the wrong way, knowing Jaune would want one. Ruby, and Yang especially. They both knew there was no escaping death; they had lost their mother after all.

What they didn't like was the idea of planning for a separation.

Something about that felt . . . Underhanded.

"Listen, Momma raised a smart boy." Jaune liked to pretend he was, "If we really wanna do this, then I think we both deserve a little security. Don't you think?"

Now, Weiss was a practical woman, and she agreed that security was important. She pursed her lips together.

"Ahhhhugh fine," she sighed reluctantly, then thought carefully and clicked her tongue, "how about . . . Ten-thousand lien a month for you to stay by my side, that fair?"

"Well, I was thinking of- you whaaAATT??" Jaune stared at her in utter disbelief,

"What?" Weiss was surprised,

"You- you're kidding me, right?" Jaune recovered with a shake of his head, "ten-thousand?"

"What? What's wrong with that??" Weiss was very confused, "Is it not enough-"

"Weiss, are you trying to buy me or marry me?" He quickly stopped her,

"Ah-" Weiss paused,

"Ah-" Ren, Blake, and Yang paused,

"Ah-" Willow, Winter, and Whitley inhaled sharply through their teeth,

"Ooh . . ." Ruby winced, "Yeahhhh, you- you wouldn't have to pay him to do that . . ."

Weiss felt very ashamed of herself. She must have sounded a lot like her father just then. Throughout her entire speech, in fact.

Jaune's mouth morphed into a teasing smile and Weiss saw it.

"But-" She tried, "But you said-"

"I was joking," Jaune soothed her, "I don't really want a prenup. Are you THAT serious?"

By now, Weiss's face had turned incredibly pink. Any pinker, and she might pass out.

Yang leaned over to Blake.

"It's weird seeing him tease people like this." She whispered.

"Mm-hm." Blake agreed.

"Well . . ." Weiss tried again, "I . . . We've both done a lot of growing since we met at Beacon."

"Well, yeah . . ." Jaune nodded, sheepish.

"And . . . I can see now, with the benefit of foresight . . . And . . . hindsight, I suppose . . ." Weiss admitted, "that I'd be quite happy to share a future with you."

"Foresight and hindsight?" Jaune cocked an eyebrow again.

Weiss was about to speak again, but her thoughts were cut short, however, as a loud voice broke through the building tension.

"Oh, NOW you like him." Nora wasn't impressed.

Weiss jumped.

"Well?" Nora leaned in expectantly, pinching her fingers together and shaking her hand, "Speak-a da Basic! Do you like Jaune-Jaune for Jaune-Jaune, or because you know how sexy he's gonna be when he's your mom's age?"

"A-And- and what if I do?" She tried not to look embarrassed, "I'm grown up enough to admit when I'm wrong. Or- when I have been."

"Ah- excuse me," Willow raised her hand, "I'm not nearly that old."

No one argued that.

Nora put her hands on her hips and shook her head.

"Listen, Weissy, if you didn't like his goofball-hero era, then you don't deserve him as a full-blown DILF." She proclaimed, as if it were ancient wisdom, "I don't care if you don't think you're marrying him for the beard or not, ya gots ta earn the rights to it."

"Nora . . ." Jaune couldn't be angry,

"Look, I'mma be honest," Nora said, turning to him, "You know I've always thought you were hot, but if the chips were down and we didn't have Ren, I'd've totally gone out with you."

Everyone stared at Ren, who nodded.

"It was mutual." He said plainly,

". . . Seriously?" Jaune was touched,

"With or without the beard." Nora smiled, "You're still our Jaune."

Behind everyone, Oscar was just confused.

"Wait-wait-wait, I still don't get it." He scratched his head, "What does the beard have to do with it?"

He came from a certain part of Mistral where beards were considered hard on the eyes, especially if they weren't trimmed properly.

Emerald gave him a pitying look and patted his cheek like an over-concerned aunt.

"Eh, I'll tell you about it when you're older, sweetie." She promised.

Oscar blushed. He wasn't sure how to feel about being called 'sweetie' by Emerald of all people.

Jaune, meanwhile, was blushing too and had looked away.

"Daaaaammnn." He fidgeted, "You got me twirlin' my hair and-"

Jaune reached up, and remembered.

"Oh yeah . . ." He wrinkled his forehead, "The haircut."

Everyone laughed again, even Jaune. Looking out at the sea of smiling faces, from friends both old and new, he felt happy for the first time in years.

It was great to be back to his old self again.

#rwby #jaune arc #ruby rose #yang xiao long #weiss schnee #blake belladonna #nora valkyrie #lie ren #oscar pine #willow schnee #winter schnee #whitely schnee #the rusted knight #big beard #weiss has daddy issues #not what i came here for #but it's what I'm getting #anyways #nora's arc #almost #martial arcs #kinda sorta

[eulogyofaninsect]

Eulogy of an Insect is a hand-drawn RPG where You Get A Fucking Gun.

Take it for a spin at the local shooting range. Careful where you aim, though...

Discord

Twitter/X

#eulogy of an insect #rpg maker #indie game #rpgmaker #yume nikki #middens #rpg #off game #lisa the joyful #lisa the painful #space funeral #traditional art #female protagonist #game dev #game development #off the game

[bendableclown]

Barely struggled, aimed and shot,

The world spun until it stopped,

Flipping through the pages of

A child’s eulogy

Hidden under mist and haze,

A missing case went on for days

Answered prayers beneath the trees,

He’s fallen to his knees

Don’t blame me

I have nothing to hide,

All the voices swarm me, asking how and why

Caught and shamed

and then explained

Formed a thought-process of “how could he?”

And sent him to his grave

Watch,

As he’s forgotten

For the egg thats fallen from the nest

has cracked and no one dares look back

Behold, the knowledge we lack

Fortified by age old condolences,

Burning up in flaming lights

God, give us stronger lies

Open-eyed, entangled in promises

Furthering the questions asked,

Hands cuffed behind his back,

Bared fangs behind a mask

Scribbled out in black or white,

Words still remain behind the lines

See them when you shine a light

And read what was erased

A dozen for a sacrifice,

Betray the son, and seize thy life

Blackened prayers seep through the trees

Collapsing to his knees

Don’t blame me,

I’d never sway a mind

If you asked, I’d rather spin a brand new lie

Who’s to blame?

This is no game

Just an accident that they proclaim

Was destined to be framed

Burned,

A curse is unlearned,

For the necessary sacrifice of youthful blood may remain

Fortified by age old condolences

Burning up in flaming lights

God, give me stronger lies

Open-eyed, entangled in promises,

Furthering the questions asked,

Hands cuffed behind his back,

Bared fangs behind a mask

Tell me did my prayers make him die?

Please, Tell me did my prayers make him die?

Poorly held together condolences

Burning up before your eyes,

Feed children deeper lies

Open-eyed, forgetting old promises,

Mouthing out the words he said,

Rifle aims at his head

I’m defined by nature’s uncertainty

Mother bird has fled the nest

although she’s done her best

Open-eyed, through dreams of the absentees,

Shattered my protective shell,

Satan awaits in hell

My aura served me well

#francis clara censordoll #moral orel #miss censordoll #moral orel au #song parody #ghost and pals #Aura #moral orel fanart

[mollysunder]

Can you imagine after Silco's death Jinx is left with a series of vinyl recordings she needs to play on her gramophone. On it is Silco's will, he was leading a dangerous life before he met her and was already fighting a chronic condition that was getting worse with time, and he left her everything. On those vinyls he tells her all his wordly possessions, sure his crew gets paid (probably a little extra too) she gets the lions share, meaning, his car, the Last Drop, what's left of the Shimmer profits, and the fabric for his clothes are all for Jinx to keep. Silco gives her a verbal list of all his associates, mundane to high profile, what they do for him, what they can do for her, and what their weaknesses are. Maybe she already recognizes most of those names, maybe some he's explicitly hidden from her because he thought they were too dangerous to take head-on and had to be manuerverd carefully (Noxians?).

Even better, he left a special set of memoirs about his time as a youth, and it's filled with digressions where he can't help but talk about Jinx's growth. These are the ones where he's just letting all his love and adoration for her come through. When he talks about the first time he drew a knife on his supervisor in the mines, he chuckles about how Jinx aim didn't shake when she made a hostage out of an overeager chembaron's son. He can't help but mention how sharp she looked in that new coat they both picked out for winter that year. Of course, Silco would still like to wrap up those recordings with a special lesson for her to take at the end. You know, stuff like, remember to nurture your grudges and keep an eye on accountants that are too calm.

The best part is always the end, when Silco ends his recordings telling Jinx he loves her. He can leave her as many gold mints and minks as he could but she'll keep his voice and his love with the best care she can give.

Also, I can't help but think he'd leave contingency recordings for her and Sevika for a number of situations. Hell, he might have even left a recording explicitly telling Sevika not to get mad at Jinx if she somehow kills him. I can see him telling Sevika to just let Jinx grieve however she needs to. I can see Silco having a recording where he already forgives Jinx for anything and everything she could to him and Zaun but hasn't done yet, just so she knows there's nothing she can do to make him hate her.

This is probably pie in the sky, but if the next season comes out in parts like last time, maybe Silco's will could be used to narrate the flashback scenes and interlace it into the present. Then the next parts can be narrated through personal eulogies Jinx and Sevika would have for Silco as they handle the ongoing conflict. Honestly, I'd just love to see more of Zaun's mourning and funeral practices, Piltover gets a whole funeral scene for unnamed characters.

#i can't imagine a man who loves ymto monologue like Silco wouldn't leave audio recordings of all his thoughts and philosophy #jinx doesn’t need to be haunted by Silco #he can take a physical presence with these recordings #jinx arcane #sevika arcane #silco and jinx #arcane #arcane season 2 speculation #honestly this feels more like headcanon than speculation at this point #but whatever

[fastlikealambo]

Dreaming in Blackness: Morpheus x Black Fem! Reader Part 1/2

Summary: Decades after her great grandmother frees the King of Dreams, Morpheus encounters her descendant, a woman who cannot dream.

Trigger Warnings: A little bit of violence in this part but that’s about it.

I’ve only seen the show, this will not be canon to the T so if I forget something, please don’t yell at me. I hope you like it :)

PART ONE: A DEBT DESCENDED.

1927.

The King of Dreams had waited a decade for the hubris of mankind to take hold, his silence a weapon in itself to The Magus when he could do nothing else.  Roderick’s questions went unanswered, the guards stayed awake, and the sleeping sickness ravaged the world because Roderick Burgess could not see beyond his own greed.

Jessamy’s blood still stained the glass of Morpheus’ cage and every slight glance at it filled him with a rage that was just like him: endless.

One human ripped him from his kingdom and his tools.

How fitting it was for another to change the course of his imprisonment.

That one such human, the daughter of a groundskeeper, laid eyes on The King of Dreams in his cell at the event of The Magus’ demise. 

Such a strange thing about humans, how the actions of one human causes a reaction in another.

The Magus’ refusal to pay her sick father for his work led her to retrieve his tools in Burgess’ greenhouse.

A door that should not have been opened led her to a sight she never should have witnessed.

A fight among men that distracted them from seeing her at the top of the stairs.

A dying man's last words led to this one human waiting for his funeral, a flower from the greenhouse in one hand, a hammer in the other.

In the two minute window between a shift change and the ending of a eulogy, the woman introduced herself to Morpheus by smashing the very thing that held him.

This time around, a human extended both hands to Morpheus, one to help him avoid the glass and other to offer him a flower.

A lily, the flower of apologies and rebirth.

A silly action it would seem from the outside looking in, offering a naked entity a flower.

But a silly act, is still an act, and one that might have saved her life.

“What have you done, you stupid girl!” One of the guards yanked her away from Morpheus, throwing her to the ground.

To be more specific, throwing her directly on top of the last thing tethering The King of Dreams to his cage.

The seal.

Yet again, the guards’ longing for violence distracted them from watching her brush away the seal in favor of aiming a gun at an ancient being.

She was the only person conscious in the room once Morpheus was finished.

Though he was free, he remained in front of her.

“Why?” His voice seemed to echo through the room and though she was afraid, she stood to her feet.

Why had she done it?

Wonder?

Revenge for her father?

To strike a deal?

Instead she placed the flower she dropped in his hand, closing her hand over it.

“Because it was not right.” 

Morpheus did not respond, opening a portal to the world he had left behind, lifting him into the air.

At the last moment before he disappeared, Morpheus turned his head in her direction.

“I owe you a debt.”

And just as quickly as her idea to free a stranger came to her, it was completed.

Yet in the decades it took for The King of Dreams to retrieve his sand, his ruby, and his helm, his debt remained unpaid.

As Death took her hand at the end of an unusually long life, Morpheus’ debt fell to her last living descendant.

You.

@misslivvie 

@bellajg21

@lucielbinon-binary 

@mxtantrights

@littlekidsteve

softimgyu

#the sandman fanfic #the sandman x reader #morpheus x reader #morpheus x black reader #dream x reader

[fitrahgolden]

WEARY MEMORY: 10 - BEHIND A BOX OF PICTURES

“So. Are you happy with it?”

Kate stood behind Anthony as he sat at his writing desk–his old writing desk, that was now his current writing desk again.

It was a confusing time for Anthony, when it came to naming his possessions.

He technically still had the townhouse, but it had recently been listed for sale, and he and the kids were almost completely moved out of it. The boys had seemingly had no hard feelings about leaving, but Kaveri went into a full mourning period over losing one of her bedrooms. The six year old demanded everyone at least say goodbye to it properly–with written eulogies–after throwing a fit when she learned that the beloved room couldn't be excluded from the rest of the house in the sale.

As eager as Anthony had been to move back into the house he and Kate bought together when they were engaged, he found it wasn't always easy to remember all the things in it that were his again. His half of the closet, his bathroom sink, his seat at the dining table, his side of the bed.

His writing desk.

He sat at it now, having just read through the approval copy of Enough to Go Around with his wife. Well, his ex-wife, who was also his fiancée. A confusing time, indeed. The book was aimed at teaching children that love doesn't divide as a family grows, but multiplies. The lesson was taught from the perspective of a rotund pet corgi named Smithsonian.

“It's what I would have named him if I'd gotten a say.”

“Well, thank God you didn't.”

Anthony ran his hand over the cover as he considered Kate's question. Written by A. E. Sharma-Bridgerton. Illustrated by K. K. Sharma-Bridgerton.

Just as it always should be, he thought with a smile.

“Well?” Kate implored, shaking his shoulders playfully.

Anthony grabbed one of her hands, kissed it, and held onto it. “I think it's perfect.”

“Good, because it is,” Kate agreed. “However…” She stepped around Anthony and turned so she was leaning back against the desk beside him. She raised an eyebrow.

“What?”

Kate sucked her teeth as she nodded toward the book. “Are we gonna talk about how this is most definitely a Newton book and definitely not a Maan book? Because you know that boy isn't going to think this counts as his book. He's not even on the cover.”

“And whose fault is that?”

“Yours. I did a version with him on the cover. You vetoed it in favour of this one.”

“Right.” Anthony sighed out a soft laugh and ran a hand over his face. “Yeah… That kind of just…happened.”

Kate gave him a supercilious look. He wanted to kiss it off of her.

“What? I'll write Maan another book.”

“It's not that.” She looked entirely too pleased with herself.

“What, then?”

“I knew you were going to love Newton.”

“Ah.” He thought back to the disparaging remarks he'd made about the dog when Kate first told Anthony about him.

“You claimed you had no interest in even cuddling him, and yet, here you are, having written a whole damn book about him.”

Anthony waved a dismissive hand that landed on Kate's thigh. “It's thirty-two pages,” he shrugged.

Kate leaned toward him until their faces were inches apart. “A whole. Damn. Book.”

Anthony angled his chair more towards her so he could pull her into his lap.

“Don't think Newton won't be there at the book signings with an ink pad for his paw. People won't even know you're there.”  Her sentences came out in fragments between kisses.

“What time is it?” Anthony murmured as he played with the hem of Kate's shirt.

“One of us needs to go get the kids.”

“That's not what I asked.”

“No, but it's the answer to the question you should have asked,” she laughed. “You or me? Technically, it's your turn.”

Anthony said nothing as he splayed his hand across Kate's back under her shirt. His other hand got lost in her hair, tugging it loose from its ponytail.

“Anthony.” It was a moan, spurring him on.

Finally, as his kisses descended towards her cleavage, he felt the familiar, pleasant sting of her grip on his hair, stilling him. Reluctantly, Anthony looked up at her, his roguish smile his last attempt to distract her.

“You or me?” she asked again, slowly.

“Mmm.” He wrapped his arms around her as he thought about it. “How about both? Let's go out, celebrate the book being basically done. Someplace we can take Newton.”

“Oh, my God. You love him!” Kate gushed, her eyes wide with glee, before kissing him hard on the cheek.

Anthony rolled his eyes. “Don't get carried away. It's only right he participates. He is on the cover, after all.”

—

That night, Kate crawled under the covers and snuggled up against Anthony. As usual, he was in bed before her. He'd always gotten in bed before her.

Not everything needs to change, she smiled as she thought to herself.

“What?” Anthony asked, poking her cheek.

“Nothing,” she sighed. “Thank you for always keeping the bed warm.”

“I was under the impression that was the only reason you let me move back in.”

She sucked her teeth and smacked his chest.

“Speaking of,” Anthony said, “when are we going to get around to actually planning this wedding?”

After breaking the news to their families, news that was met with an overwhelming amount of joy and support, Kate and Anthony's focus turned to merging their households back together. The wedding itself was placed on the back burner, much to the chagrin of Kaveri, who was eager to “throw flowers at” her parents.

But the move was more or less done, so it made sense to get down to the business of becoming one family unit again–legally.

Kate shrugged, “Wanna start now?”

“Well, how can I not, when met with such enthusiasm?”

Kate laughed. “I'm sorry. Obviously, I want to get married–”

“Again, so keen.”

“But… Would you be terribly offended if I said I have very few thoughts on the wedding itself?” She looked up at Anthony, wincing until she realised he was smiling.

“Christ, not at all. I don't want a big production.”

“Mmm, good. That isn't to say I don't want a wedding at all.”

“Of course not. Kav would be devastated. For weeks, she's been telling everyone at school that she's ‘giving’ us a wedding.”

“Then a wedding she shall give us.” Kate ran her hands lazily across Anthony’s chest as she thought. “Where?”

“Aubrey Hall?”

“Aubrey Hall, by the pond. Time of day?”

“Afternoon.”

“Yes. Ceremony at four, high tea at five.”

“High tea,” Anthony repeated. “Will there also be dancing?”

“We must. Again–”

“Kav,” they said in unison.

Kate squeezed Anthony tighter as their laughter faded. “Oh, guest list?”

Anthony looked up to the ceiling. “Um… Less than thirty? Family and just a few friends. The kids can invite their best mates if they want.”

Kate hummed in agreement.

“Will you wear a pretty white dress?”

Kate kissed Anthony on the cheek. “I'll wear a pretty white dress.”

“This is easy. When are we doing this? Have we really not even picked a date?”

“We haven't. We're being awfully lazy about this.”

“I know what the problem is.”

“There's a problem?” Kate looked up at him, eyebrows raised.

Anthony nodded. “A big one.”

Kate sat up, unsure if he was joking or not. She looked at him for a few moments, and when he didn't elaborate, she nudged his shoulder. “You can't say there's a ‘big problem’ and then nothing else, you maniac.”

“My apologies,” Anthony chuckled. “It's my fault. There's something I need to do before we can move forward with any of these wedding plans in earnest.”

“Oh?”

“I never re-proposed to you.”

With that, Anthony slid out of bed.

“Anthony?” perplexed, Kate kept her eyes on him as he walked around to her side of the bed and kneeled.

Wordlessly, he pulled her to him by the back of her neck until their lips met in a thorough kiss. So absorbed in the kiss was Kate, that she didn't notice Anthony undoing the clasp of her necklace. She gasped softly as the chain slid off and onto the bed.

Anthony carefully gathered the gold links in his hand, pulled Kate's original engagement ring off of them, and set the rest of the jewellery on the nightstand.

“Kit, I am helpless to find the right words to describe the gratitude I feel to be in this position, to be chosen by you again.”

Kate blew out a big breath as she willed tears to stay put at the corners of her eyes.

“I'm proud of us, and I hope you are, too. It's a brave thing we're doing, admitting our mistakes, trusting each other to learn from them, and grow closer and stronger because of them. I promise to keep us headed in the right direction. I'll make sure we never get turned around again. Will you let me do that? Will you marry me, Kit?”

Words were eluding her, but she didn't want a second to go by without answering, so she nodded profusely. Anthony was putting the ring back where it belonged on her finger when she finally uttered the syllable.

“Yes.”

Kate pulled Anthony off his knees and back onto the bed. Then she climbed on top of him and promptly started removing all their pesky clothing.

It hadn't even occurred to her, the fact that neither one of them had actually proposed. It wasn't necessary, really. But, goodness, it had filled her with so much love, and hope, and what she could only describe as bliss. Suddenly, it was like she had never wanted Anthony more than she did at that moment. And she had him, like he had her, and they knew better now than to ever let go again.

—

After they settled into bed for the second time that night, Anthony intertwined their fingers on his chest. 

“Do you want a new ring?”

Kate looked at the simple solitaire diamond on her finger. Anthony felt no desire to replace it, but he would in a heartbeat if that's what she wanted. 

“No,” she said, with no trace of uncertainty. “No, I want the ring you gave me while we were hiding from your family in the old tree house in Kent.”

Anthony laughed, remembering his first proposal. It'd happened sixteen years ago, during a weekend visit to Aubrey Hall. “Ben and Colin were determined to sabotage my big speech. It was the only safe place.”

“I didn't complain then, and I'm not complaining now,” Kate whispered.

“Good,” he whispered back.

Minutes of silence passed, and Anthony thought Kate might have fallen asleep, until he heard her clear her throat.

“There's something I should say, as well.”

“Is that right?”

“Mm-hmm.” Kate turned in his arms to face him, a mischievous twinkle in her eyes.

“Go on, then.”

“I'm pregnant.”

—

#bridgerton #kanthony #anthony x kate #kate and anthony #kate x anthony #kate bridgerton #kate sharma #kate sheffield #anthony and kate #anthony bridgerton #the viscount who loved me #kanthony fanfic #kanthony fanfiction #kanthony edit #kanthonyedit #kathony #kathony edit #kathony fic #kathonyedit #kathony fanfic #kathony fanfiction #bridgerton au #bridgerton fanfiction #bridgerton fic #weary memory au #weary memory #divorce au #co parenting au

[morleybobsource]

In Limbo has the pace and tone of a sitcom, but it packs an emotional punch

(!!!SPOILERS AHEAD!!!)

The snappy banter between Charlie (Ryan Corr) and Nate (Bob Morley) in the opening scenes of this comedy-drama introduces much of what you need to know about their long-time friendship. But, as with many aspects of this cleverly calibrated series, it’s also deliberately deceptive.

The scenes establish a connection between the men, illustrating a friendship that dates back to their childhood. There’s an instinctive understanding between them despite their readily discernible differences. Charlie is uneasy and uncertain, rehearsing his delivery of a eulogy for a funeral. Nate breezes in offering advice on everything from Charlie’s outfit to the desirable tone and content of his speech, as well as his chances of picking up at a funeral. He’s quick-witted, confident and funny, as vibrant as his wardrobe of shirts, and he seems to be operating at an entirely different frequency from his best pal. Everything about Charlie suggests a heaviness, a man carrying a weighty burden, and we gradually come to see him as someone who’s closed in on himself and refuses to discuss the reasons why.

Created and co-written by Lucas Taylor (Harrow, Secrets & Lies), In Limbo indicates its area of interest early: it’s about men and mental health, and one of the key points that it aims to make is that problems, and an unwillingness to discuss them, can afflict all sorts of men.

It emerges that Charlie’s marriage has collapsed, his wife, Beth (Jane Harber), has left him and he’s determinedly dodging her concerned calls and visits. And that Nate has his own issues, in spite of his upbeat manner. In Limbo is clear in its view that appearances can’t be trusted and that cheery assurances along the lines of “All good, mate” can mask deep-seated difficulties.

Over its six episodes, the series, written with crisp wit by Taylor and Tamara Asmar, develops a range of stories alongside its portrait of the core characters. A lively community grows around Charlie and Nate as we’re introduced to their families, friends and workmates, and it becomes clear that the series’ title applies to a number of characters.

What also becomes clear is that, despite its sunny Brisbane setting and light and airy tone, In Limbo is interested in dealing with a range of darker issues: depression, addiction and domestic violence. As well, it explores the shock, regret, guilt and grief that can follow a sudden death. Yet, as with the opening sequence, this is deceptive, because while In Limbo has the pace and tone of a sitcom, it can also pack a potent emotional punch. It’s a serious study wrapped in bright and shiny packaging.

Overseeing the first two episodes and managing to nail a tone that’s tricky to achieve, set-up director Trent O’Donnell (No Activity, The Letdown, Hacks, Ghosts) again displays his precision timing and gift for comedy. While economically establishing the ensemble, he keeps things fast and funny but captures the glances and gestures that are revealing of character without requiring expository dialogue. Taking over from episode three, David Stubbs (Daffodils, Girl vs Boy) seamlessly maintains those qualities.

While the series’ central concern is men, it maintains that focus without reducing the female characters to props. They’re as well-written and cast as their male counterparts. Emma Harvie delivers a nuanced performance as Nate’s wife, Freya, and Shabana Azeez is a charismatic livewire as her younger sister. And Georgina Naidu is a hoot as their mother, who flies in from London in a perfumed cloud of self-absorption. The relationship between Nate’s parents (Lena Cruz and Russell Dykstra) is also beautifully drawn, presenting a couple who’ve come to a quiet understanding of each other. Even the youngest cast member, Kamillia Rihani as Nate and Freya’s daughter, is impressive.

As they do in the opening scenes, Corr (Holding the Man, Wakefield, Ladies in Black) and Morley (The 100, Love Me) shine throughout the series, their sensitive, potent performances providing a strong foundation for the community built around them.

They do the bantering bloke stuff beautifully, portraying pals who can happily argue about which character each of them represents from Top Gun – who’s Maverick and who’s Goose? – and debating the all-time best Christmas movie: Die Hard or Gremlins?

They also underline the series’ assertion that men need to talk more – to each other, to their partners, to family and friends, and possibly also to health professionals – about their doubts and fears and difficulties, and not just about their pop-culture preferences.

In Limbo premieres on ABC, Wednesday, May 24, 9pm and iview.

#bob morley #ryan corr #in limbo #in limbo series #bobmorleyedit #the 100 cast #articles #news #ours

[apoemaday]

Letter Beginning with Two Lines by Czesław Miłosz

by Matthew Olzmann

You whom I could not save, Listen to me.   Can we agree Kevlar backpacks shouldn’t be needed   for children walking to school? Those same children   also shouldn’t require a suit of armor when standing   on their front lawns, or snipers to watch their backs   as they eat at McDonalds. They shouldn’t have to stop   to consider the speed of a bullet or how it might   reshape their bodies. But one winter, back in Detroit,   I had one student who opened a door and died.   It was the front door of his house, but   it could have been any door, and the bullet could have written   any name. The shooter was thirteen years old   and was aiming at someone else. But   a bullet doesn’t care about “aim,” it doesn’t   distinguish between the innocent and the innocent,   and how was the bullet supposed to know this   child would open the door at the exact wrong moment   because his friend was outside and screaming   for help. Did I say I had “one” student who   opened a door and died? That’s wrong.   There were many. The classroom of grief   had far more seats than the classroom for math   though every student in the classroom for math   could count the names of the dead.   A kid opens a door. The bullet couldn’t possibly know,   nor could the gun, because “guns don’t kill people,” they don’t   have minds to decide such things, they don’t choose   or have a conscience, and when a man doesn’t   have a conscience, we call him a psychopath. This is how   we know what type of assault rifle a man can be,   and how we discover the hell that thrums inside   each of them. Today, there’s another   shooting with dead kids everywhere. It was a school,   a movie theater, a parking lot. The world   is full of doors. And you, whom I cannot save,   you may open a door and enter   a meadow or a eulogy. And if the latter, you will be   mourned, then buried in rhetoric.   There will be monuments of legislation,   little flowers made from red tape.   What should we do? we’ll ask again. The earth will close   like a door above you. What should we do?   And that click you hear? That’s just our voices,   the deadbolt of discourse sliding into place.

#poetry #matthew olzmann #letter beginning with two lines by czeslaw milosz

[madamspeaker]

Glenda Jackson was a singular creature in the world of acting, seeming both aloof and so very serious, even scarily so, whilst capable of the kind of self mockery and utter silliness that so few of her contemporaries could manage. There aren't many who have an Emmy award winning turn as Elizabeth I, and a hysterical lampoon of Cleopatra (and herself) on their resume, but Glenda did, and she excelled at both. She seemed to lack much in the way of vanity - content to let the wrinkles show, to shave her forehead (for Elizabeth I), be very daft, and in general do whatever it was that interested her, regardless of what she looked like doing it. And of course, for a time she walked away from it all to become an MP - so incensed by Thatcher and her government, that rather than just sit on the side lines and moan, she abandoned her award winning acting career for the decidely less attractive job of parliament and constituents, and she wasn't half bad at it, even if she rose no higher up the parliamentary career ranks than junior minister. Perhaps that was a good thing - she never was very good at being told what to do, and ministers have to toe the line. Perhaps her most infamous refusal to toe the line came in the aftermath of Thatcher's death, as MPs waxed lyrical about the former PM in parliament, Glenda, clearly disturbed and angry about the general glossing over the more dark and grim realities of Thatcher's legacy, got up and delivered the kind of eulogy that only she could - brutal, honest as she saw it, unvarnished. Glenda was clearly not a believer in never speaking ill of the dead. For some it was inappropriate, but for others, Glenda gave voice to what many who had been run over and left behind by the greed is good mentality of Thatcher's policies thought. She was bold, fierce, and spoke her mind, and it was perhaps no surprise then that when she did decide to return to acting, she came back to the stage in the Everest of roles that men spend their careers aiming for - King Lear - and she was bloody brilliant. Two Oscars, two Emmys - then life as an MP - and then an Emmy, Tony and BAFTA on her return. Rest in Peace to the singularly brilliant Glenda Jackson.

#glenda jackson

[lya-dustin]

Someone will remember us

Chapter 65

Cw: teen pregnancy, memtions of consensual underage sex,mentions of statutory rape,mentions of miscarriage, sudden infant death, mentions of torture, death, sexism, period typical attitudes

Gif by:@viktoriakosci666

Taglist: @stargaryenx @mercedesdecorazon

“We join today at the Seat of the Sea to commit Prince Jacaerys of Houses Velaryon to the eternal waters, the dominion of the Merling King, where He will guard him for all days to come.”

Forgive me, Baela.

Those had been Jacaerys’ last words according to the Myrmen she had tortured for killing him.

Forgive me, Baela.

Sharako Lohar was not lucky enough to die on the shipwreck.

For every quarrel he and his men shot into her eldest son, one will be shot into him.

He is to be treated for his burns, but just enough so she and every man, widow and orphan who wishes to avenge their own can kill him slowly.

They had shot him with their crossbows over twenty times before Lohar got bored and aimed at his neck.

Rhaenyra had never been a violent person, but war makes beasts of them all.

He is to have a child.

A bastard with a Stark bastard he met and fell in love with in Winterfell.

She had comforted him about Lucerys and something about the godswood and the snowflakes in her hair had made him forget he was to wed Baela who he loved.

Sara Snow would be sent for, be given all she needs and when the child is born, a silver and weirwood red egg will share the cradle of Jacaerys Waters, the bastard son of her bastard son.

If Baela’s suspicion proves to have been a false alarm, perhaps with her blessing they can legitimize him.

Baela was a widow and possibly pregnant at the age of four and ten.

Depending on who you ask, she is too young or just the right age.

Her mother, Aemma Arryn, had been four and ten when she was wed to father who had been seven and ten.

Rhaenyra was not her first child; she was the only living baby to live to see adulthood.

There had been an Aegon who died the morning of his anointing, another that came when she slipped out of her tub a year before Rhaenyra’s birth, and when she was seven and ten, she nearly died after laboring for nearly two days and two nights to be told she had disappointed all by having ‘only a daughter’ by her father and goodfather.

Son or daughter, Baela’s child will be Lord of the Tides.

“From the sea we came. To the sea we shall return.” Vaemond finished his eulogy and while Jace leaves them, he does not leave alone.

Hundreds of people are burying their dead, low and high born alike.

The Merling King will need a bigger hall, it is not just his daughter, Melusina’s, children who join him this day.

She holds her son.

Her sweet Aemon who is two moons and three weeks now.

Just a moon ago, Aemma turned seven and ten.

Just a year ago she had been delirious with happiness, every second of her day was consumed by thinking nothing bad would ever happen because she had Aemond now.

Aemond turns eight and ten in a fortnight, and now he will be dead before their son even knows who he is.

Aemon sucks on his thumb like Helaena, Luke and Joff had done. Smiles like Aemond and mother, and this morning he had opened and closed his hand as he grasped the stuffed seahorse Jace had given him before his death nearly six weeks ago.

Baela and Aemma had wept so violently, Gerardys had to take a look at them.

And sure enough, Baela’s suspicions are correct. A moon pregnant.

“It’s not Jace’s. the baby is Alyn’s.” she had whispered so quietly after.

Alyn was five and ten, turned five and ten three months ago. He was younger than Jace by six moons and two moons older than Baela who turned five and ten two days before Jace died.

“I slept with him before the Gullet, I read Sara Snow’s letter and went to the beach to clear my head and cry. He was there, he was very charming and told me he would never have done that to me and before we knew it, we were promising not to tell anyone what happened.” Baela has the decency to look guilty.

Baela the Bold had been bold enough to seduce her own husband, to dare Aemma into spying on young men bathing naked in a lake before Aemma had left for Kingslanding last year and give her a copy of A Caution for Young Girls as a wedding gift.

Baela who is the mother of the next Lord of Lady of the Tides because the gods have a sick sense of humor.

“I’m so sorry, Baela.” Aemma had said as she hugged her.

“No one will know.” She added as Baela cried in relief.

While the blockade had been partially broken, it was not a real victory to them nor their enemy.

The quarter of the treasury Tyland had sent to Braavos was freely given to Rhaenyra by the Iron Bank, the Triarchy had lost more than they had gained and while Jacaerys had died, so had Sharako Lohar.

The Kingdom of the Three Whores had retracted their support after all ninety ships were destroyed or seized and their Commander slowly killed by anyone who had lost someone to him.

Even worse, the Sealord of Braavos had joined Rhaenyra’s side and promised a statue of the best white marble for the fallen prince and his dragon to greet all those who come to Hull.

“She is frightfully clever, you would have believed she had been taught at our schools of rhetoric. In fact, I extended an invitation to come and attend a lecture by the Lady Bettisia at the University of Braavos once her mother’s throne is secured.” Larys read the stolen correspondence and Alicent fights the urge to roll her eyes.

The Braavosi had nothing but praises to sing about the whore and her daughter.

Really, Larys was just rubbing salt on the wound for letting Harrenhal fall to their enemies.

“Jacaerys did not die without heirs it seems, he sired a bastard on a Stark Bastard, and one unto his lady wife.” The Master of Whisperers summarized all his learnings. “Lady Baela has consented to giving a dragon egg to her husband’s bastard as the dragon Vermax had brought forth two eggs before its demise.”

One for the bastard of two bastards, and one for the legitimate son of the bastard, the queen scoffs.

“This is of no importance to me, so let me ask you again, when do we march?” Aemond cuts Larys short and resumed the meeting.

“Tomorrow.” Alicent answered and prayed the gods forgive her for sending him to his death.

Notes: universities have been around since the 11th century in Western Europe, the university of Bologna in Italy was the first to have a female student and female teacher teaching law, noblewoman Bettisia Gozzadini, in 1237, Laura Bassi was the first official Law Professor in that same university in 1732, but Bettisia Gozzadini is reputed to be the 1st. (Candidates for that position are Novella and Bettina D'Andrea the former who taught their dad's law courses in Bologna when he couldn't and the latter for teaching law and philosophy in Padua with her husband in the 1320s)

Here I am placing hotd to take place in the equivalent of the late middle ages, or the equivalent of the 14th century when the renaissance begins in Italy or this case Braavos.

#aemma velaryon #someone will remember us fic #aemond targaryen x velaryon!oc #ocappreciationtag #fyeahhotdocs

[atla-adult-au]

The Fierce One

Years after their children grew up, got married, and started families of their own, she paid a visit to a dear friend who was like a sister to her. Accompanied by another friend, who was known for her stubbornness, they traveled to the island where their retired friend and her husband, who was once the ruler of the land, resided.

All three of them took turns caring for her, talking to her, feeding her. But her friend’s husband, the retired lord was mostly there. He would tirelessly carry her to the commode to relieve herself or clean up after her accidents. He would be the one to change her soiled clothes. She, that was always ready to help the people that needed her, didn’t want to be a burden to her family. But the lord felt it was an honor to care for her more than her nurses do.

Unable to fall asleep, she was consumed with the belief that her friend's life was coming to an end. She would gaze out of the guest room's open window where she’s staying. She takes in the warm, humid air and cool breeze in an attempt to soothe her racing mind.

One morning, she witnessed her friend's husband carrying her friend to the shore before sunrise. Confused by this sight, she immediately woke her other friend, the blind master bender who she shares a guest room with. She instructed her to inform the lord's children.

While she followed them and sat behind the bushes curious as to what was going on. She saw the lord put his wife down and propped to sit her up. He sat behind her to steady and hold her. She heard them talk in whispers, and he would rock her and embrace her while they spoke. She was a witness to the last hours of their undying devotion before the sun rose on the horizon beyond the sea. He would mourn her there as he cradles her in his arms until one of his sons approached them. The second of the twin. Telling him that he needs to let go of mama. That its not right for him to hold her long enough for the effects of death to take its gnarly hands on her already lifeless body. At this, she stood from where she sat and approached the lord.

But he wouldn’t let go just yet.

She puts her hands on his shoulders, goving it a bit of a squeeze that she understands and that she’s there, his fanily and friends are there with him at this hour of mourning.

Without words and without looking, he eased his clutch as his son puts their mother on a cot to prepare her for burial.

The blind master came to him as well. His two beloved friends holding him. Making him feel they’re with him in his time of mourning. Them three remaining of the six are left to pick up the pieces of what was once their family.

Remnants of their friendships bound in time.

That afternoon, they paid their last respects to her friend. She was wrapped and placed on a tug boat. Three of the blind master’s airbending children motioned the boat to move far out at sea. The deceased woman’s husband, the retired lord who is also a powerful firebender formed a flame on his hand. His son, now the Lord of the Land used the flame to lit an arrow and aimed the bow at the boat. The arrow swooshed and precisely hit its target and they watched the fire consume her from a far as the sun dips low in the waters.

The wake lasted for a week. Traditions of prayers, lighting incense, eulogies and celebrations of her life ensued till it was time to go home. The children of the retired lord asked the two women to keep him company for awhile. They’re all that’s left of their legacy after all. The blind master has too much on her plate having that many children and grandchildren so had to bow out but promised to visit often.

The other cant go back to her home because the cold gives her too much pain.

One of her daughters rules their snowy kingdom in the south as an heir, and the younger one followed her mother’s career as a warrior. So she decided to stay, after all, her younger daughter the warrior, lives on an island nearby.

She had history with the retired ruler. She used to protect his wife, who happens to be her sister-in-law. So she is family to him.

He more than welcomed her presence there.

All six of them used to spend their days at his family’s summer house. From planning his autocratic father’s defeat, to celebrating their victory. They all would celebrate milestones there together. From her honeymoon to the water tribe warlord, to having their families spend their vacations with their children, and soon enough their grandchildren. The Summer house was big enough to handle their life’s greatest adventures.

And now it has become his hideaway.

But he did not become a recluse thanks to her and their other friend who visits often as promised with her son. All three would go out of town when she notices him in his brooding moments. They would watch a spar, walk on the shores, make him laugh as they talk about the good old days, they’d go to the tea house which is now a large restaurant franchise being managed by the blind master’s youngest son.

And then one day he noticed her lost in her thoughts. He would call out to her but would be oblivious to him. He would ask her how she is or what she was doing. Sometimes she’d answer, and sometimes her answers were not all there.

He knew she’s starting to slip, her mind fading away. She’d tell him of secrets he was not bound to know. She looks at him differently now. Like meeting someone for the first time. She would sometimes forget where she’s at. Why she’s there. She would even forget who she is. And the magnificent warrior that she was. And he was there to remind her.

Always.

At nights he would wake up to her screams so he runs to her room faster than her caretaker. There are times she thought he was her husband long gone but then she would see his scar and would be angry. She would ask him who did it as if she never knew. She would bolt from her bed and look for her fan and tell him she’d avenge him. He would calm her down and tell her that he was ok.

There was a time she saw her put on a thick face coloring that she used to wear. She would tell him things like she’s getting ready for the war, or that she would be looking for his wife to protect.

Then there were moments she insisted he was her husband. And when he gently reminded her of who her real husband was, she’d think he was being silly.

He summoned her children to show them what was happening.

Her children started to notice it too. Her daughters would recall the times she would forget where she placed things or names but they thought it was just part of old age. The youngest apologized that their mother got worse and will take her to avoid inconvenience. But he asked her children if she could stay with him so she gets the best of care. He insists she’s not a burden as he treats her as family.

There were more than a few times he’d run after her as she goes out of her room naked. What a beauty she was even at that age. A man can only take so much but he’d always think of what his wife and his brother in law would say to him once he meets them in the afterlife. To help keep himself in line, he would always have his eunuch with him to ensure nothing out of the ordinary happens betwen them as he covers her with a robe and redirects her to go back in the house. Thankfully his royal lodge in the islands is big enough for her not to be seen in that condition but only by his caretakers and out of the public eye. This is how he could protect her. She is not as safe if she lives with her family. He is privileged to have a huge estate for the two of them, and a staff at his beck and call that can check in on her round the clock if they have to.

Her daughters and her grandchildren would come visit from time to time. Their other friend was informed as well and she would visit with her children to help out. It was like old times again. The summer house was full of life and laughter. But when they’re gone, he’s all that she’s got and so he keeps an eye on her to keep her safe. He would let her tell stories of her glory days. She would often call him after her husband’s name. And sometimes she’d remember who he is.

He’s seen her at different stages of her mind trapped in time. Her mind as a child-he would play with her as she plays with her miniature trinkets that her grandchildren had bought for her. Her mind as a youth-they would talk and tell stories as friends. Her mind as a wife-when she’d think he was her husband and she would look at him lovingly to his discomfort. Her mind as a mother-when she’d ask about her children. And her mind as a crone-when she’s just on her own, lost in her thoughts and would often forget the names of her children and grandchildren. He was there to remind her who they were when they visit.

She never skimped on hugs and would hold his hand. At times he’d feel there’s something more to it because he knew the difference. Her mind keeps looping from him as a friend and then seeing him as her husband long gone. He makes sure they’re not always alone and his staff knew what was going on in her head.

The night terrors were worse and to pacify her he would keep her company till he falls asleep. She would often call out to him as her friend, or call her husband’s name and he’d be there to answer her just to reassure her she’s not alone.

Caring for her was not easy. Her wife at least didn’t lose her mind like she did. And so the rare moments she was resting and asleep, he would often meditate and look at the pictures of his family, his wife looking at him from the photo gives him strength to continue and help their friend out.

Then one day she started to bleed.

He called on healers and her caretaker to clean her and ease her pain but he was there while they do this to make sure she’s alright and cared for. She got worse as days went on. He asked for her children to come and say their goodbyes.

And with that he lost another friend.

The warrior who loves her fan.

#the tale of suki #zukki #zuko and suki #sukko #friendship #ugh im in the process of editing this so many typos and well bad writing lol

[colloquialbitchisms]

VILLAIN VIBES ( PART 2 )

prompts from songs on my muse's villain playlist. feel free to change pronouns/tenses/etc as needed, or even combine any of them.

NO BODY, NO CRIME — TAYLOR SWIFT FT. HAIM

“i think i'm gonna call him out.” “i ain't letting up until the day i die.” “i think he did it, but i just can't prove it.” “no body, no crime.” “i've cleaned enough houses to know how to clean up a scene.” “she thinks i did it, but she just can't prove it.” “i wasn't letting up until the day he died.”

WICKED AS THEY COME — CRMNL

“first things first, i'm a sinner.” “it's not fun being a saint.” “heart as cold as the winter, and i don't wanna be saved.” “sold my soul to the devil.” “got no fear of the dead.” “i ain't scared of the end.” “pay me what you owe me.” “see you on the dark side when i'm done.” “i'm as wicked as they come.” “i'm hooked on the taste of revenge.” “blood in the water, blood on my hands.” “i feel at home in the darkness.”

BREAKFAST — DOVE CAMERON

“let me show you power.” “i eat boys like you for breakfast.” “i never said it's right, but i'm gonna keep doing it.” “yeah, i'm sick. and honestly, i'm getting high off it.” “do you wanna see a magic trick?” “you don't know what you don't know. but i know.” “it makes me feel alive.”

TEMPORARY FUNERAL — EMLYN

“i'm laying you down to rest.” “i'm saying my final goodbye.” “it's better to mourn and move on.” “it's easier killing you off.” “how nice of you to show up.” “gonna be a quick one since nobody's sorry.” “i didn't write a eulogy, but i wore my best jewelry.”

VILLAINS AREN'T BORN ( THEY'RE MADE ) — PEGGY

“someone's gotta win & lose.” “they say my heart is almost black; who's to blame for that?” “i'm anything but tame.” “grab your sword, you might just need it.” “i'm not afraid of cheating.” “scream my name when they run. honestly, it's kind of fun.” “i'm never satisfied at all.” “they take, they take until you give.” “i aim before i kill.” “live only for the thrill.” “there's nothing left to lose.” “don't tell me it's not fair; believe me, i've been there.” “i'd much rather be alone if i'm sitting on a throne.” “i hate to tell you this way.” “villains aren't born. darlin’, we're made.”

DIRTY THOUGHTS — CHLOE ADAMS

“all the corners of my mind start racing.” “things that should be kept in the basement.” “spend my time trying to erase them.” “i shouldn't think the things i'm thinking.” “god can't save me now.” “i know i ain't that holy.” “i get dirty thoughts about you.” “does that mean that i'm going to hell?”

TROUBLE — VALERIE BROUSSARD

“we wear red so they don't see us bleed.” “we intend not to sleep ‘til we're dead.” “trouble coming in the dead of night.” “i'm that knife in your boot.” “i'm your number two man in a fight.” “here comes trouble.”

VIGILANTE SHIT — TAYLOR SWIFT

“you did some bad things, but i'm the worst of them.” “they say looks can kill, and i might try.” “lately i've been dressing for revenge.” “she had the envelope, where do you think she got it from?” “the lady simply had enough.” “someone told his white collar crimes to the fbi.” “i don't dress for villains or for innocents.” “i'm on my vigilante shit again.”

A LITTLE WICKED — VALERIE BROUSSARD

“no one calls you honey when you're sitting on a throne.” “there's a serpent in these still waters, lying deep down.” “just like you said, i am a little wicked.” “i'll be high up in that tower, he'll be down there getting stoned.” “i will not scream, i will not weep.” “if he should die before he wakes, i pray the lord his soul to take.”

#( it's all fun & games until someone loses an eye – memes ) #rp meme #roleplay meme #roleplay memes #rp memes

[ikiyou]

Trick or Treat! 🦇🎃🕷️

Amazing, this is a pleasant surprise!! 😊😊😊 I've kinda locked myself in this weekend due to an irritating cold, and just finished polishing off one kids Halloween movie - because I like fun with my Halloween, not horror! XDD And saw these in my inbox! 💗💗💗

This is so pleasant, so I'll choose treat! According to the rules, that means I can share a snippet, a line, OC trivia, etc!

And it has to be Halloween themed, of course, so here's the yet unshared intro to a fic where Nakahara Chuuya, from the anime Bungou Stray Dogs, can see and talk to ghosts...

****

Chuuya could see ghosts.

Which was precisely why he was sitting here drinking at this bar after the mission, the same thing he did after every mission.  Tachihara was sitting next to him and thumping his back exuberantly, not sure if he was caught up in joyous remembrances or about to fall apart.

“They were good men!  Good men!” he sniffed.  “Hattori….and Kanemoto.  I’m glad we were able to avenge them, Chuuya-san!”

“Yeah, good men.  They were proud to serve in the Mafia…content to die the way they lived.  Fearless.” Chuuya remembered the sharp crack of gunshots, the shock in the sudden silence, and then yelling as his men swarmed over their enemy in the abandoned warehouse, aiming for vengeance.  Glancing back at the bodies, he'd caught a pair of steel gazes morphing into content smiles.  Chuuya suppressed a shiver for a second time, and downed his glass, motioning for a refill.  His men had died in the line of duty, helping to secure the Mafia’s assets against a rival upstart. 

Tachihara’s eyes watered at the short eulogy.  “Chuuya-san!!” he cried.

Tuning Tachihara’s exclamations out, Chuuya turned his head to observe the rest of the bar.  He really wanted a distraction, and Tachihara’s constant proclamations over the recently deceased weren’t helping.  A familiar figure caught his eye, and he stared, then scowled.  Exactly the sort of distraction he didn’t want. 

It was the bandaged bastard himself, sitting in a booth across from his new protégé, and, his current partner, Kuni-something.  What were they doing here?  Chuuya squinted.  Was that some new member of the Agency?  Some tall, red haired dude hovered silently next to Dazai’s shoulder.  Why wasn’t he sitting?  Eh, no matter.  Probably that illusionist, he had short red hair too.

Chuuya turned back to Tachihara, who was fast getting drunk on liquor and his emotions.  “Don’t you think you’ve had enough?  We still have work tomorrow, ya know.”

Tachihara sniffed again.  “Right!  We can’t let their deaths be in vain!  I’ll see you tomorrow, Chuuya-san, don’t stay too late!”

Chuuya saw Tachihara off then turned back to his own drink, glad to finally drink in peace and quiet, without any reminders.  He had just lifted his class up and was taking another sip when someone slammed into his arm, and his drink sloshed all over his shirt.  Chuuya sputtered, “Hey, what’s the-”

“Oh, sorry, didn’t see you there.”  A familiar face grinned down at him.  Chuuya could feel his already short patience snap, hands clenching into fists.

“Let me help you out….” Dazai leaned across the bar in front of Chuuya, flagging down the bartender.  “Another round for my short friend.  How about a glass of milk?”

“Ha!?  What are you trying to imply, bastard?” 

“Why, Chuuuyaaa, don’t you think you’re a little short to be sitting at the bar?  Someone could mistake you for a child!”

“Why you!!”  Chuuya jumped off the stool and swung a leg at Dazai, who jumped back laughing.

“Enjoy your milk, Chuuyaaaa!”  He waved as he traipsed out the door, following the Jinko and his partner.

“Ahh, you piss me off,” Chuuya grumbled, climbing back onto the stool, before noticing the glass of cold milk in front of him, and glaring at the offending liquid.  He was about to order a proper drink when he shifted irritably.  He really had no patience for lurkers tonight.

“Hey!  You got a problem?”  Chuuya turned to the presence he felt behind him and froze, mouth open in mid yell.  It was the same man who was lurking around Dazai earlier, and Chuuya suddenly realized why he’d looked so familiar.  The man had merely been studying him curiously, about to continue after Dazai when he suddenly straightened up and gave Chuuya his full attention.  Chuuya’s mouth went dry.

“Crap, oh crap.”  Chuuya turned back around to the bar and downed the last of the liquor in his glass.  He studied the empty vessels in front of him for a moment before grabbing the glass of milk and chugging it down as well.  “Bleh!”  He felt sick.  Snagging his hat and sliding off the stool, Chuuya brushed by the man and headed for the exit.

“You can see me?  Hey!  Wait!” 

Chuuya didn’t bother to acknowledge the voice behind him.  He made it to the exit before realizing….he really had to use the bathroom.  Cursing, he swung in the men’s restroom.

“Hey!  I need you to do something for me!”  The voice followed him into the restroom.

“Nope, I am not drunk enough for this,” Chuuya muttered, nearing the stall at the back.

“Hey!”

“Nonononono, go away, I am not getting involved in this crap, it’s too fuckin’ creepy.” Chuuya was about to open the door to the stall when the man slammed his hand against the wall and loomed over Chuuya.  Chuuya drew back against the wall, realizing he was pinned against it.  “I need your help.  Dazai is going to kill himself in a few days, and you need to stop him.”

***

Hope you enjoyed this snippet! Still working the rest of this, but it was nice to revisit on Halloween!!!

Speaking of Halloween, I thought I only had two ghost AU fics...one where Chuuya sees ghosts (this one), and one where he is turned into a ghost. Going through my ghost folders, I discovered I in fact have a third ghost AU that I don't really remember writing.....one where he's possessed by a ghost. It seems to be a sequel to the first AU above. Which makes sense but...

I...really don't remember this one at all. That's kinda creepy >.>

#bungou stray dogs #halloween #thank you so much for the ask!!! <3 <3 <3 I hope you are having a wonderful weekend!!! #nakahara chuuya #my wips #my fics #Happy Halloween! #asks answered #ghost au

[haunted-medievalist]

venting under the cut - cn for discussion of brianna ghey's death and associated transphobia, particularly the reactions (or lack thereof) of cis friends/'allies'

i have been sitting with a lot of overwhelming feelings since the news of her death broke at the start of the week, but one thing that's really acutely pressing on my mind tonight (& has been frequently throughout the week) is how unbothered pretty much all of my cis friends seem to be? it started on monday afternoon i think with us hanging around before a class and some of them laughing at how ridiculous and absurd and ~funny~ jkr's whole Thing is, with nobody acknowledging how her silly little hate beliefs and silly little hate campaigns killed a sixteen year old on saturday. and i had a lump in my throat and couldn't find the words to bring it up myself. but i have not been in the mood to laugh this week. i don't have it in me right now to laugh at and mock the people responsible for a trans child getting killed. there is nothing funny happening here.

last night, i went to a vigil for her and invited all of my friends to come with me - the organisers (a local trans activism group) had specifically advised people to travel to and from the vigil with company, because it would not be safe to be seen attending or leaving it alone. it was not safe. and i showed them all the info post that said this. and none of them came. nobody had the time or the energy or whatever, i didn't really care what their excuses were, but none of them fucking came. half an hour out of their lives to come and hold your trans friend's hand and grieve a murdered child. the only person who came with me in the end was the only other non-binary person in this friend group, who initially wasn't going to come because they thought they would find it too emotionally and mentally overwhelming, but changed their mind when they realised that none of our cis friends were going to go with me. and it was incredibly overwhelming. lots of people gave speeches and poems and eulogies and some of the strongest of those words were aimed at cis friends and allies. thanking the ones who were there. and cursing the ones who weren't.

it was half an hour long. was it really such a pain for you to come and mourn with us for half an hour? have you thought so little about her death and the countless other trans lives being lost and destroyed all of the time that it doesn't turn your stomach to still be laughing at silly old jkr and her silly old campaign of vitriol and all of the silly funny things she and her friends and her political allies and the good old british media say and do all of the fucking time that kill people? i have only ever laughed at her to cope when sitting with the fact that these people want me and my trans kin dead is too much weight to carry. i don't believe that my cis friends laugh with that same weight on their chest. maybe i would have believed them if they had been there mourning with us, and not out at dinners or pubs or a fucking pizza party with their other cis friends, merrily going about the day as if they do not also have some specks of blood on their hands. i am so angry. i don't have it in me any more to endure anything other than proactive, compassionate, furious allyship from cis people. i have barely been able to tolerate it for this long as it is. i make excuses for my cis friends because i love them but i see how unaffected by and uninterested in tragedies like this they are and i really start to wonder how far any of this love goes.

#tw: transphobia #trans #rambles #genderposting #forgive me for raging on tumblr i have very few outlets for my feelings about this at the moment