#it would be the worlds greatest injustice to not let them hold hands for fucks sake

[fangurltrashcannn]

It makes literally no sense for marvel to give us nat/Clint 2.0 with these two idiots who compliment each other so incredibly well and have so many parallels and all that chemistry with such amazing actresses and not do anything with it. Give the people (me) what they (I) want (Kate and yelena flirting training together texting and being worried about the other while having funny charged banter leading up to a kiss)

#bishova #hawkeye #kate bishop #katelena #yelena belova #yelena x kate #black widow #it would be the worlds greatest injustice to not let them hold hands for fucks sake

[cosmicjoke]

Ah, and now onto one of the most depressing chapters in all of SnK, chapter 132.

You know, if anyone ever needed a reason to despise Floch any more, how about the fact that he’s literally the reason Hange died?  If this bitch ass ho hadn’t shot the fuel tank of the plane full of holes, Hange wouldn’t have had to engage with the Titans to buy time for them to fix it, and they wouldn’t have died.  So, fuck you Floch.  I wish you’d suffered more before Mikasa finally ended your ass.

Well, anyway, what can I say about this chapter that hasn’t already been discussed?  Probably nothing, but I’ll try my best to give my observations anyway.

This really is Hange’s chapter, and Levi’s, in terms of putting a spot light on the importance of their relationship to one another.  

Hange’s sacrifice in this chapter is heartbreaking, it truly is, and such a major blow to everyone.  But to Levi most of all, and for so many reasons.

First of all, what stands out to me is the exchange between them, after Pieck tells Hange to stop being “gross”.  What I want to talk about here is when Hange asks Levi if he thinks their dead comrades are watching, and if he thinks they’ll be proud of what they do here today.  Levi tells Hange to stop talking like “him”, meaning of course Erwin.  This scene is just heart-wrenching, and part of that is, I think, because of Levi’s reaction to what Hange is saying.  He has, once again, such a weary, resigned looked on his face, and it’s because, I think, of the parallels he sees with Erwin.  I think Levi already knows, at this point, that Hange is going to die, in some way.  He recognizes the same, fatalistic bent to Hange’s mindset as he saw in Erwin, that day in Shinganshina, the same burden of guilt.  Just as Erwin began to bow and break under the weight of all the lives that had been lost under his command, Hange too is beginning to break, overcome by despair and hopelessness at what they perceive to be their failures.  Hange expresses this outright in the scene with Yelena, when Yelena tries forcing everyone to admit that Zeke was right, and Hange just resignedly agrees, saying that it was because of their failure to come up with a plan, because of their loss of hope, that Eren’s done what he has.  Of course, this isn’t true, just like Erwin blaming himself for the deaths of all those soldiers wasn’t based in any kind of truth.  But the sense of guilt is the same.  Hange blames themselves for what’s happening now, and they say this in front of everyone, including Levi.  And then Hange says what they do to Levi, about their dead comrades, and I think this must have been like the worst kind of deja vu to Levi, this kind of guilt driving Hange towards despair and hopelessness.  He tells Hange “Don’t you start talking like him, too...” because he can’t bear it.  He can’t bear to see his last, true friend succumb to the same fate as Erwin.

And then the Rumbling shows up, and Hange refuses for anyone else to engage with the Titans but themselves.  They tell everyone “I’m the one who led us here.  I pressed on, even at the cost of so many lives.  Time to face the music.”, and it’s Hange willingly taking on the role of martyr, the same one Levi had to help Erwin to accept for himself, in order to give their comrades a chance at victory.  Hange’s selflessness here is the definition of heroic.  True, unwavering conviction to what they believe is right.

But once again, similarly to Levi’s final push to help Erwin become the commander everyone believed him to be, Levi recognizes for Hange, in their final moment together, what it is they need.  He doesn’t try to stop Hange, doesn’t try to convince them against their chosen course of action, doesn’t cry out after them.  The same way Levi recognized in Erwin the way he was being crushed under the weight of his guilt, and understood how it would be a mercy and a salvation to make for him the decision to let go of his dream and die, Levi also recognizes in Hange that same burden and suffocating sense of guilt, and knows this is a decision Hange has made for themselves, their final absolution and ownership of their past choices, and that this is the thing Hange needs to relieve them of their burden.  A way for them to bear the burden of their past choices without regret.  Hange implores Levi to let them walk away and do this, and Levi does, because he understands, the same as he understood with Erwin.

But we finally see in full view the consequences for Levi in making these decisions, in letting his two, closest friends go to their deaths for the sake of their cause.  Levi’s expression in the following three panels is one of such unfathomable heartbreak.  He looks like a man utterly resigned to losing every good thing in his life, conscious and accepting of life’s bitter injustice and the grief of loss, but no less affected by it.  Levi is in so much obvious pain here.  Not physical (though obviously there’s that), but emotional and mental.  Hange is it for him.  They’re his last, real connection, his last, true friend, his last person.  And he has to let them go here.  Both for the sake of humanity, and for Hange’s own sake as well.  It truly is the bitterest pill to swallow.  And once again, it is a desperately heartbreaking display of Levi’s own selflessness, that he lets Hange go, that he lets Hange do this thing that needs to be done, without complaint, without protest, without influence from his own feelings, sacrificing once more what would be best for him for the sake of everyone else.  Levi looks devastated as he lays his fist against Hange’s chest and tells them “dedicate your heart”.  This final acceptance of his own, tragic loss, and Hange’s own choice to sacrifice their life.

And it continues when Hange flies away, at last, and we see Levi standing with the rest of their group.  Everyone around Levi has expressions of shock, dismay, and disbelief.  They haven’t yet accepted that this is happening, that Hange is flying to their death to buy them the time they need.  They look astonished and horrified.  But Levi is the lone exception.  He doesn’t look shocked, or disbelieving, but only continues to carry that same expression of weary, despairing resignation and acceptance.  And I think what we see in Levi, in this final arc is, in many ways, the culmination of a lifetime of loss and grief.  Levi’s lost more than probably any other character in SnK.  He’s experienced the most extreme forms of poverty and depravation from the time he was born, and with the death of Hange, has now lost every, single person that he ever formed any kind of close bond with.  With Hange’s death, Levi is left finally, completely alone.  And the look of defeat on Levi’s face throughout this entire arc is, I think, reflective of the affirmation he must feel, of the cruelty and injustice of life’s indifference to the suffering of everyone.  Every experience in Levi’s life has driven home to him the lesson, again and again, of the unfairness and cruelty of existing in this world.  And the events of this final arc, Eren’s betrayal, Zeke’s manipulations and cruelties, the deaths of so many comrades, the Rumbling, violence and destruction and allies turning against one another, and finally, Hange’s death, can only solidify for him the hopeless cynicism he’s fought against all his life, the awful comprehension of life’s brutality.  With Hange’s death, Levi is made to face once more what he’s always, deep down, known, which is that to exist in this world is to suffer with no purpose.  

And yet, still, Levi fights on.  He accepts Hange’s death with all the pain the loss crushes him down with.  He tells Hange goodbye, and asks them to “Just watch us.”.  Because even with the affirmation of all of Levi’s greatest despairs, he still finds a reason to make the fight worth it.  To realize the dream they all fought for, the salvation and future of humanity, and through the realization of that dream, to give meaning and importance to the lives of all those who have died in that dreams name, and meaning and importance to the lives of those yet still there.  Levi refuses, still, to give up, refuses to accept the futility and insignificance of people’s lives, even as he’s so ruthlessly reminded again and again of it.  And it’s in Hange, I think, that Levi finds that strength.  Because Hange also refused to give up.  Like they told Floch as he bled out, “We still can’t give up.  Even if we fail here, now, maybe someday...”  Maybe someday, life really will get better.  Maybe someday, people won’t have to suffer so much.  Maybe someday, there really will be a point to all of it.  Even in the face of total despair, Hange and Levi both found reasons to keep fighting.

Also, just some smaller observations about Levi’s physical state, and what it also says about his determination to not give up, but also about his perception of himself.

Levi is doing BAD here.  I didn’t notice this on my first read through, but when they’re all gearing up with their ODM gear, Levi is the only one sitting down on a crate, while everyone else is standing.  We see earlier in the chapter, when he leaves his room on the boat, he can’t even stand without the support of a handrail on the upper deck, or Armin’s arm around his shoulders.  And then when we see him testing his grip on the handle of his ODM’s blade, his hand is visibly shaking.  Levi’s physically too weak to stand on his own at this point, too weak to even hold his blades steady.  He must be in absolutely horrific pain.  Probably dizzy and lightheaded, probably nauseas even.  He’s FAILING physically.  On the verge, it seems, of collapse.  The fact that he’s even up and making the effort to move is something of a miracle, let alone that he’s prepared to engage in intense, physical combat, which just a short time later, he DOES.  That’s remarkable, and such a testament to Levi’s incredible will and unwavering conviction to fight for humanity.  He’s dying.  I think literally, he’s extremely close to death, genuinely frail.  But he still is ready and willing to give his all.  I think, over the course of the few chapters before this one, it must have been horrifically hard for Levi to sit by and watch as everyone else risked their lives to fight.  This isn’t something Levi is used to, being helpless and unable to fight for others.  He isn’t used to letting others take the risk while he stays back.  When Levi comes out of his cabin and Armin tries to convince him to go back to bed, Levi snaps with impatience that if he keeps resting, they’re all going to forget he even exists.  This reveals a lot about Levi’s perception of himself as someone who needs to make himself useful in order to matter.  As a tool to utilize.  He feels useless and like dead weight if he isn’t able to fight, and so, even on deaths door, he pushes himself to do just that, to become a weapon to be used in the coming battle.  It’s heartbreaking, to see Levi regard himself this way, even as it proves his incredible devotion and heart.  Once again, his own well being takes a backseat to the cause of others.  His health is secondary, in his mind.  For someone who always shows so much compassion and kindness and understanding for others, it makes it doubly heartbreaking, to see that Levi can’t manage the same compassion for himself, can’t give himself a break, or a pass for his weakness.  That he can’t allow himself that vulnerability, or for others to fight for him, even as all his life, he’s done nothing but fight for others.  

#attack on titan #shingeki no kyojin #Levi Ackerman #hange zöe #snk 132 #meta #thoughts

[psychshalala]

Hold on what is this whole Stockholm syndrome thing?

My mind truly cant comprehend how people think sometimes. No wonder my arguments always filled with questions. I just simply dont get it.

“A hostage and abuse victim stuck with their abuser” and u define that hak and yonas relationship?

Let me tell u little about how hak loves yona.

He gave his heart to her. Has unshakable trust in her. Respects her. Her number one supporter. Finds the joy in seeing her grow. Yona is his strength, his inspiration and his love.

“Princess, if you can be happy then to me thats my greatest happiness” - hak.

Did ur bae ever say that to u?... yeah i thought so.

He loved her in times he believed she would never return his feelings back yet he was happy as long as she was happy with whom ever she chooses. (Talk about respect)

He thought about her and her loneliness choosing to stay despite his own longing for his family after missing them for so long. (Talk about care and selflessness)

He is playful and goofy around her and yes he teases her from time to time to get her energy up. Fighting? More like goofing around.  (Talk about cuteness)

His trust in her is unbreakable. When she says she can, he might not always agree (with good reason) but he always has her back. Always lets her know he will be by her side no matter what.

He respects her, has faith in her whether in training, in the battle field or everyday. and he never fails to show her that and let her know. knows her strengths and weaknesses yet never stands in her way when she takes a leap and instead he gives her a hand. 

He is always the most proud of her accomplishments and Finds the strength and joy in seeing her grow and become stronger. Loves seeing her struggle because from struggle comes growth.

Forceful? Abuser?

Yall forgot so fast how this man literally had to feed her with his own hands to keep her alive after the betrayal toke place. That man carried her pain with his own. Not to mention having to leave his family, name and home cause the guy he trusted with his life, loved as a brother and called his best friend forced him to. Yet he still prioritized yona and his tribe before himself, was even willing to leave on his own taking full responsibility of something he never did. 

That man cried for the first time in this whole anime so far when he first confronted soo wan. the moment u realize holy shit, that guy is in fucking pain. U realize that that man had held his feelings and pain inside this whole time to help yona recover. The selflessness this man shows sets fucking standard to its highest level. AND HE STILL CARES ABOUT SOO WAN!

What u talking about Stockholm syndrome? Where u getting that from? From him licking her hand filled with honey? U guys Acting like he raped her.

Talking about forcing himself on yona. From the beginning he was always playful with his flirting. 1st time he tried kissing her he told her she could easily refused. And threw most them yona was completely oblivious 🤦🏻‍♀️ telling me he convinced her.

The guy apologized after kissing her in the cheek cause he thought he wouldn’t see her again. He was always gentle with her while being his playful self. And u always find yonas Guard down around him cause she is so comfortable being herself with him, to the point she only shows hak her weakness.

So easy to talk about a characters flaws when ur only looking for flaws. U even start creating invalid shit like that as an excuse.

What u call Yona kissing hak without his permission? Where are the complaints please? Where are the human rights activists? Where the lawyers at? Thats sexual harassment. This bish stole what might be his first kiss and in what right and thats before his confession so bo excuse. Yona told him she wanted to touch him and he gave her a hug. The lord said ask and u shall receive, where is the force here? She ran away cause of her smell yet that man embraced her and told her she smells so good and ur boy friend be here screaming at u to put some deodorant. know u damn self worth!!! And dont get me started on yu-hon and yong hi if u wanna talk being forceful but NOOoo thats so romantic! Fucking kill me please!

Soo wan killed her father, tried to kill her and since he couldn’t he forcefully toke over the throne and chased her out of her home. Never trusts her until she begs all the damn time while treating her like a child And now just cause he spared her life 2 times which he didnt really have any other choice cause then hell would let loose or maybe just maybe cause of little fucking guilt for what he did to her and she hugs him one time to Comfort a guy in pain and suddenly they are a match made in heaven? 🤡🤡

Basically when u look at the general picture soo wan broke yona and hak helped put her back together with stronger material. And yall want him to get out the way of true romance? Cause he is rebuilding a country on the blood and wounds of the people he so call loves? The born Genius soo wan couldnt find another way. U guys break my fucking heart. To see such injustice.

What a sad world we live in.

#akatsuki no yona #hak #son hak #yona of the dawn #hak son #akayona #hakyona #yona #soowon #thunder beast #make it make sense

[dreadfutures]

OC Questions

Thanks for the tag, @1000generations ! Tagging @whataboutbugs and anyone else who’d like to do this.

THE BASICS:

Character’s name: Ixchel Lavellan

Role in story: The Inquisitor, and an inciter of rebellions

Physical description: She is very short--barely 5′0″--and muscular. She is very badly scarred all across her body but in particular her face is covered in deep gauges that have been incorporated into her vallaslin pattern; her throat has swirling scars from an Arcane Horror’s magic hitting her point-blank; her left arm is burned from her neck down to her fingertips. She has dark, stick-straight hair, thick eyebrows, dark skin. Her eyes are a dark ambery brown, and she has dark skin. (Basically she’s Mexican.)

Age: 25-28 ish (she doesn’t even know)

MBTI/Enneagram Personality Type: Idk her MBTI but she’s probably a 2w1.

INTERNAL LIFE:

What is their greatest fear? The long arc of history bends toward cruelty always.

Inner motivation: To inspire kindness and compassion in those around her

Kryptonite: Abandonment

What is their misbelief about the world? That

Lesson they need to learn: She can’t save everyone. Just because she’s in a position to know about a lot of injustice doesn’t mean she can or is required to act on it all. Not every tragedy in the world is on her hands.

What is the best thing in their life? Found family love.

What is the worst thing in their life? Depression and by extension doubt. Doubt is not something that can be convinced by facts, and will needle her for the rest of her days, no matter how much she tries to trust.

What do they most often look down on people for? Cruelty, especially casual cruelty.

What makes his/her/their heart feel alive? Seeing different people come together for common purposes/love.

What makes them feel loved, and who was the last person to make them feel that way? Quality time. She just wants to be with people, even if she’s just a tag-along. Solas and Dorian hang out with her without ulterior motives a lot. :)

Top three things they value most in life? Equality, Compassion, Patience

EXTERNAL LIFE:

Is there an object they can’t bear to part with and why? Maaaybe the inactive talking crystal that Dorian gave to her in her first life. She doesn’t really have much by way of non-expendable items. The Ardent Blossom now is very important to her, but nothing she couldn’t leave behind.

Describe a typical outfit for them from top to bottom. Hair tied close to her head in tight braids, the Ardent Blossom (marigolds) in her hair. Usually she has a quilted jacket with a high collar and long sleeves, trousers, and elven foot wrappings. Armor optional.

What names or nicknames has they been called throughout their life? Mula, pretiosa mula, ‘Chel, Sunshine, Champ, Rogasha’ghi’lan. 

What is their method of manipulation? She’ll try to pitch her option as actually being more in-line with someone’s goals than whatever their current mission is. Compassion is the new fashion, or the truth is the most direct route to averting a disaster, etc.

Describe their daily routine. In Skyhold: Get up, eat with Solas, go stretch and spar, correspondence, paperwork and meetings, more meetings, check in on her Inner Circle, maybe have a drink at the Herald’s Rest, go fuck Solas.

Their go-to cure for a bad day? Fuck Solas’s brains out. Beat the shit out of Bull. Curl up in bed with wine and cry with Dorian.

GOALS:

How are they dissatisfied with their life? Right now there are a bunch of rebellions brewing that are directly inspired by her so she feels responsible for their outcomes, even though she can’t play a part in all of them. She feels like her hands are tied and she’s pretty depressed about it. Only half of her closest friends know her secret too and that sticks with her.

What would bring them true happiness or contentment? Being able to let go of her guilt and responsibility.

What definitive step could they take to turn their dream into a reality? She’s doing everything she’s supposed to to build trust in the universe and in the people around her. That’s the shitty part. For example, she’s trusted Solas around the orb and forced herself to “trust” that he has abandoned the din’an’shiral. The problem is getting her heart on the same page.

How has their fear kept them from taking this action already? There are just too many very real risks for letting go of her fears and placing trust in the universe; as Bull said, she takes her fears and mistakes and holds them closer. It’s not learning from her fears if they’re crippling her.

How does they feel they can accomplish their goal while still steering clear of the thing they are afraid of? She puts plans in place and plays a more supportive role where she can for those around her, and then forces herself to step back and trust that she has done everything she can to set them up for success barring her direct involvement. She has control issues, so letting go is key.

Blank meme:

THE BASICS:

Character’s name:

Role in story:

Physical description: 

Age: 

MBTI/Enneagram Personality Type: 

INTERNAL LIFE:

What is their greatest fear? 

Inner motivation: 

Kryptonite:

What is their misbelief about the world? 

Lesson they need to learn:

What is the best thing in their life?

What is the worst thing in their life?

What do they most often look down on people for?

What makes his/her/their heart feel alive?

What makes them feel loved, and who was the last person to make them feel that way?

Top three things they value most in life? 

EXTERNAL LIFE:

Is there an object they can’t bear to part with and why?

Describe a typical outfit for them from top to bottom.

What names or nicknames has they been called throughout their life?

What is their method of manipulation? 

Describe their daily routine.

Their go-to cure for a bad day? 

GOALS:

How are they dissatisfied with their life?

What would bring them true happiness or contentment?

What definitive step could they take to turn their dream into a reality?

How has their fear kept them from taking this action already? 

How does they feel they can accomplish their goal while still steering clear of the thing they are afraid of? 

#ixchel lavellan #meme

[novelconcepts]

novel, just look at this https://www.instagram.com/p/CMILP2ZAjsw/?igshid=1ve4cwcbiy69y

mayhaps you could use this as a prompt sometime? 👀 (no pressure)

The greatest injustice in the world, Owen Sharma thinks, is in how many women he’s buried. How many loved ones--why are brilliant young women always punished?--he’s laid to rest. How many times he’s looked away for only a second, only to find they’ve slipped through his fingers.

The greatest injustice in the world, Owen thinks, is in how many times he’s stood over the graves of women who should have had so much more time. Women with new recipes untested, new cities left unexplored, new experiences permanently unlived. Rebecca Jessel will never practice law. Hannah Grose will never see Paris. Dani Clayton will never...

Dani will never...

He’s never even there. Maybe that’s the worst part of all--that he’s always just off-camera, always just this side of where he ought to be. At home, when Rebecca drowned; at the manor when his mother passed; looking at his shoes while Hannah...

And now: now, with no warning at all, the phone ringing in the middle of the night. The voice on the other end is almost unrecognizably flat. The voice on the other end, he thinks, will haunt his dreams for years to come.

“Come to Vermont.”

“Jamie?” She sounds wrong. Not simply too calm, not simply too level, but as though all the life has been wrung from her body. As though she’s calling him from another plane altogether, and Owen will later be embarrassed by his first awful thought: She’s dead. She’s calling me from her own grave. It’s Hannah all over again.

But of course nothing ever could be. Nothing could ever match Hannah, the impossibility of her that summer. The impossible, cruel way the universe had of pushing her nearly into his arms before letting that trapdoor fall open beneath his feet. Jamie isn’t dead; Jamie is breathing into the other end of the phone, as though straining to keep herself together. Which can only mean one thing. 

He’s on the first flight. A bag with a few changes of clothes, a passport, a photo he is to this day unable to travel without. The plane juddering beneath him, his legs crammed into the small space, he presses his thumb to the smile beneath the plastic sheet. 

Hannah, I don’t know how to do this again. He’s never quite known how to do it at all, how to be this person--and wasn’t that because of Jamie all along? Jamie, who had found Rebecca’s body and made all the appropriate calls, her expression stony as she’d explained to the police how they’d found her. Jamie, who had answered the phone that night, turning on her heel with eyes that suddenly took up half her face, apologizing as he’d never heard her do before. Jamie, who made arrangements for food and drink while he stood like a puncture wound in blue jeans staring at what was left of his mother’s estate. 

Jamie, who stood beside him in front of a well, looking down even when he hadn’t been able to stomach it any longer. Jamie, always looking down into the face of cold reality. 

He’s never quite where he needs to be when it happens, but Jamie is. Jamie has always been. She is almost unfairly good at it: standing tall, accepting the truth, holding them all up when they shatter. 

And now, here she is: opening the door in cuffed jeans and a rumpled brown flannel shirt. Here she is, a few years older than Paris, looking at him like she’s never seen him before. Like the woman who called was someone else entirely. He thinks he sees a little of his mother in the blank distance of her eyes, and his heart cracks. 

“What happened?”

She turns from him, gesturing for him to come in. The flat, which has every hallmark of home, is surprisingly warm. Surprisingly messy, too--there are clothes on the couch, most of them things he recognizes as Dani’s from the photos they’ve been mailing his way for years. The floor is covered with pots, lemongrass and tiny succulents and a large-leaved plant he doesn’t recognize standing proudly amid clods of dirt, a watering can, several crumpled packs of cigarettes. 

She reaches for one of these now, taps out the final smoke into her palm, crunches the wrapping. “Want one?”

That voice again, that strange timbre--the accent a little less than he remembers, a little ironed-out by nearly fifteen years in this country, though that isn’t what works a shiver up his spine. It’s so flat. It’s so toneless. Jamie has been many things since he’s known her--angry, aggressive, cool, even violent--but never this detached. 

He’s never seen her like this. He’s never thought to worry he ever would. Jamie has aways been the most stable of them, taking up the mantle when even he couldn’t carry it. 

We, he thinks wearily, are the survivors. The witnesses. No one ever talks about what that’s like. 

Untrue. People talk about it. People who do useful things, like attend support groups, or get themselves to therapy. Henry does, sometimes--nursing seltzer, smiling ruefully at Owen over dinner. We think it’s the losing them that hurts the worst, until it happens, he’d said once. It isn’t. It’s the part where you have to keep waking up, dreaming for a split second each morning they’re still here. 

Nearly fifteen years, and there hasn’t been a single morning Owen hasn’t thought absently of calling her up. Not one where he hasn’t thought, Been too long without her voice. Without her laugh. God, that woman’s laugh. 

“Jamie...”

Her head comes up sharply, her eyes flashing--and then, like it was never there, the expression passes. She lights the cigarette with a steady hand, settles herself back on the rug with it clamped between her teeth. There’s soil smudged on her cheek, caked into her hair, and he wonders when last she showered. 

“Jamie, do you want to talk about it?”

She doesn’t. He knows that. He remembers too well how she’d sat beside him on a sofa in 1987, passed him a bottle of wine in silence. How she’d said simply, covering all bases in two words, “Fuck it.” 

It had been Dani, he remembers, who spoke of it first. Dani, looking paler than normal, looking shaken, saying firmly, “We should do something. We should do something for her.”

“Sit,” Jamie says without looking at him. She’s already getting back into it, he realizes--working her hands carefully back into a terra cotta pot, brushing the soil from spindly roots with loving care. It’s how she looked after Rebecca, brow furrowed, smoking and working in silence. There are problems that can’t be managed, he understands, and the only way someone like Jamie can tolerate that fact is to find new troubles to set right.

“Where is she, Jamie?” She’s not going to like this, he knows. He’d hate it, in her place. Had hated it, whenever someone dared speak Hannah’s name for those first few months. She’s going to hate him for it now.

But someone has to speak. Someone has to throw the line, lest she drift too far to come back. She called. There was a reason for it. 

“Jamie. Where is she?”

She gives him nothing. Jets smoke, taps ash into an empty beer can, keeps her eyes on the work. This isn’t like after Rebecca, he can see--Jamie back then had been hard-edged, furious that she hadn’t gotten to Becca in time, but she’d at least been willing to hold conversation. More than willing. It had seemed to ground her, reflecting on the Peter Quint of it all, on the shame of not being able to help enough, on how to explain it to the kids. 

Now, she sits with her back against the couch, her eyes not tracking the progress of her own hands. Owen, kneeling beside her, feels as though the room is waiting for something. Waiting for a knife to slide into the bubble she’s built, tearing it open to allow all that building water to rush in. 

He changes tack. “How long have you been doing this?”

“Three days,” she says. Her face is scrunched with concentration, her fingers testing something he can’t track in the roots. 

“Have you eaten?”

“’Course,” she says, gesturing recklessly with the cigarette at a stack of pizza boxes, several empty wine bottles, a dozen abandoned mugs. “All the food groups.”

“Slept?” He remembers that was the worst part, sleeping. Before it had all gone wrong, he’d gone to bed each night with a promise: Tomorrow, I’ll tell her. Tomorrow, I’ll finally do it. 

After, he’d stayed up until dawn in the kitchen, kneading dough, testing wilder and wilder concoctions. Jamie would stumble in at three in the morning, still half-asleep, to find him shoving a bowl of batter under her nose. 

Here. Try this. What does it need?

Cinnamon, she’d say gamely, though she’d clearly only been craving a glass of water. He’d slump against the table, head hanging between his arms.

She’d say it was divine as-is. 

Yeah, well. She always did like to see that idiot grin. 

“Jamie,” he says now, patiently. “Have you slept?”

She shrugs. He doesn’t need to walk down the hall to know the bed is likely sitting untouched, perfectly made--or, worse, exactly as she’d rolled out of it the last time. Exactly how she’d left it, when whatever had gone wrong had happened. 

It’s so easy, leaving things. 

It’s nearly impossible, setting them right again when the bigger problem can’t be fixed.

“Where is she, Jamie?” He hates himself. Hates pushing her. Hates the way her shoulders square a little tighter, her jaw clenching, her muddy fingers stretching to find an unopened pack of cigarettes to replace the one burned to nearly nothing between her lips. “Jamie. You called me.”

“Wouldn’t have,” she grumbles, “if I’d thought you’d talk this fucking much.”

Not true. He can see it in her, the shade not of the woman she’d been when they had met--hardy, rugged, a little grin around her mouth that said she’d make him regret it if he even considered pulling on her strings--but the one Dani had loved into being. We are all, he thinks, shaped by the love they give. Changes the molecules. Turns us from dough to something worth serving. 

The woman he’d met, tempered by a past she never discussed, patience she couldn't quite get a handle on, wouldn’t want him to talk this much.

The woman she is now, the one who had sat in his restaurant watching Dani like she was written in the only language worth knowing, called for a reason.

“Jamie.”

“Stop.” She closes her eyes. Her hands are shaking too hard to work out another cigarette, too hard to urge the Bic to light. 

“Where,” he asks gently. She’s shaking her head. When did so much silver slip into her hair? When did those lines crop up around her mouth? How long has it been, since he was where she needed him to be?

Didn’t need me. Not then. Had everything she needed, with Dani, but now--

“Jamie, where--”

“She’s gone.” Her eyes are blazing, her lips trembling. He has never, never seen this look on her face. This shattered, almost exultant misery is impossible to endure. She doesn’t look like Jamie now. She is only a collection of her worst fears made real. “She’s gone, Owen. She’s--”

She hunches into herself, a single crack splitting like a windscreen beneath a thrown rock. One foot lashes out sharply, sending a pot cartwheeling over onto its side. 

“She’s fucking gone,” she repeats in a voice like a woman kicked in the stomach. She raises her eyes, red-rimmed, and almost smiles. “I fell asleep.”

Strange, he thinks as he shuffles across the rug to wrap his arms around her, the last thought that kicks out when they’re gone. Not I should have told her, not I should have been there, but: I was in the kitchen. Not I should have stopped her, not I should have been faster, but: I fell asleep. The should doesn’t matter anymore, once they’re gone. All that matters is what you did. Where you were. What you can never change. 

“I fell asleep,” she repeats, and there’s nothing flat about her voice now. Even speaking of Rebecca, the Wingraves, Hannah, she’s never sounded half this shattered. “I fell asleep, Owen. I fell--”

He’s pressing his face against her shoulder, feeling unforgivably enormous draped this way over her slight frame. She folds double, rocking back and forth, one hand digging so hard into the other arm that he’ll be gently patching bloody gouges in an hour’s time. For now, he only sways with her, allowing the momentum of her grief to rock him back and forth, back and forth.

“She’s gone,” she says again. “She’s gone. She’s--”

He’ll stay a while--not quite feeling secure leaving her on her own, not quite willing to risk letting her slide back into this space. He’ll stay, helping her in the kitchen (She was better at it. Less likely to poison us, anyway.), and with the nightmare of making those phone calls (Her mum needs to know. Hated me, but still. And Judy O’Mara. And Henry. Fuck. The kids won’t even...). She won’t let him near the bedroom, won’t let him tuck her into that bed. The one and only time he’ll offer to help sift through Dani’s belongings, she’ll flex a fist around a bottle like she’s thinking of swinging it at him. 

She won’t look at him when he steps into the bathroom to find the tub draining over the side onto the floor, either, the sink full of clean water. When he opens his mouth to question, she’ll reach past him, slap down the plunger, stride out of the room without a word. 

Leave her whatever rituals she needs, he’ll think, remembering all those unnecessary three-a.m. cakes. Leave her whatever ghosts she can’t let go. 

He’ll stay as long as she needs, he decides with her beginning to sob at last. He’s never quite been there, when it happens--never been able to look death in the eye as Jamie has. It’s the greatest injustice in the world, how many loved ones have gone on without him, leaving only stories in their wake. 

He’s never where he needs to be, to stop it happening--but he can be here. For a little while, at least. He can hold her, and he can look down. 

There is no justice, this time, in letting Jamie believe she needs to be strong enough to do it alone.

#fanfiction #ficlet #the haunting of bly manor #the haunting of bly manor spoilers #politely: you did ask for this #I take no responsibility for wounds inflicted #also this art is fucking heartbreaking and I always crave more when this artist does anything #so like. couldn’t resist. but it’s still not my fault

[raven-wraith]

A Completely Subjective (Objective) List of Titles to Examine (Purchase), Play Through (Waste Your Life), and Enjoy (Enjoy) During Quarantine (Part 1)

We know what’s happening. It’s April 1st, but the joke has been going on for far too long. Trapped in our homes with Covid-19 actively shooting people in the streets outside, we have to find a way to pass the time. As an avid gamer and professional uncooked cookie dough eater, I have compiled a list of games, both multiplayer and singleplayer that anyone and everyone should play for an enthralling experience. These games range from the newest releases to golden classics, so be warned if, I don’t know, Halo Reach appears. By the way, Halo Reach is appearing.

Single Player Games:

Darkest Dungeon

As our first game on the list, I can only reserve it for the front so at least all of you that don’t read the whole list know about this game. On the surface, Darkest Dungeon looks to be another turn-based, number-crunching, party-building slaughter fest. That’s because it is. But, at the same time, it is so much more than that. Past the Steam reviews that just say, “This game is hard,” or “This game is dope,” nothing can even explain the absolute depth that Darkest Dungeon has to offer.

Red Hook and Klei Entertainment take a unique approach to party building and world crafting. While usual party crafter games like Final Fantasy drive their quests and dialogue to carry the story, it is far more subtle but interesting in the way it is told through Darkest Dungeon. In fact, it is so subtle, that by the time my girlfriend and I had beaten the game and watched the last few moments of the last cutscenes, I didn’t even realize I was, in fact, making all of those decisions and choices to shape the story as it was told. 

Darkest Dungeon revolves around making smart but very hard choices that cannot be delayed for later. The greatest part is that these choices are not presented to you in the usual press-one-of-two-buttons-for-a-different-ending format that games of choice are so used to giving. Instead, it is on a far more personal level. Choices like thinking of inventory space for gold or supplies, whether or not to starve the party for just one more room to rest at a fire, who will be drinking and who will be gambling to forget about the horrors of the quests they’ve had to endure. 

The greatest part is that the game even embellished the idea of loss after choice, emphasizing to not be torn up over a stressful situation, a difficult obstacle, or even a hero’s death because the game still has so much to go, there is no time to cry like a bitch, There is only time to look forward and time to still cry like a bitch. 

I recommend this title to anyone who enjoys perfect indie games(1), those that really break through the barrier of creativity and deliver a totally unique experience.

DOOM (2016)

Doom. Baby, holy SHIT. I was reading a thread where a user simply put that “Doom is the only game where the boss music is for you.” And never in my life have I agreed so much with one singular sentence. The first entry in the Doom rebooted series is beyond comprehending complex stories and intensive strategy. Instead, it emphasizes brutal encounters and visceral gameplay mechanics.

Id has outdone themselves with this title. While the Wolfenstein games from MachineGames have been refreshing, none of them have even come close to touching the near cathartic execution of this game. Doom is a game that is centered around moving fast and hitting hard. Your character, the Doom Slayer (or Doom Guy), is not hindered by the multitude of weapons they carry. He is also an armored definition of brute force. Not a single word leaves our protagonist's mouth, but his actions speak volumes and his purpose in the game is clear right from the beginning. Rip and tear. In that order.

A first person shooter that doesn’t hold back, I was surprised to see lots of mechanics and gameplay choices from the very first Doom had made a return. Ammo and health pickups, rooms filled to the brim with demons to slaughter, and an unforgettable soundtrack produced by Mick Gordon that even pays homage to the original’s. These are the cornerstones of Doom (2016) and I wholeheartedly recommend this to gamers who don’t even enjoy first person shooters as there comes a point in the chaos where it is almost calming for the player. 

Infamous Second Son

From the very first time I could even have a conscious thought, I wanted a game where I could not only be a superhero, but I could be a superhero voiced by Troy Baker. When I saw that we were in no shortage of games like that(2), I asked again, but this time specifying that I wanted a kick-ass superhero game where I would inevitably be voiced by Troy Baker. That is when Infamous Second Son was announced in 2013 and my infant child teenage brain literally melted. 

Infamous Second Son released only a few months after the PS4 dropped, showing off it’s specifications and hardware to such a grand degree, I still know the very grains of sand that rendered it on the beach of Seattle. The game is exactly how I’ve asked. A superhero story of a kid that uses his powers to fight an evil villain. As the villain explains their goals and the hero becomes stronger and more powerful, Seattle only becomes that much more of a diverse playground to fly around, jump and punch, and at one point even start to level whole buildings.

Being the powerful hero only gets more fun as the game progresses as the number of abilities expand from simple smoke tricks to straight up lazers. Delsin, our main character, is also clever, witty, and likeable. I can only emphasize his features in the PS4’s rendering technologies, but you just have to play it yourself.

The game also includes moral choices. While these choices are far more linear to be bad or good, the outcomes are not only very different, but the entire balance of gameplay changes as morally exclusive powers are unlocked for your character. This game demands you play it over again just to see how the other missions, powers, and endings even feel, let alone look. A memorable title, I would recommend this to anyone with a PS4, 100%

Salt & Sanctuary

Now before we go off the deep end, I am going to stomp all questions and rumors now. Yes, this is a difficult game. Yes, it has no online support but can still be 2-player couch co-op. Yes, it is made by two people, husband and wife. Now before we turn away, I would like to share that Salt & Sanctuary is the very testament that hand-crafted games from independent companies will always be in competition with AAA titles. 

The game has a massive world, sprawling with bosses and enemies that are never the same throughout the whole game. The enemies, almost immediately, take the spotlight for me, tied only to the landscapes. You go from fighting hatchet throwing bandits to fighting golems the size of buildings only one area apart. If Pyramid Head from the Silent Hill series and Mr. Krabs had a baby, it's an enemy. There are flying gremlins, evil pirates, Cthulhu daemons, skeleton wizards, lightning-breathing parrot lizards, unicorns (fuck those guys by the way), a demonic fart, short jesters, tall jesters, and more crazy amalgamations of pain. 

The design of the world is to behold. It is apparent that inspiration from other titles that loop back on each other are apparent here. Things like the first Dark Souls come to mind, where the player would loop back to the main hubs by progress and exploration, shortcuts to home could be made. It seems that Salt & Sanctuary takes this on a global level, which is perfectly done. Please, I beg of you, if you find nothing else on this list, get this game.

Marvel’s Spider-Man

Fucking Spider-Man. Be Spider-Man. That’s the game. 10/10.

(1)  *cough* *cough* Castle Crashers *cough* Bloons Tower Defense 4 *cough*

(2)   Batman Arkham Knight as Robin, Resident Evil 6 as Jake, LEGO Batman 2: DC Super Heroes as fucken everyone, Bioshock Infinite as Booker, Injustice: Gods Among Us as I’m realizing that DC might own this guy, Saints Row IV as The President, and more

#my boyfriend has been spending the last week compiling this list #and sent this to me with permission to post it #i hope you all enjoy! #i have loved all of these games and theyre as great as he says #oro lion #single player games #video games #spiderman #marvel #quarantine #covid positivity #darkest dungeon #doom #doomguy #doom 2016 #second son #infamous second son #delsin rowe #peter parker #salt and sanctuary #orova

[lady-divine-writes]

Moral Arguments

Summary:

Crowley doesn't exactly take assignments anymore, but sometimes he does things for fun - like answering the call of a broken-hearted woman summoning a demon on St. Valentine's Day. But what Crowley thinks is going to be a simple hex-and-go turns into more emotionally charged than he bargained for.

Notes:

Inspired in part by this post.

(AO3)

“Creatures of the Underworld …”

“Yup. That’s me.”

“… on Earth and below …”

“Gotcha.”

“… I summon thee!”

Crowley throws up his hands in frustration. Ten more minutes of this, and he’s going to start pulling his hair out.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m summoned! I’m summoned! Let’s get a move on, will ya? I’m late for a date!”

“Demons of vengeance! Hear my plea! Do my bidding!”

“Let’s have at it then, girlie!”

“Lords of the Dark!”

“Oh, bollocks! Here we go again!”

“I, Samantha Westin of West Berkshire, call you to my aid!”

“Ugh!”

Crowley, hidden between a dresser and a closet, in a shadow created by several taper candles throwing light, slides down the bedroom wall and sits. He’d been summoned here, but not really. Only very specific spells can truly summon him. It’s not a simple matter of yelling out, “Oi! Demon! Get your bum over here! I need you to do something for me!”

If that were the case, he’d never get a moment’s peace.

But this was different – an amateur incantation but on a day of the year when demons get the greatest (and easiest) opportunity to make mischief – and Crowley appreciates easy; when people from all walks of life will call for a demon like they’re ordering take away and invite them into their homes with little to no thought of the consequences.

St. Valentine’s Day.

Crowley doesn’t do much in the way of official assignments for the big bosses anymore, but old habits die hard, and this one’s too tempting to resist. He’s running late for dinner with his angel, but this was going to be fun. He could risk being a few minutes late.

That’s what he’d originally thought.

He’s closing in on over half-an-hour.

Samantha leans over a book on the floor in front of her. She reads a bit, then jumps nervously. She grabs a container of salt by her knee and spills it out in a circle around her.

A protective ring –a boundary between her and any potential evil.

“Aw!” Crowley coos sarcastically to himself. “She fancies herself a white witch! How adorable!”

He has to give her some credit. Whatever book she bought, it’s from someone who knows an inkling of their stuff. Salt is effective against evil creatures, but only minor ones, like the insects of the demon world. Still, considering no one would want their house invaded by a horde of demonic termites or zombie ants, it’s nothing to sneeze at.

“Find a photograph of the offending and fix your eyes upon it.”

“Okay, okay.” Crowley sits up, wondering if he should miracle himself up a bag of crisps. “Finally! Things are gettin’ good.”

“Tear up the photograph,” she reads, “and proclaim his sins into the dark.” She takes a deep breath, then lets it out. “Okay. Here goes.”

She begins to tear the picture in half, then fourths, and Crowley rubs his hands excitedly together.

“So let’s see. What did this crank handle do, huh, Sammy? Stepped out with another bird, I’ll wager.”

Samantha carefully places the torn pieces of the photograph into a small wooden bowl, part of her arsenal of witchcraft paraphernalia, and sighs. “He left me for my twin sister.”

“Ding, ding, ding! Winner, winner, chicken dinner!” Crowley licks his finger and marks a single, sparking tally into the air. “Well, you should take that as a compliment, love, really. He left for someone who looks exactly like you.”

“He stole my car …”

“Oh, we’re not done.”

“… broke into my house …” She takes a long breath, shuddered by the onset of tears. “He killed my dog …”

The grin that had been spreading on Crowley’s face falls into an immediate frown. “For Satan’s sake! This prick should be working for us.”

The woman stops, bites her lower lip as the tears gathering around her heart begin to fall.

“He hit me. Not just once. Not just twice. And he … he …” Her voice fails her, but she mouths the words, and Crowley rises to his knees, subconsciously gearing up for a fight. This is a new instinct for him, being protective of anyone, specially a mortal. He’s known right and wrong from day one. He’s felt anger over the injustices he’s witnessed, even remorse over the ones he’s helped cause. But, for the most part, he’s been fine sitting on the sidelines, inconveniencing people when he could for the greater good.

It’s a grey area – thwarting a crime. In the end, someone gets hurt or killed. When you’re in the business of harvesting souls, the who doesn’t necessarily matter.

Crowley simply finds a way to harvest a bit more selectively than other demons.

“Holy fuck!” he groans, tossing his head back and staring up at the ceiling. “Why? Why me? This was supposed to be a simple little fun hex-and-go. What am I supposed to do now?”

The real question, he discovers with very little wracking of his brain, is what would Aziraphale do?

“Sprinkle rose water on the pieces of the photograph and set them on fire.”

A conflicted Crowley watches the young lady search for her flask of rose water. He’d seen it beside her a moment ago – a simple vessel of water with roses floating in it that she probably prepared herself. She suddenly seems to remember where she put it because she spins around quickly with an anxious look on her face, mumbling, “No, no, no! Crap!” before she finds it tipped over onto its side. “Dammit!” She examines the empty flask, wet rose petals plastered to the sides, the water that had been inside soaking into her rug. She shakes her head and sets the flask down. “Of course! Of course! Just my luck! Now what am I going to do?” She gets on her hands and knees and goes searching for something to replace the water with. She finds another bottle within reach of her salt circle and grabs it. She reads the label, then gives it a sniff. She consults her book, and shrugs.

“Smells like roses. This should do.”

Crowley squints from the darkness to catch a glimpse of the label. This bottle isn’t rose water. It’s perfume. Not expensive perfume. The kind one buys at a corner market along with their milk and eggs on the way home. Perfume of that caliber is usually teeming with alcohol.

Flammable alcohol.

He watches as she gives the bowl a few spritzes, a subtle floral aroma filling the air. Then she goes for broke, untwists the top, and empties the contents into the bowl. The scent of roses smacks him in the face like a freight train along with an undercurrent of sharp and chemical. She grabs a book of matches, tearing four from the inseam, and strikes them.

“Jesus Christmas! She’s going to light herself on fire!” Flashbacks fill his brain of a heat seared inside his memory like a wound that refuses, even with time and treatment, to heal. Crowley leaps to his feet and materializes from the shadows, rushing at her, waving his hands to get her attention. “Stop! Stop! For Satan’s sake, stop!”

Samantha’s head snaps up. She drops her matchbook and scuttles backward, stopping when her hands hit the salt. With a snap of his fingers, Crowley extinguishes the flame before it has a chance to ignite the bowl.

“What the ---? What the fuck?” Samantha screams. “Who the fuck are you?”

“I’m a demon!” Crowley pats his chest dramatically as if she might mistake something else for the demon and him for a coat rack. “You know, the one you’ve been summoning?”

“I---I don’t believe in demons!” she yells and for a moment, all of Crowley’s worries about this woman setting herself, her house, and her neighbors ablaze dies with the absurdity of that remark.

“I … huh … what!? If you don’t believe in demons, why the bloody heck are you trying to summon one then? That’s literally the stupidest … you don’t dabble in magicks, young lady! That’s even worse than knowing what you’re doing!”

“It ---it wasn’t supposed to be serious! It was a coping mechanism!”

“Don’t talk to me about coping mechanisms! My entire existence is about coping mechanisms! Don’t do that!” Crowley snaps, catching her with his magic before she can jump to her feet and dive onto her bed for her cell phone. The bed is halfway across the room. Making a break for it would have taken her out of her circle. “Don’t break the ring of salt! Even terrible spells need to be ended correctly!”

“What happens if they aren’t?” she asks, relaxing when he releases his hold over her.

“Trust me, you don’t want to know.”

“Yes, I want to know! I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t want to know!”

“Cheeky little …” he mutters, fishing his phone out of his pocket, realizing how much this young lady and his angel would get along. “Let’s just say if you don’t want to know what it feels like to have your brains liquefied inside your skull and then drunk by demon maggots, you’ll end this spell. Meanwhile, I’m gonna call in some reinforcements.”

“Reinforcements?” Samantha swallows hard. “L---like … more demons?”

“Luckily for you, no. I run with a different crowd.”

“How do I end the spell?”

“Jump to the bottom of the page,” he says, phone to his ear. “It’ll tell you---Aziraphale?”

This isn’t the way Crowley saw this going. Back in the old days, he’d hex the guy and be done with it – make him go bald with his head hair growing out his nose, give him a festering boil on his face that would never heal, make him severely and flatulently allergic to his favorite foods. Only thing was, unbeknownst to the young lady who summoned him, she would be damned, too. That wasn’t even a demonic rule. That one came from the good book itself. It was the kind of two-for-one demons delighted in.

One that came with a divine loophole.

But not anymore.

For some bizarre reason, he’s taking this personally.

“Crowley?” Aziraphale’s voice barks over the line. “What the heaven has happened to you? You’re nearly an hour late!”

“I know, angel, I know. I got caught up with work.”

“You’re working? Tonight!?”

“I’m sorry. I’ll explain when I get there.” Crowley glances down at Samantha, reading through the spell, sniffling as the words take her back to why she was doing what she was doing a moment before. “I’ll be bringing work home with me. I need a little help.”

***

“There, there, dear,” Aziraphale says, handing Samantha a cup of tea. “Let’s talk this out, hmm? Tell us everything, and then we can come up with a solution.”

It took Aziraphale close to an hour over the phone to convince Samantha to get into Crowley’s Bentley and accompany him to his bookshop. When he did, he made Crowley swear he’d obey the posted speed limits.

When they arrived in under fifteen minutes, Aziraphale knew he hadn’t.

Remarkable seeing as they stopped along the way to pick up a friend.

“The solution is we should call the police!” Anathema says, bringing over a plate of cookies.

“I … I tried.” Samantha takes the plate with a small but grateful smile. “Everything he’s done, even with the evidence I have against him, and it’s still a his word against mine sort of situation. It’s almost like the police don’t want to listen. Like they think it’s not worth their time.”

“Sounds about right,” Anathema reluctantly admits, dropping onto a nearby sofa and accepting a glass of whiskey from an angrily hissing Crowley as he paces the floor.

Aziraphale watches on with sympathetic eyes. He’d asked Crowley in private why? Why did this mean so much to him? With everything he’d done in the past, why did this one woman’s plight trigger such a strong response? Crowley had confessed that he didn’t know, but mumbled something about those abusing the vulnerable beginning to get under his skin.

“So, what do you suggest, angel?” Crowley asks, peeking up when he feels his husband’s eyes on him. “What does it say in the rule book about dealing with a situation like this when the supposed good guys sit around with their thumbs up their arses?”

“Normally, I would recommend gentle persuasion, and if that doesn’t work, then a little forceful persuasion,” Aziraphale says. “But as I don’t feel the man in question would be receptive to that, and the authorities aren’t in the mood to help, maybe we should skip the usual steps and jump to the end.”

“And what’s the end?” Samantha looks nervously from Aziraphale to Anathema, then to Crowley staring at the man in white with a disbelief that erases the color from his face. All three have gone quiet, but they’ve seem to come to the same conclusion, and it stuns at least two of them.

Samantha is obviously missing something big.

“Well, you did summon a demon, my dear,” Aziraphale says kindly, but with a grave nod to his husband. “I’d say it’s about time that demon got to work.”

“Are you serious?” Anathema yelps, but not in a way that indicates she disagrees. In fact, she looks fully on board with this plan – whatever it is.

“What about the whole damnation clause thing?” Crowley asks in a lower than low whisper.

“Find a loophole, my dear. That’s what you do.”

Crowley grins, impressed at the ability of his innocent Aziraphale to straddle the grey line as well as he. During a discussion about guns, his angel had once said that they lend weight to a moral argument when wielded by the right people. He wonders if this falls under the same category. “Right. And what about dinner?”

Aziraphale escorts his demon to the door, kissing him softly on the lips before showing him out. “It’ll keep.”

#good omens #ineffable husbands #crowley x aziraphale #aziraphale x crowley #Good Omens Fanfic #Frankie writes

[theskyexists]

the amazing she-ra 5

i am LOVING this first episode. they’re TRULY the underdogs now. people are hiding with magic. they live in tents. they’ve lost their edge. they’re actually leaning into the horrors of war now

Shadowweaver says OOC stupid things but it doesn’t matter because the princesses shut it down satisfactorily. Adora is weighed down by responsibility in a cool way.

Catra is staking out the enemy and weaseling her way in. (yessss)

‘You don’t need to say it! I know. I made that choice. I’m living with the consequences.’ I LOVE THIS ADORA

I LOVE THIS WRITING. Catra and Glimmer are THE greatest pair ever. Glimmer is smart enough to poke right through Catra’s defenses - and NOW they’re in the same situation - Glimmer says so - and immediately the prison wall fades away - and they’re both invited for dinner. THAT DELICIOUS WRITING

i do love how shadowweaver has been this snarky aunt for two seasons now.

Hord Prime shows us Adora in danger and Catra is like; FUCK YOU ADORA’S MINE (TO DESTROY) !!!!

I love Hord Prime’s wonderfully manipulative dinner. And I love glimmer quietly crying and I love Catra being like HRMMMM I DONT LIKE THIS. the subtle animations are so great - the close-ups

the way Catra speaks to Hord Prime - the way she’s really fuckin scared and the way Hord Prime says ‘little sister’. The way they make him seem unbeatable. I LVOE IT.

AND I LOVE THESE VISIONS FOR ADORA

jezus but how few people really live in etheria ?

the propaganda and the tech to boost prime’s image everywhere....ugh it’s delicious. im also happy Entrapta is back and on the good side instead of helping Catra be a bitch to Adora. and im glad the princesses are wary of her.

hahahaah awww Bo came to give adora breakfast and then he panics when she’s lying on the floor. I ALSO LOVE BO AND ADORA TOGETHER BEST

goddamnit Bo YAH! finally somebody who effectively protects someone from the masses. fuck off micah!

Love the princesses acting on their own - love Scorpia mediating, love mermista stepping up, love Entrapta using her .....intelligence

I love how Hord Prime manipulating Glimmer is used to show us more about his empire.

‘i only want to bring peace’ - but also i destroyed all these worlds. how is that...how is that even surface compatible?? like no attempt is made to align those two things.

wait....the heart of etheria will destroy the universe? why??? why is that the assumption. and why...does Hord Prime want that? i....

the comedy of the princesses doing a mission alone is GREAT

IM SO HAPPY THE PRINCESSES GOT TO HIT ENTRAPTA WHERE IT HURTS. now THIS is the right level of comedy versus hurt

the way scorpia rolled to cover frosta in her bulk!

i love how adora is like - HAH sleep is great actually! wow!!

because of the underlying grievances that we EXPERIENCED as audience, this friendship moment actually LANDS

I REINSTATE MY HOORAY!!! (hahahaha god i love scorpia). oh my god Micah saying he trusts glimmer’s friends to save her - fuckin hell - heart squeeze

LOOK AT THAT SHIT. LOOK AT IT!!! Glimmer being angry at Catra - but then recanting and showing vulnerability. Catra showing vulnerability by acquiescing. GOD!!!

‘why did you do it?’ OH GOD ARRGHGHHG THATS SO FUCKING PAINFUL. why does Catra scratch Adora? Because she doesn’t understand - seems to not make the effort to understand!! because she’s never understood that everybody always hurt her - she never fucking saw when it was right in front of her. THat’s even worse in a way than being hurt.

god the fuckin scale. the planet getting bombarded from space....jezus christ.

theres a hallway with light and dark at the end - its implied she goes into the dark - BECAUSE SHE INTENDS TO HIDE FROM WHO FOLLOWS HER

wow she instantly realises he’s hordak. ha!

Catra is being so open with Glimmer. She’s REALLY REALLY! off balance

they have a talking ritual!!!! THEYRE BONDING ABOUT ADORA BEING A DORK!!!!

Catra realises that nothing she was doing on Etheria had any value to her!!!! I LOVE THIS SEASON SO MUCH

I love how Adora gets to be such a badass dork this season!!!! Bo and Adora + Glimmer and Catra are the BEST COMBINATION

godDAMN they made these clones creepy. damn i LOVE Hord Prime!!!

catra/glimmer......tho.....

she pushes her onto the bed and kneels before her, holding her hands. DUDES. MY DUDES!!!! catra is they gayest cat in existence

‘do one good thing in your life!’ - oh OUCH god, you can feel the whole weight of all the hurt and injustice she’s experienced in ‘dont talk to me like you know me!’

HAHAHAHAHAHAH BO losing his mind and Adora being a hilarious himbo is SO GOOD

I LOVE CATRA’S ABSOLUTELY HEARTBREAKING ADORABLE MEMORY AND HALLUCINATIONS

‘im alway going to be your friend’  - ‘i’ll never say sorry to anybody’ GODDD

‘all i do is hurt people, there’s no one left in the entire universe who cares about me’ - a reasonable assumption based on your behaviour except for the fact that Adora has been trying to reach you for 4 FUCKING seasons with hand outstretched

THAT WAS SO FUCKING DRAMATIC I AM IN LOVE !! IN LOVE WITH THEM!!!!

are you fucking SERIOUS - ENTRAPTA MADE AN AB WINDOW IN BO’S SPACE SUIT AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHA

the animation in this goddamn season is CRAZY and INCREDIBLE

I ADORE Catra the self Martyr i ADORE that she’s going to go through the wringer still in Hord Prime’s hands.

THIS SEASON IS WORTH ALL THE REST

are YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME- i HATE THAT SHIT WHY MUST YOU MAR THIS SEASON WITH AN INTERRUPTION OF AN APOLOGY. STOP IT!!! IT’S NOT FUN IT’S NOT SATISFYING IT RUINS THE MOMENT IT WEAKENS THE EMOTION BY DRAGGING IT OUT FUCK!!!!

well i guess that was pretty good with Adora. wish they had made that a little bit longer

i love entrapta. she’s such a perfect element to throw into the mix. and her connections with AI’s are great

that scorpia and swift wind talk is so beautiful. they are also the PERFECT pair. ‘gosh have you ever noticed how many moons we have here? it’s weird.’ HAHAHAHA

they’re visiting a planet that’s been conquered by Prime...

I love how they made Entrapta flirty with her tech ahahahaha

i love how Adora is like: oh??? you’re coming to me??? for emotional advice??? uhhhhhh ok haha nice

I LOVE ADORA

i love swift wind’s drunk history retelling of what’s going on on Etheria - especially his impression of shadowweaver and his batman micah

Bo sure is very bad at forgiveness himself lol

‘well im NOT! running awayy that is. i AM smart’ AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!! i love you adora

Adora spewing all her bullshit about Catra to total strangers ahahaha

this was SUCH amazing teamwork!!!

AND THAT MOMENT OF SHE-RA BEING BACK!!!!

GLIMMER ACKNOWLEDGING SHE MADE A MISTAKE AND THAT BO DESERVES TO BE MAD AND MAYBE THINGS WON’T BE THE SAME AGAIN BUT SHE WON’T STOP TRYING TO MAKE IT BETTER AND SHE’LL BE THERE IF HE’S EVER READY

FUCKING TEARS BABEY

jezus christ !! that was good!!! i take it back - it was a stupid interruption (they could have just had Bo respond ‘eh’ at an attempt at apology from glimmer....maybe) but they made the final apology INCREDIBLE

‘i can’t just leave her...’ the voice acting in this is sO GOOD

Catra made her whole plan to keep Adora away from Prime based on the assumption that if Glimmer was in Prime’s hands, then Adora would come to rescue her no matter the danger. So she saved Glimmer. But SHE FAILED TO REALISE THAT ADORA WOULD DO THE SAME FOR HER AHAHAHAHAHAHAA

the amazing thing about these highly tech advanced societies is that none of them have invented security cameras

glimmer getting some ptsd flashes

I KNEW that the heart of etheria was built by the First Ones to fight Hordak. Makes Mara’s decision a bit more ---- hMMMM not as great. Because Hordak has killed countless worlds since!

the hive mind lol. jezus Prime is so terrible.

oh my god the very concepts of Prime when behind a fictional buffer are so archtypically delicious. Catra’s glowy green eyes and full bow. hohhohhohho. that uniform also looks great

so Prime could do this to everyone but he chose to surround himself with clones. goddamn.

oh damn that lean-in, those hands on her neck. hmmmhm. gay

she FLINCHES when Prime lays a hand on her shoulder. DAMN. love it

‘you will give me she-ra’ ---- isn’t that what she’s been offering all along? lol

AND THEN HE LEAVES ADORA WITH A BRAINWASHED CONTROLLED PUPPET CATRA WHO ATTACKS HER

OH ITS SO DELICIOUS

brainwashed Catra is really sexy and disturbing hahahahahaha

this fight is so well choreographed. Catra letting herself almost fall, Adora gathering her into her arms, the scratch across the back, the damn knee into the midriff (OUCH), the dangling her in turn.

‘i always hated that guy in particular - and also all the other guys i hit on the way in.’ LOLOLOLOL

THE CHEEK TOUCH - THE TEARS AND SMILE - THE GREEN EYES AND THE BACKHAND AFJLDJFDSJFLKDSJSDFKSDFJ

‘you’re such an idiot!’

‘yeah! i know!’

I LOVE THEM AAAAAAAAAAAAA ITS SO TRUE AHAHAHAHAHAHAI LOVE THEM

‘im going to take you home’

‘promise?’

NOELLE WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING TO ME

Adora watches Catra probably die and fall off into a endless pit. JUMPS IN AFTER HER ONE SECOND LATER

Prime really did miscalculate lol - his ship’s been destroyed by one stab at a server.

CATRA ALMOST DYING AND ADORA TRANSFORMING WITH GLOWY EYES GODDAMN!!!! HOLDING CATRA INTO HER ARMS BRIDAL STYLE. NEW OUTFIT!! WALKING INTO THE SHIP LIKE A BOSS. AND HEALS HER. HEY ADORA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! AND SHE FUCKING

PURRS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

all the fucking crying is so good

‘I kNOW YOU ALL HATE ME!” ‘I NEVER HATED YOU’ ‘Then you’re dumber than I thought’ HAHAHAHAHA i love how Catra cannot accept Adora’s friendship because she cannot forgive herself. but Adora never fucking gets it because she has the emotional intelligence of a crab!!!! the problem is that Adora is the exact shape of Catra’s heart - which is one big open wound. And if she presses - all she does is cause hurt

Catra is so adorable looking god.....

SPINERELLA AND NETOSSA KISSED!!!!!!!! awwwwwww they’ve been so cute for so long and they only got more and more screentime and Awwwww

Not-Hordak and ‘dehydrated protein slaw’ AhAHAHAHA

how did they find us? UHHH THERES A CHIP IN CATRA’S SPINE????

ADORA TELLING CATRA WHAT’S UP!! YES! Catra in a corner. Catra on her damn KNEES. ADORA BLUSHING AT HOLDING HER HAND

their first impulse is to hold each other at the ship shaking.

CATRA IS BLUSHING LOOKING AT ADORA TRANSFORM

SHE-RA CAN LITERALLY FLY THROUGH SPACE - well. make matter from light, breathe in a vacuum, jumpt from one asteroid to another....

I AM GLIMMER IN THIS: YEAAAHHHHHH!!!!!

Catra is very lucky that her biggest likely hater is already on her side: glimmer

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO SPINERELLAAAA. what a fuckin bait and punch goddamn! making them so cute and then foreshadowing it perfectly and then BAM

CATRA IS CONFIDENT ENOUGH TO MESS WITH ADORA BY LITERALLY JUMPING INTO ADORA’S LAP

fjadslkfasdjflkadjfsja

CATRA IS

PURRING

catra is so effortlessly cool sitting in the window sill

i am actually loving that they have a not-Hordak with them. it humanises those clones a lot

this prince has farsight but they NEVER thought to recruit him BEFORE???

FUCKIN - I LOVE how spinerella and netossa have gotten so much more screentime - relevant to the plot and also revealing their characters. i wish we’d got this from the start!

well now i ship perfuma and scorpia lolololol

HAHAHAHAHA i LOVE this Seahawk and Mermista hiding behind a bar because of ex victims skjsfajfklds

Prince Peekabloo has an AMAZING design, but also he must be a fake. IT MUST BE DOUBLE TROUBLE. double trouble has TASTE

MERMISTA LOOKS SO COOL IN THAT OUTFIT - but also especially chipped and in shadows. they do love chipping people’s love interests

SCORPIA SACRIFICING HERSELF TO SAVE PERFUMA. jezus christ so much love interest drama suddenly wow

‘happy anniversary’ that is HEARTBREAKING

what a great ending to a very silly episode. that’s the balance. a last message from the last soldier standing...

‘WHY DOES SPACE HATE ME SO MUCH!?!?!’ hahahahaah

Catra’s fingers shake......

‘take it from somebody who’s defeated you guys, like, a lot’ AAHAHAHA

FINALLY CATRA IS ON THEIR SIDE TO BE THE SMARTS IN TEH ROOM

ADORA LOOKS SO BADASS IN THAT SPACESHIP CHAIR

chipping everyboddy so they’re like zombies was a great story idea.

catra upset at her signs of upset. CUTE

why the FUCK is Adora’s hair out of her spacesuit ahahahahahahaha. IM SO GLAD THAT BO AGREES WITH ME ON THE ADORABLENESS OF CATRAS HELMET HAHAHAHAHAA

catra is happy to see adora laugh again.... : ‘)

CATRA JUST CLAWED THROUGH FIVE CENTIMETERS OF STEEL????!?!?!?!

ADORA IS BLUSHING AAHAHAHAHAHAAAA

I LOVE how Catra is like, WHAT THE FUCK at having lost to these people

Entrapta trying to deal with Wrong-Hordak in existential crisis is a hilarious premise

THE ANGRIER YOU GET THE CUTER YOU ARE!!! I LOVE BO

oh wow! a first ones colony! very cool! this whole planet works against intruders and plays tricks on them. i do like how first ones are definitely like, still imperial shitlords like subtly. i love how Wrong-Hordak has a realisation arc in the background.

HOLY SHIT THIS IS CREEPY

CATRA DISARMED THIS CAT CREATURE WITH HER CUTE SNEEZE AHAHAHAHA

CATRA IS PETTING A CAT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

AHAHAHAHA EVERY SINGLE THING WE COULD HAVE EVER WANTED IS COMING TRUE

catra is working on not lashing out :’) <= literally adora and also me

Melog is so ADORABLE and imprinted on Catra and LOVES ADORA and AGHGHGHG

I love how Adora can make her eyes glow on command

Castaspella was blushing at Shadowweaver being so close lolololol. wow this is the first time Castaspella has been interesting. ‘and stop me, if i take the power for myself’ i love aunty shadowweaver.

AAAHAHAHHAHAHAHAAHAH WHAT HAHAAHHAAAAHA Catra notices she’s holding Adora’s hand and goes ARGGH and doesn’t just take her hand back but throws it away ahhaahaha. Adora doesn’t even respond. that was so hilarious for some reason.

GLIMMER KISSING CATRA’S CHEEK HELLO??? HELLO?????????

‘is what i would have said before i joined you. go team’ hahahaa

‘you’re wearing hooded cloaks. that’s highly suspicious’ AHAHAHAHAHA fucking meta

I LOVE HOW ADORA IS THE ‘oh god my fuckin friends blowing our cover great’ person here

MELOG IS ALREADY STEALING MUSHROOMS FOR CATRA TO EAT AHAHAHAHA I LOVE THEM

Spinerella and Netossa are so BADASS and i love their fight. it’s so deliciously painful and cool hehehehehe

so the only person im fighting here is!.....my own wife...

I LOVE THEM

spinerella is so op lololol - why did she barely do anything for them when they were still fighting hordak

wrong hordak is so fucking cute ahahahahaha

goddamn that reunion was touching and funny at the same time. and i can actually believe that Prime is having trouble with this slippery team of magic users

I love Netossa’s analysis of the princesses weaknesses. Adora: can’t act to save her life. also extreme hair envy with she-ra

BUT GLIMMER: crippling self-doubt mixed with overwhelming hubris AHAAHAHHAAHAHAHAHA

OH MY GOD SHE SPRITZED CATRA WITH WATER JFDKLDFWDSFKSDFKJLDSJFJDSFKDSLKFSDLFJLKFLKDJFLKS AHAAHAHAAHA

PERFUMA DON”T BE A BITCH TO CATRA. (even though yeah Catra did treat Scorpia bad) she’s right you need to fuckin go for the neck (this episode is gonna show us that you need to damage the chip AND get through to scorpia and it’s going to take catra and perfuma ofc)

awwwww glimmer and bo.... bo is really worried about his dad :’( . this is the first time ive found myself shipping bo and glimmer.....the way he sighs into her arms, turns his face into her neck. Yes....

AWWW CATRA AND ADORA CHALLENGING EACH OTHER AGAIN AWWWW

BO’S DADS LEFT HIM A CLUE IN A FUCKING DAD JOKE ahahaahahahahaah

perfuma is really getting on my nerves here. ‘we dont throw tanks at our friends’ uhhhh shes trying to kill you. just let perfuma get electrocuted adora

AH THEY FINALLY GIVE AN ORIGIN STORY FOR ‘GRAYSKULL’! ha! i do love how they keep elaborating on the First Ones as tyrants as well

hmm perfuma was right i guess. i didnt really like that development. urgh god perfuma is so grating lol..

i wonder how shadowweaver and catra are gonna....deal with each other....

hah. shadowweaver tries to weasel in with Adora again. but Adora won’t stand for it again....

Melog literally acts out Catra’s emotions and jumps adora playfully. hehehehe

shadowweaver is such a fucking bitch. i wonder if we’ll ever get her to admit guilt or apologise

no adora. you have to fucking defend catra to shadowweaver. THAT is what you have to do now that you can!

SHE JUST JUMPED INTO FIRE FOR ADORA

shadowweaver preying on Adora and Catra again goddddd. let this be an episode in which they finally shuck her off. Adora fucking THINK, the only reason you could transform in the first place was BECAUSE of Catra.

YEAHHHHH CATRA!!!!!!!! GETTING ALL THE INFO BEFORE ADORA GETS MANIPULATED INTO SOMETHING SHE DIDN’T CHOOSE. naturally she still chooses to do it.

Melog lies half on top of Adora while Catra watches her.... god fuckin hell Melog being an extension of Catra’s feelings is so fucking AMAZING

holy FUCK that confrontation. (i love how every confrontation between adora and catra starts in roughhousing - their language is extremely physical). this is the softer version of catra’s and adora’s dynamic. Catra loves Adora and she wants Adora to choose HER, LIFE WITH HER. ‘what do you want?’ (WHAT ABOUT ME??) But Adora always chooses some higher hero purpose over her. and she doesn’t want to watch Adora die....

‘i dont have to watch it happen...’

god fuckin hell this season.

shadowweaver BELIEVES that she did the right things - of course. and that’s fascinating. and I love that Adora finally totally truly was like: YOU RUIN PEOPLE AND I WILL NEVER FORGIVE YOU. fuck yeah!

so when was the moment that Adora couldn’t become she-ra anymore? think it’s when she lost track of Catra....

I love Melog - I love how Catra cannot hide from her feelings anymore - at all.

the way glimmer asks adora ‘are you scared?’ ugh MY HEART

i love martyrs. i fucking LOVE martyrs.

oh my god hallucination Catra touching foreheads with Adora.....

EVERYTIME Glimmer just straight up shows Catra affection? that’s some good shit. i thought we were gonna have Glimmer going after Catra for her mother’s death at one point but no....not at all. and i dont mind it

GLIMMER SAID I LOVE YOU TWICE TO BO AND THEN BO SAID IT BACK AND KISSED HER DSFKSDLBJDS FOREHEAD !!!!!!!!!!!!!! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA OH MY GOD!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I LOVE MARA!!!

the fights this season have been SO! GOOD!

i love how they’ve set up that Glimmer is a fucking POWERHOUSE. she can turn the tide of battle in a blink!

naturally they pit Micah against Glimmer. jfc this poor family....

there is something important about Prime not remembering Mara....

SHE BEAT MICAH SHE BEAT HIM!!!! WALKING RIGHT THROUGH HIS STORM OF DARK MAGIC.

SCORPIA CRADLED BO LIKE A BABY

SHADOWWEAVER SAVING CATRA? FOR ONCE???? FOR ONCE CHOOSING CATRA OVER POWER????? FUCK THAT’S CATHARTIC EVEN IF IT WAS ONLY TO GET ADORA TO THE HEART

catra has such a soft heart really. she still, after everything, loves shadowweaver. god....

SHE SAID SHE WAS PROUD OF CATRA. SHE --- SHE - SHE SACRIFICED HERSELF. GOD THE VOICEACTING FOR CATRA WHEN SHE - ADORA FALLING TO HER KNEES. THEIR PSEUDO MOTHER... AGHLDJDWFJJDSLF

FUCCKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKk

EVERY SINGLE LINE IS SO GOOD, so well-acted. the ‘im ready’ the way she says ‘catra’ like she can’t take anything anymore

i couldn’t write anything for the whole rest of that i was just covering my mouth with my hands

The fuckiN KISS! the look of PURE LOVE on ADoRA”S FACE

which in the back of my head - they cannot actually cut that in any way - it’s impossible to cut

adora with those blue eyes in the blaze, the magic is beautiful adora excising prime from hordak’s mind (WOW), adora and catra touching foreheads and the slight PURR you can hear, adult bo and glimmer (lookin so nice), adult catra (LOOKING SO HANDSOME in her prom-y outfit,) Glimmer chasing Catra, just, GOD, THE UTENA FUCKING REFERENCE, the way they say they love each other, my GOD, Scorpia being like woah perfuma you look nice, MY GOD MY GOD MY GOD THEM GOING TO SPREAD MAGIC TO THE UNIVERSE GOD!!!!!!

every single thing in this season was worth 4 seasons of enjoyable, entertaining, interesting, frustrating and meh. WOAH! WOAH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

#she ra #i have been BLOWN! AWAY!!! EVERYTHING WAS WORTH IT #my stuff #vidi #THiS WAS AN EXPERIENCE #OF EPIC PROPORTIONS

[nightlovechild]

Graveyard pranks - Anxceit

Summary: Dimitri and Virgil both know that in the dark side of the mindscape everything is twisted. Graveyards are a place of comfort. Tormenting your friends means fun. Falling in love...well, that's difficult anywhere.

Warnings: Dark themes, Panic attack, Remus, Arguing with strong language, possible character death, buried alive, character growth

Notes: Deceit’s name is Dimitri

Ominously, The full moon hangs overhead. Accomplishing the opposite of its intended purpose by making the shadows deeper among the headstones and gnarled trees, instead of lighter. But it's all par for the course on this side of the mind.

The wind whistles through the night making the cold creep in under Dimitri's jacket and cape. But the chill doesn't feel perfect for his frame of mind tonight. Nope not one bit.

Dimitri let's his bare hand skim over the curved tops of rough stone headstones. He barely reads the names and dates anymore knowing the landscape all too well. Besides, it's not the occupants that frighten him. It's the events, the laughter, and smiles that are never to occur here again that truly haunt him. 

The graveyard had been a team effort on all of their parts. As Thomas was introduced to spooky Disney graveyards with dancing skeletons and moved onto sinister cinematic cemeteries the place grew more intense and comforting for the dark sides. Remus would keep his creatures here letting them hunt on the fringes of the subconscious. Virgil would stoically sit on every piece of stone that wasn't meant to be sat on while he softly sang along to his music. Dimitri had a much more functional use for the grave plots. He buried the truth here. For every powerful lie to go well, the truth ended up six feet under.

They would play… okay, more like torment each other here in the permeating darkness. Dimitri chuckled to himself as his foot crunched an old mangled pink bow. Bending over, he took his bowler hat off, as he inspected it closer. 

~☆~

"I can't believe you were right. It got all of them to sit there the whole time!" Anxiety laughed for the first time in a long time. Throwing the empty peanut butter jar over top of the iron gate.

"What like it's hard?" Dimitri scoffed as he brushed the excess wolf man fur off of his outfit.  

"Come on! If you weren't scared of them then you've got to be scared of what Rem is going to do?" Anxiety playfully shoved Dee away. Dee's hands flashed out and held the newest dark trait closer. 

"Remus could kill us, burn us alive but my lust for you will never be extinguished." Dee joked as he dipped Anxiety back. Pressing kisses to his exposed neck. Before bringing him back up, a small smirk on his face. The shadows under Anxiety's eyes grew more pronounced with the blush on his cheeks. 

Dimitri sauntered past him playing hard to get. Waiting for the moment his crush ran after him wanting another kiss. 

"Do you really that could happen? Do you think Rem is going to kill us?" Anxiety asked as his footsteps grew shorter, hugging his black on black plaid jacket around his middle. "But like actually kill us? We hurt his babies and then he'll make me watch as he axes you to sashimi bites. Making me eat you then burying me alive with you inside me…" his words rushing together as he escalated. 

"Yes, because Remus is the perfect chef and the world's leading matchmaker. Plus, There's…" Dee was cut off as the night swells with roars and the ground starts to shake. Dee turned back around when he heard plastic sneakers scrambling up stone. Virgil was up and gone before he could finish his sentence out loud "...easier ways of getting me inside of you." 

Dimitri sighed knowing Anxiety wouldn't come back out of hiding for awhile. Might as well enjoy the show. Stepping over to the closest tree, slithering up to find a sturdy branch. 

Alone, He watched from up on high as sixty nine wolf-men stampeded past. Bright pink bows everywhere there was fur still attached. The delicate ribbons matching their fresh poodle style haircuts. Holding his gloved hand over his mouth to muffle his snickering as Remus ran past screaming. 

"Get back here, you non mangy mutts. Daddy must make you filthy and terrible again." 

~☆~

His grin shattered into a grimace. Throwing the old bow down, the silly prank faded to white noise as Dimitri realized where his feet had stopped. His yearning and hatred had lead the snake to their darkest joke yet.

Intricate designs around those fateful words, were starting to fade from constantly being touched. His nails, hard as diamonds, made the head stone's letters turn to gravel as he raked his nails into the grooves. 

~☆~

Dee's throat felt raw from calling Anxiety's name. His feet hurt from walking. His levels of exhaustion had reached new heights. Dimitri had spent all day looking for their little gargoyle. With no luck so far Dimitri gave up as he spotted the graveyard.

'If Anx doesn't want to be found, then I'll never find him.' He thought as he opened the wrought iron gate.

"This has to be the greatest prank ever." Remus called out to Dimitri, waving him closer as the music started to build. 

The beat and lyrics only adding to the maddening glee on Remus' face. Pulling him in close Dimitri became infected with the beat and electric vibe. His feet kicking up the fresh dirt in the air with each move. But as the spinning continued his nausea clears his head.

"Wait. Prank? What prank?" Dimitri shook his head as he questioned Remus' motives for the dance party. 

"Well for this bitch! What did you think I was talking about?" Remus danced off to the side as he started to grind and hump the grave marker. 

"Here lies my beloved: Virgil "Anxiety" Sanders."

Dimitri's vision swam. His stomach rolled. As he read the words and learned his lover's name for the first time. Then he spotted the small metal bell shaking furiously. 

"No!" Dimitri cried clicking his fingers to bring Anx… No, Virgil to the surface. Nothing, the death bell continues to wail and shake. Trying to drop down to him or bring Virgil up yields no results. 

The clang of two shovels falling over grabs his attention. Seizing both of the tools, Dimitri find his second wave of energy. Throwing one Remus' way and starts moving huge piles of loose dirt. But as the creative side starts to do drill team twirls with it instead of digging, Dimitri screams at him.

"Just fucking help! He is our friend! Being dark and being cruel are two different fucking things."

Remus sticks the shovel into the dirt. To lean against as he watches Dimitri dig himself down to his boy-toy. 

"I don't understand why you're freaking out so bad when he is just going to end up back down there anyway." Remus yawns.

"Screw you! Fuck you! How could you?" Dimitri spat out between slinging shovel fulls of dirt over his shoulders and out of the hole. He kept praying to whoever would listen that the bell would keep ringing. The ringing meant Anx...Virgil was still alive down there pulling on the tiny string that lead to the surface. That lead back to life. 

The hollow thud of metal hitting wood greets his ears. Throwing the shovel down, ignoring how the blisters that formed have started bleeding. Dimitri strikes his nails against the cheap plywood as it splinters and breaks apart. Pulling the broken pieces away. 

A gasping sound and Virgil's tear stained face comes into view as the ringing fades like ripples across the mindscape. Virgil aides in his own escape by kicking and punching from the inside as Dimitri tears the pieces away until the terrified side pulls himself up out of his own casket. 

The air is knocked out of Dee as Virgil clutches to him. Arms wrapped around his neck while Virgil's legs are trying and failing to wrap around Dee's body. So he relents and sits on the side of the coffin. Letting Virgil get as close as he needs.

"It's okay. I got you. Never going to let you out of my sight. That demented shit head is never going to touch you again." Dimitri promises as he is rocking Virge and ignoring the strong smell of urine or how fast his shirt is being soaked with tears. 

"Why are making me the bad guy? See my hands are clean." Remus retorts as green slime slides off of his hands and splatters against the ground. "Well except for that. But I had nothing to do with Mayor McAngst ending up in the hole."

"If it wasn't you, then who was it Remus?" 

"You."

"Fuck you! I would never. I've been looking for him all day!" Dimitri screamed back. 

"I don't care. I just want to go home. Take me home, Dee." Virgil whimpers out. 

"Hey, Dimitri tell me do you think of your dilapidated fuck shack as home too? Can you love him like he deserves to be loved?"

"Yes, I love..." Before he can get the lie out Dimitri is pristine, above ground, as the bell is frantically ringing again. 

 Remus starts cackling anew. Rolling on the ground, red in the face as if it's the funniest thing in the world.

Picking up the shovel again, Dimitri finally accepts the truth he was trying to bury. Virgil deserves more. More love and security than what he is capable of. Dimitri wasn't created to love, but to deceive. What true love comes from lying? 

Digging his love free again; Dimitri doesn't answer a single question that Remus hurls his way between giggles. Hauling Virgil and then himself out of the hole. He holds Virgil's passed out body close as he walks him to the other side of the mindscape. Giving into his biggest lie yet. 

"He isn't one of us." 

Burying his heart as the light side takes Virgil away.

~☆~

Deep howls roll through the cemetery marking the time; the witching hour. Stretching his tired bones Dimitri shakes off all of the new memories of Virgil from his mind. Like how well he was thriving and how beautiful he looks in purple. Trying to ignore all of the hate in Virgil's words as he stands with his new family. Trying to repress how he himself was forced by his very nature to respond like a dick. Instead of expressing his truth. Dimitri shook with the injustice of it all with one hand on the head marker of the only empty grave. 

"It's all fun and games until someone gets hurt, isn't that right, my love?"

Lightning cracks over head as the world turns bright in a flash, then is hurled into nothingness. The break of thunder makes the ground shake. Suddenly the wind whips up and surges around him. Dee holds onto his hat with one hand while the other is covering his mouth so he can still breathe. 

Through the roaring wind, a noise was building. Dimitri could hear faint voices like a muffled conversation. Cupping his hand to his ear straining to listen. Dimitri's bowler hat takes flight off of his head. Hair whipping in his eyes, leafs and sticks being carried on the updraft are scraping at his face. Covering his face with both arms he protects himself. The voices turn from chatter then into soul wrenching declarations. 

"I am Veritas, the daemon of truth. Your mouth is blasphemous. Your being an abomination. My scales must be balanced with your scaly head! I have come for my sacrifice!" The voices screeched together as one.

The daemon lorded over him from a top of the mausoleum. Lightning cracked over head again, as it bounded with ease all the way to the top of his beloved's tombstone. 

"Don't even think of running. You can't save yourself. You're carcass will be drug off into the subconscious left to become a lowly function again and only your fleas will mourn you." The daemon brandished a dagger high in the air. 

Dimitri's day of reckoning was here. Screaming from the depths of his essence he turned and fled. His whole body shaking but picking up speed with every foot fall. That is until he could hear laughter as the wind halted. Which made Dimitri wheel around, teeth bared, snake eye glowing bright yellow as his human eye glowed red with murderous intent.. This was the final straw Remus was going to…

"I got you so good!" Virgil laughed as he carefully dabbed at the stage makeup. Trying not to smear it with his happy tears. "You should have seen the look on your face. Fuck, I see why you always stuck around for the aftermath." 

Then the air was knocked out of Virgil's body as Dee's fist connected squarely with his chest. As Virgil's world started to spin, Dimitri's seized the front of his costume, and crushed him to his chest in an embrace. Tugging the half face mask off, Dimitri touched the clean part of his face. Virgil could tell from that look that Dee was making sure it was the surly anxious side himself. Dimitri smiled when Virgil blushed and leaned into his touch. Dee let out an exhilarated sound that he couldn't hold back as the anger drowned in joy. His arms constricting around his former lover's body

"You shouldn't be here." Dee whispered against the side of Virge's neck as he laid the human side of his face against his costume. 

"And you should stop lying to me." Virgil had to lean back to look the deceitful side in the face. Since he was not able to move any other part of his body due to all six arms holding him in place.

The flame of what they were caught in Dimitri's chest as Virgil licked his lips. His pink tongue such a stark contrast to the black lipstick. Dimitri pressed his lips against Virgil's before either of them could think. Lips moving with familiarity, a bite here and a tongue caress there. But the fire was snuffed out as fast as it was built. They couldn't go back. It defeated the purpose of their actions and choices. So Dimitri just enjoyed the smeared lipstick they were probably both sporting now. 

"They're being good to you?" 

"Yeah, it was hard in the beginning. But it's easier, in some ways now." Virgil hugged Dee back then pulled away. Working his way to standing back on his own two feet. 

"Why? How are you here? The barriers have never faulted before." Dimitri asked as his mind recalled many nights were he tried to cross over to the light side without Thomas' permission. It never worked. 

"The truth can't be buried or barred if everyone knows." 

"You told him? Are you...were you cast you out and sent back here?" The anger in Dimitri flared for a whole different reason. 

"No. It's okay. Well, I mean it'll be okay. But for now I can pass through the vale." Virgil threw the hood of his costume over his head and wiggled his fingers.

The snake side of Dee's face smirked as he sat down on a granite slab. The weight of the moment feeling like quicksand. Dimitri didn't have to lie on this side, or speak in riddles. He couldn't waste another minute.

"I'm really sorry. For how I act on the other side,  the lies are as easy as breathing standing in front of Thomas. I'm sorry for how we ended it. I know it's not enough. I should have a speech made up…" Dimitri started to lament as a punch connected to his arm. 

"I figured that out, Pat helped me. You can't build a life off of lies and panic." Virgil pulled the hood back down and started digging through hidden pockets 

"Then will this be the last time you...that you pull a prank in the graveyard?" Dimitri's heart couldn't go to that finite place.

"Not as long as you still have those shavers." Virgil smirked as he pulled out a jar of wolf-man biscuits and a baggie of purple and yellow bows.

#virgil sanders #Deceit Sanders #Dimitri Sanders #Remus Sanders #Dark Sides #Anxceit #Dark themes #Panic attacks #tw: Remus #Arguing with strong language #possible character death #buried alive #character growth

[ghostmartyr]

SnK 116 Thoughts

tfw all of Yelena’s problems can be solved with murder.

So another chapter, another month of having zero clue how any of this could possibly be fixed. You’ve got Marley, you’ve got Paradis, you’ve got unhappy Eldians on both sides, you’ve got a century of brain washing going without an answer, you’ve...

Ugh.

Let’s just... let’s do this by character, I guess?

Pieck gets first billing as Best Girl.

Wants her father to have a bright future.

Holds Gabi’s hand.

good, pure

Knows Marley’s fucked up.

Knows Zeke’s fucked up.

Does not approve of Falco’s underage drinking.

Probably should have just shot Eren.

Wants happy Eldians.

Trusts her comrades.

Eren.

Make everyone in the world angry.

Especially his friends.

If they aren’t angry enough, try harder.

If anger isn’t an option, despair is good too.

Do punch them in the face once optimal anger achieved.

Do not trust literally anyone.

Do not use Gabi’s name.

ever

her name’s brat now

Do get along with cult.

Do search for brother.

Do lock up all best friends in the world so that in the event of an airstrike they’re all extraordinarily screwed.

Profit.

(Eren, until further plot developments explain what is going on in that head of yours, your plans are stupid.)

Yelena:

“You would all be much happier if you just accepted that the world would be better off without your bloodline and helped out with us eradicating it.”

“Also I have found God and he’s a baseball furry and his little brother.”

Zeke:

Thinks everyone should die.

just everyone

him too

a lot

To which Paradis has responded:

CAPTAIN ELDIA: CIVIL WAR

aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa?

Further alcoholism can’t make this worse.

“How could we have known that putting all of our eggs in the basket of this woman who keeps shooting bad eggs with her boss who makes a habit of throwing eggs would end badly?”

What I keep coming back to, and keep not having a good answer for, is why in the fuck is this all such a mess? I have made Code Geass and Madoka comments largely in jest, but considering how reckless Eren is being with his public face and international politics, it starts to feel either intentional or careless.

None of his friends are backing him at the moment, barring Jean’s confusion. He’s broken Mikasa’s heart, and Armin and Connie’s trust.

He’s nominally allied with the Yeagerists, but he’s gone to zero effort to be friendly with them. He goes along with Floch’s ticking clock of a schedule, but since leaving his jail cell, he’s been very clear that his only allegiance is to his aim of finding Zeke.

Yelena offers up the rumbling as a way to continue to defend the island before all the Eldians expire, but Eren and Zeke have made the entire world remember the terror of titans. If they ever were willing to forget that one little island, no one is anymore.

Zeke himself believes that the forces of the rest of the world will be at their doorstep soon. Marley’s come first, but the world Yelena describes, where the rumbling deters all further violence against Eldians while their lives slowly end, is a fantasy. There are too many angry voices inside and outside the walls now. One dominant display of force is going to convince the world to leave Paradis alone?

The last time everyone chose to forget Paradis, Paradis came to them and murdered people indiscriminately.

Sure, no more children will be born to become titans.

Eventually.

In the meantime... at absolute best, the Eldians inside the walls go back to being unable to leave the safety of the walls. The titans continue to keep the rest of the world out, and them in.

Only now everyone inside the walls knows that there’s a world outside.

It is much easier to keep people contained when they think they have nowhere to go. Lock all of Paradis back behind their walls, and they’ll eat each other. We already see the Yeagerists. That’s just one group of angry people. With Zeke’s spinal fluid being used to manipulate their entire military, there’s the obvious proof that their government is perfectly fallible.

Paradis has spent years trying to spread out of their box.

The rumbling, at best, crams them back in it until they all die, only opening when every last one of them is gone.

Thanks for being the voice of reason, Jean.

Not to mention that the rumbling itself hinges on the continued consent of the royal line, and a future Founding Titan and royal heir not deciding that this is all stupid and maybe they should use their power a different way. If you keep the Founding Titan and someone of royal blood alive to the end of Eldians, there is always going to be some wiggle room.

All it takes is one Founding Titan touching a royal heir somewhere down the line. Eren and Zeke aren’t unique in their roles. Their work can always be undone.

Yelena’s defense is that certainties can’t be counted on in any country, and it’s true, but she’s so enamored with the possibility of Eren and Zeke’s joint power that she seems to overlook how they won’t be the last holders of that power.

That’s the literal text of the plan.

For Eren and Zeke to not be the last people who can wield this power.

...

Well, you’ll probably be dead before you’re directly confronted with all your plan’s problems, so who cares anyway?

Eldians don’t die out peacefully in this strategy. They will die knowing that their existence is such a blight on the world that the only solution anyone could come up with for peace was to wipe them all out.

“I don’t trust Marley. I want Eldians to be free. But... I trust those... I’ve fought alongside.”

One of my primary complaints about the Marley arc was that the things the protagonists of that arc were fighting for were impossible. They could be good people doing bad things. They could be sympathetic. They could have moments of happiness.

They weren’t ever going to win.

That hasn’t really changed, but I like how Pieck puts it. The people who have been in the trenches with her won’t be so quick to abandon her or their people. It isn’t perfect. It’s still horrific and fucked up and an impossible longshot for Eldians to have any kind of future no matter how this pans out.

But Pieck believes in her friends, while Eren’s tossed his in a dungeon.

Somewhere, in the light of that trust, there can be a path to hope. Maybe.

Fuck Marley, though. The fact that they have the tools and the people to derail an atrocious injustice doesn’t change that they have made themselves into monsters and Eldians their slaves. As antagonists, the Warriors are engaging, but Marley as a greater body continues to just be... wrong.

Yelena’s right to say that the end of titans would free Marley from the chain of violence they’ve been perpetuating, and that is so much more noble than I would care to recognize.

Yes, of course it’s much better if people no longer have the ability to turn other people into slaves and set them loose like rabid dogs on the world.

But if you were going to pick a side of the population in need of elimination, the people who have chosen that path seem far more worthy than the people who are abused in its wake.

(I refuse to talk about Marley without saying Fuck Marley. Fuck Marley.)

Going back to the Eren, what we have is a situation where both of the loudest plans are not good. But Eren’s been content enough to follow along with his brother’s Not Good plan, despite everyone around him having permanent question marks over their head at his intentions.

Zeke’s plan is too destructive for it to go the way Yelena describes. For Zeke, who sees death as a release anyway, that isn’t a concern. For anyone who actually wants Eldians to be okay before they die out, and isn’t blinded by their own fanaticism, it is a concern.

Giving Eren the benefit of the doubt, because someone trying this hard to be a dick probably has some kind of reason, and none of the stated ones make sense, this shouldn’t be a plan that aligns with what he wants.

Unless his plan renders what everyone else does irrelevant. Unless the world seeing him as needlessly aggressive and cruel is more meaningful than being kind to the people he loves most in the world.

Look, I’m sure it’s more complicated than that, but until I stop finding it amusing and a more stable idea than half the other stuff my head’s concocted, Eren’s fucking Zero. Of the Code Geass way.

That happy ending was a fairy tale that shouldn’t have worked, too.

My other theory is that Eren’s going to unmake the world in a way that will permanently destroy him, and he needs his besties to not be near enough to fight him on that.

But all I really know

is that I just want an AU where Paradis rejoins the world as people instead of monsters and find allies and solve Ymir’s Curse without sentencing themselves to death.

And none of these idiots with their dramatics come anywhere close to that. The Survey Corps’ been left crying in a corner while Godzilla shoves them into a locker and kicks over their Lego tower. Godzilla, indeed, appears to be going out of its way to destroy as many Lego towers as possible, so whenever the Survey Corps starts moving, they will absolutely step on a Lego while Godzilla tells them it’s for the greater good.

To be fair, this is probably what happens when a handful of people have enormously powerful plot magic that can put the entire world in danger, and they don’t feel like being diplomatic.

It still leaves me in a permanent state of could you have maybe not? with regards to the choices being made. Because at this point so many horrible choices have been made that it’s pretty obvious that other horrible choices are going to get a full commitment to try to dig out of the grave.

Connie wins for the greatest #mood of the chapter.

In a funny way, we’ve wrapped right around back to the initial premise.

Tiny, powerless humans facing impossible odds.

Only this time, the hero of that story might not be on their side.

Fighting titans never worked for any of Eldia’s enemies. Until technology outside the walls started to advance far enough, no one ever could do anything except fall in the face of titans.

But a tiny band of humans locked away inside the walls looked at all these enemies right outside their gates, and decided that they were no reason to stay inside for the rest of their lives.

They decided, even if it got them all killed, these were obstacles worth fighting.

I can’t object to the story landing back here, but it is exhausting. Everything is in disarray. The possibility of a happy ending isn’t in any of the winning outcomes for any of the presented sides.

Also until canon says otherwise, I’m going to interpret the 104th’s reaction to Armin’s tears as all of them wondering why the fuck Armin’s face does that when he tries to lie.

Jean is not impressed.

Maybe just because you’re not supposed to agree with sterilizing everyone you’ve ever known, but for now I choose to believe that Jean, who last used a knife when trying to make friends out of enemies, really thinks Armin should be better at this.

None of you are good at this.

Try not to get bombed.

And because I’m me and can’t let it go, this chapter continues the trend of Historia’s new status of a plot mcguffin instead of an actual person.

You could literally replace her with that rocking chair and the story told so far this arc would not be impacted.

It’s becoming strange enough that I’m very sure something is going on, because Isayama doesn’t treat his characters like furniture, and more to the point, her entire arc that the anime just butchered is a direct answer to the euthanization crap.

Not addressing that feels like a cop-out. Among the other problems with literally everything the story has said about her role. Something’s clearly up, but that doesn’t make the situation any less aggravating. I mean sure, maybe her showing up would ruin the Drama because she already has her answer to someone trying to destroy her but but but

Lastly, I am glad Mikasa gets speech bubbles. I am also glad that Jean and Connie care for their buddies. And that Armin is so blunt about “he made Mikasa sad so I hit him.” And that Connie’s anger has calmed into Connie’s sadness. Even if I do not care for Connie being sad.

Somehow, you four might just live.

...

Please?

#Shingeki no Kyojin #SnK 116 #shingeki no spoilers #SnK spoilers #tl;dr #chapter post

[heartslogos]

newfragile yellows [631]

The plan was Cassandra. The plan was always Cassandra. When in doubt consider the plan Cassandra Pentaghast.

Cassandra would go with the Inquisitor, stay at her side, and fight her way to the center of Adamant. Because Cassandra Pentaghast is Cassandra Pentaghast, a one person army that is ready and perpetually willing to charge the world for injustice.

Herah Adaar would go with her, too, because Herah Adaar is the word proficient personified. If there is something in this world Herah Adaar does not know how to do, it is certain that she will learn it and be very good at it at rapid speed.

Rounding them out would be Kaaras, who’s visage should be painted in miniature next to the word dependable whenever said word is written. The man has the nerves of a newly born field mouse, but his stability is unquestionable.

And this would make quite a fine picture, these towering bastions of stability and assurance flanking their noble leader.

Inevitably, that is not what happens.

What happens is that as the bridge falls, dragon and Inquisitor on it, Cole goes to Evelyn — called to the greatest point of fear in the entire battlefield.

Bull pushes forward through the stone archway and dives for his employer.

Ellana, hot on his heels, dives after Bull, and knows nothing after that.

She comes to with a raising, grating pressure in her chest as Bull’s face clarifies in front of her. She sees concern, relief, and the underlying strand of panic that would make her panic if it weren’t for the fact that she’s choking. His hand grips the back of her neck even as she struggles to turn and starts coughing and vomiting something onto the dark, slick stone.

Bull swears above her, hand relaxing from its supporting position as he helps her turn.

“You hit your head,” Bull says, “Careful. I don’t know if it’s safe to move you.”

Whatever was in her lungs is vile and sour and makes Ellana’s vision go cross eyed as she vomits it up.

“You were face down in a shallow pool,” Bull explains, “There was blood.”

“You?”

“Bruised,” Bull answers.

“Just?”

“Just bruised.”

“Good,” Ellana croaks, head pounding as Bull helps her sit up and look around. “Where is this?”

Bull’s face is grim as he points upwards. “You tell me.”

Ellana slowly lifts her head up, and she sees, far away looking back up at her and waving Evelyn Trevelyan on the ground.

Her eyes widen as she looks around and she sees Hawke walking around on some floating rock and a bit further away Stroud on his own rock and they all look varying degrees of upside down except maybe —

Ellana screams and Bull swears as suddenly they’re plummeting very quickly towards Evelyn.

She coughs, chest constricting as something grabs her by the back of her clothes, she hears Bull grunt with impact.

Ellana opens her eyes and sees herself several feet above Evelyn, suspended.

She turns around to look up and sees eyes. And fur.

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” Ellana groans, going limp. “You.”

The Wolf tips to one side and Bull tumbles to the ground, rolling to his feet. Stiff and painful looking. But not as painful as it would have been if the Wolf wasn’t there to catch them.

The Wolf chuffs.

“He’s real?” Evelyn croaks out, eyes practically bulging out of her dirt and blood streaked face as she stares up at them.

Ellana gapes down at her, “Of course he’s real. You’ve been having — we’ve been — did you think I was making it up?”

Evelyn gestures wildly, almost hitting Stroud in the face, “Of course I! I mean! I’m Andrastian! I just thought — I don’t know anymore! I wasn’t expecting this!”

Ellana scowls, turning to Bull. “And you?”

“You were right about him having a furry ass,” Bull says, sounding perfectly put together for someone who doesn’t believe in any gods. “Thanks for the catch.”

“And that is what gratitude looks like,” the Wolf says, gently setting Ellana down on her feet. Ellana turns around to look at him. The Wolf is a living blackness with eyes that are every color all at once and none at all. He seems more here.

The Wolf starts licking his front paw like a cat.

“What do you want?” Ellana snaps, “I’m a little busy.”

“You should remember your place, learn some manners, some respect,” the Wolf pauses in his grooming, tail twitching as he seems to get an idea. “Perhaps I will have you write poems in my name for a few years.”

Ellana gags at the idea. And then walks up to him and puts her arms around as much of him as she can.

“What are you doing?” Evelyn asks, sounding like she’s been hit by a large sardine.

“She hit her head,” Bull says.

“What does it look like I’m doing? I’m touching god.” Ellana retorts, running her fingers through impossible darkness. It feels like sticking her hand in cool running water, or holding her hand in long grass. Oh, like putting her feet in a tide pool with the strange wispy looking plants. “I don’t think I’m ever going to get a chance to touch god again.”

Two of the Wolf’s innumerable eyes are focused on her and dilated at what Ellana can only assume is the petting.

“You’re petting god,” Hawke says blandly, “Well. That’s it. This is officially the strangest day of my entire life. And if any of you have read the widely popular book all about my life then you would know that I’ve had some strange days.”

“You are not meant to be here,” the Wolf says, ignoring Hawke. “I am taking you away.”

“Thank you,” Ellana says, turning towards Evelyn, “Well. Lucky us, just don’t do whatever you did again, I suppose?”

“Not her,” the Wolf interjects, “Just you.”

“What do you mean just me?” Ellana turns back to look at him.

The Wolf looks at the others and then looks back at her, “Just you. I do not want you here. The rest I do not care about.”

“What, because we aren’t elves?” Stroud suggests.

The Wolf flicks a lazy eye towards him. “No, because your poor facial grooming distresses me and I do not want anything to do with it.”

Hawke lets out a delighted laugh. Stroud sighs the sigh of a man tired to his bones.

“Why not Evelyn?” Ellana presses, “She’s the most vital to the fight. She’s the one who has the mark.”

“I do not have the power to move Evelyn Trevelyan,” the Wolf answers. “There is something here that binds her. And I do not care enough to find what it is and undo it.”

“Binds her?” Bull repeats, “Care to elaborate?”

The Wolf examines Bull, the tip of his tail twitching back and forth. “I do not care to elaborate at all, but I find myself fond of you, so I will. There is something in the Fade that calls Evelyn Trevelyan, and there is something in Evelyn Trevelyan that calls the Fade. I cannot pull her away from herself. As for the rest of you, I do not care.”

The Wolf abruptly turns his head and Ellana notices Cole. Cole who looks so gray, as though he were made of ash, of fog, of gloom. Sickly and feeble.

“That one I can temporarily move. But that one is neither here nor there. Come into my teeth, spirit,” the Wolf says, “Your kind is rare and near extinct. You will be safe in my shadows for a time.”

Cole slowly drifts forward and seems to sink into the Wolf, some of the grayness fading into his normal blue-green before Cole disappears entirely. One of the Wolf’s many eyes changes to match the watery green of Cole’s spirit energy.

“I take it you will stay with Evelyn Trevelyan.”

“Of course I’m staying with her,” Ellana says, reluctantly stepping back. Evelyn quickly goes up to her and starts feeling around for the injury on Ellana’s head. Ellana’s shoulders relax as she feels the cool touch of Evelyn’s magic on her. “Are you staying with me?”

The Wolf yawns, and his mouth is an ever widening maw punctuated by the flick of a pink tongue.

“For now, as it pleases me. We shall see.”

#heartsfic #gather your party and venture forth

[tessatechaitea]

Teen Titans Spotlight #11: The Brotherhood of Evil

Judging by the last few issues starring Robotman, Beast Boy, Mento, and the Brotherhood of Evil, this series could have been Doom Patrol Spotlight On:.

Warp might be the most intelligent super villain in the DC Universe!

Actually I'm not quite done not talking about The Brotherhood of Evil! I don't mean to suggest that the people who fled one kind of oppression weren't the best and kindest people in the world! The only reason I said all the awesome people wound up in California is because I'm from California and my family is pretty awesome. Don't worry! I can see all of the erasure in the above statement! It's just sometimes, you're speaking about a thing and you can't get bogged down by small details like Native American genocide or blatant anti-Chinese laws enacted in San Francisco (pretty much the coolest place in the U.S. (at least before the tech boom fucking turned it into a capitalist fascist run by tech start-ups and the angels who finance them)). The main point was that some people become comfortable with a status quo that oppresses others. And instead of fighting it, people flee from it. The people who flee often do so because they have their own status quo they want to enact and it's rarely one that provides opportunity for everybody. At least in the modern view, I tend to think (and hope it's more than hope and fantasy and wishful thinking) that those fleeing small town bigotries into big cities are actually more compassionate toward the entirety of humanity. We still make lots of mistakes but the key point is that we're trying to do better. When people discuss locking up immigrants at the border, you can either fight against the injustice and racism inherent in the entire process or simply shrug your shoulders like a douchebag and try to sound super smart by saying, "Well, they should have thought about that before they came here!" As if everybody in the world has access to media that somehow preempts the two hundred years of American propaganda that we're willing to accept the hungry and the tired and those yearning to breathe free. I grew up in the San Francisco Bay Area in the 70s and the reality of the world that existed around me at the time was fucking Star Trek: The Next Generation compared to what's going on in 2019. We had station ID breaks on KTVU Channel 2 out of San Francisco that would show a kid running around and playing and introducing the viewer into their world that would end with the kid saying, "I'm proud to be a Chinese American!", or "I'm proud to be a black American!" It's the kind of thing that would get so many people in a huff now and yet it was a simple and effective means to introduce younger viewers to the heterogeneity of their community. And now, in 2019, we have Comicsgate who can't stand to be reminded that people other than white people can be protagonists. It boggles my mind that people can get so upset over shit that won't make a millimeter wave on the cultural yacht they were born on. Fucking grow up, assholes. Not everything is about you. I think I was going to say more things about erasure! I don't mean to make light of it since it's absolutely a strategy used to disenfranchise groups or exclude them from social movements. But it's your go-to argument against everything you read, you're not going to make many friends. Lots of essays or articles or arguments need to be specific and they can't include every situation or group in the specific argument being made. Maybe it's tough to accept laser focused arguments on the Internet when the audience is harder to gauge. I know peanut allergies exist and they're deadly but I still stick the knife I just used for peanut butter in the preserves. Not because I don't give a fuck but because I know the audience using my apricot preserves. But if I were to mention this on the Internet, everybody who knows nothing about the context of my preserves and my audience and my entire existence would jump all over me saying things like, "That's really irresponsible!" and "You're going to kill somebody!" and "Apricot? You fucking monster!" I usually hate analogies but sometimes they're fun. The general problem with analogies is that people don't use them to help clarify arguments; they use them to try to simplify their argument into something nobody can disagree with. But by that time, the relationship between the actual argument and the analogy is tenuous at best! But I think my peanut butter allergy analogy is pretty rock solid! Hey! You know who's diverse?! The Brotherhood of Evil! They have a French gorilla and a British woman and a bald white guy (also French but what can you do? This team was all up in France and shit) and a brain in a jar. Hopefully Brain was African or Chinese or Pakistani. Maybe he was also autistic. He's enough of a cypher to allow any reader to identify with him, I guess. He's definitely gay! Unless he's into bestiality. One of those reasons is why he winds up fucking the French gorilla. Hmm, maybe not making it clear what Brain's intent was was a mistake by DC because doesn't that just amplify anti-gay sentiment by associating it actual deviant behaviors? If DC did make it clear and I'm the one who's obfuscating the matter, I should probably shut up. The Brain and Mallah are definitely gay for each other's human dicks. The fact that Mallah's dick is gorilla and Brain's dick is non-existent shouldn't hamper their love. The Brotherhood of Evil are being set up by some guy named Toulon. There was a lot of narration boxes that explained it but I was too busy thinking, "How is Brain going to suck Mallah's cock?" So all I know is that Toulon managed to fuck up Warp's powers and he teleported the Brotherhood to a strange world.

Hmm, looks like Earth-11 to me!

I know this takes place after Crisis on Infinite Earths and Earth-11 shouldn't exist but it does! Maybe this story takes place before Crisis? Maybe when the story reveals they're on Earth-11, the editor will provide a note, "*This story takes place before Crisis on Infinite Earths! -- Know-it-all Knobby!" Mallah introduces himself to Tin, the leader of the good guys, I guess?, by saying, "We're the Brotherhood!" I suppose I'd shorten the name of my organization when I met new people too if it were called The Brotherhood of Evil. Unless the new guy I was introducing myself to was like Kim Jong-un or Donald Trump or Mark Zuckerberg. I'm so tuned in to world events that I first typed "Mark Zupperberg" and couldn't figure out why it looked wrong.

Welcome to my new preschool, Tiny Tots Fucktown.

You might want to be upset with me for sexualizing young children but I'm not the fucking monster who made that advertisement. Ad Exec #1: "What if we show a guy building the model with a bunch of hot women getting wet over how well he's done it?" Ad Exec #2 Who is in Prison Now: "What if they were little kids?!" Was Earth-11 the one where DC put Tin Tin after they bought the rights? I mean, I don't know if they ever bought the rights but this guy is definitely Tintin, right?

He also rides a big white dog that he has yet to call Snowy but it's only a matter of panels.

Trapped on a world about to be destroyed (in a worse way than Tintin and his cohorts know! Crisis is coming! Or came? No, no! I sometimes forget comic books can tell tales from the past! Although weren't writers supposed to completely ignore the Pre-Crisis universe once Crisis on Infinite Earths completed? Or why even fucking bother?!), The Brotherhood of Evil decide to help Tintin and his rebels take back control from some guy called Minos. But they're only doing it for their own selfish ends. You might remember how their name has "evil" tacked onto the end.

You might have thought "cutting them down like grass" was the correct phrase and "mowing them down like paper mache" is stupid but this is Earth-11, dumb dumb.

Paper mache is how you spelled "papier-mâché" before you had the Internet. There might some other difference in this comic book due to the place in time it was written:

Fuck. Now I'm horny.

The Brotherhood help Tintin and his friends steal a space ark from their enemies so that Tintin and his friends can survive the destruction of Earth-11. Never mind what happens to the people of Earth who weren't offered the opportunity to become one of Tintin's group. In payment for their help, The Brotherhood of Evil are helped back to their own Earth where they can continue to be weird and impotent. The conclusion of the story has something to do with Doctor Mist and the Global Guardians helping make the universe a better place by saving Tintin (somehow! I mean, Crisis, right?! What the fuck?), getting some guy named Toulon killed (he's only "some guy" to me because sometimes these espionage plots are just too convoluted with too many normal characters I don't care about), and getting the Brotherhood of Evil killed. They fail in getting the Brotherhood killed but seem content with their other machinations. Plus, I'm sure Doctor Mist was happy to get a small role in this comic book to pay for his bowel cancer treatments. Teen Titans Spotlight #11: The Brotherhood of Evil Rating: B-. You know I don't put any thought into the grades I give these comic books, right? You know this isn't really a review site and just a way for me to enjoy my time reading comic books while journaling, right? You know my nemesis is still the Weird Science comics blog, right? What a bunch of squares!

#Doom Patrol #The Brotherhood of Evil #Teen Titans #Teen Titans Spotlight #DC #DC Comics

[kittysmemestorage]

Shane Koyczan Poetry into Starters // Part 3

Moving these from Lulu to here so that it’s just easier to find when needed. Hope you enjoy them; they contain feels.

Remember to specify for multi muse blogs!

Help Wanted

"Everyday grandma would come into my room and I'd hear her say rise and shine."

"I put on my shoes and I was gone."

"Don't bother calling the people who care, call the people who don't."

"Don't bother calling the people who've taken up the fight, call the people who won't."

"Never ask Grandma about God."

"Go down to the store, buy some light bulbs, and when you run out.. buy some more."

"The light at the end of your tunnel needs to be sustained."

"It's not the strong who've gotten lazy, it's just that you're vision has gotten hazy."

"You're not sure what you want but what you've got is all you need."

"For every hypocritical church goer who won't walk past the beggars because they can't spare the dime.. fuck them, I don't talk to God because I ain't got the time."

"Maybe the writing on the wall could use some revision."

"Stop calculating the difference between people. People don't need division."

"We got to stick together, got to love each other."

"We will only find equality in the number of our tears."

"I don't know what injustices you've suffered.."

"Hey I could be wrong but can't we just all get along?"

"Justice isn't justice, it just is."

"We've just got to try to rearrange it."

"Every man who looks upon me with judgement in his eyes, there's a woman who looks at me with wetness between her thighs."

"My bones are made from sticks and stones, and names just piss me off."

"You can't be concerned with whatever it is they've got."

"The only reason they think they're beautiful, is the same reason they think you're not."

"You have beauty beyond measure. You are a treasure."

"You can't let strangers determine your worth."

"So I rose and I shone."

"From time to time, I too need to smile. Would you do me a favor and keep me on speed dial?"

"It's a game! You play, you win. You play, you lose. You play!"

"The world is a window that holds a sign that says there’s help wanted somewhere out there."

"If you are playing to win, the first thing that you have to do is apply within."

Sometimes, I Cry

"Sometimes.. I cry like happiness is a miracle I can't be apart of."

"It's raining peanut butter sandwiches! But I have to stay inside... because I'm allergic to nuts."

"Our heroes had guts but no glory."

"We spend our lives like quarters at some slot machine gambling away all the things we could've been."

"It's easier to risk everything for anything when nothing is all you got."

"There have been some who watch their greatest joys slink away like.. toys they've outgrown.'

"There have been those who went looking for God but found religion instead."

"Some of them came home in body bags.."

"Others are starting to see similarities between coffins and escape pods."

"For any occasion we have to put our best foot forward."

"Stepping forward to another choice, another goal, another life."

"Most of us just up and quit like we couldn't do it. Like in a world of six billion people we couldn't find one person that might help us get through."

"We're too young to be praised. Too tarnished to be great. Raised by lovers but we still can't relate.."

"We think we thought we knew them better but maybe we were wrong."

"There was someone strong and we left.. we failed to realize we were the strong silent types."

"Given a penny for the thoughts because their love isn't worth a cent."

"That's just the venom talking, that's just us walking it off."

"Still looking for someone to help us go the last mile."

"Maybe we're old variations on new things."

"Handing ourselves apologies to pit against our regret."

"Trying to teach ourselves to be happy with what we got because maybe this is all we get."

"There have been those who asked to be amazing they had no gift for."

"What they were practicing was loneliness.. which we all practice."

"Sometimes.. we cry."

#rp memes #poetry #specifications #Shane Koyczan #Help Wanted #Sometimes I Cry

[spideyxchelle]

Spideychelle headcanons based off zac and zendaya in the greatest showman trailer? You're awesome by the way your headcanons are definitely some of the best I've ever read!!

awww, this is so nice. I LOVE THIS FANDOM SO MUCH.

so, um, I’ve wanted to work on this headcanon since I got it. and it felt very intimidating because its AU and, y i k e s, fam, yikes. also this time period has some sensitive race stuff that I was nervous about writing. but I adore you all and I am very intrigued by this. so I have given it a whirl. hope you like it!

MJ has never heard of a circus before. 

she has, however, heard of Barnum’s American Museum of Curiosity on the corner of Broadway and Ann Street in New York City. its a place that wealthy, fancy white people go to gawk at people who are less traditional looking than they are. when she read about it in the paper she was less than impressed by this whole BARNUM character. who exploits those less fortunate to turn a profit? 

and then, she meets P.T. Barnum and she realizes she might have been wrong about him. she’s still weird about the whole exploitation thing but when she meets him she realizes he really does think every person at his museum is spectacular and beautiful and amazing. and his museum was meant to celebrate all different kinds of people. 

P.T. Barnum isn’t the problem. it’s the white people that pay to go to his museum that are the problem. they sneer instead of celebrate. and Barnum hates that attitude, so he wants to create a show. 

or that’s what he tells her when he comes to her dance studio on a Thursday morning bright and early. 

“i’m putting together a show,” he grins so broadly that it almost doesn’t fit on his face, “and it’s gonna travel all over this great country so every person sees how diverse and wonderful and special humanity is.” and MJ won’t lie, she’s intrigued. so she asks, “what do you want from me?” “i have an idea,” he explains, “about putting dance in the air….with rope.” she shakes her head, “rope is too hard. maybe fabric would hold and not hurt the dancer, maybe silk?”

and that’s how she becomes a silk aerialist in the Barnum Circus. because she is the mastermind behind this new art form. and its the 1800s and MJ is a black woman, she very rarely gets to be in control of ANYTHING. but the circus isn’t like the rest of the world. the circus is her home. a place of acceptance and she is an innovator, an inventor and a respected member of the team. 

“every one of us is special,” she hears Barnum say one day, “and no one is like anyone else. is that is the point of my show.” it makes her heart warm. but then one of her dances executes a move wrong and she’s off yelling and screaming for everyone to do it RIGHT. 

they play to small crowds at first. the energy is palpable but she can tell everyone is confused. because what even is a circus?? MJ is still learning. and then, they start to having bigger and bigger crowds. AND ITS ALL HAPPENING SO FAST. the show expands, they get their own train car to travel across the country.  

and day by day they gain more and more and more people in the circus. new acts, new blood. and her new family is now a lot bigger. 

one of those new acts is Peter Parker. he’s a distant cousin of Barnum’s and once he’s on board it becomes very clear that he’s training Peter to run the circus one day. he will be the new showman. so MJ hates him on principle. because he can’t just MARCH IN HERE and all of the sudden RUN THE SHOW.

and the rest of the circus is weary of him as well. but the attitude quickly changes because apparently he’s nice. and kind and understanding and an innovator like his cousin, Mr. Barnum. he keeps wanting to push the show to new heights and he keeps bringing on new people that have no place in the world but a home in the circus. he loves people. 

MJ is the only one who doesn’t thaw. because, well, fuck Peter Parker. and she knows that he can tell she’s got some serious disdain for him. 

and it all comes to a head, one day, when she walks into her tent to practice with her troop of girls and one of them is showing Peter the silks. he’s good. a natural. like he was meant to swing through the sky. and, frankly, it makes her even more inclined to dislike him. 

“what’s going on here?” the girls all scurry at her booming voice, but Peter only smiles and slides down the silk to touch the floor. “one of the girls thought-” “I don’t care what they thought. this is my tent, those are my silks. this is my part of the show. and you don’t get to just walk in here and put your grubby hands all over it.” 

his face falls, “that wasn’t what I was trying to do, ma’am.” 

“well, Mr. Parker, perhaps not. but this is my troop.” 

“Miss Jones,” he whispers, trying not to spook her girls, “perhaps we could talk somewhere in private?” “I will not be told off by the new guy, no sir. not even if he’s Mr. Barnum’s cousin. especially, then.” he looks wounded by her gab and all she can think is good. 

the following day she walks into her tent and sees a new contraption hanging from the ceiling. it looks like a swing but its hanging very high in the air. there is a freshly built ladder to get to the swing. she starts walking toward the ladder and sees Mr. Parker waiting. she scowls, “what’s this?” “a trapeze.” “and what in heaven’s name is that?” “i saw it in France, ma’am. you swing from swing to swing. upside down.” “and why is it in my tent?” “i thought you could add it to your show. you’re very talented, Miss Jones. and I am only trying to help. no matter whose cousin I am. I care about this show.” 

he doesn’t say anything else to her. he leaves her alone with the trapeze. and she starts to experiment. she takes to the trapeze with startling ease. within five months her and her girls and ready to add it officially to the show. 

they’re in chicago when they open with this act. and the whole crowd goes wild. but as she swings upsidedown from her trapeze she sees Mr. Parker standing with his hands in his pockets watching her from the crowd. their eyes meet and she feels more than disdain. she feels something. and she’s certain it has nothing to do with the trapeze. 

for the next three cities he stands in the same place in the tent so he can watch her show, so he can see her. and it makes her uncomfortable. she’s a black woman in a country that only just disbanded slavery. she shouldn’t even be looking at Mr. Parker. but how can she not when he looks back? 

they are in St. Louis when he finds her after the show. she’s working on a rope, making sure there is enough strength on the ceiling to hold some aerial dancers when Mr. Parker walks across the ring and meets her. she’s very aware of how alone they are. 

he pockets his hand and smiles, “Miss Jones.” “Mr. Parker,” she nods. “I-” he tries to speak but shakes his head. “What?” she asks. “you were…absolutely beautiful tonight, if you don’t mind me saying.” her face heats up, “that’s very kind.” “I’m glad you like the trapeze.” “yes, thank you for it.” “I know,” his voice cracks, “you aren’t fond of me. you’ve made that clear. but I would be remiss if I didn’t say, just once, how much I admire you.” “well that’s very kin-” “I really admire you, MJ.” she stalls. because no one outside of her troop of girls call her MJ. it feels familiar. too familiar. “Mr. Parker, I’m a black woman..and you’re a white man. you know that, yes?” “I don’t care,” he shrugs, tugging on the rope between them absently, “if you think you could ever return my affections…I would be very devoted to you.” she’s suddenly breathless, “you don’t even know me.” “it’s strange,” he shrugs, “i feel like I do. like I have for a hundred lifetimes.” and she knows what he means.

so when she nods and decides to fall down the rabbit hole with him the last thing she notices is his BLINDING smile as he tugs on the rope between them and she feels them ascend into the air. 

the next few months are a whirlwind. courting in a circus environment is less traditional than any other setting. but Peter, she’s learned to call him Peter, is set on wooing her properly. he sets up amazing dinners in her dressing room and buys her nice clothes and one time he kisses her behind the animal tent and she feels her whole world tilt on its access. but Peter is reckless. and she hates that about him as much as she loves it about him. 

he acts like the whole world is as diverse and as accepting as the circus world. they live in a bubble. they world is not this advanced yet. in northern cities when they are out and about people stare but its not nearly as bad as southern cities. MJ tries not to go out at all when they aren’t performing. 

but Peter is so proud of her. he wants to show her off. he wants her on his arm. he wants to MARRY her. which is the most ridiculous thing of all. he’s a visionary, Barnum likes to say, a romantic visionary. 

it all comes tumbling down when they’re in Atlanta for a new show. her and Peter have been courting for around seven months and he decides to take her out on the town. she’s against it. she doesn’t even want to leave the safety of the circus but his stupid smile wears her down against her better judgement. 

they go out for dinner, MJ on Peter’s arm and a group of men stop to heckle them in the street. they call her every name in the book, insult Peter. and she tries to pull him away. it’s not worth it, she whispers, let’s just go home. but Peter won’t let injustice stand. he can’t. he’s so stupidly noble. 

and its when he tries to stand up for her it all goes down south. there are too many of them. and they attack her first. all they get is a little rough with her before Peter is barreling into the group and punching at everyone within three feet of her. he’s surprisingly strong. he manages to fight well. but he starts to lose the fight. that’s when he begs her to run. to get back to the circus. to be safe. at any cost. 

she wants to say but the desperation in her voice makes her flee. when she returns to the big top looking ruffled and horrible she barely manages to get out the story before a group from the circus, the whole lot of them, start to grab some bats and such and go out in search of Peter. 

when they find him. he’s not good. 

he spends four days unconscious in an Atlanta hospital bed. and when he wakes up, she’s there holding his hand. even in his bruised and beaten state she adores him. she kisses his hand and mumbles, “you idiot.” his eyes shine, “i got a few good licks in.” “you stupid, stupid idiot. you should have left it alone.” “i’m going to marry you,” is all he says. and his smile is so certain she wants to scream. because if this proved anything its that they can’t be together.

but peter won’t be deterred. when he can walk again he goes to his uncle and tells him he’s going to marry her. she argues. screams. says no. and all peter does is kiss her nose and reiterate that he is going to marry her. 

Barnum smiles and shrugs in that magical way that he always did, a way that made everyone sit up more attentive like he was about to change the world, and said, “I’m thinking of starting a circus in france. interracial marriage is legal there, did you know?” and Peter’s whole face LIGHTS up. 

MJ starts to sputter because she can’t move to france. what about her troop. what about the circus? but Barnum calmly tells them that he’s going to start a circus in france, that acrobats are already in trend there. and that the circus will sell well. he just needs someone to run it. 

so they move to france. and they run their own Barnum Family Circus. and Peter marries her just like he always insisted he would. he marries her proudly in the middle of the center ring in their big top tent. and she rolls her eyes but says her vows. 

#headcanon ask #spideychelle #au

[crazy-indigo-child]

More Than Enough

After finding out about Kuron the team locks the not-Shiro away in the castle: a threat contained. Keith’s having second thoughts about locking away the man that shared his best friend’s memories. 

Fic for @princess-tentacles

”W-what?! That’s not right… I can’t be a clone, I remember too much!”

Three months. Shiro had been home for three months— had lived with them, trained them, and bonded with them. For three months Keith let himself believe that he’d finally rescued his best friend from the brink of death in a failing fighter ship. How the fuck had he missed the fact that this wasn’t the same goddamn person?!

Keith wept with joy and then with pain when the man that had come back to them was just left of normal, but Shiro had changed the first time they got him back too. There was no way of knowing that all these new truths about Shiro— that he liked his food goo cold instead of hot, that he preferred to leave his hair a bit longer— was actually just… a stranger.

What hurt most was that he looked like the pimple-faced teen that took him out joyriding on his hover bike, the bright-eyed officer who binged on mac and cheese through exams. Though similar to a tee, this was not the Shiro he grew up with.

But he was *a* Shiro.

The not-Shiro wasn’t allowed to sleep in the Black Paladin dorm anymore, forbidden from even being on the same level as the other paladins and the bridge. At least, Allura promised, until they figured out why the Galra had sent them a decoy. Besides the alternative was to lock him up in a holding cell.

Keith stepped out of the elevator feeling the most clear-headed he had in a very long time. It had been a few weeks since they’d found out about clone-Shiro, since they’d locked him away 20 levels above the bridge, and Keith finally scrounged up the courage to visit. How could he bring himself to face the living embodiment of his greatest memories if he was still mourning them?

What a sick universe they lived in. Wasn’t there anything better for it to do than to torture him? Or Shiro. Poor Shiro.

Since finding out Keith had cried and screamed and fought and bled at the injustice of it all… but maybe not-Shiro was too. After all, misery loved company.

Finding not-Shiro was easy when he’d stopped looking for the actual Shiro; real Shiro would have picked one of the 15 rooms with the best view, not-Shiro didn’t care much for space but preferred the boxed-in feeling of a windowless room and dark corners. So naturally the small servants’ quarters off of the kitchen was where he’d camp out.

One thing didn’t change: he never slept through the night. Keith had found him sitting up in bed and poring over the tablet Lance had lent him, full of pictures of them and journal logs over the months. There were a couple games on the tablets, but he doubted this Shiro took the same pleasure in marathoning Candy Crush. “I’m sorry I haven’t come to see you.”

“Didn’t expect you to,” not-Shiro said, peering over the tablet with an almost peevish look. Definitely cold, but not aggressive; Keith invites himself in and ambles up to the bedside. This bed, like the others, was built into the wall like an alcove. Unlike the others this one looked cold and hard, one pillow and a thin blanket. A prisoner in his own home.

“You’re my friend,” he puts simply, “friends visit each other.”

“You’ve made it pretty clear that I’m not your friend.”

Keith flinched. That… actually hurt. “I’ve been doing a lot of thinking.”

“Have you found what you’re looking for?”

“Depends. Can I sit?”

It’s ‘red wine on a white carpet’ obvious that not-Shiro isn’t thrilled about Keith being there; unlike the old Shiro this one didn’t see any reason to hide his disdain. In this Shiro’s defence the old Shiro was never locked up in an empty set of rooms while his friends and teammates carried on with their lives under his feet. The Castle of Lions was always a sanctuary; respect and dignity was righted to Shiro by virtue of being the Black Paladin. But without Black’s blessing this Shiro was just… a passerby. Maybe even a monster. Keith took his silence as assent and slumped heavily at the foot of the bed.

He’d had a whole speech he’d rehearsed and forgotten. Luckily not-Shiro filled the silence instead: “I still feel everything. Every memory is so… vivid. Even if they didn’t happen to me I still remember.”

“I-I know it’s been hard on you—“

“You think?!” not-Shiro snapped, the tablet tumbling off his knee and onto the floor when his knees drew up to wall Keith off. It was so juvenile and so unlike his childhood friend that he just… watched. In this time he realized that Shiro’s clone was shirtless, namely he noticed that the skin wasn’t scarred or uneven anymore, that the tattoo splayed over his ribs had vanished without a trace. Shame. Shiro loved it. “Could you imagine waking up one day to find out that your entire existence was a lie? That whenever your best friend looks at you he’s wondering where the better version of you went? This is the craziest existential crisis ever.”

Guilty. Keith stared at the scuff on his shoes. “Yeah that’s… pretty messed up.”

“It’s *fucked*,” not-Shiro agreed. “And the worst part is that I don’t know who’s more upset that I’m not Shiro: you or me?! And I’m the guy who just found out he’s, like, a crappy bootleg of some other guy.”

“You’re not… Look.” Keith called a truce, reaching out to grab clone-Shiro’s natural hand, letting it flinch and holding tighter. “So you’re not the real Shiro. It sucks for everyone that this happened. But you’re still you; you’re still your own person.”

That earned him a look: a look that turned into a stare and then a poorly veiled pout as the older man rested his chin on his knees. “But I’m not enough.”

Keith leans in like he’s telling a secret, letting his hand trail up the smooth, scarless skin of the other’s arm. Up toned muscles that tensed and shivered as he passed, and over a familiar egg-shaped birthmark on the ridge of a collarbone. He cupped a cheek with his palm and not-Shiro surprisingly lets him and made no fuss over the tear Keith wicked away with his thumb. “You’re so much more than enough.”

The light grey of clone-Shiro’s eyes catch in the fluorescent blue lights cutting along the walls and it took Keith everything he had not to throw himself at this poor man, who looked at him so reverently he could have held the world in his hands. “I love you,” he whispered as another tear tracked down the back of Keith’s hand. “I-I mean *we* do. There just wasn’t any time…” he trailed off when the grip on his cheek shifted, replacing Keith’s thumb over the pad of his lips.

Their foreheads drew together in the quiet lull of Keith’s gentle shushing. So this wasn’t Shiro, and maybe he’d never find him again, but the man before him had a history; they shared memories and years of friendship that went deeper than anything Keith had ever known. Keith was never in love with Shiro’s body, but the way he picked Keith up when he fell and carried him when it seemed there was no other choice but to stay down forever. The person he was sitting with now *was* that man. And he loved him for it. “What do I call you now?”

That took a moment; even when they’d found out he was a clone he was still ‘Shiro’. No one thought to differentiate the two or considered what might happen when they found the real Shiro and had a doppelgänger on board. And definitely no one stopped to think that maybe this man deserved a little dignity, not even Keith who’d reduced his whole existence to ‘not-Shiro.’

“…Kuron?” Keith pulled away at that, prodding him with a questioning look. “The Galra would call me that. I guess it’s the first real name I’ve ever really had.”

“You don’t mind it?”

“It’s mine.”

Damn. Well who was he to try and stop Shir— Kuron, from sticking it to the Galra? No one at all.

Kuron shifts, fingers reaching to toy with the hem of his shirt sleeve, and everything goes downhill from there.

Something in him snaps and Keith’s launching himself into a panting mess of skin on skin; what would have been his and Shiro’s first kiss. It’s thrilling, but it’s also tragic and Keith has to close his eyes to keep from breaking his secret promise to Kuron. Kuron isn’t sure but only has a fraction of a second of resistance in him before he’s pressing back, so soft and unsure it almost makes Keith laugh. Instead he pushes Kuron’s knees apart so he can slot between them and herds him to the mattress.

The skin under his fingers run smooth and seamless, muscles taut and firm like he’d always imagined. So he indulged himself and Keith let his touch drift down to the hem of Kuron’s boxers and skirt over the thin fabric. Moans drip from his lips and Keith’s a glutton to drink them all, pushing Kuron down and taking him for everything he had.

Where Shiro was guarded, tentative, meek, Kuron was ripping at Keith’s utility belt and scrabbling at the zipper of his jeans. Frantic to keep up, Keith was tugging at the hem of his shirt, yanking it up until his arms got caught up in the jacket he still wore. “H-help me with these,” he whimpered and crooned at the immediacy of Kuron’s massive hands on his shoulders. The very instant his shirt hit the floor Kuron was pushing at him and upending him on the bed. Bodies rolled and the waist of his jeans and boxers yanked over his thighs. Blunt fingertips dipped into the cleft of his ass on their way by and Keith’s vision bleached.

“Never again,” Kuron hissed and let Keith’s pants bunch a the tops of his boots. Urgency and desperation hardened their kisses and the mouth pressing a prayer down his chest and stomach. “I’m never going to make you wait, Keith.”

Wetting his fingers with a quick lathe of his tongue, Keith pressed them down to his hole, whining while he opened himself under Kuron’s entire attention. “Then you better hurry.” Luckily Kuron took that as his cue to fish his cock out of his boxers while he watched; true to his word he didn’t wait for Keith to ask, his cock quickly replacing slim fingers.

“God, you don’t know how long I’ve wanted this!”

Keith would have second that, but the slow drag and stretch of his body left him breathless and overcome. Not to mention he was adoring the filthy, shameless moaning of his name. When Keith looked up he was back in the Garrison, Shiro toppled on top of him over the sparring mat after Keith had the bright idea to take his ankles out while Shiro had him snagged in a headlock. It was the first time he’d heard Shiro really laugh, and he’d fallen in love.

This was that man, but with a different name and a haircut that would take some getting used to. Keith was nothing if not patient, but already he was getting swept up in the steady build of his orgasm. Between jolting thrusts he managed to reach out and sink his fingers into the meat of Kuron’s shoulder. “I l-love you,” he rasped. Barely two thrusts later the older man came with a wretched sob and a deep, grinding thrust.

Heat bloomed inside of him and it would have been so easy for Keith to get off on the thought of Kuron filling him up alone, but a massive sweaty fist ripped his orgasm right out of him and Keith came hard with a breathless shout.

They caught their breaths in the relative calm of afterglow, Kuron smoothing his hands over Keith’s oversensitive skin and kissing over his neck and collarbone with too much desperation for someone who’d just came. “You mean it?” he rumbled, tongue thick, “When you said I was enough?”

It was just a flash, a longing look in his eye that he’d not seen in Shiro since he’d placed his resume in for the Kerberos mission and never for him. Now it was *all* for him. Shiro always looked up to the stars, Kuron was always looking down at his side where Keith always was. Where he’d always be. “Have I ever lied to you?”

#Voltron #Shiro #Keith #Kuron #Sheith #Maybe? #It's pretty much the same #Right? #Voltron legendary defender

[thescarlettongueprojectblog-blog]

United in Anger

Last week, I finally sat down to watch the highly-recommended comedy special, “Nanette” by Hannah Gadsby.

It was so good.

Seriously. Go watch it. This human has an excellent brain, and her messages are super important.

But of course, this wouldn’t be my blog if I wasn’t complaining about something, right?  

The end of “Nanette” kind of broke my heart. For the entire hour +, I was along for the ride, hanging off of every word she said, raising my fist at the TV in solidarity and support.  And then she just….dumped me.

I do want to take a quick timeout to honor that celebrities and public figures are people, too.  Not deities.  You will disagree sometimes, and that’s totally okay.

Nonetheless, I was sad.

At the end of her special, she closes by saying that we must no longer unite in anger, even if that anger comes from a place of love.  But the way she spoke about anger did not sound like the anger I know.  The anger she spoke of sounded more like hate and self-loathing.  I kept saying, “yes, I agree, but I don’t think we use that word the same way, and you’re really breaking my heart right now. Please, please don’t spread this with those specific words; it’s so unhealthy.”

I agree with her, to an extent.  The actions many take out of anger are quite unhealthy, and no, we should not unite over that.  Hate crimes start with anger.  But so do human rights movements.  So let’s be a little more clear—

Anger is simply saying, “nope. This is no good.”  Anger saves lives. Anger creates boundaries and containers for healthy, respectful relationships.

When anger is told that it is not allowed to exist, or that it’s the only thing in charge, the human brain goes into wild places, because anger never disappears.  If it isn’t allowed its own channel, it’ll just go hide behind some other emotions or impulses.  That’s when we get stuck in rage, fear, willful ignorance, prejudice, unrelenting sadness, and terrible violence.  Anger says, “I will keep you safe”.  And when you say “go away, anger”, your brain says, “oh shit…now I’m not safe. OVERCOMPENSAAAAAATE!!!” That could be shutting down, dissociating, or lashing out.

It breaks my heart when people conflate anger and hatred.  We are in this mess to begin with because of our misinformed ideas of anger, and the vast efforts to destroy it, particularly for anyone of a marginalized demographic.  Unless, of course, one’s anger can be used against them by those who seek to oppress them.  Consider, for example, this need in our white-supremacist society to hold on to the stereotype of an angry black woman or a violently angry black man to justify racially motivated injustice, and excuse oneself from personal accountability.

Control a person’s ability to stand up for themselves, and you control their entirety.

When I heard Hannah’s words and desires around stopping anger, I knew what she meant.  She was exhausted, and sick to death of bullshit. She no longer wanted to see people hurting themselves or others.  She wants to live in a world that doesn’t hurt.  She wants people to join together in joy, love, pleasure, and benevolent laughter.

This is what I heard between her words. And yes.  Yes, yes, yes, YES to all of this.

But we’re not there yet. We have to work toward that, because we’re so far down and lost that it’s going to take a lot of strong effort by every single person on this planet to do better, to hope for better, to believe in better.  So right now we’re angry.  We need to get angry for things to change.  Not hateful.  Just angry.

In my interview with Aepril Schaile, she mentions that she came across the theory that anger is actually a form of optimism, because in order for a person to be angry, they have to believe that things could, or should, be different.  Apathy and acceptance, I believe, are the greatest dangers to modern social progress.

Think about it—when you’re in a failing relationship and you fall out of love, you fight less, right? Because at the end of the day, you’re just like, “ugh. Whatever. I don’t even like you. I’ll say whatever you want to hear so you just go away.  Fuck my life.”

Or when you’re at a job that is zapping the life out of you, but you don’t believe you have any other options, so you just whither away for years getting kicked in the shins by your miserable boss, setting the timer on Monday for when you can finally go get blackout drunk on Friday before it all starts over again.

Anger, instead, looks like telling your partner that you love yourself, that you deserve better, and that you’re not going to put up with getting screamed at or degraded.

Anger looks like going to HR to report that your co-worker put his hand on your ass for the last time.

Anger looks like asking a child who’s locked out and sobbing in front of his house if he’s okay.

We NEED to unite in anger.

Not hate.

When I started The Scarlet Tongue Project, I felt completely isolated in my anger.  I was silenced, told I was crazy, told I was scary, told I was weak, awkward, quiet, etc.  I wasn’t allowed to use my anger, so I had no idea how to use it when it inevitably came up.  Most of the advice I got was to chill or “let it go”.  Rarely did anyone pause to consider what might be on fire inside of me that was causing this.  At that time, conversations on anger were not flooding in online like they are now, nor were they happening in my various communities of friends.  Now you can’t even flutter your eyes open in the morning without being smacked by someone’s flying rage fit.  Only a couple years ago, you actually had to sit down and do research to find people brave enough to talk about these things.  Now, we can’t escape.

One of the greatest blessings of this project was that I stopped feeling isolated.  I found people I could process with, people who understood, people who would teach me, and people who knew how to harness anger in order to move forward with great love and strength, to create epic change and love in the world. Friends began coming to me and saying, “thank you for doing this. I’m so fucking angry all the time. I just never felt allowed to express it.”  This week, 6 artists are flying into Mexico City to join me for an art residency related to the film.  Our intention is to come together, discuss anger, discuss how to build community, explore how to free ourselves from social constraints, how to support others in their desires to live in truth and openness, and how to create action and change for a more beautiful, just world.  It is anger that is bringing us together.  And it is so profoundly powerful and magical.

When Hannah said that we cannot unite in anger, of course I took it personally, because that is the entire mission of my project—to create communities where people feel safe and inspired to stand up for themselves and others in the face of injustice, to be witnessed in their authenticity, and to move forward to create their best lives with the support of others.

If you are angry, sure, you can use that to fuel an agenda of fear and destruction.  You can also use feeling confident and happy in your skin to go cheat on your partner with 50 people.  Emotions are indicators, not actions themselves.  The energy you draw from your emotions can go anywhere you put it. I encourage you to find others when you’re angry.  Find someone healthy to talk to, find groups to join, go see a show that inspires you and helps you imagine worlds of deeper love, greater tolerance, and goddamn it—FUN.

If you are angry, see if you can push to the other side of the voice that says, “SHUT UP.”  Try to invite your anger in.  Listen to it.  Ask your body what it needs to feel relief.  Then find others who support you, and maybe even share your dreams.

If you separate anger from hate, what does that look like?  Does it have its own space?  Can it lay close to feelings like bliss, pleasure, and satisfaction?

My anger does.  And I’m so grateful to the wise, creative folks around me who can hold that, because they know that on the other side is a super badass world of experiences and ideas that we can’t wait to manifest.

Unite in an anger that flows.  Unite in an anger that doesn’t get stuck.  Unite in an anger that gives you energy to create. Unite in an anger that is from love, and leads back to love.  And if you’re not sure how, then unite with people who do so you can find the help you need.

I’m sorry, Hannah, but the brilliance of your work did, in fact, powerfully unite people in anger.  They learned something.  They felt desire to be better people.  They felt love and compassion for you and for themselves. Thank you for that.  That was a gift.  And now you get to move on to something else, which is the whole point. But please don’t dishonor what brought us to this beautiful place of eye-opening and change.

Anger does not have to be suffering.  Anger can be revolution.  For many of us, anger IS revolution.  And the revolution needs you.  I hope to meet you there.

#anger love revolution film womeninfilm intersectional intersectionalfeminism feminism documentary art artist create